I stood at the edge of the northernmost point of Mission Peninsula, a finger reaching out into Lake Michigan. The day was bright and a cool breeze tossed refreshed the moment and the small waves at the shoreline beckoned me to get my feet wet. The distant laughter and chatter of tourists at the lighthouse made me realize that the world spins and life goes on even when one person’s day has just gone all wrong and human aberrations still dominate religion. The breeze moved the trees and the water and the sky in it’s iridescent blue framed the day. But I knew something was wrong. After all this was Yom Kippur and my husband and I had just left the local synagogue group to find a place to relax for a couple of hours and decide if we would return or if we would write off the whole mess. We still were shaking inwardly at the thought that the rabbi and his “partner” were homosexuals. And this rabbi (though I feel he does not deserve the title) had invited his “father in law,” an Anglican minister to give the sermon on the holiest day of the year. A day when congregants seek forgiveness of sin and assurance of a good new year. What absurdity! And all the preparation of the month before in examining our souls for repentance and cleansing on this great day, now seemed about as important as the laughing crowd down the beach. A willow tree swung its weeping branches across my vision and I realized that the Creator might just express things better in nature than in these hunks of twisted humanity that fit nowhere and yet assume the position of a pulpit to lead G-d’s people!
The black sand got all over my shoes but I didn’t care. I stood there wishing I could plunge beneath the gentle waves and cleanse my soul, and in a way it was a better service than the one we just left. Let nature speak to me, for what do the lies of mankind matter? Dressed in white and wishing for something that would help us enjoy the day, we felt nauseous after what we had gone through in the morning. We had said nothing about our thoughts to anyone at the synagogue. We actually did not realize the significance of the scene before us until after the sermon, when the minister remarked in his parting words. “Yes, G-d sees things differently than we do! My son married a rabbi, who wanted a hog roast for his wedding reception!” And that is when we knew. As we walked out of the foyer one of the chatty older women asked us how we liked it. We asked her if the rabbi was really a homosexual, and she replied; “oh yes, and isn’t he wonderful?” and I wanted to vomit and to scream. But we quietly left to drive up to the beach and get away from it all. Driving is something we do not usually do on Holy Days, yet at this moment, it was a better choice of mitzvah. And now we were at the beach, but the light and meaningless chatter behind us reminded us that we share a world with the careless and that even there, we would not find the needed consolation.