Internal Catalyst Cartwheels

On my way to boot camp this morning,I watched the waning creamsicle moon sink at sunrise. The clouds dressed in magenta fire halted my breath. I felt lucky to be alive and kicking as I skipped across the pavement. It's a Monday. I had a hard time falling asleep last night. Who, after sleeping only 5 hours, skips at 7 am on a Monday?
Maybe it's the person who decided in the middle of the night to look at her own interpersonal wars. Maybe it's the inner child who saw two peregrine falcons catching thermal winds this morning, just because. Maybe it's the woman who decided to notice and hug closely any life-affirming, joyous images, happenings and interactions as a contradiction to the desecration to human life and dignity that spirals like a tornado around the globe.
I realized in the wee hours between night and dawn that I have contributed to feeling excluded, unwanted, foreign, unaccepted. Adamantly sustaining the need to feel badly, I have searched, found, plucked and gathered thorny bouquets of uninformed stereotypes, scathing words and actions and held them to my breast, all the while crying for all to stop the bloody trails landscaping across my body. I understand that Jews, immigrants and queers like me have had our share of fear, disappointment, ousting and rejection, to say the least. However, I am so familiar with those feelings that they often loom larger than kindness, generosity and graciousness. I hold those daggers so tightly and dearly that I ignore and discount the outstretched hands and heart offerings from imperfect folks.
On this past visit to my partner's Midwestern home, I was feeling isolated, a Jew in a sea of Gentiles. Maybe I was the only dark, curly-haired being for miles. And yes, the clerks thought I said Holiday Bread, when I asked for Challah bread. And yes, my mother-in-love does have four photos of my partner and her ex-husband on the walls and only one of our current family. But, every night my non-Jewish family lit up like a Chanukkiah when the candles cast warmth on their faces. Presents were given indiscriminately of faith, belief or legal relation. And cards offering love, inclusion and heart-felt acceptance were signed by Baptist born-again Christians wholeheartedly to me and to the child I brought into this family.
I do have a choice. I can focus on the things that keep us separate in order to continue the "us" vs. "them" that I condemn in the Middle East or I can take responsibility and shift the finger-pointing paradigm, extend the rest of my fingers out and offer my hand to hold. For today, for the long-term survival of my people, I choose to see acceptance.