Just When I Thought I Was Out, They Pull Me Back In!

Dearest Obnoxious Orchid,

We are all undoubtedly the products of where we come from. You acknowledge the influence your family and immigrant background has had on your path, both past and present. And I most certainly did not escape my roots. Mine is not a literary family, by any means, save for my mother’s parents, whom I never really knew, except through stories. And my immigrant status comes with a refugee asterisk, courtesy of religious persecution in the former Soviet Union.

We’re not deeply observant, not even close, but we are very into “Tradition” (cue Fiddler on the Roof - Original London Cast Recording, thank you). So we gather for the holidays, eating the same foods my great-grandmother served at her dinner table, and discuss the gory details of what the day means and how it should be commemorated, toasting to being able to do all this in the open, without fear.

The Setup

By the time you get this, it’ll be a few days after Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. Arriving 10 days after Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, Yom Kippur is a final chance to make good with God and be sealed into the Book of Life for the year to come. The 10 days between holidays are a time of asking others to forgive you for any wrongs you’ve committed the past year - no pressure, but this decides your fate.

It’s been nearly a decade since I’ve truly participated - I don’t fast, I don’t go to synagogue, and I do not repent. But I do gather with my family after the holiday for the customary fast-breaking meal, because Tradition. This year is no different, in that I ate and stayed home. Yet this year, and in 2020, I felt a tug. Like last year, I listened to some familiar prayers on YouTube, and I even broke out the book of Psalms, in Hebrew. Did it start out as seeking comfort less than a year into the pandemic and turn into its own tiny tradition? Am I, a longtime non-believer, hoping that there’s a power greater than us that can throw us a line in this challenging time? Or, is it that despite my distaste for the day, I have something I need to be forgiven for?

The Twist

What it comes down to is - I am not a nice person. Now, I masquerade well. I appear kind and considerate, a lot of the time. And I consistently ponder what a nice person would do in many situations. But it’s a deep effort and not natural. It’s a calculated approach because I live in society, and I believe we should treat one another kindly. I just don’t have a kindness to me, more of a tough love, get-your-shit-together-ness.

I am the anti-nurturer. I get short when it counts. I only soften when I know I’ve hurt you. I am great when there’s a physical injury that needs tending (as long as it’s not my own), or an emergency that requires me to drop everything and respond. But if there’s nothing to do but be there, and listen, and provide no further action? That is not within my reach.

As for a silver lining - it’s the people who surround me, who love me despite my prickly demeanor, my pointy barbs and demanding affect. You’re my silver lining, darling, and I am lucky that it has so little to do with my shortcomings. It’s not only your students who gained strength and confidence because you were in their lives - I did, too.

So thank you, as always, for being my opposite, and therefore my complement.

Love, sass, and all that jazz.

-Austere Aster

P.S. What is something you thought you had let go of in your life, only to find it has returned to you? Did you welcome it back?

[Currently listening to: Only Murders in the Building Soundtrack]