Tag Archives: Hebrew Priest

Hillbilly to Hebrew

I recall during the early years of grade school, a teacher had asked us to find out about our ancestry. So, I went to my best resource, Mom.

I asked “what are we Mom?”

Well, she must have been in fine humor that day because she answered me “hillbilly”.

And that’s what I reported back to the class.

I’m really glad that I don’t recall the reaction, as I’m certain that teacher was moved to either shock or laughter!

Seriously!

I thought Hillbilly was my label for a long while.

It did make sense, somewhat.

The family reunions for Mom’s side were happy, musical affairs, always including acoustic guitars, tambourines, banjos and mandolins. Bluegrass was always the theme, and quite a few of the relatives could play and sing.

There’s a small town (population 200 or so) that several of the relatives call home, so when we all assembled to enjoy each other’s company, moving from house to house – mostly barefoot – it seemed like it was “our town”.

They’re fabulous memories to have: My hillbilly memories.

For the record, it turns out I’m mostly German/English.

Whatever that means.

You see, I’ve transitioned.

I don’t want to be thought of as hillbilly

or German

or English.

I have a preference now, and no – it’s really not Hippy either, hehehe.

Because I’ve taken the label of Hebrew – in fact, it was a label that was given me by my Priest.

Accepted; willingly, eagerly, and with great respect for the serious implications that it requires.

You see, I have agreed to keep the law of Torah as best I can in a world that is not conducive to Torah.

It’s sobering.

It’s complicated, yet breathtakingly simple.

If only all things were so simple!

The Disconnected Life of a Common Man

Religion is one of those subjects best left off the table.

You keep to your beliefs and I’ll keep to mine and we’ll get along just fine, yes indeed.
But years go by…

Beliefs evolve and mature, as an aging soul takes stock. The outcome: a realization that time is slipping ever so quickly past and that what there is left is all there is.

Time to make the best of what I’ve got.

I find that I no longer care to get along. Haven’t, in fact, cared for almost two decades. But I’m polite, sociable, so I’ve kept my mouth shut for the most part. Carried my beliefs in my innermost being and trudged along like everything was just fine on the exterior.

I’m saddened, you see.

I’m bereft and disconnected.

My people, my community, is not to be found.

I’m a functional silo, like the others who believe as I do, with our only support system one that is as tenuous as the continued strength of the electrical grid and the satellite system.

Our “community” is who we are – individuals pocketed and scattered hither and thither, singular souls taking stance in a world of difference and indifference.

It creates a sorrow like no other, an ache for what has been lost since before the first Israelite temple was built, before the first king was chosen:

The community of the Hebrews, comprised of twelve tribes and the Levites, all ruled by the Priests. The Aaronic priests, who were the sole recipients, the sole keepers, the sole instructors for God’s words. A community whose rules included full acceptance of strangers, like me, who stumbled across and took as oath the wholehearted beauty of a system entirely dependent upon the Rule of God.

Mesmerizing in its perfect simplicity, it has created a longing, a desire for a thing that I don’t believe I will ever live to see.

There.

That’s the reason for the sorrow, the ache.

Detachment.

Unfulfilled dreams.

Dreams dependent on people who are blind to their roles.

My role is to be a common man, the role of the twelve tribes and the stranger – no gender bias, just simplicity – and to fulfill my daily role of living a life commanded by God through Torah, relayed by the Priests, sons of Aaron.

I’ll keep my role. I’ll not waver from it.

But damn, it’s lonely out here.