Cover to Cover

I wrote this piece for a spoken word presentation called a "sermon slam" that was held over shavuot, the holiday that celebrates the Jews receiving the ten commandments at Sinai. The topic had to relate to "Torah" in some way.  

I don't know if you remember the first book of Torah that you read in your native tongue. If you remember that first chunk of Tanach you sat and read cover to cover, start to end. Instructed only to understand the grace of the language or story before you.My first cover to cover story was Job.Job.An English assignment given my senior year in my public high school. By the way, the first I’d read in Hebrew (the language I did not yet comprehend, with moments of translation, only glanced) was Eicha. Good luck to me and my theology.The Job assignment was on adaptation and was followed by a reading of the play JB by Archibald Macliesh (I recommend it.) But before that, we dove deep into the Torah. When a day-school educated classmate attempted to read aloud the Hebrew of God's poem, the voice from within the whirlwind, I learned the complicated poetry of Torah and I also learned that Job of Ur was not a Jew.So I went through the rest of my life just knowing this.
Other parts of books of Torah I'd been taught as a child had been disproven, or rather reclassified as Midrash. But this text I knew intimately.

From Eicha to Job, the ancient Jewish literature I'd been exposed to outside of Shabbat morning services was gritty and complicated, like my dear Maya Angelou the poet, the author who'd inspired me for years. She was able to tell deeply personal stories. Dirty secrets and all.

God seemed to have spared no secrets from us, the Israelites in ancient times, which were carried to each of us. And so I was ready to engage with a God who kept no secrets from me. In fact, before I got intimate with Job I was intimate with Kabbalah. (I know, right?)

I don't know if you remember the first sermon you slammed, the first Jewish text you taught. But mine were the kabbalistic teachings of Isaac Luria who gives to us that when our endless God, (known as) Ein Sof created the world a shattering had to occur to make space for us and the world as we know it, and divine sparks spread across the land. Ein sof left these sparks, markers, for us to gather, to act in concert with God by committing an act of repair, of Tikkun Olam.

What is your Tikkun olam? Is it the Torah you teach or the Torah you practice? Is it the way you spread light in the world, or amongst your closest friends? No matter the reach, your Torah, you, have value and worth beyond measure. So share yourself. Bring the spark. Or perhaps, you can let the spark be brought to you.

Just four years after I'd first uncovered Job I sat where God often isn't. Summer school. In a theology course. There, we reapproached Job with a professor who said, "I learn from my students, and I teach what they say when I lecture across the country, but I've never been given reason to quote my undergraduates" I gave him a reason. He asked why Job has been included in our canon. My answer felt trite to me.

When he teaches Job, he teaches me. And it seems, whenever I learn, Job finds me. Just last week, I picked up the newest book written by my most revered teacher, Adin Steinsaltz. It's called "My Rebbe" about the lubuvitcher rebbe. Until just a few years ago the very thought of the rebbe made me shiver. When I was living across the country and he was Ill, I attended Lubavitch yeshiva. We were made to fast for him twice. I was in 5th grade. You can imagine that went over none too well.

But back to, My Rebbe. Not even a full page in, Steinsalz writes "The concept of holiness is not confined to traditional Jewish thought; nor are holy people only Jews. An entire book of the Bible tells the story of one such holy man who was not a Jew: Job.  His conversation, as presented in Scripture, speaks of the spiritual realm, about a connection beyond the everyday world."

And in the next chapter, he focuses on the idea of Tikkun Olam referencing first its mention in the Aleinu prayer. He explains: “The work is ours to do. None of us is exempt from this universal mission. The completion of the world, its elevation into holiness and the elimination of evil: these tasks belong to all of us. In this way, we achieve God’s purpose in creating humanity.” He goes on to say Chasidic thought here rests on an ancient mystical tradition: the world is imperfect because God is hidden. It is true that – whether revealed or hidden – the Almighty is everywhere. A godly spark resides within everything in creation.”

Somehow my Torah is Steinsaltz’s Torah, is his Rebbe’s Torah, is my Torah. Handed. Down. Unknowingly. Perhaps. We are all in line for this Torah.

But I ask you now: What is your Torah? What text circles its way back in to your life over and over and over again? What is holy to you? What is the Torah that can be taught in your name? Mine is simple. If faith in our Lord can be held by the downtrodden non-Jew, shouldn't it also be held by you? It should certainly be held by me.  A keepsake. If the Torah can be used as a tool to understand God, if it can be used as a tool to understand humanity, if it can be understood as a tool to understand holiness. I want to be immersed in Torah for the rest of my life.

That's all I'm asking as you sit or stand at Sinai. Each time you approach Torah or Torah approaches you. Make space. Make space in your heart make space in your life make space in your dreams. If you create room for Torah, however you define it, your path will be more clear, your heart more complete, your teachings spread amongst all who are here to listen.

Bargaining (a Tactic for Children, and Children of God)

Oh, that tactical aspect of negotiation. I've heard a lot of it lately.
Maybe it's because I've been taking public transit while I recover (at break neck speeds thanks to my extraordinary physical therapist and support system!). Maybe it's the fact I have a handful of friends who are currently grieving. Perhaps it's just the appropriate time of year, so I'm attuned to it.

Never mind the reason. When, over the course of two days, I overhear three conversations where kids are bargaining with a parent, I know something particularly cosmic is going on. Young boys, in most of these instances, pleading for a dog, or a delayed bed time. Bargaining with a mom, it seems, is not entirely different than the rituals we participate in, bargaining for our own freedoms in the coming year with our ever present parent, God.

These sons' pleas reminded me of the promises we all make, to take care of something or someone outside of ourselves (with the likes of "I'll walk the dog!" and "can my younger brother stay up too?") , the type of promises we have to disavow ourselves of as we are seated at the table of "who shall live and who shall die" this Friday night.

What I most understood from the familiar banter, stereotypical though it seemed, "I will never ask for anything again" and a "please" that held enough extra vowels to fill all the seats on the M104, was that the negotiation between parent and child is one of unique compassion, patience and attentiveness. One mother allowed her child to go through the entire argument without interruption. She let him put all of his explanations out on the table. Another said no to each sentence. Our parent is one who does not always answer right away. One who's answer we don't always agree with or want to hear. Sometimes we find God silent for too long. Long enough to wonder whether God is an absence rather than a divine presence.

May we all come to prayer this holiday season knowing that God is everything or anything we need. God may even be what we don't know we need. Our strength is in knowing how to share ourselves, our motivations, our desires, our dreams. It helps to be aware that God may not answer us right away, or in the way that we'd hoped. Because while God may not have limitations, we all do. Like a child begging to stay up late, I cannot always see the ramifications my desires might have in tomorrow's light. I hope we can each break through walls that need to be broken and identify the patterns that no longer serve us, and most importantly, I hope that we learn to better serve one another in the coming year.

May you be inscribed in the book of life, and may we all help write our own books this year.

Finding Perfection: Sukkah hopping around NY

Sukkot, which occurs each fall, is a week when traditionally, Jews eat (and live!) in the out of doors. In Israel the air is crisp and the fruit harvest is coming to an end. In New York, it’s cold, usually rainy and the wind nips at you. Luckily we have space heaters and layers and warm soup.

This “nature” experience is tempered, of course, by the lovely huts (called sukkot) we build to recall ananei cavod, the clouds of Glory, which were a sign that God was following us in the desert during the Exodus from Egypt. In the past I have spent my sukkot in two or three different structures and usually enjoy them, a bit.

This year, I had meals in 7 different sukkot, each of them unique. I was hoping to come up with a rating system, but each one felt so special that only the few words of Torah given Saturday morning suffice. A rabbi asks, “How many walls are mandatory in a sukkah?” the answer is “two and some” or two and “ehh” as I shouted out. “Why?” the Rabbi asks. Dead Silence. “Because when you put your arm around someone to hug them, your arm makes an angle and you’ve got two and an ‘eh’ angles. God hugs us when we are inside the sukkah.

Thanks God. I thought I liked being in your glory, but I’m sure I like being in your arms. I tend to find personifying God distasteful, but if You want me to build a structure to symbolize a hug, then I’m happy to sit inside of it and feel loved. If I were waxing poetic I might even call the image beautiful. While some buildings had just the required walls and others had four, mostly it was the company in them that made me feel full on embraced.

Anyway, I resort to the questions children ask on Passover –How is this year different from all others? I usually say almost all my blessings in a synagogue sukkah. Not this year. Though having one meal in the smaller of two sukkot at a local synagogue found us the only guests there – which made the one synagogue sukkah experience I had seem just like it was in my own backyard! But of course, my parents’ backyard is already filled with a sukkah, and I spent Monday night out at their house and in their hut with them. Mom made chicken soup per my request with WHOLE WHEAT matzoh balls and some of the best roasted chicken I’ve encountered. It was a joy to see my parents and to join them in their sukkah – to bench lulav with my dad and take the etrog from my great grandparents etrog box. The etrog is too big now. We get better produce than 80 years ago it seems… even in the business of the etrog! My parents and I took some time for Torah too. Rambam and the beleaguered, orphans and widows and that even when times are tough, we are fortunate to have a home to go to and a hut to eat in! Also cute, the following night when my parents had a synagogue board meeting, they loaned it out to our neighbors. So friendly!

Friends (new and old): Two UWSers hosted holiday meals in their personal sukkot … despite impending rain on both meals, they were LOVELY. One had a fish pond right beside the sukkah. Talk about a glorious connection to nature! The other I returned to during the week for s’mores in the sukkah. A firepit right outside of the sukkah kept us all happy and warm… and the beer and marshmallows did a good job too! Those were moving moments. There is something especially tremendous sitting amongst so many friends in a family feeling, small intimate sukkah built by hand.

So, given that I get so excited about these more intimate experiences, what should have been the farthest from my personal sukkah, one at the Jewish Theological Seminary, is actually the nearest to my heart. Not only because I am an alumna and it was a home to many college meals, but also because of the little plaque very few people probably notice. The sukkah is endowed by my darling ‘family’ Frances and Buddy Brandt. Their granddaughter is like a sister to me (having been my roommate for three years) and the sukkah is in the memory of her brother Oren. This was my most recent sukkah experience and to participate in something l’zecher Oren (in the memory of Oren) added so much more meaning to what has become a pretty common experience. I say these blessings in Oren's memory because he liked to build so much everyone thought he'd become an architect. Also, Oren definitely had the type of relationship with God where they were in a strong embrace. Always. So I sat last night hugging Oren’s memory, and also hugging his sister and his grandparents. I hope we were being hugged by God as well. Because in those moments is where God should be. And I returned today to bless some more. The beauty of a sukkah is often times in the people you share it with. Tonight I’m off to a celebration of volunteers for Limmud NY. And then, outside of the sukkah I will go celebrate another wonderful soul who is headed to Thailand to work on human rights and change the world for the better.

I live a blessed life… and this holiday season has reminded me of that tenfold.