Friday, November 9, 2012
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
This Former-Pagan-Now-Jew Looks Back at Another Upcoming Halloween
7 Cheshvan, 5773
Today is October 23, 2012 - which means (according to the American secular calendar) a week from tomorrow is Halloween. For many (if not the majority of) Americans it is a social event that over the centuries has been hoisted (or foisted, depending on your p.o.v.) to the level of holiday. While not federally recognized (stupid
government, I imagine many undoubtedly groan), it does affect people across class, race, age and gender. Costumes will be bought or made (people still make costumes,
right?); candies will be purchased; bellies will still ache the morning after.
As a nation we spend an estimated 6.9 billion dollars on the last day of October. You read that correctly - that's billions as opposed to millions and all during a tentative recovery from the worst economic crash in a
generation. Cue Keanu Reeves.
While a significant marker
(especially in an unabashed capitalist society) money does not solely define Halloween’s
status in our nation’s collective consciousness. The day gleefully and insidiously reaches into other corners
of our daily lives like an ever-growing sticky spider-web. It spills out of our
TV’s to the screams of a thousand horror movie victims; it will be the theme of
many a school parade or dinner party; it takes over the Hallmark card rack down
at the local CVS. We even semi-consciously raise it among the other calendar milestones whenever we spot Christmas tree decorations out on the shelves before
the 31st. Each holiday in its due time, dammit!
For those who practice Wicca, the
day is called Samhain and is the start of a new pagan year. Needless to say, it figures prominently on the Wiccan calendar and in Wiccan consciousness. Throughout the
autumnal season Nature has been shedding its skin, preparing for its death-like
sleep of Winter. For the prior eight weeks the barriers between the living and the dead have been thinning, allowing the living to intuit the dead - and the dead the living - more than any other time of year. Respect is given to ancestors. As magic is wrought to
look ahead, meditation turns inwards, an introspection led by the kind hand of
the Crone. Death is contemplated not as a period at the end of a that run-on sentence which is Life but
rather as an ellipsis, leading simply yet profoundly, to the turning of a page…
I know
this because I used to be Wiccan, identifying as a child of the goddess, first
as a son, then as a daughter. Celebrating Samhain at the time was as natural for me as
breathing. Ever since I was a child the day had been somehow magical, filled
with mysterious delight. It somehow existed beyond the costumes and the
parties, connecting to something much more ethereal. When I finally stopped trick-or-treating (sad to learn one could actually
grow out of the tradition) I began telling ghost stories. I watched as many
scary movies during October as I could, growing an affinity for old Hammer
films. (Tim Burton became a bit of a god/dess send.) My friends would intuit this about me. Trips to pumpkin patches were mandatory for me. One Latina partner
unofficially dubbed me “Grand Calabaza” or her Great Pumpkin. So when I identified
as Wicca and celebrated Samhain I was joining in on a spiritual dance I seemed
to already know the steps to.
I do not know exactly when but at
some point I started moving beyond Wicca.
I didn't want to admit it at first. Wicca had had so much incredibly meaning for me it
seemed somehow like an act of infidelity to look beyond its tenets, to think outside its mindset. I had fully expected to die – and be reincarnated – as Wiccan. And
yet didn’t feeling guilty over the thought of leaving Wicca kinda already mean
I had? I was surprised, saddened and confused (and on some unconscious level relieved). What had happened? When had Wicca - and by extension, Halloween - stopped being so special? Where
had its meaning gone to? Where was the magic? (See what I did there?)
There
was no exact moment I could pinpoint, no foundation-shaking moment for me. It
had happened slowly, with the turning of the seasonal wheel. Although the music
of the magical universe still played on I found I had stopped dancing, had in fact stepped quietly off the dance floor. I still respected those who spun
widdershins – nothing but love, nothing but love – but the pan-pipe tunes no longer
called to me. I could be thankful for the experiences which had brought me to
where I was but to linger would somehow be an exercise in futility. For me the party no longer enthralled. That I
sensed this with the same intuition being Wiccan had honed in me seemed proof
that the Universe was not without a sense of irony – or without hope.
I have blogged elsewhere how I came
to Judaism so I will not repeat it here. I will say that while I harbor no latent
longings or angsty regrets, I do come to October 31st every year
with what feels like a unique perspective. First is this “Been-there/Trick-or-Treated
that” feeling. Being Wiccan gave me a particular look behind Halloween’s
metaphysical curtain. I feel somehow privileged for the view and the experience
of the dance and feel no need to return. (Again, nothing but love.)
I also feel like a distinct outsider.
This was driven home for me when, two years ago while I was still in the
process of converting, I took a trip with a Temple friend up to Salem, Massachusetts. It should not surprise you to learn that the cultural site of
The Salem Witch Trials has become a touristy ground-zero for those who
celebrate Halloween, pagan or not. I was anxious going up, wondering how I would react and admittedly I felt a
dissipating sadness while wandering through the crowds. Yes, I used to be a part of this revelry – and I had made
the conscious choice not to be anymore. And while it felt strange to be on the
outside of this party, this dance, it also felt right – just as becoming
pagan in my Twenties had felt right. When we finally left I felt as though I had come to kiss Wicca goodbye and move into my future - a Jewish homecoming I cannot help but think the loving, nurturing wise goddess would have
approved of.
So this is how I come to the perennial dialectic (or is it a debate?) regarding American Jews and Halloween.
While I will not judge those who fall on either side of this divide, I know how
I feel as a Jew about the day. While I can (and have) traced Halloween’s origins back to ancient Celtic culture, and can even argue
that it has been shaped in some part by the Christian elements of the United
States, I cannot say it is Jewish in any way, shape or form. Nor could I reasonably argue that Purim is the Judaic version of Halloween, as some gentiles figure. As such, I am at peace in
not celebrating it on either a cultural or spiritual level. I also feel no peer
pressure to do so. (I must note that, currently being without a child, I cannot imagine what Jewish
parents in America must wrestle with at this time of the year and fully respect
whatever decisions they end up making.)
Of course, in taking this particular and particularly public stance I often receive a slew
of responses from my gentile friends, ranging from the shocked How-can-you-NOT-celebrate-such-a-cool-night!
stare to the far more annoying Oh-you-poor-Jew-I-feel-so-sad-for-you look
of pity. But for me it only makes sense. Halloween
has no context for me as a Jew. For me it’s impossible to untangle the night
from its spiritual or historical roots - and none of those roots run back to
Israel. As I no longer cavort with the spiritual world, read Tarot or divine
dreams the thought of dressing up to confuse wandering evil spirits makes
little sense. And echoing the sentiments of other Jewish commentators, I’d
rather be in costume giving out food for Purim than collecting candy on October
31st.
I understand that on both an
inter-personal and macro level this can be a hard decision to take within a society so
culturally invested in Halloween (remember, nearly $7 billion dollars last
year). I also understand from a very personal vantage-point what Halloween
means as a spiritual event. Yet oddly (or perhaps not) as a former-pagan-now-a-Jew I
find it easy to walk among the revelers, appreciating their party even as I do
not partake of it anymore, and am amused that they would have more of a problem with it than I
do. That’s all right, though. I need only answer to myself, my Jewish community
and HaShem and we’re all just fine with my decision.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Monday, September 24, 2012
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!
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.
(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...
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...)
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