Opening Up

Took a too-long blog break -- this has part of my excuse. Just jump there, and jump back -- it'll only take a second. As for the rest, we have a lot of catching up to do.

Meanwhile, here we are again, 24-hour countdown to Yom Kippur, the Gates of Heaven are nearly open, and with all its good timing, the Night-Blooming Cereus is, as well.

Once a year, about nine p.m., it shares its beauty with its nocturnal compatriots, and just three hours previous to this writing, here it is:

(Both photos copyright the family photographer, i.e. That Guy I Married)

Our neighbor L-C was nice enough to give us a call so we wouldn't miss the annual blooming on her front porch.... and by now it has already closed.

(I was impressed at the timing, then did a quick search noted -- with irony -- that a primary association with this flower has something to do with Krishna worship in India. The timing's still pretty cool though, don't you think?)

Just a simple thought, coming into our Day of Repentence. Last week during class break, a fellow student approached me with a question:

Why should I bother fasting again this year? I know that right after Yom Kippur I'm just going back to all the things I usually do -- not keeping Shabbat, and all that. So what good will it do for me to fast?

She is relatively young, in her mid-twenties, and grew up in a religious household, in the religious school system here in Israel. She no longer identifies as a religious person but remains close with her family.

As in keeping with the tradition, I answered her question with a question: What's the connection between not keeping Shabbat next week, and keeping Yom Kippur this week?

I was convinced, without knowing why, that the two are not inherently linked, at least not on every level, but at the time I couldn't explain it in a way that satisfied either of us.

Today, leafing through Al ha-Teshuva, a text based on lectures given by Rabbi Yosef B. Soloveichik, I found a more exact answer. Rav Soloveichik talks a lot about the individual versus the Klal, the collective. While each individual certainly bears responsibility for his or her own actions and atonement process, there is a parallel process that is the jurisdiction the collective, which, according to the Rav, is an entity with an identity in and of itself.

It is up to the individual to consider him or herself a part of Klal Yisrael, and one way to achieve kapara (atonement) on Yom Kippur is to be a part of this collective -- what he calls the "אני קבוצי," "communal I." In his words (my translation):

We identify with the congregation of Israel, are molded and merged into it, we are made one with it -- and through this, we become worthy of the atonement that it [the congregation] is worthy of (p. 77).

He asks whether the atonement of Yom Kippur is that of the individual, or of the collective, and goes on to explain that the answer is, in fact both. The collective gives us a power of atonement, distinct from our individual efforts, and so (as I later wrote my classmate), as long as you consider yourself a part of the community, on whatever level, your fasting along with everyone is still worth something.

גמר חתימה טובה / Gmar Hatima Tova.

May we all be inscribed for life, blessings, health, and new openings leading to new beginnings.

ALN

The Legacy We Could Have Gained

I have to agree with David Bogner here at Treppenwitz.   We all know there were some - a very few -  that were misguided enough to support the assassination.  But shame on those self-appointed Leftist "leadership" (capital L), whose character assassinations demonstrate that they would rather be staunchly Left, than right.  

Like so many others, I remember being shocked and saddened on that Saturday night in November, and in the days that followed when I stood in line, along with people of all ages, religious and political beliefs, to pay our last respects at the Knesset.   

The mourning of an assassinated prime minister should never have become a political event.  It is a national event, a national loss, a national disgrace.  In the shadow of Rabin's assassination, our country's "leaders" did nothing to encourage a feeling of unity, and by now I fear we have gotten used to this national bifurcation as the status quo, even -- especially? -- on national days of mourning.

Not nearly enough balance here.

ALN

She Expresses It So Well

Beyond the fact that her very name completely enamors me, Verlyn Klinkenborg has done it again -- just how does she write like that?  

I am jealous, and inspired.

Keep the balance,

ALN

We Already Do -- Correction

My good friend and neighbor Q read this post about Simhat Torah and pointed out an inaccuracy that needs correcting. (Thank you, Q!).

In fact, I am happy to report, one of the two retired rabbis in our community does not at all object to women dancing with the Torah and finds no source in halacha to forbid the practice.

My apologies to this rabbi for misunderstanding his position.

Keep the balance,

ALN

We Already Do (and You're Welcome to Join Us!)

I just wanted to weigh in with SuperRaizy, and so many others (she lists some), regarding women's participation on Simhat Torah.  

In our community (as in RivkA's), which shall remain nameless to protect the fully involved, women dance with a sefer Torah.  This year I had the privilege of dancing with a sefer Torah in front while carrying Blondini Boy on my back, an experience I hope he'll never forget.

Following the hakafot (dancing with the Torah), we have a community kiddush, complete with a reproduction of the beit hamikdash constructed from cake and candies by the kids of the community.   

Then, in parallel to the regular Torah reading in the beit haknesset (synagogue), women who choose to participate, meet in the garden of a private home for a women's reading of Parashat v'Zot haBracha.  When we finish we return to the main reading for the children's aliyah (again, refer to RivkA's post -- only we certainly remembered the candy this year, and way too much of it if you ask me) and all the rest.

Then we have a community picnic / barbeque in the park next to the beit haknesset for some excellent, jointly prepared food.  What a wonderful way to share the cooking on the last day of a slew of holidays!

It's not without its complications... The sefer Torah we women take for the hakafot is the only one of three that we use, since its donors do not mind that women dance with it or read from it.  The  donors of the other two sifrei Torah disapprove of the idea and we honor their request.  Also, both of the retired rabbis in our community do not approve of the women's reading, and have voiced their disapproval, but not in the form of psaq halacha.  

(Addendum, 28 Oct:  Please see this post which corrects an inaccuracy).

It took many years for these customs to become status quo around here, but now they are. The girls (and boys)  of our community will certainly grow up thinking it's the status quo. Call it Facts on the Ground...?

Keep the balance,

ALN

Hidden Blooms

These flowers aren't actually more hidden than any others, although they are rather modest, delicate-looking blooms.  I have to admit, I barely noticed them.

Carob trees are now flowering in our area... I photographed these two days ago while hiking with the kids in the rolling hills behind our moshav.   (Apologies for the quality -- forgot my camera and the Nokia is, well, only a phone, after all).

Sukkot is a celebration -- of planting, of the rain we'll soon begin to pray for (although the rain itself has already begun, intermittently, in the central and Northern parts of the country). 

Meanwhile, the weather around here has been perfect for hiking -- slightly overcast mornings, beautiful sunshine in the afternoons.  So go ahead, shut down that computer, go outside and hike!  The world is waiting....

מועדים לשמחה  -- Have a wonderful Sukkot.

Keep the balance,

ALN

Speaking of Jet Lag, Part 2

We don't actually have to go anywhere to develop a national jet lag.

In the midst of cajoling our memories to backtrack and retrack our conversation, my friend S. and I found ourselves sharing a mutual sympathy for the unwanted exhaustion following that wacky tradition known as returning to Standard Time, aka Greenwich Mean +2.

(As for Daylight Saving Time -- or Daylight Shifting Time, depending on whom you ask -- we have Benjamin Franklin to thank for that.  Ben, maybe you should've stuck to writing the Almanac, dating French women and flying kites in the rain).

It never made much sense to me.  After all, if there's such a discrepancy in daylight hours between the winter and summer seasons, wouldn't it be more logical to even things out over the course of the year by extending daylight waking hours during the winter, and curtailing them over the summer?

This year's confusion started on the Sunday morning between Rosh haShana and Yom Kippur, which is when we Israelis switch back the clocks in a superfluous attempt to convince ourselves that the Yom Kippur fast is in fact shorter than it actually is.  I was unaware that my handheld digital devices knew enough to reset their own chronometers, which is why, when I got out of bed in the morning, I mistakenly assumed I had an hour and five minutes to get Elder Princeski and myself ready and out the door, instead of the five minutes actually allotted.  To her credit, she made the school bus on time.

I know there are benefits to Standard Time.  By half past five in the afternoon my kids are already clamoring for their supper, convinced that night is upon us and I have neglected to notice.  

But just try convincing my brain that this time shift thing is a good idea.  I wake up at five anyway, and start to doze by ten.  Jet lag, I say.

Keep the balance,

ALN

Six Days to Go: The Secret Scoreboard

This very second, Always the Imp is dribbling cookie crumbs and chocolate bits all over my MacBook as she desperately informs me, at the top of her well-developed lungs, that Blondini Boy JUST TOOK ANOTHER COOKIE AND I ONLY GOT ONE!!!   

Blondini Boy:  I didn't.

Always (calmly, "innocently,"):  Excuse me, Mommy, he got TWO THINGS.

Elder Princeski leans over my shoulder as I post, enjoying her mostly-unique literate status by narrating the others' exploits back at them.  She continues to read out loud as I write.  

(I think it's time for a remote Five-Minute Bedtime Challenge, so they'll go upstairs and "surprise" me by getting ready for bed while I get a written word in edgewise).

Flashback to dinner, the first night of Rosh haShana.  The neighbors are over with their motley crew, and together with ours, the resulting ruckus makes it almost impossible to hold a conversation.  But we're making the effort, when suddenly...

THAT'S NOT FAIR! yells Always.  SHE GOT SECONDS ON CAKE AND I DIDN'T!  

(Pause for thought).

Ah, I reply, but earlier today you got a candy and she didn't... doesn't that make it even?  

She's not convinced, so I continue.  You know that not everything is fair all the time. 

I see from her expression that it's time for a tactical change.  You know, up in Abba's and my room there's a big secret scoreboard that folds out of the wall when you're not looking.  That's how we, and all the other parents, keep track of who gets however many treats.  Right?  

I turn to our neighbor for confirmation.  She nods.  

Furthermore, I add, all the homes in the neighborhood are linked through the internet, so when you eat junk food at your friend's house, his parents can look up on our scoreboard whether you've had a treat recently, and if they do give you a candy, they we'll know you don't need dessert at home that night.

She looks skeptical.  

Smart kid.  But she does stop complaining about the cake discrepancy.

Still, something echoes inside me.  Here we are, on Rosh haShana, discussing a secret scoreboard.  What a metaphor.  

I mean, how many times have I looked over in envy at my neighbor's car (specifically, I'll readily admit, their lovely Mazda 5).  And oh, how I justify my desires:  If I had a car like that, I could fit the whole carpool in one trip.  The kids would have plenty of room and stop fighting all the time.

More aptly, what about all those "Why Bad Things Happen to Good People?" questions that can plague a person after a decade of working with sick kids in the hospital, or maybe as a result of our regularly scheduled lives and their accompanying losses:  A relative who dies before his time, a loved one who lose his job, her marriage, their home.  

No wonder we're so tempted to ask, Where's the "God of Justice and Mercy" we keep mentioning throughout Yom Kippur?  Experience has shown us, time and again:  No one's promised us anything.   

Still, we ask, pray, beg, cajole.  Our Father, Our King.  Save us, protect us, heal us,  forgive us. We imagine that somewhere, Up There, there must be a Big Secret Scoreboard.

Maybe it doesn't come out even in the end.  Or maybe it all comes out even in The End.  Meanwhile, we live in hope and wonder.

גמר חתימה טובה.

Keep the balance,

ALN

Eight Days to Go...

A thought for today, and the next eight days, care of Aish haTorah:  Reality check as balance.

This version is in English, and this one in Hebrew.

גמר חתימה טובה

Shabbat Shalom,

ALN

Nine Days to Go...

I admit it:  Over the past two days, my mind was wandering during parts of the tefila (prayer).  No, not just the repetition, my own tefila.  Much of what I was thinking about was teshuva (repentence), more often than not, the teshuva I'm not doing, don't know how to do, or don't have the strength to do.  Since these ten days from Rosh haShana until Yom Kipur are designated "teshuva days," I guess I have some additional time.  Meanwhile, over the holiday, one thought was especially plaguing me.

Over the past few weeks I offended an acquaintance.  Not by something I said, exactly, rather by something I did, but we all know what speaks louder than words.

The irony is that, as in I did not mean to offend her.  Furthermore, I did not want to offend her, had no reason to offend her.  Had I been thinking in a certain direction, I would have easily developed a clearer understanding of how my actions could be construed as hurtful. but I wasn't thinking about that at all.

During tefila, I came to a new understanding of a rather simple concept:  So many, perhaps a majority, of the occasions we hurt people, come about not because we are trying to hurt them , but because we haven't considered how our motivations and actions will affect them.  We act based on what we want or need, but our precious egos constrict our consideration for the minds and hearts beyond our own.  

How many times have I been offended by someone who either didn't mean to offend me, or didn't mind offending me because his own desires took priority?  Millions of times.  This ego, which gives us the strength and courage to be productive, empathic, motivated people, is often too full of strength and bravado for our own good.

Perhaps for this reason, the Jewish people are always being called on to see things from a "G-d perspective," especially during this time of year.  Whether or not a person chooses to believe in G-d is almost irrelevant -- in any event, we all understand what it means to sometimes question the existence / power / presence of G-d. 

However, when we are asked, offered, or demanded to view things from the G-d perspective, we are required to look beyond ourselves and see things globally.  How does G-d really see the big picture?  How does G-d make sure everyone's needs get met?  To what extent do events in one place affect those in another?  How do my actions, my motivations, affect my friend, my neighbor, my colleague, my fellow humans?  

I don't have the answers.  I only have a blessing for myself and others:  That we will shape our own motivations and actions with more empathy, compassion, and understanding toward the motivations and actions of others. 

Keep the balance,

ALN