d'varim

Al Shlosha D'varim Translation

2009-10-19T15:32:00.002-04:00

A lot of referring URLs to this blog are people looking for the translation to the phrase "Al shlosha d'varim." Which I mention in a blog post about leading services and reading Torah, but I don't think I've ever translated it. So, to satisfy those coming to this blog with that question, here it is:

Upon 3 things the world stands:
upon Torah, upon service to God, and upon acts of lovingkindness.

B'nai Mitzvot

2009-08-18T16:00:00.002-04:00

One of my best friends’ son is becoming a bar mitzvah this weekend. I’ve been to a number of b’nai mitzvot over the past 6 years, but I have not anticipated any like this one. I have watched her son, even in just the last year, grow and mature from a boy into a young man. I have shared many meals at their kitchen table, spent many hours in their house... to the point that they feel like my family. This young man has worked so hard and been so committed to what he is learning that, even without standing up in front of his entire family and community, he should be extremely proud of himself. The support that his family has given him is something that many people just never have. Each one of them has nurtured him, worked with him, studied with him, and in the end let him be himself. Every moment I have spent with my friend and her family I have felt the love and devotion simply radiate off of all of them.

B'nai Mitzvot have always been interesting to me; some can be very meaningful, very spiritual, and others can seem like both the kid and the family are going through the motions. The prep for a bar mitzvah at my temple requires a large commitment of time and energy by the entire family. But, there is also a sense at there that these are private affairs, to only be attended if you are a friend or family. I will admit to skipping a Saturday service or two in the past in order to avoid a bar or bat mitzvah that is occurring that day, so I am just as guilty. But, I think to continue to make our community stronger it is important that those of use who are regular attendees of Saturday morning Torah study and services show up for a bar or bat mitzvah. It lets people know that yes, we stand with our community. We ask our kids who go through this process to become a part of our prayer community, but what kind of message are we sending when we don't become a part of theirs? How can we expect them to take adult prayer seriously if we don't take them seriously?

There are those in the Reform world who think we do b'nai mitzvot all wrong, that it is too much a show and not enough a service. I believe at my temple my rabbi has really tried to keep these from becoming a show. I have found some deeply prayerful moments at these services, and I fully expect to again this week.

So, this weekend I will sit in the congregation with the multitudes of family who will have descended upon the city to be witness to the momentous occasion, and hopefully some of my fellow Saturday regulars. I will share in their pride and I will rejoice in the Jewish commitment this young man has made.

Alyssa Stanton: The convert, the rabbi, and the spotlight.

2009-07-23T10:39:00.003-04:00

I am not usually a fan of the online J-magazine Jewcy, but this story popped up in my email and grabbed my attention. I was at the ordination of Alyssa Stanton, but not because of her. I was there because friends of mine were also being ordained (at HUC-JIR, Cincinnati) and I was there to support them. So, it has been interesting to see all of the press coverage over Stanton, all the while knowing that my friends are deserving of just as much attention because of the amazing people they are and rabbis they will be. Obviously Stanton has received so much attention because she is the first African American woman to be ordained. But, as the Jewcy article points out, she isn’t the first African American to be ordained, nor is she the first woman of color to be ordained, yet the country and the world is still fascinated (see the article for more along this line of thought).

So, what is our fascination with Alyssa Stanton? I think part of it is the fact that she converted. Conversion is not only an increasingly hot topic within Judaism (one just needs to look at the frustrating situations in Israel re: conversion to see just how many lives are affected by differing views of conversion and converts), but it is controversial on many levels. If you convert via the Reform movement are you a full-fledged Jew? Will you be recognized by the Conservative and Orthodox movements? What about a Conservative conversion? What about a Modern Orthodox conversion? Will you be recognized by the Ultra-Orthodox? Who gets to say what constitutes a Jew and a legal conversion? Can a female rabbi be on the beit din?

Every article is quick to bring up that Stanton is a convert, which is important only in the context that it is a part of her history, her story. Jews are not really supposed to remind converts that they are, in fact, converts. Once you convert you are a Jew and should be referred to as such. Stanton converted some 20 years ago, so how incredibly frustrating to her to be referred to as a convert over and over again in local and national media. I’m sure she stopped thinking of herself as a convert long ago; I’ve only been Jewish for a little over 5 years, but it has even been a couple of years since I stopped thinking of myself as a convert and simply as a Jew. It is true that being a convert instead of a Jew-by-birth brings with it a different view of traditions and history, which would in turn inform someone's rabbinate, just as our history informs all that we do. But, you have to wonder: when will we just be Jews? Will there ever be a time when we won't need to explain our background or how we got where we are?

Becoming a rabbi is a remarkable achievement for anyone. Becoming the first African American rabbi is a footnote in history. Her race will not make Stanton a better or worse rabbi; her training, her commitment, her love of Judaism – these are what will determine Stanton’s quality as a rabbi. You have to wonder whether all of this attention on Stanton’s race and her first-of-a-kind situation is setting her up for either failure or disappointment. How can someone with so much hype actually live up to it? And what happens when the media attention fades? When the spotlight is off of her, what kind of rabbi will Alyssa Stanton actually be?

I think of my friends who were ordained alongside Stanton that day in June and I know that they will be great rabbis, spiritual leaders who will be attentive and loving throughout their careers. They do not have the spotlight on them, but perhaps they should. Or perhaps we should leave our spiritual leaders to what they do best: teaching, counseling, leading us in prayer, comforting us in grief, rejoicing with us in happiness.

Accountability and Arrogance

2009-07-21T15:45:00.001-04:00

Last Shabbat morning I read Torah (Matot-Masei). I hadn’t read in awhile, but this was a portion I had done last year, so I will admit to being lazy and choosing the same section to read so that my prep time would be minimal – which it was, at 30-45 minutes total. The intern asked me why I chose the verses I chose because it is a large portion (being double) and there is a lot of stuff to choose from. This is what I read:

Moses replied to the Gadites and the Reubenites, "Are your brothers to go to war while you stay here? Why will you turn the minds of the Israelites from crossing into the land that the Lord has given them? That is what your fathers did when I sent them from Kadesh-barnea to survey the land. After going up to the wadi Eshcol and surveying the land, they turned the minds of the Israelites from invading the land that the Lord had given them. Thereupon the Lord was incensed and He swore, 'None of the men from twenty years up who came out of Egypt shall see the land that I promised on oath to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, for they did not remain loyal to Me — none except Caleb son of Jephunneh the Kenizzite and Joshua son of Nun, for they remained loyal to the Lord.' The Lord was incensed at Israel, and for forty years He made them wander in the wilderness, until the whole generation that had provoked the Lord's displeasure was gone. And now you, a breed of sinful men, have replaced your fathers, to add still further to the Lord's wrath against Israel. If you turn away from Him and He abandons them once more in the wilderness, you will bring calamity upon all this people."

Now, I will admit this seems kind of random and not the best part to read, but here are my reasons. The Gadites and Reubenites had just asked Moses and Eliezar and the chieftans to remain on the side of the Jordan that would be better for their cattle. As you can see above, Moses has a bit of a fit over this, and in my opinion, rightly so. I think what is important here is that Moses is stressing responsibility to the entire community as a whole, not just your own insular groups. Our actions affect those around us, not just us individually or as a small group, but everyone, especially in this case. You must be accountable to yourself, but you must also be accountable to your people.

Beyond the idea of responsibility and accountability is that of plain old chutzpah. One of the commentators we read pointed out that the Gadites and the Reubenites should be praised because they are, in fact, expanding the holdings of the Israelites. My response to that is: if God wanted the holdings of the Israelites expanded to that side of the Jordan, don’t you think God would have indicated it to begin with? How incredibly arrogant of the Gadites and Reubenites if that was, indeed, a motive. They are, in a way, setting themselves on the same level as God.

So, that is what I brought away from the portion. Be accountable. Don't be arrogant. Amen.

It is a tree of life

2009-07-15T16:07:00.005-04:00

I posted a couple of months ago (here) about the re-emergence of my love of painting. I have been painting a lot. When I say a lot I mean 4 or 5 times a week, multiple times on a weekend if I can. It has become a bit expensive, but totally worth it. I’m going to take this post to talk about a few of the paintings.

A couple of weeks ago I decided to try my hand at a creation series. I’m pretty happy with most of the paintings, but think I may need to tackle a couple of the days again. For each day I took one aspect or event that always struck me (so Day 1 might seem perfect for “Let there be light!” but I have always liked the “unformed and void” part of creation. So, that is what I chose to attempt to paint. I’m not sure how successful I was, but this was my first try at a series and I know I do want to try another creation series again in the future.

Day 1:

My favorite day was Day 2: separating the waters above from the waters below. I have always loved the idea that the sky and the oceans were at one point the same thing.

My least favorites: Days 5–7. Those I will definitely be attempting again. I found it very difficult to portray the creation of animals, humans, and Shabbat. For Day 6 I kept getting stuck on depicting a soul. How do you paint a soul?

Something else I’ve wanted to tackle is for my favorite translation of the Gevurot:

1) We pray that we might know before whom we stand,
the Power whose gift is life,
who quickens those who have forgotten how to live,
having implanted within us eternal spirit.

2) We pray for winds to disperse the air of sadness,
for rains to make parched hopes rise again.

3) We pray for love to encompass us
for no reason save that we are human,
that we may blossom into persons
who have gained power over our own lives.

4) We pray to stand upright, we fallen; to be healed, we sufferers.
We pray to break the bonds that keep us from the world of beauty.
We pray to be open to our own true selves.
We pray that we may walk in a garden of purpose,
in touch with the power of the world.

5) Praised be the God whose gift is life,
whose cleansing rains let parched men and women rise again.

Rabbi Richard Levy
(From Mishkan T’filah, G’vurot, Shabbat Evening II)

This one is for paragraph 4 above:

I also have an interpretation of paragraph 3, but that one was also a lot more personal, so I’m not sure I’m going to share it publicly right now.

And finally, my tree of life:

Repost: And Let Us Say Amen

2009-07-02T08:13:00.002-04:00

Today is my step-sister's yahrtzeit. I don't really have anything I want to write, but thought I would repost what I wrote last year.

Originally posted July 9, 2008:

My Friday began late as I relished the opportunity to sleep in, staying in bed until well past noon. I had no specific plans for my day off, I just knew that I didn’t want to take part in any 4th of July celebrations. Seven years ago the holiday was tarnished for me as I stood on the back deck at my sister and brother-in-law’s house in Lexington and silently watched the fireworks on neighboring hills, all the while knowing that the next day we were burying my sister. The only thing I wanted this year was a quiet Shabbat celebration as I marked my sister’s yahrzeit, fully aware that the guilt I carry surrounding her last months will not fade just because I say Kaddish.

I was a 21-year old college student, living 4 hours away from home, working hard at a very demanding higher educational institution, and trying desperately to figure out who I am. My dad had remarried when I was 14 and I had gained a stepsister 13 years my senior. We never lived in the same house, or even the same town. And as a young adult who did not see or hear from her father much while away at college, I was sometimes quite jealous of her. She had gone back to school to get a degree in nursing and all I could think about was that she was supposed to graduate the same year as me and I wanted my dad at my graduation. And then my junior year none of that mattered anymore.

I knew that attendance would be sparse on the 4th of July at my temple; even our rabbi was still out of town at camp. I was right. When I walked in there were 3 people plus the intern, soloist, and pianist. Eventually we gained 3 more, but we never quite got to a minyan, which is rare on a Friday. I waited for the couple, friends of mine, to choose their seats, and then I chose a seat far from them. It’s not that I don’t like them; on any other Friday I would have chosen to sit with them. But that night I wanted to be by myself, to truly delve into the emotion of the coming Shabbat and my feelings surrounding the anniversary of my sister’s death.

She got sick when I was a sophomore. Breast cancer, which had recently claimed the life of her grandmother. 30-years old, too young to need to fight this horrible disease, but she did it gracefully. I was there during her final chemo treatments the first time. We all went out afterwards and celebrated at a restaurant in Lexington. Unfortunately she wouldn’t stay well for long.

We began services singing Shalom Aleichem. Even though the sun had not yet set the sanctuary had a dimness to it; it had been raining that day, thunderstorms as if the sky was as emotional as I would be that night. There is a coziness, a warmth, that I find in the darkness of a thunderstorm, though it hasn’t always been that way. I used to be frightened of the thunder, the lightning, the wind. That night, however, I was far from that fear. I sat quietly, singing along with the melody that always seems to be bittersweet to me. Here we are welcoming guests, helping to bring in the wonder of Shabbat, but there always seems to be that edge of sadness to it, a knowledge that this too will be over, this wonderful respite in time, and we will move back into the ordinary hours of our lives.

Christmas break during my junior year brought the news that my sister would be marrying her longtime boyfriend in March. Everyone was happy; no one commented on the short timeline. She asked me to be a bridesmaid, but having grown uncomfortable years ago at even the thought of wearing a dress, I begged off, saying I’d read a prayer instead, design the program. I made the trip down for the weekend, celebrating with my family. She had a special wig for the ceremony, dyed the red that she had always liked her own hair to be. On Sunday I drove back to school, back to my life away from my family, away from her and the cancer.

As we moved into the Sh’ma and its blessings I began to feel a tightness in the back of my throat. Barechu et Adonai hamvorach. Praised be Adonai to who our praise is due. Baruch Adonai hamvorach l’olam vaed. Praised is Adonai to whom our praise is due now and forever. And then the Ma’ariv Aravim. Blessed are you Adonai our God, Ruler of the universe, whose word brings on the evening, whose wisdom opens the gates and with understandings changes the seasons... I could barely say the words, much less see them through the tears that had welled up in my eyes. I felt overwhelmed with the sense of God’s presence and with the sadness I felt at the absence of my sister’s. God creates day and night, rolls light away from darkness and darkness from light.

I chose to stay up at school again that summer, working in one of the offices as I had done the previous year. Mid June I went home for the weekend and went down to visit my sister. By this point the cancer had spread to her abdomen and her brain. She had been having frequent seizures and hospice would soon be called in. But that weekend she was alert and joking and joyous. My dad later told me that she hadn’t been doing well up until that point and afterwards she declined rapidly. I felt lucky to know that the last time I really saw her she was at her best. Two weeks later on a Sunday night I got a call that I should come home, that she wasn’t expected to make it through the next couple of days. I wanted to leave right then, but it was late in the evening already. So, I waited and left in the morning. That afternoon I watched my sister take her last breath, surrounded by her family, her mom, her husband, my dad and my other sister. I said goodbye. The next few days were a blur; arrangements to be made, a funeral in Lexington, burial in Northern Kentucky, reception at my dad’s in Cincinnati. It was hot and humid and I have 4 distinct memories while the rest is hazy at best. The clearest memory I have is standing in the cemetary and listening to my dad, a reserved man most of the time, talk about losing the woman who thought of him as her dad, who called him “papa.”

Saying the Sh’ma that night I felt as if I were truly offering up my heart, my soul. Hear O Israel! Adonai is our God, Adonai is One. The God who made the heavens, who brought on the evening, who gave us life, is our God and God is echad. One. Unique. Ineffable, as Heschel would say. My voice was reaching out, using these words as a path to God, not up or down, but who enveloped me that night. With my eyes closed I could feel the stillness around me and feel the reverberation of my own voice in my chest, something I have grown to love as I say the Sh’ma over the years, as if God is rumbling, answering back my call.

It was through the death of my sister that I began my exploration into Judaism. Not right away. First I railed at God, a God who I had been convinced I didn’t believe in, that is until I was angry enough to acknowledge Him. But it was that acknowledgement, that anger, that wholly emotional response, that gave me that push, that need, to find my spiritual home, which I did in Judaism. And in Judaism I finally found my way to mourn my sister properly.

The rest of the service passed in much the same emotional way. I was worn out, exhausted, as if my soul had run laps around the sanctuary the entire time, pounding the walls with its fists and crying out in fury, while finally collapsing into the waiting embrace of its Maker. All of this felt like it had happened inside and when we reached Kaddish Yatom I knew that I was ready to say the words that praise God.

Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled, mighty, upraised, and lauded be the Name of the Holy One. Beyond any blessing and song, praised and consolation that are uttered in the world. May there be abundant peace from Heaven and life upon us and upon all Israel.

I still feel sorrow at the loss of my sister. I still feel sadness when I think of my dad and step mom and her husband who all must live their lives with her palpable absence. I still feel the guilt that only a survivor can feel for not having done enough while she was still alive. And so I will continue to mark her yarhzeit, year after year. I will continue to say the words that praise God and all that God has made. Time may make the ache less pronounced, but as we concluded our prayers on Friday I realized that the mourning will go on and should go on and that it is okay because God is still there at the end of it all.

In a New York Minute (Everything Can Change)

2009-06-30T16:52:00.003-04:00

I spent last Tuesday through Friday in New York City, my first ever visit. One of my very good friends went along for with me, and I couldn’t have asked for a better traveling companion. You see, this was our first time spending multiple full days together, 24/7. And I will readily admit to being an occasionally difficult traveler. I get cranky when my blood sugar drops in the afternoon and right now my moods can turn on a dime. This trip was no different, and I think everything was even more pronounced than usual because I was completely overstimulated with the sights, sounds, and smells of Manhattan. Our second day in the city was spent almost entirely at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. If you know me, you know that I love art. I’ve recently rediscovered my own love of painting (in a big way, actually—that is for another post), but I’ve never stopped loving art in general. The Met was like a pilgrimage experience for me. If you’ll excuse the Christian reference, it was like stepping into a grand cathedral to worship at the altar of paint, and marble, and beauty, and design, and form, and light. It was incredibly overwhelming, so much so that I believe I was literally on some kind of seratonin high. And anyone who knows anything about highs, whether they are artificially induced or not, knows that what comes up must come down. And down I came. I dropped fast and furious and that evening before dinner and the show I had what I can only describe as a meltdown. I had no control over my emotions and all I could do was cry and try to breathe. It was a stark contrast to how I felt going through the Met, and how I felt in general during the trip. It was frustrating to say the least. And at this point a lesser person, a lesser friend, probably would have written off the rest of the trip right then, figured that I was just a big emotional baby. But, my friend remained her patient and loving self as the tide passed and I began to feel better again.

I have to say that this was one of the best trips I have ever taken. Despite the aforementioned emotional issues, I had so much fun exploring New York, especially with my friend. I’m not sure I would have had as much fun with anyone else. Usually at the end of a trip like this it is all I can do to get away from the person I have been with for a little while; I need space, a lot of it. But, at the end of this trip all I wanted was for it to keep going. My mom asked me when I picked up my dog if we were still friends and I answered “of course!” Not once during the trip did I think “man, I could just use some time to myself.” I loved spending so much time with my friend and was sad when I had to get into the cab alone at the end of the trip to head home by myself.

One of the best parts of the trip was getting to see my uncle who lives in New York and who I don't get to see more than once a year usually. I don’t think I have smiled that much in a long time. It was so much fun and I felt so much love for him and was so happy that I got to share that with my friend as well. There is something special about getting to share the family you love with the other people in your life who you love. It was a great night.

I wasn’t back in town on Friday in time for services, but I was able to go Saturday morning, which was a nice way to end such a great week. I had gone through such a range of emotions while I was in New York and I was so tired, but I think it helped to inject my prayer with something more, a little raw, and I felt very connected.

To reference the title of this post, I don't believe that everything changed. I don't think any trip has that kind of power, no matter how amazing it is. But, I do believe I was able to discover some important information about myself, and that is a souvenir I will gladly walk away with.

Patching a Hole

2009-06-01T14:18:00.011-04:00

The World I Know, June 2009

This post is not about Judaism, or spirituality, or even God, per se. But, it kinda is at the same time.

After a nearly 5 year absence, painting has made a resurgence in my life.

I used to paint all the time. I fell in love with it in high school, and while I dated other art forms in college, I always came back to painting at the end of the day. And then I graduated from college and entered the real world and lost all confidence in my abilities as an artist. I told myself that I stopped painting because it was too expensive, or I didn't have the space, or I didn't have the time. But, those were all excuses and in reality I didn't want to paint because I didn't think I could anymore. I kept myself surrounded by the last paintings I had completed and been proud of, and some days it would make me happy to see them. And other days it would make me incredibly sad to think that this was a part of my life that was over. I doubted whether I would ever pick up a paintbrush again.

Last spring I picked up some watercolors and painted a couple of times, mostly because I wanted to do something for friends who were moving out of state. But I was never a water colorist and I wasn't very happy and so I put down the paintbrush again.

A year later and nothing much had changed in my thinking about my art. What had changed was this incredible friend who has encouraged me to be creative again. So, using a coupon that she had sent, I picked up some oil paints and paintbrushes and dug out a blank canvas that had sat in my apartment for 5 years. And one day I began to paint.

And then I painted again. And again. And again. I bought an easel and more paint and the brushes I had always loved using and more canvas. I even finished a painting I had begun 5 years ago. Then one day I realized I had run out of space to prop up the drying paintings around my apartment. I had to use my laundry drying rack, and thus neglected doing laundry in favor of protecting the drying oils.

What I discovered, almost instantly, was just how much I had missed painting. I missed the smell of the paint, the feel of the brush, the way I could block out everything around me and just concentrate on the canvas. I had missed being creative because somewhere along the way I had convinced myself that it was something I no longer was capable of.

I realized something that only now can I truly appreciate: before I discovered Judaism, painting was how I prayed.

I feel a freedom with my painting now that I never could have in college. I always had an assignment or a project to work on, and even though I did paint for my own pleasure those times were few and far between and I was so locked into what I was doing in class that I didn't break away from it. Now, however... now I am allowing myself to just follow where the process will take me. I have played with color, with form, with light and dark. I have painted hands -- a challenge to myself to master something that I never could in college. This past weekend I turned my attention to what is around me and took my time with the paintings, something I never really did before. I was always anxious to finish something, to see what it would look like. But this weekend I slowed myself down and concentrated on making the paint work and respecting it when I needed to step away.

At this point painting has become a source of hope, a way to cope (and sometimes avoid), a way to express how I feel, and a way to reconnect. I don't think I would have picked up a paintbrush again were it not for the encouragement of my friend. It isn't every day that someone gives you back a piece of yourself that you thought was lost.

Random Thoughts

2009-05-21T15:50:00.002-04:00

Look at this. Two days in a row of posts. Excellent.

So, where have I been since January you may (or may not) be asking yourself? Well, I've been around. I went through a few more bad months, but after some discoveries about my allergy medicine (don't take Zyrtec if you have a tendency towards depression or are currently being treated for it, and if you do, talk to your doctor!) I am beginning to feel on track.

Over the past 4 months or so I spent a lot of time at temple. A lot. Many weeks I was there 5 out of 7 days (Friday-Saturday for Shabbat services, Sunday for Religious School, Monday for a beginning Hebrew class I taught to newly arrived students, and Tuesday for Hebrew School and/or Board Meetings). For the most part it was a good thing to be there so much; I was around people I cared about, I had the support of my community, and it kept me busy and occupied, which was a key thing for me.

But, a couple of weeks before Passover I got a cold. Which turned into a sinus infection. And lingered for a month (though the infection cleared up w/ antibiotics within a week of finally going to the doctor). I was drained. I had no energy. And one weekend, for the first time in ages when I have been in town, I didn't go to temple for services Friday or Saturday. Friday night I went to a friend's house for a lively pot luck and outdoor service. And the next day I decided to take a long drive out into the country. I can't explain it, but those couple of days away from temple were needed. I needed to recharge. I needed to not feel like this was just an obligation, that it was a job to be there. I love my temple, and I needed a little bit of distance to renew that love.

Now the school year is over. My fourth graders ended their first year of Hebrew on a high note and my Monday night class was reading, if haltingly, and learning grammar by our last evening together. It was a good school year, and I am incredibly proud of all of my students. Last year I felt a bit over my head when teaching Hebrew; this year I think I was beginning to hit my stride and I am excited for next year.

Over the last few months I have also read Torah a few times (once for the anniversary of my bat mitzvah, once to fill in for our ailing intern, and once on Passover - the Song of the Sea). I rocked my bat mitzvah portion, did decently with the next one, and after only preparing for 2 days I muddled through reasonably well for the Song of the Sea, which happens to be the hardest portion, or so says my rabbi. I don't know when I will read next, but I am hoping it will be this summer.

Oh, and last, but not least, I passed my 5 year mark since my conversion. It isn't like when your car turns over from 99,000 to 100,000 miles. Maybe it should have been, but it was more like "Hmmm. I've been a Jew for 5 years. That's pretty cool." Somewhere along the way since my conversion I began to truly think of myself as a Jew and not a convert. So, while it was momentous in a way, it is also something I don't feel the need to make a big deal over.

d'var Torah - במדבר

2009-05-20T10:27:00.002-04:00

I realize it has been a number of months since I posted. I'm going to try and get better about that.

So, as a step back into things, this is the d'var Torah I gave last night at my temple board meeting. It was my 2nd month in a row doing it because last month I'd forgotten that it was my turn and hadn't prepared; I did pull something out of the air, but I was embarrassed and so volunteered for this month.

---------------------------------

This week we begin a new book of the Torah: Bamidbar, which means “in the wilderness,” referred to in English as Numbers because of the counting of the Israelites. The portion begins with a lengthy listing of the tribes of Israel and the number of males over the age of twenty whose duty it is to serve as the army and surround the Mishkan on all sides. However, the Levites are not included in this number as they are not considered a part of the army. Instead, their count begins at the age of one month and their duty is to guard the Mishkan itself and to assist the kohanim, the priests.

What interested me most doesn’t come until 3:1

“These are the descendants of Aaron and Moses on the day that Adonai spoke to Moses on Mount Sinai. These are the names of Aaron’s sons; the firstborn Nadav, and Avihu, Eleazar and Ithamar.”

Why doesn’t the Torah list the descendants of Moses? Rashi says: “[Scripture] mentions only the sons of Aaron, yet they are called the descendants of Moses – because he taught them Torah. This teaches us that one who teaches another’s son Torah is considered as having procreated them.”

The religious school teachers at Valley are charged with the Jewish education of our congregation’s children, but this is a task that should not be limited to those who teach on Sunday or Tuesday. Each member of this board, each member of the congregation, is in some way a teacher of our children. Whether you are guiding the third graders through learning about Shabbat or showing up on a Saturday morning for services and Torah study, you are a teacher and what you do is important. We can all take pride in our students – when they learn to say the Sh’ma in kindergarten and when they stand in front of us at their bar or bat mitzvah. Whether we had them in class in a formal setting or not, they are still our students.

Speaking personally, I know that when I enter the classroom each week to teach Hebrew to the 4th graders I do so with the knowledge that the groundwork that we lay in Alef is one that they will continue to build on, through Bet and Gimmel and on through their b’nei mitzvah training. And at the end of the year when they have gone from sounding out words letter by letter to reading the V’ahavta it is an absolute joy to see their pride in their own progress. But teaching our students how to read Hebrew, or about the holidays, or about Jewish history, is not enough. It is our duty to instill a love of Judaism that they will be able to carry with them throughout their lives. We teach them Torah, in the sense that Torah encompasses all that we are to learn and do Jewishly. As Rashi stated, one who teaches Torah to a child is considered to be like a parent, and as parents it is essential that we share our Jewish values, our history, and our customs—and not just as casual observers or distracted volunteers. When our students are with us in Religious school they are our children and it is a sacred duty to assist in raising them Jewishly during those few hours we have each week. At the end of the year we are able to look back and see how our children have grown in their Judaism and we have the pride of a parent. And when our students see us rejoicing in Shabbat, studying Torah, and doing Jewishly we are able to continue to teach them with our actions.

The beginning of this Torah portion counts the Israelites whose sacred duty it was to surround the Mishkan and guard it for safe keeping. We must step up and be counted now, as Jews who love our Judaism, who take pride in our temple, support our community, and teach our children, because it is our sacred duty to guard the future of Judaism.

The Heart of Reading Torah

2009-01-22T13:34:00.002-05:00

I ascend the 2 steps to stand on the understated bimah, trying to carry the tune for the song I have chosen to begin the Torah service. I am horribly off-key, but sing loudly anyway, knowing that I need to lead the few who have shown up for services this morning in prayer, and that includes prayer in song.

Al shlo-sha d’varim...

Open up the doors to the ark, first the right, then the left. One more step to reach the Torah, lifting it carefully so as to not bend the crowns, thinking don’tdropitdon’tdropitdon’tdropit. Turn. Fumble with siddur, say the Sh’ma, sing some more and undress the Torah with some help. Close the doors to the ark.

Deep breath. I remember I need to ask someone to do the aliyah, announce the page numbers for the blessing and for the reading. At this point my heart is beating quickly and my voice is unsteady. Another deep breath. I need to help the congregant chanting the Torah blessing to begin and flash back to the first time my rabbi had to start me off.

Another deep breath and I am ready to begin.

And suddenly my voice is a little clearer, my heart seems to not be racing so much as soaring. The words come clearly for the most part and I can practically taste them as they tumble off my tongue. There is an energy, an electricity, that is running through me as I trace the sacred Hebrew words with the yad. Before I know it I am coming to the end of the twelve verses I had prepared.

Vayomer al-tikrav halom shal-ne'aleycha me'al ragleycha ki hamakom
asher atah omed alav admat-kodesh hu.

I pick up the translation to read. I go too quickly through the English, the words rushing and pushing together.

And suddenly I am done and I need to remember to begin the after blessing for the congregant doing the chanting. I can feel myself shaking a bit as we dress the Torah and I set it gently aside but keep the crowns off because I know that I am likely to bend them when putting the Torah away later.

I chant the Haftarah blessing and read from Isaiah. The words are a blur to me, but I read loudly, and clearly, and try to calm my heart, slow my breathing. But I am unsuccessful and my voice is shaking as I chant the after blessing.

My mouth is dry as I turn to pick up the Torah again, to return it to the ark, fumbling with my siddur again, trying to sing.

Eitz chayim hi...

And then the Torah is back in the ark and the doors are closed, but I am still shaking, still unable to calm myself down. I grab the yahrzeit list off the lectern and descend the bimah steps to finish the service. Aleinu. Kaddish. Closing song. My voice is weak now. It shakes and I stumble over words that have become second nature for me.

Shabbat Shaloms are exchanged and I turn off the lights in the sanctuary and throughout the building, put away the commentaries from Torah study, get ready to close up and head home. But I cannot leave just yet. For 15 minutes I stand in my rabbi’s office, looking at the books on his shelf, feeling my heart rate finally slow to normal, feeling the adrenaline drain from my body and I know that I will sleep hard later.

Back Up On The Horse

2009-01-14T15:40:00.004-05:00

This weekend my rabbi and our rabbinic intern are taking the middle school students up to Detroit for a retreat, which means we will be rabbi-less for Friday and Saturday services. Friday night a rabbinic student will be handling things, but Saturday morning I get to lead Torah study and services, which I haven’t done since the summer. I also haven’t read Torah since July, so between using a prayerbook that I’ve never lead from (Mishkan T’filah) and being a bit rusty with my Torah skills, it should be an interesting morning. I met briefly with my rabbi last night to roll the Torah to its spot and to chat briefly about Saturday. He said that if I want to do a Gates of Gray service that would be perfectly okay. Which is tempting, mostly because it is a prayerbook I know like the back of my hand and service prep would be minimal. But, we’ve been using MT for a few months now and I have really begun to appreciate the different choices and different translations/interpretations (see my last post for a specific example). I don’t really want to step back into Gates of Gray just for ease of use. So, I have a lot of work to do to get ready for Saturday morning. Here is my list:

Practice Torah reading! I’ve been working with the voweled side of my Tikkun; tonight I need to take stab at no vowels.
Read the Torah portion and go through the commentaries I have at home (Etz Hayim and Rashi) and check for some online/modern commentaries. I wish I had thought to bring home the Rabbi’s Sforno or Ramban last night. Oh, well. I can borrow them on Friday night after services.
Take a tour through MT with a stack of Post-Its to lay out the service. Maybe practice a few melodies (I am not a fan of leading any of the singing, but I’ll do it; I’m okay with the chanting of the blessings, the Barechu, and the chatzi kaddish; I’ll probably choose some of the shorter versions).
Prepare a sheet for Saturday morning of items to discuss. I’m not sure if I am going to prepare any kind of a hand-out. What I will most likely do is have everyone take a different Torah commentary and just get through what we get through. I’m a fan of the multiple-commentary-route because I think it helps people feel more participatory. I’m less a fan of “this is what I found interesting and I am now going to teach you for the next hour and we’re not going to really deviate from that.” Sometimes that is okay, but I think it takes a lot away from Torah study if you aren’t encouraging others to direct the course of the discussion.

It’s a pretty big list for 3 nights; I wish I had gotten started a little earlier, but no use fretting over that now. I need to be a busy little bee and resist the temptations of my Battlestar Galactica DVDs...

On another note, Hebrew class went pretty well last night. I'd been quite frustrated after the last couple of classes, feeling like a fairly ineffectual teacher. The differences in behavior and learning styles of the class I had last year and the class I have this year are enormous and I need to keep re-inventing how I approach these lessons. Last week was a necessarily dry class to go over the special rules and exceptions to what they had been learning so that on Sunday we could begin in our new book which introduces actual prayers. I realized this going in, but I didn't want to spend more than one class period on the rules, so it WAS a lot to get through. But last night one of the parents came up to me afterwards and told me that their child thought that "Hebrew would be boring tonight." Now, I can understand wanting to bring this to my attention if it is a concern. What really got me is that they said it within earshot of a number of other parents, students, and other temple members who had been there for adult Hebrew. I was a little annoyed about that, but whatever. I think last night's class was fun; we moved forward in the lesson, we played a game, and we reinforced some reading and listening skills.

To Stand Upright

2009-01-12T12:57:00.005-05:00

This past Friday was our monthly Family Shabbat at my temple, preceded by a Religious School dinner and a Tot Shabbat. A full evening to be sure. I normally don’t show up for Tot Shabbat unless it is between Torah Study and services on a Saturday morning, but a friend of mine who has a 7-month-old son was planning on attending and since she is a fairly new member I said I would come for Tot Shabbat so she knew someone. And then I stuck around for the dinner. By the time services rolled around at 7:30 I had already been at temple since 6 and I was not only tired and had a headache, but I was beginning to feel a bit down. As a single person who would like to be in a relationship and as a Jew-by-Choice who does not have a Jewish family, it is sometimes difficult to be around so many families celebrating Shabbat. I have friends at temple who are like family to me, that is something I am incredibly grateful for, but sometimes it makes my own situation that much more lonely.

Thus with all of that on my mind and informing my thoughts and mood, I sat next to my wonderful and patient friend during services last Friday and when we reached the G’vurot in Mishkan T’filah I was struck by the profound nature of the interpretation by Rabbi Richard Levy that appears in the linear service (Shabbat Evening II) instead of the literal translation. This wasn’t the first time that the words of this prayer have resonated with me beyond the moment they are said, but that night they were especially powerful. After a long week of deadlines at work and a mood that swung high and low, sometimes multiple times a day, I was exhausted and more emotional than I was prepared for. I’ve included the text of the prayer below:

We pray that we might know before whom we stand,
the Power whose gift is life,
who quickens those who have forgotten how to live,
having implanted within us eternal spirit.

We pray for winds to disperse the air of sadness,
for rains to make parched hopes rise again.

We pray for love to encompass us
for no reason save that we are human,
that we may blossom into persons
who have gained power over our own lives.

We pray to stand upright, we fallen; to be healed, we sufferers.
We pray to break the bonds that keep us from the world of beauty.
We pray to be open to our own true selves.
We pray that we may walk in a garden of purpose,
in touch with the power of the world.

Praised be the God whose gift is life,
whose cleansing rains let parched men and women rise again.

Rabbi Richard Levy
(From Mishkan T’filah, G’vurot, Shabbat Evening II)

I recall a previous Shabbat, sitting next to the same friend, coming to the passage that states “...that we may blossom into person who have gained power over our own lives” and feeling the slightest of nudges and seeing the briefest of smiles, and I felt not only the support of my friend, but almost as if God had reached down and given me that nudge. It may sound hokey or even crazy, but that’s what I felt. So, when we came to this passage again last week I felt overwhelmed with emotion, knowing that the previous weeks had been a great mixture of happiness, frustration, sadness, joy, energy, and exhaustion.

“We pray to stand upright, we fallen.” This line, more than any other, is so full of meaning for me at this moment in my life. It does not say “We pray that God makes us stand upright,” or “We pray that someone will come along and prop us up” or even “We pray that we may prop our own selves up.” It simple says “We pray to stand upright.” As anyone who has suffered through bouts of depression and anxiety can tell you, this isn’t something that you can get through alone, but it also isn’t something that you can just ask someone else, even God, to fix. Whatever you need to do to stand upright again... well, you do it. You may do it grudgingly, you may fight it stubbornly every step, but in the end all you want is to stand upright again.

Brief Thoughts on Israel

2009-01-09T14:24:00.003-05:00

A co-worker's husband asked me last night what I thought about the situation in Israel and Gaza. I asked him if he wanted to know my opinion because I was a Jew, and he gave an honest answer of "Yes."

So, what do I think about the situation in Israel? I don't know. I can honestly say that I am conflicted about what is happening. It upsets me that civilians – children – on both sides have lost their lives or are being hurt, whether emotionally or physically, by the violence. At the same time I don't see how Israel should have to sit back and take Hamas slinging rockets at them over and over and over again. The situation is more complex than a simple "I support Israel" or "I don't support Israel" stance, and I'm having trouble coming up with a nuanced opinion about it. I know that as an American the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan anger me, but I also realize that we have to finish them in a responsible way, even if we got into them in an irresponsible manner. But as an American, as a Jew, I can't seem to come get to that same level with the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The Oberlin student in me shouts that no violence is good, even if you think it is justified, and especially if it hurts children. The Israel-supporter in me shouts that sometimes you need to respond with violence if that is the only thing that terrorists understand. And then the regular old Jew in me wishes that things could just be peaceful.

Happy 2009

2009-01-06T11:59:00.001-05:00

I don’t make New Year Resolutions, but I have used the turning over of both the Hebrew calendar and the secular calendar in the past to begin new points in my own Jewish journey. After Rosh Hashanah in 2006 (5767) I began to wear my kippah at all times. At the beginning of 2008 I stopped eating pork and shellfish and began to wear tzitzit all the time. This year I’m not sure what I am going to add into my Jewish observances. I would like to get into the habit of lighting Shabbat candles at home before going to temple. I tried to do this a few times in December when I got home from work with enough time to actually be able to sit and enjoy the light before heading out to services. The problem is that I won’t leave the candles burning while I am gone, even sitting in the kitchen sink or the bathtub, because I am completely paranoid about fire. I guess I could always blow them out and re-light them, but even as someone who doesn’t hold by Shabbat in the traditional sense it just feels wrong to re-light the candles. A few weeks ago I had to leave for services and blew out the candles; they were about half-way down at the time so I used them the next time I was able to light candles before services (during Chanukah). Perhaps not the best solution, but it keeps me from wasting candles. So, I guess that is going to be my new stop along this journey.

There are other goals I have for 2009, but those will stay private for the moment. Along with a good friend, I am trying to devise some strategies to achieve these goals while she works towards hers, and we will support each other along the way. I have to admit that I wasn’t going to make any goals for myself for 2009, feeling as if I wasn’t going to be able to get them done anyway. But I find the positive attitude and support of this friend to be the kick-in-the-ass that I need.

Where We Find God

2008-12-17T15:56:00.002-05:00

I have faith. I can’t describe it, but I know it is there and it is both a comfort and a source of strength.

And yet I still have fear. Of the unknown. Of the future. Of death. One could assume that with faith your fear would melt away. If you have faith shouldn’t you believe that God will take care of you? What is left to fear? But, I don’t think that faith works like that. I’m not sure exactly HOW it works, but I know that it doesn’t erase fear and uncertainty.

On Monday I attended the monthly Lunch and Learn that my rabbi does in a congregant's office downtown. It was just a few of us, and the topic for the afternoon was death, the afterlife, and cremation. When your rabbi asks you point blank what you think about the afterlife and your first reaction is immediate anxiety it is perhaps time to examine why you feel this way, except this involves thinking about the very thing that causes you sleepless nights and panic attacks and why, oh why, would you put yourself through that? Isn’t it easier to just go through life and ignore the things that cause our stomachs to contract, our palms to sweat, our pulses to raise, and not in a good way? Can’t we just avoid the things that we are afraid of? I am reading David Wolpe’s Why Faith Matters right now, and of course one of the things he brings up first is death and dying and fear. So, it seems that I will be confronting this sooner than later.

Articulating what I think about faith and God is difficult. I know that when I am with people I love it is easier to express my experience of God—it is in the relationships, the smiles, the laughs, the hugs, the comfort, the support. It is harder to express what I think about faith when it relates to something that I fear, especially when describing that fear is troublesome in and of itself.

This past week the Torah portion dealt with Jacob wrestling with mysterious figure (An angel? Esau? Jacob himself?) and then with his meet-up with his estranged brother, Esau. This is one of my favorite parts of the Torah, because while my rabbi calls Jacob a thug, I think he is a much more relatable figure than say Moses or Abraham. Jacob is altogether human, with human frailties and imperfections. When he wrestles with the stranger we don’t know who it is and are left to draw our own conclusions. But, I don’t think we can understand fully the wrestling episode without considering the reconciliation between Jacob and Esau that occurs in the next chapter. Jacob says to his brother “for to see your face is like seeing the face of God.” When Jacob had wrestled with the stranger he renames the place Peniel, which means “I have seen a divine being face to face.” Whether or not we are meant to believe that the stranger was Esau, or an angel, or God, or even Jacob, what I take away from this (and others have as well--check out G-d Cast) is that it is in our relationships that we encounter God. It is in the face of a person you love that you see God, that you can see your faith manifest.

So, how does this all tie together with what I wrote at the beginning of this entry? I’m not sure. I know that my experience of God has been profound in the past few months as I have struggled and as I have begun to regain my footing. I know that my faith has been strengthened because of the connections that have kept me going and I don’t believe these connections are mere chance. I have seen the face of God in the smiles of friends and I have felt God’s embrace in their hugs and their love. It makes the prospect of confronting that which I fear slightly less daunting.

I Am A Latke!

2008-11-18T14:06:00.004-05:00

This past Sunday I subbed for the Judaica section of my 4th grade class (the morning is split up into Judaica, which for the 4th grade is Prophets, and Hebrew for grades 4–6). Because of that I got the pleasure of taking them to music where we learned, among other songs, The Latke Song by Debbie Friedman. Now, I am not normally a Debbie Friedman fan (which I believe I've mentioned in my rants about Friday Night Live before), but I think I may have finally found a song of hers that I like. I have had The Latke Song in my head since Sunday and I finally had to go and download it from iTunes to satisfy my craving. I have also sung it to a few co-workers, bouncing along in a way that is not normal for me (I am not a bouncy person on a normal basis, but especially during this prolonged period of non-shiny-happiness).

So, to conclude, I heartily recommend The Latke Song by Debbie Friedman. I downloaded the live version from "Debbie Friedman Live at the Del" as it is significantly less cheesy sounding than the studio version. Click here for a YouTube video (it's a pretty bad video) to hear it.

Checking In

2008-11-12T14:27:00.004-05:00

It has been a long time since I have posted anything, and that mostly has to do with dealing with a pretty deep depression (which I wrote about here over at JBC.org). Life has been a bit of a roller coaster ride for me since September and I'm only just now feeling like things are leveling out a little bit, so hopefully I'll have some stuff to write about soon. I've felt quite disconnected from a number of things and I'm slowly trying to make those connections active again. I feel quite lucky that I have had an incredible support system during this time, from my best friend who is hundreds of miles away, to a wonderful friend and her family, to my rabbi and temple community, to my friends in California and Atlanta. Together they have provided me love, friendship, and help as I tried (and still try) to make the choices that are good for me. I'm not out of the darkness yet, but the light is easier to see and appears more often.

Life has not stopped in the past couple of months, however. The High Holy Days have come and gone, Hebrew school marches on, I've visited my dear friends in California, and work has been as busy as ever. Each day was a struggle for awhile; it is hard to go about your day to day business and relate to people when you feel so far out of your own skin, but the world around you doesn't stand still just because you want to crawl under the covers.

So, hopefully, this will signal my return to blogging.

L'Shana Tova Tikatevu

2008-09-29T13:01:00.003-04:00

I'd like to wish a happy and sweet Rosh Hashanah to all my Jewish friends/readers (and everyone else as well). I hope that all are able to get to services if that is their thing, or celebrate in whichever form they choose. As we enter the Days of Awe and journey towards the closing of the Book of Life on Yom Kippur I hope that everyone is able to take this time to reflect on the past year, on their life and relationships, on their goals and hopes for the future. This year more than ever my own mind is filled with thoughts that are ever so timely in this season. May we all be sealed for blessing in the new year.

I'm Scared of Sarah Palin

2008-09-26T09:23:00.003-04:00

Even though this isn't a political blog, I feel the need to post on a political issue at this point. And that is the Republican nominee for Vice President, Governor Sarah Palin of Alaska.

Simply put, this woman frightens me. Take a look at the interview she did with Katie Couric and marvel at her inability to put together a coherent thought or sentence. She seems to think that because she borders Canada and is close to Russia she has foreign policy experience, but if we used those kinds of qualifications Bush should have been better qualified to handle foreign policy since Texas borders Mexico. And we've all seen how well he's done with that.

And how can you go on a national news broadcast and not be more prepared for what the interviewer is going to ask? How can you not anticipate that you will be asked about how John McCain really is a maverick/reformer/agent for change and not be able to at least lie to back up your claims? She had nothing.

I know that most people don't vote for a candidate based on their VP pick, but how can anyone possibly vote for a candidate when they pick someone so grossly inexperienced to be their #2? How can you take seriously a candidate who rips into Barack Obama at every opportunity about his lack of experience and then picks someone to be VP who doesn't even have a fraction of experience, much less skill, to qualify her to national office?

I am liberal and a Democrat and proud of both. But, even if I weren't, I think that I am intelligent enough to see when I, as a citizen of this country, am being talked down to. The conservative pundits all harp on how the attacks against Palin are coming from the "intellectual elite." I want to know when it became a bad thing in this country to be intellectual and educated. Somewhere along the way the idea of education got wrapped up in elitism, but I'm pretty sure that there was a time that the country truly aspired to educate itself and its children. Now we are just saying to them that if they achieve an education beyond a certain level (and hold a certain set of political beliefs) they are "elite" and cannot be trusted.

Back in Ohio

2008-09-18T12:15:00.002-04:00

I am back from my business trip and am still exhausted. I don't really like being awake for 40 hours straight. The one good thing about the trip is that I got to miss most of the chaos surrounding the big power outage here in Cincinnati after the massive windstorms we had on Sunday. My power came back on about 2 hours before I returned home yesterday, though I did have to throw out everything in my freezer and fridge. However, I believe there are still around 200,000 people in the area with no power.

Is it just me or is anyone else getting a little worried right now? I mean, there is all the crazy weather, the economy, and the election. It seems like things could get really really bad in the next couple of months.

And on that uplifting note, it's time for lunch.

At JBC.org: Why I Am a Reform Jew

2008-09-12T08:39:00.002-04:00

Last night I posted over at JBC.org on why I am a Reform Jew. Per the rules of the blog, I'm not going to cross-post here, but I am going to link to it because I'm pretty proud of what I wrote.

So, if you are interested: Why I Am a Reform Jew.

Let's Gain Momentum

2008-09-11T14:49:00.004-04:00

It's been awhile since I posted, and I have no real excuse other than not having a lot to say that is blog-appropriate. Life has been interesting. So, in lieu of anything terribly exciting, here is a rundown of what is going on in my life:

• My 10-year high school reunion is next Saturday. I'm looking forward to it if for no other reason than to see the reactions of my fellow all-girls-Catholic-school-mates to my very obvious Jewishness. Admittedly I'm also looking forward to seeing some people who I haven't spoken with in a very long time.

• The weather if finally cooling down here in Cincinnati and my allergies seem to also be calming down, at least until the leaves start falling. All of which means I can now open up my windows again and enjoy the fresh air and breezes through my apartment. I love Fall. I love the way the air smells when it starts getting a slight chill to it. I love the colors and the smell of the leaves on the ground. The first day that requires a sweatshirt is always a good day.

• With the new season comes a new year of Religious School at my temple. This is my fifth year teaching, though only my second consecutive in the same class/subject. I have Alef Hebrew students again and our first class was this past Tuesday. They are an energetic bunch in a completely different way than last year's kids who I adored. It looks like it will be a fun year.

• A friend of mine from high school (the only one I've kept up a good friendship with over the years) has moved into my neighborhood, just a couple streets away. Last weekend we had dinner, beer, and played Carcassonne, one of the most addictive board games ever. I'm very happy to have a good friend within walking distance to hang out with. It's been since college that I could just walk to someone's house to see them and not need to take the car.

• For the first time in a really long time I had feelings for someone (a crush!). While it isn't going to work out it has been a nice little refreshing diversion. I'd forgotten how fun those emotions can be. And also how easy it is to revert to feeling like a sixth-grader when thinking about if the object of your affection has feelings for you in return.

• Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are fast approaching. I wrote a post over at JBC.org last week about how much I love YK and my strong connection to it. I find myself really looking forward to this High Holy Day season more than usual. There is just something completely satisfying emotionally and spiritually with ending one year and beginning another by accounting for what has happened. It is a good time to reflect and to ponder what could be for the year to come.

• I deleted my LiveJournal account a couple of weeks ago. I haven't really posted in over two years, but for about 4 years after college it was a large part of my online life. After a falling out with a friend from college, however, I just didn't feel like posting anymore. After contemplating it for awhile I finally decided to just delete it all together after downloading all of the old entries. It was interesting to read some of the stuff I wrote 6 years ago and to think about how different I was. It was cool getting to read my entries from when I was beginning my formal studies with my rabbi and to remember how exciting and new it was for me back then (and to realize how exciting learning still is). So, in a sense, I felt like I am closing that chapter of my life. Not to sound cliché, but I'm older now and my priorities have shifted. I feel that I am a much different person today than I was when I first set up that account.

The Choices We Make

2008-08-22T16:03:00.006-04:00

When I was out in Seattle last week visiting friends from college who I haven't seen in 5 years (and a couple I haven't been in touch with at all during that time period), I got the question. You know. THE Question. Every JBC or Jew-to-Be knows the question and gets asked it a million different ways by a million different people: Why did you convert?

I always find this to be a difficult question to answer, and not because I don't know the answer, but because I never am quite sure what kind of detail people want when they ask. Are they just being polite and they want the quick-no-details-I-did-this-and-thats-that answer? Or do they want it more fleshed out? Do they want to hear me talk about my philosophy of belief in God? Do they want to hear about belief at all? The choice of words, of language, is interesting. For instance, if I know that the person I am having the conversation with is religious themselves I feel more comfortable using God-language and language relating to belief and faith. If I don't know the person's own religious affiliation or views I'm usually a lot more general, talking about my dissatisfaction with the religion I had been brought up in and my interest in, and eventual connection to, Judaism.

This has been on my mind, because while on vacation I was surrounded by people I was friends with before I really got interested in Judaism and obviously before I converted. The ones I had stayed in touch with had been supportive as I converted and everything, but we had never existed in the same space together after I became Jewish. Throughout the stay part of me was very conscious of my Jewish identity and yet not completely connected to it, if that makes any sense. It was almost as if the Queer Jewish Woman that I am now was existing right alongside the Queer Woman I was in college, kind of poking her and saying "wow, I haven't seen you in a long time." Which makes it sound like I was acting differently, but I wasn't. It was more that I felt that the part of my current identity that had actually been around during college was the more acknowledged one because it was the most familiar one in this context.

For anyone who reads this blog regularly or knows me has probably guessed, attending Shabbat services on Friday and Saturday are incredibly important to me. This is my anchor to the week, my refuge when I need it, my celebration. I look forward to being in the presence of my community and God each week. As I headed to Seattle I wasn't quite sure how I was going to navigate Shabbat while I was there. On the one hand I wanted to spend as much time with my friends (none of whom are Jewish). On the other hand I still felt like I needed to have that opportunity to re-ground myself. Friday night before we headed out to Lake Washington I asked if we could look online to find a synagogue close by where I could possibly attend services Saturday morning. We had already made plans with E&M2 for brunch at 11:30, so I tried to find something that would be over in enough time and that was close enough to get to the cafe by the set time. The closest was Temple De Hirsch Sinai, but its service wouldn't begin until 10:30 and I knew it would be at least an hour long if not longer. So, I resigned myself to no temple for the week, which in reality bummed me out a lot more than I was expecting. I kept it to myself at first, because I wasn't quite sure how to express how important Shabbat was to me and I didn't want to upset the plans that had already been made. It wasn't until the next morning after we woke up and were trying to figure what we would do before brunch that I finally spoke up. "Would it be too much trouble for me to go to temple?" I realized that if I didn't make the effort it would bother me the rest of the trip, knowing that I allowed myself to make a choice that I wasn't comfortable with. They were more than happy to oblige; E dropped me off at the temple and everyone did some gardening while I was there. I did duck out before the end of services (though right after the Torah reading) because I needed to meet them all back outside on the corner by 11:30. While I would have loved to stay through the end, I was happy to have participated in Torah study and gotten the chance to sing and pray. The rest of the day I felt much more at peace, knowing that I had made the right decision for myself and my own spirituality.

As a Jew-by-Choice I know that I will continually choose Judaism as my path, as was apparent last weekend when faced with the choice to make my Shabbat observance happen or to go with the flow. I am glad that I did, proud of the fact that I did, and happy that I have the types of friends who didn't think any differently of me or the situation--it's just a part of who I am.

Vacation: All I Ever Wanted

2008-08-19T16:27:00.003-04:00

I apologize for the radio silence. Work got the better of me and then I was on vacation in Seattle for a week visiting some good friends from college. I had an awesome time and it was really great to see these wonderful friends after so long (5 years!). There was a lot of good food, a lot of Buffy watching, a good amount of drinking, and tons of silliness. It was a much needed break and a much needed time to reconnect to people who were an important part of making my college years a memorable time.

A quick recap:

• Flew out of Dayton Wednesday morning, passing through Atlanta (and a 4 hour layover) before reaching Seattle at 5:30pm. Wednesday evening consisted of a light dinner and catching up/hanging out with E&M (who I was staying with).

• Thursday morning I explored downtown and Pike Place on my own. Met up with A at Pioneer Square for lunch and catching up, and then back to E&M's to sit on the porch and talk some more as we waited for them to return from work. Dinner at a really good pizza place with gellato for dessert (yum!) and a very earnest waiter. Some Buffy watching that evening (the musical, I believe).

• Friday morning was breakfast at Glo's and a browse through Twice Sold Tales (a great used book store in Capital Hill that I'd been to on previous visits--my trips always include lots of bookstore browsing) before taking the bus downtown to see the library and then out to see the Space Needle.

• Friday evening was dinner at a brew house and then some excitement that included a smoldering parking lot planter and the fire department. Later in the evening we enjoyed the cool waters and sand (ick) of Lake Washington and reveled in watching the moon rise.

• Saturday morning I headed to Torah study and services at Temple De Hirsch Sinai. I ducked out after the Torah service to meet my friends and head to Cafe Flora for lunch with 2 more friends from college (another E&M couple, if you can believe it, so they shall be E&M2). Lunch was quite delicious and enjoyable with the addition of beignets and mimosas of the non-orange juice variety. It took a good 20 minutes for 6 Oberlin College graduates to figure out the logistics for the afternoon, which eventually included me going to the mall with E&M2 while E&M1 and A headed back to the beach for an afternoon of swimming. I got scolded by an old Jewish lady for wearing my tzitzits out while at the mall on Shabbes, which was quite amusing, and I reminisced about fencing with E2 while M2 got her computer fixed at the Apple store. The late afternoon/evening was capped off with take-out from a Thai/Vietnamese place and more Buffy watching.

• Sunday was breakfast at the Coastal Cafe (I had crab cakes, the first time I've had shellfish since January 1st, but I was on vacation and on the coast and decided that I was okay with that; I did wear a ball cap instead of my kippah and shoved my tzitzit into my pockets, though). After that A had to drive back to Olympia and E1 had a massage, so M1 and I went to the farmers market in Capital Hill where we ran into E&M2. Much yumminess was aquired (blackberries, tiger tomatoes, corn, and cheese, plus a sampling for me of Earl Grey Chocolate hand-made ice cream. We also browsed (and bought) at Bailey Coy (I was looking for She's Such a Geek!, which has a really awesome essay by E2; I would recommend it to anyone, especially those out there who are also geeks). The rest of the afternoon was nice and lazy capped off with a call to one of E&M's friends who moved to Kentucky so we could "meet" over the phone, and then a delicious dinner with our items from the farmer's market.

So, a not-so-brief recap after all. It was a wonderful time and I'll maybe post some pictures later in the week.