The First Week

By Susan Esther Barnes

I learned of my father's death early Saturday evening. An email went out from the synagogue to the congregation on Sunday morning. On Sunday evening, on less than 12 hours' notice, there were 30 people in my home for a minyan.

On the way over, Rabbi Stacy had stopped at the synagogue to pick up the prayer books we use at a mourning service, but neither she nor her husband could get the key to the office to work, so they arrived without them. We went through the entire service without the benefit of the prayer books, and nobody missed a word. Nobody missed a beat. There are those who think Reform Jews are ignorant and uneducated. I beg to differ.

When we rose and faced east for the Bar'chu, we looked out the windows over the small common area of trees and bushes behind my home. As we stood there, a man started to raise the blinds in a home across the way. Once they were up, he looked across at us. I am sure he wondered why there were a bunch of people here, standing at the window, looking out at him. After a moment, he closed the blinds again.

I know he had no way of knowing what was going on, but I couldn't help but think, "He is trying to close himself off from death. We are opening ourselves to death's reality. He would be better off if he would open the blinds and join us."

For the first couple of days, I couldn't sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time. I was tired. Time seemed to stretch out in a way it never has before. No one thing seemed to take a long time; it was just the accumulated weight of it all.

Then the cards and the emails started to arrive. As a member of the synagogue board of directors, I've been writing sympathy notes to congregants for a couple of years now. I tried to put a lot of thought into what I said in those notes.

On the receiving end of such notes for the first time, I noticed that some people wrote a paragraph or two, and some just signed their name to a pre-printed sympathy card. That is when I learned that it doesn't really matter what you write. Sure, it's nice to get a card that has something personal written in it. But at the end of the day, what matters is that the person took the time to send one. Whether they write something in it or not is greatly outweighed by the simple fact that they were thoughtful enough to send one.

On Thursday night, someone from the synagogue delivered a meal to our house. When I agreed to receive the meal, I didn't think it was a big deal. After all, I had been eating. But when I opened the bag and smelled the chicken, I realized it was the first hot, decent meal I'd had since the night before my father died. I've never had much patience for cooking, and I have even less now, so I had basically been snacking. Knowing that the meal came from the synagogue and was made with love made it that much better.

On Friday evening, my husband and I went to the synagogue. Normally I get there early to greet people at the front door. This time, we arrived just before services started, and there were others there to greet us.

My friend Judi sat with us in the rabbi's office and held my hand as services started. The beginning of the service is a series of joyful songs. Mourners traditionally don't enter the sanctuary until after L'cha Dodi, the song welcoming the Sabbath Bride, because we are not capable in joining in the joy of the opening songs at this time.

Usually I open the synagogue doors at the end of L'cha Dodi to "enable" the Sabbath Bride to come in. This time Judi and Ken opened the doors, and after the song, John and I walked in to take our seats.

When the time came for the prayer for healing, I realized that, although I had been saying my father's name for the last few years, I would no longer be asking for healing for him. I skipped his name, and went on to the name of my friend Mark, and Frank, the significant other of a friend at work. Then I started to cry, both because I could no longer say the prayer of healing for my father, and because I heard other people asking for healing for me.

At the Saturday morning service, I wrapped myself in my tallit (prayer shawl), so it completely covered my upper body below the neck. I didn't know I was going to do that, but it felt right to wrap myself in it that way. I was so grateful that I was in the habit of wearing a large, full tallit. Many people, especially women, wear a much smaller tallit, more like a large scarf, completely incapable of enveloping a person the way mine did.

For much of the service on both Friday and Saturday, I didn't sing or join in the prayers. I closed my eyes and listened. The sound of the congregation was unbelievably beautiful. I don't think they have any idea how beautiful they sound; I certainly had no idea before this past weekend, when I had been singing rather than really listening.

The songs felt like warm, gentle waves lapping over me. I felt raw, like my body was an open wound, which the waves of sound could not touch or heal. Yet the waves washed over me, surrounding me, creating a barrier between me and the rest of the world, assuring me that although they could not heal the hurt I am now feeling, they will embrace me and protect me from other hurts, and allow my healing process the space to begin on its own in its own time.

I am still in the time called anunit, the period between death and burial. I still don't know when the burial will be. Time is still moving at a freakishly slow pace. It feels like it's been a month since my father died.

It is possible that the only people at the burial will be my father's widow, my sister, my husband, and me. My sister asked me to say a few prayers at the burial. Rabbi Michael loaned me a copy of the rabbi manual he uses at life cycle events so I will have something appropriate to say.

I don't know how this is all going to play out over the coming weeks and months. I know I could have struggled through this on my own, but the incalculable value of going through this in the midst of a loving community is clear.

As I told Judi on Friday night, ever since I was 17, it has been my husband who has carried me through all the hardest times of my life. I am so grateful he doesn't have to do it alone any more.

How Threads Become Cloth

By Susan Esther Barnes

This story is a composite of stories that really happened. The names have been changed for the sake of privacy.

*****

It is Saturday morning. Rabbi Sarah is at home with her family. It is her day off. The synagogue’s other rabbi is performing services this morning, when Rabbi Sarah’s phone rings. It is about Leah, a congregant.

Leah’s mother Keren had minor surgery yesterday. They were supposed to take her home today to recuperate, but somehow, during the night, she died. Can you go?

“Of course,” says Rabbi Sarah, and she heads out to the hospital.



It is Saturday evening. I am at home, thinking about the Super Bowl party I will attend the next day, when the phone rings. It is about Keren, may her memory be a blessing.

The funeral will be on Monday afternoon. Can you help with the taharah Monday morning?

“Of course,” I say, and I send an email to work to let them know I will be in late on Monday.



It is Monday afternoon. Joan, this month’s Nichum (comfort) Captain receives an email. It is about Leah.

Leah’s mother died suddenly over the weekend. The funeral was today. Can you make sure some meals are delivered to her over the next couple of weeks?

“Of course,” replies Joan, as she turns to her computer to send an email to a list of volunteers who live near Leah.



It is Monday evening. Iris receives an email from Joan. It is about Leah, but the email does not include any names or addresses.

A woman’s mother died suddenly this past weekend. She lives in your area. Can you bring her a meal? You don’t need to cook. Anything, even just a chicken and salad from the grocery store, would be fine.

“Of course,” replies Iris, “I will be happy to help.”

*****

At the hospital, Rabbi Sarah hugs Leah. “If you like,” she tells her, “we have volunteers from the congregation who will watch over your mother’s body, who will make sure she is not alone, who will wash her and dress her, and prepare her for burial.”

“Do people still do that?” Leah asks.

“Yes, there are people who still do that.”

“I would be so grateful,” breathes Leah.

Later, Rabbi Sarah watches as the coroner puts an identification tag on Keren’s toe. It is a sign that she is really dead.



At the mortuary, we talk about how this is a person we are about to wash and dress, a member of our community, not just a body. We will refer to her as “Keren” or as “she;” never as “it.”

After we enter the room where Keren is lying on a table under a sheet, we check the tag on her toe. This is important, because we will be the last people to see her face. Once we place her in her coffin and seal it, the coffin will not be reopened. The tag is a signpost to ensure we are doing this for the right person.



At home, Joan contemplates the year gone by. Within a six month period, she had two major surgeries, one on one leg, and one on the other. During her two separate month-long stays in a care facility, and during each recovery period, members of the congregation delivered meals to her and her family.

She is grateful to be the Nichum Captain this month. She is grateful to be able to give back to the community that helped her when she was in need. It is a sign that she is well on her way down her path of healing.



Iris is thinking about the recent passing of Keren. Although they didn’t know each other well, the two of them used to work at the same company. Iris regrets that she was unable to attend Keren’s funeral, and that she was unable to tell her daughter Leah how sorry she is that Keren is gone.

While she is thinking these thoughts, she receives a follow up email from Joan, giving her the name and address where she is to take the meal she has volunteered to deliver. It is for Leah, Keren’s daughter.

Outside Leah’s home, Iris is about to double check that she has the right address, when she sees the mezuzah on Leah’s front doorpost. It is a sign that in this house dwell members of our community.

*****

During a shiva visit to Leah’s home, Leah can’t tell Rabbi Sarah enough about how much she appreciates the fact that members of our community sat with her mother and cared for her from the time of her death until the time she was buried. She never expected the outpouring of love she has received, from meals, to phone calls, to cards and notes.


As we seal Leah’s coffin, light the Yartzheit candle, and leave her in the company of the Shomeret who will watch over her, we feel grateful to have been given the chance to do this holy act of taharah. On some level, we understand the family probably feels we have done them a favor, but we know, in fact, it is they who have done us the favor by allowing us this opportunity. After spending two hours with death, we are changed, and we cannot help but notice the abundance of life around us.


As her time as Nichum Captain comes to a close, Joan is grateful to have been given this opportunity to give back, and to help make connections in her community. She appreciates how much she received when she was ill, and is aware that in giving back in this way, she is still in the process of receiving.


Iris delivers her meal to Leah, and is able to take the opportunity to speak with her about her connection to Keren. She tells Leah what a special person Keren was, and how sorry she is that Keren is no longer with us. Leah thanks her for her words, and Iris feels grateful to have been given this chance to express what she was unable to say at the funeral.

*****

This is how we gather loose threads, each which, by itself, would lie alone and underutilized, and weave them into the fabric of our community. This is how we take threads that, by themselves, could be easily broken, and create a material with a strength far beyond that which any individual thread could provide alone. This is how threads become cloth.

Your Questions Answered #2

By Susan Esther Barnes

One of the fun things about getting website statistics for my blog is I get to see the search terms people use to get here. A lot of those search terms are questions. You have some great questions, and I think they deserve an answer. In February I answered some of your questions. Below are answers to some of the questions you have asked since then:


Is there a chevra kadisha for women?
A chevra kadisha, or holy society, is a group of people who take care of others in their community. They do things like visit people who are sick, bring them meals, write get-well notes, and comfort people in mourning. They also usually perform shmirah, watching over the dead before they are buried; and taharah, ritually washing dead people, dressing them, and placing them in their coffin. Generally, a chevra kadisha will include both men and women.


What do you say when kissing a mezuzah?
There is nothing that is traditionally said when one kisses a mezuzah. Rather than saying anything, I like to use it as an opportunity to take a moment to think about what kind of person I want to be in the world.


Can Jewish people kiss people on Friday?
First of all, it's helpful to remember that the Jewish sabbath does not begin until sundown on Friday, and it runs through Saturday at sundown. So kissing someone on Friday morning or afternoon is no different than kissing someone on any other weekday. If the question is whether Jews kiss people on Shabbat (the sabbath), the answer is yes. In fact, it's a mitzvah for married couples to make love on Shabbat. It gives us a taste of the world-to-come.


Do Jews like kissing?
Jews are human beings just like all other human beings. We like kissing every bit as much as non-Jews do.


Can Jews step on the gounds of another religion?
Yes. Sometimes our rabbi speaks at a church. I have attended weddings, funerals, and meetings at churches. We do not take communion when visiting a church, nor do we genuflect, kneel or bow toward statues of Jesus or other such religious symbols.


Do Reform Jews follow the mitzvot?
There is nobody on this planet who follows all 613 mitzvot. (See my post here for more information backing up this statement). There are also very few people (Jewish or non-Jewish) who follow none of them. For example, most of us (and by "us" I mean human beings) don't murder people, most of us don't commit incest, most of us don't smite our mother or father, etc.

There are also some mitzvot that people with good intentions try to follow, but, as human beings, we sometimes fail to live up to our own high standards. For instance, some mitzvot many Jews (and many non-Jews) try to follow are refraining from gossip, not lying, and not blaspheming. It would be hard - maybe even impossible - to find a person who had never done any of things.

So yes, Reform Jews follow the mitzvot, but not all of them, and not all the time. The same can be said of Jews from every other denomination as well.


What happens if you don't follow the 613 mitzvot?
One answer: Nothing. See above. Nobody follows all 613 mitzvot.

Another answer: The Torah says if we follow God's commandments then rain will fall in the proper season and other good things will happen, and that bad things will happen if we don't follow them. However, I think anyone who tries to explain bad things that happen by claiming it's because somebody (or some group of people) broke one or more commandments, or did anything else wrong, is barking up the wrong tree.

A third way of looking at it: Many of the commandments have to do with how to treat other people. The more people who follow those commandments and treat each other well, the better off we all are, because we're living in a kinder, better world. Other commandments bring meaning to our lives in other ways.

If we explore those commandments that may bring meaning into our lives and try to find ways to do them, we enrich our lives. If we break commandments by doing things we know are wrong (such as stealing), we feel guilty.

So my real answer is: If we don't at least try to follow the mitzvot that we find morally compelling and/or that bring meaning into our lives, we're missing out on something important, and our lives are diminished.


Do Reform Jews put up mezuzahs?
Many Reform Jews do put up a mezuzah on the doorpost of the front door of their home. Some Reform Jews put up additional mezuzot (the plural of mezuzah) as well. My understanding is that Orthodox Jews usually put up a mezuzah on the doorpost of most of the doors of their home, excluding doors to closets and restrooms (but I haven't been in homes of Orthodox Jews to confirm this).


Are tefillin only for men?
No. Women are not required by halacha (Jewsih law) to wear tefillin; neither are women forbidden by halacha to wear them. The first time women wore tefillin at the Kotel (Western Wall) in Jerusalem after the founding of Israel, the Orhtodox rabbi in charge of the Kotel at the time agreed that this is the case.


And my favorite "what were they thinking" search phrase was:

Vegetarian Mezuzah
We don't eat mezuzot. Mezuzot are incapable of eating. So there is no such thing as a vegetarian mezuzah.

Technically, the mezuzah is actually the scroll inside the case we see and kiss. To be kosher, the scroll must be made of parchment, which is made of animal skin. So I suppose the person who wrote "vegetarian mezuzah" was looking for a mezuzah which does not contain any animal parts. Unfortunately, they will not be able to find a kosher mezuzah without animal skin parchment.



Keep those questions coming!
I would love to answer more of your questions, so feel free to ask some in the comments section below, or just keep going with those interesting search terms.

The 613 Commandments - Do We Follow Them?

By Susan Esther Barnes

I was reading the blog FinkorSwim when I came across a comment by MarkSoFla who said, “The fact is that the Reform exist. Not only do they exist, but they have numbers (for now, at least). So they have to be ‘dealt with’ somehow, certainly on some level. They've discarded most of Torah, so we can't relate on that level anymore.”

When I objected to his assertion that Reform Jews have discarded most of Torah, MarkSoFla agreed that had been an exaggeration, but then went on to quote from some of the “Declaration of Principles” from the 1885 Pittsburgh Platform, which he says rejected all but the moral laws. Let us set aside for the moment that he ignores all later Platforms, including the 1999 Platform which states, “We are committed to the ongoing study of the whole array of mitzvot and to the fulfillment of those that address us as individuals and as a community.” (Emphasis added by me).

What intrigued me the most was his claim that, “The bigger discarding of Torah was in the first statement (#3) that I quoted from the principles - rejected all but moral laws. That almost discards all of Torah in itself since there exists a moral code outside of Torah that covers nearly everything that the Torah's moral code covers.”

This all got me thinking about the 613 mitzvot (commandments) in the Torah. How many of them do Reform Jews keep these days? I pulled up the list from Judaism 101 to take a look.

First of all, on my To Kiss a Mezuzah Facebook page an excellent question arose: What do I mean by “keeping” the mitzvot? Does it mean we follow them all the time without fail? As a person named Michael pointed out, “When it comes to ethical mitzvot we’re a bit wobbly sometimes.” I responded, “By ‘keep’ I mean we try to follow them, or at least we acknowledge we ought to follow them, even though at times we don’t quite hit the mark we’re aiming for.”

The second thing that came up for me is the obvious fact that I don’t speak for all Reform Jews, and not all Reform Jews are alike in our observance. So instead of looking at how many of the 613 commandments “we” keep, I realized it makes much more sense to look at the ones that I keep. After all, I don’t think my observance is wildly different than that of other serious Reform Jews.

Even though there are 613 commandments in the Torah, nobody observes them all. This is one of the reasons why I find it a bit offputting when Orthodox Jews claim non-Orthodox conversions are invalid, because the people converting in the non-Orthodox realm are not agreeing to follow all the 613 commandments. Hello! If Orthodox converts are saying they will fill all 613 commandments they’re either ignorant or dishonest.

There are 102 commandments on the list that have to do with sacrifices and offerings. Since there is no Temple at which to make sacrifices and offerings, none of these commandments apply to us. We also can’t follow the 24 laws about t’rumah, tithes and taxes because there is no Temple. Nobody follows these commandments these days.

There is no King of Israel so we don’t follow the 7 laws about that, nor do I need to worry about the 10 laws about the Nazarites, since I’m not a Nazarite. I am not a Kohen (Cohen or of the Priestly line) or a Levite, so I don’t have to worry about the 30 laws pertaining to them. Of course, there are Reform Jews who are of the line of the Levites (my father, for example), or the line of the Kohen. However, most of these laws have to do with the Temple as well, so we’re all off the hook.

There are 16 laws about ritual purity and impurity. These are more like statements than laws. They say things like “Foods become defiled by contact with unclean things.” I can believe in the purity or impurity of things or not, but there isn’t much for me to actually do about it. Immersion in a mikvah would remove the impurity, but nothing in the list here says I have to go to the mikvah.

There are 4 laws about leprosy. I’m not a leper. I don’t know whether I would shave off all my hair if I had leprosy. I’ll cross that bridge if I ever come to it.

So if we add up all of the above, we come to 337 commandments we don’t follow, or almost 55% of the 613. Surprise! MarkSoFla was right – Reform Jews have discarded over half of the Torah laws! Of course, so have Conservative and Orthodox Jews, and every other denomination, since everything I said above applies to all of us. (Except for maybe the leprous hair shaving part).

But let’s go back to MarkSoFla’s assertion that if we only followed the moral laws (which is a false assertion, but let’s say if we did), does that mean we have discarded most of Torah? I agree that many people who are not Jewish follow many of the laws in the Torah. Most people don’t murder other people, for instance.

There are other moral things I do that are commanded in the Torah, which appear to be things I would do even though they were not commanded. For instance, last night while I was driving home from work, I had to swerve to avoid a ladder that was lying in my lane on the freeway. It was an inconvenience to pause the podcast I was listening to so I could call 911 and report the hazard to the authorities, but I did it anyway.

Did I do it because the Torah commands us not to put a stumbling block before the blind? Did I do it because the Torah commands us not to stand idly by while a human life is in danger? No, I did it because it was the right thing to do. I did it because if I didn’t call, and later heard someone had been hurt or killed as a result of the ladder, I never would have been able to forgive myself for my laziness.

On the other hand, when I called, the ladder was news to the dispatcher. Nobody else had called it in yet. How long had it been there? How many people had seen it and swerved to miss it before me? How many of them have cell phones, and why didn’t they call? Is it possible some of them didn’t bother because they didn’t feel an obligation to do so, because they don’t feel they have been commanded like we Jews have?

I can tell you, there are certainly other moral laws I did not follow before I became more observant and before I learned more about my obligations according to the Torah. Five years ago, I never visited the sick, but I do now, on a regular basis. I never used to think of it as my responsibility to rebuke a sinner. I never used to avoid the phrase, “Oh my God!” (or the ever-present “OMG”) as a form of blasphemy.

So MarkSoFla, I’d say you were half right. We’ve all thrown out over half the laws. But I’d say many of the others, including the moral ones, are very much alive and kicking, and having their effect on our lives on a continuing basis. We can relate on the level of the Torah, and I hope more of us will do so more often.

Haveil Havalim #305

Founded by Soccer Dad, Haveil Havalim is a carnival of Jewish blogs -- a weekly collection of Jewish and Israeli blog highlights, tidbits and points of interest collected from blogs all around the world. It's hosted by different bloggers each week and coordinated by Jack.

Opinions expressed in the posts linked below are those of the respective bloggers and not necessarily endorsed by me.


Judaism:
Julia Dvorin shares a lovely story about her experience as a shomeret in Guarding the Dead: Confessions of a First Time Shomeret posted at Parentheticals. It's a long post, but it's worth the time, especially if this is a topic you'd like to learn more about.

If you have ever worn a sheitel, I hope you will answer Frozenchallah's questions in Are Sheitels Comfortable? posted at Frozenchallah's Blog.

Shira Salamone presents a sad but lovely story which reminds us of one reason why it is so important to be an active part of the Jewish community in A Jew without a community posted at ON THE FRINGE—AL TZITZIT.

Rabbi Rachel Barenblat writes about spirituality in our daily lives in This is spiritual life posted at Velveteen Rabbi.

I express some second thoughts about starting up a weekly shacharit service in Leap of Faith posted at To Kiss a Mezuzah.

If you're thinking about converting to Judaism under Orthodox supervision and haven't been discouraged enough yet, try reading about Kochava's esperiences in The Monster that Orthodox Conversion Has Become posted at You're Not Crazy.

Mystery Woman gives us a mother's view of trying to find a match for her daughter in My Daughter, The Cow posted at Mystery Woman.

On a more upbeat note, Kochava writes about learning about a new community in UPDATED: How to Interview a New Jewish Community posted at You're Not Crazy.

Has your pastry been properly supervised? Batya asks some practical questions about kashrut in Kashrut Question...? posted at me-ander.

Mrs. S. learns about what it's like to be married to a Levi in Confessions of a levi’s wife posted at Our Shiputzim: A Work In Progress.

Batya has some questions about her former classmates and about independent minyanim in Synagogue Membership, Simple Capitalism posted at Shiloh Musings.

Daniel Ben Shmuel presents The "Amuqah" Idolatry (audio) posted at THE JEWISH FIST: A Call to Resurrect the Jewish Scholar-Warrior of Old.

Daniel Ben Shmuel continues a conversation started in the comments section of the previous post in Response to a Reader posted at THE JEWISH FIST: A Call to Resurrect the Jewish Scholar-Warrior of Old.


Torah:
Myrrh or musk? Josh Waxman explores the question in Mor dror as musk posted at parshablog.

Mordechai Torczyner writes about rationalism and the revelatory nature of the Torah in Can Torah and Rational Philosophy Co-Exist? posted at The Rebbetzin's Husband.

Josh Waxman debates the timing of the writing of the Zohar in parshablog: Archeih, and the Authenticity of the Zohar posted at parshablog.


Israel:
The UN, settlements, and legitimacy are all discussed by Yisrael Medad in We're Back to the "Illegitimate"/"Illegal" Debate posted at My Right Word.

Harry lets us know that Valentine's Day has arrived in Israel in Do Israelis celebrate Valentine’s Day? | ISRAELITY posted at ISRAELITY.

Batya writes about the new light rail system in Jerusalem in No Passengers Yet, But The Train is Running on Jerusalem's Jaffa Road posted at Shiloh Musings.

Cosmic X tells us about a new Knesset member who is not a fan of what she calls radical feminists (and worse) in Standing Up For Family Values posted at Cosmic X in Jerusalem.

Strike up the band! Or not, when Yisrael Medad presents Was That Tuba A Musical Instrument? posted at My Right Word.

SnoopyTheGoon tells us about the attack of a woman in Is the barbarism unimaginable? Maybe, but it's all part of self-defence, a freedom-struggle, martyrdom posted at Simply Jews.

See some photos taken by Jacob Richman in Photos of A.H.A.V.A.'s Rap and Read in Ma'ale Adumim posted at Good News from Israel.

Ariel Ben Yochanan argues against democracy in Israel and equates it with the golden calf in On Terumah & Tetzaveh and on Ki Sisa posted at The Torah Revolution: Everything that Hashem has spoken we shall do (Ex. 19:8).

What does it take to rebuild a warehouse store in Israel? Find out as Harry presents a huorous answer in Rebuilding Ikea posted at ISRAELITY.

Read about conversion, who is eligible for aliyah, and more as Joel Katz presents Religion and State in Israel - February 14, 2011 (Section 1) posted at Religion and State in Israel.

Joel Katz presents even more about Israel at Religion and State in Israel - February 14, 2011 (Section 2) posted at Religion and State in Israel.

Risa presents 25 Years Since Natan Sharansky Returned Home posted at Isramom.

A Walker in Jerusalem presents The Paradox: Haaretz article on Rehavia posted at Nine Measures of Beauty.


Recent Events in Egypt:
Batya gives us her thoughts about Obama's statements about Eqypt in Tip of the Iceberg, or Should We Say Pyramid posted at Shiloh Musings.

Read Eli's take on social media, Egypt and Israel in Jews help Egypt to freedom posted at jewtribe.com.

Cosmic X offers an opinion on what will happen in Egypt in The Future of Egypt: Anybody's Guess posted at Cosmic X in Jerusalem.

Schvach uses some language that may be inappropriate for kids in Schvach - פני דל posted at Schvach - פני דל.


Culture:
Ben-Yehudah wonders why Jews are still living in Tunisia in What Are Jews Still Doing In Tunisia? posted at Esser Agaroth.

Jill Miller Zimon looks forward to some appreciative inquiry in Who Couldn't Benefit from a little Appreciative Inquiry!? posted at Writes Like She Talks.

Then Jill Miller Zimon writes about her morning of apprciative inquiry in Appreciative Inquiry: The Morning as well as the afternoon in Appreciative Inquiry: The Afternoon posted at Writes Like She Talks.

Ben-Yehudah reviews a video in Message To Obama (Video Review) posted at Esser Agaroth.

If you're too busy to read a long post, it won't take you much time to read Yisrael Medad's My Right Word: J Street Correctly Defined posted at My Right Word.


History:
Batya writes about Begin and Sadat in Caroline Glick Saved The Evening posted at Shiloh Musings.


Personal:
Rickismom reminds us why it's important to warn kids about abusers and what to do when they encounter one in A Sad Story- And Sadder Yet if We Do Nothing About It posted at Beneath the Wings. Warning: It talks about a disturbing incident.

I am reminded, once again, that Love Isn't About Things posted at To Kiss a Mezuzah.

Elise writes about teachers and their impact on children, and more, in Raising Asperger's Kids: Of Walkouts, Strikes and Telling a Child To Stop Being Intelligent posted at Raising Asperger's Kids.

Izgad writes about his search for love in My Very Rational Approach to Love and Dating and Why it Has Not Worked (So Far) posted at Izgad.



How you can participate:
You may submit your blog post for the next edition of Haveil Havalim by using our carnival submission form. Past posts and future hosts can be found on our blog carnival index page.

Your Questions Answered

By Susan Esther Barnes

One of the fun things about getting website statistics for my blog is I get to see the search terms people use to get here. A lot of those search terms are questions. You have some great questions, and I think they deserve an answer. So below is a list of questions that have brought people here recently, and my answers to them:

Are Jews allowed in Space?
Not only are Jews allowed in space, there have already been Jews in space. You can read a somewhat outdated list of Jews in space here. Thanks to your question, I learned that the first Jew in space was a woman.

Can a Jew Change from Orthodox to Reform:
Yes, they can, and some do. This can be difficult, however, because many in the Orthodox community would find this upsetting, and the person changing from Orthodox to Reform will likely leave behind upset friends and family members. A Reform Jew can also change to Orthodox, with many of the same difficulties. This is mainly due to cultural differences and intolerance, which is very sad. I believe everyone should be free to worship in the way that works best for them personally, but unfortunately, not everyone feels that way.

Can a Person Eat Pork and Kiss a Jewish Person?
It's best to deal with this on an individual basis. An Orthodox Jew is not supposed to marry a non-Jewish person, and is not supposed to kiss someone to whom they are not married, so they shouldn't be kissing others who would be eating pork. There are other Jews who kiss - and marry - non-Jews, so before you kiss a Jewish person, you should probably ask whether they keep kosher, and how they would feel about you eating pork before kissing them.

Can Jewish People Kiss People of a Different Religion?
Yes! Again, an Orthodox Jewish person wouldn't, but the majority of Jews can. That being said, any time a person gets into a committed relationship with a person of another religion it can lead to tensions among friends and family, as well as disputes around the holidays and how to raise the kids, so think about the ramifications before you kiss someone of a different religion, whether or not they are Jewish.

Do Women Kiss the Mezuzah?
Yes! Jewish women of all denominations kiss mezuzahs.

How Big is a Mezuzah?
A mezuzah can come in many different sizes. Some are small enough to be worn as a pendant on a necklace. Some, like those on the gates leading to the Old City in Jerusalem, are quite large. I'd say the average mezuzah you'd see on most doorposts of modern-day houses are about 4 to 5 inches tall.

How is Intermarriage a Tragedy?
It isn't a tragedy. At all. The tragedy is when people treat intermarriage as a tragedy, thereby making other people feel bad when they shouldn't. Some people are afraid that intermarriage will lead to the kids of the marriage not being raised as Jewish, leading to there being fewer Jews, and possibly ultimately to the end of Jews altogether. I have never seen any statistics to show this is the case, and in fact I know of many intermarried couples who are successfully raising their children as Jews.

How do You Kiss a Mezuzah?
I kiss a mezuzah by touching the mezuzah with the tips of the fingers on one hand (usually my right hand), and then thinking of what kind of person I want to be in the world as I bring the fingers to my mouth and kiss them. Some people kiss their fingers first and then touch the mezuzah. Either way is fine.

Is it Disrespectful to Try Another Religion for a Day?
This is a hard one to answer. I don't know how one can "try" a religion for a day. You may want to consult with your clergy on this (if you are a member of a religion). It is certainly okay to attend a Jewish service (weekday service, Shabbat service, bar/bat mitzvah, wedding, funeral, etc.) if you are not Jewish. If you go to a synagogue, you may drink the wine no matter what religion you are (because in a synagogue the wine is just wine, and does not represent the blood of a religious figure, for instance).

If you are Jewish, it is okay to attend a service for another religion (Mass, wedding, funeral, etc.) as long as you don't break certain rules. For instance, you should not bow to an idol (and some may consider Christian statues to be idols) and you should not drink the wine or eat the wafers that are supposed to represent the blood and flesh of a religious figure.

For more information about attending services for another religion, see the book How to Be a Perfect Stranger edited by Stuart M. Matlins and Arthur J. Magida.



I hope this was as helpful to you as it was fun for me. I hope to answer more questions like this in the future, as I get more interesting questions from all of you. Feel free to post your questions in the comments section below, or just keep using those search engines!

Is “Xmas” Disrespectful?

By Susan Esther Barnes

It being December, I’ve been seeing the word “Xmas” a lot lately. I have also been seeing the word “Xtian,” which I don’t remember seeing before. I’ve also been seeing some discussions on whether or not the use of these words instead of “Christmas” and “Christian” is rude or disrespectful. And it seems to me that all of these discussions are missing the point.

There seem to be two popular “common sense” explanations for the use of the “X” in Xmas. The first is akin to any common abbreviation, like “BFF” or “LOL”. In other words, it’s just a faster, less character-intensive way of saying the same thing.

The other popular belief is that the “X” was substituted by those who are trying to remove the word “Christ” from the holiday. Thus, writing Xmas is a way to secularize the holiday, to remove its religious connotations, perhaps even to make it more accessible to those who don’t identify themselves as Christian or religious.

Therefore, I was interested to learn that “Xmas” is not a modern word. It has been around for a long time, and originated because “X” is the Greek letter “Chi,” which is a common abbreviation for “Kristos,” or “Christ.” As a result, Xmas did not arise due to the texting generation, nor did it arise as an effort to erase “Christ” from the name.

The word “Christ” means Messiah, or “Anointed One.” Now, many Jews believe there actually was a man named Jesus back in the day, but that he was not the Messiah. That means Jews who are careful about their language refer to him only as “Jesus” or “Jesus of Nazareth” but not as “Jesus Christ,” since doing so would call him by an honorific to which we believe he is not entitled. If we really wanted to take the “Christ” out of “Christmas,” we ought to call it something like “Jesusmas” instead.

At any rate, many people argue that using the word “Xmas” is not at all disrespectful, because it doesn’t imply laziness on the part of the writer, nor does it in any way eliminate “Christ” from the word. I believe these people are missing the point.

One could argue that disrespect may be in the eye of the beholder. Thus, because so many people seem to mistakenly believe that “Xmas” removes “Christ” from “Christmas,” one could argue that the word “Xmas” should be avoided in order not to offend these people. Sometimes ignorance is not bliss.

Even if you don’t believe people should make concessions to the ignorant, the intent of the writer is being ignored in this discussion, and I believe it should not be. For instance, at least one writer says she felt “more comfortable” after hearing that writing “Xmas” was a way for Jews to remove “Christ” from the holiday.

Now, if that isn’t disrespectful, I don’t know what is. What gives her, or anyone, the right to try to remove the religious figure from another religion’s holiday? Plus, she says it’s the Jews who are responsible for it. What a way to give Jews a bad name for something that has nothing to do with us!

One of the things I love about Judaism is we don’t believe anyone has to convert to Judaism to be a good person or to earn a place in the world-to-come (what the Christians would call heaven). As long as a person follows the covenant God made with Noah (a subset of the rules Christians refer to as the “Ten Commandments”), they’re all set. As a result, there is no need for Jews to try to convert Christians, or to try to negate their religion or their holiday.

So I conclude, if you’re certain you won’t be misunderstood, and you acknowledge that the “X” is the same as “Christ” or “Kristos,” then go ahead and use “Xmas.” Otherwise, show a little respect, and spend the few extra keystrokes to say “Christmas.”

My Tefillin Are My Friends - How Did That Happen?

By Susan Esther Barnes

The last time I wrote about my tefillin, they had just arrived, and I was filled with mixed feelings about them. I wanted to make an appointment with my rabbi so he could help me feel better about them, but he was out of town for ten days. I was on my own until he got back.

I did some research on the internet and printed out a couple of different sets of instructions regarding how to put them on. This experience reminded me of the old joke which says, if you put two Jews in a room and ask them a question, you’ll get at least three answers.

There are many different opinions about how to wrap tefillin. If you’re Ashkenazi you wrap the strap around your arm in one direction, and if you’re Shephardic you wrap it in the other direction. Some instructions say to wrap it so the straps form the Hebrew letter “shin” on the back of your hand, and others don’t. There are various ways to wrap the strap around your fingers.

As if that weren’t enough, there are disagreements about how many prayers to say while putting them on, whether or not women should say the prayers, and when exactly to say them.

All this is actually one of the things I love about Judaism. There are many different customs, and as long as we don’t get caught up in the belief that there must be One Right Way and all other ways are Wrong, the discussion about why a person may prefer one way over the others can be quite interesting.

Because of the differences in the direction of the wrapping, as well as the order of the prayers inside the tefillin boxes, I had already made one decision by honoring my father and ordering a Sephardic set. The rest of the wrapping style to choose was wide open, though.

I experimented with the different ways to wrap the strap, and found that I very much liked making the letter shin on my hand. I did, however, have an enormous amount of extra strap left over to either tuck in or to hold scrunched up in my hand. I wondered whether the strap was made for a large-armed man and whether there is anything in halacha (Jewish law) that would prevent me from cutting off the excess amount.

I didn’t know how to tighten the strap on my head, due to the complicated knot in the back. The first time I tried it on, I read the entire morning service with the head box constantly slipping down from my forehead onto my nose. The box on my upper arm was a little loose, too. These issues made it pretty difficult to feel the tefillin were aiding my prayer experience in any way.

The next time I went to put on the arm box, I realized there was a plastic box protecting the actual tefillin box, and clearly I was supposed to take off the plastic box before I put on the tefillin. How I noticed and removed the plastic box from on the head box the first time and not the arm one, I don’t know. It was still a little loose and I still had a lot of extra strap, but it was better. I also figured out how to tighten the head box somewhat, so that was better, too.

And then a funny thing happened. The rabbi got back from his trip and I set up my appointment through his assistant. I emailed the rabbi to say I had a set of tefillin and the appointment was for a lesson on how to wear them correctly. He responded with, “Where did you get them? Are they awesome?” and suddenly, I discovered that all of my baggage about tefillin had somehow disappeared. Instead of making me feel like they were invaders of some kind like they had before, they had somehow become my friends. Awkward friends, but friends nonetheless. So I responded, “Yes, they are awesome.”

Unsurprisingly, the rabbi was an enormous help in showing me how to tighten the head strap so it fit even better than I had already managed. He also helped me to discover how to wrap the arm strap so the box isn’t loose and so I don’t have so much extra left over to tuck in at my hand.

The next challenge is that I’m not very fond of praying by myself, and I’m not a morning person, so the thought of getting up early in the morning to pray with my tefillin by myself is not very motivating. It would be much easier to get out of bed early if there were other people to pray with.

So, with the rabbi’s blessing, I’m going to see if I can get together enough people to come to a lay-led weekday morning service at the synagogue on some kind of regular schedule, to give myself, and others, a chance to lay tefillin and pray. I know of two other people who are interested in doing this. Only seven more, and we have a minyan. Wish me luck!

Orthodox Jews in Space

By Susan Esther Barnes

For many years now I’ve been a reader of a magazine called, “Analog Science Fiction and Fact.” I’m not a hard science kind of gal, and I don’t always like all of the stories in the magazine, but I find most to be well written, plausible, and entertaining. I find it a welcome way to take a short break from the more serious reading I do about Judaism and related subjects.

Imagine my delight when I thought the two areas that take up most of my reading time would come together when Analog published a story titled “The First Day of Eternity” by Domingo Santos, as translated by Stanley Schmidt. On the third page of the story it says, “Project Diaspora was originally conceived, developed and financed by the great Jewish lobbies of Earth as a second Exodus from the incomprehension of gentile societies, to spread Judaism throughout the Universe. So the pilgrims chosen for the first Diasporas … were all strictly Orthodox.”

I thought, “Cool, Orthodox Jews in space. If everyone on the ship is a strict Orthodox Jew, then they’re going to, for the first time in a long time, experience what it’s like to be in their own community without any outside influences or temptations. I hope they don’t need to do any important ship maintenance – such as to life support systems - on Shabbat!”

I suppose I should have been tipped off to the author’s lack of knowledge about Judaism when he went on to say the ship’s inhabitants “venerated the menorah” and “celebrated” rather than “observed” Yom Kippur, but on the title page the story says it was translated, so I set those issues down to a probable poor translation.

Setting aside any qualms I might have about the reference to the “great Jewish lobbies,” I thought, “Well, the author must know that the poorest group of people in Israel is not, as certain activists might have us believe, the Muslim Arabs, but it is the ultra-Orthodox Jews, because the men in those families spend all day studying Torah rather than earning a living for their families. So it must not be the ultra-Orthodox who are on the ship. It must be the Modern Orthodox, since they would be more likely to be able to raise the funds.”

I suppose maybe the Modern Orthodox and other Jews might be willing to raise money to send the ultra-Orthodox off in these ships, but that starts to smack just a little bit of people raising money to ship the Jews off in cattle cars. Maybe this story takes place so far in the future that the Jews have become de-sensitized to the horrors of the Holocaust, but we Jews have long memories, particularly about our collective tragedies.

It also struck me as particularly odd that the Jews would flee from “the incomprehension of gentile societies.” Are these Orthodox Jews giving up on being a “light unto the nations?” Sure, they’re supposed to “spread Judaism throughout the Universe,” but since the ship’s mission is to discover and colonize a new, unpopulated planet, this clearly isn’t about proselytization. Still, maybe they yearn for a chance for their children to grow up without gentile influences. I suppose that’s plausible.

But wait a minute. On the first page of the story, one of the inhabitants of the ship says, “We should give thanks to the god of the stars for that,” and a short time later adds, “and to the god of the ship for bringing us this far.” So, this ship full of formerly Orthodox Jews is now a ship of pagans? How did that happen?

The author explains that the ship’s computer decided to make itself a god, and over time influenced the ship’s humans to change their religion. On page four the story says the computer made itself “their prophet, the Moses of the new Exodus,” and goes on to say, “It was the ship, and the ship was it. Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, the electronic mystery of the Holy Trinity.” Uh, I’m sorry. I do try to suspend my disbelief when I read science fiction, but, frankly, I don’t think the author has any idea what he’s talking about.

Judaism is the world’s oldest living monotheistic religion. Jews are very accepting of the presence of other monotheistic religions. But Judaism has survived as long as it has because Jews are very good at not taking on the beliefs of the religions around them. After being surrounded by pagans in its early years and Christians for two thousand years after that, and not bending from the belief that God is one, there is no way a bunch of Orthodox Jews in a space ship are going to change all that to suddenly believe in a Holy Trinity just because their computer says so. Rather, if the computer started spouting religious nonsense at them, they would quickly recognize a flaw in the computer and immediately set their programmers to the task of fixing it.

It strikes me that the author must know very little about Jews. Perhaps he is unaware that every day, when we lie down and when we rise up, we say the Sh’ma, confirming that God is one. Perhaps he doesn’t know that throughout the space ship, on nearly every doorway (save the ones leading to the lavatories), there would be a mezuzah, and in each mezuzah would be a scroll with the Sh’ma, confirming that God is one. Perhaps he does not know that the Sh’ma is called “the watchword of our faith.” The last thing an Orthodox Jew would ever abandon is the understanding that God is one. This understanding was our greatest gift to the world.

According to the story, this complete change in religion took only seven generations, and then “the brain that was the ship rested.” Really? So a religion that has lasted thousands of years, through pograms, the Crusades and the diaspora, surrounded by other religions and by enemies sworn to wipe it out, suddenly crumbles, in less than seven generations, in a completely closed environment where everyone except the computer starts out as a “strictly Orthodox” Jew? I don’t think so.

Which leaves me wondering, why did the author chose to say the ship was paid for and populated with Orthodox Jews? His tale of the ship creating a religion for the people would have been much more plausible if the original ship inhabitants had been secular scientists without any strong religious beliefs to hold onto. Or even a bunch of people from a host of different religions who would undermine each other’s beliefs.

Why pick a homogenous group of people with the longest running, most resilient, most time-tested belief system? It seems like an incredible blunder, one that renders his story completely unbelievable before it even gets past page four. This is not the kind of mistake I’m used to seeing in Analog. The only explanation I have is that the author and the editor know so little about Jews that they don’t even start to have a clue about us.

Which leads me to suggest to them the oldest rule in the book for authors: Please stick to writing about what you know. And if you have to write about something else, please at least do some basic research first. Otherwise, you blow your credibility out of the water, and it’s hard for those of us in the know to take your writing seriously, no matter how good the rest of the story might be.

The Trouble with Tefillin

By Susan Esther Barnes

I'm fortunate. I don't have a lot of "Jewish baggage," those bad feelings that stem from negative early experiences with synagogues or rabbis or Hebrew school or whatever. All the Jewish stuff I remember from my childhood (and, I admit, there wasn't much of it) are positive memories.

But when I think of tefillin, the first thing I think of are stern, old men with white beards who think I'm beneath their notice. When I remind myself that is an unfair sterotype, the next thing I think of is the young men in I saw Israel in public places trying to get other men to lay tefillin, and ignoring me.

When I try to push myself past that, the third thing I think of is the Women of the Wall wanting to wear tefillin at the Kotel and being told they can't. And they don't even count themselves as a minyan.

That's a lot of negativity to lay on two little ritual objects that have never done me any harm on their own.

So I was feeling some ambivalence on Friday as I swung by the Post Office to trade in the "we have a package for you" delivery slip for the box I knew contained the tefillin I had ordered.

It had come all the way from Ashdod, Israel, and apparently it was not an easy trip. I was a bit alarmed to see the box was smashed and even ripped open on one end. It was then wrapped in US Post Office tape and stamped with a disclaimer that it had been received damaged.

I not only had to sign for the package, I also had to sign something to acknowledge that the US Postal Service said they had received the package already damaged. The nice Post Office lady told me shipments within the US are insured, but she has no idea how I'd make a claim about a smashed international package if the contents were damaged. Oh, joy.



Fortunately, (sort of - I'm still feeling ambivalent), when I got the box home and opened it, everything appeared to be in good shape. Like I'm a tefillin inspection expert, but the boxes with the prayers in them don't look broken, the leather straps are still attached, and the Certificate saying they're Kosher isn't wrinkled or torn.

The unfortunate part is, now that they're here, I need to face all that baggage I've been carrying around. I was going to say "...carrying around about them," but some helpful part of my mind is insisting that my baggage is not about these tefillin, it's about those tefillin I've seen on men who thought I had no business wearing them.

So, one day soon, maybe tonight, I'm going to take a deep breath, unwrap these tefillin, and try them on. And pray a little. And see how it feels.

Then next week I'll make an appointment with my rabbi and bring them in, so he can confirm I'm putting them on correctly. And we'll talk about them, and how I'm planning to use them.

I hope that, slowly, over time, these tefillin will help me to set aside my baggage and to make peace with those tefillin. I hope I'll learn not to feel silly praying with a box on my head and on my arm. I hope I can get comfortable with them.

Because until then, they feel a little bit like invaders from the world of "These aren't for you. You aren't good enough." I can't even begin to discover whether they have the potential to become a meaningful part of my ritual practice until I can make peace with them and welcome them into my home as friends. And that is so not where I am right now.

Simchat Torah 5771

By Susan Esther Barnes

When I arrived at the synagogue at about 10 minutes to 6 pm, there were a few bottles of spirits, as well as some cold water, on a table near the front door. I had my first taste ever of peppermint schnapps. I suppose that’s one way to loosen people up for dancing, particularly people like me who don’t drink much or often.

A little after 6, we went into the sanctuary. Most of the chairs had been removed. There was a line of chairs along the outer wall facing in, and a couple of tables with some chairs around them in the center.

We sat down at the center tables, and studied the last couple of chapters of the Torah. It was pretty hot in the sanctuary (we don’t have any air conditioning), so we turned on a couple of large standing fans. The fans made it harder to hear each other, but the breeze they created was welcome.

Some of the “regular” Saturday morning Torah Study group was there, but there were quite a few others as well. When you’re studying Torah, you never know what’s going to come up. For instance, last Saturday we read the part in which Moses asks to see God, and God says (I’m paraphrasing here), “You can’t see my face but I’ll shield you in the crevice of a rock with my hand as I pass by, and then you can see my back.”

We were talking about why God would do it that way, when it suddenly occurred to me how well that describes what happens when we’re in distress, like Moses was after he learned he wouldn’t live long enough to make it to the Promised Land.

In times of trouble, we generally don’t see God coming, but we are shielded by God’s hand during the worst of it, and it isn’t until later that we see God receding and are able to be thankful for the strength and comfort God gave us while we were suffering the most.

At any rate, a little after 7 we concluded our study and removed the tables and chairs from the center of the room. Children and others who wouldn’t mind doing so were invited to sit on the carpet in the middle of the room, while others sat on the chairs along the walls.



We sang some songs, and then two of the Torah scrolls were removed from the ark and completely unrolled. Adults held the parchment while children were invited to come up close to get a good look at the writing.

Over the past couple of years, people from the Torah study group have participated in the “pasuk project.” A “pasuk” is a verse. As we read through the Torah, when we were struck by a particular verse, we would write down which verse it was and why it meant something special to us, and this information was then posted on the wall in the room where the Torah study group meets on Saturday mornings.

I like the project for a number of reasons. First, it helps us to personalize what we’re reading, and to show how it is relevant in our lives today. Second, the room is used for various other purposes throughout the week, and the verses on the wall remind others of the importance of the Torah and learning in everything we do at the synagogue and in our daily lives.

We also used the project in our Simchat Torah celebration this year. After the Torah scrolls were unrolled, all of us present who had picked a verse stood near that verse on one of the scrolls, and one by one we told the congregation which verse we had picked and why.



Then it was time for the dancing. While the two scrolls were rolled back up, the remaining scrolls were taken from the ark, the band started up, and the dancing began, with one Torah in the center of each group. I was happy to see a Torah being carried to those still sitting because they are not able to move around easily, so they could participate too.

Later, one of the groups danced around a number of elderly people sitting in chairs, and another group danced around the sukkah outside. I heard yet another group danced out the front doors, and may have even made it into the parking lot. During the last dance, the woman next to me exclaimed, “This is the best Simchat Torah ever!”

When the dancing was over, we gathered on the bimah (or as close to it as we could get) while the white High Holy Day mantles were removed from the Torah scrolls and replaced with the mantles they wear for most of the year. As the last Torah made its way up to the ark, on an impulse I reached out my hand to kiss it, and was pleased to see several others, both adults and children, follow my example.



On the way out, we were treated to bowls of apples for a sweet new year, and we had our last chance to stand in the small sukkah out front before it and its big brother in the back are taken down and stored away again.

As one congregant remarked on the way out, “It’s not a bad way to start the new year, is it?”

Yom Kippur 2010/5771

By Susan Esther Barnes

Blogger Dov Bear posted a recap of five different kinds of Kol Nidre (Yom Kippur Eve) services he has attended in the past, and invited others to write about their Kol Nidre experiences. I wrote about one of my experiences from previous years (since it was not yet Kol Nidre this year).

Then he posted about his most recent Yom Kippur experience, and several of us posted about ours.

My previous post was about my Kol Nidre experience this year. Below is my Yom Kippur experience, somewhat modified from what I posted on Dov Bear’s blog.


9:30 am: Services start at both the synagogue and the local Civic Center auditorium, since our congregation is way too large to fit into the synagogue all at once. I choose to attend the synagogue service, which is mostly run by lay people (Senior Rabbi and Cantor, with choir, are at the auditorium).

I greet people at the front door until I can’t see anyone else approaching from the parking areas. I walk in and find a seat, but Marc comes over to get me, saying he and his wife have saved a seat for me. This is so cool. Usually I don’t like to sit alone for services, but sometimes it’s hard to find a spot next to someone else who’s sitting alone when I come in late from greeting.

Morning service is incredibly moving. Many of us are crying by the end. Highlights include confessions written anonymously by congregants, and beautiful music. Service is over around 12:30.

From 12:30 to 1:30 I greet those coming to children's services, and direct them regarding where to go with kids under 7 vs. where to go with kids 7 and over. There is a worker from the JCC who is standing nearby drinking a soda, which I find a bit rude since the rest of us are fasting, but I assume he's not Jewish and probably has no idea.

Frankly, I’m not being the world’s best greeter, because I’m still emotional from the morning service, and Donna comes over, notices, and doesn’t let me get away with “I’m fine.” What a mensch! So I get a chance to talk again about Rose, and how it’s hard being at the first Yom Kippur without her. On a regular Shabbat some part of my mind can pretend she just didn’t make it to synagogue this week, but on Yom Kippur it’s obvious she is missing, and I am missing her.

Around 2 I head over to the Civic Center for the 2:30 discussion with Rabbi Kahn. There are good number of people there. As his topic he chooses the Park 51 project. I am deeply disappointed by the number of congregants who speak out against the project, or who feel conflicted about it. It seems so clear to me that it’s wrong to say a whole religion should be banned from building something near where a handful of extremists did something horrible.

I gather from Rabbi Kahn’s remarks that he'd say I feel this way because I identify myself as a member of a minority group, which I do. I find it unfathomable that we don’t all, as Jews, recognize that we are a minority group, and that we need to stand up for the rights of other minority groups. I know it doesn’t help that there are Muslims who are virulently anti-semetic, but that doesn’t give us an excuse to be Islamophobic. This discussion does not contribute to the feelings of Sabbath peace and wholeness I want to experience on Shabbat.

I leave early and walk back to the synagogue for Yizkor at 3:30. Another Yizkor service is also happening at the Civic Center at the same time. I’m a bit disappointed that the service is not more participatory. One congregant reads aloud what was probably a lovely bit of prose, but in several places it mentions food, and I’m distracted. The fast has been easy for me so far, but I still don’t want to be reminded about food.

The synagogue service ends a little early so we can all walk together over to the Civic Center for N'eila and Havdalah. The plan was for all of us to walk into the Civic Center singing together, but somehow that didn’t pan out. I find a seat on the right side in the front section, and sit next to a couple of congregants I see on a regular basis.

I enjoy the service, until near the very end, when the rabbis read a long selection in English. I don’t remember them doing that before. We’re all standing up, my feet hurt, I’m starting to get a headache, and I find myself wanting them to just move along already. I don’t feel hungry, but I’m certainly getting grumpy. Dan Nichols makes up for it by singing, “May I Suggest,” and I sing along with him.

Immediately after Havdalah we have the break-the-fast. I don't get in line for food. Instead, I head to the doors and direct people to where the tables and chairs are outside where they can sit and eat. It's still light outside. I continue to direct people and chat until the sun goes down.

I call my husband, and he meets me at a local Mexican restaurant. This is our tradition because I love Mexican food, plus they give you a bowl of chips and salsa right when you sit down, so you don't have to wait to eat something. I indulge myself by ordering the nachos for dinner (no meat of course).

Sunday morning I get up early and go to the synagogue to help build the large sukkah in the back and the small sukkah in the front. I enjoy hanging out with the guys. This year, as last year, I am the only woman there. I think the guys are starting to catch on that they don’t need to treat me differently just because I’m female. At least I hope they are.

Once again, I’m reminded how much I love this community, and how much I feel I belong here.

Kabbalat Shabbat in Heaven

By Susan Esther Barnes

It’s Friday evening, almost a week since Rose died. The Mourner’s Kaddish is supposed to be said for her by her next of kin every day for eleven months, and every year on the anniversary of her death. It requires a minyan, ten people, to say, because mourners are not meant to be alone; they ought to be surrounded by their community.

Before she died, Rose gave me permission to say the Mourner’s Kaddish for her. I asked because her surviving son is not observant, so we both knew he would be unlikely to say it, other than perhaps at her funeral. Someone ought to say it for her, so I offered to take on the responsibility. Tonight, Shabbat evening, is the first time I have been in a minyan since her death.

When the rabbi asks those who are in the first seven or thirty days of mourning to rise and say the name of the person they’re saying Kaddish for, I feel hesitant. I am not related to Rose; I don’t want to appear to be fishing for sympathy I have not earned. I’m not convinced it is my place to do this thing I promised to do.

I rise, I say Rose’s name, and I stew in my doubts while the names of those recently dead and those who have died at this time in years past are recited. I wonder whether I will be able to say the words, or if the jumble of my thoughts will cause me to falter.

When the time comes, I start to speak, and something completely unexpected happens. As each word forms in my mouth, it transforms into something solid. Not something sharp, with hard edges to chafe and cut; but something soft and rounded, like a rosebud.

As each word solidifies, as its leading edge reaches my lips, it feels as if it is being snatched away and borne swiftly upward, away from me. I don’t know what is happening, but as each word is formed and flies upward, I realize it is being pulled out of my mouth by a force over which I have no control. I have no choice but to continue until the end of the prayer. It appears I was mistaken; saying Kaddish for Rose is not voluntary.

Later, I imagine the words were being pulled out of my mouth and carried upward by angels.

In my mind’s eye, God is surrounded by the dead as the angels fly in from all directions, depositing the words of the Mourner’s Kaddish in neat little piles at their feet.

Some of the words bear the mark of close family, some of friends. Some come from the lips of cantors or rabbis or other prayer leaders who speak for those who have nobody else to pray for them.

As the last word arrives, to be laid reverently on the last stack, Shabbat arrives in heaven, and it is time for God and the angels and the dead to rest.

Changing Plans

By Susan Esther Barnes

While browsing the web on Friday, I made a comment on Minnesota Mamaleh's blog about what I was looking forward to doing on Shabbat.

My father taught me better than this. You never say, “I’m going to do such and such.” You always say, “I hope to,” or “I’m planning to,” or someplace you insert, “God willing.” For me this is not a superstition. It’s an acknowledgment that we can make all the plans we want, but God may have different plans for us, and in the end, it’s God’s plan that comes to fruition.

Last Saturday my husband and I went to see his folks in Oregon, and the previous two Shabbats I was in Israel, so this, I assumed, would be the first Shabbat in about a month on which I would be able to follow my normal routine: Services on Friday night, Torah study on Saturday morning, Saturday morning services, and a nap in the afternoon. After all, I had nothing else planned. What could possibly go wrong?

On the third Friday of the month during the summer, our synagogue holds Friday night services outdoors at a nearby state park. It’s a beautiful place, with plenty of grass to sit on and a gorgeous view of the San Francisco Bay.

So there I was, standing at the parking lot entrance, greeting congregants as they arrived, when a particular couple drove up. We have a mutual friend, Rose, who at 93 was diagnosed with cancer. I was able to visit Rose in the hospital a couple of times before I left on my trip.

She seemed to be doing quite well. In fact, on my last visit she was telling me she’d only been walking from her bed to the restroom, but she didn’t think that was enough exercise, so she was going to try to talk the nurses into taking her on a walk down the hall. The staff was working on plans to discharge her to a convalescent hospital.

Now that I was back, I wanted to visit Rose again, so I asked this couple where she was. They answered my question, but they told me Rose had stopped eating and had been moved to hospice. It’s funny how people are able to convey what they mean without coming out and saying it. What they were telling me was Rose is dying, it may not be long now, and if I wanted to see her I’d better do it soon.

As if that weren’t convincing enough, at home I had a voice mail message from another friend, telling me Rose specifically asked for me to come see her, implying that it should be soon.

So instead of going to Torah study on Saturday morning, I called the place where Rose is and asked if I could come see her. “Come on over in about an hour,” they said, “She’s up and showering, and she’ll be having breakfast soon.”

Showering? Breakfast? Does this sound like someone who has stopped eating and is going to die in the next few days? What was I supposed to make of that?

Of course there was nothing for it but to go on over and see for myself. And there she was, talking on the phone, as lucid as ever. But beside her bed was a full tray of food, along with an array of cups and glasses filled with various liquids she clearly wasn’t drinking.

So we talked. I tried to make plenty of space to let her talk about whatever she wanted. She told me about her two children who had died, and how she keeps thinking about what it was like for her and for them when that happened. She talked about her son who is still living, and her hopes for him.

She told me about how, before her husband’s death, as a rabbi’s wife she used to greet people at the synagogue, and how I do that now.

We talked about our first memories of each other. I reminded her that back when I attended my first class at the synagogue because I knew nobody and wanted to meet some friends, she was the first person I met. I tried to let her know how much it meant to me when she was the first person to introduce me to someone as her friend.

I told her I love her, and I will miss her. She told me her children are always with her, and she will always be with me.

I was there for an hour and a half. Mostly we talked. For short periods of time we were silent, and that was okay too. Some moments we smiled and laughed, and at some moments tears graced my cheeks. It wasn’t nearly enough time, but the rabbis tell us not to stay too long when we visit the sick, so I left, and said a prayer for her.

I sat in services this morning, but for the most part I couldn’t say the prayers. I just let the tears come down as they would. I didn’t feel sad exactly; I just felt like crying. A part of me kept paraphrasing the line from the Monty Python movie, scolding, “She’s not dead yet,” implying it was not yet time to cry. But grief takes its own course in its own time; only a fool tries to divert it.

Perhaps I will see Rose again. Perhaps I will speak with her on the phone. Maybe both; maybe neither. It’s hard not knowing, but it’s the way it’s supposed to be. I am grateful Rose has this time to see her friends and family and to say goodbye. I am grateful I had this time with her.

It’s funny how often God’s plans are better than mine.

Mah Zeh Achim?

By Susan Esther Barnes

The most holy place for Jews is the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, the place where our Temple once stood. It is said God's presence in the world emanates from this place. It is where Abraham brought Isaac; it is where God spoke and created the world.

For the almost 2,000 years of our exile, we yearned to return to this place. Throughout those long years, when the land was in the control of others, the closest we could get to it was a small piece of the retaining wall that forms a rectangle holding up the hill on which the Temple used to stand.

This accessible piece of the wall is West and South of the Temple's former location, which was about half way between the North and South ends of the wall surrounding the hill. The Holy of Holies, the most sacred place within the Temple, where the presence of God resides, was on the West side.

Although Jews are now in control of Jerusalem, we are still not allowed to pray on the Temple Mount, still not allowed to pray near the old Temple site or the Holy of Holies. I am not advocating a change in this policy.

Untold thousands of Jews continue to come to the Western Wall to pray, where the men and women are divided by a barrier and women are not allowed to sing aloud or wear a tallit (prayer shawl). It is crowded with people. There is always someone there praying, 7 days a week, 24 hours a day.

But recent excavation has opened a path along the base of the Western Wall, heading North. It leads to a place that is clearly marked as being aligned with where the Temple used to be. This is the closest any Jew can now come to the old Temple site, to the Holy of Holies, to the source of God's presence in the world.

So who is allowed to walk this path to this special place? Just the Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem or other dignitaries? Only the most devout? No, it is open to everyone.

So it must be crowded, right? Bursting at the seams? Humming with life and prayer? No. Even though anyone can come here; men and women, children and families; wearing a tallit or not; singing aloud or not; this Holy place stands as empty as a forgotten tomb.

*****

Mah Zeh Achim?
What is This, My Brothers, My Sisters?

You have been separated from your beloved for many years. Your heart aches for her, you long to embrace him again, and though you know your love is reciprocated, despite your best efforts you are kept at a distance.

She dropped a scented kerchief to you, and you cling to it as you pray by her outer courtyard, calling to her.

He sent you a love letter, and you write down your deepest fears, your secret dreams, on little scraps of paper that you leave by his outer gate, hoping he will discover them there.

But what is this? The outer gate has been opened to you, for the first time in all your years of longing you may enter. And although you still may not approach her front door, and though you may not enter his home, yet you have been given a chance to come closer to the dwelling place of your beloved.

What is this?

She begs you to draw nearer, yet you stand aloof. She calls out to you, yet you do not hear. "What is this?" she cries, "Why have you abandoned me?"

"Why do you linger yet in the street outside?" he wails, "Have you clung so long to your kerchief and your letter, have you spent so much time adoring the place to which you have been coming all these years, that you have forgotten why you ever started to come there at all?"

"My beloved," she whispers, "Has it been so long you have forgotten it was me you once loved, and not the cold, hard stones?" She aches for you to abandon your worship of the wall and to draw nearer, to return to her.

My brothers, my sisters, wake up. Open your eyes.

Mah zeh achim?

What are you doing?