Something to Build Upon

By Rachel Slaff
New York University

Thanksgiving, for most people, is about spending time with family and eating too much turkey. Though I, too, crave pumpkin pie as the end of November approaches, I will always associate Thanksgiving with my faith: a year ago, over Thanksgiving break, I asked my mom if she would help me to kasher my kitchen. I’d been eating "kosher-style" for months, but it wasn’t enough for me anymore; as the saying goes, I’d found that casually separating milk and meat had the taste of kosher food, but not the blessing. I wanted more. I yearned for a deeper connection to my people, to my beliefs, and to the practices that I hoped to continue with my own family someday.

Now, with each meal, I am able to achieve a moment of holiness. I find joy in connecting, not only to my past, but also to the future, with every carrot that I chop, every blessing that I recite, and every choice that I make. With each action that I take as a Jewish woman, as Elizabeth Ehrlich explained in Miriam’s Kitchen, "I can tie up my past, and transmit to my children something that, if not unbroken, is patched and coherent. They will receive the tradition. It is something to leave behind, perhaps…but also something on which to build."

As I approach my last semester of college, I find myself contemplating what it will mean for me to be Jewish in my own home, on my own terms, as an adult. What do I value? What will my traditions be? How will my family build upon the decisions I have made? In the process of wondering about the years to come, I have become an accidental environmentalist. I want my children (though they are mere sparks of my imagination now) to enjoy my mother’s kugel on Rosh Hashanah – and I want them to have clean waves to frolic in after they have cast breadcrumbs into the sea. I yearn to impart the teachings of my ancestors to future generations, so it is my responsibility to provide my children’s children with a healthy planet where they can love, learn and make their faith their own.

Just like the prayers and practices that I treasure, this world has been granted to me by my forebears. Just as it is each generation’s task to preserve our faith, it is up to my peers and me to continue to safeguard our planet. If we hope to convey our beliefs to our children, we must also strive to grant them a beautiful world to live in.

Alone, I cannot save the manatees or stop the glaciers from melting – but, thanks to the Jewish community at NYU, I know that being Jewish links me to something greater than myself. It is not through one person’s actions that our way of life has survived, but through the perseverance and power of the Jewish people as a whole. Likewise, it is not through one person’s thoughtlessness that Earth has become polluted: it is our duty, as a people and as a planet, to clean up our environment. Together, it is our responsibility to live green, just as we choose to live Jewishly.

I have been afforded every privilege in life, from having acres of nature to explore as a child, to practicing Judaism on my own terms as a young woman. I hope for that same freedom, that peace, for my family someday. So, for now, I do what I can to cherish my community and to care for my world, so that what I treasure today might be maintained for many more lifetimes. I recycle my notebooks at the end of each term; I shut down my computer when it’s not in use; I turn off the faucet while I brush my teeth. I murmur a prayer before I eat; I tackle old family recipes for apple cake and brisket; I join my friends in song at Shabbat services. I actively lead a Jewish life by searching for meaning in every moment. I dream of preserving my faith and my world, even as I make them my own.

Rachel Slaff is a senior at NYU, where she is majoring in journalism and history, with a minor in religious studies. Originally from South Jersey, she now lives in the East Village, although she also calls the Bronfman Center for Jewish Student Life at NYU home.

[Posted 1/15/10]