A Rose By Any Other Name

I asked my husband to help our kids pick my Hebrew Name. I wasn't even sure I'd be getting one. When Rabbi B asked about it I told her that I wanted whatever Madonna's was. Wow, even her eyes make a noise when they roll in her head at one of my comments. I'm sure she's worried about my seriousness about the conversion.

That's because whenever she asks a question in front of other people I answer back with a smart-ass/trying to be funny comment. That's because I don't really like talking to a lot of people about my more serious thoughts. And my religious thoughts are serious. Mostly because I seriously don't know most of the answers to most of the questions. And I am fine with that, but I'm not sure if other people are. And I get all hung up on trying to have the "right answers" rather than always giving my honest ones.

Here's some of my honest answers about the topic of my Hebrew Name. I want my kids to pick my Hebrew Name because they have given me my religious identity. In most situations religion trickles down from parent to child. In my family we have done the trickle up thing. They are who they are and I have become what they are. I love that. I love that they have created me in some ways just like I created them in some ways. And that's how it goes. We create and then we let go. So, they have slowly but surely (Shirley?) created my life to identify with Jewish(-ish) traditions and culture and foods and games and stories and characters and now it is almost time for them to let go and see where I go with it.

I don't have to let go of my past either. My past is still all around us. We live in the Southwest and Catholic symbols are on lots of street corners. We just ran into drag queens dressed like nuns last night. And if that doesn't remind me of the mother that did create me first, than what would? I will always be attracted to anyone in a habit because of my own mother, but considering that when she was a nun she did look just like my brother I can't help be even more drawn to men dressed like nuns.

When my mom picked my name she took no consideration for my ethnic background. Or she did, but only of my caucasian side. I have the most "white bread with peanut butter and jelly" name possible. I always wished she had picked a name with more flair...more vibrance...definitely with more spice. Something that reflected my Latina heritage. Something that would define me better than my very pale skin always would. But instead of Consuela Conchita, my own first choice, I have forever been Karen Ann. And I like Karen Ann, but it is so Early 70's-light haired/light skinned girl with knee-hi socks and a mini-dress. And sure, I was that, but I was also a dark hair-dark eyed spicy chica raging to get out.

As far as I can tell the name Karen means "pure" and Ann means "grace." And Consuela is "consolation" and Conchita means "conception." So, if my family picks a name for me from my mom's choice it will be something that means "pure grace" in Hebrew. And if they go by my name choice it will mean "sorry I got you knocked up" in Hebrew.

I meet with Rabbi B this weekend to discuss my true feelings about converting and my Hebrew name. We'll see what happens after that meeting.

Signing Off,

Sorry I Got You Knocked Up (Just trying out how that one feels)