
We are walking now. Together, in the wilderness, walking. It’s hot, and dry. Sometimes there’s no water, or the water we find has a bitter taste. We haven’t always known where our next meal will come from. Some people wish we’d never left Egypt. There’s a lot of complaining. Some days are really hard.

The uniqueness of my Jewish identity could be one of the reasons conference organizers have invited me to participate. I expect there will be people at the conference who won’t consider me to be a “real” Jew, and that some of the conversations around identity will be difficult for me on a personal level. But I also expect to learn and deepen and grow, maybe a lot—and I recognize the importance of sharing my unique Jewish identity with other Jewish leaders. If we are to expand the Tent, stories like mine need to be told.

As I shook his hand, I thanked him for his work and was about to say more when he posed a gentle challenge. “I listened with interest to your presentation,” he said, “especially the part about charity and justice. And I wondered: isn’t the work that we’re doing also justice work, even though it’s not legislative advocacy?”
Gulp. Had I just unintentionally diminished the good work of an international relief organization?

In many congregations today, women’s groups function more like social clubs. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not against socializing. Some of the women’s groups I’ve seen offer valuable community to young stay-at-home mothers who feel isolated; working mothers who feel pulled in too many directions; and older, retired women who feel, once again, isolated. But I know men staying home with young children who feel isolated; I know working fathers who feel stretched; I know older men who would benefit from the friendships that intentional community brings. In the 21st century, why segregate these opportunities by gender?
The forecast for name-your-environmental-crisis-here often looks bleak. People who follow environmental issues know it, and sustained justice work can be a challenge. When I meet with religious groups about things like pervasive toxic chemicals, environmental justice, or global warming, someone invariably asks, “Where do we find hope?”

This was my first visit to the Zen Center. One of the Buddhist priests had invited me to encourage his students to engage in interfaith environmental work. I was a little nervous, but something about this group—their open spirit, perhaps, and honest questions—quickly put me at ease and helped me speak from the heart. At some point, I found myself saying, “The Buddhist tradition has beautiful teachings about how all life is interconnected, and the world desperately needs this wisdom! Please share it.”

“But Mom, if we celebrate Hanukkah, then Santa won’t come, will he?” This was the question from my clearly worried 7-year old last December as we prepared to celebrate our first Hanukkah. And just like that, all of the confusing family issues surrounding my conversion to Judaism were distilled into one simple, innocent wondering.

I was on a chartered bus with about 40 other people—Christians, Jews, Muslims, Unitarian Universalists, one Buddhist, and one Wiccan priest. We were united in being people of faith, in being mostly white and middle class, and in touring part of Newark, New Jersey as part of the Environmental Justice retreat of GreenFaith’s Fellowship Program. [...]

There’s that metaphor of God as a mountain, and different religious traditions are just different paths up the mountain. For most of my life, I stood at the foot of this mountain, telling passersby (and myself) how great it was that there are so many paths to God: “Isn’t is amazing? The light of God shines in all religious paths!” Yes. But the thing is, to get anywhere on God’s mountain, you have to start walking one of the paths.

I know it’s easier, when there are disagreements, to see the “other side” as completely wrong and “our side” as completely justified. But there is real danger in casting any conflict as a black & white, us vs. them scenario. Doing so can pretty quickly start to sound like a holy war: good vs. evil, righteous vs. infidel, saint vs. sinner.
We need now to re-evaluate our priorities as a human people, to re-orient our relationships away from destructive patterns of exploitation and toward the valuing of life. Even as we work to dismantle unjust systems of corruption, undue influence, and oppression, we need to hold onto the basic humanity of people on all sides of the issues.
Yaira is pursuing a Master of Theological Studies at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary. She is also the Coordinator of Texas Interfaith Power & Light, the environmental program of Texas Impact—and Jewish, married, and mother to two boys who make her laugh every day.