114 — A Happy Identity Crisis (1993)

     As I entered my fourth decade, my identity was beginning to solidify.  Pegi had returned to nursing, specializing in cardiovascular surgery, Abi was starting elementary school and I had a meaningful and promising career in life insurance.  My relationships with parents and family had grown. Spiritually, my sense of Jewish identity was developing.  I was sorting through my religious experiences of the previous two decades, discarding what didn’t work for me while intensifying focus on what seemed to be reliable.  I dug more deeply into the valuable strains of my religious experience while acquiring new tools of spiritual inquiry. 

My mom had died in August of 1991 just before I started graduate studies.  My father died in August of 1992.  My great Aunt Selma, the last of my closest family connections, died in August of 1993.  I was beginning to hate August!  However, I began to understand that their lives would be carried forward in mine.  In the same way, Abi would carry Pegi’s and mine.  (She would pass it on to Aiden—for whom I have been writing all of this.)

You would think that experiencing the loss of a parent would have a negative effect on personal identity.  That is not what I experienced.  I was no longer bound by the pressure of parental expectations.  That wasn’t a rejection of their roles in my life.  Instead, I became aware of a deepened and stronger personal identity because of them.  They were not dead—they were very much alive in me.  I was their continuation and would add my story to theirs.  I wasn’t yet fully conscious of this yet, but this long story reached back many generations, not just as human story, but as a Jewish story.  

After the 40 years of wandering in Sinai, the Jewish people were about to enter the Promised Land.  In his last words דברים (Deuteronomy), Moses explains the story:   

For you are a people consecrated to the ETERNAL your God: of all the peoples on earth, the ETERNAL your God chose you to be the treasured one.

It is not because you are the most numerous of peoples that GOD grew attached to you and chose you—indeed, you are the smallest of peoples; but it was because GOD favored you and kept the oath made to your fathers that GOD freed you with a mighty hand and rescued you from the house of bondage, from the power of Pharaoh king of Egypt.

Know, therefore, that only the ETERNAL your God is God, the steadfast God who keeps this covenant faithfully to the thousandth generation of those who show love and keep the commandments, 

[Deuteronomy 7:6-9 Revised JPS, 2023]

I was beginning to see that the Jewish perception of God was based on our direct experience of God as a caring and loving Creator.  His Torah (instruction, teaching, law) and the boundaries it defined were safeguards to allow us to live fully, happily and successfully.  God “treasures” us—not because of our merits, but because of His character—His name/identity/character/essence.  The motivation to keep His commandments is based on our response to His lovingkindness.

Roman Law versus Jewish Law (Torah):

The Roman perspective/idea of Law is rigid, rough and without nuance.  This is because the “gods” who are its source are disconnected from human life and nature.  It is full of hard edges because its gods are arbitrary, self-serving and disinterested (even malevolent) towards human beings.  The Roman gods have no concern for people—they are are only concerned with pleasing themselves.  For someone who grows up in the West (highly molded by Roman thinking), just the word, "Law" conjures up negative boundaries that are brutally enforced.  The point is the boundary--restricting life--only allowing minimal liberties, but the greater purpose or "why" is to enforce and restrict—to minimize freedom to live for some semblance of order which pleases them.

The Torah concept of law is softer, more malleable when it comes to humans and even nature and therefore more powerful.  Jewish thinking is relational--connected to a warm and loving Creator.  Its boundaries protect liberties for purpose of fulfilled living.  Shalom (peace/fulfillment/contentment) is God’s desire for us.  

The systems (religions) that develop out of each are necessarily different:

• The Roman law distorts the “law of life” into restriction and death. 
• Jewish law (Torah) leads to life in its fullness.

As my Jewish identity emerged, I began to grasp why Moses wrote:

You shall faithfully observe all the Instruction [Torah] that I enjoin upon you today, that you may thrive and increase and be able to possess the land that GOD promised on oath to your fathers.

[Deuteronomy 8:1 Revised JPS, 2023]

113 — My Father Told Me a Joke (1991-92)

    My relationship with my father had always been troubled.  Before my parents’ divorce when I was a 2nd grader, I rarely saw him around the house.  He was either manically building his chain of jewelry stores or depressed—asleep in bed.  During one of his depressed states, he didn’t leave the bedroom for six months!  But, I had my mom, my grandmother, Lee, and Anna Mae Brown who cared for me from age 2 to 13.  So, I wasn’t neglected—I had three wonderful women in my life.  

But, my dad just wasn’t around.  After the divorce, he was granted custody of me on weekends and during summer vacations, but he was usually out of town on business.  When I was 10, he began taking me on the road with him during the summer months.  His jewelry business had gone bankrupt after the divorce, without the business support of my mother and grandmother.  Now he was a sales rep for a furniture hardware manufacturer.  Since he had the territory west of the Mississippi, he moved to Houston.  

My 10th summer saw me flying to Houston to join my father for six weeks.  In the 1950s, it was safe for a young boy to travel on his own under the supervision of the airline flight attendants.  My father met me at the airport.  From Houston, we drove from Texas to California, pausing along the way for him to meet with his customers and stopping to hit tourist sites like the Grand Canyon.  

We spent six weeks in California alone, staying in the ritziest hotels.  I spent much of my time at the hotel pools where celebrities hung out. One afternoon I met the pop musician, Fabian—he was a big deal back then!  We went to Disneyland and spent time in Hollywood visiting the movie studios.  I had a relative who was an executive at MGM Studios. Through him, we actually got on the set of a Debbie Reynolds movie during filming.  That was cool!  

My first swim as a toddler had been in Miami Beach.  A couple of years later on another trip to Miami, I swam in the gentle waves of the Atlantic.  Now, strong swimmer that I had become, I got to visit the Pacific.  I was excited at the prospect of body-surfing the larger Pacific waves.  Sure, the waves were a little bigger and more powerful, but I was used to swimming and skiing on the Ohio with its strong current and choppy waves accelerated by the huge wakes of the barge traffic.

I walked confidently into the ankle deep surf ready to wade out into deeper water.  But no sooner than I stepped into the two inch surf, my feet were knocked out from under me and I found myself on my rear-end in the wet sand.  Climbing to my feet, I was knocked down by another two inches of surf—this time landing face down.  The beach was not the fine sand that I had experienced in Miami.  This sand was rough and littered with small rocks.  I got to my feet again only to be knocked down again. Eventually, I managed to crawl away from the water to catch my breath.  I took inventory of my scratches and bruises, reentering the water knowing what to expect.  I made it to the deeper water and spent the rest of the day riding the waves!  

Where was my father during all of this?  He had left me to my own devices while he went off to secure himself a beach chair, stopping to make a date for the evening with a bikini-clad woman that he met on the way.  By the time he got back, I was happily riding wave after wave.  Since then, I have been knocked over many times by unanticipated waves of adversity.  Left to my own devices, I have been able to keep moving forward.  The adversity was part of the adventure of life!  This has been my approach to spirituality as well. Yes, I get knocked down a lot and often find myself on my gluteus maximus or flat on my face.  The result is that I am stronger and wiser for struggling through it for myself. 

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if my parents had been “one” in their experience of Judaism. Instead, I experienced the waves and undertow of the competing worldviews of my secularized Reform Jewish mom and Orthodox Jewish dad.  So, if I wanted to move on “swimmingly,” as the Brits say, I would have to get out of the messy surf and find my own way to ride the waves.  I would find my own way to a meaningful life as a Jew.  It would take decades with many stumbles, but I would eventually find my own path forward as a Jew.

By 1992 at age 43, as I was pursuing my graduate studies, my dad and I were no longer in an authoritative father-son relationship.  We had becomes friends.  Central to our friendship was a shared sense of our Jewish identity.  Our experiences as Jews were worlds apart.  Nevertheless, we shared a concern for doing something with our lives that reflected meaning and purpose.  In his retirement years, financed only by his Social Security benefits, he devoted his time and energy  as a volunteer worker with disabled children and marginalized adults who suffered from mental and emotional problems. It turned out that those in Louisville’s community who joined him were African-American Christian leaders.  I was pursuing my studies alongside Baptist pastors.  He spent his days by the side of African-American pastors.  How ironic!

In that light, my father-friend told me a joke about a Jewish college freshman (Judah), whose dorm-mate (Chris), was a Baptist.  Chris was motivated to “share Jesus” with Judah.  After numerous inconclusive late-night discussions, Chris realized that he wasn’t able to answer Judah’s questions and concerns.  So, Chris proposed that Judah accompany him to church the following Sunday.  Judah agreed with the caveat that Chris would first attend synagogue with him on Saturday.  

The following Saturday they visited the synagogue.  Judah advised Chris that this would be a new experience for him.  “Hey Chris, you won’t understand most of what is happening.  There will be a lot of standing and sitting and almost everything will be in Hebrew.  So, to feel comfortable, just do what I do.  When I stand up, you stand up.  When I sit down, you sit down.  Okay?”

This simple suggestion got Chris through the service without feeling awkward.  Afterwards he said, “Wow!  That was really awesome.  I felt right at home and I experienced so many things that reflected what I had learned from the Bible.  So, for our visit to church, let’s follow the same procedure.  What I do, you do.  Okay?”  Judah concurred.

Sunday morning was a reversal of roles.  It was all in English, but there was so much that was strange to Judah.  The music leader led a rousing hymn.  This was followed by a few announcements from the pastor.  After the announcements and another hymn, the pastor announced that they would be taking up a special offering to finance a children’s choir trip to several neighboring churches.  Ushers distributed baskets which bounced from person to person down the pews for the “offerings.”  When the plate got to Chris, he pulled out his wallet and put in a couple of dollars.  Judah, not wanting to stick out as stingy, put in a few dollars too.  He thought, “I can help out these kids—they are cute!”

Then, there was a prayer followed by another hymn and a second collection with the bouncing baskets—this time for the “regular tithes and offerings.”  First Chris then Judah pulled out a few dollars to drop in the basket.  Judah thought to himself, “Well, if you go to a movie, you have to pay for your ticket!”

After a musical performance by one member of the choir, the pastor gave his sermon.  His message emphasized the Jewish roots of Christianity.  He specifically mentioned that Jesus and the early Jesus movement was a Jewish movement, adding that early Christians had been predominantly composed of Jews.  It was only after several decades that non-Jews (gentiles) swelled the ranks of Jesus followers, changing the cultural landscape from a Jewish one to a Gentile one. There was another hymn and a third round of bouncing baskets—this time to support “our missionaries sharing the gospel around the world.”  

By his third experience with the bouncing basket, Judah was running low on cash.  He began to wonder if these “offerings” seemed to be the main purpose of the church service.  He was relieved that he was out of cash and wouldn’t have to give money to support missionaries.  That was a bridge too far for him! 

As the two were leaving, Judah was struck by repeated commercial appeals for money.  Was the church service about sharing God’s love with the congregation or collecting money from them?  

Judah remarked, “You know, I found this really interesting.  Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”  Chris was thrilled that Judah’s interest was finally peaked, “Sure, ask away!”

Judah said, “So, if I understand your pastor’s sermon, Jesus and his disciples were Jewish?”

Chris responded, “Yes, they were Jewish! 

Judah:  “And early Christianity was mostly composed of Jews—only spreading to the gentiles after the first couple of decades. Correct?”  

Chris happily confirmed that this was true, “Yes, Jesus was Jewish and early Christianity was a Jewish movement!”

Judah: “So then, if Jesus was Jewish, the disciples were Jewish and most everyone was Jewish, . . . then who sold this business to the gentiles in the first place?”

———————————————

I understood the irony here.  For 2000 years, Christianity has labeled Jews as trouble-making, money-hungry claimants to closeness to God.   Jesus said that the Pharisees (rabbis) had “seated themselves in the seat of Moses,” claiming “the” authoritative covenantal relationship with God.  However, for a modern Jew, Christianity seems to usurp the Jewish covenantal role—claiming the authority of a “New Covenant” which puts them in charge of the whole enterprise.  The theological term for this is “supersessionism”—Christianity supersedes Judaism since the New Covenant supersedes the Mosaic Covenant.   

In 1997, I would write my doctoral dissertation on this very issue.  How did a religious faith that was uniquely Jewish come under the ownership of gentile Christian religionists?  We will deal with this issue in future installments—I don’t think you want to read 200 pages of scholarly “stuff” here.  I sure wouldn’t want to!  But, if you are interested in going down this rabbit hole, I republished it in a reader-friendly print format (2000) and as a 2012 eBook version, both available on Amazon: 

Wasserman, Jeffrey S.  Messianic Jewish Congregations:  Who Sold this Business to the Gentiles?  Lanham, MD:  Univ. Press of America, 2000.   

 

 

112 — Treading Water Can Be Pleasant . . . for a While (1987-91)

     So, what was working?  Quite a bit.  We were enjoying living simply as a family without a particular agenda.  We didn’t have to justify our reasons for being in Louisville, nor did we feel the stressors of being “religious” or in “ministry.”  We didn’t have to labor under a sense of being different or engaging in anything special—we were just a family.  That was special enough for now.  

We regularly crossed the bridge over the Ohio to visit Indiana without visas, checkpoints or inspections.  We could just be ourselves and enjoy unrestricted normality with neither apology nor self-assertion, free from pressures or expectations.  Our apartment was comfortable in a tree-shaded setting.  We had friends and family nearby.  

Our time in Rhodesia/Zimbabwe had allowed us to test out “truths,” discarding the dysfunctional and retaining heartfelt convictions which worked for us as a family.  We had learned a lot about ourselves and the world around us. We were not living based on the assumptions, theories, dogmas or doctrines of others.  We were expressing our own tested convictions and experiences.

We set aside the desire for social fulfillment—being on the “same page” with others.  Instead, we focused on our small family.  And that was enough for a while without worrying ourselves with finding others who thought/lived the way we did.  We spent our time and energy thinking and enjoying being Pegi, Abi and Jeff.

I occupied myself with my nascent life insurance business.  No, it wasn’t as meaningful as introducing people to God, but if I couldn’t be in ministry, I could do the next best thing—help  people invest in the financial welfare of their families if disaster should strike.  And, if no disaster struck, those investments would be a “wealth transfer” to those for whom they cared.  I could provide for my family by helping others to provide for their families.  That sounded pretty meaningful to me!   

So, we dived right into the waters of secular life, buoyed by our inner convictions.  I would later struggle to stay afloat due to the weight of helping others while helping myself.  In addition, I became concerned that the corporate goals of the insurance companies were pulling me under the surface.  These competing elements began to be more difficult to balance each day.  I was conscious that they were gnawing on my internal sense of integrity.  As I struggled through all of this, I became aware of the need for some social connection that went beyond the familial and mundane.  We were in the Louisville pool and treading water.  Just treading our own water on her own was pleasant for a while.  But look!  There are some others enjoying the cool water.  Maybe we could find some swimming partners with whom we shared similar ideas about the nature and meaning of life?

We no longer seemed connected to most of the evangelical community that we had encountered over the years in Louisville.  We were still friends with the Benningers from the “Meeting at the YMCA” [62—Sparks in Our Ministry and 63—The Brothers in Responsibility], but we no longer were comfortable in that congregation.  By summer of 1989, we began to think about finding others who shared similar spiritual motivations and interests with whom to bond.  I couldn’t get enthusiastic about mainstream “Churchianity” based on my 1969 Jesus Freak roots [6—Jewish LSD Freak Meets Jesus Freak].  My early 20s in Houston [20—Houston, We Have a Problem], where I had met Pegi, left me little patience or tolerance for your typical local church.  I was an independent thinker—more interested in relationship with God than theology or religious praxis.  We had experienced the bankruptcy of the charismatic evangelical lifestyle, but we loved the contemporary worship of charismatic congregations. However, we found the charismatic “magic shows” disturbing and the strength of most charismatics’ convictions to be wanting.  Nevertheless, we still needed to at least try to find some sort of God-centered social pool in which we could swim.  

I found the structures of synthesized religions or philosophies unwieldy and discomforting.  In  trying to see myself as a counter-cultural hippie, I never felt whole.  As a Jesus Freak—I was a freak, but something was off.  As an evangelical Christian, there was just too much I found  disturbing.  

But, I yearned for friendship with others.  There must be some way of connecting to others without compromising ourselves!  We tried visiting some of the congregations in the area.  It took a few years, but after many trials and errors, we found a new “community church” that had recently formed.  Most of the 100+ members were in their 30s with small children—just like us.  Our world of experience was very different than theirs, but somehow we felt a promising inclination to connect with them. 

It was no surprise that we weren’t exactly on the same page as they were—actually we weren’t  really reading the same Bible.  Christians see the Hebrew Bible (Tanakh) through the lens of the New Testament.  I found the stories in the Gospels about Jesus, who was a first century Jew, interesting and even inspiring.  However, I was never comfortable with the New Testament theology that tried to rewrite the history of God’s covenantal relationships.  Viewing the biblical history of God’s interaction with humankind through the lens of the New Testament—getting the cart before the horse—resulted in a strange rewrite that turned Jesus from an interesting Jewish character first into a messiah, then a human sacrifice, and finally into God!  Nope, I never could honestly affirm the deity of Christ or the even more bizarre concept of a triune God.  At best, I understood Jesus to have taken some of the basic elements of 1st century Jewish life and made it accessible to marginalized Jews struggling to more fully engage.  It seemed to me that the approach of early Jewish Jesus followers had been rebranded and augmented to help non-Jews get started on the path toward covenantal relationship with the God of Israel. If their intention had been to augment Judaism as an invitation for gentiles to walk the path that the children of Israel had followed for thousands of years, then, in my mind, we could walk together.  I had not yet fully realized that the Christian New Testament did not augment the Abrahamic and Mosaic covenants.  It claimed these covenants as its own and sought to marginalize the Jewish people with Christian ascendancy and superiority through their new covenant.  As I mentioned, I only came to realize this gradually during the decade from 1989-99.   

At this time, my bottom line was that Jewish teaching through the vehicle of the life of Jesus had been successful in helping some of the weak and marginalized of Jewish society get “on the road again” to quote Willie Nelson.  For the gentiles who had been led astray by a multitude of false gods, the story of Jesus was a signpost pointing to the road that led to experience with the one true God.

At the time, I didn’t really understand all of this. It seemed, however, that we could walk together for this part of the journey.  Maybe we could inspire and encourage one another to keep moving forward.  They thought of themselves only as Christians, but seemed interested in crafting a contemporary approach to a God-filled life that was culturally relevant.  We were strangers in a strange land again, but their young pastor was friendly and invited us to be involved in and even lead congregational worship in music.  That was right up our alley!

The response to our music was very positive, but I sensed an undercurrent of concern about us by some. We knew that there were uncomfortable elements of their faith perspective that we  couldn’t share.  After all, they were new to walking the path to God and as Jews, we had been on this journey for four millennia.  We encountered some suspicion of our Jewishness from more doctrinaire Christians.  There were protestations of “love” for the Jewish people as the progenitors of the faith Christians claimed.  But, of course,  Jews had rejected Jesus as messiah.  This made us potential troublemakers who needed to be watched closely.  We might start asking troubling questions or challenging the authority of their some of their deeply held convictions.  This new community of Christians was dabbling in a modern rock ’n roll format and we had experience with that style of worship. We heard the rumblings of some complaining about contemporary music styles that had its origins in “dangerous” charismatic Christian sources.   And, now a couple of Jews were leading that music.  Play some dark and ominous music here!

Nevertheless, we felt assured that this was a positive step in continuing our journey, but what was our destination?  Life was good, but where were we headed?

In the summer of 1991, my mother passed away after a decades’ long battle with emphysema and lung cancer as a life-long smoker.  Her passing led me to wonder about our future.  Where were we going?  It was time to gather myself and relaunch ourselves forward on the journey.

Over the years,  I had cobbled together my own perspective, learning enough Hebrew and Greek to read the Tanakh and the New Testament in the original languages.  I studied ancient near eastern history and archaeology to understand the context of the biblical stories.  I investigated the works of Jewish and non-Jewish scholars.  I field-tested my learning each step along the way, first in Houston, then in Rhodesia/Zimbabwe. I was constantly investigating and experimenting to incorporate what worked for us.  More importantly, I had continued to read the Bible every day.  I read it for myself to see what it said to me.  

But, I needed to have more tools in my tool belt and I needed to develop greater skill in employing them.  I investigated institutions of higher learning in biblical studies.  Indiana University had a solid graduate program, but Bloomington was several hours from Louisville.  University of Louisville didn’t have a program in religious studies.  However, there was a Christian seminary close to my home that had a highly regarded graduate program in biblical studies.  My childhood rabbi had been a visiting professor, teaching introductory biblical Hebrew.  That was a reassuring connection for me and I decided to attend lectures during the evenings.  

I had once again been promoted and was now VP for Kentucky with my own office of established insurance agents, allowing me to back away from personal sales.  Rather than taking up a hobby like golf, I would go back to the formal education that I had left in 1969.  From September of 1991 to December of 1997, I finished my B.A. in religious studies, M.Div. in theology and Ph.D. in world religions.

My doctoral dissertation examined the emergence 20th century churches that were composed of Jews who followed Jesus.  Ostensibly, they claimed that that they were the modern equivalent of the 1st century early Christians.  I harbored hope that such a community might be a pool for us to swim in.  As I dove into these waters, I would soon realize that this was not my path.  It was a short swim.  I will narrate what I discovered and why I climbed out and toweled off in the coming chapters.

 

111 — Teaching Myself to Swim (Fall 1987)

   
     Starting all over again can be daunting.  My first experience with starting life all over again was when when I was in 4th grade.  My mom remarried.  I woke up one morning in the Wasserman home with my mother, maternal grandmother and my dog, “Happy.” That evening I went to sleep in a new home with my mother and Happy, her new husband, his three children and their dog, “Skippy.”  One day I was a fourth grader with my friends from the neighborhood.  The next day I was the “new student” at a school on the other side of Louisville.  I was a stranger to everything except my dog, Happy, and my mother who was no longer Mrs. Wasserman.  She was now Mrs. Loeb.  It was a new house, new school, new neighborhood = start my life over again!

Of course, I had to start all over again when I left home for University of Wisconsin in 1967.  Then I started all over again after I got out of the Navy and ended up in Houston (1970). Of course, Pegi and I married in 1976 and we relocated to Rhodesia.  In 1979, the two of us started again back in Houston, followed by Wisconsin and Louisville in 1981.  1983 had us back in Zimbabwe (formerly Rhodesia).  In 1987, we were once again in Louisville — this time with the addition of Abigail.  

Sheesh—that is a lot of restarting!  I have found that rather than just accepting whatever comes along or relying on the assurances of others that things will work out, I have to try things out for myself, finding the “Jeff way” to live.  

For instance, when I was three, my parents took me to Miami Beach.  My dad had been in the Navy and my mother was a lifelong swimmer, so it seemed that the hotel pool would be the appropriate place for little Jeff to swim for the first time.  With my mother all oiled up with sunscreen and sitting under a cabana, my father walked me to the edge of the pool where a lifeguard was already waiting in the water to introduce me to the swimming experience.  The lifeguard extended his hands gesturing for me to jump, I hesitated and looked around to my dad.  He smiled and picked me up in his arms only to toss me into the pool!  I kerplopped into the water a few feet short of the waiting lifeguard [Airball!].  I went under the surface, but came up dog-paddling my way into his arms.  My mother, dripping suntan lotion, came racing to the edge of the pool in a panic.  I was giggling and happily paddling my way back to the side.  I was only three, but to this day, I remember the malicious glare that she gave my father!  No surprise here that they would be divorced in another three years!

I had gone down thrashing, but came up swimming. I would soon discover my love of swimming and all things water related.  But, rather than just getting tossed in or climbing to a peak and jumping in, I found it best to get my feet wet first and then ease my way in.  I approached the whole water experience at my own pace and ended up as a strong swimmer and waterskier.  By the time I was 11, I was slaloming behind my dad’s 21-foot cabin cruiser,  jumping huge waves created by coal barges as they traveled the Ohio river near Louisville.  

It was just my father and me on one afternoon when a Navy destroyer was heading down the river to be put into storage.  We regularly saw retired Navy vessels joining the “mothballed” fleet near downtown Louisville.  These produced h-u-g-e waves even larger than the barges.  I couldn’t ride those on my skis, and they could easily swamp a small boat like ours.  So, I was caught off guard when my father headed straight toward this destroyer!  As I held on to the tow line, he went full speed.  I began to struggle staying on my single slalom ski and tried shouting and waving with one free hand.  He couldn’t hear me over the roar of his Chris Craft 95 hp inboard engine or the thrum of the diesel engines from the looming destroyer.  It was as if he had forgotten all about me.  All I could do was to let go of the tow rope and stick my bright orange ski in the air to wait for another boater to pick me up.  The Ohio is one-mile wide at this point and I had dropped off in the middle of the river to avoid being sucked by the wake of the destroyer.

Although I should have been worried, I just floated happily in the river, feeling like I was in control of the situation, waiting for someone to pick me up.  I told you I was really comfortable in water!  Just as my father had dumped me on my own at the pool in Miami, he had dumped me again short of insuring my safety.  I was only out there on my own for a few minutes before my father came back to pick me up.  And, I came up smiling in the midst of the waves.  I had taught myself how to handle the situation and was undisturbed by the incident.  

My father said he was sorry.  It turned out that this destroyer was the sister-ship to the one that he had served on during WWII.  He got lost in his own little world and forgot about me . . . for a few minutes.  He said, “Let’s not tell your mother about this!”  I said, “That’s fine.  Let’s get back to skiing!”  I was having fun and I don’t think that my mother ever heard about this.  

My mother had been so focused on her new little world as Mrs. Loeb, that she frequently seemed to toss me into into situations too.  I think she had learned that I would find my own way—teaching myself to swim.  I was okay with that.  In fact, I preferred it that way myself.

So, why am I telling this story here?  I prefer to learn for myself at my own speed.  I don’t just accept the assertions or instructions of others as to how to live.  It isn’t that I can’t learn from others.  I am constantly learning from others.  However, I am the one who has to live my life.  So, I like to get my feet wet first.  Before I commit to something in life, I like to try it out—to see how it works for me or if it works at all!  

This has been my approach to what people call “religion.”  I have a Ph.D. in study of world religions, but I am not really comfortable with the word, religion.  I don’t even think there is an adequate definition of religion.  It is similar to “beauty.”  Every eye beholds it differently.  Maybe, I will write about this in a later post, but since religion is the conventional language people use when describing consciousness and connection to the universe, we will employ it at this point in the narrative.  You really don’t want to hear my 3-hour lecture on this that I gave to every class I taught from 1999-2023!

But, my approach to religion has been to listen to and observe how others live out their lives in light of their connection to the universe and then get my feet wet one foot at a time, trying things for myself.  I did this as a teenager observing my mother’s secular/Reform Jewish and my father’s traditional/Orthodox Jewish families and communities.  I continued trying out the Hippie culture of the 60s for myself while living in a Jewish college fraternity.  I continued this in my twenties with evangelical Christianity when the Jewish world I had been exposed to didn’t seem to work for my parents, me or anyone else I knew.  [The only exception was my father’s older brother, Herman.  I wouldn’t realize his importance in my life until I reached age 70, so when I get finished writing about the next five decades, we will discuss him.]

So why did I wander away from my Jewishness and into Christianity?  Because the accumulated traditions of 4000 years of Jewish life were too turbulent for me.  The waves of Jewish tradition kept me struggling to keep my head above the water.  My exposure to the bits and pieces of Jewish life I experienced didn’t coalesce into something that could buoy me and allow me to propel my way forward.  I couldn’t see the purpose, value or meaning of Judaism for myself. And, oscillating between my mother’s secular and fathers traditional approach, I couldn’t make it work for me.  

At University of Wisconsin, I began trying out Christianity for myself.  It was a new experience for me and I could see each individual element of it as I explored it.  My early understanding of it seemed to contain most foundational elements of the Jewish tradition.   It was then augmented with the some simple universal concepts that were better connected to my  current understanding of the world.  After all, the Christian tradition was half the age of Jewish tradition. My early understanding of Christianity was about the life of Jesus as a Jew with his Jewish disciples, so I was really only focused on the 1st century—not the rest of its 2000 year history.  It seemed to work at first, but by 1987, I had enough experience with it to understand its weaknesses.  It too, did not work as advertised—at least for me!  The following chapters will detail how I gradually swam my way out of the waters of Christianity and began to dip my toes in Judaism as a more fully formed adult.  

My dad’s boat became mine when I was in my mid-teens.  He had named it the “King of Diamonds” since he was in the jewelry business.

I renamed it “Plein d’eau” - Full of Water.  It had a habit of starting to sink each launch season!