wanting somewhere to belong

Passover was an interesting experience. I spent the first days with an ultra-modern family and the last days with a black-hat yeshivish one. For the first days, I was the one in dull-colored clothing among brightly dressed women who all sang loudly and beautifully at the table. The last days were the reverse where I fretted over the way my neckline fell and whether or not it was okay to wear a purple skirt. I participated in the singing by clapping my hands and encouraging the men while they sang. We didn't sing ourselves until late at night when we walked along the deserted streets to our beds and, even then, we sang softly and kept an eye out for any men who might be within earshot.

Sometimes I feel like I don't belong anywhere.

On one hand, it was wonderful to be with so many different people. I went from families that eat grebroks (where people mix matza and water to make various dishes) to non-grebroks households to the family who didn't use any prepared foods during Passover (making their own mayo, berry water and lemonade). I had a lot of fascinating discussions about different customs and the line between custom and law.

I had conversations with people from Lakewood, California and Cleveland, from Virginia and Baltimore. I sat in a shul where men and women could clearly see each other through the glass-topped mehitza. I sat in another where we were seated in the back behind a wooden screen, and the black-hatted men in front were standing room only.

It was the kind of variety I live for, but it also didn't give me any solid place to put my feet.

Then I went to a class for women only where we were told that the Torah says that a woman's path to happiness is through being married. I wasn't the only older single who cringed at that, although the rest of the talk was enjoyable.

Today I went to a class my Rabbi was giving and got to listen to him repeatedly translate "tamei" as "contaminated" even though, in practically the same sentence, he said that "tamei" wasn't dirty, bad or wrong and you could get that way even through performing a mitzvah. I don't want to think of myself as being "contaminated" at times because I am a woman. Not ever. And I don't believe that the Torah says that "tamei" means "contaminated". Why couldn't he just say that it was a bad translation, the way a lot of other people do?

On the way home, I cried from frustration and alienation. My rabbi is a kiruv rabbi, not a modern rabbi. I know that. I know I don't have to agree with everything he says.

I've spent my whole life trying to find the path I believe is right. Not the one everyone else is taking. Certainly not the "easy" path.

But, sometimes, I wish I didn't feel so alone.