My husband Eli is a forensic psychiatrist who cherishes me among the chaos that penetrates my fragmented mind. I remain in his care as I chronicle my illness. By which to begin? When I was nine years old I crafted the profoundly conscious decision to become a FAKE Jew. This FAKE Jew decision has impacted every aspect of my life, including my diet and for whom I chose to marry. I did not give pursuit to the process of assuming this FAKE Jewish identity by a traditionally sanctioned conversion. I did so the swamp trash crazy way.
Come upon the fact that I was currently dwelling in the rural swampy town of Reaux, Louisiana. I had the sneaking inclination that no one in that town ever knew or met a REAL Jew before. And so it goes, I was living with my third foster family, Debbie and Allen Robicheaux, who were most notoriously expressed as a drunken, white trash family. I had been placed up for adoption as a baby. As a result, it came to be that I bounced around from among numerous families. I was “Jes”. The adoption was deemed closed as most were arranged in that era of time. The official records had been sealed. My last name was perpetually evolving and nothing close to static. For the fleeting moment, I existed as “Jes,” and that is all I could desperately cling to. I was struck as a wandering little girl in possession of no parents, no family, no traditions, no genealogy, while devoid of identity. I remained without origin and empty of genesis.
COMING SOON: PART TWO