I woke up on January 1st to an unusually large number of text messages, the cleverest being, “Welcome to the roaring ’20s!” But three Jewish people had just been shot and killed less than 30 minutes from my house. Five more had been stabbed an hour away at a Hanukkah party. The progressive and prosperous era of the 1920s had never felt so far away.
My church search was rough. I didn’t want to limit my faith. I wanted to be where the Bible was the center of the teaching, the people believed in a God who loved and cared for them. And I did not want to lose my Jewish identity.