Rabbi On The 47 Percent: Giving To Needy Is A Jewish Obligation
(Rabbi Soffer is one of my Rabbis at Temple Israel. And an all-around cool guy.)
And yes, as some of the commentators of this article point out, giving to the needy should be a human obligation which transcends spiritual beliefs - but clearly it's not practiced as such, which for me makes Tzedakah all the more urgent, important, and meaningful.
Showing posts with label Temple. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Temple. Show all posts
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Sunday, April 15, 2012
This Jew Foursquare Mayor, Checking In and Checking Out.
24 Nisan, 5772
We were all mayors in Boston.
Well, to be accurate the first two were actual mayors of Boston. I, on the other hand, was a mayor in Boston. A Foursquare Mayor, multiple times, in fact. On campus. In my adopted town. And yes, even at my Temple. Like so many other places I inhabit during my day I simply “checked in” whenever I was physically there - for Shabbat Services, Torah study, Hebrew lessons, minyan, etc. I would do this unconsciously, sometimes “stealing” the title from the current Mayor, only to watch it get “stolen” back days later. I didn’t really give any of this much thought, maybe a shrug or two. Being a Foursquare Mayor of anywhere is not exactly something to put on a C.V. or in a frame, a legacy to hand down to your children or something to teach the next generation. It is certainly not why I moved to The Bay State and especially not why I became a Reform Jew.
But that whole not-giving-it-much-thought thing? That became the problem.
Recently I became Mayor of my Temple – again – and as a result was unexpectedly contacted by a local trendy newspaper. The reporter explained they were running a series on unique local Foursquare “mayors” and was wondering if I would consent to an interview and having my picture taken inside or outside the Temple. My first response? Great! I am a proud Jew and have no problem representing as such.
But something didn’t feel right.Something kept rolling around in the back of my brain like an annoying pebble in a shoe. It wasn’t just that the reporter wanted to take pictures of me on a Friday night. (I emailed him: Really, Friday night??? He admitted he wasn’t up on the whole religion thing.) It was wanting to take a picture of me in front or inside my Temple. My temple. That felt wrong all the way down to my core. My Temple is not a trendy newspaper article in a local hipster read or a ‘mayorship’ that can be/should be ‘won’ , ‘lost’ or ‘stolen’. This is a home to me, a place of community, shelter, even sometimes aliyah. It’s where I come for spiritual meditation, spiritual healing, spiritual questioning, spiritual family. Did I really want all that experience, all that meaning, all that joy, to be reduced to a couple of inches of clever print? Can any of that be awarded by some app?
I don’t think so.
So I made a decision - a good decision, an authentic decision. I politely declined the reporter’s offer. Then I abdicated my Mayorship for good. I will not be checking in at my Temple anymore. I should write the reporter and thank him, thank him for reminding me that my minyan prayers, Shabbat Services, Torah study or any of my being Jewish need not be validated like this, and that what is real in my world will never be awarded via the internet or be found on the printed page (well, outside The Torah, that is).
Saturday, February 5, 2011
The Call of Jewish Ethics
3 Adar, 5771
So Thursday night’s Intro to Judaism lesson touched upon a topic I had been waiting to delve into ever since Day One when I spotted it on my syllabus: Jewish ethics.
Does this sound dry, dull, perhaps even sleep-inducing? Not in the hands of the Temple Israel rabbi who led the class. (I am not mentioning his name only because I have not asked permission to do so yet. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t mind but I am trying to keep some blogging ethics here. Note the emerging theme) His amicable lesson, interwoven with humor, kept us all engaged.. Throughout the evening we found ourselves splashing through ideas of justice and fairness, justice versus fairness, digging up definitions of charity and mishpat and squishing some tzedakah between our toes. It was muddy and messy and fun. Were you expecting something else?
I was excited about this because Jewish ethics was one of the reasons (Reform) Judaism had called to me. Remember, I had found this path after my prior spiritual G.P.S. stopped working and I ended up lost, wandering in the desert of civilization. Not that I was on the verge of committing any grievous moral sins but I was in need of some serious course correction to turn myself around. Not just an arrow-shaped signpost either (as any and every religion offers those up in abundance) but a whole new compass, a new understanding of how to read the terrain of Life.
European-based Paganism (which, post Constantine, arguably became a socio-political underground reaction to the totalitarian dogma of rising Christianity) did not come with a lot of built-in ethics. Oh, I found some motivation to do good in the framework of karma, some earnest Scott Cunningham writings, some underlying socialist values (as found Starhawk’s beautiful and beautifully written paean "The Fifth Sacred Thing") and, of course, a definitive pro-Gaia environmental responsibility (which I still try to practice.). None of this was particularly helpful though as my know world began collapsing on itself. The fact that there was no real Pagan canon on the topic more than a few decades’ old was all the more frustrating. Steelwork wasn’t exactly getting me a job to help pay the mounting bills or simply get some food.
As for Roman Catholicism/Christianity (which, for better or worse, I will lump together here), its moral code had given justification for various relatives and friends to believe 1) I was somehow handicapped, or a pariah, as transgender, or 2) doomed to Hell for being my gender expression and sexual orientation or 3) some combination thereof. It was difficult - okay, damn impossible - to sidle up to any notion of right or wrong based on a belief system that automatically marginalized me.
Why would I have thought that Judaism offered a user-friendly, far-reaching moral consciousness, especially since I had never stepped into a synagogue or cracked open the Torah before in my life? To this day I am not sure. I think what started me thinking along those terms was how, when things started to fall apart around me, it was my Jewish friends who put deed before creed and stepped up to help, offering not just prayers but real-world and real-life actions. Now to be fair, some of my non-Jewish friends, including my BFF, who is Buddhist and possesses one of the kindest hearts I know, also helped out. And not all of my Gentile family and friends even knew the true depth of my troubles. But for many who did, their offering of copious prayers for miracles, although very appreciated, was not always practical. Personally I blame the God-dispensing-miracles mind set that leads many of us into moral cul-de-sacs, going around and around looking for any egress.
And unlike Paganism, Judaic ethics had oh, a couple of thousand years history of trial and tribulation to fall back on. Its roots run all the way back to the base of Mt. Sinai. If that covenant didn’t wed the laws to the Children of Israel then the codifying of them generations later would. These laws (arguably the inspiration for The Constitution of The United, at least in part) seemed to have remarkable staying power.
That is not a coincidence. I think one of the reasons Jewish ethics have stood the test of time, I think, is that they are based in reality in both deed and creed. They are not checkmarks to be tallied up outside the fabled pearly gates by some halo-wearing bouncer the day after you die. They also aren’t based on some metaphysical boomerang that will always return to sender. (Which, by the way, I still believe in, just not as the basis for a spiritual morality.)
Does any of this mean because they are commanded, if not inspired, by mitzvot that Jews are less prone to do wrong than anyone else? I doubt it. It doesn’t matter in the end if you represent with a Star of David, a hijab, or a crucifix - human is human is human. But I think it is difficult to discount a set of ethics which first came into being (however you want to believe that happened) before two of three major world religions even existed.
And it was upon that solid foundation (carved from Mt. Sinai, perhaps) that I instinctively knew I needed to re-plant myself upon.
Standing there still - Stephanie
So Thursday night’s Intro to Judaism lesson touched upon a topic I had been waiting to delve into ever since Day One when I spotted it on my syllabus: Jewish ethics.
Does this sound dry, dull, perhaps even sleep-inducing? Not in the hands of the Temple Israel rabbi who led the class. (I am not mentioning his name only because I have not asked permission to do so yet. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t mind but I am trying to keep some blogging ethics here. Note the emerging theme) His amicable lesson, interwoven with humor, kept us all engaged.. Throughout the evening we found ourselves splashing through ideas of justice and fairness, justice versus fairness, digging up definitions of charity and mishpat and squishing some tzedakah between our toes. It was muddy and messy and fun. Were you expecting something else?
I was excited about this because Jewish ethics was one of the reasons (Reform) Judaism had called to me. Remember, I had found this path after my prior spiritual G.P.S. stopped working and I ended up lost, wandering in the desert of civilization. Not that I was on the verge of committing any grievous moral sins but I was in need of some serious course correction to turn myself around. Not just an arrow-shaped signpost either (as any and every religion offers those up in abundance) but a whole new compass, a new understanding of how to read the terrain of Life.
European-based Paganism (which, post Constantine, arguably became a socio-political underground reaction to the totalitarian dogma of rising Christianity) did not come with a lot of built-in ethics. Oh, I found some motivation to do good in the framework of karma, some earnest Scott Cunningham writings, some underlying socialist values (as found Starhawk’s beautiful and beautifully written paean "The Fifth Sacred Thing") and, of course, a definitive pro-Gaia environmental responsibility (which I still try to practice.). None of this was particularly helpful though as my know world began collapsing on itself. The fact that there was no real Pagan canon on the topic more than a few decades’ old was all the more frustrating. Steelwork wasn’t exactly getting me a job to help pay the mounting bills or simply get some food.
As for Roman Catholicism/Christianity (which, for better or worse, I will lump together here), its moral code had given justification for various relatives and friends to believe 1) I was somehow handicapped, or a pariah, as transgender, or 2) doomed to Hell for being my gender expression and sexual orientation or 3) some combination thereof. It was difficult - okay, damn impossible - to sidle up to any notion of right or wrong based on a belief system that automatically marginalized me.
Why would I have thought that Judaism offered a user-friendly, far-reaching moral consciousness, especially since I had never stepped into a synagogue or cracked open the Torah before in my life? To this day I am not sure. I think what started me thinking along those terms was how, when things started to fall apart around me, it was my Jewish friends who put deed before creed and stepped up to help, offering not just prayers but real-world and real-life actions. Now to be fair, some of my non-Jewish friends, including my BFF, who is Buddhist and possesses one of the kindest hearts I know, also helped out. And not all of my Gentile family and friends even knew the true depth of my troubles. But for many who did, their offering of copious prayers for miracles, although very appreciated, was not always practical. Personally I blame the God-dispensing-miracles mind set that leads many of us into moral cul-de-sacs, going around and around looking for any egress.
And unlike Paganism, Judaic ethics had oh, a couple of thousand years history of trial and tribulation to fall back on. Its roots run all the way back to the base of Mt. Sinai. If that covenant didn’t wed the laws to the Children of Israel then the codifying of them generations later would. These laws (arguably the inspiration for The Constitution of The United, at least in part) seemed to have remarkable staying power.
That is not a coincidence. I think one of the reasons Jewish ethics have stood the test of time, I think, is that they are based in reality in both deed and creed. They are not checkmarks to be tallied up outside the fabled pearly gates by some halo-wearing bouncer the day after you die. They also aren’t based on some metaphysical boomerang that will always return to sender. (Which, by the way, I still believe in, just not as the basis for a spiritual morality.)
Does any of this mean because they are commanded, if not inspired, by mitzvot that Jews are less prone to do wrong than anyone else? I doubt it. It doesn’t matter in the end if you represent with a Star of David, a hijab, or a crucifix - human is human is human. But I think it is difficult to discount a set of ethics which first came into being (however you want to believe that happened) before two of three major world religions even existed.
And it was upon that solid foundation (carved from Mt. Sinai, perhaps) that I instinctively knew I needed to re-plant myself upon.
Standing there still - Stephanie
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.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Q & A
12, Tivet, 5771:
Why an online journal?
When I first told my rabbi that I intended to convert she suggested I keep a journal. I began with all good intent and energy, but soon a new semester and new job sapped most of both. Now that I have started an Introduction to Judaism course the same suggestion was made to the class (not coincidentally, by the same rabbi.) I thought, GPA and paycheck be damned, it was time to make a committment to myself along this Jewish journey of mine. I could let it pass by unobserved, focusing merely on my mikveh, or I could appreciate everything I was seeing/tasting/smelling/thinking along the way.
Why write online? To open myself up to discussions, an exhcange - and no doubt a crash at times - of thoughts. How else does anything in this universe grow except through friction? (Yeah, I know - "That's what she said.")
Why "Sarah, Ruth & I..."?
Some of my fave Jewish role models - Sarah, the first female Jewish convert, and how hard must that have been? You don't take many larger leaps of faith than being the first at anything (especially when it6 deals with spirituality.) And Ruth so passionately believed in her conversion that it became its own Book in the Jewish canon.
What stream of Judaism are you following?
Reform Judaism. Have really connected with its message of social justice being intertwined with spirituality. (Something I wish my Paganism had been more in tune with.) Love its ongoing discussion regarding religion (so unlike Christianity, which I was dragged up on.) Also love that it accepts me as I am - not as "handicapped", a "mistake" or just freakish, as some other religions have. (In case I hadn't mentioned it, I identify as a queer woman of transsexual experience).
Where do you go to Temple?Temple Israel, Boston - a welcoming community that greeted me so warmly from my very first Shabbat. (I currently go there for my Shabbat, Torah Study, Introduction to Judaism Class and Riverway Project Shabbats). The clergy and congregation have gone out of their way to remind me that the gates here are always open. They are resoundingly and unapologetically Pro-Israel (although they do feel free to question and act upon the country's less than liberal human rights record), left of center, and embrace the LGBT community (as in couples, families and singles.).http://www.tisrael.org/ Riverway Project Ohel Tzedek: Tent of Justice http://www.tisrael.org/gblt.asp
General Misc.:
Reading:
Just finished "Surprised by God" by Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg and couldn't recommend it more. Although she is a culture Jew and needed no formal conversion, I found many similarities between her journey and my own. In fact, my copy of the book is embarassingly annotated.Surprised by God: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Religion
For my class I am reading "Living a Jewish Life," a very accessible book by Anita Damant, and "Settings of Silver" by Stephen Wylen.
Other books read and recommended:
"The Sabbath" - by Abraham Joshua Heschel The Sabbath
"Seasons of Our Joy" - Arthur Waskow Seasons of Our Joy
"Choosing a Jewish Life" also byAnita Damant
"On Both Sides of The Fence"by Vladka Meed
"Maus: A Survivor's Tale" Volumes 1 & 2 by Art SpiegelmanMaus I & II
"Chronicles of The Holocaust"
Music:
As I post this I am listening to cuts from The Josjh Nelson Project. I had the absolute joy of listening to them live at Temple Israel, Boston's Soul Food/Riverway Project. http://joshnelsonproject.com/
Fave Local Jewish Organizations/Store
Keshet - Keshet ("Rainbow")
Kolbo - Kolbo
Why an online journal?
When I first told my rabbi that I intended to convert she suggested I keep a journal. I began with all good intent and energy, but soon a new semester and new job sapped most of both. Now that I have started an Introduction to Judaism course the same suggestion was made to the class (not coincidentally, by the same rabbi.) I thought, GPA and paycheck be damned, it was time to make a committment to myself along this Jewish journey of mine. I could let it pass by unobserved, focusing merely on my mikveh, or I could appreciate everything I was seeing/tasting/smelling/thinking along the way.
Why write online? To open myself up to discussions, an exhcange - and no doubt a crash at times - of thoughts. How else does anything in this universe grow except through friction? (Yeah, I know - "That's what she said.")
Why "Sarah, Ruth & I..."?
Some of my fave Jewish role models - Sarah, the first female Jewish convert, and how hard must that have been? You don't take many larger leaps of faith than being the first at anything (especially when it6 deals with spirituality.) And Ruth so passionately believed in her conversion that it became its own Book in the Jewish canon.
What stream of Judaism are you following?
Reform Judaism. Have really connected with its message of social justice being intertwined with spirituality. (Something I wish my Paganism had been more in tune with.) Love its ongoing discussion regarding religion (so unlike Christianity, which I was dragged up on.) Also love that it accepts me as I am - not as "handicapped", a "mistake" or just freakish, as some other religions have. (In case I hadn't mentioned it, I identify as a queer woman of transsexual experience).
Where do you go to Temple?Temple Israel, Boston - a welcoming community that greeted me so warmly from my very first Shabbat. (I currently go there for my Shabbat, Torah Study, Introduction to Judaism Class and Riverway Project Shabbats). The clergy and congregation have gone out of their way to remind me that the gates here are always open. They are resoundingly and unapologetically Pro-Israel (although they do feel free to question and act upon the country's less than liberal human rights record), left of center, and embrace the LGBT community (as in couples, families and singles.).http://www.tisrael.org/ Riverway Project Ohel Tzedek: Tent of Justice http://www.tisrael.org/gblt.asp
General Misc.:
Reading:
Just finished "Surprised by God" by Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg and couldn't recommend it more. Although she is a culture Jew and needed no formal conversion, I found many similarities between her journey and my own. In fact, my copy of the book is embarassingly annotated.Surprised by God: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Religion
For my class I am reading "Living a Jewish Life," a very accessible book by Anita Damant, and "Settings of Silver" by Stephen Wylen.
Other books read and recommended:
"The Sabbath" - by Abraham Joshua Heschel The Sabbath
"Seasons of Our Joy" - Arthur Waskow Seasons of Our Joy
"Choosing a Jewish Life" also byAnita Damant
"On Both Sides of The Fence"by Vladka Meed
"Maus: A Survivor's Tale" Volumes 1 & 2 by Art SpiegelmanMaus I & II
"Chronicles of The Holocaust"
Music:
As I post this I am listening to cuts from The Josjh Nelson Project. I had the absolute joy of listening to them live at Temple Israel, Boston's Soul Food/Riverway Project. http://joshnelsonproject.com/
Fave Local Jewish Organizations/Store
Keshet - Keshet ("Rainbow")
Kolbo - Kolbo
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