/wince

I was attracted to an article at the Beeb this morning about a group of rabbis who have taken to the air over Israeli to try to stop the spread of H1N1, and the whole article made me wince. As the article points out, these are rabbis who are steeped in Kabbalah, a rather intricate and complicated type of mystical study. Kabbalah is thoroughly misunderstood, even in Judaism, and I worry about how this clip will come across to folks who don't know much about either mainstream Judaism or about this form of study.

And then, as though I were not cringing enough, I read this line: "...Kabbalah, a form of Jewish mysticism which counts the singer Madonna among its devotees." Oy, vey. Kabbalah as practiced within Judaism is not the same as Kabbalah (c), a non-Jewish venture created by Philip Berg; to put the rabbis on that plane in the same boat with Madonna takes this article from merely cringe-worthy into a real double-head-clutcher.

May we only celebrate simchot together...

Last Thursday was Tisha B'Av, the day on which, due to the motion of the Hebrew calendar against the western calendar (or vice versa, of course), so many tragedies befell the Jewish people. I was one of the readers out of the scroll of Lamentations on Wednesday night, and I was quite surprised at how moved I was by the rebuke offered therein, and that emotion took me through the fast I endured and through the next day.

I think it's critical to point out that Tisha B'Av is not about beating ourselves up over how terrible we are or have been; I think it's key that the three Haftarot of Reproof that precede Tisha B'Av are followed by seven Haftarot of Consolation. That we are consoled for twice as long as we are reproved demonstrates Judaism's attitude toward redemption: no matter who you are or what you've done, there's always hope. There's always the chance to make amends and to make a change in your life; by making a change in your life, you can change the lives of others. That's powerful, powerful stuff, and all it requires is a willingness on the part of the individual.

Even better, you don't have to be particularly religious--or even religious at all--in order to believe that yes, you can make a difference in your own life. I hope it doesn't seem too trite, but just a little acknowledgement that life is pretty damned cool can be enough to drive my days into better places, enough to help me to see the beauty and splendor around me; I remember that every moment I have another chance to add to the world.

As if to cement that thought in my mind, Friday morning came, and along with it, a baby-naming. Friends had a newborn girl to add to the covenant, and as she slept quietly in Eliyahu's chair in front of the bima, wrapped in her mom's tallit, I couldn't help but be moved by the sight. Through the good and the bad, the people keep on growing, buy may we only celebrate Simchot together.

Veyiz mir!

Oh, man.

So, I started swimming again, and it led me to this crazy discovery. It turns out that under your skin, there are these things called "muscles," and when you use them a lot, they get "sore." I have also discovered that the air-water interface is less than optimum for an efficient transfer of oxygen, so you have to do this crazy timing thing where you don't get to breathe when you want. I guess that's what you get, though, when you take so much time off from exercising.

And but so I've been at it for a couple of weeks. I figured I'd get in the pool this morning, and what with a weekend off, I'd be all set to go. Oh, no. No, no, no. Instead, I could barely make my long distances at all. I just had no air and no shoulder strength, and I really can't figure it out. Sure, I played a little Wii this weekend, but it doesn't seem like that alone should have done it. Maybe I just have more building to do. Maybe I should get some more sleep.

I'll hit the water again Wednesday, and we'll see how this goes.

It's my party, and I'll daven if I want to?

I was reading this post on over-the-top parties over at On the Fringe, and I have to admit: I share Shira's point of view that parties and celebrations have gone just over the top. The concept, mentioned in the comments section of the post above, of Faux Mitzvah is an extreme case in point, but just in general I've gotten so tired of every little tiny milestone being celebrated as though it were the arrival of Mashiach.

For example, the Girl was involved in a dance recital for her performing arts school. Fantastic. Great. It was a wonderful time, and there were, I admit, some pretty talented dancers in attendance; based on the flowers, however, you'd have imagined that no one less than Misha Baryshnikov himself had come out of retirement to grace the center with a one-off celebration. Isn't it enough that the dancers had the phenomenal opportunity to dance a whole show at a top-tier venue? Why must every ballerina be feted as a diva?

In my own shul, the b'nai mitzvah celebrations have not gone crazy, B"H, but I know that the parties that follow certainly touch some lofty heights. Personally, I was fond of the bar mitzvah that occured several weeks ago: we had no more than our usual Shabbat minyan, there was no catered lunch, no handed-out programs, no long-winded speeches. It was instead exactly what I think a bar mitzvah should be: a young man is called to the Torah to lead services and to teach.

That's the long and the short of it. One becomes a bar or bat mitzvah, whether there's a party or not. The term itself is very simple, meaning "obligated to the commandment," and one becomes such at the age of 13. If you're Jewish, from that time on, you ARE a bar or bat mitzvah; mom and dad don't have to lay out wedding-type prices to make anything happen--heck, you don't even have to read from Torah. It just simply is a transition that occurs.

A bisele shiur

I have a problem. I really enjoy studying Talmud.

Ok, ok, so it's not like I'm suffering under some devastating addiction that could threaten to ruin my life. At the same time, I never really want to leave off my Talmud study,and I find that my ability to focus on my work begins to diminish significantly. Don't get me wrong--I thoroughly enjoy my work, and I find it mostly quite fulfilling, but right now, I've got the words of Rambam's Mishneh Torah and tractates from Sanhedrin bouncing around my skull.

A study partner and time to study...that would be the life. Oh, to be a scholar again! =D

Go away? No, I don't think so.

Evanescence's song "My Immortal" just came up on my Pandora , and it got me thinking about mom--naturally. I wondered if I'd be able to sit through the song without totally breaking down, truth be told. So the song started, I listened, and it came to me that the song is wrong. Well, for me at least. The truth is, I don't want to forget. I don't want the memories to leave. Yah, it's still hard many days to make it through, but my God, if I forget her, then she's really gone. I think I prefer the idea from the old Yiddish song: I know that I owe what I am today to that mother of mine. That's a blessing and a fond memory, and God help me if I forget.

Woke up on a bad day, but the world grew wonderful

Yesterday didn't start out looking so good. I woke up in a terrible mood, as I'm prone to once in a while due to recent events, and it looked like things were going to go downhill from there. I was just flat crabby and depressive, and I couldn't see a way out: work didn't hold any charm, staying home wasn't an option, and I had to start the morning by going to the Post Office.

So off I went, hoping to pick up the package that had arrived right as the Post Office opened. First indication, however, that the day wasn't going to pick up: Post Office didn't open till 8:30, not 8 as I had been told the evening before. Hooray. Waited in my car until 8:25 before standing in the Post Office lobby for the last five minutes--which turned into 10 minutes. Stood in line--only second, mind you--for 5 minutes while the Civil employee readied himself. Took another 10 minutes for him to find, retrieve, and hand over my package.

This is where my mood began to lighten ever so slightly. I had ordered a new tallit from Israel, and opening the package, I could see that this was the awaited shawl. A bright spot. The bright spot shone brighter when I was able to open the package completely at work and saw that the the tallit was, indeed, beautiful.

Still, I was unmotivated by my work, and my mood and attitude were generally bad. Soldiering on as best I could, I put on some music and got to work. At 11:30, some colleagues asked if I would join them in eating outside, so off I went.

Here's the next part in the lifting of my mood: the day was absolutely gorgeous. Low 60s with just a hint of cloud and the slightest, slightest chill in the breeze. Somewhere in that mid morning, my funk began to lift, and I came back to work feeling far better. My work had become suddenly more engaging, and I was happier to do it.

The rest of the day went pretty quickly. After getting home and helping the Wife with dinner, we sat down to eat a pleasant and enjoyable meal. The Boy and I went out to play some catch--the Girl was at a sleepover--and so I spent the next 40 minutes throwing around outside. More weight lifted from me. The Wife came out, suggested a movie, so we went out, the three of us. Returning home, the Boy was bushed, so he went straight to bed. The Wife wanted to watch a show on the computer, so I played a bit of World of Warcraft, spending an hour or two with an old friend in game. Ended up going to bed a bit later than I wanted.

So between friendship, good relationships, beautiful weather, excellently-used leisure time, and a new prayer shawl, I fell asleep in a far better mood than I would have ever anticipated.

Life, truly and deeply, is good.

l'shem mitzvah tzitzit

Tzitzit are the ritual fringes that we put in the corners of our tallitot, our prayer shawls. The fringes are knotted in a prescribed manner, depending on your custom, and they end up looking like this:



A few months back I decided to tie my own tzitzit for the first time. I'd hesitated in the past, thinking surely this would be a very difficult thing to do, but as is so often the case with things of this nature, it really wasn't that hard at all. I'm in the habit now of tying tzitzit whenever they fray, which thin tzitzit seem to do a LOT (either that or I'm hell on an arba kanfot; either way I've switched to thicker tzitzit string). Taking out the old tzitzit takes almost more time than tying the new ones.

Wearing tzitzit is supposed to remind the wearer of the commandments, but I found that in tying the tzitzit themselves, I also came my own little homely understanding. As I said, the tying and winding isn't too hard by itself; it just requires focus and concentration, much like doing mitzvot: Not so hard when you're paying attention.

So last night I was replacing several frayed tzitzit, and a flat-out lovely thing occurred. While I sat in the family room tying, my kids came in, sat down, and proceeded to read. Their reading is not uncommon, but this quiet moment in the middle of a hectic life, that's uncommon. So there I was, tying my tzitzit, focusing on the task, and what occurred? Quiet family time together, all anchored around a mitzvah.

Achewood

If you don't know this web comic, you should. It's a bit on the surreal side at times, but it's flat-out hysterical. Today's strip, for example:


http://www.achewood.com Yah. You'll thank me for it later.

Purim Sameach

Ah, Purim. Hanukkah might be the sweet celebration, but it doesn't hold a candle to Purim for out-and-out madness and revelry. Maybe that's too bad...but maybe that's a good thing. I, for one, couldn't take more than one Purim a year, especially as I get older.

For those who don't know the Purim story, it's a classic in the "They tried to kill us, they failed, let's eat" type of holidays. Instead, though of eating, we drink. Well, we eat, too, but there's a special commandment to drink on Purim in order to accentuate the holiday's joyfulness. In fact, we're supposed to drink until we can't determine the difference between "Blessed is Mordecai, Cursed is Haman." There is a bit of debate about what this means exactly, but suffice it to say that many folks get completely blotto by the end of the night.

To me, the really fun part is the reading of the Megillah in shul. Text readings are normally pretty staid affairs, with people listening respectfully. This all changes with the reading of Megillat Esther. Folks speak out and act out and say inappropriate things, albeit usually quite amusing inappropriate things. Puns, ribadlry, even vulgarity, it's all there, and what with folks in costume and kids running around all over the place, it becomes barely controlled chaos. It's a good thing, really.

That said, my hang-over didn't even start until noon yesterday. /shudder.