Orthodox Judaism – Don't Gel Too Soon

Big Birthday Memory #4: Patti Smith, CBGB and an Observant Life

NOTE: As I approach my 70th birthday, I’ll reprise a milestone post here each day until the end of May. Today – from October 16, 2006

I’ve never been to CBGB OMFUG. Why do I care about a punk music club whose entrance was always spattered with graffiti and most of whose musical appearances were by people I knew almost nothing about — except Bruce Springsteen [he wrote this with Patti Smith] , Patti Smith [two favorites: People Have the Power, Peaceable Kingdom], Joan Jett [I Love Rock and Roll] and a few others? (I don’t t know the lore all that well – but it always seemed to me that women really got a crack at center stage at CBGB.) I think it was just nice to see it there – waving its fist in the air. It has closed – maybe to reopen, maybe not – and I’m just kind of sad to see it losing its lease to what some have called “the suburbification of Manhattan.”

Patti Smith, whom I had the honor to meet at last year’s Media Reform conference in St. Louis, was a real CBGB heroine and I felt, meeting her, a deep connection. We’re the same age. She’s a heartbreakingly honest person who lost her husband way too soon (and wrote People Have the Power partly at his instigation) — a mom and a singular human soul. The music she made was remarkably articulate (she is a poet after all) and inspiring. I’ve linked above to two of my favorites — one of which, People Have the Power, was an anthem of the Vote for Change election tour in 2004.

So what do the final days of a gritty music club where I never went have to do with my life as an observant Jew? Believe it or not – plenty. Both of them were fascinating universes I always observed from the outside and wondered about. Both stood for making one’s own way to truth. That search has taken me, for some reason I’m still grappling with, to the Orthodox Jewish community where I’ve found a home and spirit that brings a new kind of meaning to my life.

At my last big birthday I complained to a friend about my age and her response was “but you’re completely reborn in this new life – you’re not old AT ALL!” In some ways she’s right. I certainly feel that there’s a universe I’m traveling through that’s new, moving, inspiring and mysterious. Sometimes though it’s also a pain. For the past several weeks, from Rosh Hashanah (the New Year) to the end of Simchas Torah (Ending the annual, week-by-week reading of the Torah: the five books of Moses – Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy and beginning again) the holidays consumed days of time: in synagogue, inviting guests to meals and going to meals at friends, building and dismantling a sukkah and observing the prohibition on driving and work. Since this year many of these days fell on weekends it meant NO catching up on work on Sundays and no farmer’s market. (two weird examples, I admit.) Since it’s the end of tomato season that last was sad though not critical to the future of the human race or my household.

Even so, all these small requirements, which I try to follow since I’ve made this commitment, can consume time and tax serenity and spirituality. I’ve come to love the prohibition on the Sabbath and enjoy the quiet days reading, taking walks, visiting, napping and sharing ideas. But the surrender to and acceptance of all these rules is a peculiar experience and I grapple with it daily. Even so, the quest, like that of the young rebels who put CBGB on the map, is a great adventure – and the learning is exhilarating.

Go listen to People Have the Power whether this post makes sense or not. It will make you happy on a Monday – although that’s easier here today since it’s the third amazingly gorgeous fall day in a row – with leaves turning and leaf smells beginning to fill the air. Which, I just realized, takes us right back to faith and gratitude for the world’s beauty when it shows up.

Another Landmark in Jewish Life, Another Lesson Learned

When I first got involved in observant Judaism, I was appalled at a lot of what I saw. Without any background or knowledge I was ready to condemn rules from keeping kosher to circumcision to the bedecken in a marriage ceremony to Jewish education.

I’ve changed my mind about many things (though not all) but more important than any single issue is the larger lesson of this lengthy and complicated transition: you can’t judge anything until you really understand it. It’s so easy to laugh off a traditional life, modest clothing, 613 commandments (and I still struggle with many of them and remain, I know, ignorant of many others.) But as each rule and ritual is placed into context, its importance emerges, if you let it. Not for everything, certainly, but for more of this somewhat exotic existence than I ever expected.

Last night I went with friends to celebrate their son’s receipt of his first siddur – prayerbook. It is a remarkable event. In advance, parents come to school and decorate the books’ cover; the kids wear crowns with prayers on top, there’s a long performance full of the child’s version of many of the traditions and they dance and sing and tell us what they will contribute to the future. Parents and siblings and sleeping infants and grandparents are gathered to watch, in a balloon-decorated room with cupcakes and apple juice waiting in the back.

Of course, all this is a kind of indoctrination. But what I’ve realized is that I think any child rearing of merit imparts values as this ceremony does. In this case, the gift of prayer is celebrated, and being old enough to become, at least a bit, master of one’s own prayers is pretty cosmic. Most Orthodox ceremonies I’ve been part of celebrate this gift and the journey of our emerging relationships with God, each in our own way.

But as I remember taking my kids to marches, and boycotting Nestle, and raising them on Pete Seeger and the Weavers and politics all the time, well – that was a form of indoctrination too. And we were determined that they would receive the values that we thought most important, and be raised with a keen sense of right and wrong in political as well as personal terms. Now, of course, they’ve modified all that to suit themselves, as they should. But they had a set of values to push up against, as their father used to say. Instead of prayers, the signs in their school said “Each one, teach one” and every kid had a task to contribute to the community. Not so different, just not Godly.

I know that we are a secular nation, and that many American Jews live highly secular lives. I did too. But somehow, we found our way here. Tonight I’ll light Sabbath Candles and feel the quiet peace that comes with them. And I’ll be grateful not only for that but for the grace and love of the parents who invited me to share in their son’s celebration, and who have so often provoked me to think harder and struggle more to understand this life I’ve chosen. And have taught both of us so much. Believe me, I’m at least as surprised as you are by my reactions, but as long as that continues, I know I’m keeping faith with the name of this blog, along with the larger faith I seek.

Shabbat Shalom.

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.

ASTOUNDING JEWISH WOMEN: THE JEWISH ORTHODOX FEMINIST ALLIANCE

A little over ten years ago some remarkable women, all Orthodox Jews, decided that the only way to have an impact on the role that women play in worship and governance in the Orthodox world was to organize. Under the leadership of the legendary Blu Greenberg, JOFA ( Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance) was born.

From the beginning of my involvement in the Orthodox community, just three and a half years ago, I’ve been urged to be part of this group. For a long time, and still, I feel a bit under-equipped. I can argue for change and believe in it, but I can’t cite the texts that support either current or possible future perspectives, and in Orthodoxy the texts are a big part of every Halachic (religious rules) argument. I study quite frequently now, but compared to those who grew up in the parallel universe of Jewish day schools and have such a head start, I don’t know if I’ll ever feel confident in my knowledge. Even so, I have spent much of this weekend at a JOFA conference here in Washington, and it has been thrilling. And disturbing. But thrilling.

There was a film — Mekudeshet — about the Agunah – women whose husbands refuse to grant them a Jewish divorce. Orthodox women, without this Jewish divorce, or "get," can’t remarry. Any children they may bear are illegitimate and may only marry other "children of the get." Clearly, as in any other form of spousal abuse, it’s a control issue. Abusive husbands, men living with new women and even with new children, can leave their wives in limbo forever. This is one of the areas JOFA works to change.

More universal were the panels. One, on gender roles in K-12 education, was very provocative. In many Jewish day schools study of religious texts moves from coed to single-sex after somewhere around the 5th grade. Of course when we do that by choice, and call it women’s education (I went to Smith and found it enormously liberating) we appreciate the freedom to be ourselves and not be cowed by louder, deeper voices. The difference is that in Jewish education, when genders are separated, it’s more often for holiness, the perceived gender difference in roles and the presumed "danger" women bring to distract men than it is to empower young women to learn more completely. It’s an interesting question. When we choose it, many of us love- and are grateful for – single-sex education. Quite correctly, I believe, resent it bitterly when we are "banished" to the girls classes, leaving the boys behind. Is it possible to truly assimilate what is useful for girls in studying only with one another if there’s no other choice? Or is it always going to re-enforce the frequent sense of gender inferiority that this conference works to remove?

My choice for the second panel was one dealing with women and text – and all the factors of interpretation that emerge as more and more women become fluent in religious texts. You aren’t going to believe this but for a long time, women were not allowed to study many of the interpretive works, and held in a kind of limbo as far as religious learning was concerned. Change is coming in this arena though – from the co-ed Maimonides Jewish Day School, founded in Brookline, MA in 1937 and emerging as the institution that broke the stranglehold on single-sex text Talmud study, to all the new institutions like Drisha to deeply educate women in text and religious rulings (Halacha.) Now it’s common for women to study these works. I go to class every Tuesday night – but it’s still considered "progressive" to offer girls (and women) equal access to all learning.

I always find it empowering, even inspiring, to attend conferences of women. Every year my days at BlogHer are treasures that sustain me all year. WAM!, the Woman and Media conference, has the same effect. This one, though, was especially moving. Brainy, funny, lively and open, these Orthodox women are working to change more than a government, an attitude or a movement. Sustained by and committed to a faith more than 5,767 years old, observant in the laws of Kashrut and family law, they work to ensure that Jewish life will be even more meaningful, and equal, for their daughters (and sons) than it has been for them.

A PLACE FOR EVERY JEWISH GIRL

This weekend was a special one at our synagogue: our semi-annual "Makom shabbaton." Makom means place, and the program, initiated by someone I greatly admire and sponsored in part by a local Jewish women’s foundation, works to help young girls find a place in the complicated world of Orthodox Judaism. Clearly, given the divided seating and prohibitions on certain kinds of participation, it’s a difficult undertaking, but the concept, and execution, of this project are exemplary.

Today girls in the third, fourth and fifth grade stood before the entire congregation and delivered commentary on the Torah reading for this morning, which was Va-Yiggash, the story of the reconciliation between Joseph and the brothers who sold him into slavery. It’s complicated stuff, but with the help of their spectacular teacher, they made wonderful sense of it. Why didn’t Joseph tell his dad he was OK for all those 20+ years? Why did he hide a cup in his little brother’s bag of grain, and "frame" him as a thief? Why, in big brother Judah’s pleas to Joseph for mercy, did he mention their father 14 times? In the mini-sermons given today those questions, and more, were answered.

I wish you could have seen these little girls (really, 9-12 years old) stand in front of a huge sanctuary and speak in clear, confident voices, retelling bits of the story, citing commentators and making their points. It was thrilling.

There’s lots more to do for both girls and grown women in the Orthodox world, but days like today, and the growth of groups like the Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance encourage optimism. Of course here I am, only four years into life as a somewhat – more and more – Orthodox woman -and already ready to join the revolution. [What else is new? ]

The women (and men) who are part of this movement are smart religious activists and it’s an inspiring community indeed. What happened today is emblematic of their commitment to bringing more and more equity to the lives of religious Jewish women and in the process they are building a remarkable constituency and setting an amazing example for women (and men )from six to sixty and beyond.

JERUSALEM DIARY 2.0 – DAY FOUR – THE SOTAH AND MEA SHEARIM

Thursday morning I sent myself an email that said this: We are just leaving Mea Shearim, the ultra-Orthodox neighborhood and I am so freaked out. Maybe the SOTAH story had more impact than I realized. I told my husband that I was close to tears, that my chest was tight and I was someplace between scared and angry and he said – "You mean you felt like the Sotah, huh?" Well.

She does haunt me. Even now, when I have learned so much that mitigates the horrors of her treatment, I can see her, standing there, as they pull off her hair covering and stand her before God (and the priests), forced to drink the waters full of dirt and ashes. And what does that have to do with Mea Shearim? I’m the intruder there; the very Orthodox residents who choose to remain largely on the outskirts of the rest of the world and live a highly structured and mostly literal interpretation of every law and passage in the Torah – didn’t invite me to go wandering around looking at them while my husband bought a new Tallit (prayer shawl.) Even so, for some reason every time I go there I get so sad.

My husband once accused me of "overidentification with the oppressed." Maybe that’s it. The men are so clearly the ones with the power here, walking by in 2’s and 3’s while harried mothers and kids run errands and see to 3 or 4 children under 5. I have no right to consider them opressed. Or unhappy. Or anything else. What happens is that I imagine myself – stubborn, curious, eager to see and know everything – growing up here and wonder what would have become of me. Maybe I would have had a peaceful and loving life, but my projections won’t let me think about that. I just struggle with the stories I write in my mind about these families (these women) and their lives.

I have always loved The Chosen, and I have great respect for Chassidic Jews, for the most part. But there is something about this infinitely old, infinitely tired part of Jerusalem that just breaks my heart. As I write this, I suddenly wonder if perhaps it has more to do with me and my issues — that their lives are their own and I’m not sure that’s true of mine.

I’m writing this Thursday night in case I can’t finish it before Shabbat tomorrow — so Shabbat Shalom.

How I CHANGED MY MIND ABOUT THE IDEA OF A BRIS

Many of the Jewish kids I know were circumcised but never had a bris (a ritual circumcision – complete with ceremony and prayers.) That was true in our family. I always thought it as barbaric. I have come to see the ceremony as one of the loveliest in Judaism. I’ve just come from one for our rabbi’s fifth child. The ceremony begins as the families of the new child line up at the door to the shul and pass him along toward the bimah, with all the congregation singing a song of congratulations. Many family members – aunts, uncles, grandparents and siblings, have a role — blessings to say, children to hold, passages to mark. Each older sister and brother gets a gift.

There is of course a serious ceremony within the celebration – the honoring of the covenant that God ordered and Abraham honored. The physical idea of the circumcision is tough – even for deep believers, I think, but it’s interesting that research in sexually transmitted diseases – even AIDS, shows that circumcised men contract and transmit these diseases less frequently. Of course there’s no hard evidence that there’s a connection but it adds to the considerations about the process itself.

The most important part, to me, is the welcoming of the child into the community both the broad of those who worship as observant Jews and of the closer extended family that surrounds the synagogue. There were kids hanging off the railings at the front of the synagogue, family members gathered to the side (that’s the photo), singing, crying and lots of reunions of people from far away who’d come together to celebrate. The little boy was named for his parent’s cousin who died, at 23, of Muscular Dystrophy. As the Rabbi spoke about him, he struggled not to weep – the combination of joy at the safe arrival of his son and memory of the loss of the man whose name this child now bears – were almost overwhelming. Many of us felt it too.

It’s taken me quite a journey to come to comprehension of it all and I’m sure I haven’t made it clear enough to you – but I guess the bottom line is that the combination of faith, joy, timeless ritual, love and friendship is a powerful gift — tough to learn to accept but, ultimately, something to treasure.

SUKKOT, HOLIDAYS, IS GOD AROUND HERE SOMEPLACE?, ENOUGH IS ENOUGH

This is a Sukkah. More on that in a minute.

My mother always used to tell me that it was better leave a party before you wanted to. "Leave while it’s still fun" she would say, "and you’ll have loved every minute you were there." I always thought that was a rationalization for wanting me home at a decent hour, but I think, as in many things, she was right. We are now awaiting the last three days of what will be, in September and this week of October, ELEVEN days of limited activity and expected entertaining. OH – and religious services, of course: Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and the first and then final days of Sukkot. All of which fell on Thursday and Friday. Leading into Saturday. Which is the Sabbath. SO. No TV. No phones. No computers. No e-mail even. No cooking for many of those days and ONLY for the day in question the rest of those days.

Remember, these are very holy days, too. You have to be sure to keep that in your mind; go to services and try to connect. Our services are very uplifting and moving; we’re there all day and there’s lots of singing and shared emotion. You really know you’ve been praying and it’s a time when it’s easier to connect with one’s faith (at least for me.)

It also means, however, that on Rosh Hashanah (the New Year) there was dinner Wednesday night, Thursday night and Friday night and lunch on Thursday, Friday and Saturday. On Yom Kippur, a fast day, there was just preparation of a meal the night before. That’s 7 meals. We got through this fine – hosting three meals; and going to others for the other four. It was a lot of cooking and enormous anxiety but it all was in the service of sharing and honoring these remarkable holidays with those we care about; our older son and his girl friend were even there for part of it; all worked out well.

So where’s the BUT? You know there’s one coming. Well, five days later we hit Sukkot — the holiday where you have to eat outside in a "booth" (you can see the commandment here and an explanation at the bottom of this post)– to commemorate the Jewish people’s time living in booths in the desert during the Exodus. That’s ours in the photo (undecorated because I can’t take photos on the holidays when it IS all set up.) Again, two meals for two days at the beginning running into the Sabbath and two more at the end next week running into ANOTHER Sabbath. AND you have people over the in the days in between too, at least a little bit.

Most people I think are exhausted – hardly any have issued meal invitations although I hosted one lunch last Friday and we went to another family for dinner. That still left three of the five uninvited. That’s as stressful as cooking for the ones we host. Where were we going – who was going where we weren’t? Why did it matter? What about praying – why is this temporal stuff on our minds at all?

I have to admit it bothers me a little; others I know are supremely troubled by it. I feel like such a whiny little brat. Here we are just celebrating our
third year as active participants in this life and almost into our
third living in this community – having gained and learned so much –
and I’m complaining. It’s so not what faith is supposed to be about but it’s still a real issue – especially when you haven’t been doing this long.

This is the first year we’ve really hosted people in our Sukkah and so we wanted all to be just right; mostly we have done great except for those invitation gaps. I’m disappointed about that. And I’m ashamed of us for caring at all. These holidays are supposed to bring us closer to God but after seven days with three more coming all I feel close to is exhaustion. I’ve spoken to many friends about this; the women, upon whom the cooking seems to fall, are more pissed but the guys are also tired. Everyone is a little cranky. (My husband suggests that he is both tired AND cranky and the one doing most of the "taking inventory.") That’s probably true but it’s contagious!

Worst of all, it’s so anticlimactic. I wish you could have been with us on Yom Kippur. This holy day, which I had always experienced as solemn and sad, is, in our synagogue, a day of happiness. We are there because of the gift of repentance, we are participating in a service that is thousands of years old, the music is just extraordinary and the ritual moving and humbling. The young doctor who leads our service is profoundly spiritual and an amazing musician – here’s a sample of my favorite.

; I call him the Bruce Springsteen of prayer because of the energy and depth he offers us, and we leave uplifted and inspired.

So maybe the rapid slide into STILL MORE holiday after something so profound robs us of the full celebration of our Yom Kippur prayers – cutting off our feelings from that day but, as I write this, perhaps reminding us that one day’s repentance isn’t going to carry us through the year – or even the week – and that we must continue to try to find ways to follow our faith each moment, not just revel in past moments of spiritual ascendance. And I guess each emotion is a brick in the road to where ever we’re bound – this though is certainly not one I’m proud of.

***One rabbi explains:
THE SUKKA reminds us of Israel’s honeymoon with God in the hostile desert (of
cruel history– there must be more shade than sun in the sukka), and of Divine
clouds hovering over them (= eventual redemption; stars must be visible thru
the sukka roof– Rav Riskin); God’s protection against forces of evil, when the
Jews seem most vulnerable (e.g. 1948, 1991 and Purim), climaxes in the pre-
Messianic battles of our Haftarot. Then God will raise up David’s fallen
"sukka"– the 3rd Temple, preceded by the rediscovered tabernacle. Discomfort,
e.g. rain, exempts one from Sukka– but those truly great stay, experiencing
no discomfort when surrounded by God’s glory (The Berditchever). The sukka is
a symbol of peace, for it is open— to the elements of nature, to the heavens
above and, foremost, to guests, far and near (Rav Avigdor Hacohen). As we
invite guests to our sukka, not only do we do a good deed of kindness and
spread holiday cheer, but we also imitate God Himself, the Ultimate Model Host,
Who constantly feeds, clothes and houses all His creatures; we thus develop our
own Divine Image.

WEDDINGS, WITCHES AND JEWISH LIFE

Weddings are life markers – milestones on a singular journey. Every time, just like today, the two whose lives are joined know that their wedding is the most meaningful, the most special, of all. Every time, just like today, their family and friends smile and sigh, nod knowingly or watch in wonder. Most times, just like today, there is feasting and dancing, laughing and crying, present and past.

The couple in this picture are grownups with jobs, a just-completed dissertation and a real sense of wonder that they found one another and managed to make their way to this day. They planned the wedding, designed the exquisite chuppah (wedding canopy) that has been part of Jewish marriage for centuries, and worked to make the day special in every way (they succeeded.)

This is the third wedding I’ve attended this year and the third traditional observant Jewish wedding ever. That’s very unusual for someone my age but we’re blessed with friends who have made us part of their extended family and asked us to share these blessed days with them. Today, for the third time in a year I watched a groom led to his bride by a swarm of singing, dancing men; I’ve watched him lower the veil over the face of the woman he now knew for sure was his beloved. (Jacob was duped and married the wrong sister; at least 600 years old, this tradition evokes that story and acknowledges its power.) When I first learned of it it sounded barbaric to me. Men taking possession of property, I thought. Check out the goods.

Somehow though, in the years I’ve spent moving toward an observant life, it’s come to mean something quite different: a reverent bow to the centrality of a sound life partnership – not for everyone but certainly for those who choose to marry. Marriage is not just the economic and legal partnership so often described in political conversation, it’s an ancient entity with real resonance and a gigantic role in the preservation of a humane, loving and sometimes sacred society. It requires tradition carried on; it requires the presence of ceremony and ritual to link it to the couples of past generations.

On my favorite guilty pleasure, Charmed, rituals of birth and marriage are attended not only by those who share the lives and loves of the Halliwell sisters (yeah they’re witches and their story spent 8 TV seasons enchanting us all) but also by those who came before. They summon, "through space and time" all members of "the Halliwell line." Surrounded by these transluscent figures of past generations, today’s Halliwells celebrate marriages and new arrivals. Those fully and those ephemerally present conclude together "blessed be."

What does this have to do with Jewish weddings — or any other terrestrial weddings for that matter? A lot. Eight years on the air, the longest running show with female leads, it dealt often with travel through time and space and dominions never imagined. But when really important events arose, all the magic was supplanted by a single, simple spell that basically –well — brought the family together. For them it was across ghostly generations…it was a show about witches after all. But that really is what weddings do, and in my limited experience, the weddings of observant Jews are events with special power because they consider a wedding the "creation of a home" where Jewish life will be lived and celebrated. "Home" is represented by the wedding canopy, or "chuppah" under which the bride and groom marry, surrounded by loved ones of prior and subsequent generation: grandparents and parents, aunts and brothers, sisters and nephews.

This particular chuppah was built from branches rescued from a clearing near Boston and covered by a tablecloth that had belonged to the bride’s grandmother, who had died the year before. My husband’s and mine was covered by the prayer shawls of our grandfathers – mine near death and too frail to attend, his gone just a couple of years before. Again, instinctively, we, like this bride, sought connections over time.

I"m not saying this well but what I think is that we’re hardwired to want to be part of something "larger than ourselves" and faith and family are that something. For observant Jews, these connections are manifested throughout the ceremony and the traditions surrounding it. That timeless ritual and all that surrounds it bring the gift of place and meaning – the reminder that as we celebrate a marriage we join the circle once more, honoring all that has been given us and accepting the responsibility to pass it on.

REBIRTH OF WONDER (REDUX)– DEATH AND LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI

One more deadline, one more rerun- the last for a while, I promise.

In A Coney Island of the Mind, San Francisco poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti wrote of a search for a rebirth of wonder.* It’s out there – that wonder — sometimes in the strangest places.

Here is what I know: Some things in life surprise us — not with shock but with wonder. Today we flew to Boston for Rick’s dad’s funeral. It was a beautiful day – sunny and almost as warm as spring. With Rick and me traveled not only our remarkable rabbi, but also two of Rick’s dearest friends. Despite the mid-week madness of Washington, they had chosen to leave their work and fly north to support us. In addition, the sisters of two friends unable to come arrived as their surrogates. That was the first wondrous thing.

An Orthodox funeral is deceptively simple. The coffin is a plain pine box held together with pegs. As it leaves the hearse it is borne by the mourners to its place over the grave. On the way, Psalm 91 is recited and the procession stops seven times. Once the coffin – reverently referred to as the "aron" is in place, the service proceeds.

With our rabbi leading the service, each step along the way was accompanied by warm and loving exposition: Why do we do this? — How should we participate? — What is the blessing of bearing the aron and seeing to its burial? As he led the prayers and answered these questions, it was with such love and individuality that participation became a privilege and a comfort. That is the second wondrous thing.

As the service moved toward conclusion the rabbi explained the final act. We, not the cemetery employees, would bury the coffin – my husband’s father. One by one, we took up the shovels and poured earth into the grave. Not until the grave was full and the coffin covered did we leave… and then, all those in attendance formed a double line so that Rick and his brother could pass through, moving from the funeral to the initial mourning period, or Shiva.

This last, loving duty is perhaps the most remarkable of what an Orthodox Jewish funeral offers mourners. At the funerals of each of my parents, way before we moved into this new life, the cemetery distributed little envelopes of "dirt from Israel" which attendees dropped on the coffin. We all left then, and the cemetery employees finished the job.

I told my sister about the custom that mourners fill the grave, thinking that she, who is not thrilled with our decision to live a more observant life, would be appalled. Instead, she said "That’s so great – leaving them covered and at peace. I felt so badly leaving Daddy there so exposed…." That’s probably the most critical. Imagine the difference, at the close of such a painful day, filled with loss and grief, if you knew you’d bid a farewell that leaves your loved one cared for and at peace. Imagine, too, that those you love – beloved friends and family members – have all left a part of themselves there in the grave; that the final resting place includes their loving labor. That’s the final wondrous thing.

We’re nowhere near the Age of Wonder, that’s for sure. But we are occasionally given a peek. Today the window opened and a bit emerged — not quite a rebirth but present nonetheless — just enough to help us see what’s possible. If that’s not wonder, I don’t know what is.

*I Am Waiting
I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting for someone
to really discover America
and wail
and I am waiting
for the discovery
of a new symbolic western frontier
and I am waiting
for the American Eagle
to really spread its wings
and straighten up and fly right
and I am waiting
for the Age of Anxiety
to drop dead
and I am waiting
for the war to be fought
which will make the world safe
for anarchy
and I am waiting
for the final withering away
of all governments
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder