Seeing Ciara

Seeing Ciara

By Yerusalem Work

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 1

Ciara’s first kiss was in the library. She kissed her thumb. Her fingers were folded over in a fist. This gave the semblance of pressing her lips against the lips of prince charming. The surge of emotion climaxed into visions of an outdoor wedding on a sunny day. Ciara could see her future. She was emoting while reading a romance novel. She could hear the words: you may now kiss the bride.

Inside the library, she shed her introverted skin. She imagined proposing to her future husband. What would he say? She could afford the engagement ring. She didn’t need a husband to secure her finances. She was wealthy beyond belief. Yet, she lived modestly. She visited the library at least once a week and flirted with the idea of working in the four walls of the stunning book collection. She sat in the reading room, hopped on the computer, and listened to music. She read page after page of scintillating romance novels to inspire her to live a life she only dreamed of. She was a full-time student doing well in school, but too shy to live a love story. Her parents were strict, so she never interacted with boys outside of school.

She had a few friends, but it was difficult meeting new people. It took years to build friendships, and she preferred to seek the company of fictitious characters from well-written stories. She wanted to be in control. With new people, she showed little interest. With new books, she immersed herself in new worlds. After Sophia stabbed her in the back, Ciara wanted nothing to do with girls her age. Sophia pretended not to study Latin, but in actuality, she practiced every day. She even spoke Latin. She would capture the teacher’s heart by opening class with “quid agis hodie?” (What are you doing today?) and the teacher would respond “optimissime!” Silly gestures like this ingratiated the student to the teacher. When it came time to prepare for a test, Ciara asked Sophia if they could do homework together and Sophia said she did not plan to study. The belief was that the teacher would grade on a curve, so it didn’t matter if no one studied. How false was this perception! Ciara didn’t study and failed. Sophia secretly studied and excelled. This introduced tension in the classroom. Sophia laughed when the test results were revealed. Ciara was initially silent, but as soon as she reached home, she bawled. Seeing Ciara weep over her failing the Latin exam, God listened with compassion to her prayer. Ciara was devastated, but she trusted God, who was a better friend to her than Sophia had ever been.

“Lord, I don’t know how I’m going to bring my Latin grades up. Please help me do better in school,” Ciara said in her prayer. “I want new friends, God. Please help me meet someone special – someone trustworthy, who will be honest with me.”

Ciara prayed for new friends, a beloved, and better scores on her exams. She didn’t realize it at the time, but her prayer would change her life for the better.

Then, Isaiah walked into her life. He immediately took an interest in Ciara when he saw her at the library where he worked as a page. It was a modest job even for a student, but it opened doors for him.

“I can put that away for you,” Isaiah kindly offered to assist Ciara with reshelving her book. She was a familiar face – a regular at the library.

“No, thanks! I’m not finished with it yet,” she responded – happy to be noticed.

Isaiah continued his work and gazed every so often in Ciara’s direction. Their budding romance shook up the shelves, like an earthquake.

She asked him for a recommendation. “Can you think of a poetry book that explores black lives?”

“Yes, ‘Winter’s Grace’ is an excellent poetry anthology,” he replied. “Or you can try ‘Summer’s Heat.’ Both of them were written by black authors. I can point them out for you. Follow me.”

She followed him to the poetry section. Fortunately, both poetry collections were available. She thumbed through them and planned to check them out. “Thank you,” she said.

The rest of the afternoon they spent in the library cognizant of each other’s presence. Hour after hour passed by of intense looks. Yes, they caught each other’s eyes.

When his shift ended, he approached her and said, “I don’t want to leave before introducing myself. I’m Isaiah. What’s your name?”

“I’m Ciara. Nice to meet you!”

“The pleasure was mine. See you next time,” he whispered in a hushed tone, which the library setting demanded.

The two of them began to take up brain space in each other’s minds. They presented hope in a dried up, dreary world.

A week later, Ciara returned to the library and shared a handwritten poem with Isaiah. This poem was based on Yehuda Amichai’s original poem called “Poem Without an End.” Ciara’s version went like this…

Inside the brand-new university

there’s an old library.

Inside the library

is me.

Inside me

my soul.

Inside my soul

a university.

Inside the university

a library,

inside it

me,

inside me

my soul,

inside my soul

a university

“Wow! That was beautiful, elegant, and simple,” Isaiah said. He was touched by her writing. “Thanks for sharing!”

His brown eyes beamed bright. He was enamored by Ciara, who reciprocated his admiration. They discussed poets whom they admired and French theorists.

“We are all slaves and masters of language, Barthes said,” Ciara quoted the best of the best. She appreciated having someone to discuss life with meaning and depth.

It was fall. She wore a light sweater and a plaid skirt. She donned the colors red and black. Isaiah wore khaki pants. He looked like an Abercrombie model. They invested so much in each other. Ciara and Isaiah would learn to expect to see each other at the library. Soon, she was hungry for his touch, but she couldn’t muster the courage to reach out to him, not even for a handshake. They were both conservative. They kept their physical distance, but the emotional connection was hot, like fire.

Isaiah always had a warm smile on his face when he spoke to Ciara. They soon became a couple. It was Ciara’s first time playing opposite a man. She had so many hopes of finding love that would elevate her. However, she didn’t want to be physical before marriage, so she was generally reserved around men. Yet, she was a tireless romantic. She gravitated toward steamy romance novels to exercise her imagination. In life, she was led by her heart’s desires, knowing everything would fall into place. She wanted love, honor, and respect. And so did her beau, Isaiah. He was humble, not forceful or aggressive. His eyes spoke volumes, like precious sunsets. She loved when he’d close his eyes to smile. He lowered his gaze. This brought Ciara great joy and comfort.

Constant visits to the library strengthened their love until Sophia discovered her “friend,” Ciara, found the love of her life. This escalated the competition between them. Sophia envied Ciara’s innocent passion. Sophia was determined to steal Isaiah’s attention. She dropped a book in front of him and picked it up, bending over to seduce him. This distracted him from his work, but he tried not to succumb to the temptation. He tried to reserve his heart for Ciara. It was, however, difficult to be faithful when Sophia was trying so hard to win his affection.

Ciara rolled her eyes at Sophia. It was clear she couldn’t trust her, but Ciara feared confrontation. Finally, Ciara mustered up the courage to say to Sophia, “I hope you realize you are not wanted here.”

“I have more hope than you do,” Sophia caused her former friend so much pain with her remarks.

“Look, we’re not friends anymore. I’m sick of you,” Ciara opened up. “Please leave.”

“You can’t control me,” Sophia fought back. “Why would he be interested in you? You don’t have a clue what love is.”

Ciara’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I have an idea what love is, and I’m not giving up on love. You better walk away before I show you my fist.”

The same fist Ciara had once kissed was ready to fight for her true bliss. Sophia took the hint and shrugged her shoulders as she walked away from the scene, intentionally brushing shoulders with Isaiah, so that he could catch her perfume. He moved out of her way and held Ciara by both shoulders.

“It’s not worth the fight. You have my heart, hon,” Isaiah said this to reassure her. “It’ll be alright.”

Ciara and Isaiah, left alone, sighed relief after Sophia walked away. Who knew what tomorrow would bring? But it was clear Ciara won this battle and in a larger sense the war waged against her by someone who transitioned from friend to foe. She kept her enemy close to her – watching, waiting, predicting. It was clear Ciara could trust Sophia no more.

Chapter 2

Ciara sat on a train looking outside the window. She moved quickly past the close by trees and slowly past the distant mountains. She remembered that in a time of war, though there may be the loss of human life, trees should be spared. Her home country, Ethiopia, planted the most trees in one day ever in world history achieving a record. She meditated on the landscape and wondered when she would revisit Addis Ababa. For now, she lived in the United States and it was time to meet her boyfriend’s parents.

Isaiah had texted Ciara to extend the invitation.

Wanna meet my mom? You’re invited to dinner next Friday.

Ciara’s heart leapt, like a gazelle, out of her chest. She and Isaiah danced around the issue until he pinned her down to a simple yes. Her nerves were as delicate as a house of cards. Her hopes were stacked up high.

Ciara trusted Isaiah with the timing. Any sooner would have been presumptuous. Any later would have been negligent. It was time to get his parents’ blessing. Her parents had heard a great deal about him, but they resigned themselves to distance, because he wasn’t Ethiopian. Their only interest was in whether or not their daughter would marry him. Anything short of marriage was not welcome conversation. His parents played a more active role in the courtship process. They wanted to see if Ciara were a suitable match for their son.

She arrived at dinner with a bottle of wine explaining how she didn’t drink, but they could use it for a blessing.

“We’re sad you’re not partaking of wine with us, but we’re happy to provide grape juice for you,” Isaiah’s father, David, said. He was a university professor who sought diversity in the classroom, but not necessarily in his home. The moment she walked in their home, the hairs on his arms stood up, as if spikes on a cactus. It was an involuntary reaction.

“Will you say a blessing over the candles with me?” David’s wife, Leah, asked.

“Of course, I know how,” Ciara said thrilled at the opportunity to put into practice what she had learned about Judaism.

Isaiah stood by the dinner table afraid to touch Ciara or the subject of race. It was his first time having a girl over to the house. It felt like an American Idol audition with him and his parents as the judges. What was on the table? A lifetime contract to cook and clean and carry on tradition. And, yes, she had to sing. Ciara had studied Hebrew blessings and prayers, so she sounded knowledgeable, but she wasn’t fluent. It was clear she had a pure heart and a fiery tongue. She described Ethiopians as being in self-denial.

“They seek white privilege and deny living the black experience. Racism takes on subtle and not so subtle forms. I just wish Ethiopians would band together to eliminate racial oppression,” Ciara had a bold vision, but it didn’t make sense that she would be interested in Isaiah, who clearly wasn’t Ethiopian.

“Are there any nice Ethiopian boys you’re interested in?” Leah inquired as a kind Jewish mom. Her words sounded harsh to her son, however, as if he and his girl were a mismatch.

Isaiah having trouble couldn’t swallow the slice of chicken breast he was working on. It transformed into a massive rock and blocked his esophagus. His father noticed his son convulsing and gave him a glass of water. He patted his back. Isaiah almost choked, but he managed to digest the food on his plate.

“Oh, I’m sorry if I misrepresented myself,” Ciara said as she tried to sweep under the rug the implications of her earlier statement. “I’m not interested in bringing politics home with me. The fight for equality is in the public sphere. Building a home with someone is a private matter.”

“I’m concerned if you marry my son, our grandchildren will be biracial. Are you at least willing to convert to Judaism?” Leah put forth the question, because she didn’t want her son to have any illusions about what it would take to make a marriage work.

These are the cards Ciara was dealt. Then she began to lecture about how life was a performance and in a postmodern sense, everyone played a role. “I want nothing more than to provide my children with a Jewish home. It would take a bit of acting and rehearsal, because I did not grow up in a Jewish home, so I would have to imitate others. I’ve carefully studied different ways of life. The Torah-centered worldview is the most balanced between the spiritual and the practical.”

The rest of the evening was filled with prayer and the power of different perspectives. Sometimes the lens was sharp and other times dull. Everyone spoke with some form of compassion, sharing their truth.

“It’s the human experience that unites us,” Ciara continued. “Although we are not always regarded as human...”

“Some of us are thought of as divine,” Isaiah said adding humor. This opened a discussion about the messiah and his nature. It was a pivotal moment.

“Do you believe in the divinity of the Christian messiah?” David had to ask as gently as possible.

“I’ll be honest. I want to wait 'til I’m face to face with the messiah before I make an assessment. Was he Muslim or Jewish? I know he’s not Christian,” Ciara thread together what she could of this tapestry.

This was the end of a series of arguments, because the divinity debate could be had another time. Isaiah’s family loved to argue, but there was something arresting about Ciara’s acceptance of the union of fact and fiction, history and myth. She had made peace with contradictions and that all-pervading peace settled into their hearts. She was a true beauty with a heart of gold.

Even if Isaiah’s parents weren’t convinced of their compatibility, he and Ciara were great students with promising futures. At this point in the evening, everyone at the table was just glad to have crossed paths.

Ciara caught the train back home. She had hit the high notes. Isaiah’s restless heart wouldn’t grant him sleep that night. At least he opened his heart and his home to someone he loved. That was more than most of his peers could manage. He would await the verdict from his parents, but he felt good about the impression she made. Ciara was a keeper. Time would tell if she were his soulmate. Relationships involved investment. Not everyone married their soulmate and not everyone should.

There was the feeling of seeing Ciara smile. It was like watching the sun rise. Isaiah looked forward to a new dawn.

Chapter 3

Western business dress did not flatter Ciara, so she wore styles that blended traditional Ethiopian designs with professional business attire. Today she wore a pantsuit and a netela, which is a shawl or headscarf. She made a statement with her fashion choices, and her peers listened. Everyone listened except Sophia who searched for ways to silence Ciara. The lack of respect and the presence of race-based hatred were predictable, but it did not impede Ciara’s progress or ruin her presentation. She found her voice by speaking up for the voiceless.

Model United Nations (UN), an extracurricular activity, gave Ciara a taste of what being an ambassador would be like. She caught glimpses of the importance of diplomacy in hallowed halls of judgment. She represented Ethiopia. She learned how to write a resolution. Just being in a room of diverse representatives, many of whom were likeminded individuals, bolstered Ciara’s confidence. She had a vision for the future, and it was inclusive. It involved travel.

In a large sense, Ciara was naive. She did not know how to pride in Ethiopia’s achievements. Instead, she worried about her home country’s potential disintegration. She was heart-centered, worried that no piece of paper could prevent harm from taking place within Ethiopian borders.

She thumbed through old resolutions. She found one that led to the return of the obelisk from Italy to Ethiopia. This was a grand gesture, but largely symbolic. Something greater needed to take place for Ethiopia to experience peace and security.

Unity in Ethiopia required rising above ethnic strife. Each tribe possessed a sense of superiority, and this was a stumbling block in the political process. The governmental leadership in Ethiopia was largely disconnected from the people on the ground. Innocent people were being massacred in the hundreds daily.

“Ethiopia is where I belong, and Ethiopia is where I’ll return,” Ciara spoke before the general assembly. “We must make Ethiopia safe for her citizens, who deserve to have their voices heard by way of the voting ballot.”

Ethiopia sought allies from China to Russia, Iran to the Middle East. The United States’ interest in Ethiopia was focused on counterterrorism and human rights. The US also attempted to strengthen economic ties in East Africa, but there was a genuine misunderstanding of how to manage the tribal and ethnic conflict in the Horn of Africa. No Westerner was aware of the long history of battle and contention that marred Ethiopia’s sociopolitical landscape. The US did not have the proper context to make a positive impact on the region.

After hours of research, Ciara presented a political solution to encourage pluralism - it went beyond rule of law to equality before the law. She united the tribes and ethnicities into one nation with a representative democracy. Every vote mattered. Ethiopians would have a say in how they were governed.

Generational conflict was set aside for peace building. “People guilty of war crimes and human rights violations should be brought to justice,” Ciara invoked international courts to try the accused. She cared about her beloved homeland.

Other students expressed concern for their places of origin as well, including a heated exchange between an Israeli delegate and those in support of Palestine.

Yemen’s ambassador pled for change to ameliorate the situation in this Muslim-majority nation. Food insecurity and lack of access to healthcare led to astronomical death tolls. The humanitarian crisis threatened stability. The population faced practically insurmountable obstacles.

The people infused with hope banded together for a brighter future. The only thorn on Ciara’s side was Sophia, who glared at her during her speech. There was such rivalry between them that Sophia rustled papers when Ciara addressed the assembly, so no one could hear her. This incessant antagonism fueled Ciara’s courage. She would not back down.

Chapter 4

Ciara visited the mall, and a flock of Israeli sales associates descended upon her. They were selling hot irons to straighten curly hair.

“I’m happy with what I’ve got,” Ciara said. She pointed to her wavy hair. She stopped long enough to appreciate their accents and listen to their spiel. Then, she politely excused herself from the conversation after she heard their sales pitch. Just as she walked away, one of them spoke up.

“Listen Sheba, you could be beautiful with straight hair. You could be the most beautiful girl in the world,” the Israeli businessperson said with a reference to the Prince song. They had a love for music in common. The reference was not lost on her.

Ciara introduced a cliche, “Beauty is in the eye of a beholder.”

“You should be a model,” he said. “Here at the mall. I’ll do your hair.”

He appealed to Ciara’s vanity. The mall had a committee of people who put on monthly fashion shows to draw attention to the plethora of stores in the mall with exquisite dress. This was an opportunity to shine.

Ciara walked to the information desk and submitted a completed application to model in the mall’s regular fashion shows.

When the time came to walk down the runway, the Israelis and her boyfriend, Isaiah, were the only ones she knew in the audience. Her parents did not support any of her endeavors that were not exceedingly intellectual.

Ciara had many curves. She covered up and redefined beauty with her modest dress. She was the only Ethiopian in the fashion shows. After a while, the process became tedious. Ciara did not have a heart for glamour. She did not enjoy being on display. The experience wreaked of voyeurism. She didn’t want to be a human clothes hanger. She didn’t want to be seen as naked underneath a thin layer of fabric. Modeling was a strange practice. It begged the question: what is more important - to see or be seen?

Ciara wanted to be behind the camera. She wanted to see the world. God is the only one who can see her who really mattered. She imagined herself being seen by Him. It brought her comfort, because He could see her heart, not just her waistline. She was not a fantasy to be fulfilled. She was fashioned by God, a masterpiece to be held dear.

She tried modeling, but she found it wasn’t a good match for her temperament. Those who thought it was good to be seen by strangers did not appeal to her sensibilities. Ciara was truly modest. After all, man was made of modest material. The spirit of God was what elevated us. We have the spirit of God. This aspect of humanity invited awe and wonder. She wanted to see the unseen, a living soul. She wanted to see with her soul.

Chapter 5

After the demise of Ciara’s modeling career, she looked for a new extracurricular activity. She joined Mock Trial, because her speech professor recommended she use her oratory skills in a courtroom setting. She would make a good lawyer, he argued as he flicked his toupee. Ciara was persuasive and educated. She could lead a jury to a specific conclusion as a trial lawyer by appealing to logic and reason. She occasionally dipped into a pool of emotions to immerse her listeners in a world of intensity without sacrificing rational thought. She went in with both eyes open. Occasionally, she felt in over her head, but that subsided with the guidance of her speech professor. He gave her rhetorical techniques to craft her public addresses.

A highly competitive team of students comprised the school’s Mock Trial association and collaborated with each other in the effort to win first place. Ciara was a master in the art of using evidence to prove a point. She spoke without notecards. Her freedom and flexibility illumined whatever room she was in.

Becoming a lawyer interested Ciara, but she was not alone. Sophia, the irredeemably envious one, never skipped a beat. She had toxic levels of dominance in conversation. She could argue for hours. A self-appointed Mock Trial participant, Sophia tried to dim Ciara’s light. Without fail, Sophia criticized Ciara’s ability to lead the group, who quickly came to her defense.

“Ciara is doing a great job. I’m happy with the progress we’ve made,” a student on the team spoke up. She continued, “In fact, I don’t think we have room in our group for another person to join. Maybe, next year.”

Sophia stood up and switched her hips as she turned the corner and walked out the classroom door.

“She didn’t even audition. Who does she think she is?” the student went on.

“My arch-nemesis. I can’t stand her,” Ciara opened up.

One bomb diffused. Sophia sullied everyone’s mood. Her jealousy led to blind hatred. She harnessed her energy to harm, not heal. She did not have a life of her own. Instead, she reacted to whatever choices Ciara would make. Every bitter disappointment made Sophia implode. Her inability to emulate Ciara relegated her to the shadows. She wasn’t a polished mirror. She was a cold shadow. She was always ten steps behind Ciara.

This enraged Sophia’s soul or what was left of it. Her implacable, soulless imitation crippled her. She kept returning to the scene of the crime. Sophia walked back into the Mock Trial meeting and looked the sponsoring speech professor in the eyes, plaintively. She said, “I want to join Mock Trial. This will determine whether or not I become a lawyer.”

Ciara interrupted her professor before he could speak. She said, “I think the bar exam has something to do with that.”

Sophia was angry. She furiously gazed at Ciara, “What do you know about the bar exam?”

“You’re not allowed to practice law without passing it. This is an extracurricular activity and it’s too late to audition for the team. If you would chill out, maybe you can join next year,” Ciara tried to say with an air of finality.

“I never get anything good in life,” Sophia said sounding supremely ungrateful. She had stifled her own creativity. She didn’t have any pure motivation. She was just a copy of a copy.

“Look, it’s not the end of the world. You’ll have plenty of other opportunities to be successful. Remember you can define success on your own terms. You don’t have to constantly compare yourself to someone else. Just be original,” Ciara said, tired of being Sophia’s competition.

Originality terrified the youth. Not everyone could stand their own reflection. With fear, Sophia, the sullen, stormed out of the classroom. This time, she did not return. She needed new dreams - a new vision for her life. She could no longer live as if everything depended on Ciara, who could no longer be the benchmark for success. Even Sophia’s mom compared her daughter with Ciara. If Ciara could do it, so should Sophia. This toxic comparison drained Sophia. At home, it was all tears. Sophia was afraid to face the world without a fancy degree or name recognition. She saw no point in existing. If you can’t win all the time, you’re a total loser. She was far from self-acceptance. Walking away from Ciara was, however, the right direction. It’s good to have ideals, not idols. It would take years before Sophia knew the difference.

Chapter 6

It was time to plan for the summer. Ciara found a local dance school that had a summer intensive program, so she attended an audition. She had little dance experience, but she had the facility to deliver stellar performances. Her strength and flexibility, along with her artistry, made her standout. She moved fluidly to music. She was naturally graceful and elegant. It was easy to capture her grace in a photograph. Her arms were always perfectly positioned.

She wore a black leotard with a number pinned on her chest. She began with barre work and then did adagio. She knew most of the dance terms from her exposure to ballet. Her joy, however, was doing modern dance in bare feet to live percussion. She also enjoyed African dance. Her leopard print skirt was wrapped around her waist. She came prepared. The audition assessed, not only the potential of becoming a professional dancer down the road, but the ability to execute original choreography and take direction. Dance theater incorporated the ability to act.

Over a hundred people auditioned for the summer intensive. On the day of the audition, the dance school whittled the choice down to twenty students, of which Ciara was one. Ciara had amazing leg extensions and did breathtaking leaps. She struggled with turns. She was unable to spot without getting dizzy. This humbled Ciara who was grateful to be selected for the program. It was an honor to be chosen.

The dance program cost a pretty penny, but it was worth it. After Ciara enrolled, she immediately saw results. Her body toned up. She made new friends and learned new movement. Her fellow students had class. They were confident. There was camaraderie, not unhealthy competition. It was in this dance school that she learned to compete with herself for her level best. If one day she executed three pirouettes, then the next day she would go for four.

It was a relief to enter the dance studio everyday and not worry about Sophia. Dance became Ciara’s refuge. She was generally sheltered from the unfairness of life. She was privileged and moved with purpose.

The dance school scheduled a performance as the culmination of the program. Ciara invited her parents to the performance. Her dad was unimpressed. At the conclusion of the show, he whispered in her ear “timhirt bet,” which means school in Amharic. He wanted her to stay in a traditional, liberal arts school and not worry about the unpredictable life of an artist. Her mom brought her flowers. She was proud.

Without both of her parents’ approval, Ciara’s years as a dancer would be short-lived. She couldn’t step out on faith. She felt indebted to her parents for not only bringing her into this world, but for paying for her education. She didn’t have the self-esteem to become an artist - to put herself on stage. She lacked the necessary ambition to become a professional dancer, but she had the ability to teach and choreograph. She instilled hope in her students.

Ciara was used to being top of the class. Lucky for her, the world was a classroom. She embraced opportunities as they came. She believed in lifelong learning. If one door closed, she would pray for another door to open. Her parents saw her success as a dance teacher and choreographer, but they could not identify with it. They did not understand the depth of the dance world. Their work took place in office space. Everyone defines work differently. For Ciara, it was blood, sweat, and tears. For her parents, it was faxes, emails, and reports in black ink. To each, his own.

Ciara hid her dance passion from Isaiah, who respected her decision. She preferred a female audience. She didn’t want to be hypersexualized. She wanted to be remembered for her words not the way she wiggled. Isaiah tried to sneak a peek at her performances or watch a video of her dance movement, but she was shy. She had a love-hate relationship with dance and demanded gender segregation when possible. She was truly a conservative soul, but some would say she was bound in chains, a slave to an oppressive ideology that separated men and women. Ciara thought of dance, not only as athletic, but as intellectual and spiritual. She wanted men and women to attend different educational spaces (i.e., all-girl or all-boy schools) and worship separately. Yes, dance was a form of worship, so for the most part, she kept her prayers private. Isaiah regarded her with the utmost respect. He did not need her to prove herself to him. If she felt more comfortable keeping him in the dark, there must be a good reason. He loved to reason with her.

Chapter 7

Ciara’s summer intensive dance program came to an end, and she had more time in her schedule. On campus, she saw a poster for a theater audition. The audition was for a Civil War production. Ciara imagined the only role she could play was a slave. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was impactful.

Slavery was a condition Ciara identified with from reading the Bible. She vividly pictured the exodus from Egypt. Her soul must have been at Mt. Sinai.

Doesn’t everyone dream of acting on stage? Ciara didn’t just want to be seen; she wanted to have something important to say. She opposed slavery, of course, and was deeply saddened by the spread of modern-day slavery. She volunteered with international human rights organizations to help abolish slavery, including child slavery, in certain parts of Africa. She signed petitions and conducted mailings to raise awareness.

When it came time for the audition, Ciara saw Sophia in line ready to do her monologue for the director. There was no escaping her arch-nemesis. When the audition results were posted, Ciara saw her name, but Sophia didn’t make the cut. Ciara breathed a sigh of relief.

Sophia did not quit, however. She auditioned for a Shakespearean production: Romeo and Juliet. She was selected for the starring role, cast as Juliet. It was a breakthrough role for her, a sign of success.

This helped Sophia step out of Ciara’s shadow. On opening night, Sophia’s mom intently watched her daughter’s performance. Her mom held the armrest tightly to restrain her from jumping on stage and kissing her daughter’s cheeks. At the end of the performance, her mom bestowed delicate red roses on her daughter.

“You did it. I’m so proud of you,” Sophia’s mom said as she hugged her daughter.

Sophia’s confidence grew. She had earned the spotlight. She was grateful to star as Juliet. It was her first show, but not her last. She caught the acting bug and did more local theater. Her self-hatred transformed to self-esteem. She stopped stressing over Ciara’s every move. Sophia had a future in the arts. She had acting potential.

Ciara’s parents appreciated their daughter‘s performance in the Civil War production, but they didn’t want to encourage her to pursue a perilous acting career. They preferred something more stable, like working for a major corporation. They wanted her to have an office job and to sit at a desk with a steady paycheck.

Ciara was caught in the middle of a culture clash. She excelled in the arts, including dance and theater, but her parents didn’t value her involvement in the arts. They discouraged her. She would have to make an important decision. Would she focus on pleasing her parents or pursuing the life of an artist?

Isaiah watched Ciara’s performance and walked away with greater empathy for the Black experience. He supported her interest in acting, but no one expected her to become famous. This was all just an exercise in creativity. She sang and screamed in the Civil War production. She spoke from the heart. Her character truly came to life.

Ciara played an important role. She was actually happy her parents didn’t force her to be on stage. The problem with her Western education is that she never stepped off-stage. Life was a performance. Ciara was self-conscious. People judged a book by its cover. Her parents saw their daughter struggle in the search for significance. They offered her a warm home to return to after all her battles. They just wanted her to be herself. That was enough. That was more than enough.

Chapter 8

Ciara had better than 20/20 vision. She had a keen eye for photography. Inspired by Gordon Parks, the camera was her choice of weapons. She did street photography. Both black-and-white and color photography interested her. She, also, used filters to achieve sepia tones. Her interest in photography led her to enter an online international photography competition organized by a local museum. She was a finalist. Her subject was social justice. She captured images of Black Lives Matter protests.

All she needed was her digital SLR and a way to edit her photos. She amassed a collection of isolated images. She wanted to tell stories using images. Yet, even with posting online on social media sites, she hadn’t cultivated a sizable following.

Her technique was excellent. She had outstanding composition, and she experimented with light. She wanted a career in fine art photography, but she had no connections in that world. Though she did well in school, she was an outsider. People didn’t take her seriously.

As a finalist, she received recognition, but no prize money or tangible results. Ciara took hundreds of photos at a time. She strived for perfection. She read books on photography and followed the careers of great photographers from across the globe. She constantly purchased coffee table books filled with high-quality photography.

People wanted more. Instead of isolated images, people wanted motion pictures. This was a new development in the arts. So, Ciara got to work writing screenplays and showing, not telling. She sat at her computer and poured out her imagination. She then dived into videography. She interviewed people on camera and posted these videos online. Every image was worth a thousand words or more. It turned out Ciara had a knack for oral history. She delved in guerrilla filmmaking, along with street photography. She was inspired by movements, like Humans of New York. She didn’t see numbers, but she produced good quality images and stories. This combination was enough to keep her hopes up.

She no longer had to compete with Sophia, who had moved on with her life. She had to make a choice of whether or not she would be committed to Isaiah. Was their relationship worth converting to Judaism? Isaiah began writing speeches for major political figures. He had his own world and a way with words. He tried to convince Ciara to become Jewish, but from a place of sincerity, not just for the purpose of marriage. He was persuasive, but life experience halted Ciara. She knew her parents would be heartbroken if she left Christianity for good. Would this be a step forward or a step back? Ciara held her breath instinctively when she wondered if her future included Jewish or Christian tradition. She wondered where she belonged. She and Isaiah were due for a discussion - a long overdue discussion. The question on the table was whether or not she would convert to Judaism. It was the only way that she and Isaiah could stay together. The question tore her apart. It was an opportunity for her to be and become. Would she ever step off-stage? Was Isaiah the one?

To answer these questions, she practiced Torah Yoga and performed guided meditations. Her experience of exile from her true self as part of the human condition embroiled her in internal conflict. She had so many Jewish authors to thank for their wit and wisdom. Authors, like Diane Bloomfield, were illuminating. Ciara returned to their books, as if returning home after an epic war. But, could she dwell in a Jewish home with a mezuzah at the door? Right now, Ciara’s inside and outside didn’t match. This would require reckoning. Who was the true Ciara? What did she believe? This was the beginning of a long journey of being and becoming. If she walked to God, He would come running. It was time for a conversation with God before a discussion with Isaiah. It was time to be honest and time to stop playing a role.

Chapter 9

Winter returned. Snow fell and temperatures dropped. The Conservative rabbi agitated the snow globe on his desk as he waited for Ciara to walk in the room. He was accustomed to being in control and making order out of chaos. When she sat down, she seemed shaken up.

“Rabbi, I’m nervous,” Ciara opened up. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“It’s an honor. I understand you’re interested in converting to Judaism. What influenced you to make that decision?” Rabbi Rosenstein got right to the point. He tested her about her knowledge of Judaism. “Are you familiar with Jewish holidays and tradition? Why did you choose the Conservative movement?”

This sobering conversation did not begin with the initial question Ciara had expected to address. She questioned whether or not she was a Jewish soul. That was her main concern. After giving a bibliography of Jewish sources, she impressed the rabbi with her knowledge of Judaism. He appreciated the academic side of Ciara. He was, after all, a teacher.

“This is not my first time meeting with a rabbi about converting to Judaism. The first rabbi I approached was Orthodox. He asked me why I pursued an interest in Judaism. I told him that I wanted to know the truth. He told me I was being selfish. I thought the pursuit of truth was noble and selfless. Hardly, in his estimation,” Ciara said, choked up. “I will never understand the Jewish mind.”

The Conservative rabbi shared the beauty of Jews not proselytizing. He said that converts are rejected a number of times before moving forward with the conversion process as a test of sincerity.

“I should also mention I’m in a relationship with a Jewish guy. His name’s Isaiah. He and his family don’t want us to marry and have children unless I become Jewish,” Ciara revealed her situation. This was just one step in a love story.

“You should bring him next time. I’d love to meet Isaiah,” the rabbi stoked the flame. He was a fan of young love. The effort Ciara made was not lost on him. She respected Jewish beliefs, history, and people. She just seemed unsure of herself. Her eyes looked like muddy pools where the sun would set as mentioned in Islamic tradition.

The rabbi concluded the meeting with Ciara by introducing her to the cantor. He had high hopes for Ciara to join their community. His kind gesture further divided her heart. Would the welcome ever end?

The cantor’s welcoming smile was like music. She hoped for Ciara to be a righteous convert. Would this be her new home? The rabbi and cantor were generous with their time. They invited her and Isaiah to Shabbat services and young adult activities. Because of Ciara’s background in dance, they asked her if she would teach ballet to the youth. Everyone in the Jewish community played a meaningful role. There was no hiding in Judaism. Everyone in the community made a contribution. To thrive, it was important to give, not just receive. So, Ciara was asked to come out of her shell, despite how shy she was. She was asked to give of herself.

The rabbi put his hand on his heart as he stood in the synagogue hallway. It was so exciting for him to meet Ciara, because he had heard stories of Ethiopian Jews settling in Israel. She however came from an Orthodox Christian lineage. That’s why she wanted to know if she had a Jewish spark. Was she returning to her Jewish roots before her ancestors converted to Christianity? She just wanted to be her authentic self. Who would claim her?

It was time for Ciara to marry and have children. She felt the pull. She phoned Isaiah and shared the good news that she had met with Rabbi Rosenstein. She invited her love to attend Shabbat services at the Conservative shul. This could be a new beginning. Maybe everything would fall into place. For now, her mind swirled like flakes in a snow globe. She waited to feel settled. She was unsure how to pray. She wanted to run her ideas by God to see if He would approve of her life’s choices. She felt somehow distanced from God, but closer to His people.

That’s when she heard in a still small voice the phrase “Lekh lekha.” It was a command God spoke to Abraham in the Torah. It meant “Go!” This was the push she needed to go on her journey. Judaism sends people in different directions, but Torah observance makes Jews distinct as a people. It was inspiring to read about God’s relationship with His people. His love and chastisement made history. Ciara envied the Jewish people. Envy propelled her to become Jewish and make it official. Her days were filled with tears, however. She visited her parents’ home over the Christmas holiday, and she felt a disconnect. Hanukkah was not the same as Christmas, although both holidays involve gift-giving. She did not grow up lighting candles for Hanukkah. This journey to Judaism made her leave her past behind her, and for this reason, she mourned. Her parents felt they were losing their daughter, but they did not want to inhibit her. She was no teenager anymore. They gave her their blessing and their unconditional love. What more could they do? She was forever in their hearts. She was always their child, even if they didn’t recognize her. This Christmas was lonely in their household. Ciara wanted to celebrate Hanukkah. Her parents waited until the Orthodox Christmas in January for the most part anyway to honor tradition, so this mini-protest of a commercial holiday was not as significant as Ciara had thought it would be. Yet, their family was not the same.

“Why are you acting?” Ciara’s mom said to her.

“I’m being myself,” Ciara said, but she didn’t know for sure if that was true. Choosing Judaism was a major change.

“I just want you to be happy,” her mom said and hugged her daughter whose eyes stung with tears. In reality, her mom was letting go. She would let her daughter come to her own conclusion about religion. This was a personal matter. She wouldn’t pry. She was open arms no matter what religion her daughter chose and no matter whom she chose to love. Her mom chose to love, not judge.

Chapter 10

Ciara applied for jobs online without much success. She did not receive any word from employers, not even an emailed acknowledgment of receipt of her application. When she submitted her resume, her CV did not rank high enough through mechanical capturing to ensure her that her resume would be read by human eyes. Human resources was a mysterious business department for her. She knew what it took to be successful in a classroom setting, but work was another story. Her humility was read as a lack of confidence and a lack of qualifications. She fell through the cracks. This was truly an injustice.

To pass the time and to have a new accomplishment to put on her resume, she organized ESL classes at the public library. She thrived in a classroom setting. She was a teacher at heart. She cared for her students. In her English as a second language (ESL) class, she met adults from the Middle East and Africa. This was a massive opportunity to learn about different cultures. She prepared weekly lesson plans and invited her students to practice English with interactive exercises. Most of her students were married with children. She envied the way her students belonged to large, extended families. Her immediate family was small and spread out, and she missed out on the chance to learn from her older siblings.

In her ESL classes, most people spoke Arabic and English. Ciara knew basic Arabic expressions, but she was not bilingual. She wanted more than anything to speak Hebrew. Her students had no idea why she wore a headscarf and a Magen David, a Star of David, necklace. They thought she was Muslim with a Jewish identity crisis. When she announced that she wore the headscarf because married Jewish women cover their hair and she was almost married, they thought she was crazy or ripe for reverting to Islam. Surely, a self-respecting brown person would prefer Islam over Judaism. Look at the situation in Israel. Anyone with a heart would side with the Palestinians. Ciara's students discovered that she didn’t drink alcohol or eat pork, and the proselytization process commenced full-fledged.

It’s difficult to hate someone up close. You usually find common ground. The ESL students had specific goals to reach, like learning enough English to find a good job or improving communication with their American grandchildren. It was a fruitful student-teacher relationship. The students were ambassadors of Islam. They invited her to fast during Ramadan and join them for iftars in their homes. Occasionally, a student would be triggered by Ciara’s Jewish necklace and ask her to hide the offensive symbol.

“If you want to learn the truth, read about Islam,” an Afghan student deposited a book in her hands before leaving class. This was the first of several Islamic texts he shared.

Was this the answer to her prayer? The Orthodox rabbi she encountered years ago believed that the quest for truth was not heroic, but selfish. That made no sense to Ciara, who learned from her students that in Islam, it was incumbent on everyone to seek knowledge from the cradle to the grave. Everyone was expected to embark on a hero’s journey. She learned so many Islamic sayings and duas from her ESL students. This stymied her Jewish conversion process.

Isaiah was frustrated with her slow pace. Sometimes the Jewish conversion process took a year or more to complete. He wanted to kiss his bride, but Ciara had distanced herself from him as she learned more and more about Islam. There was no discussion. She grew active in the interfaith community and attended events around town showcasing noteworthy speakers representing different faith traditions. She was emboldened by her enlightenment, but silent toward her Isaiah, who insulated himself in the Jewish community.

She secured a meeting in a mosque with an imam from Egypt. He quickly became like a spiritual father to her. He counseled her. She shared her troubles, and he offered practical, Islamic wisdom, like reading Qur’an and drinking honey. He, also, connected her to work-related opportunities. There was hope she could support herself and no longer be a burden on her parents. Whenever she had a problem, he had a real-world solution. He changed her life practically overnight. In Judaism, one of the best good deeds or mitzvot is helping someone find work. Without knowing it, the imam was being a major blessing. For him, he would help even a stranger, but Ciara quickly became more than a stranger; she became like his daughter. He cared for her future. He introduced her to people in the Islamic community and treated her like a beloved neighbor. She had a bright future.

Ciara’s mom noticed a change in her daughter’s headscarf habits and asked out of curiosity, “Are you becoming Muslim?”

“Mom, forgive me, but I’m interested in Islam. I don’t want to shock you or lose you and dad, but I’ve been studying Islam,” Ciara said politely.

“Are you converting for some boy?” Ciara’s mom tested the purity of her intent.

“No, Mom, I want to be an Islamic nun to just listen to Qur’an all-day and pray and fast,” Ciara waxed quixotic.

“Honey, there’s no such thing as a Muslim nun. If you marry a Muslim man, I will not attend your wedding,” her mom protested.

“Mom, it’s an opportunity to have henna done on your hands. Don’t miss my Muslim wedding,” Ciara joked with her mom.

“What about Isaiah? I was just getting used to him. Will he convert to Islam?” her mom worried about Ciara’s future.

“No, Mom, I doubt it. He’s staunchly opposed to his cousin’s faith traditions,” Ciara said appealing to the idea of a family of faith with a long history of recorded conflict. “I’m reading the Bible and the Qur’an, not sure what path to take.”

“Why not just be Christian? Your dad and I don’t know what we did wrong. Why are you always running here and there? You need to find peace in the home,” Ciara’s mom uttered confused.

“Sorry, Mom! I want to travel. This world is not my home. The Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, said that we should be in the world, as if travelers. C’mon, wouldn’t you love to travel to a Muslim-majority country?” Ciara said, wanting to open her mother’s heart.

“No, thank you, honey. They don’t treat Ethiopians so fairly in the Muslim world, even after the Prophet’s companions were granted refuge in Abyssinia,” her mom said, citing history.

“What’s wrong with dark skin? Where can I find peace?” Ciara asked.

“There’s peace in the home. You’re blessed to have peace in the home. Remember, you grew up in a Christian home?” her mom tried to placate her. “Maybe you’ll find a nice Christian, Ethiopian boy.”

“They don’t take me seriously. They make fun of my Amharic, which I don’t speak anymore, because I don’t want to butcher it,” Ciara said, forlorned. She sat in a cushiony chair and her fingers traced the buttons sunken in the pillow’s depressions.

“You must stop playing a role. Be yourself. Amharic or no Amharic, I raised you in a Christian home and you were happy growing up. Happiness comes from within. Stop searching for happiness outside of yourself. You will never find lasting happiness or peace outside of yourself,” her mom lectured her.

How in the world would Ciara update Isaiah about her newfound obsession with Islam? Isaiah’s love came with prerequisites. She had to be Jewish. Her ESL students wanted to prove a point: Islam was a religion of peace, truth, and compassion. Her parents were determined to make their home a Christian oasis in the wilderness. No matter where she turned, people were trying to make her into their image. That’s when she prayed, “God make me in Your image.”

Then, she realized God was the only one who was truly unique. She humbled herself in front of her mirror in her pristine home and posted a note on the glass with her new mantra: I am the apple of his eye.

This mantra alluded to her belief that the love of her life would one day be near her.

With this profound hope, Ciara faced the world freely with courage without fear.