Easter and Passover are on their way. Different holidays celebrating different things but since they’re at the same time each year, we kind of lump them together. I always liked the idea of Judaism. They have great food and great music. ‘Fiddler on The Roof’ is one of my favorite musicals. There’s celebratory dancing and chairs being raised. How fun is that? They have lots of holidays too. My Jewish friends always got to miss school for one holiday or another. The best was my friends who had one Jewish parent and one Christian parent. They got ALL the holidays off! I was deeply envious of that as a child.

Last year I was invited to a Yom Kippur dinner on a Thursday night. Scratch that. It was Thursday at sunset. Very specific. That’s rather magical, isn’t it? The event would start when the sun went down. And there I would be – hello shiksa! I was the lone non-Jew at the event except for Annie who’s married to David and took a class, but never actually converted. I think she’s Jewish by default. ‘Jew-ish’, as a friend of mine might say.

I am Catholic by birth but probably far too spiritual and liberal and artsy-fartsy to be considered a ‘good’ Catholic by many. But who cares? I think you figure out how religion and the universe can work for you by the time you’re in your 30’s or so. You stop feeling guilty all the time and start trying to live a good life and not be too selfish. Jewish guilt, Catholic guilt, they’re really the same – doing things for fear of the wrath of God being unleashed upon you. Or not. Who knows? We don’t.

I sometimes wonder if we going to have a big AHA moment when we die where everything will be made clear to us? Aha! So, God is an old guy with a long white beard. Or a woman with long white braids. Or maybe a Buddha with a rounded belly? Or possibly just nothing but stars and light? I always like to think of heaven as a great big cocktail party, F. Scott Fitzgerald style, with beautiful people in beautiful clothing drinking martinis and listening to wonderful music into eternity. How divine! I wonder, right?

Don’t you just want a little glimpse so you can let the others know – “Yeah, heaven really IS all that! But don’t steal or hurt or kill because the OTHER place is total hell.” And I hope there IS a hell. I do. Reserved for the horribles of the world who’ve done atrocious things on our earth – to women, children, animals, any life! I don’t care. It’s wrong and I don’t want them at my cocktail party. Fuck ‘em. Let them go straight to hell.

But now, here’s a question: What about the whole suicide thing? That’s a mortal sin in Catholicism, meaning that you don’t get the heaven card. But hold on. What about those good people who threw themselves off the World Trade Center on September 11, when it became clear they were not going to be saved from the blazing inferno? Straight to hell? Or not? Or the sad, sad people of the world who couldn’t face another morning on this earth? Straight to hell?

I think not. No. I can’t accept that. For whatever reason, I don’t think God would have rigid rules like that. My God is a sympathetic God, a compassionate God. A God who wants you to do your best and tosses you a bone every now and then if you’ve done good. A God who listens and cares. A God who understands and knows that this human experience is often terribly dark and difficult. Maybe not a God who delivers all your wishes tied up in a blue Tiffany Box but a kind God, nonetheless.

So, Yom Kippur. I was getting excited asking my Jewish friend if everyone was going to be discussing their thoughts about atonement and regret for different things in the past year. If there would be some sort of prayer for a better future for us all, in the hope that we can be better people in the days to come? Would it be like Thanksgiving at my house where everyone goes around saying what they’re thankful for?

His answer? “No. They don’t talk about any of that.” He mused that everyone would probably talk about the food – it’s pretty good stuff – nice after a long fast. And we would enjoy a good glass of wine, and everyone’s company. Yom Kippur is one of those big holidays where you visit relatives you don’t normally see. But my friend explained, there would not be so much talk. It figures the shiksa would want to talk.

Even without the talk, I was excited to go. For the evening, I was an honorary Jew. And in the end, it was lovely. I was thrilled to be included in the festivities and made to feel a part of the group. It was a celebration of life, and I’m all for that.

Shana Tovah! Happy Passover! Happy Easter!