Berishit: My Jewish Journey Begins

Tonight is May 22, 2007: Shavuot. A fitting beginning to launch the story of my Jewish journey. Unlike many other stories, this one starts not at the beginning, but somewhere in between. You'll know later why this is the way it must be...You wouldn't otherwise believe me.

Sitting in my tiny office, at work, in front of the Catholic priest. Head in hands, eyes to the floor. Tears endlessly pooling up and pouring down on the tiles like tiny raindrops. The priest motionless. Mute. How does a Catholic priest answer the question, "Where is my loved one now?" How, indeed, after hearing about the sudden death of someone who lived a life "outside the lines." Outside of the traditional, New Testament standards.

"Where, Father? Where," I cried. "I need to know!" Still...no answer. His eyes welled up with tears as well. A look on his face as if to say, "I have but one answer, yet cannot speak it." We both sat crying together for a seemingly endless amount of time. No words would quell my pain. My heart exploding; my body ceaselessly aching; the tears - endless.

Where would I find the answer that would anesthetize the pain? How could I know for sure that my sister's demise was not a result of my failing? Where was the magical man who walked on water now? Where was the man who could raise the dead? No footprints in the sand. No miraculous, weeping virgins. Nothing. No one. I was alone...so alone.