Last e-mail sent Saturday night. Still no response.
I'm starting to think of other options. I figure I'll give this rabbi a few more weeks to get his act together before I look elsewhere. And by elsewhere, I mean the only other rabbi in the area who actually lives in Tulsa and commutes in to perform services, etc., in Bentonville. Yikes.
Ryan, of course, recognizes how hard this is all on me. And reminds me he'll marry me any shape, size and religion. My mom has reminded me I can convert any time. And, I agree, I don't need to set a deadline. But then I worry that I'll regret not having a traditional Jewish wedding if I don't convert.
But maybe the rabbi will pull through when it matters most? I'm trying not to get my hopes up.
Right now, as a young girl in a new city searching...for something, I remininsce about the pastor who came to our Topeka apartment, armed with a basket of chocolate chip cookies and a smile. We had been attending the Methodist church in Topeka for a few weeks, and the pastor came to our home, a welcoming gesture. I don't know if my mother remembers that. But it's stuck with me, how your faith family can be so important.
It's impossible for me not to compare that with the cold feeling I get here. When we moved here, Ryan e-mailed the synagogue president. He got a quick welcome e-mail in reply. Shortly thereafter we got a membership form in the mail, asking us to pay our dues and join.
As a young girl in a new city searching...it struck me. And not in a good way. Where were the cookies? The welcome wagon? Anything? True, it's a small Jewish commmunity. And with smallness, generally comes less organization. I guess I feel forgotten, abandoned.
This is a precarious part of my life and I want to feel welcomed.
So I've decided it's now on my shoulders to make myself feel welcomed. Swallow my pride and find ways to get involved even if my schedule makes that difficult.
I'll try to stop whining and start doing. Even if that, admittedly, isn't in my nature.