Tales from the Shoebox.

Before nap a few days ago, Boogermonkey and I were talking about g-d.  We’ve been attending Saturday morning family services at a local synagogue since we moved to Portland, and one of the songs we sing includes a part where the Rabbi asks each child in turn where g-d is.  Answers have included “in the song,” “in Mommy,” and “in my shoes.”  All correct in context, since the whole point of the lesson is that g-d is everywhere.  So Booger is naming places where g-d is today and the exchange went something like this:

Him: G-d is in the flowers?
Me: Yes.
G-d is in the dirt?
Yes.
G-d is in the cheeks?
Yes.
G-d is in the chin?
Yes.
G-d is in the forehead?
Yes.
G-d is in the penis?
::slight pause as I reflect on my child’s genius::Yes.

So I’m not officially Jewish, and I haven’t really talked to people about what’s going on with this, but this is kind of my way of announcing to the four people who still read my blog that I’ve started the (long and winding) process of conversion.  Step 1: find a shul.  Step 1a: like the shul.  Step 1b: get involved at the shul.  At least, that’s how I’m looking at it.  In there is also “take a crash course in Hebrew reading,” “start devouring online resources about living a Jewish life,” and “stop feeling like I’m crashing the party every time we go to Shabbos morning services.”  Officially, I have to take the Oregon Board of Rabbis Intro to Judaism class before the rabbi in charge of conversion at this shul will take me on as a student, but I have to wait until the spring to do that, because it costs money that I don’t have right now, so for now I’m just getting as involved as I can, and feeling really good about the whole thing, once my crippling fear of rejection is sufficiently shoved down.