Good Friday. A shadow day if there ever was one. As per usual, my mother called last night to remind me to attend a Good Friday service.
"I gave up church for Lent," I joked. She, being the good Catholic she is, didn't think that was funny. Having been brought up a good Catholic girl in a Catholic/Jewish household (for the first nine years of my life, anyway), I've always been "guilted" into faith. Or, at least, that's what it feels like to me. While my father conceded to my mother's need to raise us Catholic, he still held out for Passover each year. It wasn't until I graduated high school, that I took the time to learn more about my Jewish heritage.
5 comments:
Honesty is always refreshing.
I also enjoy the photos at your blog. I can see how a small town photographer couldn't let her artistic eye show. Thanks for sharing with us.
Shabbat shalom!
I've always wondered why it's called "Good" Friday. It was pretty crappy for Jesus.
They probably didn't call it good at the time either!
Dammit. Another one bites the dust...
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