Sunday, September 23, 2012

Postcards from ימים נוראים: Overdue Thoughts on Kol Nidre


7 Tishri, 5773

The backstory: Although I have been going to my synagogue since Spring of 2010 and then converted in 2011, this year – 5773 – will be the first time I will be witness, and indeed a part of, Kol Nidre. As fate would have it, I did not make it during the previous two HHD seasons. The first year I was honestly lost in and subsequently overwhelmed by the High Holy Days – as strange as it sounds, the only way I could get through my first Yom Kippur was to be absent for Kol Nidre. Last year I was in bed with an awful head cold, which, as I had also stopped eating or drinking, and along with a change in meds, would contribute to my fainting in the middle of YK services the very next day. (Text received during my ER visit from one of my rabbis: “Are you all right? Did you mean to faint right before Mi Shebeirach?” Heart my clergy!)

Today I can relate that I am neither over-awed nor under-the-weather and am excited for this long delayed first Kol Nidre, especially with some new understandings I have recently come across.

Continuing backstory: A few months ago, Kol Nidre was the subject of a pre-Elul Torah study. As it was one of my HHD mysteries, and having been absent from it over the last two years, I immediately sat up to catch the discussion as it flew around me and ricocheted off the walls and ceiling. (My Torah Study group is wonderfully if not fearlessly active in their spiritual wrestlings. The WWE has got nothing on us.) Many characteristics of Kol Nidre I understood immediately – it was a legal formulation and not a prayer (check), written in Aramaic and not Hebrew, (check) wrapped in a beautiful haunting melody (check), which basically begins the Yom Kippur Services for the next 24 hours (check check check).

Yet there was one aspect I kept intellectually tripping over: the disavowing of vows. Um, why would there be a legal document read before Yom Kippur (the day of forgiveness/atonement) which seemed to allow any oath mentioned over the last year to be disavowed? Confusion reigned. Why bother genuinely asking for forgiveness and atonement from both another individual and God if we were saying any oath we made could be so broken?

You can probably guess what happened next. I raised my hand and voiced that question. No sooner had the words formed in the air than someone along the back row muttered “She’s wrong”. (Which is kinda the last response you want to hear in Torah Study.) The rabbi leading the group that morning responded by using my question to discuss how Kol Nidre was historically the basis of so many age-old anti-Semitic justifications. (Which, on second thought, is REALLY the last response you want to hear in Torah Study.) [1]

(Note to the designers of the ubiquitous “Intro-to-Judaism” courses: please consider including some special discussion regarding Kol Nidre in HHD lessons. That is all.)  

Now, some moons later, I am delving into a set of books called Rosh Hashanah Readings and Yom Kippur Readings, both edited by RabbiDov Peretz Elkins, so I can better understand, appreciate and participate in the HHD, which is unabashedly my favorite season of the Jewish calendar. Needless to say, I am pouring over the Kol Nidre section in search of some context to hang my questions on. And finally, upon reading more deeply the liturgical/halakhah/Biblical/historical background of Kol Nidre, I heard the clilk! of understanding from within, like that moment the key opens the tumblers of a particularly stubborn lock .   
* * *
(If the following aspects of Kol Nidre is all remedial Sunday School for you please skip to last line. No worries; I forgive you.)

My understanding now of the halakha roots to Kol Nidre can be traced all the way back to the Torah’s admonition against making frivolous oaths and promises. (Remember, this caution came in the ancient time of Balaam and blessings and curses, when it was thought that what came out of our mouths not only spoke of what was within ourselves but had power to create and destroy, heal or harm, in the real world. Much as it does now, even though we seem to forget this loaded truth online and off in the real world.) Your word was – or at least should be – bond. Specifically to each other and especially to God.

Kol Nidre seems to understand that despite the Torah’s warnings and the best of intention from us Jews, “frivolous”[2] oaths will pass from our lips to God’s ear. (Welcome to the human condition.) Therefore, before we can ask for God’s forgiveness and mercy, we must first deal with processing all those unfulfilled promises. This strikes me as amazingly functional in religious, emotional, psychological and even sociological terms. In this respect, Kol Nidre is the vehicle that helps us get from one side of Yom Kippur to the other. (I also now understand that Kol Nidre is specifically for oaths between us and God. We're still on the hook for buying that round next Saturday night because the Red Sox lost. Again.)

Additionally, there is a strong historical connection between Kol Nidre and the Conversos of Spain. [3]Faced with conversion to Christianity or death, they chose life in anti-Semitic medieval Spain as hidden Jews. How important Kol Nidre must have become for them in keeping their spiritual integrity intact during such times! (And from a socio-political p.o.v., it is therefore no surprise that anti-Semitics would hold up Kol Nidre as proof-positive that Jews would not keep to their forced conversions, embrace another belief system under the threat of torture and death could not be trusted at their word.) A beautiful drash in YKR also draws a connection between the Conversos of Spain and those of the Queer Community who find that too must hide their true identity in an unforgiving and cruel world. (I really cannot recommend these books enough.)

What Kol Nidre means in 5773 is something I am still gleaning and certainly welcome any-and-everyone else’s interpretation. (Anti-Semites excluded. Clearly.) 

With only two-and-a-half days (daze?) to go, may you have an easy fast this Yom Kippur, may your name be sealed in the Book of Life and may you (continue to) have the sweetest of years!


[1] Torah Studies assume some background knowledge of the topics under discussion.
[2] Yom Kippur Readings: Inspiration, Information, Contemplation, p20 – ed. Rabbi Dov Peretz Elkins
[3] ibid (p. 22)

Thursday, September 20, 2012

"Giving to The Needy is a Jewish Obligation"

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.

Monday, September 17, 2012

שנה טובה 5773!

It is daylight now, a cool autumnal Rosh Hashanah morning. The sun has just cleared the 

Boston skyline and found the blue sky blameless. Sigh - I am not quite as innocent but 

then, who is? The roommate is up, shaking off the Monday blues to get ready for work. 

Meanwhile I am happy to note all my professors have responded to my notice of absence 

from their classes today with "Happy New Year!"'s. It is still disorienting (although less so 

than in previous years) to me how the secular world goes on during Rosh Hashanah. Yet 

this year - 5773 - there is something else. From within the disorientation a sense 

of special divergence, a distinguishing difference, emerges. I am appreciating how this day, 

these Days of Awe, this Tishri, and this year of 5773, exists outside the norm. It imbues 

each moment with a profound and celebratory quality that I cannot quite define, nor am I 

sure I want to. I feel no need to analyze it more than that; I am at peace and joy just being 

in it.    


Goals: 

Embrace more question marks. (One of my rabbis is quoted as saying the question 

mark is the quintessential Jewish symbol. Couldn't agree more.) Keep feeling my feelings 

(rough one, that). Trust more. Love more. Read more Jewish texts - liturgical, Holocaust, 

philosophy, Israeli fiction and non-fiction. (Fun one, that. There are not enough hours in a 

day.) Learn and speak Hebrew, Biblical and modern. Get more present with and my 

congregation (another rough one, as I am socially awkward to a fault. And yet people keep 

asking me to sit with them. See Goal #1.) And, always, keep walking that narrow bridge...
                                                                   
                                                                          * * *

I do not know who you are, where you come from, what makes you laugh and cry or how 

you love. But may you be inscribed in The Book of Life and your new year be sweet...



Call Your Zeyde


Yes, I know it is a year old. But its joy has no expiration date...

Rosh Hashanah Rock via AISH



(Mitt Romney's people called. His Rosh Hashanah message is forthcoming...)

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Like ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’? You’ll love Judaism | Hollywood Jew | Jewish Journal

Like ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’? You’ll love Judaism | Hollywood Jew | Jewish Journal
Because if I have to trip over this pseudo-alt tripe everywhere I go (e.g. - a cafeteria cashier was reading pages between customers while a co-worker was gushingly singing its praises), then it's nice to have a smart, nuanced Jewish response out there...

Like ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’? You’ll love Judaism | Hollywood Jew | Jewish Journal

Like ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’? You’ll love Judaism | Hollywood Jew | Jewish Journal
Because if I have to trip over this pseudo-alt tripe everywhere I go (e.g. - a cafeteria cashier was reading pages between customers while a co-worker was gushingly singing its praises), then it's nice to have a smart, nuanced Jewish response out there...

Saturday, August 18, 2012

What is my worth as a childless single Jew?


1 Elul 5772

So lately I have been wondering what my communal and individual worth is as a single childless Jew.

I know (thanks to some very long nights with the Internet’s glow as my only nightlight) and acknowledge and appreciate that I am neither the first nor the only Jew to have asked this question. What solace I derive from this, while being poignant, also feels somewhat scant. Some Friday nights all I can do is sit awkwardly among the families and couples during Shabbat services, or note how I was the only single childless person at my last Pesach, or even amid the High Holy Day crowds. (I was blessed when, having fainted during last year’s Yom Kippur – yes, I was that person whose new meds and adherence to fasting landed me in an ER – I had an impromptu escort from the congregation who knew I was without family and did not want me to be alone. Just one more reason why I heart my temple.)

This ache of mine comes with an exacting irony. For the longest time being childless was my narrative. Various aspects of my past informed this personal chronicle. While I won't share all the details I will say that seeing so many family members and friends end up divorced was influential. (Honestly, how many times can you sit with someone who has either cheated on, or been cheated on by, their spouse and not wonder if being single is the equivalent of dodging the proverbial bullet?) Also - and this is hard to admit – I was sure I would make the world’s worst parent. I had my fair share of personal excesses, which while never landing me in jail or causing anyone else harm certainly made my judgment questionable at the time. Additionally, I existed for the longest time in the back corner of what felt like the universe’s deepest, darkest closet, shackled by shame over who I was. How could I expect to raise a child to grow into their best potential Self if I could not do the very same thing? Hypocrisy and I make for some very poor sleeping mates. (If you're reading this, sorry hypocrisy.)

Some of my partners had children and we got along pretty well, although I was often told that as I was not their biological parent, what did I expect? All the same it was a particular gut-wrenching anguish to have the children I watched grow up during the course of a thirteen year relationship turn away when I came out. It felt doubly so to be told not to contact most of my nieces and nephews during this same time.

Finally, I was given the opportunity to correct a long-standing medical problem – but in exchange I would lose my reproductive abilities. If you have been reading so far you can probably guess what my decision was. I made my choice convinced I had no regrets (if by “convinced” I mean ignoring and ultimately justifying away all the doubtful twinges).

So here was my narrative - childless-by-choice, wiser than the average divorcee - a story written chapter by chapter, decade after decade. I refuse to label this a “fiction” as I think that diminishes its importance. Instead I will call it a necessary false-consciousness which I eventually convinced myself was my truth. (The sociological equivalent term for this is known as developing a “taste of necessity”.) Looking around at all the ruined marriages and relationships (including my own), seeing how the coming-out process had stripped me of so much family, I felt comfortable that I had safely distanced myself from so much costly damage and eventual wreckage.

Then I converted to Reform Judaism and so many things changed.

No doubt some of you are thinking, “Well, ye-ah”. (I know I would be.) But whoa nelly, not so fast. At the risk of sounding like Donald Rumsfeld, while I certainly expected some changes and I even expected some unexpected changes, I did not think these particular feelings were going to float to the surface and make themselves known.
   
IMPORTANT WAIVER HERE!!!! I have to tell you that my temple, from the clergy and board members to the congregants and staff, have never made me feel less-than in ANY way shape or form. I can tell you that I currently carry forward more self-esteem than ever before, in no small part because of my spiritual family. This diminishment does not stem from my environment but from me.

Yet I would be disingenuous if I said that this very same environment did not give significant importance to family-making and had no effect on me. I would be telling untruths if I said that being a happy witness to weekly Jewish life-cycle acknowledgements such as marriage blessings, baby-namings and bat/bar mitzvahs Kiddush chanting hasn't made me more aware that I am without a family. I would be less than honest if I told you that when the rabbi said I would raise my children as Jews during my blessing my heart didn't lurch in a profoundly sad way. I would be lying if I told you I never felt like a Jew with limited worth. Not all the time, mind you. Perhaps not even often. But yeah.

Of course, Jewish worth is not based upon one’s capacity to mother, father or raise a household but by I would imagine one’s being a good Jew. And apparently there have been quite a few remarkable good childless Jews before me (including my Biblical namesakes). There are also quite a few commentaries, for example here, here, and here. (Trigger warning: some promote the idea and attitude that not having children or being single is a singular “disadvantage”, which tells you something of the author’s sense of normative.)

I wish I had some clever denouement to leave you with but honestly, being this transparent saps away any potential wit. Here’s what I know as today’s end credits roll: I remain grateful for my spiritual family; I am grateful and proud to be a Jew, and I cannot believe the worth of these two truths can and/or will be solely defined for me by the capacity to have or raise a family. So I leave you with this: Rabbi Harold Kushner writes in his book To Life! that being a good Jew isn’t defined by the amount of prayers you pray or how many times you end up at your synagogue (or, I imagine, how many children live under your roof) but rather, by always striving to be a better Jew. 

I may not know where any of my answers await but just for today, that goal seems like a good place to start from.

Shavua tov!