By Dr. Laura McGuire
When I was seven years old, I asked for a rather unusual gift—a menorah. Now, if I had been growing up in a Jewish household, this might not have seemed so out of place; but, as a second-grader who was raised between two Baptist and Catholic families—and attended a Methodist church—this was an odd request. Nevertheless, my mom took me to a craft store and we picked out a paint-it-yourself clay menorah with beautiful Stars of David all across it. I painted it gold and blue and was wildly proud of my creation. I brought it to class for show and tell that month.
“So are you Jewish?” my classmates asked. “I don’t think so,” I replied. “But I love Chanukah, and Jesus was Jewish, so I’m going to celebrate it.” Everyone already thought of me as rather eccentric, so this tracked, and no one pressed any further.
The truth was I didn’t know why I wanted to celebrate Chanukah. What was it inside of me that made this so important? Year after year, I would pull my menorah out, look up the days to light the candles, try to find information at the library on what to say (this was pre-Google), and make my own latkes. I did this every year, all by myself, and no one knew why.
As an expert on trauma-informed care, one area I am endlessly fascinated by is epigenetics. Deep in our DNA are memories, written into the blueprint of our being. These markers of recalling stressful experiences from your ancestors, and even genetic memory, are controversial but fascinating. Some theorize that we may even be able to recognize places, symbols, rituals, and words because of connections to ancestral experiences we cannot consciously remember.
Throughout my life, I would drive by synagogues and feel like I should stop in. When I was 20, I thought about signing up for an intro to Judaism class but feared the repercussions based on where I was in my life at that time. My mother had always had a deep connection to Jewish life too and would continually retell how much her experience with the interfaith exchange between the local Hebrew School and her Catechism class stayed with her. Still, this was a tradition that was, as far as I knew, not my own, so I treaded very lightly.
Fast forward to 2019 when I saw a job posting at a local Jewish school. I worked there for only a few months, but in that small span of time, I felt my soul awaken in me like never before. After just a few weeks teaching there, I decided to go to seminary, as I felt my calling to grow closer to God heightening like never before. On a cellular level, I felt at home.
This year, as I began my seminary journey, those feelings kept coming back. I started studying more about Jesus’s life and discovered many pieces that didn’t add up for me. I also began looking more into ancestral veneration and reconnection and came across an article on Italian Jewish ancestry and common surnames in that community. As I scanned those pages, almost all of my mother’s familial names stared back at me. This led me to do more in-depth DNA testing that specifically looked at different forms of Jewish ancestry and to work with a rabbi who specializes in the genealogy of those forced to convert during the inquisition. After much intensive research, going through previously unexplained family practices, and lining up the pieces of the puzzle, I found that I did, in fact, have a Jewish matrilineal line!
This experience reminded me so much of my coming out experiences. Throughout my life, I have had these breadcrumb moments of realization—childhood thoughts or responses to events that were seen as odd but made all the sense in the world when I finally discovered my queer identities. My favorite comedian, Cameron Esposito, says that figuring out you are gay is like the end of the movie Momento. All of a sudden, everything that has confused you all your life starts adding up and you feel so affirmed in who you have been all along.
I am abundantly blessed to be at a seminary that completely embraces me as I continue on my B’nei Anusim (children of the forced converts) returning journey. I am working in spaces where I can bring both my intertwining spiritual and gender/sexual identities to the table without reservation. To show up as the complex and evolving mosaic that I am and to be accepted is beyond words.
This holiday season, I will celebrate Chanukah, Yule, and Christmas with my interfaith friends and family. I will be present as the femme, non-binary, queer human that I am. God is a complex being, holding all the multitudes of humanity within them, both familiar and beyond comprehension. We are no different. May your queerness remind you of God’s spirit this holiday season, complete in its complexity.
