“And… bow.”
I looked at the cross hanging in front of me.
Would I have to? Wasn’t this, as I had learned, a clear example of avodah zara?
Six-year-old me quit ballet that day. My dance partner’s necklace threw me off, and that seemed like the only logical response.
Sometimes I think back on that moment. I had already learned all five ballet positions and many of the French-named steps. I was beginning to develop balance, poise… grace. And yet, I walked away.
It wasn’t meant to be.
Weeks later, I returned with my mother to pick up my sister, who was still in the class, and heard a strange metallic rhythm down the hall. Curious, I peeked in and found a room full of dancers tapping in unison. The teacher welcomed me in to try. Something about the space felt comfortable and exciting. And I soon learned the teacher was Jewish, too.
That was the beginning of a hobby I still love today.
I didn’t know it then, but I was simply stepping into something that fit better. We don’t always understand why we are where we are, but hopefully, with time, it begins to make perfect sense.
And that’s the dance of life.