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Home Presentation for Yom Kippur Symposium 5766, October 13, 2005
Eight years ago, I spent the “high holidays” at Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. I attended services for Rosh Hashanah in a small synagogue there, but missed them for Yom Kippur that year. You see, after loosing my ability to walk, I'd just been diagnosed with a rare and painful bone disease. Interesting maybe, but “What does it have to do with "The Impact of Judaism on my Life?'” Actually, quite a lot! Although born to non-Jewish parents and raised in Christianity, I'd been living as a Jew for well over a decade.
As an adult, I attended church only for weddings, funerals or baby baptisms. Although alienated by the religion in which I was raised, I was fascinated with Judaism. While in college, I spent much of an entire semester researching the Holocaust for a seminar paper. The Nazi's inhuman and methodical destruction of six million Jews struck a nerve deep in my psyche in a way I could never fully understand or articulate.
Once Leslie and I became an “item,” my introduction to Judaism began in earnest. Her family, the Seligs and Zanars, embraced me without reservation. I enjoyed the large Passover Seders with them and their extended family of Seguin Jews. Even before we married, I started attending services with Leslie on the High Holy Days. As we grew closer, marriage and children became a topic for discussion. It was important to her that, if we had children, they be raised as Jews. I agreed.
Although Rabbi Stahl could not marry us (I was then a non-Jew), we still had a wedding in the Jewish tradition. My mentor, Judge Reavley, presided over the civil aspects, while Leslie's grandfather, Sol Zanar (an observant Orthodox Jew) pronounced the traditional Jewish blessing over our marriage. Our Ketubah (“Covenant of Marriage”) was read and has hung on the walls of our bedroom these past 20 years.
Though not Jewish, I became a member of Temple Beth-El. I religiously attended High Holy Day services, taking off work. Soon I began fasting on Yom Kippur. I became a member of the Outreach Committee and attended occasional Shabbat services. A regular at “Tot Shabbat” (along with Leslie and our children, Jordan and Emily), I was there for Rabbi Block's inauguration of the “World's Worst Puppet Show.” I attended Jewish weddings, funerals, bar and bat mitzvahs across the country for family members and friends of the Seligs and Zanars.
Although by no means the most observant in the congregation, we consistently maintained a Jewish home. Mezuzahs were always affixed to our doorways. We lit candles and recited blessings every year during Hanukkah. The Motzi was frequently said before special meals. And never, ever, did we have a Christmas tree.
I was hospitalized several times following my diagnosis at Mayo. Each time, an admission form asked: “religious preference”? I always left it blank; believing it was no one's business. But, while being admitted for an infusion in April 2000, I glanced at Leslie upon arriving at the now familiar question. Without much discussion, but fully appreciating the significance, I wrote “Jewish” for “religious preference.”
If something happened, no “priest” or “minister” would do; I wanted Rabbi Stahl or Rabbi Block. At that instant, I understood I was “Jewish.” I had slowly become, over time, by accretion or osmosis, a “de facto Jew” -- a “Jew” in fact - what you might call, a “common law Jew.”
After Mayo, I was prescribed a wheelchair. Somehow, I wrongly associated it with being in a nursing home. I was then only 46! Yet, I had become dependent, a cripple, and an invalid. The chair, in addition to being exhausting, was emasculating and humiliating. I was embarrassed by it. I hated the thing. Outside my family or closet friends, I wanted no one to see me in it. I began to use forearm crutches, with great difficulty to ambulate short distances. I became embarrassed and humiliated to be seen using them. An electric scooter was suggested. Yet, I felt the same about it. In my mind, a humiliating stigma attached to any mobility device. The benefit of my scooter was that I didn't become so exhausted. The flip-side, however, was that, with even less physical exertion, I gained more and more weight and my overall condition began a downward spiral.
I continued to withdraw from most social activities outside the context of work. I had retired from law practice and changed careers. At this point, I rarely attended services, even for the High Holy Days, and stopped attending Outreach and Budget Committee meetings. It was just too difficult and too painful to traverse the long distances and to stand with crutches during services. Mostly, I was simply too embarrassed and humiliated about being disabled.
I did not pursue conversion earlier because of inertia as much as anything else. After all, wasn't I living a Jewish life? Yet, I had endured pain, humiliation and indignities. I'd become introspective, less confident, and more humble -- my priorities changed. Longing for greater spirituality, I sought to possess a better understanding and sense of belonging to Judaism - my adoptive religion; I'd been practicing for the past 15 years.
Raising two children as Jews, I wanted to set a positive example. Jordan was nearing his bar mitzvah. And a year or so before, we were somewhat shocked to learn that Emily, then 9 years old, didn't understand I wasn't “really” Jewish.
All this coalesced to engender my desire to become a de jure Jew, a “legal” Jew. No longer was it enough to simply live as a de facto Jew. So, three years after my diagnosis, I enrolled in the “Introduction to Judaism” class here at Temple Beth-El. Though embarrassed and humiliated by my disability, I nonetheless scrupulously attended the required classes and services. By February 2001, I'd completed my formal conversion to Judaism.
But becoming a “Jew by Choice” is not the end of the story! While recovering from surgery later that year, I learned about a course here at Temple that would start in August and culminate with an adult b'nai mitzvah, sometime during the fall of 2002. Deep down, I yearned to participate. Yet, I was held back by embarrassment and humiliation about my disability.
Thanks to some prodding by Leslie and our dear friend, Joe Harris, I put aside my humiliation and embarked on an academic and spiritual journey like no other. In addition to forming close friendships and lasting bonds, I experienced several personal epiphanies during the approximately 14 months we prepared for our b'nai mitzvah.
The first occurred during our annual family ski trip to Lake Tahoe. I happened to see a young man (probably early 20s) in a wheelchair - he was pushing himself through the slush several miles from the casinos on the California side. Unlike me, he was fit and strong. Later, while eating lunch at Hard Rock Café in Harvey's, I saw him again. He nodded at me, rolled up to the bar, propelled himself out of his chair and up onto a stool to join some other young people. Wow!!! “He didn't look like he belonged in a nursing home.” I was struck by the epiphany: “A wheelchair doesn't equate to being in a nursing home; but I feared, if I didn't watch out, I'd soon end up there, or worse!” I privately vowed, then and there, to stop using my electric scooter, use only my wheelchair, and become fit.
My next revelation, happened during summer vacation, also in Lake Tahoe. Leslie and the kids were off to the tennis courts and invited me along. I frankly didn't feel like pushing myself over there just to watch them play tennis -- a sport I loved and enjoyed so much when I could walk and run. But, like so many times before and since, Leslie gently nudged. Once there, they asked if I'd like to try to hit some balls. I realized that, if the balls were hit close enough to my chair, I could return them. Wow!!! What a rush just from smacking a few tennis balls. The experience was exhilarating and liberating. An epiphany: Maybe I could play tennis in a wheelchair! Perhaps here was the means for rehabilitation.
Upon returning home from vacation, I discovered a wheelchair tennis clinic being offered by Warm Springs. Coming so soon after my tennis epiphany, I sensed divine guidance. I signed up without hesitation, knowing I'd have to miss some of the weekly sessions because they conflicted with classes and rehearsals for our b'nai mitzvah -- which was fast approaching.
Then a couple of days later, my Mom phoned with news I'd been dreading, but expecting; my Dad was in a coma, near death. Five months earlier, he'd been diagnosed with an aggressive, incurable cancer. I flew home to Denver once more -- arriving before he died. His funeral was in the Baptist church where my parents were members. I was terribly uncomfortable and awkward. Something was missing. The epiphany, although obvious, finally hit me: “I was Jewish! As a Jew, I needed to grieve as a Jew.” So on my return to San Antonio, Rabbi Block organized a minyan service for my father at our home.
Nearly two months later, participating with my classmates in our adult b'nai mitzvah service, I became a bar mitzvah. This was the first time, though not the last, I publicly read Torah in a worship service. As awesome as this was, Judaism's impact on me continued.
While watching Jordan play in a tennis tournament about three months later, a woman, seeing me in a wheelchair, asked, if I played tennis. Believing I would respond, by saying, “No” -- she was prepared to promote wheelchair tennis. I surprised her by replying, “Yes” -- and then recounted the recent Warm Springs' clinic. She introduced herself as Karen Mannheimer, none other than tennis director for the Barshop Jewish Community Center. As it turns out, not only had she conducted wheelchair tennis clinics before, Karen had even taught the sport to the country's now second ranked men's wheelchair tennis player. Wow!!! No mere chance coincidence or fortuitous event! Wheelchair tennis and Judaism converged right before my eyes! My internal “dialogue” voice was screaming: “Listen up, this is divine providence!”
Private tennis lessons with Karen at the “J” started the very next week. In time, I joined group clinics and practiced more and more -- by myself, with others, or on a ball machine. The JCC's tennis courts soon became my home away from home. By the end of 2003, I had lost over 40 pounds and gained enormous muscle mass in my upper body. I was stronger, healthier and happier. And to my amazement, I'd become pretty good at tennis, in a wheelchair.
One thing led to another - I'm now a volunteer tennis instructor at the JCC. In fact, I'm the only Jew on the tennis staff! Also, even before I began teaching at the “J”, I was approached about teaching wheelchair tennis to disabled young people and adults by Blaze Sports, which is operated by the U. S. Disabled Athletes Fund. Since September 2004, I've been teaching wheelchair tennis one night a week at McFarlin (right across the street) as a volunteer for Blaze Sports and San Antonio Parks and Recreation.
Many times over the past couple years, someone will tell me, something like, “You're such an inspiration!” or “It's amazing you spend so much time practicing and playing tennis!” Some even ask, “Why or how I do it?” It's not altruism or heroism. Although personal, the answer is simple. When on the courts in my tennis chair, a transformation occurs. I become liberated from a body that betrayed me. No longer frail, I am strong, fast, virile, athletic. And for whatever reason -- either because of mental distraction, the release of endorphins from exercise, or both -- I just don't hurt as much! The simple fact is: When playing tennis, I may be in a wheelchair, but I'm no longer disabled.
While my illness was the impetus to “formally” become a “Jew by Choice,” Judaism helped me appreciate that - even though I'm disabled and require this wheelchair -- I'm not an invalid. Indeed, the very disability that caused me to need a wheelchair facilitated the emergence of a new skill - my ability to play tennis in one. My Jewish belief in the importance of
tikkun olam (repairing the world) instills within me a desire to teach my new skill to others, similarly situated -- so they too might lead fulfilling lives.
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