Rosebud Ben-Oni
In late 2021, I received a dream solicitation, one in which I did not know poets could receive. It was from a producer who asked me if I'd like to contribute some work for Paramount Networks for Jewish Heritage Month in May 2022. At that time I wasn't doing so well with my health, and I knew my words (and person) would appear on national television, on their numerous channels. And I thought, why not? You're on a book tour, after all, traveling when you're not one hundred percent anyway. They asked me for some ideas, and I gave them around 5 or 6. The one that really kicked things off was a piece I wrote called "My Judaism Is a Wild unplace." After the initial draft, which they knew would resonate with the Smithsonian Channel, my words (again, and person) would also appear to general audiences like Paramount Network itself and more the targeted audiences of MTV, Logo, Pop TV, VH1, Country Music Chanel, Comedy Central, TVLand, etc. My producer included notes like: It’s really beautiful. But also abstract. Remember that your audiences are very broad, mostly secular, mostly non-Jewish. They are not going to know words like “kaddish” “davening” and “aba.”
She was originally drawn to my poems in turn around, BRXGHT XYXS and If This Is the Age We End Discovery (the latter having just come out) especially those I'd written on string theory and science through the lens of growing up as a Jew of mixed heritage. My Mexican mother converted from Catholicism to Judaism before she married my Jewish father, who himself left a very observant family. I too was raised observant, but very much loved and deeply imbedded within the framework of my mother's family. She asked me to really open up in those multitudes, like I did in my poems, to not lose my lyricism, to tell a story that explained the line in my initial draft that she loved the most: Aba, what are we but our curiosity?
This actually compelled to rethink what life meant at the time: we were still living uncertainly in the COVID-19 era, and people, no matter from where they came, who they were, what they were doing, were more likely than not searching for something meaningful after so much loss and doubt. The curiosities that compel us forward in the worst of times and that contradictions we become in the best of them, the complexities that we must be, in order to honor and reveal that the future is and will always be there. That as a Jewish person before the pandemic, I thought I'd never find the right kind of shul in which my very wayward ideas about Judaism and Jewishness would fit into, but as my producer reminded me, it was always there, there in my writing.
Poetry is my shul, I'd utter for the first time in 2022, as a mixed Jew made up of so many things that never made a complete thing. And didn't have to. That's how the first draft became the last. And we were done. All I had to do was help you channel your curiosity, she'd said to me. Essentially what came about was work half lyrical essays and half prose poetry— and this is the one that remains my favorite because it was the way in. She and I had talks that went beyond this project, delving deep into literature, Judaism and resilience. I'm forever grateful for her and the many people who made this all happen, and that they were so kind and patient shooting me when I was so sick. They trusted me, and I trusted them, after surviving two very difficult years prior.
A friend asked later why I didn't wait until I'd recovered, when I looked and felt better; surely, they'd have understood and ask me back. I don't doubt that for one second. But I stood by my choice and said: I want to remember just where I was, when I first knew poetry was my shul, when I knew I was right where I need to be, in the wild unplace. Even in the worst of times. Especially in the worst of times. It was one of the most difficult things I've ever done, and I've had a lot of challenges. The experiences changed my life. I became a better listener for it, which is one of the best powers a writer can.
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"My Judaism is a Wild unplace" originally appeared on Paramount Networks for the month of May 2022 in celebration of Jewish Heritage Month.
< DRAFT 1 >
my judaism is a wild unplace
My Judaism is a Wild Unplace. Border roots and Kaddish. Gives a name for what I am lacking. Makes of me a wandering portal against all that is concrete. Shakes the guts and guardrail of my convictions, painfully moves me forward through every doubt and unsolved question. It is Aba calling, Light of My Eyes, more wrong toward right, davening a new night, and my replying, Aba, what are we but our curiosity? It is the weight that would make one a planet. It is Night calling, Here I Am and everywhere, I am tested. It is strangehorse toward the riding. My faith, yes, leaves me wanting all beyond threshold, propelling me toward constant discovery. It is wilderness from which the curious awaken, over and over, and with wild, hopeful eyes, spring forward.
< final version >
my judaism is a wild unplace
My Judaism is a Wild Unplace. It is an open-air house of prayer under the palm trees of the Rio Grande Valley. It is my mixed border roots that I carry within. It has taught me how to embrace two different cultures at the same time. It is my father calling, Light of My Eyes, what is a Jewish person without practice, and my replying, what are we but our curiosity? It is my mother Esperanza calling, a better future is full of questions. It is my future calling out, What if, what if, and everywhere, I am tested. My Judaism is a testament of two worlds: a childhood of Hebrew school, and then reciting a Jewish mourning prayer for my mother’s Catholic brother. It has no limits or ending, this wild unplace from which I awaken and arise, over and over, and with curious, hopeful eyes, spring forward.