Once upon a time, Rabbi Shlomo Riskin said that every word (Teva in Hebrew) requires at least two letters working together as the root of the word. As the curtain rises on this week's parsha, the scene is set by mention of the selfishly-living masses, and Noach, who felt divinely prompted to construct not a ship ("sfinah" or "oniah"’ in Hebrew), but rather a Teva (ark). Ah-ha. So, just the word teva implies a sense of harmonious coexistence, but then this theme is further addressed with the description of the inhabitants of the Teva, humans and animals, all different, all stuck together but managing to live and thrive together.
Needless to say, words like "community" and "unity" are on my mind this week, as are all the ways we can consider community for ourselves. Doing our part as individuals to make the earth clean and healthy works for the greater good of the global community. Championing human rights causes supports the human community as does helping to develop and teach sustainable agriculture. Then, we can look at out national and ethnic and religious communities, our communities as men or women or transgendered persons. What about our cities? Our neighborhoods? Our city block? Out apartment building? There are a lot of communities to support and it can be overwhelming. Do we work micro to macro or the reverse? Or, do we try to take on all of our various levels of community all at once?
Perhaps the description of Noach taking foreverrrrr (120 years) to build his Teva is meant to remind us to value persistent, determined effort, and perhaps to not dismiss and ridicule the small groups of indiviuals committed to making positive changes in the world. And, perhaps it serves at a reminder that daily mindfulness spreads light into all the communities we touch, and the more of us live in ways that bring forth our daily best, the more light spreads, micro to macro, macro to micro.
"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has."” -Margaret Mead
10.25.2006
10.16.2006
Bereishis: 23-29 Tishrei 5767
There is a lot than can be commented upon this week. I could weigh in about my interpretations of the metaphors of the initial portion of our Torah. I could tell you all about how my mind embraces science and Torah without any conflict. I could tell you what I think the Garden of Eden story is a metaphor for. I could tell you all about what I think the seven days are a metaphor for. But, I'm not going to do any of that because the thing that stands out to me in this parsha more than anything else is the importance of individuality. All of these early stories are focused on individuals and how their actions shape their world so directly.
As someone who has never felt like part of the "in" crowd (and doesn't really aspire to be there anyway), maybe I stand at a unique vantage point. Maybe my childhood shyness was really an incredible opportunity to develop the ability to see the ripples that actions sent into the world by individuals, and not from, say, the groups they belong to. I wonder about this sort of thing often and in all the years I have thought about this very thing, I have never grown tired of considering it. But, to me, it appears that the only people who make waves are those brave enough to throw a pebble into the center of the still pond in the first place. How many times in your life have you taken a deep breath and with your heart beating out of your chest blurted out something you've been aching to say? How many times have you put yourself out there and risked everything only to wonder later why you didn't do something sooner because it went so well? Those are moments of throwing that pebble, exhilarating, terrifying and unburdening yourself all at once.
The "pebble" can be a lot of things, but it is uniquely yours and you have no limit on them. The pebble can be an unveiling, an emotional make-over, a radical honesty, a setting of boundaries, saying yes out of your comfort zone or saying no out of your comfort zone. Throwing the pebble can be the casting away of toxic people, an unharmonious relationship, a bad habit, an unhealthy choice... and the ripples it sends out when cast away are positive changes and good things coming into view because you said enough and stood up for your authentic self.
As appropriate as it might be for me to make this about making a social or political difference, I'm not going to do that, though maybe something I say could be placed into that context. I'm talking about embracing yourself, for exactly who and what you are and are not and letting go of structures that we have remained in because we thought we should. So what if you don't know a name for the thng you believe in? Believe it anyway. What if you don't know what the label is for the way you express love or sexuality? Express it anyway. So what if you don't feel inclined to find a mate by a certain age or at all? So what if you want kids early or later or not at all? And, what if you don't know what kind of label to give yourself when you meet a new friend? Just use your name. Just be authentic, no matter how much it might make you stand against the grain of your surroundings, or how silly you think it might make you look.
A sense of community is essential, and the older I get, the more I know that to be true. But, there is far more reward in cultivating ourselves day by day based on what we believe, what we really believe in our core, rather than nodding along to easily-found sound bites and buzzwords of groups we want to belong to.
To quote a woman I said Kaddish for when I learned of her passing:
"It is easier to live through someone else than to become complete yourself." -Betty Friedan
As someone who has never felt like part of the "in" crowd (and doesn't really aspire to be there anyway), maybe I stand at a unique vantage point. Maybe my childhood shyness was really an incredible opportunity to develop the ability to see the ripples that actions sent into the world by individuals, and not from, say, the groups they belong to. I wonder about this sort of thing often and in all the years I have thought about this very thing, I have never grown tired of considering it. But, to me, it appears that the only people who make waves are those brave enough to throw a pebble into the center of the still pond in the first place. How many times in your life have you taken a deep breath and with your heart beating out of your chest blurted out something you've been aching to say? How many times have you put yourself out there and risked everything only to wonder later why you didn't do something sooner because it went so well? Those are moments of throwing that pebble, exhilarating, terrifying and unburdening yourself all at once.
The "pebble" can be a lot of things, but it is uniquely yours and you have no limit on them. The pebble can be an unveiling, an emotional make-over, a radical honesty, a setting of boundaries, saying yes out of your comfort zone or saying no out of your comfort zone. Throwing the pebble can be the casting away of toxic people, an unharmonious relationship, a bad habit, an unhealthy choice... and the ripples it sends out when cast away are positive changes and good things coming into view because you said enough and stood up for your authentic self.
As appropriate as it might be for me to make this about making a social or political difference, I'm not going to do that, though maybe something I say could be placed into that context. I'm talking about embracing yourself, for exactly who and what you are and are not and letting go of structures that we have remained in because we thought we should. So what if you don't know a name for the thng you believe in? Believe it anyway. What if you don't know what the label is for the way you express love or sexuality? Express it anyway. So what if you don't feel inclined to find a mate by a certain age or at all? So what if you want kids early or later or not at all? And, what if you don't know what kind of label to give yourself when you meet a new friend? Just use your name. Just be authentic, no matter how much it might make you stand against the grain of your surroundings, or how silly you think it might make you look.
A sense of community is essential, and the older I get, the more I know that to be true. But, there is far more reward in cultivating ourselves day by day based on what we believe, what we really believe in our core, rather than nodding along to easily-found sound bites and buzzwords of groups we want to belong to.
To quote a woman I said Kaddish for when I learned of her passing:
"It is easier to live through someone else than to become complete yourself." -Betty Friedan
10.15.2006
Simchat Torah: 23 Tishrei 5767
The Torah comes to its annual conclusion with V'zot Habracha, which is the only Parsha in the Torah not read specifically on Shabbes. Rather, V'zot Habracha is read on Shmini Atzeret/Simchat Torah, when people in the shul are called up to the Torah for an aliyah -- even young children, even years before their respective b'nai mitzvot. I really love the creative ideas congregations come up with the differentiate the different aliyot. I, do remember the congregation I visited last year declaring one for "Cubs fans!" and one for "Sox fans!". Poor soxers. I think three people went to the bimah. But, I digress...
I heard two girls talking on the train last year and one of them said to the other, "I love Simchat Torah because it reminds me of the last week of school. It's like, 'Awesome, we're finished, let's go crazy', you know?"
I had never thought of it that way. I always felt it was more about celebrating a continuity than it was celebrating an end.
For me, Simchat Torah represents and celebrates the clean slate feeling we get from knowing the whole Torah is turned to begin again, and we face the chance to reread it all in a new way. A new way, with our life experiences behind us that we have learned from, that have (shehehiyanu) brought us to this moment, this era, this portion. The words of the Torah don't change, but we certainly do. Learning, challenging ourselves and growing, each year, we see the Torah in a new way. Things that caught our ears in 5766 and absorbed into us and we grew from, don't stand out as much in 5767. In this new year, we hear new parts, we understand words-- perhaps even words we've heard again and again, year after year, in a brand-new way. Simchat Torah reminds us, quite simply, that the Torah is a constant, we are always changing, and fret not as we change, so do our interpretations, and, cycle of cyles, as we shift, we should try to remind ourselves that even in times of great confusion, the things that perk up our ears and comfort us this time, even where perhaps they had not before, those things are in there.
And, maybe there's another thought. Maybe we are only open to hearing those "Ping! What did I just read? How perfect this is for my life right now!" moments when we free ourselves and not clutch onto our past interpretations, our past selves, our pasts at all. Perhaps we are only open to those moments when we know that everything, good and bad, positive and negative, foolish and wise, everything we have done in our lives up until right now is to be accepted, for it shapes who we are and all that we have become. Today. Right now. And, maybe when we accept, as opposed to regret, we allow those moments of new understanding, or new shoots of green growth to enter our minds. Perhaps even, regretting and fretting are the things which close our ears and hearts and minds to all the little divine threads blowing around in the world.
K'shem sh'haTorah niglelet mimakom l'makom b'simcha uveshalom, kayn eglol mimakom l'makom berachamim uve'ratzon.
Just as the Torah is rolled from end to beginning amid joy and peace, so too may we go from place to place surrounded by compassion and good will.
I heard two girls talking on the train last year and one of them said to the other, "I love Simchat Torah because it reminds me of the last week of school. It's like, 'Awesome, we're finished, let's go crazy', you know?"
I had never thought of it that way. I always felt it was more about celebrating a continuity than it was celebrating an end.
For me, Simchat Torah represents and celebrates the clean slate feeling we get from knowing the whole Torah is turned to begin again, and we face the chance to reread it all in a new way. A new way, with our life experiences behind us that we have learned from, that have (shehehiyanu) brought us to this moment, this era, this portion. The words of the Torah don't change, but we certainly do. Learning, challenging ourselves and growing, each year, we see the Torah in a new way. Things that caught our ears in 5766 and absorbed into us and we grew from, don't stand out as much in 5767. In this new year, we hear new parts, we understand words-- perhaps even words we've heard again and again, year after year, in a brand-new way. Simchat Torah reminds us, quite simply, that the Torah is a constant, we are always changing, and fret not as we change, so do our interpretations, and, cycle of cyles, as we shift, we should try to remind ourselves that even in times of great confusion, the things that perk up our ears and comfort us this time, even where perhaps they had not before, those things are in there.
And, maybe there's another thought. Maybe we are only open to hearing those "Ping! What did I just read? How perfect this is for my life right now!" moments when we free ourselves and not clutch onto our past interpretations, our past selves, our pasts at all. Perhaps we are only open to those moments when we know that everything, good and bad, positive and negative, foolish and wise, everything we have done in our lives up until right now is to be accepted, for it shapes who we are and all that we have become. Today. Right now. And, maybe when we accept, as opposed to regret, we allow those moments of new understanding, or new shoots of green growth to enter our minds. Perhaps even, regretting and fretting are the things which close our ears and hearts and minds to all the little divine threads blowing around in the world.
K'shem sh'haTorah niglelet mimakom l'makom b'simcha uveshalom, kayn eglol mimakom l'makom berachamim uve'ratzon.
Just as the Torah is rolled from end to beginning amid joy and peace, so too may we go from place to place surrounded by compassion and good will.
10.06.2006
Sukkos: 14 Tishrei 5767
Shopping at a Judaica shop yesterday, I will admit to being unnerved by the amount of plastic, printed and manufactured options available for this mitzvot of Sukkot. I kept asking myself why applying technology and material advancement to a sukkah would be unnerving, whereas when applied to, say, medicine, it's not only reasonable but required. Finally, after seeing piles of sparkly, printed, plastic, factory-made, mass-produced sukkah decorations and sturdy PVC poles, I came to realize the source of my discomfort.
We blow our fuses because our computers crash, our cars bump into each other, or we feel sometimes ashamed in our plainness when a friend or neighbor celebrates great material fortunes. Right? Right. But, in a Sukkah, we are all humbled and leveled to sameness. We are at the mercy of the temperature, the weather and forced to rely on more dependable things-- conversation, connection, laughter, sharing a meal. (All the things we probably thought about focusing more on during the Days of Awe.) It is, let us not forget, a harvest festival, and try as we might with chemical and factory farming, the earth and it's seasons win in the end. The more we ignore and try to fight the seasons and the earth, we more and more disconnect we experience. Just like with a manufactured, plastic sukkah, perhaps.
Perhaps on the outside looking in, we have every reason to be happy in this country. We have choices, so many choices, every single day, and even many poor families are still better off than most inhabitants of third world countries. We seem to have happiness flowing from everywhere, don't we? So then why are we medicated to the hilt, medicating our kids, stuffing our foods with chemicals, making everything bigger, better, faster, blowing through money faster than we can make it, opting for "convenience" over "responsible" or "healthy", addicted to each other, television, computers, cell phones, multi-tasking, drugs, shopping, debt, stuffing our homes with every bargain we can reach and, why, above all else, are we addicted to being so busy?
Because it's empty crap. Every shred of it. Rosh HaShanah suggests this to us and makes us turn the soils of our beings to uncover truths we perhaps had forgotten in our junk piles. Yom Kippur drives this home into our hearts-- is it better to die having lived a righteous life and being remembered for a blessing?... Or... is it better to die with piles of debt and junk and "wouldda couldda shouldda" around us? That's a no-brainer! Sukkot is about abundance. Not hollow "stuff", but simple abundance of empowerment, connectedness to earth and people, pausing to the fruits of our labor... Sukkot isn't about bigger, better, faster, more! It is about the ethereal definition of "abundance" not the material definition. That's key, I think.
During Sukkot in the days of the Temple, water was poured on the altar in lieu of other, more presumably valueable offerings like meat (zichrono livracha!), wine, oil and such. Okay, there is the obvious connection of water being used as an offering to commemorate the hopeful onset of the rainy season. Yes. Of course. But, Sukkot is to celebrate and be glad for a bountiful harvet, no? Wouldn't it seem that Sukkot would have been a terribly fitting time for offerings of serious value, something more than water?
I can't help but see a connection where perhaps I had not seen one before. Perhaps the water could now suggest to us to remind ourselves that in our great fortune, in reeping our metaphorical harvests, to take time to appreciate and understand the value of the simple and elemental, pure things that make up our lives? Perhaps even, as Torah interpretation and our people have evolved, the message now can be boiled down the the secret of happiness in a general sense, even? To be thankful for the basic is to luxuriate in the luxuries more fully.
Chol Hamoed, the intermediate, the holy but sub-holy days (like the middle days of Pesach or the middle and end days of Sukkot)-- still another reminder! They are days we work and go about our lives, but days we know are still holy and days we still observe. Days, in fact, where we consciously decide to limit our work and stress to the bare necessities. We work and not work, we care for ourselves and our financial and professional well-being, but with a refusal to accept the extraneous. We decide to keep it simple in order to keep the day as meaningful as possible. So, perhaps our reminder is that holiness is found in not-doing. A little wine, a little simcha, lingering over a good meal, not checking email one more time, deciding to work smart to get out at a little early or at least on time-- bring that suspension to us, that reminder of synchronicity and connection and g-dliness being found in the details.
So, in the Judaica shop, I felt a distinct need to make a conscious decision to keep Sukkot natural. It's a time for autumn fruits and vegetables to taste their best and nourish us the most. It's a time to be humble before nature, life synchroniticy and g-dliness and make a big, empowered, conscious leap... down. Not down as in lesser, but down as in calmer. (Perhaps that is what we mean when we say "Calm down!"...?) Why buy sukkah decorations when you can make them? Why buy a sukkah when you can make that, too? It's focusing, it's empowering, it's natural. It's even, dare I say, the natural, thriving world we have lived in for thousands of years begging us to return to it, even if for just a week.
May security be found in the ethereal and may more fragility be realized in the material.
We blow our fuses because our computers crash, our cars bump into each other, or we feel sometimes ashamed in our plainness when a friend or neighbor celebrates great material fortunes. Right? Right. But, in a Sukkah, we are all humbled and leveled to sameness. We are at the mercy of the temperature, the weather and forced to rely on more dependable things-- conversation, connection, laughter, sharing a meal. (All the things we probably thought about focusing more on during the Days of Awe.) It is, let us not forget, a harvest festival, and try as we might with chemical and factory farming, the earth and it's seasons win in the end. The more we ignore and try to fight the seasons and the earth, we more and more disconnect we experience. Just like with a manufactured, plastic sukkah, perhaps.
Perhaps on the outside looking in, we have every reason to be happy in this country. We have choices, so many choices, every single day, and even many poor families are still better off than most inhabitants of third world countries. We seem to have happiness flowing from everywhere, don't we? So then why are we medicated to the hilt, medicating our kids, stuffing our foods with chemicals, making everything bigger, better, faster, blowing through money faster than we can make it, opting for "convenience" over "responsible" or "healthy", addicted to each other, television, computers, cell phones, multi-tasking, drugs, shopping, debt, stuffing our homes with every bargain we can reach and, why, above all else, are we addicted to being so busy?
Because it's empty crap. Every shred of it. Rosh HaShanah suggests this to us and makes us turn the soils of our beings to uncover truths we perhaps had forgotten in our junk piles. Yom Kippur drives this home into our hearts-- is it better to die having lived a righteous life and being remembered for a blessing?... Or... is it better to die with piles of debt and junk and "wouldda couldda shouldda" around us? That's a no-brainer! Sukkot is about abundance. Not hollow "stuff", but simple abundance of empowerment, connectedness to earth and people, pausing to the fruits of our labor... Sukkot isn't about bigger, better, faster, more! It is about the ethereal definition of "abundance" not the material definition. That's key, I think.
During Sukkot in the days of the Temple, water was poured on the altar in lieu of other, more presumably valueable offerings like meat (zichrono livracha!), wine, oil and such. Okay, there is the obvious connection of water being used as an offering to commemorate the hopeful onset of the rainy season. Yes. Of course. But, Sukkot is to celebrate and be glad for a bountiful harvet, no? Wouldn't it seem that Sukkot would have been a terribly fitting time for offerings of serious value, something more than water?
I can't help but see a connection where perhaps I had not seen one before. Perhaps the water could now suggest to us to remind ourselves that in our great fortune, in reeping our metaphorical harvests, to take time to appreciate and understand the value of the simple and elemental, pure things that make up our lives? Perhaps even, as Torah interpretation and our people have evolved, the message now can be boiled down the the secret of happiness in a general sense, even? To be thankful for the basic is to luxuriate in the luxuries more fully.
Chol Hamoed, the intermediate, the holy but sub-holy days (like the middle days of Pesach or the middle and end days of Sukkot)-- still another reminder! They are days we work and go about our lives, but days we know are still holy and days we still observe. Days, in fact, where we consciously decide to limit our work and stress to the bare necessities. We work and not work, we care for ourselves and our financial and professional well-being, but with a refusal to accept the extraneous. We decide to keep it simple in order to keep the day as meaningful as possible. So, perhaps our reminder is that holiness is found in not-doing. A little wine, a little simcha, lingering over a good meal, not checking email one more time, deciding to work smart to get out at a little early or at least on time-- bring that suspension to us, that reminder of synchronicity and connection and g-dliness being found in the details.
So, in the Judaica shop, I felt a distinct need to make a conscious decision to keep Sukkot natural. It's a time for autumn fruits and vegetables to taste their best and nourish us the most. It's a time to be humble before nature, life synchroniticy and g-dliness and make a big, empowered, conscious leap... down. Not down as in lesser, but down as in calmer. (Perhaps that is what we mean when we say "Calm down!"...?) Why buy sukkah decorations when you can make them? Why buy a sukkah when you can make that, too? It's focusing, it's empowering, it's natural. It's even, dare I say, the natural, thriving world we have lived in for thousands of years begging us to return to it, even if for just a week.
May security be found in the ethereal and may more fragility be realized in the material.
