The First Day of Spring

By Susan Esther Barnes

Two weeks ago my friend Mark, who has been grappling with cancer, announced that for the first time in two years he would be able to work five full shifts in a row.

That day my friend Gail’s mother, who had been ill for a number of years, died.

About the same time, my friend Joanne’s brother, after playing cards with some friends, developed a sudden headache, began to throw up, then was rushed to the hospital with a massive stroke, where he died a short time later.

We sat shiva for Gail’s mother and Joanne’s brother on successive evenings.

Last week, Mark went to the hospital for a treatment to burn out a tumor, and emerged saying he didn’t know it was possible to be in so much pain. The doctors are trying to readjust his medication.

My husband caught a cold and snored so much, I spent much of the week sleeping on the couch downstairs.

On the windowsill in the kitchen the orchid is sporting six soft but strong white flowers, while in the pot beside it the first basil sprouts are peeking out from the damp dirt.

This morning, two 13-year-olds were called to the Torah and became b’not mitzvah. They are now considered to be fully responsible members of our community.

And today is the first day of spring.

Alarm Clock

I had a bit of a head cold this week, but nothing like what my husband John had, with a runny nose and congestion despite the Sudafed. As faithful readers of this blog are aware, John has been known to snore from time to time, but when he's congested his snoring is louder and more persistent than usual. Which means I spent part of each night this week sleeping downstairs on the couch.

Yesterday morning I woke up about the time my alarm clock usually goes off. I was tired and grumpy and didn't want to get up, but I wanted to get upstairs and turn off my alarm clock before it woke John.

When I got to the top of the stairs, I noticed the bedroom door was closed, with Thomas kitty on the outside. Thus, I knew Thomas had woken up John, who had then kicked the cat out of the bedroom. So I opened the door, expecting John to be at least half awake, but there he was, passed out and snoring contentedly.

I hurried over to my alarm clock to turn it off, but found it was silently proclaiming the time to be seven minutes after the alarm was supposed to have gone off. I double-checked it, and all seemed to be in order. I couldn't figure out why it hadn't gone off, but I wasn't about to wake John to find out. Sick folks need their sleep, after all.

Last night after I got home from work, I asked John, "Did my alarm clock go off this morning?"

"Yes!" he replied accusingly, "and it took me forever to figure out how to turn off the darned thing!"

I looked at him a moment, then prompted, "So, why didn't you come wake me up?"

"What?" he said, in his best sickness-induced hoarse and confused voice.

"If my alarm went off, why didn't you come wake me up? You know, that's what the alarm is for."

"Oh," he said, "uh, I meant to. I thought about waking you up. But by the time I figured out how to shut it off...I don't know what happened..."

I suppose I should have been mad, but normally he's so smart, and he's just too cute when he's all sick and fuzzy and confused.

I think maybe I need to get an alarm clock for downstairs.

Shabbat Unplugged

By Susan Esther Barnes

What do you do when you encounter unspeakable beauty?

When words and actions and music and voices
combine with grief and joy and comfort
to create one holy moment after another
when God’s presence fills the spaces inside and in between
the people and the room and the instruments
and you think to yourself
Life can’t possibly be any better than this
and someone says
Maybe this is the world-to-come

What do you do when the best outlet you have
is to pour it into words on paper
but you know for these moments
words on paper are utterly inadequate

What can you do other than soak it in
and feel grateful in the moment
then go home
and try to stop it from slipping away

Sh’ma Discussion on Pluralism

By Susan Esther Barnes

Last week I attended an event at the San Francisco Contemporary Jewish Museum celebrating the move of “Sh’ma, A Journal of Jewish Responsibility” to California. The event was billed as “A conversation on the boundaries of pluralistic dialogue and engagement.”

The evening started a little late with a somewhat lengthy introduction, so the actual conversation didn’t start until about a half an hour after the advertised start time, but at least that gave the numerous latecomers a chance to settle in before the juicy bits of the evening occurred.

The format consisted of Susan Berrin, the editor of Sh’ma, reading a list of questions to the panelists, then asking them to begin a conversation about one or more of those questions. The conversation was followed by an audience question and answer session, then a reception.

The panelists were Rabbi Levey Derby of Congregation Kol Shofar in Tiburon, Karen Kushner of the Jewish Welcome Network, Peter Stein of the San Francisco Jewish Film Festival, and Carole Zawatsky of the Jewish Community Center of San Francisco.

The conversation covered a fascinating range of topics, including who is or isn’t Jewish (for instance, are “Jews for Jesus” really Jews?), excommunication, the definition of pluralism, and the right (and even the responsibility) of individual organizations to set their own boundaries regarding permissible behavior and who is or isn’t allowed in.

The discussion touched on the tension created when the San Francisco Jewish Film Festival showed a controversial film with a controversial speaker, and the San Francisco Jewish Federation recently adopted guidelines to withhold funding from organizations which host events or speakers which advocate for the destruction of Israel or divestment from, or boycotts of it.

A poignant moment occurred when one woman in the audience who is a member of an organization which clearly would be excluded from funding under the restrictions of the Federation’s new guidelines said that by denying her a seat at the table, the Federation is saying she is not a Jew. Rabbi Derby answered her by asserting there is a distinction between the rejection of a person’s political view and the rejection of a person as a whole. He said he doesn’t think anyone that evening had said she isn’t a Jew; just that some organizations, in setting their own boundaries, have chosen not to support her organization’s views.

Another audience member pointed out that the panelists seemed to agree with each other on most points, and suggested the conversation might have benefitted from the inclusion of at least one panelist who would have argued against the desire for pluralism.

Overall, I was pleased with the tenor of the discussion, and I was glad the audience members were willing to ask pointed questions without being rude and the panelists were willing to address those questions. In the end, I found myself wishing the conversation had gone on longer, and I hope Sh’ma and/or the museum will host more, similar conversations in the near future.

My Time as a Chicken

By Susan Esther Barnes

Yesterday was Purim, a Jewish holiday which calls for us to give gifts to friends and the poor, to eat a festive meal, and to listen to the public reading of the Book of Esther, in which Queen Esther risks her life to save all the Jews in Persia.

It has also become a celebration in which we dress up in costume and celebrate our deliverance from the evil Haman by acting as silly as possible. This explains how I found myself standing in front of the synagogue in a chicken outfit, carrying a sign that read, “Studies show matzo balls taste better in beef broth.”

Before long, I became fascinated by the reactions people had to my presence. Some responded to the existence of a person holding a sign by refusing to look at it, as if I were staging some kind of strike or protest and they didn’t want to get involved.

Some people immediately figured out who I was, and said, “Is that Susan?” to which I nodded, “Yes,” while clucking agreeably. Others seemed to have no clue, even though they have seen me stand in the same place every Friday night, and even though I pointed to the “Purim Greeter” badge I wore in place of my usual “Shabbat Greeter” badge. Thus, people who normally would greet me with a hearty smile and/or hug kept a respectful distance from me.

Children, in general, were intrigued. Several of them wanted to pet me, which I encouraged by holding out my arm (wing) and clucking soothingly. One poor little girl was scared and cried, until I took off the chicken head to show her there was a real person inside the costume. One trio of girls insisted I tell them who I was, although I’m sure my name meant nothing to them, since I don’t have kids of my own and I’m sure they assumed I must have been the mother of one of their friends. Many people with cameras took my picture.

The message on the sign I carried was a bit subtle. It requires one to put together knowledge that matzo balls are commonly cooked in chicken broth with the concept that it’s a chicken pushing the beef broth idea, presumably in order to save itself and its kin from the cooking pot. Some people got it right away. Some got it after a few seconds, but a small minority didn’t seem to put it all together. I enjoyed hearing parents reading the sign to their kids and making sure the kids got the humor. A vegetarian woman suggested matzo balls actually taste better in vegetable broth, with which my chicken persona readily agreed.

I had one mildly embarrassing moment today when I found out that one woman who I had leaned over to watch a cell phone video had no idea who I was. I had just assumed she knew, because she had seen pictures of me in the same costume from last Halloween and she did say, “Hello,” when I walked up. She seemed much more reserved with me than usual, and now I know why. How odd and unsettling to have an anonymous chicken leaning over you like that!

It was particularly interesting that almost nobody spoke with me, including those who knew who I was. This is, I suspect, largely due to my insistence of clucking rather than speaking, except for a few times when I felt compelled to use English. I wonder, though, how much of it was due to people not being able to see my facial expressions, not being sure whether or not I was someone they knew, or the general lack of social norms regarding how someone should act around a person in a chicken suit.

At any rate, it was liberating to be able to just wander around on my own, observing others’ reactions to my costume. It makes me want to consider an equally concealing outfit for next year.

Double Black Hole Found in Marin

By Susan Esther Barnes

This evening I attended an event at the San Francisco Contemporary Jewish Museum (more on that in a following post, I suspect). During that event Karen Kushner of the Jewish Welcome Network spoke about her efforts to help synagogues draw people on the periphery into their inner circle.

The imagery I created from the language she used caused me to think of Rabbi Michael Lezak as the black hole of our synagogue community. Anyone who wanders close enough to his Event Horizon is drawn inexorably in until they are so enmeshed in the community it seems they can never get out.

The accuracy of this black hole analogy is evidenced by the numerous stories I have heard, and continue to hear, from core supporters of our synagogue. They often start with something along the lines of "I wasn't that involved here, and then Rabbi Lezak..."

Meanwhile, Rabbi Noa Kushner, daughter of the above-mentioned Karen Kushner, has been spending much of her time building NITA, a community of people in Marin County who are not affiliated with a synagogue but who want to "do Jewish stuff." From all accounts, Rabbi Kushner is drawing into her own Event Horizon a number of people committed to building the NITA community.

It just so happens Rabbi Lezak is married to Rabbi Kushner, possibly making them the first double black hole discovered in this part of the universe.

For Shabbat T'Rumah

By Susan Esther Barnes

Last weekend the Torah portion was T’Rumah. That’s the portion that starts with Exodus Chapter 25 in which God tells Moses to take from the people whatever their heart moves them to give in order to build the tabernacle so God may dwell among them as they travel in the wilderness.

Last year the staff and clergy at our synagogue decided to use Shabbat T’Rumah as an opportunity to thank the people who volunteer to help people in the larger community, outside of the synagogue. This year they decided to use it to thank the people who volunteer for the benefit of people within the synagogue community.

On Friday afternoon I received an email from the synagogue asking me to say a few words at services that night about why I volunteer and what it means to me. My first reaction was, “No way.” There wasn’t much time to think of something to say, and I couldn’t imagine I could come up with anything that wouldn’t sound lame. But I thought I’d take a stab at it, and when I got near the end of the page there were tears in my eyes, so I thought, “Well, maybe other people will think it’s lame but there must be something here.”

So I answered the email, agreeing to say a few words. Apparently it wasn’t totally lame, since after services two other women said it made them cry. Below is what I said:

I don’t think it’s possible for me to convey to you why I do what I do here or what it means to me, but I’m going to try.

Some of you have heard me talk about how, three and a half years ago at High Holy Day services, I felt lonely and invisible because after 4 years of being a member here I still didn’t know anyone. Some of you have heard me say I decided to remedy the situation by getting involved here.

I can tell you now my efforts have been successful beyond my wildest dreams.

Instead of feeling invisible, I now know if I don’t arrive at least a half an hour before services on Friday night, I’ll be greeted by a chorus of people saying, “You’re late!” Where it used to be impossible for me to find a single familiar face, it is now impossible for me to sneak by without receiving a host of smiles and hugs. While ten years ago on my birthday I sat alone on my bed watching TV while I ate cake from a to-go container, last week on my birthday, for the first time in my life, I sat among a group of friends who sang “Happy Birthday” to me in Hebrew.

So no, I don’t think I can convey to you why I do what I do here or what it means to me, but I can tell you I don’t plan to stop.