Religion – Page 8 – Don't Gel Too Soon

Blogging Boomer Carnival #84

Well the Blogging Boomers have returned after a Labor Day respite and we are loaded with remarkable new content. It’s all housed over at John Agno’s So Baby Boomer. There are plenty of political links, but also some interesting perspectives on retirements and aging, spiritual retreats,religious belief, marriage and the 5-th birthday of AARP. So don’t miss it.

MOURNING ENORMOUS LOSS: TISHA B’AV, THE TRAUMA OF MEMORY AND THE WISDOM OF JEWISH TRADITION

The lights were out; all that remained were small spotlights where the readers sat. It was a day of sorrow and mourning, so we spurned comfort and, as tradition dictates, sat on the floor. In front of the Sanctuary, the readings began: Eichah – Lamentations, the prophet Jeremiah’s horrifying account of an ancent time of soul-shattering misery. Reading it aloud is part of the holiday** but,
since I was newly observant, it was previously unknown to me, as was the
enormous impact of the dimly lit room and haunting content and trope of the reading. That first time, just three years ago, I didn’t have a clue what was coming — that night or the next morning, when the readings continued.

Accompanied by a 25 hour fast, this all takes place on the holiday of Tisha B’Av – the 9th day of the Hebrew month of Av, to commemorate the multiple horrors believed to have taken place on that day.*

This is a lot of sadness (and foreboding of more to come) to have
taken place on the same date. So it’s fair to observe a period of
mourning and remembrance. What happened to me, though, was that the
language of mourning is so fierce, so hideous, and in some ways, so
applicable to what we see happening around us now, that it is almost
unbearable to listen to. And so, the first time I heard it, I fled in
the middle and went across the hall into the childcare room. My sweet,
ridiculously smart friend Aliza, with her
infant daughter and unable to join the prayers, was off to the side
praying on her own. In tears, so troubled that I was trembling, I
interrupted her prayers, something I would never do otherwise, and
demanded to know why it was necessary for us to listen to this. And to
know we’d be doomed to do so every summer. In her quiet way, she
replied that perhaps once a year isn’t too often to recall these
fearsome times in our history.

At the time, I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but now, I’m,
shocked to discover that I look forward to this annual observance,
which
comes this weekend. Why? I guess after three years some of the shock
has worn off. Of course there’s more: as usual when I listen to Aliza,
I’ve had to think harder. One thing I’ve realized is that this day,
ignored by most Jews, is a kind of anchor — keeping us in place,
connecting us, those who came before, and those who will follow.

I can’t trace my family past my grandparents on either side; all my
grandparents and their siblings came here years before the Holocaust
and any records of their ancestors were lost or destroyed as the Nazis
decimated Europe. That they were Jewish, though, is irrefutable. Now
I find that, although I can’t share their stories and traditions, we do
share a history. I realize as I am writing this that moments which
commemorate that common history are not just religious, but also family
connections. Our mourning on the 9th of Av honors not just God’s
anger, which led Him to allow the destruction of the Temples, and not
just the martyrdom of so many, but also each individual, unknown person
whose DNA is mixed with mine.

I had often
protested that we need to honor that which we value as the positive
attributes of the Jewish experience, not just the martyrdoms that
remind us of our history of suffering, but also the joy and pride
our tradition offers. What I’ve realized is that we can’t forget..
There’s much to be learned by what’s
come before and by acknowledging our connection to it. And this deeply
moving, haunting and humbling tradition is connected to each of us
right
now, this minute.

* With thanks to the OU Tisha B’Av website :

In the time of Moses, the "sin of the spies" whom he sent out
to evaluate the situation in the soon-to-be conquered Canaan and who
returned with horror stories that questioned God’s power to protect the
Jews and caused Him to decree that none from the generation who went
out of Egypt would be permitted to go into Israel.
The destruction of the first Temple under Nebuchadnezzar. (587 BCE – 3338 in the Hebrew calendar)
The destruction of the second Temple under Titus. (70 CE – 3895 in the Hebrew calendar)
The Romans conquered Betar, the last fortress of the Bar Kochba
rebellion and Hadrian turned Jerusalem into a Roman city. (135 CE –
3895 in the Hebrew calendar)
King Edward I signed the edict that expelled all Jews from England (1290 CE – 5050 in the Hebrew calendar)
Jews expelled from Spain because of King Ferdinand’s decree (1492 CE — 5252 in the Hebrew calendar)
The last Jews left Vienna under expulsion orders there. (1670)
World War I began (1914 CE — 5674 in the Hebrew calendar)
Himmler presented the plan for the "Final Solution" to the "Jewish
problem" to the Nazi party. (1940 — 5700 in the Hebrew calendar)
Nazis began deporting Jews from the Warsaw Ghetto. (1942 CE — 5702 in the Hebrew calendar)

** Also, interestingly, quoted in Christian prayers for Zimbabwe,

JEWISH BLOG CARNIVAL- TRY IT OUT

I am now a member of a Blog Carnival called Haveil Havalim, a community of Jewish bloggers submitting posts of interest to the community interested in Jewish issues. Today’s link, my first appearance, is called Daled Amos. You’ll find it interesting, I think. And if you want to know what the words mean, read this, written by the founder. Meanwhile, take a look.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN’T EAT IN MY HOUSE?

I just came from a beautiful, moving wedding that reminded me once again of everything I love about this observant Jewish life we are living. It is a privilege to have the warmth and spiritual richness that it provides and I understand that more every day. Sometimes though, even after nearly four years, the process is a pain. I wrote this a couple of days ago and haven’t posted it because it’s so cranky; now as I recall the beauty of Jewish ritual, I can balance that grouchiness with a gratitude for all I have gained. So read it with that in mind.

I had a long conversation a couple of days ago with a close friend. He wanted us to come to dinner, and when I explained that, because we eat only kosher food and use utensils that have only dealt with kosher food, it would be better if he came to us, it came as something of a shock. All he wanted was to extend hospitality to us, and I had to refuse it. A very troubling experience.

I have had, and continue to have, a real sense of peace and meaning and connection since we’ve been living this life, and wouldn’t trade it for anything, but as you know, I’ve written plenty about my battle with keeping kosher. Initially romantic about the whole thing, I started to get angry when facing (as opposed to all the great cooking that goes on in this community) the inedible stuff that passes for kosher food on airplanes, and sometimes at conferences.

Because I’ve only been living a really observant life for the past four years, it’s still anything but automatic. Because I’ve only been living a really observant life for the past four years, I know what Pho tastes like, and ham sandwiches, and lobster. And the great feeling of discovery when you wander into a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant and it’s just fabulous. All gone now. And most of the time, I’m fine with that. But here are some things that sometimes continue to be difficult:

Continue reading WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN’T EAT IN MY HOUSE?

JUST A LITTLE SHABBAT CLOSER

Shabbat is over.* We had ten people here for dinner Friday night so both dish washers are running and most of the rest of the stuff put away. I want to write a "real" post – I really do – but I’m just beat. Our kids were here last weekend – it was wonderful. I wrote about it on Fifty-Something Moms. It was an incredibly emotional weekend filled with ritual and love. Of course it can’t last; there seems to be some prickly stuff going on with friends of ours and I have to figure out why. But it’s only a month until BlogHer.
We had a great Shabbat. Services, Shabbat dinner and it seems that everyone had a wonderful time, more services this morning, lunch at friends’ house and a birthday party in the early evening. Nice.
A young man we know is getting married next weekend and his parents were at services today; it was so great to get to tell them how wonderful their son is. And mean it.
OK enough inventory. I’m gonna crash and write a real post tomorrow. Gnite.
* Oh yeah, and the picture is just pretty, not part of anything else.

BLOGGING BOOMERS BLOG CARNIVAL – JUNE 2: VACATIONS, GAS PRICES, MOMS AND HEALTH

Blogging Boomers are back at I Remember JFK this week. You can read about everything from saving gas by figuring out the "walkability" of your next apartment, to child-free vacations to prostate cancer. All it smart, unique and useful. Stop on by.

I LOOK LIKE A BUSH (THE LEAFY KIND, NOT THE ALMOST-NO-LONGER-PRESIDENT-KIND)

See this bush? That’s pretty much how my hair is starting to look only more unruly. Why? In observant Judaism the tradition is that you don’t get your hair cut during the 49 days between Passover and Shavuot (that’s the celebration of receiving the Ten Commandments.) It has to do with mourning for the 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva, who died because they did not honor one another — there’s more to it but it’s way too complicated — basically it’s a mourning period – also a portion of the time that you work your way from the political freedom of gained at Passover when the Jews left Egypt to the gift of discipline and self-control that comes with the giving of the commandments.- There are lots of things you aren’t supposed to do except for one day in the middle — Lag b’Omer – the day the dying of the students ceased.

This is a long way of saying that my hair is too long. Way too long. And it’s not even my fault! I had made an appointment for a hair cut right before this period was to begin. Then, of course, a huge crisis arose (don’t ask) which meant I couldn’t go. So now I’m stuck. With all this hair. I feel like Medusa.

THERE WAS A TORAH IN AUSCHWITZ

On Sunday, more than a hundred people stood in the aisles of their gathering place, most of them weeping. It wasn’t a funeral, at least in the usual sense of the word, but it was an event so profoundly moving that few were left untouched. We all stood, in our synagogue, on the final day of Passover, in the presence of a Torah that had been hidden in Auschwitz and has only now been recovered and restored. [First though, it’s important that you know that the Torah is the central road map of Judaism – all traditions and laws, ideals and values, emerge from these five books: Genesis (B’reshit), Exodus (Sh’mot), Leviticus ( Vayyikra), Numbers (Bemidbar) and Deuteronomy (D’varim.)] It’s an amazing story and best told by our rabbi, who is responsible for bringing this moment to us. The story, in his words, appears at the bottom of this post.

Even the most spiritual person – one who easily connects to G-d, needs help sometimes. Praying, feeling any connection at all, takes work and concentration. But this day — this day — we were in the presence of something so remarkable that the sense of holiness was everywhere. I know this sounds way over the top – but stay with me. Here’s what happened:

On Sabbath (Saturday), Monday, Thursday and holidays, we always read from the Torah during services. On Regular Sabbaths and weekdays we make our way through the five books; on holidays we re-read selected excerpts that relate to that particular festival. On this day, closing Passover, we read the prescribed passages, and then, a dear, gentle member of our congregation who is himself a Holocaust survivor took this special Torah, which contained four panels that had been hidden in Auschwitz and began to walk slowly up one aisle and down the other so that everyone who wished to could reach it. As he walked, another congregant – with an exquisite and soulful voice, sang Ani Mamin, the prayer that, witnesses told his family, his own great-grandfather (as had so many other Shoah victims) sang as he marched to his death at the hands of the Nazis. Orthodox services include no musical instruments, just voices, so only this sole, mournful chant swept our friend along as he made his way through the synagogue.

There was no other sound in the room. Silently, each of us moved to the aisle to touch this sacred representation of so much pain and so much faith. Silently, we watched as it passed and made its way to the stand where it would rest as it was unrolled, and read. As its cover was being removed, our rabbi urged us all to "move closer" – leave our seats and, from each side of the mechitza (room divider), gather near. He was right. Imagine looking at, seeing before you, a Torah panel that had been smuggled into Auschwitz and hidden there as long as it was a death camp. It’s such a feeling of reverence, sadness, mourning and privilege that you need to imagine it for yourself; it’s not possible to describe. I will tell you ,though, that almost everyone was either teary-eyed or weeping openly. And so it went as the Torah was read, wrapped, silently marched through the congregation one more time and placed in the Ark until it could be returned to those who gave us the privilege of being in its presence.

This all sounds VERY melodramatic, I know. I myself had often argued that our identity as Jews can’t be built upon the suffering of those murdered six million – that we must feel our faith as a positive force, not only as a continuation that honors their suffering. But not this day. This day we all shared a connection with those who died, many who must have been our ancestors, whose grandchildren would have been at our weddings and bar mitzvahs, who really did belong to us – and who read from the thousands of Torahs that, unlike this one, did not survive the pillage and flames. Every time the Torah is returned to the Ark, the congregation sings a song about it that ends:

It
is a tree of life to those who hold it fast and all who cling to it find
happiness. Its ways are ways of pleasantness, and all its paths are
peace.

This day – we all heard these words in such a different way, understanding what these few pages must have meant to those who had hidden them for so long.

I can’t tell, if you weren’t there – if it’s possible to understand the experience — at least at the hands of my limited skills as a writer. But I wanted you to know about it — that it’s possible still to find such a moment of clarity and understanding. That even someone like me, so reluctant to place meaning in things — even articles representing faith like prayer books or even Torahs, can be shaken to the bone in the presence of something that bears witness both to the pain of our ancestors and, so powerfully, to the power of the faith we share with them.

Here’s our Rabbi’s story of the history of this Torah (I’ve included links to clarify a couple words):

The Torah is a Tree of Life The Last Day of Pesach, 5768
Shmuel Herzfeld, Ohev Sholom, the National Synagogue, Washington DC

This past Sunday, as we prepared to recite Yizkor*, we first gave honor to a
special Torah that was visiting with our congregation.

Here is the story of the Torah and how we came to have it with us on this
one occasion.

Two days before Pesach I stopped in the Silver Spring Jewish Book Store to
buy some gifts for Pesach, when I saw this Torah which said on the mantle,
“Rescued from Auschwitz.”

The owner of the store is a sofer and a rabbi and a very good friend by the
name of Menachem Youlis. Rabbi Youlis told me that the Torah was being given to
the Central Synagogue in New York City on Wednesday April 30. The Torah was
being donated to them by Alice and David Rubenstein and had been lovingly
restored by Rabbi Youlis through his Save a Torah Foundation.

I was overwhelmed by being in the presence of this Torah. I couldn’t stop
thinking about it. Here was living proof that our Torah is eternal. The Nazis
tried to destroy us physically but they could not destroy the Torah.

The next week I mentioned the beauty of this Torah to my friends, Secretary
William Cohen and his wife Janet Langhart Cohen and they graciously offered to
ask David Rubenstein to lend us the Torah so that we could read it in our shul
before it went to New York. David Rubenstein generously agreed.

And so we had the honor of reading from the Torah in our synagogue on the
last day of Pesach.

Before Yizkor I told the congregation the story of this Torah.

The Torah was recently found in the city of Oswiecim which is where the
death camp of Auschwitz was located.

I had learned about this city and its Jewish life from my rebbe, Rabbi Avi
Weiss. He knew this town well because his father lived there till he was 16.
It is likely that Rabbi Weiss’ father had actually heard this Torah being
read.

There was a tradition amongst the survivors of Oswiecim that two days
before the Nazis came to burn down the synagogue of Oswiecim the Torahs of the
synagogue were taken and buried in separate metal boxes in the Jewish cemetery.
The Nazis took a perverse pleasure in destroying Sifrei Torah in terrible ways
that purposefully desecrated the Torah.

Many had tried to find these Torahs and indeed, the spot where the
synagogue stood was excavated but no Sifrei Torah were ever found.

So Rabbi Menachem Youlis thought that perhaps the tradition told over the
years was correct. Maybe there really was a Torah buried in the cemetery.

He traveled to Oswiecim to check the cemetery but he did not find even one
Torah.

When he returned home he was despondent. But then his son told him, “Maybe
the cemetery was bigger back then…” Lo and behold the original cemetery was
built over and today it is just twenty-five percent of the size that it once
was.

So Rabbi Youlis took his metal detector and started searching the original
cemetery by looking under the homes where the cemetery originally was.

Lo and behold, he found a metal box. He opened up the metal box and found
a Torah scroll.

There was only one problem…the Torah scroll was missing four panels.
Without these four panels, the Torah scroll could not be kosher…. Where could
these panels be?

He took out an ad in the local paper and asked if anyone had panels of a
Torah from before the war.

The next day he received a call from a Priest who said he had four panels.

The panels were an exact match in pagination, style and content. Obviously
they were originally from the Torah he had found buried in the cemetery.

Rabbi Youlis learned that the Priest was born a Jew—named Zeev—and was sent
to Auschwitz. Before the Torah had been buried in the Oswiecim cemetery these
four panels had been removed and smuggled through Auscwitz by four different
people.

As each person who had a panel was about to die they passed along the
panels. Eventually the four panels made it into the hands of Zeev who guarded
them as a Priest for over 60 years.

Rabbi Youlis lovingly restored the Torah and made it kosher once again. He
added these four panels to the entire Torah. The four panels were all selected
for a good reason:

The first panel contained the Ten Commandments from the book of Exodus.
The Ten Commandments contain with it the word Zachor—the obligation to always
remember.

The second panel spoke about the curses that will befall the Jewish people
on the day the God hides His face from us. These curses came true during the
dark days of the Holocaust. But we know that since these curses came true, the
blessings that Hashem promises us will also come true.

The third panel contained the section from Parshat Pinchas that spoke about
korbanot—sacrifices, burnt offerings—that were offered to God.

The last panel contained the Shema from Deuteronomy. In that same panel
was also found the Ten Commandments from Deuteronomy.

The Ten Commandments from Exodus say, Zakhor et hashabbat, remember
the Shabbat.

Explain the rabbis, Zakhor ve-shamor bedibbur echad neemru, at the
same time that remember was said, so was the word shamor, to guard.

At the same time that we have an obligation to remember the past we also
have an obligation to guard the memory of the korbanot of the shoah—the
victims of the Holocaust.

When Rabbi Youlis looked at this Torah he noticed that the word
shamor (in Deuteronomy) was missing the letter, vav. The Torah
had been originally written without this letter included in it. The vav,
has a numerical value of 6, but it also represents the six million. Rabbi
Youlis added the vav to the Torah and thereby made it kosher. By adding
the vav to this Torah he also symbolically made an eternal memorial to
the memory of all those who perished from the town of Oswiecim and in
Auschwitz.

Now that the Torah is kosher it will be guarded and watched by the Central
Synagogue, where it will be read from every Yom Kippur. And every other year it
will be taken by 10,000 students as they march through Auschwitz on March of the
Living. And every time it is used the six million will be guarded (shamor) and
remembered (zachor).

*That’s a memorial prayer for loved ones recited on several holidays each year.

UNTIL PASSOVER PASSES OVER: HARD WORK AND TRUE MEANING

I used to love Passover. The politics of freedom, the story of courage and redemption, the miracle of the Red Sea and the great songs — all wonderful. We had nursery school matzoh covers that the kids had made, lots of stories and family and friends around and a general great time. Once each year. And then the holiday was over. There was no preparation beyond the cooking.

But that was then.

Now that we are living our kosher, observant life, things are pretty different. And exhausting. In the first place, the holiday is two days long at each end with, I think, five days in between. This year, it started Saturday night at sundown, with the first Seder (the word means "order" and it’s a ritual meal telling the Passover story). There are services Sunday then many people have company for lunch. We went home to crash because that night there is a second Seder! This year, since Friday night is the beginning of the Sabbath, that means that from Friday night until Monday night we couldn’t use computers, read email, drive, turn lights on and off etc. There are reasons for it; honoring the commandment to celebrate the liberation of the Jewish people is a wonderful privilege. It’s just so much work!

If you’re Orthodox you have to clean the house (well, we’d probably do a spring cleaning anyway) to get rid of any crumbs or other chometz (bread-related stuff). The toaster has to go (crumbs = chometz). The coffee machine has to go (to be replaced by one that has used Kosher for Passover coffee only.) You have to swap out all your dishes and pots. I’m having artichokes on one of the meals I’m serving and just realized I have no ramekins to put the dip stuff into because they are used the rest of the year. Gonna have to figure that one out…. And I haven’t even told you about all the food that’s not legit and how you need special spices labeled Kosher for Passover and they don’t make Passover curry powder or tarragon or even decent mustard.

Anyway it’s a pain. I began this post in a snit but now it’s three days later, the first days are over, everything is done and I feel better. The last thing, the hanging pot rack, is covered by a sheet (so scenic – here it is.) Here’s why: all the non-Passover stuff has to either be isolated or out of the room. It’s really tough, and heavy, to take all my fancy Calphalon pots off the racks and down to the basement so this is the solution I’ve come up with. The other stuff not in the basement is in cabinets that are taped shut . The remaining kitchen storage is jammed with Passover-ready tools and foods. What’s not in there is piled on the counters because there’s no place else to put it.

I’m in a real work mode so it’s been doubly tough to pay respectful, thorough attention to this this year — only our second living in a kosher home as observant Jews. But it’s done. And now, I’ve just been struggling to get past the prep anxiety that was waking me up at night and into the holiday itself. OH and not end up obsessing about where we’re invited for lunch and who’s coming to our house and….

Even so, I can still summon the thrill of remembering the remarkable past and recovery the Jewish people experienced – leaving Egypt and so many times since. (if you don’t count that pesky Golden Calf thing.) And remember that it’s our tradition to honor freedom and tell the story every year – like Camelot.

Ask ev’ry person if he’s heard the story,
And tell it strong and clear if he has not,
That once there was a fleeting wisp of glory
Called Camelot.

Even more than Arthur’s though, our story is informed with a moral depth that can be obscured by all this crazy kitchen-cleaning. Think of the Ten Commandments – the second time they appear.

“‘Observe the Sabbath day, to keep it holy, as the Lord your God commanded you. 13 Six days you shall labor and do all your work, 14 but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord
your God. On it you shall not do any work, you or your son or your
daughter or your male servant or your female servant, or your ox or
your donkey or any of your livestock, or the sojourner who is within
your gates, that your male servant and your female servant may rest as
well as you. 15 You shall remember that you were a slave [3] in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. Therefore the Lord your God commanded you to keep the Sabbath day.*

That’s how it gets me. At each Seder, Saturday and Sunday nights, we read the story of the abuses against the Jews and the miraculous escape – and are reminded that, as we deal with others, we must never forget that we once were slaves too – particularly in our dealings with those who work for or serve us. Beyond that, concern for others informs the entire service. This appears near the beginning:

This is the bread of affliction which our ancestors ate in the land
of Egypt. Let all who are hungry, come and eat. Let all who are needy,
come and partake of the Pascal lamb. Now we are here; next year may we
be in the Land of Israel. Now we are slaves; next year may we be free
men. You could, of course, complain about the "free men" phrase but that was thousands of years ago, and the sentiment, in my view, transcends gender.

So there you have it. It is an honor to live with such values and messages even though, my friends tell me, the aggravation arrives every year, with the Seder. Like so many parts of this still-new life we are living, there’s much asked of us, not only spiritually but also logistically. But, like so many parts of this still-new life we are living, what emerges amid the crankiness is a sense of pride, and meaning, and peace.

*Thanks to my friend Aliza for this insight – she is a true thinker and teacher.

WEAR IT TO A WEDDING; CARHOPS AT THE DRIVE IN; BLOGGING BOOMERS CARNIVAL #65

The Amazing Riveting Blogging Boomers Carnival hits #65 this week at LifeTwo with pieces on everything from Fifties Drive-Ins to looking great at a wedding this summer to conversion to Orthodox Judaism (that’s mine.) The Carnival is free; bring your own cotton candy.