Dancing with Gravitas: Welcome, Elul!

On Shabbat, during the prayer announcing the new moon, marking the Jewish month of Elul that arrives tonight, the woman sitting next to me said with a stunned look, "Elul is here - already?!"

Elul always seems to arrive with startling force - more than any other month in the calendar. I often dread its arrival, a stressful month of preparations for the "high holy days," a rush to get out final information for the holidays, distributing tickets to congregants and guests, polishing silver and brass, distributing "honors" for participation in services, choir rehearsals, security concerns, and for rabbis and cantors the writing of sermons and preparation of annual liturgy.

This year, I can hardly wait for Elul. And really, why dread such a beautiful thing?

Elul is ideally a time of reflection, not a time to rush. It is a time to slow down and consider one's actions and experience of the past year, to prepare heart and soul for the biggest tasks of the ten days of awe that will begin Tishrei, the month that follows, when we ask forgiveness from all people we may have harmed, we offer our own forgiveness, and we approach G-d with humility.

When Elul arrives on Wednesday (we begin Rosh Chodesh (new moon) celebration on Tuesday), it comes with a responsibility, to begin to awaken. We blast (or listen for) the shofar each day, somewhere between one tekiyah and ten varied blasts, depending on minhag. "Get ready," the shofar seems to say, "this is a serious and important spiritual season."

I feel, in some ways, that I have been living in Elul for months - ever since my job ended last November. I spent a lot of time reflecting, as I went back on the job market: what kind of work do I really want; where do I really want to live; how do I want to live? 

My fabulous partner and I - with support of every kind imaginable from family and friends - made a hard, risky choice. 

This week, as I settle into my new workplace, I am grateful for Elul's gravitas, for the reminder to check in with myself daily - am I building community with my new coworkers? am I representing myself well with my words and actions? am I listening deeply with my shofar-awakened ears and heart? 

Chodesh tov - may the new month bring joy and positive outlook in balance with and consequence of the deep work of self reflection and teshuvah ("repentance," or more literally "(re)turning").

B'Ezrat HaShem: With a Little Faith

B''H (With G-d's Help, A personal story)

The moon of Av has begun to wane - from full moon supermoon back to its crescent origins. Despite the heat, summer also wanes, and the rolling beginning of new school terms has begun.

I, too, have new beginnings upon me and approaching, and I want to share - personally and textually - a little bit of the experience of transition.

Less than two weeks ago (shortly after my last blog entry), my family - with me it is my spouse, my toddler son, and our three cats - moved from the east coast to the west coast. This is one of those big moves, not just because of distance but because we have done it for reasons of the heart far more than (perhaps in defiance of) practical concerns.

I gave up a solid job offer in the east, and we landed without an address (with gratitude to friends of friends who had an empty house in which we have been camping).

We came because we have always wanted to be here: I am returning to the city of my birth, here near family again after nearly a quarter century away, and my partner has fallen in love with this city in many visits over the years.

With each step in this decision, we have said one thing: we will do the footwork, and it will all work out.

I came out earlier in the summer, and managed - with gratitude to the networking support of one friend in particular - to procure part time work. The best part of this? I am so very thrilled by the working environment, the hamish community feeling, the positive energy. Who ends a job interview with hugs? I feel totally blessed!

Today, again through the networking of friends (this time a middle-school friend of mine, and that's a LONG time ago - many thanks to Facebook for reuniting us), we signed a lease on an apartment in a fabulous neighborhood, with good access both to my parents and to work, and so walkable, which I have longed for since I left so many years ago. I feel totally blessed!

Our decision to move here was because we wanted to live here, but the final push was my mother's health. She has, such blessing!, made a remarkable recovery, and since we arrived has moved home (more or less) from her various rehabs.

With a little faith, with a whim and a prayer, we jumped. And we are landing - slowly but surely - in our new lives.

The moon of Av is waning toward the crescent newness, which will become Elul, a month in which we are called to prepare our hearts and souls for the rigorous demands of faith.  Last night's fortune cookie told me to be careful what I wish for. That's a statement of faith. And I'm ever so glad I wished for this. I feel totally blessed!

B''H - B'Ezrat HaShem - with G-d's help.
Barukh HaShem - Blessed is the Source.

(Almost) No Complaints - Follow Up to Last Post

A couple of days ago I wrote about putting a moratorium on complaining - me complaining, since that's who I can control. It's hard!!! I am learning a lot about myself in the process. 

What to do when I step on a tiny piece of glass and it hurts - and hurts even more digging it out? What to do when it takes me hours trying to fill out online forms, trying Mac and PC, unsuccessfully, finally using "old" technology of writing and scanning? What to do when I'm exhausted and don't have time to pause between my toddler, packing, and looking for an apartment in the city I will arrive in next week? 

A couple of things of note: 

1) When I choose not to complain, I often am silent - at least for a long time.

2) I can do different things with that silence: grumble and complain internally, this blowing one of the main reasons to stop complaining; or contemplate the root of my complaint and whether to say something or do something in lieu of complaint that might help resolve things more positively. 

3) A lot of that contemplation is leading to an understanding of my complaints often being a response to grief over losses ranging from something happening (or not) outside my hopes/expectations, to "good" losses like purging so much stuff from my life and learning to live differently. 

4) Not complaining might be really hard, but I already feel a sense of integrity increasing as a result of the practice. 

So what do I do in those moments when I really have a kvetch itching to get out? I have been pausing, even with no time to pause. I have been looking at my son an enjoying his sweetness, even/especially when he spots the baby chair he has outgrown, already out on the curb, and brings it back in. 

The practice brings me back to the core teachings of Mussar: to be awake to our impact in relationship with each and every person we encounter, whether for a moment or longstanding connections; and not only the impact on them, but on me as well.

And so, I seek and find joy even when I just want to gripe (or scream). I even shed a few tears, which are so much more cathartic than complaining. 

And yes, a few complaints sneak through. And I try not to be too hard on myself. 

Seek Joy, Seek Peace - A Moratorium on Complaint

Were there not enough graves in Egypt that you had to bring us to die in this wilderness?! (Exodus 14:11)

Gevalt! Vey ist mir! Oy vey! (Yiddish kvetch words)

In seminary I wrote an article for the Onion-esque segment of the student paper entitled The One True Path, in which I parodied what I saw as a culture of complaint, about too much reading, too high expectations on our time, too many required classes, and so much more:

The [One True] Path:

• The best way to get what you want is to complain loudly and heartily.  Even if it won’t get you what you want, complaint is a valuable social skill.
• No matter how easy or difficult the task in front of you, be sure to complain as much as possible.
• No matter how good life is, complaining can only make it better.
• There is no reason too small or large to complain about… all problems are equal in the eyes of God if you only complain.  

Followers of The Path [understand God's apparently favorable response to the Israelites' complaints] to mean that God not only listens to the complaints ... but responds with sweet rewards. [Talmidei Haverim, 2003]

Take all of the biblical quotes on complaining - I won't list them here, but consider that it is not just the people, but also Moses, the highest prophet of Torah, and other leaders who whine to God). Add the Yiddish language penchant for complaint (see for example the book Born to Kvetch, a description of which tells us that Jews "even learned how to smile through their and express satisfaction in the form of complaint."

Is the Jewish culture really a culture of complaint?  Does the Jewish religion really reward complaint? (Is complaint, as the same description of Born to Kvetch implies, the reason for Jewish survival?)

A couple of weeks ago a meme suggesting "24 hours without complaining" reached my Facebook stream, reminding me of that article and the complaining I wanted to see myself as being somehow above. But I have have been catching myself complaining - a lot - recently. So I tried it - and I liked it.

This week I again find myself kvetching - at my two year old's newly discovered temper tantrum skills, about humidity, about sticky things on my chair, about people and things going too slowly, about my own behavior and things I perceive as failures, and.... I am not enjoying myself.

Complaining makes me feel so closed - physically - like I am shuttering myself, focused on myself - even when commiserating with someone else about outside concerns. Every time I complain I feel worse - physically and spiritually.  When I complain, clouds darken my day.

I'm returning to that moratorium. No complaints. It's time to be creative and constructive - or quiet. It is possible to note something I don't like without complaining - hard but possible.

So what combats complaining?  If complaining is about being closed, if it is darkness, then things that bring openness and light are the countermeasures.  Awe, love, mindfulness - being aware of how amazing our world is, and what I can bring to it.

And here's where I think Judaism has some pretty great counterpunches to its own internal culture of complaint:

• a custom of 100 blessings a day - literally counting our blessings and being aware of the amazing world around us;
• a tradition of song and dance - most traditional blessings have at least one tune associated with them; some Psalms have literally hundreds of tunes; even Torah and other traditional texts are traditionally read musically;
• tzedakah and gemilut chasadim and tikkun olam - traditions of giving, money and action, teaching and repairing, seeking to make the world a better place
• a desire for peace.  Yes, Israel is at war right now.  But our traditional greeting, Shalom Aleichem, means "peace to you" (American Jewish kids learning basic Hebrew learn early that shalom means "hello," "goodbye," and "peace" - but it really just means peace).  And many traditional daily and Shabbat request-prayers focus on peace. 

And so I call a moratorium on complaint (not to preclude constructive criticism or pointing out things I don't like in the act of making the world a better place) - and say instead that it's time to sing and dance and pray, to be in awe - even of the things I might kvetch about:

• to wonder at my son's independence, how he is learning new things, how long he can carry on a tantrum, and how he can change the tantrum mid-phrase so it is clear that it's more about getting something, anything, he wants than about the specific thing;
• to take advantage of slower moments to pause myself and take a breath;
• Bakesh shalom verodfehu - to desire peace and pursue it (Psalms 34:15);
• to sing and dance and be physically open;
• to connect with other people, learning and being in awe of their lives;
• to create - with words, with foods, with ideas, with play-time, with prayer;
• to seek joy and wonder in everything - to offer blessings for every day life - waking, eating, reading, connecting.

Fasting for the Breach - 17 Tammuz

The walls have been breached. Walls of sanity. And so, on a day I might not ordinarily fast, 17 Tammuz, commemorating the breach of Jerusalem of old, I am fasting. 

I concluded my last post, a few days ago, with a prayer that we shouldn't have to fortify our walls. But so many people suffer, even with fortifications, from breaches of sanity. My reading this morning: Iron Dome in Israel 90% effective at intercepting incoming missiles; girls in Kurdistan invent new and effective bomb detection system; friends and colleagues "pissed," and questioning "why," and wanting to protect not only their children but those of their neighbors and even, yes, the children of those who are inciting the hatred. 

I'm heartbroken. I'm a little lost in all this (why can't we just love?). And the breach of sanity has gotten to me. 

And so I am fasting in mourning for sanity, and in hopes that through this fast, in solidarity with others who are fasting (including Muslims fasting during Ramadan but also in solidarity), perhaps some sanity can be restored. I am fasting as a prayer for my son and the future that will be his. I am fasting as a prayer for our world. 

For more on the fast:

http://www.myjewishlearning.com/blog/rabbis-without-borders/2014/07/14/you-can-bring-peace-in-the-middle-east/

On War, Peace, Love, and Writing About It All

Israel, war, terrorism, Gaza, Hamas, peace, prayer . . . the "labels" are easy to come up with.

Despite all the words written, shared, and reshared about the current situation in Israel, I - a rabbi, a leader in the Jewish community, a mom, a Jew, and a self-declared writer - find it nearly impossible to write about what is happening in Israel, between Israel and Gaza, Israel and Hamas, right now.

I feel physically blocked - in my heart especially, in my head and in my gut, a stiffness running throughout my body. My blood doesn't seem to flow right, I'm not breathing well, and the fetal position sounds really good about now.

"Again!" says the feeling. "Again?!" and, on a sigh, "again."

War does not beget peace. The horrid cycle of revenge only begets more revenge. Bombs, rockets, missiles - these beget terror, anger, and a mother-bear sense of protection. I know. I felt it on 9/11 in America. And I feel a little PTSD from being in Israel during suicide terrorist attacks, and from my last trip to Israel in the summer of 2006, when I, like many today, sat in or near a shelter (in restaurants and at "home"), counting the explosions and waiting for news: what hit, where, was anyone injured; smelling smoke from resulting forest fires.

Peace will come only when all cultures value life - everyone's lives - more than they value anyone's death. This has been said before. So why? WHY do we human beings find this so difficult? When will we learn to love more than we hate? Why do I feel powerless? Why am I convinced that there's no stopping the current Israeli government and military and the current Hamas government in Gaza? That neither side is in the right, justified in their actions?

And that's it: I find it hard to write because I feel powerless to do anything about the situation, that my words will stop no war.

But I refuse to let the fear, the feelings of powerlessness and physical blockage, get the better of me.  I am writing about them, because maybe you have felt the same things, and need to hear someone say it. And I am writing to tell you about the prayers - traditional words (so many Jewish prayers are about peace) and my own words - that I am filling my mouth with:

• Ufros aleinu sukkat shelomecha - spread over us the shelter of Your peace (traditional)
• Od yavo shalom aleinu ve'al kulam - yet may there be peace for us and the whole world (contemporary)
• Oseh shalom bimromav, hu ya'aseh shalom (hi ta'aseh shalom) aleinu - may the One who brings peace in the heavens bring peace to us (traditional)
• Praying for peace, for cooler minds to prevail over the heat-of-the-moment reactivity, for all the lives that are caught in the crossfire.  This prayer is specifically for Israel and her neighbors, and generally for our world.  May we move towards peace, joy, love, and creativity - and ever away from destruction. (My words posted to Facebook, 8 July 2014)
• Please, Holy Creator, PLEASE... (I ask here)
• bring wisdom to those in power
• create a peaceful heart in all of Your people and peoples
• mold our hearts for compassion and love-of-life
• Lo yisa goy el goy cherev, lo yilmedu od milchama - let nation not lift up sword against nation, neither learn war anymore (traditional)

May love and creativity abound - may all war and hatred end.  What else can I say? For a political understanding of the current situation that comes close to what I think, see Gershon Baskin's words here, and JStreet's statement here (this just comes close, and that I do not fully agree with everything JStreet says or does).

"How many times must the cannon balls fly, before they are forever banned?"

May we soon live in a world where we construct our buildings to welcome those who would visit, as Abraham and Sarah did, and not to fortify or fight against our neighbors. (Pics from Caesarea, Israel - 1993, copyright mine.)

Cloud Dancing

"I've looked at clouds from both sides now, and still somehow, it's cloud's illusions I recall."

Clouds dance. I've seen them from airplanes up high in the sky, and I've seen them from perches on land. But I've only seen them dance when I've slowed down enough to listen to their music.

This is what I had started to write when the news started to come in. From SCOTUS, decisions that raise corporations above people (by the corporations for the corporations, rather than by the people for the people) a decisions that will have wide ranging and log term reverberations. 

From Israel - three kidnapped boys found murdered. Cries of revenge. An Arab boy murdered. Soldiers announcing rogue retaliations. Rockets flying this way and that. Desires to build new settlements and name them after the dead Israeli Jewish boys. 

And counterbalances: to SCOTUS, the dissent and the outcry makes me think that in the long run we might just beat this; from Israel, peaceful words and hopeful desires, from the families of the murdered boys and not just from the usual peace organizations. 

And because of this, I know that we still merit to dance with the clouds.

Today, I witnessed such dancing - of clouds and of humans - when my son pointed skyward and said "hippopotamus!"  He brought be back to awe and wonder.

He also brings me back to fear and heartbreak.  Because of him, I am much more empathetic to (and more likely to want to tune out from) the kinds of things I mentioned above.  My son could be targeted because of his religion: from American laws that protect corporate religious affiliation over personal (religious or otherwise) beliefs and choices; because he is Jewish, and someone here or abroad decides to take revenge or use a child to push a violent political agenda (he because he is Jewish - but clearly the other side must be wary, as well).

Forgive me if I vacillate, then, between hope and joy and awe on the one hand, and fear and uncertainty and utter sadness on the other.

But permit me to end where I began - with cloud dancing.  Because I first began to think of this blog topic a month ago, when I was in the city I most want to live in, visiting family and looking for work.  From the airplane window, I saw clouds dancing.  I saw them morphing and swaying and growing and dissipating.  I saw them responding to breezes and winds, to shadows and light, and to each other.  And in the dancing of the clouds, I saw great hope: that something so tangible, so real, could also be so open to becoming something different - a different shape; a raindrop, snowflake, or finer vapor; tall and thin, light and fluffy, dark and brooding.

I aspire to cloud dancing - to moving through life as a cloud, open to that which will invariably change me, and offering where I will invariably create change.

Thanks in part to those clouds and their dancing, and in part to the support of some magnificent people, I am in the process of moving to that place I want to live.  I will be near family, and I will be working with people I am very excited to work with.  I offer myself to the teachings of this transition and of the new work and of the new people who are coming into my life - to the ways they will change me and the ways I will change them. 

May I merit to dance - with all of my family, our friends, and the clouds. 

Addendum: today, Rabbi Zalman Schachter Shalomi died. I did not ever meet him, though surely I could have had I tried only a little bit, and I regret that I did not make the effort. He was a teacher and an influence to many of my teachers, and in that way to me. I take this opportunity to add to my above words because the whole idea of dancing with clouds is related to both seizing and creating opportunity, and reaching for dreams. May Reb Zalman's memory be a blessing - and may I yet learn from him.