L'Chaim

Each time Adam deploys, he leaves me with words of optimism and support, and one simple request: to take care of his Chai for him. Chai (pronounced "hkhiy") is a Hebrew word that loosely translates to "life", and with its simple sawhorse structure, it is often worn as a pendant by Jews.

With this most recent deployment, I have once again donned the Chai around my neck. This time, however, it seems to draw more attention than ever before. Bryony, for one, seems to remember that it belongs to her daddy, because she'll often point to it with a knowing look and say, "Mama? Daddy's necklace?"

At a rummage sale a few months ago, I ran into a woman whom I'd met at a party a few weeks earlier. As we re-introduced ourselves, her eyes travelled down my neck and she smiled, saying, "Hey, I really like your Chai. Are you Jewish?" All at once, I remembered that I was wearing it. It was such an unnerving feeling to wear something that allows people to have knowledge about you and your life. I immediately blabbered out, "Oh, no, my husband is...but he's serving in the Middle East...and thought maybe he should leave it here with me..." She smiled nicely and nodded, and I felt a bit idiotic.

Two weeks ago, on my birthday, Bryony and I were walking in the parking garage to our car after an evening of music at the Great Lakes Folk Festival. Suddenly, a young man in full dress Marine uniform appeared out of nowhere. I guess I'm sensitive to all things military these days, so without thinking, I blurted out, "Marines!" He stopped and smiled and nodded. I thanked him for his service and explained that my husband is currently serving overseas with the Army. He nodded, and then abruptly asked me if I attended Temple Beth Such-and-such in town. My first reaction was to cringe. Another religious recruiter! Ugh! I lowered my eyes vaguely and said no, hoping not to be invited to a religious function and then having to politely decline. Then he surprised me. "Oh, I saw your Chai and wondered if you attend temple around here." I laughed. "Oh, my husband's Jewish. I'm just taking care of this for him while he's deployed!" The guy laughed and nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that might be best," he added. As soon as I got home, Bryony and I brought up Skype on the computer and told Adam this story. He laughed, partly because I was mistaken for a Jew but mostly because some guy was running around a parking garage in full dress Marine uniform.

Today I was relaying the story to my friend while we pushed our daughters in strollers through the local farmers' market. Seconds after I finished telling her the story, I ran into a woman from the community I've met on a handful of occasions. We had barely exchanged pleasantries before she said, "Hey, you've got on a Chai!" I just about fell over, looking at my friend for confirmation on the coincidence. I turned to the woman and exclaimed, "I was just telling my friend about someone else who recently commented on the Chai! It's so strange!" The woman laughed and said, "That's just because there are only like, fourteen Jews in this city, so we're always excited to meet a new one!" I laughed but countered her, saying that I felt like I've gotten to know several Jews in Lansing. She shifted her eyes sideways and giggled before coming back with, "Okay, so maybe there are forty of us!" At the same time, we both said, "And I/you know them all!" (which, of course, is not at all true, but was funny to think about anyway.

I guess these moments mean so much to me because yet again a piece of my husband has stayed with me during his absence. While I am agnostic/aetheist when it comes to religion, I really value the cultural aspects of Judaism. Adam and I usually observe the High Holy Days with celebratory foods, fasting, and festivities. Honoring his traditions (even though I don't believe in the religious doctrine surrounding it) is a way to feel closer to him, and to pay respect to a part of who he is. I get to do that now, even in his absence, and it's so refreshing and rewarding that his community--the Jewish community--is recognizing that I carry that piece of him with me.

To Adam. to community. To life, family and love. L'Chaim.