I have a confession to make. While I love working in the archives, a part of me become melancholy when I sift through the papers and photographs. There is such a rich history and so many families that have multiple generations of Temple members. I can see how the families have grown over the years, how some are now linked by marriage, how they contributed to Temple history. So many of them can trace back their family trees hundreds of years. And me? My family tree is halved. I only have my mother’s side and my relatives have shown no interest in their ancestors. I tried tracing my family through Ancestry and got as far as my great-great-great grandparents, but that’s where it ends. I’ve taken the DNA tests in the unrealistic hope that one day, maybe, I’ll be able to find my father’s side, but part of me knows that I’m running out of time if I ever hope to meet him.
I’m not sure why this is in the front of my mind this second night of Hanukkah. Having my chosen family is wonderful and I am grateful, but I feel like I’ve been trying to find my place for so long. I’m getting there, but I know it won’t truly be complete without the other half of my family tree.