Where did you get your faith?

One of my patients and I were talking about faith today. He was born Catholic but no longer practices. He had told our nurse that he believed in God and would be happy to have me visit. He's not much for talking - he told me that and told me that his voice was wearing out from talking with me (and there really wasn't that much talking.) Then he asked, "Where did you get your faith?"

Wow. I needed to think about that one. Where did I get my faith? I got it in part from my parents who joined a synagogue and sent me to religious school. I got it in part because I looked around at how the world works and knew there must have been something (someone) who created it. That was about as much as I could come up with during the visit. We talked a bit more - about people whose faith teaches them that there will be a reward after this world, about my belief that what's important is not whatever comes next but what we do here. He was tired, so I asked if we could talk about this more at our next visit. He agreed.

Before I could write a visit note or even begin to process the visit, my phone rang. I was needed somewhere else -- 50 + miles away.

I love driving. It gives me time to think, to ruminate, to dream. I've been known to miss a turn I know well because I'm mentally writing a sermon (or now a blog post) while I drive. So, with 50 + miles of highway I had plenty of time to think about where I got my faith. The more I thought, the more I think that my first answer -- my synagogue -- was more true than I realized. I don't remember a lot of details about what I learned in Sunday School, but I remember some formative experiences there. In sixth or seventh grade we studied comparative religion. At the end of the course, we had to write an evaluation. I wrote that we should have had teachers or guest speakers from the different faiths, because the teacher, Mr. H., "couldn't answer all my questions." Mr. H. wrote in reply, "God Himself couldn't answer all Chana's questions." It was in my synagogue and youth group that I learned I could ask as many questions as I wanted and that there were a lot of texts that spoke to my concerns. It was in my synagogue that I found a community, teachers, rabbis, mentors. It was through the synagogue that I went on to advanced Jewish learning and had pivotal experiences, including significant time spent in Israel.

Where did I get my faith? I got it from Jewish texts, from Jewish experiences, from friends, and from my rabbis. I get it through the work I do and the people I meet. And today I was reminded that in the work I do, I get so much more than I give.

kipah / yarmulke

I wear a kipah when I'm at work. Some days it's just part of my work wardrobe, like my name badge. Of course, I do like to match it to my clothing or the season. It's been awfully hot lately, so I've been wearing my summer "watermelon" kipah.Whenever I wear it, someone will do a double take and ask "Is that a watermelon?"

That's not the usual response. Usually, at least initially, people say either "Why do you wear that?" or "I didn't know women could wear one of those." To the "why" question I respond that I'm a rabbi (while in my head, I hear Kol B'Seder singing "The Kipah Song" - "Kipah, yarmulke, shows the world you're a Jew.") It may seem like a simplistic answer, but on days when a facility social worker or activity staff member chases me into the elevator or out of the building "Rabbi, can I talk with you a minute," the kipah as identification serves its purpose. They know who I am. They spot me by the brightly colored, crocheted head covering. Whether it's a question about one of my patients or, more typically, a request that I visit a Jewish patient who's not on hospice, or blow shofar, or supply holiday music or readings, the kipah assures that they notice me. "I've been hoping to catch you." "I'm so glad I saw you when you walked by." In the busy nursing home world, the sight of my kipah reminds them that they had a question for me.

The "I didn't know" or the "You must be Jewish" comments lead to theological discussions or educational opportunities. I never know where those discussions will go. The timing isn't always convenient and sometimes the topic doesn't lend itself to a quick answer, but the kipah gives me the chance to have conversations that would otherwise pass by.

There's another reason for the kipah. It reminds me that I'm a rabbi, that I represent the Jewish community - sometimes to people who have never spoken to a Jew. The kipah reminds me to be aware of what I say and what I do. While I certainly don't speak for the Jewish community, a person's encounter with me may form their impression of who a Jew is or what a Jew believes or how a Jew acts. The kipah is my reminder of the responsibility that comes with my title and the work I do.

And then there are the unexpected comments, the unplanned moments, the laughter that sometimes comes my way because of the kipah. But that's another post.