Four years Later (Publisjed Feb 14, 2022)

 It was six years ago when I sat at Aviva’s and looked at her DNA results, seeing that she was not 75% Jewish as I would have suspected, but only 50% Jewish.  Okay, there is a couple explanation, I thought.  One, that my mother was not Jewish as I had thought.  But she spoke fluent Yiddish and had documents when she came to the USA that showed her Nationality as “Jewish”.  Secondly, Aviva’s grandparents on her mother’s side were not both Jewish.  That was most doubtful.  Her grandfather was a Rabbi after all, and her grandmother immigrated to Palestine before there was even the country of Israel.  The third and more likely conclusion I came to that day was that my mother was not my mother at all.   There was once a hint that my mother was not my mother.  I remember one of those arguments my parents would have in the front seat of the car while I sat in the back.  During the one, my mother alluded to some kind of affair my father had had.   My father told her not to go further and she suddenly stopped.  Thinking back that day, I concluded that must be the case, my mother did not conceive me.


 I do not jump on this revelation from Aviva’s DNA.  I wait a year, maybe two, to take the next step.  Deep down I  probably do not want to know.  My mom is my mom.   That test has some errors, the Jewish roots have been diluted through time. 


 Susan’s DNA results come back.  She is who she thinks she is.  100% Jewish, in fact, according to the report, she can be traced back directly to Rebecca, Rachael, and Leah. But my results do not come back at the same time though they were sent together, Anxiety built.  Several weeks go by.  Finally, four years ago this last week, those results do arrive. 


 Thinking back on that day, there were some other clues I overlooked when I looked at Aviva’s results.  There were no family surnames familiar to me; no Palmer’s, no Bennett’s, no Becksted’s, and no Titsworth’s, all family names I had researched with my aunt over the years.  But on that day, I was only focused on the fact that Aviva was only 50% Jewish and the conclusion that my mom was not my mom.  So when my results came in, again with not a single Palmer, the picture came more clear.  A few days later my cousin confirmed what the results showed.  No, there was no affair.  I was adopted.   The result was jolting.  


 Now four years later, the shock and anger of that day have passed.  I am who I am.  I’m comfortable with my parents, the ones who raised me and nurtured me.  I feel blessed.  

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