Tag Archives: religion

Rosh HaShanah evening chez nous

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Friday night is the birthday of the world.  The world is 5770 years ago, or so the Jewish tradition would have it.  And, since global warming has kicked into high gear, it is not looking so good.  Especially after the immense amount of war casualties this year.  And the fall-out of the financial crises.  The world needs a spa millenium.

Anyway, we sang happy birthday in that Jewish way of taking a happy moment and pointing out how bad the world looks and how bad we look in the world’s reflection.  So, no cake for the world.  Anyway, there is not a cake big enough to fit 5771 candles, so a piece of sponge cake will have to do.

Services start at 6:30pm.  I meet POB (partner of blogger) who pulls out Pepto Bismol from her bag and offers me a swig.  This is not a required Jewish ritual for Rosh HaShanah, but many Jews do use the stuff because we have a high incidence of irritable bowel (that’s part of why we complain so much).  I have been suffering mightily recently and since I read the article on social contagion theory, I am sure that my cousin who has irritable bowel syndrome passed it on to me.  But I digress.

It is hard for a room full of Jews to stop talking so the rabbi’s job is hard.  That’s why there is at least a half-hour flex time between when the service starts and when it REALLY has to start. 

When we walked in, we thought we belonged to the synagogue “servicing the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered Jews, their families and their friends.”  Apparently, that is soooo older generation.  Now the synagogue “serves Jews of all sexual orientations and gender identities”.  Ahhhh.  Wait, there are more than two genders?  This is its own separate bloggable moment.  We have established, however, that POB and I are here, we’re queer and we are out of touch.  Ok, I digress again.

So, we sit through a lovely service (comfortably, thanks to POB and Pepto Bismol).  There is something comforting about the rhythms of the seasons and the traditions and chanting the prayers using melodies and tropes that have gone from generation to generation (even if one generation doesn’t understand that there are more than two genders).  The rabbi gets up and starts speaking.  She uses beautiful imagery but I get lost in the imagery and cannot follow what she is talking about.  I am thinking she doesn’t know either.  First, we learn that the founding of the Hudson River shares a birthday with the world.  400 years ago.  There is probably a cake big enough for 401 candles.  Soooo special.  The river flows in two directions.  The river’s water has lapped these shores as change has to come to the river and Manhattan Island.  Change is not fast, but a slow progression of miniscule changes the cumulative impact of which is only visible in hindsight. This is an excellent metaphor for the process of changing the nation, the world and humanity.  Then, the rabbi gets a little lost in the poetry of light beams dancing on the river and the blue of the river changing with the light.  I am hearing about lots of different blues.  I check my blackberry.  POB nudges me.  I stop messaging and start listening.  Still, lots of blue water lapping the shores while we fail to notice.  Lots of lapping blue that we could notice, but then we wouldn’t make it to work or feed our families.  I am really losing the point here.  I am dizzy.

We get home, where my sister and brother-in-law are staying with our son.  This is their way of observing the birthday of the world — watching videos and eating pizza and lying on the couch.  My sister is wearing my sweatshirt .  Apparently she was cold and didn’t want to hunt through our stuff (remember only two weeks ago, they hunted for a bird caught in our apartment), but knowing me, she could just go to my side of the bed, look down, and find something that was only partially worn that day.  Life is good when your sister knows you and loves you and will wear your slightly worn clothes.

POB and I went to sleep that night exhausted and dizzy, but happy because a new year brings new beginnings (and for me, more bloggable moments).

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Visiting Mom

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So I let my son wake me earlier than usual on a weekend [dulcet tones of “wake up, WAKE UP, Mom, there are CARTOOOOONS on!!”] because I need to pick up my sister and father to go to visit Mom at the cemetery.  My son didn’t want to come because he says cemeteries are creepy and make him think of ghosts and skeletons.  I get that.  Cemeteries are creepy, I tell him, but I have to visit Grandma’s grave.  He says he will visit us but he is not ready yet.  We are not ready to be visited there for a really long time, I tell him.  He nods and then asks to turn on cartoons.  Good, I think, death and destruction before the pilgrimage to the cemetery.

Lots of people are buried in Queens and on Long Island.  Very convenient if you need to pop in on two funerals on different sides of the family on the same day. We had to do that once. Very convenient, indeed.

I pick up my sister who is limping badly, even with a cane.  Her husband who is NOT coming with us (he hasn’t met Mom yet) is feeling sheepish but he needs to focus on a painting.  He is trying not to look like a heel by carrying my sister’s stuff to the car.  He even offers to carry her cane.  Ok, he IS funny.

We drive to Dad’s and set off to Long Island.  Once, when I mentioned that Grandma is in Heaven, my son asked, “Heaven is on Long Island?” [ To some, yes, I guess, Heaven is on Long Island.]  I stammered that her body is there but her spirit is somewhere else.  Then I called for my partner because I was WAY out of my element.  Kids are smarter than adults.  But I digress.

Dad gives me helpful driving hints like, “is there a reason you are driving behind the slow car?” and “go straight. no, make a left.  I said make a left!” and “well, I guess I told you to get off at the wrong exit.”  It is really ok.  My dad is going to be 89 in October, and he is in terrific shape (spit in the evil eye, a Jewish superstition).

We arrive and get a little lost in the cemetery.  So many dead people.  But we find Mom and our other relatives.  Luckily, they haven’t moved.  We three say a few prayers for all of the family members, leave stones on the graves and reminisce about Mom.  My sister brings pictures of Mom through the years.  It is good to have the gravestone as a focus of our thoughts.  About 45 minutes into our visit, a couple stops and visits another grave nearby.  After they finish their drive-by visit, the woman comes over to us to say, “we come all the time and never see anyone else here.”  Gee, thanks.  Very thoughtful of you to say and I don’t really notice all your ugly plastic surgery.   

My sister needs to take pictures to document the occasion.  No joke, these go into our family photo albums. I wish she had taken a picture of the woman with the bad face lift.

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Elul — A Deep Moment on Blogcation Day 3

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When I was in Hebrew School, we were taught a song that starts, in new age, non-gender-specific translation, “Oh G-d, my G-d, I pray that these things never end: the sand and the sea, the rush of the water, the crash of the heavens and the prayers of all.”

The song is, in essence, a prayer for humanity to pray, a prayer for the basic elements, a prayer for the majesty and healing of the world.

It is the beginning of  the month of Elul, which culminates in the Jewish Days of Awe, during which Jews repent and atone for sins.  This leads to introspection (one hopes) about the gulf between who we are and who we want to be.  That introspection is supposed to help one re-set one’s internal compass, toward righteousness and good.  The annual gut-check, and if you are really not so righteous, a sucker punch to the gut (or groin).

I am not religious.  Really.  But tradition is important because it ties me to those generations who came here and struggled so I could have advantages, opportunities and the life I lead.  I stand on their shoulders and my generation’s prosperity fueled their dreams and they stood tall with pride.  Tradition also ties me to the generations that will follow mine. From generation to generation.

My grandfather renounced religion (it was the original Kumbaya Age:  the Age of Socialism and communal living) and preached free love (he was ahead of his time  — free love idled until the 1960s) but got married and never missed religious ritual built around the family.  So Passover, Bar or Bat Mitzvahs were important, but non-family self-inflicted synagogue time?   Hmmmm.  Not so much. 

But whether or not one is a deist, taking the time to think about life and mistakes, and things to do better, can’t be bad.  The problem I have is that people can off-load responsibility on some sort of fatalistic rationalization based on the existence of G-d.  Judaism doesn’t really afford that off-loading option but lots of Jews don’t seem to acknowledge that.

With all these caveats, there is something mystical about starting the month leading into the Days of Awe enjoying and marveling at the sand and the sea, the rush of the water, and the crash of the heavens (a little too much crashing, if you ask me, but rarely does anyone ask me).  Maybe prayer isn’t so bad, as long as the responsibility to make the prayers come true rests with us singularly and as a human collective.

Maybe I believe in G-d, somehow, some way.  The only compelling argument I heard for the existence of G-d was from an orthodox Jew with a nihilist edge (and not an insignificant case of depression).  He said, “could everything be so screwed up by accident?”  Can’t argue with that.

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My Sister, My Hero, Part II

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For you were strangers in the land of Egypt . . .  Every Passover, Jews are reminded to be kind to the stranger because we were strangers in the land of Egypt and, well, you know what happened and how Charleton Heston had to lead us out with a mighty hand. . .  The quintessential Jewish mother’s Midrash on this principle is “be kind to strangers; just don’t TALK to them”.

My sister is not a religious person.  She is a spiritual person and that is in my view the important quality.  My sister took into her home a very sick former colleague who had no family nearby and is trying to get this person help.  Not because of a religious admonishment or directive but because of a spiritual imperative to lend a hand to those in need.  She is like my mother (of blessed memory) in that way.  She shrugs a silent “whatever” when anyone talks about religion.  She, like my mother, does what others only talk about doing.  And I only know because my sister had to miss a family dinner to help her former colleague.  Otherwise, I might have never known.  Because she does what needs to be done because it should be done and not for bragging rights.

Lest you think she is the Flying Nun or Mother Teresa with the glow of G-d upon her, my sister is definitely a real person with bad hair days (less so now that she colors her gray, oops, that shouldn’t appear in print I guess) and a limited attention span for most people. So, a saint she is not. 

And still, she heals the world by her very presence among us.  My sister, my hero.

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Faith groups launch campaign in favor of health care reform

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Would it be redundant to say, “Thank G-d”? 

I would also like to note that Rabbi David Saperstein gave my brother a job right out of college about 28 years ago in an organization with a mandate for social justice.  Rabbi, you have been at it all these years.  Thank you.

From CNN, August 11, 2009

Religious groups in favor of health care reform have launched a national campaign to offset the loud opposition to President Obama’s plan to overhaul the nation’s health care system, organizers announced.

“This is as much a crisis of faith as it is a crisis of health care,” said the Rev. John Hay Jr., senior pastor of West Morris Street Free Methodist Church in Indianapolis, Indiana.

“We just believe there is a better way.”

He and others spoke in a telephone news conference Monday announcing the campaign.

“As a pastor, I believe access to health care is a profoundly moral issue,” said the Rev. Stevie Wakes of Olivet Institutional Baptist Church in Kansas City, Kansas.

The campaign, called “40 days for Health Reform,” includes a national television advertisement, a “sermon weekend,” prayer meetings and a nationwide call-in with Obama on August 19, organizers said.

Prayer meetings emphasizing health care as a moral issue were taking place Tuesday in 45 cities across 18 states, organizers said. They expected about 4,000 people to participate.

“Healing and health are fundamental religious issues,” said the Rev. Jim Wallis of Sojourners, one of the sponsors of the campaign along with PICO National Network, Faith in Public Life, Faithful America and Catholics in Alliance for the Common Good.

Wallis stressed that participants in the campaign are not going to weigh in on particular policy questions. “It isn’t political in a partisan way,” he said. “This is a fundamental moral issue. … You’re going to hear the moral drumbeat of the faith community.”

Rabbi David Saperstein of the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism, who also spoke on the conference call, said the current system “doesn’t work for everyone.”

Other groups, such as the Christian Coalition of America and the Family Research Council, are strongly opposed to Democratic proposals to overhaul the health care system, saying, among other things, that they would lead to government-funded abortion.

“We don’t want abortion to enter this debate and sabotage health care reform,” Wallis said. He noted the legislation now being discussed on Capitol Hill is far from a final version.

Opponents of health care reform proposals have confronted U.S. lawmakers at town hall meetings in recent days, drawing heavy media attention with their boisterous protests.

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Thoughts for July 21, 2009 (even though it is only July 20, 2009)

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There are reports that arrested protesters of the Iranian election result are being raped in prison.  A RELIGIOUS republic is resorting to these tactics .  .  .  in the name of Allah???  How does that work?  It is an abomination for religious leaders to use such tactics in the name of G-d but really to further their very human need to maintain power.

May Allah protect those with the courage of their convictions who are made to suffer at the hands of these tormentors.  May everyone’s G-d protect them.

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A Family Pilgrimage

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So, we needed to go to Uncle B’s unveiling one recent Sunday. The previous Thursday, I received a call from cousin B. who wanted a ride because he and his wife want to see Uncle B. I wasn’t sure whether he remembered that Uncle B wasn’t going to be there.

So, on Sunday during the first hour of the trip, my sister and I tried to ascertain whether cousin B was going to freak out that no one told him Uncle B was dead, whether he actually knew but was using shorthand or whether he would start forgetting why he was there. Imagine, my sister’s and my asking questions in that way that people in the Saturday Night Live “Pat” skits tried to ascertain Pat’s gender. (He remembered.) But I digress.

My sister and I spent the day before bracing ourselves for my dad and Cousin B in the same car. Why, you ask? Because Cousin B talks about the intricacies of his bodily functions in such exquisite detail that it is a little disturbing and my father spontaneously breaks into “When Johnny comes marching home again”. No joke. No idea why.

My sister and I devised a counting system: my sister would get a point every time cousin B referred to prune juice as an elixir which he discovered, or how he is sledding downhill on a fast sled on an iced-over mountain. I would get a point every time Dad spontaneously broke into When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again, or The Chicken in the Army. What we need to include next time is cousin B’s constant complaining — I ruined his good knee because there was not enough leg room — and Dad’s need to read every sign on the highway and, for fun, putting the emPHAsis on the wrong sylLAble. Total travel time, 3.5 hours each way plus a few hours at Uncle B’s son’s house for the obligatory food orgy.

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The soon-to-be-in-law

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So, I met my over-40 sister’s boyfriend.

Ok, the Jewish view: blond goy with no advanced degree and he draws pictures of pigeons (“birds”, whatever). Excuse me while I put my head in the oven.

Now, the normal view: He is lovely. He held his own in a rough crowd: (i) me, (ii) my partner, (iii) our child, (iv) my partner’s curmudgeon father, (v) our weekend sitter, and (vi) her girlfriend. AND, he knew that I thought he could be a serial killer. He draws beautifully and is really smart. A little too much information in his stories, but when the family is in full swing, no one will let him talk. He is wonderful to my sister and they complement each other in a wonderful way. Clinically speaking, he is not looking for fertile ovaries and since we don’t have to worry about the religion of the progeny, Jewish or non-Jewish is like tomAYto, tomAHto.

So, forgive me, Grandma, but he’s a keeper

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