I got an email this morning from Jewish Lights Publishing about various books that describe how you can find express your spirituality through crafts. There are four (four!) recently published books describing how quilting, painting, scrapbooking and knitting can be used to help strengthen a Jewish connection to the Holy. These are four different books by four different authors, not a part of a series. My inclination towards these books is skeptical at best. Jewish spirituality is found in prayer, in study, in doing Mitzvot. All of this "crafty" stuff seems to be taking the easy way out. Lets do what we enjoy doing and put a Jewish twist on it. This approach drives me crazy. Then I read this week's parasha.
This week's parasha of course is all about finding your spirituality through craft. We are back on God's favorite subject, his house. It is time to get busy actually building Gods dream house. Before the work can begin however Moses reminds the people one more time about Shabbat. If there is one thing God cares about more than getting this Mishkan built it is Shabbat. God is obsessed with every detail of the mishkan. We are getting ready to hear about all of those details again. We read about them when they existed only in the mind of God and we will read again over the next two weeks exactly how each and every one of those details will be executed. The building of the mishkan will turn the people in a "kehilah" a congregation. It is the most important thing that they will do together as a group. But not at the expense of Shabbat, never that. The laws of Shabbat will be derived from the very work that they are about to tackle. Shabbat and the building of the Mishkan will be forever intertwined.
A project can never come at the expense of the essence of self. Yes, the Mishkan is important. Shabbat is more so. Have you had projects like the mishkan? Something so seemingly big it defines your essence? Our projects are important and in many ways define us. But they are not us. The defining bit of ourselves is not in what we make but who we are. We know our work or our projects is holy work when they start to feel like we are them. But then we have Shabbat.
This parasha goes back again to that concept of Terumah. Gifts given to the building of the Mishkan for all whose hearts are moved. Apparently many hearts are moved as the builders and crafters receive more material then they can use. Is everybodys heart moved to contribute or is it just that the people who do contribute bring so much? We are told that everyone whose hearts inspired them and whose spirits motivated them contributed. This is obviously not everyone in the community or we would have been told as much. Still the contributions were more than generous. Within a community there will always be those who give. The workers, the doers the givers. Our synagogue right now is looking for 100% contribution to the Capital Campaign. They won't get it, even Moses couldn't get it. It's the nature of community. Luckily many of our hearts are moved. And we whose hearts are moved have the challenge, the challenge and the burden to inspire others. If we can do it, if the leaders can actually do it then the community is a good one. Just don't loose sight of Shabbat, of who we really are. Do it with integrity.
So who are these talented craft people? The women whose "hearts inspired them with wisdom" who spun the goat hair? We have weavers and carvers and embroiderers and stone cutters and all types of artisans. They are filled with godly spirit, with wisdom,insight and knowledge. They are "wise hearted" and inspired. In fact they are called "chachamim" wise ones. Artistic talent and expression are holy endeavors. The artisans create the sacred space. They are absolutely using their talent to connect with holiness. Using art to express spirituality is what wise people do.
The building of the Mishkan brings the people closer to God because they are becoming God like through their creative acts. God is the ultimate artist. The ability to create is what makes us godlike. The ability to use our talents within a community is what makes us human. We are not all artisans but we are all artists. Our spirits are moved to do something within the creative realm. Many of us will spend our whole lives searching for this means. I know I am. But meanwhile we give to our community. And we rest on Shabbat.
Shabbat Shalom
Friday, February 29, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Hebrew Immersion
This is really a great concept. The work that we are doing at Neveh Shalom should be revolutionizing Jewish Education. We are creating afternoon synagogue based educational experiences that actually work. They work as well as day schools. Mira know Hebrew now. She can read and speak. Watching her is as magical as watching her learn to read and speak English.
My class is remarkable. Has anyone ever had a Hebrew School class like this one? One where the kids actually show up? To each and every class period? They and their parents are 100% committed to the concept of Hebrew School as worthwhile. We speak Hebrew in class. Only Hebrew. I run the class like I did my day school classes. We act out plays, play games, read stories, learn songs, write sentences. The kids enjoy themselves although they act out more than my day school kids ever did. We are working against the time of day here. It is also the synagogue which is different from the school. The synagogue should be a happy place for children. It should absolutely not be a place of fear or intimidation. I allow a great deal more chaos in my room than I am actually comfortable with. Mira complains too of the wild children in her class. still, there is real learning taking place.
The class is an interesting mix of language levels and abilities. We have the kids who attended PJA and the ones who came from Kochavim. What's really interesting is that we also have the kids who came from Hebrew School but who are exceptionally bright especially when it comes to learning new languages. Then we have the kids whose parents are on the board. They spend a lot of time at the synagogue. They understand all too well that the old system was broken and are committed to finding a better direction. The energy and intelligence in this room is palpable. We are a microcosm of the best and brightest of Neveh Shalom. Its an elitist model and it works.
I teach with the same philosophy I always have. Learning should be fun but it should be learning. Every activity is designed for both maximum enjoyment within the confines of educational validity. Sometimes this means learning a song or playing a game. Sometimes it means acting in skits. Sometimes it means sitting and reading a story and answering questions. The students work in groups or partners and by themselves. Always we include an element of tefillah. Some activities are hands on and some are teacher directed. Not everything works. The kids enjoy coming but not as much as they might enjoy soccer, or art or other activities we are competing with. It's okay. It is called Hebrew "School" for a reason. It's a little bit like school. So far no one has come up with a better system than school to get kids to learn. They are learning and enjoying themselves and coming so what more could you want?
The synagogue is a good place to come to learn. Why do we even have to say that? Because although it seems like an obvious thought it's almost never the case. Every Jewish educator and every rabbi and every teacher needs to know this. Synagogues that waste their time teaching kids to hate being Jewish should be shut down. It's time to admit that these programs that we've created in the past don't work. Most Jewish kids at some point will come across some type of Jewish educational program that takes place in a synagogue. Certainly more than who will find themselves in a day school or in a Jewish camp. We need new models of synagogue education. We have created something great at Neveh Shalom but it's not the only answer.
My class is remarkable. Has anyone ever had a Hebrew School class like this one? One where the kids actually show up? To each and every class period? They and their parents are 100% committed to the concept of Hebrew School as worthwhile. We speak Hebrew in class. Only Hebrew. I run the class like I did my day school classes. We act out plays, play games, read stories, learn songs, write sentences. The kids enjoy themselves although they act out more than my day school kids ever did. We are working against the time of day here. It is also the synagogue which is different from the school. The synagogue should be a happy place for children. It should absolutely not be a place of fear or intimidation. I allow a great deal more chaos in my room than I am actually comfortable with. Mira complains too of the wild children in her class. still, there is real learning taking place.
The class is an interesting mix of language levels and abilities. We have the kids who attended PJA and the ones who came from Kochavim. What's really interesting is that we also have the kids who came from Hebrew School but who are exceptionally bright especially when it comes to learning new languages. Then we have the kids whose parents are on the board. They spend a lot of time at the synagogue. They understand all too well that the old system was broken and are committed to finding a better direction. The energy and intelligence in this room is palpable. We are a microcosm of the best and brightest of Neveh Shalom. Its an elitist model and it works.
I teach with the same philosophy I always have. Learning should be fun but it should be learning. Every activity is designed for both maximum enjoyment within the confines of educational validity. Sometimes this means learning a song or playing a game. Sometimes it means acting in skits. Sometimes it means sitting and reading a story and answering questions. The students work in groups or partners and by themselves. Always we include an element of tefillah. Some activities are hands on and some are teacher directed. Not everything works. The kids enjoy coming but not as much as they might enjoy soccer, or art or other activities we are competing with. It's okay. It is called Hebrew "School" for a reason. It's a little bit like school. So far no one has come up with a better system than school to get kids to learn. They are learning and enjoying themselves and coming so what more could you want?
The synagogue is a good place to come to learn. Why do we even have to say that? Because although it seems like an obvious thought it's almost never the case. Every Jewish educator and every rabbi and every teacher needs to know this. Synagogues that waste their time teaching kids to hate being Jewish should be shut down. It's time to admit that these programs that we've created in the past don't work. Most Jewish kids at some point will come across some type of Jewish educational program that takes place in a synagogue. Certainly more than who will find themselves in a day school or in a Jewish camp. We need new models of synagogue education. We have created something great at Neveh Shalom but it's not the only answer.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
death
I thought if anyone could Joan Didion could write about death.
I've always suspected that I don't like Joan Didion. I feel like I should like her writing but there is a disconnect there. It's the same thing as reading Michael Chabon. I can recognize the quality of the writing without being drawn to it. I feel that way when I hear Barack Obama speak. The words themselves are stirring but they do nothing for my emotions. Still, I'm disappointed that Ms. Didion couldn't stir me with her story of death.
It seems like almost a too easy thing to write about. All you have to know is the end of the story, the persons great love died. You have the readers sympathy immediately, they are looking to cry with you. The reason they bought the book is to sympathize with you, to relate, to feel what you feel. They are probably reading it to come to terms with a death in their life. So make me cry dammit! I am ready.
So here goes:
The phone rang in the middle of the night. I was up. I was always up in those days. Once Mira woke up for her first feeding of the night that was it for me. I tried to go back to sleep but my body and my mind were not working well together. Exhaustion had become a part of me. I could feel it, touch it, I lived in it. But still I couldn't sleep. I tried to make my voice sound groggy when I answered the phone. Fran's voice was on the line, "Hadara they are giving your father constant morphine drips" she shrilled. "What?" "this is it sweetie". "It's Amy not Hadara". "Amy, so rry sweetie, I called the wrong number, all I know is that they are giving your father constant morphine you can go back to sleep now". Click.
Now what? What was that? Was this really how I was getting the news that my dad was dying? Fran never really got that my dad had a family before Jean, Hadara and Eytan. No one in Jean's family did. Unlike my mom's family they seemed to like him. And they were always nice to us but they didn't connect us to him in any significant way. Jean didn't do this. She treated us like family. She knew how important we were to my dad, how much he loved us. He was no less changed by the fact of us than I have been by the presence of Mira and Eli. He was our dad and his attachment to us came with whatever he brought to Jean. But her family was able to ignore this in a way that Jean never could. Still, she was tending to him. She needed her family to be speak for her. The fact that Fran had my phone number was strange. That she mixed it up with Hadara's was strange too.
Fran had given me an out on the phone. It was Hadara who was supposed to know that "this was it" not me. Why? Was it because I was on the West Coast and shouldn't have been up yet? Was it because I had a new baby and shouldn't have this grief? Or was it as I suspected because I was not really important enough to tell? Because in Fran's mind it wasn't my dad who was dying but Hadara's? This is the option I chose. I clung to it. The phone rang an hour later at 5:00. It was Phil calling from the East Coast. This was it, he was headed to Chicago and so were Beth and Jon. Still, her urged me not to come. Because of Mira I told myself. Because of Mira.
Mira saved me from going. If I hadn't had Mira I would have gone. I'm sure of it. But it was fitting for me to not be there. As much as he wanted to be he wasn't my father. As much as I wanted him to be. Fran was right about me. Our relationship was significant but I wasn't Hadara. Or Eytan. Or Beth, Phil and Jon. I was loved by him. It was a great love, a hugely important significant love in my life that was surely at that moment dying.
The next day of course was September 11th. If I had wanted to change my mind and fly off to Chicago I no longer could. There were no choices left to make. I would sit and wait. I would hold Mira and wait for the phone to ring. We went to costco and stocked up on emergency products and watched tv and waited for planes to fall from the sky. Beth called with updates. She talked about the surealness of watching the world fall apart on a a hospital tv. Eytan somehow made it home from Israel. I waited.
The call came at 5:00 am on September 13th. It was Phil and he told me with very little emotion in his voice. "Dad died this morning". I hung up the phone and cried. I cried in bed for my dad. The one who loved me but somehow forgot to be a dad to me. I would miss him terribly. I cried until Mira woke up, I fed her and cried with her on me. She would not know him. He had missed his chance with both of us. I cancelled my doctor's appointment scheduled for that day. I looked at pictures of him. Later Beth called and I spoke to Hadara.
Hadara told me the story of the nurse named Amy. On that last day he had been asking for me. They told him that I was home with Mira but that I was thinking about him. Still he asked for me. Later that day he had a new nurse, a nurse called Amy. Beth and Hadara both thought that hearing her name made him think that I was there too. Once all six of his children were around him he could let go and die. Six of his children, all six. In the end he knew he had six.
This is a messy death. All relationships, every single one has the same ending in store. Still this death refuses to die. Just as the relationship in life never reached its full potential so is this death doomed. I don't know how to let this one end. I never knew how to let it live.
I've always suspected that I don't like Joan Didion. I feel like I should like her writing but there is a disconnect there. It's the same thing as reading Michael Chabon. I can recognize the quality of the writing without being drawn to it. I feel that way when I hear Barack Obama speak. The words themselves are stirring but they do nothing for my emotions. Still, I'm disappointed that Ms. Didion couldn't stir me with her story of death.
It seems like almost a too easy thing to write about. All you have to know is the end of the story, the persons great love died. You have the readers sympathy immediately, they are looking to cry with you. The reason they bought the book is to sympathize with you, to relate, to feel what you feel. They are probably reading it to come to terms with a death in their life. So make me cry dammit! I am ready.
So here goes:
The phone rang in the middle of the night. I was up. I was always up in those days. Once Mira woke up for her first feeding of the night that was it for me. I tried to go back to sleep but my body and my mind were not working well together. Exhaustion had become a part of me. I could feel it, touch it, I lived in it. But still I couldn't sleep. I tried to make my voice sound groggy when I answered the phone. Fran's voice was on the line, "Hadara they are giving your father constant morphine drips" she shrilled. "What?" "this is it sweetie". "It's Amy not Hadara". "Amy, so rry sweetie, I called the wrong number, all I know is that they are giving your father constant morphine you can go back to sleep now". Click.
Now what? What was that? Was this really how I was getting the news that my dad was dying? Fran never really got that my dad had a family before Jean, Hadara and Eytan. No one in Jean's family did. Unlike my mom's family they seemed to like him. And they were always nice to us but they didn't connect us to him in any significant way. Jean didn't do this. She treated us like family. She knew how important we were to my dad, how much he loved us. He was no less changed by the fact of us than I have been by the presence of Mira and Eli. He was our dad and his attachment to us came with whatever he brought to Jean. But her family was able to ignore this in a way that Jean never could. Still, she was tending to him. She needed her family to be speak for her. The fact that Fran had my phone number was strange. That she mixed it up with Hadara's was strange too.
Fran had given me an out on the phone. It was Hadara who was supposed to know that "this was it" not me. Why? Was it because I was on the West Coast and shouldn't have been up yet? Was it because I had a new baby and shouldn't have this grief? Or was it as I suspected because I was not really important enough to tell? Because in Fran's mind it wasn't my dad who was dying but Hadara's? This is the option I chose. I clung to it. The phone rang an hour later at 5:00. It was Phil calling from the East Coast. This was it, he was headed to Chicago and so were Beth and Jon. Still, her urged me not to come. Because of Mira I told myself. Because of Mira.
Mira saved me from going. If I hadn't had Mira I would have gone. I'm sure of it. But it was fitting for me to not be there. As much as he wanted to be he wasn't my father. As much as I wanted him to be. Fran was right about me. Our relationship was significant but I wasn't Hadara. Or Eytan. Or Beth, Phil and Jon. I was loved by him. It was a great love, a hugely important significant love in my life that was surely at that moment dying.
The next day of course was September 11th. If I had wanted to change my mind and fly off to Chicago I no longer could. There were no choices left to make. I would sit and wait. I would hold Mira and wait for the phone to ring. We went to costco and stocked up on emergency products and watched tv and waited for planes to fall from the sky. Beth called with updates. She talked about the surealness of watching the world fall apart on a a hospital tv. Eytan somehow made it home from Israel. I waited.
The call came at 5:00 am on September 13th. It was Phil and he told me with very little emotion in his voice. "Dad died this morning". I hung up the phone and cried. I cried in bed for my dad. The one who loved me but somehow forgot to be a dad to me. I would miss him terribly. I cried until Mira woke up, I fed her and cried with her on me. She would not know him. He had missed his chance with both of us. I cancelled my doctor's appointment scheduled for that day. I looked at pictures of him. Later Beth called and I spoke to Hadara.
Hadara told me the story of the nurse named Amy. On that last day he had been asking for me. They told him that I was home with Mira but that I was thinking about him. Still he asked for me. Later that day he had a new nurse, a nurse called Amy. Beth and Hadara both thought that hearing her name made him think that I was there too. Once all six of his children were around him he could let go and die. Six of his children, all six. In the end he knew he had six.
This is a messy death. All relationships, every single one has the same ending in store. Still this death refuses to die. Just as the relationship in life never reached its full potential so is this death doomed. I don't know how to let this one end. I never knew how to let it live.
Friday, February 22, 2008
ki tissa
Who is the leader of your family? Is it the mom or the dad, one of the kids? I think this is the key problem in this weeks parasha. The people need a leader.
Moses of course has been the unquestioned leader up until this point. But he is gone. He has been up on the mountain for so long listening to detail after detail after detail about the building of the mishkan. The parasha starts out with the continuous detail about the building of the mishkan which as of now still exists only in the minds of God. I have to imagine that hearing about this is driving Moses crazy by now. It's like being stuck next to the most boring person at a dinner party who explains to you in excruciating detail the construction of their new home. You are treated to hearing about every tile, every shade of wood that they have chosen for their dream home. You have no choice but to sit and listen and smile. God is explaining who is contractors will be (Bezalel) his decorator (Oholiab) and exactly how this project will be paid for (the atonement offering, exactly one half shekel given by every Israelite rich and poor). I have to think that after 40 days of this Moses eyes are starting to glaze over.
Meanwhile utter chaos has broken out down below. The people have been without a leader, and act as thought they can barely remember him at this point. They turn to Aaron and say "this Moses, this man who brought us out of Egypt (you know the one) we don't know what became of him". They are lost without a leader and beg of Aaron two things, "kum" rise up, and "make us gods".
Aaron does the second and not the first. He isn't a good leader. Their first request "kum" is the most important one. They know that they need a leader. This group is the ultimate group of followers. They were slaves for most of their lives, they lack any capability of making their own decisions. The only thing that they know for sure is that they need a leader. Aaron is a bad choice.
He is a bad choice because rather than become their leader, he listens to them. He enables their bad decision and makes the calf for them. He gathers their jewelry and he himself makes the calf. They then hold it up and say "This is your god O Israel the one who brought you out of Egypt". They are completely ridiculous. This is not paganism, this is lunacy. They saw that five minutes ago this golden calf did not exist. They watched Aaron fashion it. There is no way that it brought them out of Egypt.
As quickly as he realized his mistake Aaron tries to fix it. He builds an alter and declares the next day a festival to God. Instead of worshiping God however the people dissolve into a kind of frenzy of pagan worship. They eat, they drink, they revel. It is too late for them to turn back to God with Aaron as their leader. The second in command was not a good choice as leader. But if you are raising children with two parents it is important that neither one becomes like Aaron. Both parents must be able to be the leaders in the house. Both must be tuned into the needs of the children. The children will ask for what they want (i.e a golden calf) a good parent will hear past what they want to what they really need which is a leader. As parents we must be ready to "kum" to rise up.
Meanwhile God finally stops this long monologue about the Mishkah, and tells Moses he better get back down to the people as utter pandemonium has broken out. In fact God is ready to destroy the people, but as Moses has no idea what is happening he implores God to save them. God hastily hands Moses the tablets with the ten commandments and Moses descends the mountain to have his heart broken. What he sees must have caused him so much pain. Can you imagine leaders if you go away and come back to find a family who you don't recognize? Who are these people? And Moses defended them. What ensues is terrible tragedy. Brother against brother, violent civil war and a despondent leader.
When Moses again speaks to God everything has changed. Moses doesn't want to lead the people nor does he want God to destroy them. God declares that he can no longer be with the people without destroying them and will send an angel in his place to accompany them to the promised land. Everyone has reached bottom. No one wants to go on. This is the nadir of bad. Finally God and Moses pull themselves together. There is no choice. When things are as bad as they can be we want to wallow in the badness. It feels like we can't go on. But really, we don't have a choice. There is no choice but to go on.
Have you felt that way? Have things gotten so bad for you that the only choice feels like to just stop and quit? Moses and God figure out how to go on. Moses must take action. The first thing he must do is practical. He must find two new tablets to replace the ones that he broke.
After he finds them he tells God that he can lead the people only if God stays with them. An angel won't do. He also tells God he must "know" Gods' ways. We have the mysterious scene of God passing by and showing his back to Moses. Also exclaiming that while God is mostly good there is bad involved too. Here we have it the nature of God. All good would be better. It would be better if everything would be fair. But its' not what we have. We have a God and a world and a life that contains good and bad and we better find that good or the bad will overwhelm.
God on his part decided to stick with the Israelites for the time being. But rather than going back to his talk about the Mishkan God tells Moses about some actual mitzvot that he will need the people to follow if he is to stick with us. We must not make idols! Never again. Also we should keep Shabbat, and not intermarry, and celebrate Pesach, Sukkot and Shavuot. And we shouldn't boil a kid in its mothers milk. Judaism pared down to its very bones I think are these commandments. More so than the ten which are mysterious, these are actions. They are doable. They are what makes us Jewish. They will keep God with us.
Shabbat Shalom
Moses of course has been the unquestioned leader up until this point. But he is gone. He has been up on the mountain for so long listening to detail after detail after detail about the building of the mishkan. The parasha starts out with the continuous detail about the building of the mishkan which as of now still exists only in the minds of God. I have to imagine that hearing about this is driving Moses crazy by now. It's like being stuck next to the most boring person at a dinner party who explains to you in excruciating detail the construction of their new home. You are treated to hearing about every tile, every shade of wood that they have chosen for their dream home. You have no choice but to sit and listen and smile. God is explaining who is contractors will be (Bezalel) his decorator (Oholiab) and exactly how this project will be paid for (the atonement offering, exactly one half shekel given by every Israelite rich and poor). I have to think that after 40 days of this Moses eyes are starting to glaze over.
Meanwhile utter chaos has broken out down below. The people have been without a leader, and act as thought they can barely remember him at this point. They turn to Aaron and say "this Moses, this man who brought us out of Egypt (you know the one) we don't know what became of him". They are lost without a leader and beg of Aaron two things, "kum" rise up, and "make us gods".
Aaron does the second and not the first. He isn't a good leader. Their first request "kum" is the most important one. They know that they need a leader. This group is the ultimate group of followers. They were slaves for most of their lives, they lack any capability of making their own decisions. The only thing that they know for sure is that they need a leader. Aaron is a bad choice.
He is a bad choice because rather than become their leader, he listens to them. He enables their bad decision and makes the calf for them. He gathers their jewelry and he himself makes the calf. They then hold it up and say "This is your god O Israel the one who brought you out of Egypt". They are completely ridiculous. This is not paganism, this is lunacy. They saw that five minutes ago this golden calf did not exist. They watched Aaron fashion it. There is no way that it brought them out of Egypt.
As quickly as he realized his mistake Aaron tries to fix it. He builds an alter and declares the next day a festival to God. Instead of worshiping God however the people dissolve into a kind of frenzy of pagan worship. They eat, they drink, they revel. It is too late for them to turn back to God with Aaron as their leader. The second in command was not a good choice as leader. But if you are raising children with two parents it is important that neither one becomes like Aaron. Both parents must be able to be the leaders in the house. Both must be tuned into the needs of the children. The children will ask for what they want (i.e a golden calf) a good parent will hear past what they want to what they really need which is a leader. As parents we must be ready to "kum" to rise up.
Meanwhile God finally stops this long monologue about the Mishkah, and tells Moses he better get back down to the people as utter pandemonium has broken out. In fact God is ready to destroy the people, but as Moses has no idea what is happening he implores God to save them. God hastily hands Moses the tablets with the ten commandments and Moses descends the mountain to have his heart broken. What he sees must have caused him so much pain. Can you imagine leaders if you go away and come back to find a family who you don't recognize? Who are these people? And Moses defended them. What ensues is terrible tragedy. Brother against brother, violent civil war and a despondent leader.
When Moses again speaks to God everything has changed. Moses doesn't want to lead the people nor does he want God to destroy them. God declares that he can no longer be with the people without destroying them and will send an angel in his place to accompany them to the promised land. Everyone has reached bottom. No one wants to go on. This is the nadir of bad. Finally God and Moses pull themselves together. There is no choice. When things are as bad as they can be we want to wallow in the badness. It feels like we can't go on. But really, we don't have a choice. There is no choice but to go on.
Have you felt that way? Have things gotten so bad for you that the only choice feels like to just stop and quit? Moses and God figure out how to go on. Moses must take action. The first thing he must do is practical. He must find two new tablets to replace the ones that he broke.
After he finds them he tells God that he can lead the people only if God stays with them. An angel won't do. He also tells God he must "know" Gods' ways. We have the mysterious scene of God passing by and showing his back to Moses. Also exclaiming that while God is mostly good there is bad involved too. Here we have it the nature of God. All good would be better. It would be better if everything would be fair. But its' not what we have. We have a God and a world and a life that contains good and bad and we better find that good or the bad will overwhelm.
God on his part decided to stick with the Israelites for the time being. But rather than going back to his talk about the Mishkan God tells Moses about some actual mitzvot that he will need the people to follow if he is to stick with us. We must not make idols! Never again. Also we should keep Shabbat, and not intermarry, and celebrate Pesach, Sukkot and Shavuot. And we shouldn't boil a kid in its mothers milk. Judaism pared down to its very bones I think are these commandments. More so than the ten which are mysterious, these are actions. They are doable. They are what makes us Jewish. They will keep God with us.
Shabbat Shalom
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
You deserve it
I signed up for a writing class. An actual real official writing class taught by an actual real official writer whose books I own.
Honestly once I found out about the class I didn't hesitate. It meets at a time of day that I am not working. It is expensive but we can afford it. I was excited to tell my one friend who is a real writer. I knew that she would be happy for me. She is a wonderful friend. She beams when she sees her friends approaching. She is encouraging and caring and insightful. When I told her about the class she hugged me and told me that I deserved it.
This is also what she did when I told her that I was going to Mexico with Beth and when I got new shoes. Also, when I ate dinner at Blossuming Loutus before I taught Melton, and when I got my hair highlighted. "I'm so happy for you Amy, you really deserve it."
Huh? What is she talking about? When I do things for myself it is not because I deserve them it is because I want them. I want new jeans, and writing classes, and girls nights, and vacations, and good food and pretty hair. Generally when I want something that is in my reach I get it. Why not? But people tell me that all of the time when they see me with something new. Good for you, Amy you really deserve it!
I'm not sure where they are getting the idea that I deserve theses things. Is it because I am not supposed to want things? Is it because most of the time I am giving so it doesn't seem to the outside world that I want? But, I do, of course I do. Why do giving and wanting have to be mutually exclusive? I love to give. I love to volunteer and make people dinner and nurture and take care of. So, why shouldn't I do the same for myself? But no one deserves what they give themselves. They want it, they do it, end of the story.
I do worry about people who don't allow themselves to have what they want. What a said life! Boy, are they missing out. I see the other side of all of this as well. The woman who you never see wearing the same shoes twice. The one with the nanny and the new car, and the new kitchen. No one tells her she deserves things either. She doesn't come across as a giver but a taker. She is the other extreme. She is the one we are all afraid of turning into. Therefore we tell each other that we deserve what we do for ourselves. Unlike her, the taker.
I think I got this one exactly right, thanks Mom! Taking care of others is important. It's huge, its the reason we women are here. I know that sounds horrible but its the nature of the world. But we must take care of ourselves too. Not because we deserve to but because we want to. And we are allowed to want. Wanting makes us human.
Honestly once I found out about the class I didn't hesitate. It meets at a time of day that I am not working. It is expensive but we can afford it. I was excited to tell my one friend who is a real writer. I knew that she would be happy for me. She is a wonderful friend. She beams when she sees her friends approaching. She is encouraging and caring and insightful. When I told her about the class she hugged me and told me that I deserved it.
This is also what she did when I told her that I was going to Mexico with Beth and when I got new shoes. Also, when I ate dinner at Blossuming Loutus before I taught Melton, and when I got my hair highlighted. "I'm so happy for you Amy, you really deserve it."
Huh? What is she talking about? When I do things for myself it is not because I deserve them it is because I want them. I want new jeans, and writing classes, and girls nights, and vacations, and good food and pretty hair. Generally when I want something that is in my reach I get it. Why not? But people tell me that all of the time when they see me with something new. Good for you, Amy you really deserve it!
I'm not sure where they are getting the idea that I deserve theses things. Is it because I am not supposed to want things? Is it because most of the time I am giving so it doesn't seem to the outside world that I want? But, I do, of course I do. Why do giving and wanting have to be mutually exclusive? I love to give. I love to volunteer and make people dinner and nurture and take care of. So, why shouldn't I do the same for myself? But no one deserves what they give themselves. They want it, they do it, end of the story.
I do worry about people who don't allow themselves to have what they want. What a said life! Boy, are they missing out. I see the other side of all of this as well. The woman who you never see wearing the same shoes twice. The one with the nanny and the new car, and the new kitchen. No one tells her she deserves things either. She doesn't come across as a giver but a taker. She is the other extreme. She is the one we are all afraid of turning into. Therefore we tell each other that we deserve what we do for ourselves. Unlike her, the taker.
I think I got this one exactly right, thanks Mom! Taking care of others is important. It's huge, its the reason we women are here. I know that sounds horrible but its the nature of the world. But we must take care of ourselves too. Not because we deserve to but because we want to. And we are allowed to want. Wanting makes us human.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
empty houses
Do you know that feeling when the house is empty? All of the furniture has been taken away. The suitcases are packed and ready to go. The movers have taken away all of the boxes. Dust that has been hiding for years overtakes the house, the house is empty but you are still there. It is no longer your house but for the moment you have nowhere else to live.
The first empty house I remember was Glendon Road in Cleveland. Mom and I had gone out to dinner with Tania and her mom. Afterwards they drove us home and came in. The house all of us remember, our house, the one where Tania and I had slumber parties and called boys and dipped potato chips in cream cheese, that house was gone. It was empty except for the slight lingering smell of our dog Athena who died the year before. The dog that no one ever taught to go to the bathroom outside. I've been back to that house as an adult, it still smells like Athena. The house that Beth and Phil and Jon lived in and Dad, that house was gone. Still mom and I would be sleeping there that night (where were our beds? Did we sleep on the floor in the living room?)and after Tania and her mom left we had nothing to do.
The TV was gone. I suggested we go to the library and check out books for ourselves but it was 9:00 pm the library closed. Mom reminded me that even if it was open we would need to return the books the next morning before we went to the airport we couldn't take them with us. Oh yeah. We were moving. Also we no longer had a car, going anywhere was out of the question. We went to sleep, we must have. We got up the next morning and left.
Jeff and I camped out on the floor in Boston. We still had the tv but the bed was gone. We slept in our sleeping bags in the living room and watched Grease. I've seen Grease 57 times. Really, that time was the 57th. I haven't seen it since. That was the best time. We were newly married and moving about a mile away. We were moving from a one bedroom apartment to the bottom floor of a two bedroom house. We were moving because we felt like it. The house was nicer than the apartment. It was simultaneously roomier and cozier. Moving was our way of celebrating our marriage. It was the way we marked our transition from engaged to married. How carelessly we said goodbye to this first apartment of ours! This was the last place of mine that mom ever saw.
We really did love that house in Brighton. We entertained there. We decorated and hosted visitors and bought furniture. I learned how to cook in that house. That house contained all of our happiness from our first years of marriage and nearly burst with the hopefulness of us. It was our home and it took very good care of us. It somehow still looked good even when it was empty. We left a lot of stuff there. In the end we piled up anything we didn't know what to do with and left inside the house. We abandoned that house. We had to. It was the only way we could leave. We were going to California.
The house in Redwood City was large without being cozy. We had deer there, actual deer. On the day we left Jeff spilled coffee on the white gray carpet of the cottage that never felt like ours. That house contained mostly our disappointment. We left nothing behind and we paid to have it professionally cleaned. They got everything but the coffee spill. The thing about that house was that it was always empty. We were never able to fill it with the hope that we had in Brighton. We didn't recognize ourselves in that part of California.
Two more houses emptied out in California before we found a home there. Somehow four years after moving to California we realized we were happy there. We had Mira and Eli. We made friends, we got back a little of the hope that we lost when we moved. But we couldn't stay. We didn't empty out that last house together. I took the kids to Laura's and Jeff and the movers emptied out the house. When the kids and I returned in the afternoon the house was no longer ours. The porch was a porch and not a playroom. We left our junk there once again and fled. We slept in a hotel that night. Mira called the hotel room "Portland".
I never saw mom or dad's houses when they were empty, I don't think I could have stood it. There is nothing sadder really than an empty house. The house is like the body that contains the soul. Maybe not as important but still vital. Vital to the survival of the inhabitants. I try to imagine this house emptied and I can't do it. It is so full of us. We are back. This house takes good care of us like the one in Brighton did. It contains us well.
The first empty house I remember was Glendon Road in Cleveland. Mom and I had gone out to dinner with Tania and her mom. Afterwards they drove us home and came in. The house all of us remember, our house, the one where Tania and I had slumber parties and called boys and dipped potato chips in cream cheese, that house was gone. It was empty except for the slight lingering smell of our dog Athena who died the year before. The dog that no one ever taught to go to the bathroom outside. I've been back to that house as an adult, it still smells like Athena. The house that Beth and Phil and Jon lived in and Dad, that house was gone. Still mom and I would be sleeping there that night (where were our beds? Did we sleep on the floor in the living room?)and after Tania and her mom left we had nothing to do.
The TV was gone. I suggested we go to the library and check out books for ourselves but it was 9:00 pm the library closed. Mom reminded me that even if it was open we would need to return the books the next morning before we went to the airport we couldn't take them with us. Oh yeah. We were moving. Also we no longer had a car, going anywhere was out of the question. We went to sleep, we must have. We got up the next morning and left.
Jeff and I camped out on the floor in Boston. We still had the tv but the bed was gone. We slept in our sleeping bags in the living room and watched Grease. I've seen Grease 57 times. Really, that time was the 57th. I haven't seen it since. That was the best time. We were newly married and moving about a mile away. We were moving from a one bedroom apartment to the bottom floor of a two bedroom house. We were moving because we felt like it. The house was nicer than the apartment. It was simultaneously roomier and cozier. Moving was our way of celebrating our marriage. It was the way we marked our transition from engaged to married. How carelessly we said goodbye to this first apartment of ours! This was the last place of mine that mom ever saw.
We really did love that house in Brighton. We entertained there. We decorated and hosted visitors and bought furniture. I learned how to cook in that house. That house contained all of our happiness from our first years of marriage and nearly burst with the hopefulness of us. It was our home and it took very good care of us. It somehow still looked good even when it was empty. We left a lot of stuff there. In the end we piled up anything we didn't know what to do with and left inside the house. We abandoned that house. We had to. It was the only way we could leave. We were going to California.
The house in Redwood City was large without being cozy. We had deer there, actual deer. On the day we left Jeff spilled coffee on the white gray carpet of the cottage that never felt like ours. That house contained mostly our disappointment. We left nothing behind and we paid to have it professionally cleaned. They got everything but the coffee spill. The thing about that house was that it was always empty. We were never able to fill it with the hope that we had in Brighton. We didn't recognize ourselves in that part of California.
Two more houses emptied out in California before we found a home there. Somehow four years after moving to California we realized we were happy there. We had Mira and Eli. We made friends, we got back a little of the hope that we lost when we moved. But we couldn't stay. We didn't empty out that last house together. I took the kids to Laura's and Jeff and the movers emptied out the house. When the kids and I returned in the afternoon the house was no longer ours. The porch was a porch and not a playroom. We left our junk there once again and fled. We slept in a hotel that night. Mira called the hotel room "Portland".
I never saw mom or dad's houses when they were empty, I don't think I could have stood it. There is nothing sadder really than an empty house. The house is like the body that contains the soul. Maybe not as important but still vital. Vital to the survival of the inhabitants. I try to imagine this house emptied and I can't do it. It is so full of us. We are back. This house takes good care of us like the one in Brighton did. It contains us well.
Friday, February 15, 2008
valentine's fairy
Last night the Valentine's fairy came to our house. She left a gift wrapped in pink tissue paper on the table for Mira, Eli and Jeff. Meanwhile, unbeknown to me (the actual Valentine Fairy) a different fairly had left a gift for me as well. "She" hid clues around the house starting at the coffee maker (she apparently knows my addiction quite well). I followed the clues, smiling all the way (quite a rare occurrence before I've even had my first cup) until I was led back to the drawer right next to the coffee maker. Chocolates. Truffles from the new store in Hollywood. This is a family where magic is real.
We are so lucky. In Laura's book she writes about her earliest memory. It is of her mother Norma dressing up as the tooth fairy. I knew very much my whole life that I was loved. I understand that this is lucky and beautiful. I met a baby this week who is not loved. This is perhaps the greatest tragedy I have ever seen with my own eyes. But, still no fairies ever came to our house.
This little family of ours stands so much in contrast to the one in which I grew up. Loving your children is of course the number one priority. But when you bring magic into their lives you are infusing them with more than love. I want Mira and Eli to grow up to be strong and independent for sure. Strength and independence are important, it's something that our parents taught us in spades. We got that. But, unlike the Blumenfelds, we didn't get magic. We didn't get the sense that we were worth the effort it takes to create those magical moments. And we didn't have parents who created them for each other.
In the end maybe it doesn't matter. Norma and Dave got divorced. Although only once, and once Hal and Laura were already grown. The magical family collapsed just as surely as the ordinary family. But Laura, well lets take a look at Laura.
She is one of the people that you meet who absolutely guides through life. She was always pretty, popular and smart. She speaks Hebrew and Arabic fluently. She cares passionately about the world and loves her family. She has deep friendships, is successful professionally (did I mention she has a book published that was actually reviewed in the New York Times), she is rich, has three beautiful children, and actually in fact married the cute guy from camp. The one all of the girls had a crush on. The counslor that all of the girls had a crush on.
Growing up we made fun of the Blumenfelds all of the time. They were so needy. Both of them had a constant need to be in the spotlight at all times. When they were around we Graubarts faded a bit. Our successes were less, our failure illuminated. Mom used to tell us that we were much more normal than they were. We understood that life was about ups and downs and struggles, successes and failures.
Okay, maybe this is true. I'm not sure why the Graubarts are constantly learning this but I'd say at this point we know it. Too well. But excuse me if I want something different for my children. I'd like to infuse some "Blumenfeld" into their lives. Let them believe in magic. Let them think that success is the norm and failure is the exception. Let them think that changing the world is what they can do. Of course they can!
We are so lucky. In Laura's book she writes about her earliest memory. It is of her mother Norma dressing up as the tooth fairy. I knew very much my whole life that I was loved. I understand that this is lucky and beautiful. I met a baby this week who is not loved. This is perhaps the greatest tragedy I have ever seen with my own eyes. But, still no fairies ever came to our house.
This little family of ours stands so much in contrast to the one in which I grew up. Loving your children is of course the number one priority. But when you bring magic into their lives you are infusing them with more than love. I want Mira and Eli to grow up to be strong and independent for sure. Strength and independence are important, it's something that our parents taught us in spades. We got that. But, unlike the Blumenfelds, we didn't get magic. We didn't get the sense that we were worth the effort it takes to create those magical moments. And we didn't have parents who created them for each other.
In the end maybe it doesn't matter. Norma and Dave got divorced. Although only once, and once Hal and Laura were already grown. The magical family collapsed just as surely as the ordinary family. But Laura, well lets take a look at Laura.
She is one of the people that you meet who absolutely guides through life. She was always pretty, popular and smart. She speaks Hebrew and Arabic fluently. She cares passionately about the world and loves her family. She has deep friendships, is successful professionally (did I mention she has a book published that was actually reviewed in the New York Times), she is rich, has three beautiful children, and actually in fact married the cute guy from camp. The one all of the girls had a crush on. The counslor that all of the girls had a crush on.
Growing up we made fun of the Blumenfelds all of the time. They were so needy. Both of them had a constant need to be in the spotlight at all times. When they were around we Graubarts faded a bit. Our successes were less, our failure illuminated. Mom used to tell us that we were much more normal than they were. We understood that life was about ups and downs and struggles, successes and failures.
Okay, maybe this is true. I'm not sure why the Graubarts are constantly learning this but I'd say at this point we know it. Too well. But excuse me if I want something different for my children. I'd like to infuse some "Blumenfeld" into their lives. Let them believe in magic. Let them think that success is the norm and failure is the exception. Let them think that changing the world is what they can do. Of course they can!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
a professional jew
I just really had a great time at the sock hop the other night.
There are not so many nights like that in a life. A night where the joy you feel is pure. For me it spills over into the night and doesn't allow me to sleep. The night Jeff and I got together for the first time. When we were biking through Italy. The night my children were born, both of those nights. It hasn't happened in a long time. Until Saturday night.
I loved making those hoops, selling them, and running the "hooping room". The smiles in the room were bright and beautiful. People wanted to buy something that I made. Me, who doesn't make things. And then the physical side of it. Me giving advice on a physical activity that takes coordination? But no one in that room questioned me. They couldn't see that I was a fraud. They asked if I had a shop. Where they could buy "my hoops" once we were sold out. If I gave lessons. In their mind I was not me but a different person altogether, someone who could have a shop. A shop full of shiny things.
What none of them knew other than Jeff and Libby is that really I am a professional Jew. A professional Jew does not have a shop full of shiny things. (The only type of shops that we have sell books and they are not shops but stores). We are Hebrew School teachers and camp directors, and rabbis, and professors, and writers. We are professional Jews because somewhere along the line we lost the difference between our professional and our social and our spiritual lives. We are often burnt out. We spend way too much time at the synagogue and bent over books and trying to be nice. We don't spend nearly enough time around shiny things. As a general rule we don't hoop.
I sometimes wish I could be someone with a shop. In my life I've wanted to be a nutrionist or a personal trainer. I've thought about opening a cafe for kids or a shop for girls. I'd like to teach a hooping class. But, who I am and I expect who I remain is a professional Jew. I suspect that side of me is just too big. My first book will have a Jewish theme I know it will. I will continue to be interested in nutrition and working out and hooping and cool shops. But they will remain I think in the background. They are hobbies. Hobbies are a good thing.
For most Jews today their Judaism is their hobby. They take it out occasionally, dust it off, and just as easily put it away. They attend a service. They take a class or read a Jewish book. For us professionals it encompasses everything we do and who we are. It is simultenuesly a blessing and a burden.
Today was the first day I was back at the school since the sock hop. I was congratulated and thanked for all of the hooping joy that I brought to the evening. I smiled. I lingered at the school for a while to savor the feeling. Then I came home and prepared for Melton. The topic of tonight's class is the "Jewish response to suffering". I read excerpts from the Torah, Talmud and other rabbinic literature as I figured out how to address this material. I sent an email to Phil and Brad and Ariel (some of my favorite professional Jews) with a question about a particularly difficult piece of Talmud.
So, that's it. Another chapter I'm sure in growing up rabbi. We do many things. We run, we hoop, we make things, we travel, we have children. But mostly we are Jews.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
terumah
This is one of those weeks where you really have to search for nuggets.
We start with the name of the parasha which is one of my favorite words in the Torah. Terumah. This word has no English equivalent although it is translated as both offering and portion. Rashi's explanation is that it implies a separation of one's resources to be used for a higher purpose. This comes from the root of the word, resh mem meaning "to uplift". This is simply a great concept! It is different than tzedakah which means justice. When we are giving tzedakah we are doing it because it is the right thing to do. We share with others. We are doing it because others are in need and this is our job. An affect of this process may be (and generally is) a sense of being uplifted. Gratification for the giver. But terumah is different. The Israelites will give terumah in order for them to be uplifted. This is the goal of terumah. It's a selfish kind of giving.
The next part of the sentence is interesting as well. God is telling Moses that he is to ask for terumah from the Israelites in order that they may build the Mishkan, or the world's first traveling synagogue. God does not tell Moses to command the Israelites to give terumah, but rather that Moses should take terumah from "all whose hearts move him". In other words the giving of terumah (unlike tzedakah) is completely voluntary. Another suggestion that the giving is meant more to uplift the individual and is not a selfless act.
So what kind of giving is selfish and what kind is selfless? Is giving to the homeless selfless while giving to the synagogue a kind of selfish act? It makes sense. It's true that when we give to the homeless we feel good. We are uplifted. But we ourselves don't directly benefit. When we give to the synagogue (or school or local community center) we are directly benefited. We have improved classrooms and teachers and sanctuaries and buildings. Maybe it's okay if we give so much that they name a room after us. Really it's terumah and not tzedakah.
The giving of the terumah will have a further benefit to the Israelites. The Golden Calf incident is coming. The giving of terumah and the building of the tabernacle is ultimately what will heal the people after the devastating consequences of the golden calf. So giving as a kind of healing, a Tikkun.
Terumah is also an individual gift. It is different for every person. God gives Moses a long list of examples of materials the people may give as terumah. They may bring gold, silver or copper. Also listed are turquise purple and scarlet wool, linen and goat hair, red dyed ram skins, dolphin skins(?!), acacia wood, oil, and stones. Interesting list. The word tachash is sometimes translated as dolphin and sometimes as tachash. The Stone Chumash tells us that the Tachash was a beautiful multi-colored animal that existed only during that time but is now extinct. But, whatever it is, can we really believe that any of these former slaves were in possession of such a skin?
Sure, they were given riches by their former masters in Egypt. And yes, they've gathered some spoils from the wars they have had along the way. But dolphin skins? I think that by throwing in this completely wild suggestion the Torah is cluing us in that there is something more going on here. It's our stop sign. The time we should take the text and turn it (Like Rabbi Ben Bag Bah my favorite Talmudic rabbi because of the name) to see what the deeper meaning is here.
If terumah is meant to uplift us and can be different for each person can it in fact be something internal rather than external? Perhaps terumah is what you bring to the table. Your unique gift that both uplifts you and allows you to give. Your artistic ability that you use to paint your child's classroom. Your skill with people that allows you to fund raise for your synagogue. Something intrinsic to you that only you can give. How can we find our own terumah? How can we help our children find theirs?
The rest of the parasha is boring. Really, I could barely bring myself to finish it. It is a very long, very detailed, description of what the tabernacle and everything within it should look. The scope of its description is mind numbing. Especially to me because I tend to gloss over details. Others point out to me chips in the paint on my walls, tears in my children's clothing, things I truly do not see. But this really is a fault. Sometimes I am reminded though that a fault that I have that I truly believe to be unique to me is really more universal in its scope. Many of us glide over the details. But God is in the details. Holiness is found there in every detail of our lives. We don't notice this when we are busy living our lives. But they are important! They are Holy. This parasha (if you can get through it) reminds us of that. So take a minute (and I'll try to do this too). Read all of the boring descriptions. Close your eyes and picture the details of the Tabernacle in your minds eye. Really see every detail. If you are artistic try to sketch it or paint it. Appreciate it for its extreme beauty. Now do the same with your own life. Close your eyes. Look at all of the glorious details that exist there. Focus on them, notice them. Notice the good and the bad. See their beauty. They are a blessing.
Shabbat Shalom.
We start with the name of the parasha which is one of my favorite words in the Torah. Terumah. This word has no English equivalent although it is translated as both offering and portion. Rashi's explanation is that it implies a separation of one's resources to be used for a higher purpose. This comes from the root of the word, resh mem meaning "to uplift". This is simply a great concept! It is different than tzedakah which means justice. When we are giving tzedakah we are doing it because it is the right thing to do. We share with others. We are doing it because others are in need and this is our job. An affect of this process may be (and generally is) a sense of being uplifted. Gratification for the giver. But terumah is different. The Israelites will give terumah in order for them to be uplifted. This is the goal of terumah. It's a selfish kind of giving.
The next part of the sentence is interesting as well. God is telling Moses that he is to ask for terumah from the Israelites in order that they may build the Mishkan, or the world's first traveling synagogue. God does not tell Moses to command the Israelites to give terumah, but rather that Moses should take terumah from "all whose hearts move him". In other words the giving of terumah (unlike tzedakah) is completely voluntary. Another suggestion that the giving is meant more to uplift the individual and is not a selfless act.
So what kind of giving is selfish and what kind is selfless? Is giving to the homeless selfless while giving to the synagogue a kind of selfish act? It makes sense. It's true that when we give to the homeless we feel good. We are uplifted. But we ourselves don't directly benefit. When we give to the synagogue (or school or local community center) we are directly benefited. We have improved classrooms and teachers and sanctuaries and buildings. Maybe it's okay if we give so much that they name a room after us. Really it's terumah and not tzedakah.
The giving of the terumah will have a further benefit to the Israelites. The Golden Calf incident is coming. The giving of terumah and the building of the tabernacle is ultimately what will heal the people after the devastating consequences of the golden calf. So giving as a kind of healing, a Tikkun.
Terumah is also an individual gift. It is different for every person. God gives Moses a long list of examples of materials the people may give as terumah. They may bring gold, silver or copper. Also listed are turquise purple and scarlet wool, linen and goat hair, red dyed ram skins, dolphin skins(?!), acacia wood, oil, and stones. Interesting list. The word tachash is sometimes translated as dolphin and sometimes as tachash. The Stone Chumash tells us that the Tachash was a beautiful multi-colored animal that existed only during that time but is now extinct. But, whatever it is, can we really believe that any of these former slaves were in possession of such a skin?
Sure, they were given riches by their former masters in Egypt. And yes, they've gathered some spoils from the wars they have had along the way. But dolphin skins? I think that by throwing in this completely wild suggestion the Torah is cluing us in that there is something more going on here. It's our stop sign. The time we should take the text and turn it (Like Rabbi Ben Bag Bah my favorite Talmudic rabbi because of the name) to see what the deeper meaning is here.
If terumah is meant to uplift us and can be different for each person can it in fact be something internal rather than external? Perhaps terumah is what you bring to the table. Your unique gift that both uplifts you and allows you to give. Your artistic ability that you use to paint your child's classroom. Your skill with people that allows you to fund raise for your synagogue. Something intrinsic to you that only you can give. How can we find our own terumah? How can we help our children find theirs?
The rest of the parasha is boring. Really, I could barely bring myself to finish it. It is a very long, very detailed, description of what the tabernacle and everything within it should look. The scope of its description is mind numbing. Especially to me because I tend to gloss over details. Others point out to me chips in the paint on my walls, tears in my children's clothing, things I truly do not see. But this really is a fault. Sometimes I am reminded though that a fault that I have that I truly believe to be unique to me is really more universal in its scope. Many of us glide over the details. But God is in the details. Holiness is found there in every detail of our lives. We don't notice this when we are busy living our lives. But they are important! They are Holy. This parasha (if you can get through it) reminds us of that. So take a minute (and I'll try to do this too). Read all of the boring descriptions. Close your eyes and picture the details of the Tabernacle in your minds eye. Really see every detail. If you are artistic try to sketch it or paint it. Appreciate it for its extreme beauty. Now do the same with your own life. Close your eyes. Look at all of the glorious details that exist there. Focus on them, notice them. Notice the good and the bad. See their beauty. They are a blessing.
Shabbat Shalom.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
growing up rabbi
I wonder really how much in the end this had any true impact upon my life.
I was essentially raised of course by mom. I was only seven years old when my parents got divorced for the second (and last) time. Dad married Jean and moved to DC. The memories I have of my parents being married to each other are foggy at best. When I really try to look back on my life it's hard to see anything before the time it became just mom and me.
There was the congregational seder at Beth Am in Cleveland where I drank four glasses of wine and became the star of the synagogue. There were Shabbat dinners with a lot of people I didn't know. Mostly there was yelling. Dad yelling at mom and at us. Mom yelling back at him but usually not at us. Usually she comforted us. Most of the time. There was their second marriage that we all went to in dad's office. I wore a winny the poo dress and got to sip some wine. (hmmm.... are we sensing a pattern here). This wedding had absolutely no similarity to any wedding I had ever seen before on TV. My mother did not wear a white dress, nor did she march down any aisle. There were no bridesmaids, no toasts, no parties. No one saying "do you Alex take thee Marilyn to be your lawfully wedded wife?" It was absolutely not like Carol and Mike's wedding on the Brady Bunch. This was possibly the most disappointing moment of my life. Growing up rabbi, not Brady.
Then there was the "family meeting". I can't remember much about my childhood but I remember this one like it was yesterday. First their was the announcement that we were having a family meeting. This in and of itself was big. The announcement was not made just to Beth and Phil and Jon but to me too. These meetings had happened before. I know they had but I had never gotten wind of the announcement. I'm not sure what they did with me but I'm certain they had them without my presence. Really, being in on the announcement assured me two things. We actually were a family. Really, a family. We so didn't seem like on. Also, I was a part of it, I was in the family. I'm not sure but the relief I felt at this was palpable. I knew I was okay, like the Brady's I had a family.
I brought this sense of relief to the meeting with me. We were all there all six of us. This was a rare occasion. Beth must have been in College by then so maybe it was Winter Break. The number of times the six of have been together in one room since that family meeting have been exactly four. The next time would be at my Bat Mitzvah. After that would be Phil's wedding, my wedding and then at mom's bedside before she died. I remember having that same feeling at each one of those occasions. It was a sick kind of relief like a six year old feels when they wet thier pants. I had a family, I really did. I am from somewhere.
Dad ran the meeting. Mom sat pretty quiet like one of the kids. He told us that they were getting divorced and that he would be marrying Jean. I don't remember what else he said. Probably that he loved us. I hope he said that. I know that he did, both of them did. Mom did eventually speak up. She told us it was a good thing. There would be no more fighting in the house. When two people can't live together without fighting all of the time it is better if they get divorced. The thing is that I knew at that moment she was right. She was absolutely right. I had never known a house that didn't echo with shouts. Where we didn't have to walk on eggshells around my dad. A house without fighting? Being invited to the family meeting? This was better than I thought. In that exact moment, I lost my family in the instance that I found them. We would never be the same again. Really, we would almost never all be together again. But it would be better and now that we were a family we would be a better family.
Strangely enough, it worked. They had a good divorce. As bad as their marriage was they did divorce pretty well. I never had any doubt that I was loved. Desperately and completely loved and adored and liked and respected (sort of). I know that Phil and Jon and Beth felt the same way.
So did growing rabbi affect the person that I have become? Do I even have the right to claim that I did in fact grow up rabbi? It goes back again to the moment at the seder. Most of my life has been an attempt to recreate that moment. Being the star. The star of the synagogue. And also not divorced. Absolutely not. With a real, true family which doesn't look Graubart, and not even Brady. The perfect family. Two parents, two kids, one boy and one girl. Everything totally normal. And the star of the synagogue.
I was essentially raised of course by mom. I was only seven years old when my parents got divorced for the second (and last) time. Dad married Jean and moved to DC. The memories I have of my parents being married to each other are foggy at best. When I really try to look back on my life it's hard to see anything before the time it became just mom and me.
There was the congregational seder at Beth Am in Cleveland where I drank four glasses of wine and became the star of the synagogue. There were Shabbat dinners with a lot of people I didn't know. Mostly there was yelling. Dad yelling at mom and at us. Mom yelling back at him but usually not at us. Usually she comforted us. Most of the time. There was their second marriage that we all went to in dad's office. I wore a winny the poo dress and got to sip some wine. (hmmm.... are we sensing a pattern here). This wedding had absolutely no similarity to any wedding I had ever seen before on TV. My mother did not wear a white dress, nor did she march down any aisle. There were no bridesmaids, no toasts, no parties. No one saying "do you Alex take thee Marilyn to be your lawfully wedded wife?" It was absolutely not like Carol and Mike's wedding on the Brady Bunch. This was possibly the most disappointing moment of my life. Growing up rabbi, not Brady.
Then there was the "family meeting". I can't remember much about my childhood but I remember this one like it was yesterday. First their was the announcement that we were having a family meeting. This in and of itself was big. The announcement was not made just to Beth and Phil and Jon but to me too. These meetings had happened before. I know they had but I had never gotten wind of the announcement. I'm not sure what they did with me but I'm certain they had them without my presence. Really, being in on the announcement assured me two things. We actually were a family. Really, a family. We so didn't seem like on. Also, I was a part of it, I was in the family. I'm not sure but the relief I felt at this was palpable. I knew I was okay, like the Brady's I had a family.
I brought this sense of relief to the meeting with me. We were all there all six of us. This was a rare occasion. Beth must have been in College by then so maybe it was Winter Break. The number of times the six of have been together in one room since that family meeting have been exactly four. The next time would be at my Bat Mitzvah. After that would be Phil's wedding, my wedding and then at mom's bedside before she died. I remember having that same feeling at each one of those occasions. It was a sick kind of relief like a six year old feels when they wet thier pants. I had a family, I really did. I am from somewhere.
Dad ran the meeting. Mom sat pretty quiet like one of the kids. He told us that they were getting divorced and that he would be marrying Jean. I don't remember what else he said. Probably that he loved us. I hope he said that. I know that he did, both of them did. Mom did eventually speak up. She told us it was a good thing. There would be no more fighting in the house. When two people can't live together without fighting all of the time it is better if they get divorced. The thing is that I knew at that moment she was right. She was absolutely right. I had never known a house that didn't echo with shouts. Where we didn't have to walk on eggshells around my dad. A house without fighting? Being invited to the family meeting? This was better than I thought. In that exact moment, I lost my family in the instance that I found them. We would never be the same again. Really, we would almost never all be together again. But it would be better and now that we were a family we would be a better family.
Strangely enough, it worked. They had a good divorce. As bad as their marriage was they did divorce pretty well. I never had any doubt that I was loved. Desperately and completely loved and adored and liked and respected (sort of). I know that Phil and Jon and Beth felt the same way.
So did growing rabbi affect the person that I have become? Do I even have the right to claim that I did in fact grow up rabbi? It goes back again to the moment at the seder. Most of my life has been an attempt to recreate that moment. Being the star. The star of the synagogue. And also not divorced. Absolutely not. With a real, true family which doesn't look Graubart, and not even Brady. The perfect family. Two parents, two kids, one boy and one girl. Everything totally normal. And the star of the synagogue.
Monday, February 4, 2008
killing with kindness
This is when you deliberately make someone feel bad by being especially nice to them. Generally it works like this:
Someone does something that you don't like. Let's say they are snooty to you and never greet you in the halls of your child's preschool. You can "kill" them by greeting them loudly and boisterously every day. By name. Extra points if you can actually make them stay and chat. The point is that you are very deliberately making them feel bad. You are not trying to be the better person. In fact you are playing a manipulative and not very nice game. They may have started it but you will win.
I am really good at this. I wave and smile to drivers who honk their horns at me or cut me off. Recently I received an unkind email from an acquaintance accusing me of overwhelming her with requests to meet for coffee. I immediately replied how very sorry I was and how the last thing I possibly wanted to do was overwhelm her and how I just liked and admired her so much and really did just want to nail her down for that coffee. Bang! Killed her.
I am pretty sure that I learned this skill from my Dad. Rabbis have to be good at this. Congregants come down hard on their rabbis. They complain if they don't greet everyone by name after each and every kiddush. They complain about the sermon, the length (too long, too short) of services, the quality of the shiva visit, the boisterousness of the wedding, the music at the Bar Mitzvah party. My dad handled all of these complaints by killing the complainers. Really he was the master. Except of course when he wasn't. Sometimes a congregant, or a cantor, or a board would push too hard and then my dad would push back. Really push back. He would forget the rules of killing with kindness and loose his temper. In Los Angeles he famously punched, literally punched, the president of the congregation and quit with no glance back.
Killing someone with kindness is a stealth operation. The key is that the other person has to have no idea what you are doing. They have to actually think that you are a kinder person then they are. Your kindness is what will show them what a jerk they were being in the first place. It's much more effective than being a jerk back at them. It's also jerkier.
The thing about it is that it's really the opposite of kind. A truly kind person can't do it. A truly kind person can get mad back. They can ignore or explain their position. They can't use kindness to kill. A person who kills with kindness is using kindness as a tool for manipulating people. It really works only if you have mastered the ability to come across as a genuine, caring, and kind individual when really you don't like people very much.
My dad managed to pass on this trait to at least five of his six children. We are intensely engaged in the world around us. We have deep friendships, families of our own, are well respected in our communities. We enjoy being with other people; in fact we thrive on it. All of us struggle with the notion that while we really want to be left alone when we are we are lonely. We are not what we seem. We talk about this only with each other, and the very few who have broken through our barriers and found us to be worth loving despite ourselves.
I wonder sometimes if we are really as bad we give ourselves credit for being? Is it maybe possible that we are not killing others with kindness but that we actually are a bit kind ourselves? My friend Sarah is truly a kind person. Possibly the kindest I have ever met. She is also tired, truly achingly bone tired. Her baby is the adorable and beautiful and a blessing and a miracle but she is the worst kind of baby. The kind who doesn't sleep.
On Saturday Jeff commented to her that he was especially tired these days. A joke. A particularly unfunny one, especially to Sarah. "Are you really tired, I'm sorry.." she replied. I watched the wind deflate from Jeff's sail a bit. As we were leaving she called after Jeff "I really hope you can get some more sleep soon", bang, killed him.
So, perhaps there is hope for the Graubart's after all?
Someone does something that you don't like. Let's say they are snooty to you and never greet you in the halls of your child's preschool. You can "kill" them by greeting them loudly and boisterously every day. By name. Extra points if you can actually make them stay and chat. The point is that you are very deliberately making them feel bad. You are not trying to be the better person. In fact you are playing a manipulative and not very nice game. They may have started it but you will win.
I am really good at this. I wave and smile to drivers who honk their horns at me or cut me off. Recently I received an unkind email from an acquaintance accusing me of overwhelming her with requests to meet for coffee. I immediately replied how very sorry I was and how the last thing I possibly wanted to do was overwhelm her and how I just liked and admired her so much and really did just want to nail her down for that coffee. Bang! Killed her.
I am pretty sure that I learned this skill from my Dad. Rabbis have to be good at this. Congregants come down hard on their rabbis. They complain if they don't greet everyone by name after each and every kiddush. They complain about the sermon, the length (too long, too short) of services, the quality of the shiva visit, the boisterousness of the wedding, the music at the Bar Mitzvah party. My dad handled all of these complaints by killing the complainers. Really he was the master. Except of course when he wasn't. Sometimes a congregant, or a cantor, or a board would push too hard and then my dad would push back. Really push back. He would forget the rules of killing with kindness and loose his temper. In Los Angeles he famously punched, literally punched, the president of the congregation and quit with no glance back.
Killing someone with kindness is a stealth operation. The key is that the other person has to have no idea what you are doing. They have to actually think that you are a kinder person then they are. Your kindness is what will show them what a jerk they were being in the first place. It's much more effective than being a jerk back at them. It's also jerkier.
The thing about it is that it's really the opposite of kind. A truly kind person can't do it. A truly kind person can get mad back. They can ignore or explain their position. They can't use kindness to kill. A person who kills with kindness is using kindness as a tool for manipulating people. It really works only if you have mastered the ability to come across as a genuine, caring, and kind individual when really you don't like people very much.
My dad managed to pass on this trait to at least five of his six children. We are intensely engaged in the world around us. We have deep friendships, families of our own, are well respected in our communities. We enjoy being with other people; in fact we thrive on it. All of us struggle with the notion that while we really want to be left alone when we are we are lonely. We are not what we seem. We talk about this only with each other, and the very few who have broken through our barriers and found us to be worth loving despite ourselves.
I wonder sometimes if we are really as bad we give ourselves credit for being? Is it maybe possible that we are not killing others with kindness but that we actually are a bit kind ourselves? My friend Sarah is truly a kind person. Possibly the kindest I have ever met. She is also tired, truly achingly bone tired. Her baby is the adorable and beautiful and a blessing and a miracle but she is the worst kind of baby. The kind who doesn't sleep.
On Saturday Jeff commented to her that he was especially tired these days. A joke. A particularly unfunny one, especially to Sarah. "Are you really tired, I'm sorry.." she replied. I watched the wind deflate from Jeff's sail a bit. As we were leaving she called after Jeff "I really hope you can get some more sleep soon", bang, killed him.
So, perhaps there is hope for the Graubart's after all?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)