“You can’t put a round peg in a square peg.” And, I wanted to be square peg.
I remember it well. I was in my mid-20s. I was 25 to be exact. My mother had gone to a Cajun Festival hosted by First Baptist Church in Houston; the big church on the busy freeway. My mother, who now deceased, converted from Judaism to Christianity at age 60-plus. I was still Jewish. I was born Jewish. I have the dual citizenship and I was not about to give that up and I never thought much about Jesus, only God.
My upbringing is untraditional. My father was hard-core Southern Baptist. Hell-fire and damnation, Bible thumbing, shouting to the rafters Baptist. My mother was reared the same way but in her mid-30s she changed, just before she had me. My long black wavy haired mother was born Baptist; reared Baptist and attended Baptist church, up until Billy Graham and a radio program. Reverend Graham, according to my mother who I have no reason to doubt, said Jesus was not Jewish. That sent my mother into a fireball hizzy fit of researching and reading. Jesus was Jewish and I am sure she said she wrote Rev. Graham about that. Either way, the rest is history as they say. She converted to Judaism before my birth, thus making Jewish by birth right.
I remember the smell of the synagogues, if we could find one. They always smelled of breads. In the military, US Air Force, Judaism was a not well-publicized religion. If you were Jewish, you did not tell a sole. I remember at times meeting off base in a basement or someone’s home. In Panama Canal Zone, in the 1960s, we were able to attend Synagogue. In the same decade, we attended the Festival of Lights in Biloxi/Gulfport Ms. It was an amazing and wonderful time for me. In Panama Canal Zone, we received our Hebrew names, mine was Rebecca. I also received a small necklace with the 10 Commandments inside. I recently found our papers – neatly typed as if yesterday – for my family.
I drifted in and out of Synagogue, then church, and then just away. My mother, unbeknownst to me had started attending First Baptist in Houston. For several months after her conversion from Judaism to Christianity, my mother would talk to me about attending church. Yes I said, when I meant no. Finally, I had no choice but to make her happy and attend a Christian Rock Concert. New Song, that’s the name of the group, was playing. The auditorium was filled to the brim with young singles with a few older mature adults in the crowd.
Soon, the lights were dimmed, then brought back up to full crescendo. The crowd jumped to their feet – young and old alike began cheering, then chanting, New Song, New Song. Then a deep voice said “To God Be The Glory.” Louder cheers, yelling and crying. I sat and looked around in amazement. I wondered what gave so many people so much joy and then more to myself than anyone in particular lowly muttered, “this is nuts.” A few sets and prayers later, I was moving to the rhythm in my seat. Tapping my toes, clapping my hands.
Suddenly it hit me. Like a lightning bolt struck and sent tingling through my head to my hands, arms, toes – I jumped up and tears streamed down my face. I sank to my knees just as quickly as I jumped up and began to pray – aloud, I didn’t care who heard me. The song playing was “You can’t fit a round peg into a square peg, no.” I used to listen to it all the time. It was my cherished cassette. It is long gone and I can’t find the song, but it is a song that resonant in my heart. Thank you Jesus for loving me. Thank you God for sending your son to save me. Thank you for my trials and triumphs. To you goes the glory, Amen.