Because, to paraphrase, to forget is to repeat. And not just to Jews...
How To Never Forget On International Holocaust Remembrance Day by Jewcy.com
Friday, January 28, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Witches & Witchcraft - My Jewish Learning
Witches & Witchcraft - My Jewish Learning
The literal demonizing of women, sometimes to the point of death. Apparently the Jews of olde were not immune to this. (Cue weary feminist sigh.)
The literal demonizing of women, sometimes to the point of death. Apparently the Jews of olde were not immune to this. (Cue weary feminist sigh.)
Catching up 5: Elul, 5771 - Selichot:
(In which I start off with my first HHDs with awe . . . )
On the desk next to me is a yellow ticket. Its heading reads: "We invite you to celebrate the 5771 High Holy Day Season". Below my name is inscribed this passage from Isaiah: "The Gates of Return are Always Open."
This is my comp ticket to the High Holy Days 5771 at Temple Israel, BostonTemple Israel, Boston. I did not think I would get to celebrate Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur at the synagogue where I was actively converting. I had made my peace with the fact that I would need to find a more suitable venue that reflected my (at the time) current life circumstances somewhere else. For this I held no animosity; how could I? This is where I was in life - just starting two part-time jobs after a hard stretch, struggling with new rent and old bills. I might as well rally against the wind.
But then my rabbi sent me a letter regarding my conversion, which included this comp ticket. Although she might not have known what this gift meant, I certainly did. I exaggerate only slightly when I say my heart cried a little out of thanks at the sight of it. I could now share my first HHD with the people I had been going to Shabbat service and Torah study with. I could be in the place I was starting to think of as my spiritual home.
Two new friends from the temple invited me to go with them to Slichot. I accepted and proceeded to bombard them with questions. What was this? Like a midnight mass? Uh, not quite, they replied, wisely saying nothing else so that experience could fill in my blanks.
The first part of the evening was a discussion on the six questions (according to the Babylonian Talmud) you will be asked on the way to heaven. We split up according to what question called to us. I ended up in the room where we tried to discern what is meant by dealing honestly with people in our business practices. If I thought, it was going to be some tinder-dry conversation I was quickly corrected. The topic may have been "business practices" but the theme of ethics quickly spread out over many facts of everyday life. Soon everyone was adding their experiences into the mix and all I could do was sit back and smile (of course, after adding my own .02). Here was this wonderful give-and-take, two-Jews-in-a-room-with-three-opinions dialogue that I loved about Judaism. After decades of unchallenged Roman Catholic-obedience to scripture and then, later, Pagan wanderings in search of its own Book of Shadows, I had finally come home to a circle where spiritual Truth was vigorously sought after - even if no definitive answer was ever found.
After a break we ended up in the Temple’s main hall which had been transformed into a sanctuary. We were given candles and programs. "Leil Slichot," read the cover. "Beginning the Inward Journey to Forgiveness" its subtitle. I searched through my mental files for any Catholic and Pagan experiences with a similar philosophy but could find none. It was hard not to tremble in my seat. I felt as though I was standing on that razor-fine edge that separates the old and the new, the mundane from the unexplored. Whatever this was going to be tonight, for me it would be an absolutely new dawn.
The lights were lowered and the rabbis began reading from the program text. Torahs were solenly brought in, heralded by the hallowed sound of the shofar. It was a calling that stood my spine straight up. As each scroll was "clothed . . . in light"(Leil Slichot 4) the rabbis spoke of being a community before God, a family coming back to Sinai, a people following the footsteps of their ancestors back in time to a definitive moment. This stirred me in deepplaces I had long forgotten. Although I had heard the word before only briefly in song and did not know its dictionary meaning, I was beginning to feel the true resonance of the Hebrew word, Am.
Next came Havdalah. Rabbi Freedman stepped forward to mark the distinction between the end of Shabbat, the separation of the holy from the profane. "From this one Havdalah candle we light the candle of Memory . . . that helps us find a path back to you . . . " (6)
Now that we had come together, it was time to start turning, turning back, returning. "O Merciful One, I am afraid to look at all the times I have turned away . . . I am sorry, forgive me, help me begin to return to myself . . . " (10)
The words left me in a warm state of wonder. Return, return to what? Me, myself...my Self? Well, what was that, anyway? Roman Catholicism would have me believe that was an eternal sinner forever pleading on bended knee for salvation. Modern-day tenets confirmed this, painting me as abhorrent for being queer and to be shunned as handicapped for being trans. I was not to be celebrated or advocated for; I was to be pitied, kept from sight and reminded to be ashamed as often as possible.
I wish I could tell you that Paganism left me feeling more empowered but I had run into door-slamming fundamentalists there, too. One priestess dis-invited me from an all-women ritual after learning of my trans status, confessing she was doing was ‘probably wrong’ but kept the door closed all the same. (As a friend once wisely observed, "a fundie is a fundie is a fundie.")
So what was Reform Judaism saying via Selichot? I heard that night that my queer trans soul was actually worth coming back to; that I wasn’t some sort of cosmic mistake or social leper to be shunned at the door; that my presence there wasn’t embarrassing to this congregation and those leading it; that, like everyone else gathered there, I had been "drawn from the reservoir of the Holy. (Mishkan T’filah 35)
Now came "Sho.fa.rot...Awakening". More shofar blasts. "T’ki.ah! Wake Up! Sh’va.rim! Look! Tru.ah! Return! And the shofar signals my turning to You. (10)"
This night ended much as it had began, with select voices singing Shlomo Carlebach’s Return Again, uging us to "return again/to the land of your soul." I left the temple that evening thinking about that deep topography, seeing it with my gladdened heart as a true land of beauty, wonder, goodness and purity.
What a way to start my first High Holy Days
On the desk next to me is a yellow ticket. Its heading reads: "We invite you to celebrate the 5771 High Holy Day Season". Below my name is inscribed this passage from Isaiah: "The Gates of Return are Always Open."
This is my comp ticket to the High Holy Days 5771 at Temple Israel, BostonTemple Israel, Boston. I did not think I would get to celebrate Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur at the synagogue where I was actively converting. I had made my peace with the fact that I would need to find a more suitable venue that reflected my (at the time) current life circumstances somewhere else. For this I held no animosity; how could I? This is where I was in life - just starting two part-time jobs after a hard stretch, struggling with new rent and old bills. I might as well rally against the wind.
But then my rabbi sent me a letter regarding my conversion, which included this comp ticket. Although she might not have known what this gift meant, I certainly did. I exaggerate only slightly when I say my heart cried a little out of thanks at the sight of it. I could now share my first HHD with the people I had been going to Shabbat service and Torah study with. I could be in the place I was starting to think of as my spiritual home.
Two new friends from the temple invited me to go with them to Slichot. I accepted and proceeded to bombard them with questions. What was this? Like a midnight mass? Uh, not quite, they replied, wisely saying nothing else so that experience could fill in my blanks.
The first part of the evening was a discussion on the six questions (according to the Babylonian Talmud) you will be asked on the way to heaven. We split up according to what question called to us. I ended up in the room where we tried to discern what is meant by dealing honestly with people in our business practices. If I thought, it was going to be some tinder-dry conversation I was quickly corrected. The topic may have been "business practices" but the theme of ethics quickly spread out over many facts of everyday life. Soon everyone was adding their experiences into the mix and all I could do was sit back and smile (of course, after adding my own .02). Here was this wonderful give-and-take, two-Jews-in-a-room-with-three-opinions dialogue that I loved about Judaism. After decades of unchallenged Roman Catholic-obedience to scripture and then, later, Pagan wanderings in search of its own Book of Shadows, I had finally come home to a circle where spiritual Truth was vigorously sought after - even if no definitive answer was ever found.
After a break we ended up in the Temple’s main hall which had been transformed into a sanctuary. We were given candles and programs. "Leil Slichot," read the cover. "Beginning the Inward Journey to Forgiveness" its subtitle. I searched through my mental files for any Catholic and Pagan experiences with a similar philosophy but could find none. It was hard not to tremble in my seat. I felt as though I was standing on that razor-fine edge that separates the old and the new, the mundane from the unexplored. Whatever this was going to be tonight, for me it would be an absolutely new dawn.
The lights were lowered and the rabbis began reading from the program text. Torahs were solenly brought in, heralded by the hallowed sound of the shofar. It was a calling that stood my spine straight up. As each scroll was "clothed . . . in light"(Leil Slichot 4) the rabbis spoke of being a community before God, a family coming back to Sinai, a people following the footsteps of their ancestors back in time to a definitive moment. This stirred me in deepplaces I had long forgotten. Although I had heard the word before only briefly in song and did not know its dictionary meaning, I was beginning to feel the true resonance of the Hebrew word, Am.
Next came Havdalah. Rabbi Freedman stepped forward to mark the distinction between the end of Shabbat, the separation of the holy from the profane. "From this one Havdalah candle we light the candle of Memory . . . that helps us find a path back to you . . . " (6)
Now that we had come together, it was time to start turning, turning back, returning. "O Merciful One, I am afraid to look at all the times I have turned away . . . I am sorry, forgive me, help me begin to return to myself . . . " (10)
The words left me in a warm state of wonder. Return, return to what? Me, myself...my Self? Well, what was that, anyway? Roman Catholicism would have me believe that was an eternal sinner forever pleading on bended knee for salvation. Modern-day tenets confirmed this, painting me as abhorrent for being queer and to be shunned as handicapped for being trans. I was not to be celebrated or advocated for; I was to be pitied, kept from sight and reminded to be ashamed as often as possible.
I wish I could tell you that Paganism left me feeling more empowered but I had run into door-slamming fundamentalists there, too. One priestess dis-invited me from an all-women ritual after learning of my trans status, confessing she was doing was ‘probably wrong’ but kept the door closed all the same. (As a friend once wisely observed, "a fundie is a fundie is a fundie.")
So what was Reform Judaism saying via Selichot? I heard that night that my queer trans soul was actually worth coming back to; that I wasn’t some sort of cosmic mistake or social leper to be shunned at the door; that my presence there wasn’t embarrassing to this congregation and those leading it; that, like everyone else gathered there, I had been "drawn from the reservoir of the Holy. (Mishkan T’filah 35)
Now came "Sho.fa.rot...Awakening". More shofar blasts. "T’ki.ah! Wake Up! Sh’va.rim! Look! Tru.ah! Return! And the shofar signals my turning to You. (10)"
This night ended much as it had began, with select voices singing Shlomo Carlebach’s Return Again, uging us to "return again/to the land of your soul." I left the temple that evening thinking about that deep topography, seeing it with my gladdened heart as a true land of beauty, wonder, goodness and purity.
What a way to start my first High Holy Days
Friday, January 21, 2011
Israel as Redemption
Between last night's lesson on the Eretz/Am/Medinah aspects of Israel at my Introduction to Judaism class at Temple Israel, Boston and Leon Uris' Exodus, which I am currently in the middle of, one word keeps surfacing: redemption, as in to redeem.
Merriam/Webster Online has some interesting definitions for redeem , including but not limited to: "to buy back", "to get or win back", "to free from what distresses or harms", and "to change for the better". All of which makes for an intense focal point, especially from a religious point-of-view and a historical context. (For as many have pointed out, and rightly so IMO, you cannot contemplate the current nation-state of Israel or its founding in 1948 without taking into account the millennium old persecution of the Jews, right through the Balfour Declaration and the Holocaust. And, I would add, the legal purchasing of the land in Palestine during the early days of Zionism.)
How much does this concept in all its meanings actually define and ultimately justify in the end? An ongoing discussion that needs to continue.
Merriam/Webster Online has some interesting definitions for redeem , including but not limited to: "to buy back", "to get or win back", "to free from what distresses or harms", and "to change for the better". All of which makes for an intense focal point, especially from a religious point-of-view and a historical context. (For as many have pointed out, and rightly so IMO, you cannot contemplate the current nation-state of Israel or its founding in 1948 without taking into account the millennium old persecution of the Jews, right through the Balfour Declaration and the Holocaust. And, I would add, the legal purchasing of the land in Palestine during the early days of Zionism.)
How much does this concept in all its meanings actually define and ultimately justify in the end? An ongoing discussion that needs to continue.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
My Shabbat State of Mind
Wait, I remember thinking when I first started to read up on Shabbat early on in my Jewish odyssey. Hold up, hang on. You expect me to give up Friday nights? That traditional kick-off to the weekend, the frothy just reward every Monday-through-Friday nine-to-fiver suffers through a workweek to chug down with both hands? That happiest of happy hours, the evening of long dinners out, of movie dates and dancing late, bowling teams in smoky lanes and football games under the fabled bright lights?
Not that I ever rallied for the home team from the stands and I can’t remember the last time I had drunk my way to a Saturday morning hangover. All the same I still felt very possessive of my Friday evenings. The thought of surrendering all those long held oft-praised adolescent-based glories - or at least the potential of them - seemed unthinkable, unreasonable, impossible.
Worse, as a Jew who would practice Shabbat I was also expected to ‘keep’ Shabbat from Friday sundown to Saturday evening. Granted, Reform Judaism did not insist on the same prohibitions as Conservative and Orthodoxy streams but it did strongly suggest that there be some restraint of those distractions that define the rest of the week - for a whole twenty four hours, no less.
Really? I thought. Look, I was already going to Shabbat studies on Saturday morning. I tried to spend some
time in a natural setting afterwards, whether it be a stroll through the greenery of the Riverway (a.k.a. that ‘dirty water’) or a meditative stroll along the Harborwalk contemplating the ‘world of creation’. Wasn’t that something? Wasn’t that enough?
At this time I had just started going to temple for Shabbat regularly - but only with the escape clause in my purse that said I could stop any time I wanted. Because I have to confess it felt weird to be going into a house of worship on a Friday - every Friday - especially as the rest of Boston headed off to the movies at Lowe’s, another round at Ned Devine’s or packed the ‘D’ or Riverside cars (not coincidentally, the same Green Line train I took to get to Temple Israel) for the game over at Fenway.
Of course, I was still thinking in a post-Catholic mindset, counting time on the Christian clock, turning the page of the Gregorian calendar. In the United States and other Catholic theocracies the world always revolves around Sundays. The week starts on Monday, slogs through Wednesday, quickens on Thursday. Once the whistle blows on the assembly line Friday at 5:00 p.m. you’re allowed two nights and a day of debauch (whether that debauch is defined as drinking, dancing, drugging, sex or shopping, or some combination thereof) squeezed into about 32 hours...40 if you’re really adventurous.
Then comes Sunday, worship day. Dress in your fineries, cue the organ music and incense, sunlight through stained glass, priestly intonations and confessing of all your hard-earned sins. Stop by the bakery on the way home, pick up The Globe or The Times, cook the day-long meal, kick back on the couch to watch the game.
Not so much on the Jewish clock. If you are going to Shabbat then it’s a Friday night that brings you through the synagogue’s doors. And guess what? The world outside is not going to stop for you. Restaurants, bakeries, baseball teams do not care. The Red Sox are still going to play that double-header, your non-Jewish or non-observant Jewish friends are still going to par-tay. Shabbat is pretty non-negotiable. You can catch one of a half-dozen possible Catholic masses to fit into your Sunday schedule but there is only one sunset on a Friday.
That seemed huge to me and perhaps rightly so. As author Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg points out in her book "Surprised By God," religion is supposed to be larger than the practitioner of it. What’s the use of any belief system that allows us to be equal with our Higher Power, and therefore can barter with, mold and shape to our own needs and fears?
Religion washes over us like a wave from the sea, not a stream from a showerhead we can turn on and off. Spirituality contains this hidden non-negotiable element of surrender in this respect. It says if you want to have a relationship with your Higher Power then you are going to have to pay attention. It kindly, lovingly demands a laying down of our arms (if not our pride and iPods, too). It just won’t work if we’re constantly checking our cell phones, thinking about tomorrow’s staff meeting or downloading the latest Lady Gaga or Justin Timberlake.
* * *
So I thought, okay, I can do this. Judaism wants just twenty-four hours, a single day out of the week. Is it really that so much to ask? Beside, I was starting to really connect with my spirituality again through Shabbat services and Torah studies in a way I hadn’t in decades. This was beginning to have real meaning for me, an emotional and intellectual investment. Did I really want to do anything that would intrude on this ongoing meditation, this love affair I was fostering with the universe and its Creator?
Then September came around - a new season, a new semester. I had a course problem. The only way I could get the minimum credits for financial aid was to take a Saturday afternoon class. Okay, I thought, I can do this. It didn’t impede on my Friday night services or my Torah studies. This was workable.
Only it wasn’t. The class was a three-hour lecture from noon into the middle of the afternoon. I had just enough time to wrap up Torah Study and bail on oneg to go catch the Green Line T to make the Red Line south to JFK/UMass and then race to grab the shuttle to the campus. On the good days I managed to land at my desk with literally minutes to spare. Most times it was five or ten minutes late. The class - Ancient and Medieval Art History - was engrossing and challenging, demanding my full attention and fostering critical thought. Which of course is what any good course should do.
But it also picked me up of my Shabbat and unceremoniously dropped me in the middle of a classroom. My weekly love affair now ended hours earlier than I wanted it too. Soon I began to resent it. Then I remembered I had made this choice and therefore needed to deal with its consequences. It was only for a few months, right? Dammit I could do this.
And I did, too, although not without some serious pangs. I’m pretty sure no one was happier than me the following Saturday morning at oneg. I was back, I had returned with some new lessons learned, not only in how to tell the difference between Doric, Ionic, Corinthian and Etruscan columns but in gauging the true depth of my Shabbat experience and my need to stay connected to the universe, give thanks and continue to have that beautiful wave wash over me.
* * *
Here’s what I found out - the more I went to Shabbat, the more I wanted to go. The more time I spent on a Saturday wandering the Harborwalk or along The Riverway, the more I wanted to look at nature through Shabbat-steeped eyes. The more I entered that Shabbat space the less I wanted to leave it. I began politely turning down friends’ invites to coffee chats or the movies and especially any Saturday protests. Hey, this is Boston - weekend protests in the Common is almost a given. Yet I knew to participate in one would totally shatter whatever Shabbat meditation I found myself in. Hard to keep an appreciation of God and The Torah and the gift of this world while screaming some clever political slogans.
Nowadays I schedule my Fridays so that I have the afternoon-leading-into-evening off. I try to do all my cleaning, food shopping and cooking done beforehand. I like the idea of being presentable in house, dress, body and mind to greet and invite the Shabbat bride via "L’Cha Dodi"into my Life for the day.
Does this mean I won’t buy food if I need to, or clean a plate I have dirtied (or shovel snow, as this *is* Boston in winter right now)? No...but I am trying very hard to keep from doing any extraneous activity which would tear me out of my Shabbat state of mind, rip me away from that special guest. No, twenty-four hours doesn’t seem enough now, not nearly enough.
I’ll end with this thought. Recently someone else new to this process admitted she wasn’t going to be able to make it to Shabbat. "I just can’t get out of work to make it there on time."
I totally respect where she is at. There was a time I thought I could live without Shabbat services. And with no disrespect to her, but these days I feel I would have a very hard time living without it.
Not that I ever rallied for the home team from the stands and I can’t remember the last time I had drunk my way to a Saturday morning hangover. All the same I still felt very possessive of my Friday evenings. The thought of surrendering all those long held oft-praised adolescent-based glories - or at least the potential of them - seemed unthinkable, unreasonable, impossible.
Worse, as a Jew who would practice Shabbat I was also expected to ‘keep’ Shabbat from Friday sundown to Saturday evening. Granted, Reform Judaism did not insist on the same prohibitions as Conservative and Orthodoxy streams but it did strongly suggest that there be some restraint of those distractions that define the rest of the week - for a whole twenty four hours, no less.
Really? I thought. Look, I was already going to Shabbat studies on Saturday morning. I tried to spend some
time in a natural setting afterwards, whether it be a stroll through the greenery of the Riverway (a.k.a. that ‘dirty water’) or a meditative stroll along the Harborwalk contemplating the ‘world of creation’. Wasn’t that something? Wasn’t that enough?
At this time I had just started going to temple for Shabbat regularly - but only with the escape clause in my purse that said I could stop any time I wanted. Because I have to confess it felt weird to be going into a house of worship on a Friday - every Friday - especially as the rest of Boston headed off to the movies at Lowe’s, another round at Ned Devine’s or packed the ‘D’ or Riverside cars (not coincidentally, the same Green Line train I took to get to Temple Israel) for the game over at Fenway.
Of course, I was still thinking in a post-Catholic mindset, counting time on the Christian clock, turning the page of the Gregorian calendar. In the United States and other Catholic theocracies the world always revolves around Sundays. The week starts on Monday, slogs through Wednesday, quickens on Thursday. Once the whistle blows on the assembly line Friday at 5:00 p.m. you’re allowed two nights and a day of debauch (whether that debauch is defined as drinking, dancing, drugging, sex or shopping, or some combination thereof) squeezed into about 32 hours...40 if you’re really adventurous.
Then comes Sunday, worship day. Dress in your fineries, cue the organ music and incense, sunlight through stained glass, priestly intonations and confessing of all your hard-earned sins. Stop by the bakery on the way home, pick up The Globe or The Times, cook the day-long meal, kick back on the couch to watch the game.
Not so much on the Jewish clock. If you are going to Shabbat then it’s a Friday night that brings you through the synagogue’s doors. And guess what? The world outside is not going to stop for you. Restaurants, bakeries, baseball teams do not care. The Red Sox are still going to play that double-header, your non-Jewish or non-observant Jewish friends are still going to par-tay. Shabbat is pretty non-negotiable. You can catch one of a half-dozen possible Catholic masses to fit into your Sunday schedule but there is only one sunset on a Friday.
That seemed huge to me and perhaps rightly so. As author Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg points out in her book "Surprised By God," religion is supposed to be larger than the practitioner of it. What’s the use of any belief system that allows us to be equal with our Higher Power, and therefore can barter with, mold and shape to our own needs and fears?
Religion washes over us like a wave from the sea, not a stream from a showerhead we can turn on and off. Spirituality contains this hidden non-negotiable element of surrender in this respect. It says if you want to have a relationship with your Higher Power then you are going to have to pay attention. It kindly, lovingly demands a laying down of our arms (if not our pride and iPods, too). It just won’t work if we’re constantly checking our cell phones, thinking about tomorrow’s staff meeting or downloading the latest Lady Gaga or Justin Timberlake.
* * *
So I thought, okay, I can do this. Judaism wants just twenty-four hours, a single day out of the week. Is it really that so much to ask? Beside, I was starting to really connect with my spirituality again through Shabbat services and Torah studies in a way I hadn’t in decades. This was beginning to have real meaning for me, an emotional and intellectual investment. Did I really want to do anything that would intrude on this ongoing meditation, this love affair I was fostering with the universe and its Creator?
Then September came around - a new season, a new semester. I had a course problem. The only way I could get the minimum credits for financial aid was to take a Saturday afternoon class. Okay, I thought, I can do this. It didn’t impede on my Friday night services or my Torah studies. This was workable.
Only it wasn’t. The class was a three-hour lecture from noon into the middle of the afternoon. I had just enough time to wrap up Torah Study and bail on oneg to go catch the Green Line T to make the Red Line south to JFK/UMass and then race to grab the shuttle to the campus. On the good days I managed to land at my desk with literally minutes to spare. Most times it was five or ten minutes late. The class - Ancient and Medieval Art History - was engrossing and challenging, demanding my full attention and fostering critical thought. Which of course is what any good course should do.
But it also picked me up of my Shabbat and unceremoniously dropped me in the middle of a classroom. My weekly love affair now ended hours earlier than I wanted it too. Soon I began to resent it. Then I remembered I had made this choice and therefore needed to deal with its consequences. It was only for a few months, right? Dammit I could do this.
And I did, too, although not without some serious pangs. I’m pretty sure no one was happier than me the following Saturday morning at oneg. I was back, I had returned with some new lessons learned, not only in how to tell the difference between Doric, Ionic, Corinthian and Etruscan columns but in gauging the true depth of my Shabbat experience and my need to stay connected to the universe, give thanks and continue to have that beautiful wave wash over me.
* * *
Here’s what I found out - the more I went to Shabbat, the more I wanted to go. The more time I spent on a Saturday wandering the Harborwalk or along The Riverway, the more I wanted to look at nature through Shabbat-steeped eyes. The more I entered that Shabbat space the less I wanted to leave it. I began politely turning down friends’ invites to coffee chats or the movies and especially any Saturday protests. Hey, this is Boston - weekend protests in the Common is almost a given. Yet I knew to participate in one would totally shatter whatever Shabbat meditation I found myself in. Hard to keep an appreciation of God and The Torah and the gift of this world while screaming some clever political slogans.
Nowadays I schedule my Fridays so that I have the afternoon-leading-into-evening off. I try to do all my cleaning, food shopping and cooking done beforehand. I like the idea of being presentable in house, dress, body and mind to greet and invite the Shabbat bride via "L’Cha Dodi"into my Life for the day.
Does this mean I won’t buy food if I need to, or clean a plate I have dirtied (or shovel snow, as this *is* Boston in winter right now)? No...but I am trying very hard to keep from doing any extraneous activity which would tear me out of my Shabbat state of mind, rip me away from that special guest. No, twenty-four hours doesn’t seem enough now, not nearly enough.
I’ll end with this thought. Recently someone else new to this process admitted she wasn’t going to be able to make it to Shabbat. "I just can’t get out of work to make it there on time."
I totally respect where she is at. There was a time I thought I could live without Shabbat services. And with no disrespect to her, but these days I feel I would have a very hard time living without it.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Jews in the Civil Rights Movement - My Jewish Learning
When I was studying which religious structures aligned best with my social-activist spirit, I kept coming across stories like this.
In a world all too ready to embrace the latest anti-semitic tall tale, may these never be forgotten.
Jews in the Civil Rights Movement - My Jewish Learning
In a world all too ready to embrace the latest anti-semitic tall tale, may these never be forgotten.
Jews in the Civil Rights Movement - My Jewish Learning
The Jewish Background of Strange Fruit
Maybe it's because yesterday was Martin Luther King Day, or maybe it's in response to acknowledge tikkun olam, Judaism's continuing imperative to seek social justice in the world.
Either way seems a good reason to post this.
The Jewish Background of Strange Fruit
Either way seems a good reason to post this.
The Jewish Background of Strange Fruit
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Am I being *that* kind of convert?
Yesterday an acquaintance posted how she had found a bit of Jewish ancestry in her family history and changed her FB name to reflect that. I hadn’t even known she was looking and sent her a quick Mazel Tov reply and a small note to acknowledge her joy and mention my own conversion process. Her response was a measured (if not awkward) Er, um, thanks. I imagine her thinking, okay, we haven’t spoken in months, trade a couple of Facebook posts every now and then, and you felt the need to share this with me?
Of course, I’m reading a tone that I can’t possibly know via the Internet and am totally projecting my own insecurities as a convert onto her eight word reply - just as I was totally projecting my feelings onto her original announcement. This has given me reason to pause and wonder, uh-oh. Shit. Am I being ‘that’ kind of convert? You know, the one who just can’t stop talking about her process, who finds joy in the more commonly shared aspects of her new experience, who wakes up with ‘Miriam’s Song’ in her head, who wants to absorb so much she might as well write Sponge under "Occupation" on her tax return, go from Zero to Psalm 150 in 3.5 seconds. Not fanatical or even obsessive, but rather a state-of-being just shy of ‘Ecstatic’.
I think about the amount of attention I give my Judaism. A few minutes devoted to prayer in the morning, blessings for the new day, maybe some more to my self-driven Hebrew lessons (that is, if I’m not feeling particularly intimidated by Bet, Pei versus Fei and all the sofit forms).During the day I try to incorporate A Jewish way of thinking informed by my evolving awareness of Jewish values. The latest ishes of Tablet Magazine, Jewish Journal and New Voices get dropped off in my email. If I have the time I’ll give them scan and post the more relevant pieces. In the afternoon I say the Amidah (again, if I remember). I try to always give blessings at meals but yeah, often I don’t realize until halfway through the salad.
On Sundays I realize the majority of my neighbors are going to their house of worship; for them the week won’t begin until tomorrow. Shavua Tov! Sometime around Wednesday I’m thinking about Shabbat on Friday, Torah Study on Saturday morning.
Admittedly it’s more than this. I feel like my Jewish awareness is slowly rising like the new dawn over the horizon, its light shining upon things I would never have contemplated so deeply before. Like Israel and the Middle East or looking at the world through the lens of tzedakah and tikkun olam. Like contemplating the word ‘chosen’ from a dozen different perspectives. Like feeling my heart weep when I visited the New England Holocaust Memorial and anger over how the country of my birth spurned European Jewish refugees, sending them back to their likely deaths, during World War 2. Like how uneasy and annoyed I feel when someone will describe a blizzard as a ‘snow-ocaust’.
All of which leads me to wonder if my simchat is too much simchat, and if so, by whose standards am I making that judgment? By my FB acquaintances? By my real-life friends, some who seem to look a tad uncomfortable when I remind them I can’t go to their Friday night protest or party? By my Catholic family’s? Or am I simply measuring this by the yardstick of my own insecurities?
A friend back in New York once gave me these words of advice: something becomes a problem when it adversely affects your life. I sometimes worry if said "something" has become so huge as to have taken over my life, would I even know it? Or would I be oblivious until I see (or imagine I see) the cringing wince in someone else’s face?
I like that I’m excited about my spirituality. It’s been years (if not decades) since I found such joy in relating to the universe. I am attracted to Judaism in its many forms for many reasons. It’s new. It’s bold. It’s encouraging and challenging. It’s adventurous. It’s Life-affirming, spirit-enhancing and soul-supportive. It’s joyful and dance-able. What better an evolution/ revolution in my life?
Will I always feel this way about it? I don’t know - that concern I will let go and Let G-d. Let me cross that bridge when I come to it, and when I do may I face it with grace, serenity, emotional knowledge and love.
And, of course, as a Jew.
Of course, I’m reading a tone that I can’t possibly know via the Internet and am totally projecting my own insecurities as a convert onto her eight word reply - just as I was totally projecting my feelings onto her original announcement. This has given me reason to pause and wonder, uh-oh. Shit. Am I being ‘that’ kind of convert? You know, the one who just can’t stop talking about her process, who finds joy in the more commonly shared aspects of her new experience, who wakes up with ‘Miriam’s Song’ in her head, who wants to absorb so much she might as well write Sponge under "Occupation" on her tax return, go from Zero to Psalm 150 in 3.5 seconds. Not fanatical or even obsessive, but rather a state-of-being just shy of ‘Ecstatic’.
I think about the amount of attention I give my Judaism. A few minutes devoted to prayer in the morning, blessings for the new day, maybe some more to my self-driven Hebrew lessons (that is, if I’m not feeling particularly intimidated by Bet, Pei versus Fei and all the sofit forms).During the day I try to incorporate A Jewish way of thinking informed by my evolving awareness of Jewish values. The latest ishes of Tablet Magazine, Jewish Journal and New Voices get dropped off in my email. If I have the time I’ll give them scan and post the more relevant pieces. In the afternoon I say the Amidah (again, if I remember). I try to always give blessings at meals but yeah, often I don’t realize until halfway through the salad.
On Sundays I realize the majority of my neighbors are going to their house of worship; for them the week won’t begin until tomorrow. Shavua Tov! Sometime around Wednesday I’m thinking about Shabbat on Friday, Torah Study on Saturday morning.
Admittedly it’s more than this. I feel like my Jewish awareness is slowly rising like the new dawn over the horizon, its light shining upon things I would never have contemplated so deeply before. Like Israel and the Middle East or looking at the world through the lens of tzedakah and tikkun olam. Like contemplating the word ‘chosen’ from a dozen different perspectives. Like feeling my heart weep when I visited the New England Holocaust Memorial and anger over how the country of my birth spurned European Jewish refugees, sending them back to their likely deaths, during World War 2. Like how uneasy and annoyed I feel when someone will describe a blizzard as a ‘snow-ocaust’.
All of which leads me to wonder if my simchat is too much simchat, and if so, by whose standards am I making that judgment? By my FB acquaintances? By my real-life friends, some who seem to look a tad uncomfortable when I remind them I can’t go to their Friday night protest or party? By my Catholic family’s? Or am I simply measuring this by the yardstick of my own insecurities?
A friend back in New York once gave me these words of advice: something becomes a problem when it adversely affects your life. I sometimes worry if said "something" has become so huge as to have taken over my life, would I even know it? Or would I be oblivious until I see (or imagine I see) the cringing wince in someone else’s face?
I like that I’m excited about my spirituality. It’s been years (if not decades) since I found such joy in relating to the universe. I am attracted to Judaism in its many forms for many reasons. It’s new. It’s bold. It’s encouraging and challenging. It’s adventurous. It’s Life-affirming, spirit-enhancing and soul-supportive. It’s joyful and dance-able. What better an evolution/ revolution in my life?
Will I always feel this way about it? I don’t know - that concern I will let go and Let G-d. Let me cross that bridge when I come to it, and when I do may I face it with grace, serenity, emotional knowledge and love.
And, of course, as a Jew.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Debbie Friedman Performs 'Mishebayrach' Live at LimmudLA'08
I'm just learning of her impact inside Reform synagogues. I can say her gifts to Reform Judaism was one of the reasons I felt so at peace in the congregation where I am now.
Keeping her in prayers, such as this one...
God as G-d a.k.a. HaShem who used to be known by El Shaddai = ?
So my last "Introduction to Judaism" class took on one of the big Judaic topics (or at least big for me). Namely, God. To say the subject was a tad intimidating would have been a gross understatement. All my previous spiritual backgrounds have framed their deities in very visible and (pun intended) concrete forms. Judaism will have none of that, thank you for very much.
For instance, Paganism has long been rift with anthropomorphic renderings of the (at the time) unknown. Ancient cultures dealt with the natural/supernatural worlds by dressing up their mysteries in flesh and bones. Stroke of lightning? Cue the angry bolt-tossing cloud god. Wild seas? Must be that annoyed Poseidon dude. The love in someone’s eyes? Blame a mischievous arrow-wielding cherub. Need to explain the fates? Bring in the trio of thread-weaving crones. What could a wife/mother call upon to aid her during the daily grind? Enter Hera, the paradigm of all long-suffering Wives and Mothers.
Of course, what seemed perfectly acceptably back in the day (e.g., Ancient Rome, Greece, Egypt) is a little harder to simply take at face value today. (Broad generalization warning here:) Modern Paganism teaches that its gods and goddesses are really manifestations of universal gender-polarized energies that can all be traced back to a single cosmic source. Those same energies are in us at all times, also. It is all connected. As such it would only make sense that as much as we are made in the Gods’ images we have in turn made Them in ours as well. As above, so below..
Catholicism is different - well, kinda. Historically, if not spiritually, Christianity seems to have borrowed liberally from both the Pagans and the Jews when sculpting its Higher Power for the masses (another pun intended). It rolled out a Zeus-like father figure who gladly accepts sacrifices, grants favors (miracles) and dispenses final judgments from a throne at the center of a cloud kingdom. Always in the male form (traditionally, if not annoyingly, the dominant culture always gets the privilege of making paradigms) he is considered the One - except of course when he’s the Three, as in Father, Son and Holy Spirit. (And you have to know there are no coincidences when examining this particular dynamic and the use of trinities in earlier Pagan cultures.)
While God has not always been the spokes-icon for The Catholic Church, where he has shown up has left little to the imagination (or to the gender of those who have been doing the imagining). Again, he is often portrayed as an elderly (and therefore supposedly wise) male, bearded, dressed, presumably muscular, seated in a position of ultimate authority and judgment. (Or not: Family Guy)
So spread the Tarot deck and take your pick: did you need The Disappointed-Daddy God or the Merciful Throw-You-A-Bone God? The Ruler of Olympus or The Heavenly Sovereign-as-counter-point-to-that-thoroughly-evil-Lobster-God-of-below?
Judaism offers something entirely different: nothing. Of course, I don’t mean an atheistic void but rather a monolithic (ha ha! yes I'm here all week) Question Mark, an Unknown, perhaps the greatest of Unknowns. There are no stained glass portraits or altar statues of the Sovereign of the Universe in any temple or even a preschooler’s sketch of HaShem in your local synagogue. And good luck trying to find some archeological evidence of Judaism's El Shaddai. Sorry, doesn’t exist. Never did. In fact, a great many Jewish thinkers from across the ages believe that to apply any human characteristics to God - even in terms of gender and emotions - is to be guilty of idolatry.
And, you know what? I get that, I really really do. Because I truly believe the moment we humans believe we can imagine something we try to categorize it/tame it/control it/render it impotent against us. You might reason that after thousands of years of matrimony we would kinda think otherwise. Evolution, apparently, is slow.
Still, what makes perfect theological sense can be quite the conundrum in reality. I don't know about you but in there have been plenty of times in my life when I have needed to imagine my Higher Power in the flesh per se, have some sort of mental picture to either hug or throw darts at, wanted some cosmic coat-hook to hang my fears or joys or praise upon. Sometimes I have needed the universe’s largest shoulder to lay my weary head upon, or have the Eternal Protector watch my back, or just have the Cosmos's oldest entity as a traveling companion along Life’s more lonely paths.
So what does Judaism’s faceless and genderless G-d leave for me to hold onto instead? If I can't pull a ready card out of Judaism's Tarot, what am I left with?
Coming from someone who is converting, my answers may sound limited. Or, if you will, evolving.
Here’s what I know. Instead of imagining a deity whom I can physically recognize and therefore think of as one day being equal to I am forced to reexamine my humble place in a larger cosmos. Instead of figuring out how to please/supplicate/satiate (and therefore second guess) some cloud-based supernatural being/pantheon I must now learn how to relate to my human community, of which I am inescapably a part of, here on earth. Instead of focusing attention (and money) on statues/tapestries/stained glass I am left to direct my thoughts and emotions on Torah and my Jewish family.
Hmmm. Is that what HaShem intended all along?
But then as a Jew I know better than to think I would have that answer.
For instance, Paganism has long been rift with anthropomorphic renderings of the (at the time) unknown. Ancient cultures dealt with the natural/supernatural worlds by dressing up their mysteries in flesh and bones. Stroke of lightning? Cue the angry bolt-tossing cloud god. Wild seas? Must be that annoyed Poseidon dude. The love in someone’s eyes? Blame a mischievous arrow-wielding cherub. Need to explain the fates? Bring in the trio of thread-weaving crones. What could a wife/mother call upon to aid her during the daily grind? Enter Hera, the paradigm of all long-suffering Wives and Mothers.
Of course, what seemed perfectly acceptably back in the day (e.g., Ancient Rome, Greece, Egypt) is a little harder to simply take at face value today. (Broad generalization warning here:) Modern Paganism teaches that its gods and goddesses are really manifestations of universal gender-polarized energies that can all be traced back to a single cosmic source. Those same energies are in us at all times, also. It is all connected. As such it would only make sense that as much as we are made in the Gods’ images we have in turn made Them in ours as well. As above, so below..
Catholicism is different - well, kinda. Historically, if not spiritually, Christianity seems to have borrowed liberally from both the Pagans and the Jews when sculpting its Higher Power for the masses (another pun intended). It rolled out a Zeus-like father figure who gladly accepts sacrifices, grants favors (miracles) and dispenses final judgments from a throne at the center of a cloud kingdom. Always in the male form (traditionally, if not annoyingly, the dominant culture always gets the privilege of making paradigms) he is considered the One - except of course when he’s the Three, as in Father, Son and Holy Spirit. (And you have to know there are no coincidences when examining this particular dynamic and the use of trinities in earlier Pagan cultures.)
While God has not always been the spokes-icon for The Catholic Church, where he has shown up has left little to the imagination (or to the gender of those who have been doing the imagining). Again, he is often portrayed as an elderly (and therefore supposedly wise) male, bearded, dressed, presumably muscular, seated in a position of ultimate authority and judgment. (Or not: Family Guy)
So spread the Tarot deck and take your pick: did you need The Disappointed-Daddy God or the Merciful Throw-You-A-Bone God? The Ruler of Olympus or The Heavenly Sovereign-as-counter-point-to-that-thoroughly-evil-Lobster-God-of-below?
Judaism offers something entirely different: nothing. Of course, I don’t mean an atheistic void but rather a monolithic (ha ha! yes I'm here all week) Question Mark, an Unknown, perhaps the greatest of Unknowns. There are no stained glass portraits or altar statues of the Sovereign of the Universe in any temple or even a preschooler’s sketch of HaShem in your local synagogue. And good luck trying to find some archeological evidence of Judaism's El Shaddai. Sorry, doesn’t exist. Never did. In fact, a great many Jewish thinkers from across the ages believe that to apply any human characteristics to God - even in terms of gender and emotions - is to be guilty of idolatry.
And, you know what? I get that, I really really do. Because I truly believe the moment we humans believe we can imagine something we try to categorize it/tame it/control it/render it impotent against us. You might reason that after thousands of years of matrimony we would kinda think otherwise. Evolution, apparently, is slow.
Still, what makes perfect theological sense can be quite the conundrum in reality. I don't know about you but in there have been plenty of times in my life when I have needed to imagine my Higher Power in the flesh per se, have some sort of mental picture to either hug or throw darts at, wanted some cosmic coat-hook to hang my fears or joys or praise upon. Sometimes I have needed the universe’s largest shoulder to lay my weary head upon, or have the Eternal Protector watch my back, or just have the Cosmos's oldest entity as a traveling companion along Life’s more lonely paths.
So what does Judaism’s faceless and genderless G-d leave for me to hold onto instead? If I can't pull a ready card out of Judaism's Tarot, what am I left with?
Coming from someone who is converting, my answers may sound limited. Or, if you will, evolving.
Here’s what I know. Instead of imagining a deity whom I can physically recognize and therefore think of as one day being equal to I am forced to reexamine my humble place in a larger cosmos. Instead of figuring out how to please/supplicate/satiate (and therefore second guess) some cloud-based supernatural being/pantheon I must now learn how to relate to my human community, of which I am inescapably a part of, here on earth. Instead of focusing attention (and money) on statues/tapestries/stained glass I am left to direct my thoughts and emotions on Torah and my Jewish family.
Hmmm. Is that what HaShem intended all along?
But then as a Jew I know better than to think I would have that answer.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Sarah, Ruth & I...: Catching Up, Part 3: August 2010
Sarah, Ruth & I...: Catching Up, Part 3: August 2010: In which I learn just why "Shalom Rav" and "Am Yisrael Chai" matters
Sarah, Ruth & I...: Catching up, Part 2: July, 2010
Sarah, Ruth & I...: Catching up, Part 2: July, 2010: In which I leave safe housing, wander the desert of Boston, and find a Jewish community
Saturday, January 1, 2011
A Jew on New Year's Eve
Shalom.
Today is January 1st, 2011 and 25 tevet.
I was wondering how I would deal with that New Year’s Eve/Day and Shabbat dichotomy since both were falling on the same date this year. My weary spirit already felt ground down beneath the heel of a seemingly endless Catholic holiday season (or at least my newfound heightened awareness of said religion’s dominance in this culture). I cringed at the thought of going into that inescapable intersection between the holy and the profane where once more the secular and my Judaism was going to collide. Awesome!
So then imagine my relief when I entered Temple Israel Boston yesterday evening to find one of the rabbi wearing a bow tie and tux jacket, tuning up his guitar for service. I had to smile, even laugh. That Shabbat service ended up striking a perfect (and for me, necessary) chord, sounding a Reform song of Jewish tradition with a nod towards the Gregorian calendar. It should come as no surprise to learn there was the option of champagne instead of wine for the Kiddush which started the oneg Shabbat.
I took a glass and raised it, not only for a blessing of wine but for the blessing of being a Jew on New Year’s Eve.
Shavua Tov!
Today is January 1st, 2011 and 25 tevet.
I was wondering how I would deal with that New Year’s Eve/Day and Shabbat dichotomy since both were falling on the same date this year. My weary spirit already felt ground down beneath the heel of a seemingly endless Catholic holiday season (or at least my newfound heightened awareness of said religion’s dominance in this culture). I cringed at the thought of going into that inescapable intersection between the holy and the profane where once more the secular and my Judaism was going to collide. Awesome!
So then imagine my relief when I entered Temple Israel Boston yesterday evening to find one of the rabbi wearing a bow tie and tux jacket, tuning up his guitar for service. I had to smile, even laugh. That Shabbat service ended up striking a perfect (and for me, necessary) chord, sounding a Reform song of Jewish tradition with a nod towards the Gregorian calendar. It should come as no surprise to learn there was the option of champagne instead of wine for the Kiddush which started the oneg Shabbat.
I took a glass and raised it, not only for a blessing of wine but for the blessing of being a Jew on New Year’s Eve.
Shavua Tov!
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