Introduction

I was taking the trash out yesterday when I realized something-- my life is a contradiction. I know, big revelation for the walk to the alley, but I was holding a large amount of empty bottles from the weekend, an empty Nordstrom shopping bag, a dead bouquet of lilies, and a Pizza Hut Box. Somewhat of an indication of the rest of my apartment, among other things.
You see there was a fire in our building about three months ago, the beginning of Winter Quarter. Long story short, there was arson involved, two completely scorched apartments, and a lot of smoke damage. No one was hurt. Following the fire, the plagues came, not exactly as they had in Egypt but similar enough, prompting everyone to move out of the building. Everyone, that is, except my roommate and I. Last night when the blackout hit High Street, though, we looked at each other in awe-- my roommate is the first-born in her family, while I, thankfully, am the youngest.
So here we are in this condemned building, stepping over bums to get inside, making the daily treks through smoke-stained halls, to get to our relatively untouched "nice Jewish" (as friends say) decorated apartment.
As I was reminded last night, contradiction is something I grew up with.
"We used to have a Chanuka bush in my house," my roommate remembered, "it was pretty much a Christmas tree with a star of David on top."
Although my family wasn't quite so obvious, we were kind of like the bush. My mom was raised by a Jewish mother and a Catholic father. My dad, on the other hand-- some form (says how religious we are) of protestant. They chose to raise my sisters and me agnostic, but in a largely reformed Jewish area in Columbus, the kind of place where "Jew" is more of a cultural thing, a status symbol, an indicator of good bagel shops and lawyers. Until High School, I thought religion was as simple as going to Hebrew School and having a huge Bat Mitzvah party; I had no idea that an ongoing war and disputed territory were part of this singing and dancing (and lavish gift-giving) tradition. When I started to actually listen at the seders, though, I realized the discussion went much deeper than my little world had revealed. I heard talk of Zionism and zealotry, but not having the basic groundwork to understand it all, I asked for more haroset and kept my mouth shut.
Now as a college Junior separated from my childhood bubble, I have built some groundwork and been slightly exposed to the other side of the Israeli-Palestinian debate. Interestingly, I find myself pulled toward Judaism, not in an immediate, finding religion, sort of way, but in a comforting one. Of course, I'm not sure if my cultural ties signify deeper religious ones as well; in this class, I'm looking to find out. Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it's just part of my bigger contradiction.