It is Almost Erev Halloween- A Few Thoughts

Some of my fellow MOTs are reluctant to let their children observe Halloween. There are a variety of reasons why this is so and I admit to having been reluctant to get into it, but that is a different story for a different day.

I once heard Rabbi Ed Feinstein give a sermon in which he outlined some compelling reasons for taking our children out and wanted to share some of it with you.

"I take my kids trick-or-treating on Halloween. The truth is that you don't find many rabbis out on Halloween. Many of my congregants are surprised, even upset, to find their rabbi and his kids in costume celebrating a holiday that has definite Christian and pagan origins. And my kids certainly don't need any more candy in their daily diet. But something remarkable happens on Halloween, something I want my kids to see: On Halloween, we open our homes to one another. On Halloween, we come out from behind solid-core doors and dead-bolts locks and electronic burglar alarms. The doorbell is met, not with a gruff "Whose there?" and a suspicious eye in the peep-hole, but with a smile and sweets. On Halloween, and only on Halloween, we pretend we are a neighborhood again...families from disparate background who share common civic values, making life together in a common space. If only once a year, I want my kids to see what it's like when fear subsides, and people trust one another enough to open their doors."

Sadly there is so much truth in that. There are fewer and fewer neighborhoods that have that open, friendly, Leave it To Beaver feel in which you can let your children play unattended in the front of the house.

All too often you only know the neighbors on either side of you and you just barely recognize the man/woman down the street. So I see a lot of value in being able to show the kids something out of my past because I walked to school and reached a point at which my friends and I were allowed to trick or treat by ourselves. That is not something that my children are going to share with me and I am saddened by it.

Here is another snippet of the speech.

"The most destructive disease in America, wrote the New Republic magazine some years ago, is not AIDS, but "AFRAIDS" -- the pervasive fear of violence that steals away our freedom, our sense of community, our trust. What happens to a city when everyone is afraid of everyone else? What happens to us -- to our souls -- to our children, when fear of violence is constant and pervasive? Bombarded by a daily litany of baby-snatching, berserk gunmen, child molesters, drive-by shootings, school shootings, police shootings, what happens to us? what happens to our children?"

This is something that I do wonder about. I have a hard time believing that things are so much worse now than they were. Part of me expects, or should I suspects that the vast amount of instant information (read news) has made some events seem to be far more prevalent then they used to be in the past because the sad reality is that pedophiles, rapists and murderers have always been here.

But while I will go to great lengths to give to my children I am not willing to take certain risks because every time I think of the final line of that speech it reasonates with me

"When they finally fell asleep, my wife and I dumped out all the candy on the kitchen table, to inspect each and every piece for needle marks and razor blades and the pernicious, poisonous tampering of some sick mind. God help us."

So we do what we can to keep them safe and to provide a normal life because what else can you do. I try to do what I can to be a good neighbor and look out for those around here not just because it is my neighborhood but because if you do it here there is a chance that it might spread. A viral infection of positive action.

Crossposted at Jack's Shack

Simchat Torah Memories

Rejoice with the Torah! Such is the proclamation for the holiday that finished this evening...and so mark the end of our chagim until Chanukah.

I've seen Simchat Torah in many forms, in many shuls throughout my years.

My earliest memories are of the shteibel we attended till I was about eight years old. Young and old alike in the basement of a house dancing in glee and carrying that glee upstairs and out of doors onto public property...proclaiming to any and limited passing car and foot traffic that the Torah is ours and it's here to stay.

My next memories are of the family shul, also an Orthodox minyan, where I could still join the men downstairs because I was not yet bat mitzvah age. Or else I stood with my mother and the other ladies and young girls in the balcony, looking down below and watching as certain shul members overexaggerated everything, helped by a little -- or a lot of -- liquor in their systems.

There was one year that I was with friends and we were downtown (the Lower East Side area of Toronto, called Kensington Market) at a shul that just happened to be egalitarian. Now that concept was far beyond me and what I was used to. Yes, we danced outside on the shul property with the Torahs, but when someone offered to hand me the Torah to dance with, I declined. And back inside the shul, when someone offered me hagbah, and then an aliyah, I declined again. It was so foreign to me, so far removed from the environment I was accustomed to, so NOT ME.

One of my loveliest memories of the holiday is from about 10 years ago -- I was married and our oldest was about 6 months old. He was wearing a beautiful white and blue plush velour sleeper and was dancing in the arms of my husband, back in a shteibel setting of the shul my husband attended when we married and where we continued to daven until we moved northward. That memory of that baby being held is likened to a Torah in its mantel being held -- lovingly, adoringly and carefully -- and displayed for all to see.

Before a move a couple years ago we attended another small Orthodox shul and the last year we were there, one of the women pseudo-begged the rabbi for the men to pass the Torah over. Reluctantly he and the menfolk agreed and this woman held and danced with the Torah, crying like a baby. She said she'd been trying for over 20 years to get to hold a Torah. She truly rejoiced as she held the Torah like it were her baby and embraced it lovingly. Yes, I finally took the Torah where it was offered to me, but it wasn't as if it were a great achievement for me. I was indifferent, but not as against holding it as I'd been almost 20 years earlier. I just remember being v...e...r...y cautious when I held it.

The shul we attended for the past two Simchat Torah celebrations is very lively -- Bnai Akiva teens come from far and wide and add to the spirit with their singing and dancing. As well, in this shul, also Orthodox, the Torah gets passed over the mechitzah to the women. Women come from far because they know this shul gives women the right to hold and dance with the Torah.

It is clear that the glee shown on the faces of these women and teenage girls as they dance with the Torah is the same glee and wonderment that shone on my face when I was a little girl in that first shteibel my family attended. Then, I stood on the outside looking in on the men; these women stand on the inside and get to look out. There is a great joy in knowing that each of us is part of something bigger, of a community, of a people. And the Torah is our inheritance, our heritage.

May we all merit to share in the joy and dancing of Simchat Torah next year again.

In My Pocket

On my way out the door today, this second cold day of fall, I grabbed my heavy leather jacket to wear. In its pockets were my gray gloves. It was nice to find them there. I didn’t remember where I had left them last February or March. Texas is the kind of place you can get through a winter season without gloves, though your fingers will be cold at times. It was reassuring to reach into my pockets and pull out my gloves. I put them on.

I’ve gone through one full cycle of the Jewish year. A year back in the fold. I’ve been reaching into my memory and pulling out many things, some I recognize with fondness, some with regret. Despite a lapse of two decades, the words to the prayers have never left me. I know them by heart. From Modeh Ani to Anim Zemirot, in synagogue or at home, the words are as familiar as if I had never stopped singing them. That’s frumkeit for you. Once trained, ingrained, you never forget.

Other things come back too. I remember now why it is hard to be a Jew. Not because of the many customs and laws, but because of the pain. It’s hard to read about young Israelis gunned down alongside a road outside Jerusalem, to see the photos of their beautiful, shining faces. It’s hard to face the hatred that inflates our enemies. The news from Israel is so often bad. Beyond bad; heartbreaking. James Joyce wrote: “history is a nightmare from which I am trying to awaken.” But we know there is no escape. Our history is indeed a nightmare, a revelation of the darkest pits of human evil. It’s hard to carry that weight. It’s hard to watch my husband clean his plate at every meal, and wonder if he does that because his father was starved in Auschwitz. That is a lot of pain to carry. It is hard to be a Jew. It’s hard to care and feel so much.

Sometimes it’s overwhelming. I’m not sure I want to be back in the fold. I have my own neuroses and odd characteristics, and at times my rough edges knock hard against Judaism. I’m a shy person in a social community; a loner in an energetically engaged, socially-directive religion. I try to be neutral in politics, but it’s impossible to do that and also be on the board, or even a member, of a synagogue.

But I don’t want to divorce myself from Judaism again. Not like before. I carry a siddur now in my purse (along with iPod and cell phone). It’s good to be in contact with God again. I’m moved by the Friday night services and enjoy learning and listening to Torah. I feel like my day is worthwhile if it includes a little bit of learning. Far from seeing Torah as arcane knowledge, I’m continually amazed at how unchanged human nature is and how relevant and true Torah remains. We are the same people that crossed the desert with Moshe, except now we have laptop computers.

Belief, then, is not hard for me. But involvement, engagement – that is tough. Sometimes, when I talk to God, I ask him if he doesn’t think I would have made a better Buddhist than Jew. I have a natural tendency to try to step back and be the observer, to see all sides and choose none. But being Jewish means choosing sides, and quite emphatically. And we don’t always agree. In my own congregation, we all support Israel, yet I was one of only a handful that opposed – or even questioned the wisdom of -- the disengagement from Gaza.

In the end, it may all come back to learning Torah and to prayer. Because these are the tools we have to help us know ourselves. I was brought up as a religious Jew, and I have a solid ethical and moral foundation for my life. I value that. Though I still make poor decisions and many mistakes, I have a compass that brings me back around to where I should be. That sense of direction also gives me the strength to hold firm when I need to, to disagree with others, and be true to myself.

It’s been a full, busy and rich year. It’s a good start and we will see how Judaism grows within me, and what is next. This story is not finished yet.


cross-posted at Mirty's Place

Why be Jewish

On my own blog there is a post in which I ask if religion matters anymore. Here I ask the simple question, Why be Jewish?

What do you think?

Kehilah Kedosha

On Yom Kippur, my rabbi accused us all of not being a Kehilah Kedosha...a Holy Community. She stood up on the bema at the Kol Nidre and told us all about Kehilah Kedosha and how we weren't even close.

Today, my husband went to Children's Hospital to see his cardiologist about that little incident that landed him in the hospital in September. Dr. Lee thinks he now has developed Coronary Artery Disease...something we'd always been told probably wouldn't happen but apparantly now, because of his diabetes, our worst fears are realized.

And to confirm this diagnosis, Anth needs a heart cath...next week!

I don't get very many days off...a total of 20 to be used to sick and personal and vacation. One year I used them up in the hospital with a kidney stone but usually I plan them out strategically over the year...to be sure I have plenty if an emergency crops up and I need to use them. For us an emergency could be Anth being in the hospital and me having to take off to get Evan back and forth to school...or it could be me getting sick and being unable to work for a while. Or it could be the very worst we can think of.

But we won't think about that now.

And so, while I have 12 left as of today and I don't plan to use more than 5 between now and the end of the year...there's always the "what ifs" that I have to factor in.

So when Anth told me he needed a cath, I knew I'd have to spend one of those precious days...which was okay, I mean, I HAVE them, I should USE them...especially for something like this.

Absolutely.

Well, Anth said "Don't worry about it, I don't want you to use those days if you don't need to. Let me see if Bob can go with me." (Bob is our adopted Ima's husband.)

So he called Ima.

And Ima told him that if Bob couldn't go, then not to worry, SHE would go.

When Anth told me this, I really, honest and truly started to cry. THIS was kindness, THIS was chesed, THIS was empathy and what people in a community do for others in the community.

Our rabbi was dead wrong.

Despite what she thinks and despite what she says, we ARE Kehilah Kedosha...we are a Holy Community. It's gestures such as this which reinforce that...these are people who genuinely care about one another, who are THERE for one another, who help when their help is needed.
Rabbi seemed to think that the definition of Kehilah Kedosha was a community that moved and acted as one...a bunch of Stepford Jews who were interested in the same things, who liked the same events and activities, who only saw sunshine and blue skies.

But this isn't Kehilah Kedosha, at least not the way I experience it.

Kehilah Kedosha is a community that genuinely cares about the people who form it. They don't ALL do the same things or attend the same events but they ARE just a phone call away. A new preschool in the shul? The ones who find this interesting call the teacher and offer to be aides. Sunday Clean Up? The men show up and climb up on the roof and throw off the debris that has accumulated. All of the men? No...some of the men. Others run the golf outing and still others run the big, annual fundraiser. Some we see once a year and some we see every week. It's a community. That's how communities work. We all have our lives and families and jobs and other interests that occupy us...but in our Kehilah Kedosha - we all find something to do. Maybe not all of it but somehow, somewhere we fit in.

And as a Kehilah Kedosha, we make room and we find a way for everyone to fit in. Regardless of what or how much they offer. Sure, there are those members of our community who prefer to armchair quarterback the whole thing...sit back and do nothing except offer their sage advice. Others don't even do that. But even THEY are part of this community...for better or for worse.
And THAT'S a Kehilah Kedosha. It's not the shiny, perfect, cookie cutter community our Rabbi waxed poetic about (and insulted more than half us with her comments) - we are humans and we have flaws. But we DO have a common purpose...and when the chips are down, I truly believe we rally to the cause, whatever it is. We may not be the BEST Kehilah Kedosha but we ARE a Kehila Kedosha. It's what we do. And I, for one, am glad to be a part of it.

(crossposted at Jewview and Matzah and Marinara)

Thoughts from Somewhere Else

Hi, Chaim here, just putting up a post that Shloimy sent me. (Corrected)

Post Yom Kippur thoughts: Looking toward the future….

As I stood there praying on Yom Kippur, some thoughts started creeping into my mind as Neilah started.

Neilah: the last prayer we say on Yom Kippur marks the “ closing of the gates”. I realized with sadness that Yom Kippur was slipping away. Where had the day gone? This special day when we are so close to G-D that we are like the angels above and we can therefore proclaim out loud: “Baruch Shem K'vod Malchuso Lolam Voed” (Blessed be his name and his glorious kingdom forever and ever). When, until next year will I have this chance, I sadly thought?

These ideas certainly opened my heart and allowed me to pray with much more fervor and concentration. Before Neilah the Rabbi spoke to the congregation and pointed out that it was important not just to beg forgiveness but to change as a person from within.

Whatever promises we make to be better people, they should never be more than we can handle. “ A little bit goes a long way”, he said. Take upon yourself something such as benching from a bencher, or to be careful to wash when eating bread etc. I’m hoping that I can still hold on to some of the holiness that this Yom Tov brought me. To go back to “business as usual” is surely not what G-d is looking for. May we all merit to have our names sealed in the heavenly books for healthy and happy prosperous year.

Yom Kippur Thoughts and Musings

I am still tired from yesterday, or maybe I am tired because I haven't slept much this week. Or perhaps it is a combination of lack of sleep and mental fatigue.

This year I made a real effort to get into davening. For some communicating with G-d is easy, but for me davening can be challenging. On a side note, I have written about this a number of times, but that is the only link that I can find. It irritates me, I have to try harder to categorize things.

What is most challenging about davening is trying to decipher/determine whether my prayers are heard. We live in an era of instant gratification, we want answers now. When my mother first instructed me on how to make a phone call she told me that I should let the telephone ring at least six times so that the person I was calling had time to pick up the phone.

Now if I wait more than three rings to get a person or voicemail I am irritated. It is kind of silly, but it is true. There are many other examples of this, but we'll save those for another time. For now it is enough to say that like so many others I want a definitive answer, even if that answer is "no."

This year was easier and I blame my children for it. Just before I began to read Torah I took a moment to look out on the crowd and I caught my son's eye. The smile on his face lit up the room and I couldn't help but smile back. His excitement just propelled me. To those of you who were there I apologize for the crack in my voice, no water wreaked havoc on a weak voice.

Later on my daughter decided to take a nap on my shoulder. I wrapped her in my tallis and as I davened the Shmoneh Esreh I could feel her breath on my cheek and could hear nothing but her steady breathing. Daddy and twenty-three pounds of baby girl bowed and convened with the heavens. It just made sense and for a brief moment I felt as I was crossing a bridge into a different place and time.

To some of you it may sound silly, but I felt as if I was walking into Jerusalem. I was bound for the Temple and was surrounded by others. My daughter helped me set the tone and then I tried to stay there. I draped my tallis over my head and listened. There was a low roar emanating from the people around me. I felt like we were all pulling for a common cause.

It was special and it was meaningful. It was what it should be.

The holidays are here and I feel settled.

(cross posted on Jack's Shack)

A Jewish Education Revisited and New Thoughts

There is a universal consensus that a good education is of paramount importance. The real question is where can you find the best education for your child. This past June I asked the question Do You Value A Secular Education?

I asked about it because in my interaction with many people who have attended parochial school there seems to be a distressing lack of focus on basic writing skills. Time and time again I read posts by educated and intelligent adult bloggers who seem to be unfamiliar with spelling and grammar rules and that concerns me.

Earlier this week PsychoToddler blogged a bit about paying for a Jewish education. In principle I agree with him that it is a very important piece of maintaining Jewish continuity, but I have a couple of problems with it.

The primary issue is my concern with the secular education that the students receive. I don't have any problem with establishing communities where there is access to Jewish needs (Kosher butcher, restaurants, shuls etc) but I am not a believer in isolating ourselves either.

I don't have hard numbers or data to share with you that provides any conclusive evidence to support my suspicion that some of these schools take the secular world less seriously than the Judaic studies.

What I have is my own experience in reading the blogs of those who went to these schools and the stories that I have been told confirming my beliefs. So it may not be conclusive, but it is enough to warrant concern.

The second piece of this puzzle refers to the cost of sending a student to private school. The problem is that the tuition is far too steep for many families. Just trying to send one child to a private school can be very difficult but sending more than one can for some be downright impossible.

This is not a new issue. I remember hearing my parents and their friends discuss this very thing some 25 or 30 years ago. So what are we going to do about it.

I can tell you what I am working on right now. I am in the middle of preparing a marketing blitz in which we are going to approach people who have the means and ability to support scholarships and ask them for their help. We are going to do everything that we can to drive down the cost so that this option is available to as many children as possible.

And there you have the short version of my thoughts on this. What do you think?

Time to Read Torah

I read Torah every Yom Kippur. Each year since 1982 I am the first guy up there. I walk up to the bimah, wait for the blessing and then it is off to the races. The first few years I was self-conscious about it.

I don't have a particularly good singing voice. I found that out the hard way. In 1982, (yes, the same year) I had the lead role in a musical. I still remember the laughter and I see some of the faces of those who laughed at me.

Many of those people were there when I started reading and I remember wondering if they would laugh again. I was 13 and much more aware of myself in that awkward junior high way. Part of me very much wanted to get out of reading, but at the same time I was honored and so I did it.

In time it got to be quite easy. I knew it by heart. I didn't have to look, all I had to do was start chanting. It is fair to say that I got a little cocky, but my cockiness was shortlived.

Three years ago I was tripped up. I started chanting and then looked down only to realize that the scroll was in the wrong place. Someone had grabbed the wrong Torah. I stopped in midstream. There was silence as I tried to quietly tell the gabbai to stop coaching me from his Chumash. I knew what the problem was.

And I also knew that suddenly I felt like that kid again. I couldn't remember how it was supposed to go. I couldn't get started and for a moment I wondered if somehow, someway G-d was testing me or punishing me for not taking it seriously enough, for not paying attention.

Since that moment I have made sure to do a few things. I always start out by confirming that we are in the right place, but even before I get up there I make time to consider what is happening, why I am there and what I want. I wrap my son up with me inside my tallis and I silently bless him.

I ask G-d to protect my family to forgive me for the things I have done and offer myself in this service. I am not yet the man I want to be, but I am working on it. I try to remain humble and honest. I may not tremble, but I am aware of my place in the world.

This year I will take both of my children inside my tallis and bless them. I will kiss them both and then I will silently walk up and prepare to chant. In moments it will be complete, but during the time that I am up there it will feel like hours. I will be present in the moment and aware of things going on around me. I'll see my parents and the faces of others. I'll hear my son tell everyone around him that I am his daddy and I'll smile.

It will be over in a moment but during it I'll feel like I have lived a lifetime. In the end I always ask for the same thing. Take care of my family, worry about them and I'll worry about me.

Yom Kippur approaches and I feel unsettled.

Paying for Jewish Education

A topic that has been discussed multiple times on this blog is Jewish Education. If you've read my comments, you know that I think it is the single most important factor in Jewish Continuity. Many of you parents also know how incredibly expensive it is.

Jewish Action, the official magazine of the Orthodox Union (the ones who put the little "OU" Kosher symbols on your food) has an amazing series of articles on the subject here. (they are in PDF format, but worth the download)

The mehitza- A Deterrent to Assimilation

I just finished reading an article in The Jerusalem Post that had me shaking my head. It is called The mehitza that made waves in New Orleans and it suggests that the presence of a mehitza is a strong deterrent to assimilation.

I strongly disagree with much of what was written in it. Let me share a couple sections. The opening of this opinion piece relates the story of a lawsuit in New Orleans that was brought when a shul removed the mehitza and implemented mixed seating.

"The New Orleans decision inspired many Orthodox Jews to go to court to stem the floodtide of assimilation, which often began with the elimination of the mehitza. Baruch Litvin, who galvanized American Jews to fight to maintain the mehitza, recorded his success in his 550-page tome Sanctity of the Synagogue. When his Orthodox shul instituted mixed seating, he obtained a 1959 ruling from the Michigan Supreme Court that returned the mehitza to the synagogue.

THE MEHITZA brouhaha had wider significance. Judaism is distinguished by its adherence to Jewish law, Halacha, and Litvin argued that such adherence is compromised by the radical change of mingling in synagogue. The issue of separation of the sexes for prayer was a test of the entire halachic system. Abandoning this principle, Jews would succumb to the centripetal forces of American modernity, jettison the rest of Halacha, and the dikes would burst.

The mehitza proponents have proved correct – the floodtide of assimilation by intermarriage for those Jews affiliated with mixed-seating congregations varies from 50 to 80 percent. Among the Orthodox it is barely 5 percent."

It is far too simplistic to sugges that separating men and women in the synagogue will prevent them from assimilation. For that matter one could just as easily argue that you are more likely to prevent assimilation by using mixed seating because it enhances the opportunity for nice Jewish boys and girls to meet each other.

The question of what causes more non-Orthodox Jews to assimilate ( I am trusting the authors figures here which have been provided without support) should have a broader framework and we should better define what we mean by assimilation. For the purpose of this discussion we'll say that assimilation refers to Jews who not only stop practicing Judaism but marry outside of the faith and allow the spouse's faith to become dominant within the household.

If we were truly to explore this I would want to know about belief in G-d and the belief in Torah. That is, do people believe in G-d and what is their opinion of Torah. Was it handed to us as the precise word of G-d or is it divinely inspired and perhaps subject to interpretation.

I would also wonder about how many Orthodox Jews would like to stop living as Orthodox Jews but refrain for fear of the problems it would create within their families.

These are just a few questions to be asked and I haven't even bothered to think hard about them which is part of why this gives me real pause as to the validity of this allegation. I have serious doubts that it really holds up. It really makes me shake my head because it is just narishkeit.

Here is another selection from the piece that irritates me.

"Prayer requires deep concentration, kavana. Women realize that men can be in a state of inner distraction by virtue of the presence of women at a time when it is essential for people to be as fully engaged as possible in their concentrated awareness of their conversation with God. The situation of men and women is not symmetrical; men are more easily stimulated by viewing women, as the advertising industry well knows."

I find this part to be offensive. Men are not animals and what this does is suggest is that we are unable to control ourselves. An attractive woman is not the reason why men sometimes have trouble davening.

A pretty face or nice legs are not going to interfere with saying the shemoneh esreh, or be the reason for a lack of focus. My davening has been interrupted by the whispered stories of what happened during last nights ballgame or conversation about what little Sammy is doing now.

And then the final part of this piece that made me shake my head is this:

"RABBI JOSEPH Soloveitchik, who established a Jewish day school with mixed classes and promoted teaching girls Talmud, surprised many with the stringency of his ruling on mehitza.

"A young man moved into a suburb of Boston where the only existing synagogue had men and women sitting together. He asked me what he should do on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. I answered him that it were better for him to pray at home and not cross the threshold of that synagogue. The young man practically implored me that I grant him permission to enter the edifice, at least that he might hear the shofar blasts. I hesitated not for a moment, but directed him to remain at home. It would be better not to hear the shofar than to enter a synagogue whose sanctity has been profaned."

This story is nothing more than a divisive device that pushes us away from each other. It does nothing to encourage inclusion, only exclusion and it will be seen by many as snobbery.

I was there at Har Sinai and I don't remember Hashem instructing us in this manner.

Shul Days

I have nothing planned here. I'm completely making this up off the top of my head.

Brave? Stupid? Foolish? ... Let's find out.

When I was younger this time of year for was my least favorite. I have no patience and I have no Zits Fleish. If I would have been a kid nowadays I'd almost certainly be classified as ADD. So for me to sit in Shul for so long was torture. My father was a religious dictator. He never spent the time or energy to instill the love of Yiddishkeit, only the fear portion. I knew the time was holy, but at 10 years old I didn't feel strongly enough that it would keep me in shul that long.

Of course you could say most ten year olds would never be able to stay in shul from early in the morning (ok it was a Lubavitch shul so, around 9:30/10 in the morning) till 2, 3 in the afternoon. Even today it's hard for me to concentrate during davening. I get easily distracted. As an adult though I can push myself to focus, and I understand now how important this time is to really connect with Hashem.

I think the difference for me is taking it from a synagogue experience to a personal experience. As a kid I was told to respect the shul, respect that we are there to daven and respect that this is what we do, no questions asked. (and certainly none answered)

Today, I think of the shul as a place to talk to G-d. Thank him for giving me life, ask for support and strength. This time of year is now one of my favorites as an adult. To really visualize that Hashem is listening to us, and seeing him making his decisions for our life for the next year. I can always use all the help I can get to boost my spiritual connection when I'm davening. This time of the year in shul, it always gives me that boost. It inspires me to not only even more strongly thank him for all the good that happened in the year leading up to this one. But also, ask him for only good things for me and my family for the upcoming one.

Another thing I enjoy about this time of the year is that it reminds us, just as Pesach reminds us to do a physical cleaning. Tishrei reminds us to do a spiritual house cleaning. Make sure that we have a clean slate with our friends and family. Make amends for anything we have done, and any wrong or ill that we have caused to them.

At this time I would like to extend that practice to this board. I can be pretty cynical and sometimes negative. If I have offended anyone, or upset anyone that I have come in contact with over the last 7 months in this blogspehere I hope you will accept my apology and forgive me.

May Hashem answer all our tefilahs and send us all only good. May Hashem watch over us, our friends, our family and bring forth the day when we can all come together to the Beis Hamikdosh Hashlishi in Eretz Yisroel.

Jewish Mysteries-Our Connection and The New Year

I am an independent in many ways including both politics and religion. Every now and then someone decides to take a swipe at me because they think that I pick and choose.

For example, I don't keep Kosher, but I would never drink a glass of milk with meat. There are other examples, but I don't want to make this post about me but about the mysteries of Judaism.

That is the term that I used when speaking with a friend about his kollel and their outreach program to unaffiliated Jews/Jews who are unhappy with their shul. But it really is most applicable to Jews who do not have a real strong Jewish education and their approach to Judaism.

What I mean by this is that Judaism is highly sophisticated and filled with layers and layers of ritual and for a lack of a better term obligations/responsibilities that we usually refer to as the 613 mitzvot.

Add to that the minhagim (customs) that have been acquired over the centuries and many people do not know whether the things that they do are based upon minhag or halacha and even if they do they often do not know why they are being asked to do them.

Consequently there are many mitzvot that are not followed because people do not feel/see the connection and or reason for them to do it. You cannot tell someone who does not know if they believe in G-d that this being/person/creature has commanded them to do anything and expect that they are just going to do it. And you especially cannot expect a thinking adult to engage without provding them with substance and reason for why they should do whatever it is you are asking them to do.

So what you end up with is a group of people who look at the mitzvot/commandments and see them as being optional. Earlier this week Mirty wrote about her feelings when she accidentally ate something that was treif. I thought that it was interesting because my heart tells me that I should be keeping Kosher but my brain says why.

My head wants to know what is the reason. What does it do? I already know that lightning will not come out of the sky and strike me down if I do not. I know that if I drive on Shabbos I am not going to be stoned. I know that if I commit an aveirah I am probably, more than likely going to be ok.

And what this means is that I have to search harder for a reason to stop my behavior and change. I need more than just because. I need something that speaks to me and thus far I haven't found it and I am someone who searches for answers.

Take me out of the equation and go back to the person who has little to no background. Now stick them in shul and watch how many of them squirm because they do not understand what is going on, why we bow at some times and not at others. They stumble through mechayei meytim without any idea about the hours of thought and discussion that those words created, they do not understand what they do but go because of guilt.

I watch and listen because even though I can say that I received a solid Jewish education it has some holes in it and there are places that are more like gaps. I watch because this time of year is a huge struggle for me. It makes me crazy, I go meshugah because I feel like my heart and head are in two different places. My heart says to just go with the feeling, follow the passion and daven because it will take me to where I need to be and my head scoffs at this.

My head laughs at superstition and takes a simple position of trying to be a good person. Be a good person, teach your children, give back to your community and do what you can to be a mensch and everything will work out.

I'll go to shul and I'll wrestle with being there. I'll think about the streets of Yerushalayim and the hike I took in Yosemite. I'll go to the bathroom and be distracted by beautiful women, by watching the young children look up in awe at their parents and by the sound of people davening. I'll sit down and consider the mysteries of Judaism and ask myself how much I really know and realize that my depth of knowledge is good, but never enough. I'll shake my head and feel like I'll never be satisfied and then I'll sigh.

And in between and throughout all of it I'll come here and write a post that started out with a serious nature and just became a stream of consciousness and wonder if I really said anything or made sense to anyone.

The New Year is coming and I feel unsettled.

Reflection - The Angel's Hand

I was seven years old and playing at my friend Timmy’s house. His mother served us some popcorn, and I forgot that Timmy didn’t keep kosher. I ate the popcorn. When I realized what I had done, I ran home and told my mother. I was very upset by the mistake I made. It didn't seem to me like a small mistake. I had broken a rule I took very seriously. I was distraught. I think my mother was surprised at how upset I was, and uncertain of how to calm me down.

As I child, I was very aware of rules and very concerned about breaking them. But what exactly was the source of my tears after I chowed down on not-necessarily-kosher popcorn? I was concerned on three levels:

1. I had broken a rule I took seriously and believed in (keeping kosher)
2. I was angry at myself for doing so
3. I was angry at -- who? what? -- for establishing rules that were so easily broken, because I had trespassed in a brief moment of carelessness, without any intention to do wrong.

So I felt that I had done something wrong and that it was unfair that doing wrong was so easy, that it happened with no evil intent, simply from carelessness and a lack of attention. I guess I thought there should be a magic angel hand holding my hand back from the bowl of suspect popcorn.

(The question of whether or not popcorn can actually be unkosher is beside the point. I knew that Timmy's family did not keep a kosher kitchen, so therefore I knew not to eat anything there. I was a kid and no one expected me to make detailed kashrut decisions; it was a broad approach.)

Since there are no angel hands, at least not around me, the substitute for such guardians is that moment of reflection with which human beings are blessed. It's called conscience or moral sense. It is supposed to make us hesitate before taking action. It's also known as reflection -- the image we see in our mind, ourselves reflected, paused, frozen in time for second to allow us a second thought, a change of course.

Judaism strengthens this sense of reflection in many ways. The act of saying a bracha (blessing) before eating would have provided enough time for me to think twice about Timmy's popcorn, but my family's custom did not include brachas for snacks. I can see now how brachas and keeping kosher go well together -- the moment taken to ponder, "What is the bracha for popcorn?" is enough time for a child to also think, "Oh wait a second, Timmy's family doesn't keep kosher, maybe I should just say no thanks."

I realize I'm treading into dangerous ground here, but -- and again these are just my personal reflections -- (ducking for cover) -- perhaps this is an example where the middle road of Modern Orthodoxy is a particularly difficult one. Would a child from Crown Heights have been in the same predicament? And as trivial as it seems -- the fearsome kernel of corn -- it was a bit of a crisis for a seven-year-old. Shouldn't a child have the benefit of being safe in his world, of knowing the little decisions he makes during his day will not cause him to sin inadvertently? "I ate treif" is a tough confession for a little kosher kid!

The temptations life presents become so much more perilous as we get older. It is good to teach our children how to use that moment of reflection -- the pause for a bracha, or for thought, or prayer. Maybe the angel's hand will make it here in time, sometimes, and stop us before we reach for something that will only bring us regrets later on.

(This essay combines elements of two posts from my Mirty's Place site. Thanks for reading. Thanks for commenting. Shavua Tov.)

Somewhat Haunting

It is a couple of weeks now since the disengagement which means that enough time has passed to offer some comments with some perspective, but certainly it has not been long enough to say what this event means in the grand scheme of things.

We watched as our synagogues were burned and even though it was not a surprise it was still upsetting.

I thought that Rabbi Daniel Gordis had some good comments in something that he wrote that I will share below. He links to some footage that I found to be quite moving. I have watched that and this video many times.

"Despite the pain that defies description, the loss of homes and businesses, schools and yeshivot, batei midrash and parks, playgrounds and friendships, despite the wounds that will take not weeks or months, but many years to heal, the State won. It was, given what we had feared, an extraordinary statement by Israelis that despite everything -- or because of everything, like the fact that we live in a contracting country -- there's a bind here that has triumphed even over this. Despite it all, most people here recognized that what was at stake wasn't settlements, or homes, even people. What was at stake was the still fragile State we call home. The home we have is smaller, and will get still smaller. And in the face of that, there was really no place for ribbons.

That, at the end of the day, is probably why it went as smoothly as it did. No shots were fired. Nowhere. Thousands of people were evicted from their homes, their children would not return to the same schools, and in many cases, would have trouble finding schools to take them. They would never live in houses like those again, they would leave behind the cemeteries in which their children are buried (those graves were moved a few days later) … and they walked out peacefully.

Admittedly, the army and police handled it all magnificently, with very few exceptions. The soldiers sent in were not the eighteen and nineteen year old kids who might have been hotter under the collar, but reservists, with wives and kids, who'd been around the block a few more times, and would know how to handle the hurt, and the hate. The police, who normally wear uniforms with the word "Police" on the front, were issued new hats, and vests. The same color, the same shape. But instead of the word "Police," just an Israeli flag. So that the settlers who saw the long columns of blue uniforms marching in to their communities, saw police, yes, but they also saw a long line of bobbing Israeli flags. The flag they love. The flag they know is the only one the Jews will have as long as any of us are alive, and far beyond that. And in the end, the residents packed up, and with tear-stained faces and the sort of dignity that emerges only from hearts bursting with anguish, just walked away from it all.

Twenty percent of the IDF's officers are religious. And how many of them refused orders when it came down to it? Virtually no one. True, the army didn't use most of the younger religious units. Why put those kids in such an impossible situation? But there were religious officers there, lots of them. You just had to watch the news and the videos to see. How many did you see refusing? I didn't see any.

What I did see, during and after, was some of the saddest footage I've ever seen. For a heartbreaking sample, you can take a look here(ignore the first thirty gratuitous seconds … the rest is moving beyond words). Indescribably painful footage, true, but also the kind that makes us proud to be part of this huge experiment called the Jewish State. No arms. Tears, yes, but no violence. Disbelief. Soldiers knocking at the door, and when answered, cutting their own uniforms in the traditional sign of Jewish mourning. Because even for those on the left, there's nothing to celebrate about Jews being evicted from their homes. Because even for the blue ribbons, this was not a victory. Who can celebrate, as their borders close in around them? There was nothing else to do but mourn. And wipe the tears away"

And I really appreciated what he said here:

"When I was a kid, I grew up with the image of Israel as a growing country. The absurd borders of the 1947 UN partition plan expanded to the borders of 1949 at the end of the war. The Sinai captured in 1956, and though returned, captured again in 1967, along with the Golan, Gaza, the West Bank, and Jerusalem.

My kids are growing up in a very different world. The "Exodus" (biblical, or the boat) is no longer about leaving someplace else and coming here. Exoduses now, it seems, are about leaving here. About contracting. And each one becomes more painful, and more dangerous, more controversial.

What do you do in the face of that? You can protest. You can vow to get Sharon out of office (only to watch someone else retreat in his stead, of course.) You can tell your yeshiva students to ignore the orders they're given. You can compare Sharon (as some did) to a Nazi. You can lose hope. You can walk away in disgust (especially if you never lived here in the first place).

Or, you can roll up your sleeves, and get to work. You can put on a uniform, hoist onto your back a knapsack that weighs almost as much as you do, give your brothers and your parents a kiss, and head off to defend what's left.

Because whether you were blue or orange during the summer that's passed, none of that matters anymore. Because you know that this place isn't about ribbons, but about chances. For a hot and horrid summer, we allowed ourselves to imagine that what mattered was the color of the ribbon on our car. And now, we know we were wrong."

Today we mark the passing of Simon Wiesenthal who assuredly lived through much harder times and so I look at what we have seen and I cannot do anything but be optimistic about the future. There are a lot of challenges, but there are many who wait to take them on because sometimes that is just what you do.

The New Year approaches and it is up to us to determine what kind of year we will have.

Simon Wiesenthal Changed My Life

It was this story oft told by Simon Wiesenthal, and as shared on Jewlicious, that truly changed my life:

Wiesenthal spoke often of a Sabbath dinner he had spent at the home of another survivor of Mauthausen, who had become a wealthy jeweler. The man speculated that Wiesenthal could have become a millionaire if he had gone back to architecture instead of hunting Nazis.

“When we come to the other world,” Wiesenthal said he responded, “and meet the millions of Jews who died in thecamps, and they ask us, ‘What have you done?’ there will be many answers.

“You will tell them, ‘I became a jeweler.’

“Another will say, ‘I smuggled coffee and American cigarettes.’

“Another will say, ‘I built houses.’

“But I will say, ‘I didn’t forget you.’.”

This story is what sparked a lifelong interest in the Jewish people. It is what inspired my thesis in college, entitled "Ha-Shoah". It is what caused me eventually to identify so closely and bond so tightly with the Jewish destiny that I had no other choice but to become a Jew.

So while Simon Wiesenthal never knew me or spoke to me, he changed my life. He inspired me with a lifelong devotion to a people of whom I was not a part but to whom I eventually joined my destiny.

My heart truly spoke the words that Ruth spoke so long before me, "Your people shall be my people, and your God, my God."

Becoming a Jew meant leaving behind an old life, gaining new friends and family, grieving for old friends and family who couldn't accept a choice I was compelled to make. It meant hitching my wagon to a destiny that continues to evolve - one which isn't necessarily "safe" or "privileged" but one which provides more satisfaction and happiness than I ever could have imagined.When people ask me what inspired me to convert to Judaism, I never mention Simon Wiesenthal. Instead I mumble things about "faith" and "how I believe" and "the one-ness of G-d"...but I never mention what really drew me to even consider it. I never mention the man who chose never to forget his people...and inspired me to never forget those who would become MY people either.

Maybe I should mention this.

Who changed YOUR life?

(Cross-posted at JewView and Matzah and Marinara)

I-Connect

My son started working on the I-Connect program in Sunday School yesterday. It's designed to teach the kids about Israel and to encourage them to feel more connected to the land and the people.

I asked Evan if he had enjoyed the program.

"Yes, Mom," he said in that way that older children have of indicating that you're interrupting their deepest thoughts and most involved activity.

"Oh good!" I said. "Do you want to go to Israel now?"

Now, don't forget, Evan has always said that he wants to go visit Israel because he says that's where his "people" are.

"I don't think so," he said.

"Oh???" I was shocked.

"Those other people that live there? The different ones? They're scary."

My son has finally learned about Palenstinians.

I found that incredibly sad in a way....his innocence, his childhood, his ability to see the good in everyone, to see past a skin color or a religious label...all gone.

And on top of that, now he's afraid of Israel and going there.

"Well, Evan that's just a few radical people. Not all Arabs or Palestinians are like that. You have to remember that," I assured him.

He looked at me skeptically. "I am still not going. They'll KILL me!"

Very interesting development. On one hand, I don't want him to be afraid of the world or his place in it. On the other, I certainly want him to be aware, as a Jew, of the potential dangers out there. I also want him as a human being to try to overcome those dangers while still being very comfortable with himself.

Very interesting.

Whatever happened to those "tough" questions about puberty?????

(cross posted at Matzah and Marinara)

Perception

Despite the fact that I usually do not discuss Jewish topics around some of my relatives, I am still perceived as being "so religious", and my actions are sometimes mistakenly interpreted to be commentary on their lives.

Many times, I am between a rock and hard place since some of my family members are incredibly uncomfortable about any exterior displays of Jewishness. They subscribe to Yehuda Leib Gordon's philosophy, "Be a Jew inside your home and a man on the street." Judaism to them is something that should only be observed internally. They become uneasy around all things Jewish, sometimes even hesitating to put up a mezuzah on their doorpost since this would only call attention to the fact that their house is a Jewish home.

I do not utter judgmental comments or give disapproving glances at what others do. With less-observant relatives, I strive to build bridges and be as accommodating and considerate as possible while not compromising my beliefs. Sometimes, however, it feels like my efforts are an exercise in futility. Although Gordon's philosophy is the antithesis of how I live my life, I continue to struggle to see things from their point of view and remind myself that we are all Jews and one family.

--
(Cross Posted on A Simple Jew)

Unetaneh Tokef

As I mentioned in the audio post below during this time of year it is common practice for Jews to become more reflective about themselves and their place in the world around them. I think that it is a very important task and one that is necessary if you are going to continue to grow as a person.

There is a prayer called "Unetaneh Tokef" that is said on Rosh Hashanah that always catches me as I am sure that it does many others. There are a couple of different stories that I have heard about its origins. Here are links to two of them. As you can see they are intense.

But I want to focus on a couple of things that we say in the prayer itself that I think are of interest.

On Rosh Hashanah it is written and Yom Kippur it is sealed
How many shall pass on and how many shall come to be;
who shall live and who shall die;
who shall see ripe old age and who shall not;
who shall perish by fire and who by water;
who by sword and who by beast;
who by hunger and who by thirst;

and

Repentance, Prayer, and Charity temper judgment's severe decree.

Those are some pretty heavy concepts, so I am going to post about the first section and then then comment on the second.

As a young boy whenever we said Unetaneh Tokef I always pictured a very old man at a desk. There was a book a quill and some ink that the man used to write in the book. I remember thinking that it would be very hard for the man to hear me and that his head must really hurt because all these people were trying to speak to him.

I can also remember wondering if he really knew about all the things that I had done. Did he know that I had managed to sneak candy into my room even though my mom had said no. Did he know that sometimes at night when I was supposed to be in bed I would sneak into the hallway and listen to whatever show my parents were watching.

Or was he aware that Teddy Holtz had found a magazine with pictures of nude girls and we were looking at it. As an adult I laugh at that memory. We were about 8 years-old and we thought that the people in the magazine were really stupid. Because who would sit naked on the back of a motorcycle. You would get really cold and if you fell off you'd get really scraped up.

I can remember the superstitions of the older people, the whispers and gestures they made to ward off the evil eye, the hands they clamped over our ears during certain times.

All these memories jumble together because I took Unetaneh Tokef literally, even though I had some doubts about the power of G-d in the end I was afraid that he really did know everything and that something bad could happen. In short, it was a very black and white interpretation.

Now I look at Unetaneh Tokef and I think of it in broader terms and I understand that section to be more comment than literal because the reality is that I cannot make the decision of who will die and who will live for myself or for anyone others. Those decisions are out of my hands and it is important for us as people to be aware that what we do, the choices we make impact others.

This leads into the second part where it says:

Repentance, Prayer, and Charity temper judgment's severe decree.

Please note that I am using English translations so that more people can read this, I don't usually translate Tzedakah as Charity. It is usually more like Righteousness but there is a lot more to that discussion than this so for simplicities sake we'll use charity.

In the past when I have engaged in learning about this line some people have discussed these as three separate concepts and it bothers me to hear Tshuvah, Tefilah and Tzedakah handled as separate units relative to this conversation. The reason being is that Unetaneh Tokef is a personal discussion with G-d in which we praise and tremble. It is a time to consider our own actions and I find it troubling to suggest that one could merit another year of life simply based upon tefilah/prayer.

Because if we are saying that we have done wrong and that we wish to engage in tshuvah, repentance then I think that it must include the act of tshuvah. I find fault with the idea that one could ignore tshuvah and simply daven. There is a lack of responsibility and personal accountability that irks me.

So I don't see how you can separate prayer from repentance. They are two pieces that work together. Tzedakah is a different story. One can give without repenting or prayer. You could easily make a donation to charity xyz without the other two components.

On a personal note I follow the Rambam's example of how to give.

That is it for now, perhaps I'll share more thoughts later.

Phenomenal Posts

I know that it has been slow around here, but that is only because there are some incredible posts being worked on.