Most Jews who find their way back to Judaism travel a long, hard journey to reach the truth. But for me, who came to Judaism from a place so very far away, the journey was not only spiritual but physical, as I wandered the globe desperately searching for meaning.
I grew up in a middle-class Church of England family in a tiny town in the heart of the Yorkshirewoolen district a region renowned for the contrast of its sooty gray mills and vivid green hills. Our town was so small and we were so surrounded by hills that whichever direction we took we could be sure of reaching open countryside within five minutes.
The garden of our house backed onto the canal behind which was the railway line then the river and then the woods. I spent most of my free time playing in the woods where there were wonderful natural swings and jumps and enticing trees to climb. My greatest pleasure was to take my bike down to “my secret place”— an enchanting little copse in the woods with a fresh cold stream rippling through it. It seemed to me that no one else in the world knew of this place; I never saw anyone else there and although I would sometimes bring a trusted friend most of the time I would go on my own a magical haven just for me.
From my secret place it was a short skip to the main woods and then a good walk up a steep hill until you suddenly burst out of the trees into a wide-open plateau with a view of the entire valley church spires and mill chimneys combining together in a landscape uniquely Yorkshire. There were many farms in the area some of which hired out horses so I learned to ride. Many times I would take a horse out alone and go galloping across the fields jumping the hedges and riding fast until I was shouting for pure joy. In this gloriously natural way I grew up a child of the fields and forests.
But as I grew older my innocent joy turned to bitter cynicism as I saw the seemingly pointless suffering in the world. My future seemed equally pointless. And so I fled from the comfortable middle-class career path that had been mapped out for me — university career 2.2 kids and an annual holiday. At 15 I was living in a sordid studio apartment in a dirty northern seaside town surviving on welfare and hanging out in amusement arcades. By 18 I was bored with hanging out and started studying philosophy in university. At 22 with a master’s degree I was engaged to a soon-to-be accountant living in a respectable apartment in a respectable neighborhood ofManchester with a respectable managerial position.
Create a free account to keep reading.
