 |
|
Attending a brisBy Maria Bailey I attended my first bris last week. Which isn't surprising if you realize that I grew up in an area where I didn't have my first Jewish friend until I went to college. In fact, I remember that my high school sweetheart, who I followed to Florida State University, had never eaten a bagel until we arrived in Tallahassee. Looking back, it's seems amazing that a person can be raised in such an isolated environment that they never have the opportunity to eat matzo ball soup, black beans and rice or a simple bagel until they become an adult. But then again, I had never tasted Southern sweet iced tea until my mother married my stepfather (who I consider to be my dad) who was from South Georgia. I remember the first time we drove from Miami to Meigs, Ga (population 214) when I was about 8 years old. My new grandmother prepared a huge meal at 1 p.m. I thought it was merely because we happened to arrive at her home in the early afternoon, but by the third day of eating supper in the middle of the day, I realized this was the way they did it in Georgia. I quickly learned on that first visit that there were great new foods outside of South Florida: collard greens, black-eyed peas and ambrosia. Unfortunately, there was also okra and lots of it. If you have never gotten to eat that slimy, stringy, seeded vegetable, count yourself lucky. It grows as quickly as weeds in a flower pot and produces more vegetables than you can buy at Publix grocery stores. You can boil, fry, broil and grind the stuff and worst of all, it was my stepfather's favorite vegetable. He used to threaten my siblings and I with the stuff. If we didn't behave for the babysitter, he knew an old lady who could babysit and make okra pie. So blame all my behavioral problems on okra pie. My fear of it was an incredible motivator. It wasn't until I was 25 years old that I learned from my dad that there was no such thing as okra pie. But to make matters worse with the whole okra thing is that the same high school sweetheart who was a Bagel virgin at 18, loved okra. So when we got to Tallahassee and played house in our dorm rooms, what do you think he wanted me to cook for him? Okra. My father died three years ago at the young age of 52. I gave the eulogy and what do you think I mentioned? Okra, of course, and his next favorite food, Krystal hamburgers, another Southern delicacy. My mother and stepfather moved us to Jacksonville, Florida sometime after that first visit to Georgia but I was prepared. I knew how to make collard greens and who doesn't love a good corn bread, but I always missed fresh bagels. My mother missed them too. Every time we were in South Florida to visit family, we would board the plane with bags of fresh bagels destined for our freezer. Unfortunately for the passengers, my mother's favorite flavor was Garlic. But my mother managed to continue to cook the ethnic foods of South Florida for us in Jacksonville. She cooked arroz con pollo, frito negroes, and matzo ball soup when we were sick. I think we were the only kids going to Catholic mass coming home to eat matzo with corn beef and cabbage. I think it was the isolated environment of Catholic school and geography that kept me from establishing friendships with Jewish children. We'd go to school as children, attend mass, walk around with ashes on our forehead and believe that was the real world. It wasn't until I got to college that a light bulb went off. First, there was the morning I awoke to get dress for class and realized I didn't have to wear a uniform. The second was the day we had no classes for Rosh Hashanah, a holiday I had never heard of and third was the bizarre bagel thing with my boyfriend. Since those days of discovery I always looked for opportunities to learn about the traditions, beliefs and cultures of others whether it's religious or heritage. So when I was invited to attend my first bris I was very excited. It was the bris of William David Levenson, the son of my very good friend and member of our BlueSuitMom team, Paula Levenson. I could not wait to go. Paula was great about answering all my pre-bris questions. She even taught me the proper name of the religious ceremony. You see, this Catholic girl thought it was a brisket. Yep, just like the piece of meat. Once I got the name right, the rest came pretty easy. Besides all I had to do was listen and watch. Paula even hired a mohel who would describe the traditions behind the prayers and ceremony those of us who were not Jewish. It was no less than awesome. In fact, it was a beautiful afternoon. The mohel was wonderful at explaining step by step what was happening. He told stories and recited history and all the while I watched in amazement. I think culture and history are so important to who we are and tell us so much about people's actions and beliefs. It was incredible to watch the 4,000 years of ancestry right there in the middle of a living room in Parkland, Fla. A common bond and belief joined all of the people there and no matter how they felt about each other ten minutes before, or about the work waiting at the office, for 40 minutes they were bonded in centuries of belief. Do you think that the people in Jezebel's time could ever imagine that Jews today would be performing a bris next to a screened in pool with e-mail and fax machines in the next room? It's truly incredible if you stop to think about it. The other heartwarming part of my day was looking at Paula's blended family standing at the front of the room. Here is a beautiful family made up of two of his children from a prior marriage, two of her children from a prior marriage and now this baby, a creation of both of them. The love exhumed by Paula and her husband Jeff for the family they had brought together by their marriage and the one they created together illuminated the room. It takes a great deal of love to raise five children and I couldn't think of another couple that is more prepared to it. Standing there in that room, watching all the tradition and Paula's new family, I couldn't help but conclude that the common bond Paula and Jeff shared in their religion provided the strong foundation for the love they provided to their children and each other. People have said it for a long time. It's a lot easier to build a castle on wet, hard sand than dry. We should all remember that our family is our castle and a good foundation can be built in many ways. Whether it's religion, common goals or eating Okra in the middle of the afternoon, find your foundation and build on it every single day Share your thoughts on our message board or email Maria.
Also see: Maria Bailey is the CEO and founder of BlueSuitMom.com and a mother of four children under the age of seven.
|
|
|