by Larry Farmer
“So back to your original question, then. About how would we raise our kids.”
“My take, you mean?”
Her sarcastic expression answered that.
“Jewish,” I replied.
“Judaism is so male oriented!”
“All but the orthodox have female rabbis now, and men sit with women in services. The family all sits together.”
“What kind of Jew are you? Not orthodox, then?”
“Conservative.”
“It’s still so male oriented,” she complained. “I’m thinking more along the lines of Asherah, which archaeological studies show, by the way, used to have a place in ancient Israel as a consort of Yahweh. Until driven out by later priests and scribes.”
“She’s pagan.”
“She’s female,” Lois countered. “All the modern religions drove the female goddesses out long ago. Asherah was once worshipped by Jews. I’d be more open to Judaism if the Jews hadn’t driven the likes of her out.”
“How do you know this stuff? About Jews worshipping Asherah and what happened to that worship.”
“I study things. And I want something in my life besides male domination. I’m not against men. Men are good people. The one I chose to spend the rest of my life with, in particular. My problem is that society became so male dominated, beginning thousands of years ago, that the momentum created some pretty unpleasant circumstances I’ve inherited. Power corrupts, as they say, and a lot of men are damn corrupt. I want to breathe a bit and not look like a radical for it.”
“Good points,” I acknowledged as I studied her. “To answer about Judaism. Asherah was pagan. That was Elijah’s problem with her. He drove out Baal, too. The ancient Hebrews also had, at one time, child sacrifice, at least with some groups. Apparently there was some child sacrifice still going on even at the time of King David in 1000 BC. Even in the Tanakh, or Old Testament, there’s all this conflict between strains of paganism and the Hebrew faith. Judaism takes in elements after they’ve been time tested. God is jealous for a reason. Not to be subject to every whim. We don’t stone to death people who violate the Sabbath anymore. Even in the time of Jesus that was happening. People are naturally resistant to change. If we need a heart transplant to save our life, our metabolism still rejects that new heart. For good reason. It might be diseased or dangerous, even if you will die without the new one. So we have to work it out with our immune system, trick it, in order to get a healthy heart in our body to save our own life. So God allows growth, but not whim. The pagan worship of the Canaanites included child sacrifice. Other things too that we now take for granted we don’t have. The religion of my ancient tribe, Judah, separated from pagans for a reason. We worked out our covenant with God for a reason. No offense to Asherah, but it wasn’t because she was female. It was because she was pagan.”
“God is male. I love you, I have no problems with males or maleness. But I don’t want to be dominated. Dominant maleness didn’t work out.”
“God is not male,” I countered. “In the original Hebrew word, the one we can’t repeat or we profane it, God was not male. God was a verb. Action.”
“You’re telling me there aren’t all these masculine concepts in the Jewish God?”
“There are,” I affirmed. “But there are no neuter endings for our nouns in Hebrew. Or in the evolved noun concepts of our God. We have only masculine or feminine. The little skull cap men wear in religious gatherings is feminine. It ends in a-h. It’s receptive, like the female, so it’s feminine even though worn by a male. Many words to denote God are indeed masculine, but it doesn’t mean the Jewish God is male.”
I could tell she wasn’t convinced.
“Adam, the word for man,” I explained further, “was derived from Adamah which is feminine and stands for earth. Sort of like ‘Mother Earth,’ if you want. And from God’s interaction with Mother Earth, as stated in Genesis, came man. In the Biblical account, in other words, it took cosmic male and female to create humans.”
That explanation seemed to help. She seemed more relaxed now.
“The original name for Eve,” I continued, “is Khavah. Again, that a-h ending. So, sure, Eve is a woman. Female. But that’s not the significance. Khavah means life. Life is of feminine origin to the Jew. This tie between the male masculine noun God concept of the ancient Hebrew and the female goddess Asherah that you mentioned, well, the tie was there, but we don’t need a pagan goddess for that. We got rid of the pagan, but the female concept is still there. The Hebrew word for God’s presence is Shekinah. The Shekinah is almost spooky, in a sense, in that the Shekinah was sent to earth to walk among us. And there’s the a-h ending again. Meaning Jews see God’s presence as female. The word for wisdom is Hokhmah. The Hebrew Bible is called the Torah, which stands for law. The written law is called Mishnah. Almost everything sacred to the Jewish religion is female, in other words. It’s as if this covenant between God and His people is a marriage of his maleness to the Jewish feminine sacred. And we were the first to give rights to women and to make sure they were honored and protected. You can find some things that don’t seem so, but this masculinization of religions going on back then that you brought up—the ancient Hebrews put a lid on it. They were way ahead of their day. And women are more and more a prominent part of Judaism in modern society. All this to the Jew has ancient roots. It’s part of our DNA.”
“You’re scoring some points, Mississippi, but I’m not really looking for a goddess to worship. Just not a male one, either. So it’s nice to see some balance in Judaism. And I understand about Hebrew having masculine and feminine for its nouns. But what I’m really looking for is balance. I don’t think the feminine is more important, but I do have trouble with an unbalanced world. My favorite name for deity is ‘the Great Mystery,’ which is of Native American origin. If everyone used that name, how could people be prejudiced, fight, kill, or discriminate?”
“I appreciate that,” I replied. “I feel much the same way about balance. I don’t mean exactly like you. You’re not Jewish, for one thing. But an appeal in Judaism to me is the great mystery mindset you mention. We’re famous for our laws. Over six hundred laws. But most of those deal with Temple rituals. The Temple is over. There has to be some structure in our lives or there is chaos. But without seeking, without innovation, we’re these pointy-headed legalists that Christians already think Jews are. Jews have been innovative for millennia. But even in the origins of Judaism each book of the Torah used to be written on a scroll. No vowels, no spaces between words. God’s word in the Torah was one word. The priests used to place one end of the scroll against the other to form that one word. No beginning, no end. You couldn’t just memorize. You had to seek meaning. There were so many ways you could interpret each passage, as it was presented to us as one word. So that we would search for the meaning. Jews are still searching. Judaism is more about questions than answers.”
“I’m not convinced, but I’ll convert. I like what I see in you. Maybe this aspect of you really does have something to do with you being a Jew. We’ll raise our kids to be Jewish. Don’t let this go to your head. I trust you as a person. I just don’t want to be dominated in a man’s world or by a man’s religion. I’m open to becoming a Jew and raising our family in harmony as such. And we’ll live in Mississippi, too. You don’t owe me except to work things out with me and to worry about my happiness and well being.”
“Just like that?” I asked, amazed.
“How do I convert?”
“It takes at least two years. And in the process, the rabbi rejects you at least three times. You have to know you want to be a Jew. Not just because of the religion, but because it’s a tough row to hoe. You have to know what you’re getting yourself into. You might say part of the covenant with our God is still one of tests. To strengthen us, to sharpen us with questions, and to chasten us. A lot of elements in the world are still aiding God in this, you might say.”
“We’ll have to wait for when we get mar
ried and settled to do it, then,” she said. “It gives me time to check it out. But I’m open to the idea.”
I almost fell out of my chair. It was as if this was really going to happen. Nothing in my life now but the future. I was ready.
To our delight, an anonymous philanthropist got Lois and myself a room in the Manila Hotel in Malate. It was luxury we had forgotten existed. After such tragedy in Lois’ village, this was a welcomed respite. Nothing now to do but get married.
****
“And now,” the embassy official said, “with authority granted under the laws that govern the United States and its territories, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Before we kissed, however, we turned to each other face to face as we had planned. We placed our hands on one another’s shoulders and looked each other in the eyes. That finished me off. My insides were quivering throughout the whole ceremony as I thought back to our first conversation in San Diego and on to this moment we were sharing now. I barely squeaked out the “I do” when my time came. Now I had a vow to get out, and I didn’t have anything left.
I wore the most pathetic, pleading look for mercy as I saw Lois ready to speak our vow in unison with me. The confusion on her face kept it from happening, however. Her expression seemed to ask if I was backing out. I hoped she would figure out we were already married and that I couldn’t back out now anyway. My expression begged for help from my struggle. My eyes turned red. Another clue, Lois, please, I begged inside.
A look of compassion appeared on her face, and she reached up to stroke my cheek affectionately. The tears exploded after that, and I wanted to crawl away in shame. I rolled my eyes upward, hoping the tears would be trapped. That didn’t work, so I turned away to look beyond the chaplain who had married us. I even gagged, trying to breathe a couple of times. Miraculously, I regained my composure, but I still couldn’t look at her, knowing the tears and panic would return. I looked beyond her and began to breathe slowly in and out.
Finally, I was ready. I hoped. I looked at her again and saw her smile of pride. She returned her hand to my shoulder and patiently nodded as if asking if I was ready. I nodded back that I was.
She nodded again as if it was a cue. Now. We would say the vow now.
“I will be the one,” we said in unison. I could feel the tears returning, but I managed my composure.
Our guests applauded, which embarrassed me even more.
“You may kiss the bride,” the chaplain repeated paternally.
And I did. I kissed Lois for the first time as my wife.
“Congratulations,” Lois’ mother said as she hurried over to hug first her daughter and then her son-in-law, me.
“Congratulations,” Lois’ father said.
My parents hugged us in welcome.
“Congrats, you two,” Margaret, Jennifer, and Rhonda said, smiling at us while they hugged us.
“Congratulations,” the embassy and Peace Corps staff said.
Margaret looked Lois in the eye, grinning. “Are you Mrs. Mississippi now?” She snickered wickedly.
“Where should we go for your reception?” Rhonda asked.
“Let’s just walk until we find a restaurant that appeals,” I replied. “They have a lot of choices in Malate. It’s a tourist area.”
“It’s so appropriate, you two getting married in the Philippines,” Jennifer noted.
“You’re right, Jenn,” Margaret said. “The Philippines got you two married, and it fits that you physically tied the knot here.”
“God brought you two together,” Rhonda came in. “I never believed in fate until I saw you two.”
“That’s the truth,” Jennifer seconded.
“Isn’t it, though?” Margaret said. “Right from the get-go. Right off the bat, in staging in San Diego. Can you believe? Everyone watched these two take to each other and never look back.”
The two moms listened shyly but proudly to the story of how their children defined the fate that had filled the last year of their lives in a country they never, until now, had ever thought about before. Finally, the two mothers’ eyes met, and they shared their joy together as in-laws for the first time.
“Let’s find that restaurant and talk,” Margaret suggested. “Instead of standing around in a makeshift wedding room in the U.S. embassy, God forbid.”
My mom shook her head as she studied Margaret.
“My word,” she said, “y’all have the strongest accents. I never heard anything like it except on TV or something.”
“We’ve got accents?” The girls howled. “You sure don’t sound Jewish to us.”
“How are you going to raise your kids?” Lois’ mom asked nervously at the reminder just now of her in-laws being Jewish.
“Let’s talk about this somewhere else,” Lois suggested, stalling.
“That’s right,” Margaret stated impatiently. “I’ve been trying to get us to a restaurant for five minutes now. Come on. This time we’re really going to find a place nearby. We have so much to share.”
“Let’s go,” Rhonda insisted. “We’re still standing around. We’ll talk while we eat. I swear, we’re never going to get out of here.”
“That’s right,” Jennifer scolded. “Let’s start walking out the door right now. We’ve got to get the guests of honor on their honeymoon.”
“Get real,” Margaret howled. “They’ve been on their honeymoon for the past year.”
There was dead silence as everyone looked in embarrassment at the mothers of the newlyweds at this suggestion by Margaret.
“Get us out of here, Margaret,” Rhonda said as she pushed her forward.
“I’m so sorry.” Margaret apologized. She looked back sheepishly toward the parents, who stood awkwardly silent now. “I’ve got such a big mouth. Nothing happened, I swear to God. They’re still virgins, I swear.”
There was a lot to tell our parents. Lois and I rehearsed it on the way as we walked down the block to the first restaurant we found.
“I’m converting to Judaism, Mom and Dad,” Lois began solemnly as she sipped at her steaming cup of coffee in the restaurant they found.
“That’s lovely, my dear,” my mother said cautiously and approvingly while looking at Lois. “But there probably aren’t many Jews in the Philippines. I doubt there’s a rabbi.”
“We’re going to Jackson, Mother,” I explained. “There’s a small congregation, and that’s where Lois will start the process of her conversion. We’ll wait until then, until after we leave Peace Corps.”
“What will you do in Jackson, Lois?” her mother asked in a serious voice. I wondered how much of this Lois’ parents could take. They probably felt colonized by now. “I thought you had been accepted at Berkeley Law School.”
“I’m going to Ole Miss now, Mother. It’s in Oxford, near Jackson. I was going to tell you, but there was so much other going on.”
“You’re going to Ole Miss, you say?” her mother asked with a pained expression. “I didn’t know the State of Mississippi had a law school. What will you do with a law degree from Ole Miss?”
I looked at my parents to see their reaction to this slander. Their expression was one of sympathy. Lois’ parents needed lots of sympathy right now, and I was grateful to my parents for their patience. They could feel insulted another day.
Lois’ mother glanced toward her father. “That means our grandchildren will be Jewish, then,” she said casually, forcing a smile.
“And Rebels,” Lois’ dad said with a chuckle. He then looked at his daughter warmly. “We wish you the best, Lois. We know you’re doing what’s best for you.”
“Of course we wish you the best,” Lois’ mother seconded. “I’m sure you put a lot of thought into all this. There were many things to consider, and you had time to do so. We love you, sweetheart.” She looked at me and smiled. “We wish you both the best.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
Before the conversation was over, Lois and I liste
ned in amazement as Margaret related to our parents how it was she who had stood up to the corrupt officials in their provincial capital in Mindanao, during the epidemic, over the issue of the confiscated powdered milk. Lois chuckled as she praised Margaret’s heroics, which added to the story, rubbing my leg appeasingly as she did so.
Chapter 16
Lois and I spent a week with our parents before they went back to America. I hoped my parents, as well as myself, had overcome the stigma of being both Southerners and Jews in the eyes of Lois’ parents. But the biggest test was whether my parents could come to grips with having a Yankee as a daughter-in-law. The fact that she chose to become a Jew, and to live in Mississippi, too, helped compensate. It was a week needed for getting to know one another, for sure.
After two days in Manila, we rented a car and drove to Baguio, in the mountains north of Manila and Olongopo. Olongopo was the harbor where Subic Bay Naval Base lay. Almost a mile high, the cool crisp air of Baguio refreshed us all. Lois’ parents, in particular, were struggling with the constant smoggy heat in the stale atmosphere of Manila. They saw no wondrous tropical beach, only remnants of Manila Bay. But with the heat so oppressive and the mountain provinces of Luzon so near, we chose the exotic landscape and cool, crisp air over tropical ocean paradise. Even with Baguio near the ocean, we ignored the lowlands completely.
Baguio had an American flavor to it. It was a favorite retreat for the former American colonial officials and was still accessed by U.S. Navy personnel from Subic, embassy staff from Manila, and airmen from nearby Clark Air Force Base. Camp John Hay in Baguio was run for these Americans.
What I wanted to see, however, were the rice terraces in the adjacent province, where native tribesmen still lived. Modernization had made an imprint on this tribal area, but for the sake of the tourist dollar the locals still dressed in traditional aboriginal-style clothing and lived simply in their small wooden structures. Their clothes were colorful and exposed a lot of skin. The two-thousand-year-old terraces themselves were much advanced over the SALT terraces that the Mt. Carmel missionaries had so far accomplished. From the mountain’s top to near its base, huge steps, each five to ten yards wide, were carved into the mountainous terrain and used as rice paddies, or perhaps for vegetables. Some compared it to a wonder of the world.
