I just had an incredible Shabbat, and I really want to just write about it, hope that's ok.
Since I'm living in a pretty Charedi neighborhood right now, it's nice to get out once in a while and be reminded that there are plenty of fully observant communities who don't identify as "charedi". I didn't even really know what the term actually means until very recently -- I just figured it meant ultra-orthodox, which has its own negative connotations I think. (I've heard the term used as a bad word before...pretty intolerant in my opinion, but based on stereotypes that I myself grew up with, so I can understand where the sentiment comes from.) Anyway, this weekend, I spent shabbat in a community called Nachlaot, which is in Jerusalem, right behind Machane Yehudah (the main marketplace, which is right smack in the middle of the city). The people who live there are from diverse backgrounds, culturally and religiously. Some are not observant, others are. The thing they all have in common is a love of Torah. Let me explain what I mean by that.
The shul there is called "kol rinah." It is a Carlbach minyan, which, for anyone who doesn't know, means that they sing a lot, and get really into it. For instance, the Friday night service goes on for about an hour and a half bc they spend so much time just dancing around and enjoying it. They don't rush through things. They take their time, loving every moment. The cool thing is that it doesn't feel like it takes a long time. It feels just right, actually, at least for me. I've never been one to really enjoy davening, I guess I'm just not the type who connects to it so much, but I do love to sing and dance. I love feeling that sense of community, connectedness, and joy.
Then we went to dinner. This was my favorite part of the weekend. I've been to Carlbach minyans before, but I've never been to a home like this one. My experiences in religious homes in Israel thus far have been pretty uniform, but this one just broke all the conventions, and I absolutely loved it. It actually opened my eyes and made me realize that if I do end up becoming more observant, I can do it in a way that feels right to me, rather than just doing what I've seen in Har Nof or anywhere for that matter. This family just kind of did their own thing, and it was awesome.
Our hosts were a relatively young couple, with one young son who I never got to meet bc he was upstairs sleeping. There were 15 guests, but it felt like so much fewer, as we all really got a chance to know one another well by the end of the meal. The couple is a bit hippyish, but in a down to earth way -- lots of pottery and wicker in the house (which was an absolutely gorgeous place, btw) and a kitchen with different knobs on every cabinet door. It was funky, but understated funky. I liked it a lot. Anyway, we sit down, and both husband and wife sat at the head of the table, together. I already knew this was gonna be a little different, as I've gotten used to the standard man on one end, woman on the other shtick around here, and I've always felt that when I get married, I'll want to sit next to my husband, not so far away. So when I saw that, I was like, sweet. They get it.
So then he makes kiddush. Then we all got up to wash, and came back for hamotzi, the blessing over the bread, and she made the blessing. This is a big deal. I always thought that in religious homes, men make the blessings and that's that. I figured it was just some law. So when I saw her do that, I immediately turned to my friend and mouthed, "that's allowed??" and she's like, "yeah..." Needless to say, I was very excited at this point. Here was this family, breaking convention, but still keeping it within tradition and halacha. That's one of my biggest concerns with being Orthodox, actually. I'm a modern girl, in a modern world, and I want to stay that way, while also getting more in touch with G-d and Torah and tradition. I know I can, I've never doubted that I can. But it's nice to be in homes once in a while where they actually do that, kind of gives me a boost.
Anyway, back to the meal. So she finished hamotzi, and the meal began, which was delicious. It was vegetarian, and one of the best meals I've ever had. Definitely getting recipes. Then they everyone introduce themselves and say something, like a d'var torah, or just something nice. I've seen this done before, and I've always liked the way it gets everyone included. So we went around, and everyone said something, mostly about the upcoming holidays, a bit on the parsha this week, some philosophical thoughts from the intellectuals, and a couple just spoke about how it felt to be in shul that night, dancing with people they had never met. (I told them the thing I learned about the word "tzibur", from my previous post. They liked it. :) )The cool part was hearing where everyone was coming from. Most of the guests had not grown up religious, either reform, or didn't identify as anything, and one was Christian. We were all from different places, had different reasons for being here. Some learning, some visiting, some just planned to come for a bit but ended up staying, some at university, some having no clue. And yet there we all were, at the same table, telling each other stories and words of wisdom, and enjoying our connection to one another. It was just....nice. The whole meal was spent with everyone at the table listening to everyone else. No side convos or chit chat, no gossiping or discussing the latest stupid thing this or that politician did or said. Just real thoughts, real relating to one another.
After dinner, we stayed and chatted with our hosts for a while. They were so chill, and so real. You know how some people are just really genuine? That was them. They run a business together, (interior design,) and he learns at a kollel (which is like a yeshiva for adults) and she teaches also. The cool thing is that he pays to learn at his kollel. (Most kollels actually pay their students to learn, very very little, but still. This couple said that they want to pay because they feel that it's wrong to have someone pay you to learn something, and that they want to earn their own living, and have learning be a privilege rather than a pseudo-job. I can't tell you how refreshing it is to hear a different point of view on that.) They also told me about why they don't identify as "charedi": for them, Judaism is about love of Torah, which does not imply disdain of the secular world. Their community is full of people who don't keep halacha in the same ways, but they all love learning, and they all love living their lives ethically and in ways that really contribute to family and individual health and happiness. I know, I'm gushing a bit here. But I really loved it.
The next day, today, we had a meal at my friend's friend's apartment, where we were staying. It was really nice, and she had a few people over as well. It was also refreshing to be around just people my age for a shabbat meal. I liked being able to hang out, not necessarily be on best behavior and all. We had a nice time, sang, talked, enjoyed each others company, and filled up with yummy food. I think this is my favorite thing about Shabbat -- the sense of community and togetherness it fosters. Of course there are tons of great things about it -- rest, peace, thinking clearly, connecting. But the part that really gets me going are the meals. I just love connecting people. I can't wait to have my own shabbat table that I can invite my friends and family to, so I can serve them delicious food and talk about real things with the people I love. You're all invited. Unless I don't know you. In which case, hi, I'm Shira.
After the meal, I read a bit about rosh hashana with my friend. We read some cool things I didn't know, but I already did a whole post on R"H so I'll refrain now. :) I took a long nap, which felt nice, and then it was over before I knew it.
So, yea. A great shabbat, all in all. I really need to get out more. There are just so many ways to do this. I know it's much harder to find that type of community in America, but at least I know it's out there.
Yay diversity! :)
Shavua Tov!
love, shira
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
A Sweet New Year (hopefully)
Hey all. I wrote up this whole long post on Rosh Hashana, but I also wanted to give a quick update on things here, and let you know a bit of what my life is like at the moment, so I’ll do that first:
I’m feeling pretty content, most of the time. I love learning, I love being in Israel, I love the independence I have here, and I love the people I am meeting. I’ve made a few friends who I feel very close to, and I love that there is such a variety of girls at my school. Some grew up religious, others not, some are looking to become more observant, others are just interested in learning, some are young and some are much older. Everyone is open, intelligent, and excited to grow, in whatever way they can.
I also love the way the school itself works; classes are small, as is the building itself -- it’s basically a 2-story brownstone, so there are only 4 “classrooms,” one of which doubles as the dining room, plus a kitchen, a computer lounge, a library, and a reception area. It really does feel like you’re going to someone’s house to learn every day, which I really enjoy. There are only about 50 girls there, and we all live in apartments scattered around the community. Mine happens to be the furthest away, and is a 20 minute walk, so it’s a good way to start out my day. Classes consist of 2 parts: first, we learn the text on our own with a partner, (called a chavruta) basically grappling with it, interpreting the hebrew, figuring out what it means on our own. Then, for the second half, a Rabbi or Rebbetzin will take over and elucidate for us, go more in depth, and create discussion. It’s a great way to learn something, as it gives us a chance to really wrestle with the text, rather than just hearing someone lecture to us about it.
At the same time as I love the learning and the people, I still have a lot of that homesickness going on. I miss Ezra terribly. I know I never took our time together for granted, but somehow it still feels like I should have appreciated him even more while I still got to be around him. And it hurts. A lot. Still, now that we’re so far apart, the distance is only making me feel closer to him, if that makes any sense at all. I think of him a lot, even though I know I’m supposed to be so focused on myself right now, but I don’t think that’s such a bad thing. What’s the point of focusing on yourself if not to grow in ways that make you better at relating to those you love? I don’t even know if that feeling is mutual, but I certainly hope it lasts. I’m also just missing the familiarity of home, of New York, of my family and friends. I miss the comfort of cuddling up on my couch to the Daily Show, having dinner with my Mom, grabbing lunch uptown with my Dad, going out for drinks with David and Danielle, seeing Rae and Liat after they get out of work. I know, I only really had that life for about a month this summer, but I miss it anyway. I’m just so far away here, in so many ways. Even on this blog, although I love the dialogue it has stimulated, the comments sometimes make me feel even more distant. Actually, at the moment I’m feeling it particularly strongly. I kind of want to jump on a plane and come home for the holidays. Sigh. (you should know, I wrote the first 2 paragraphs last night, after a good day, and the second this morning, at the start of a pretty bad one. So that should explain the differences. Blah, I feel pretty down right now. )
So, yeah, I love it, and sometimes I don’t. So now that I’ve completely contradicted myself in the last few paragraphs, I’ll speak a bit on Rosh Hashana.
In Judaism, the new year isn’t really analogous to the secular one. A secular new year’s eve is all about the party, the drinking, the hype, and the eventual inevitable let-down of a night that simply never lives up to expectations. The Jewish one is more like a celebration of time itself, an acknowledgement that we have come full circle, all the way through all those other holidays and seasons, back to the same point we’ve been at so many times before, but this time, hopefully at a higher and better place than in the past. Time is not linear according to Torah; it is an upwards spiral, one that continually goes around and around, each time rising up another level of maturity, goodness, and holiness. It’s all about growth. Am I a better person this time around? Did I improve? Did I try harder, work on myself, learn, and become more than I was? New Year’s Eve resolutions often boil down to things like exercise and diet. But those considered on Rosh Hashana have a lot more to do with real personal growth, such as how you interact with other people, and how you see your relationship with Hashem, (if you are into that). It’s a time to really think hard about the year that has passed, evaluate each and every moment that you can remember, and then consciously choose to learn from your mistakes and victories alike, moving forward with a renewed vigor and zeal for life. Rather than making empty promises to yourself, you’re supposed to focus on where you are realistically heading, based on where you have been and where you want to end up.
Teshuvah, or “returning” (to what? Goodness? Yourself?), is supposed to be like a rebirth; it is described by many as a kind of healing. Much as physical healing brings our bodies back to their natural healthy states, so too tshuva healing can bring our inner selves back to a natural state of purity. The difference being that through tshuva, you return to your natural state with a strengthened ability to weather challenges that will inevitably arise in the future, since you have consciously chosen to be better. Physical healing tends to feel like it is something that happens to us, by taking the right medicines that a doctor prescribes, and sometimes just letting time work its magic on that nasty cold, (although there is surely a mind element to that as well,) whereas in Teshuvah, we are meant to take the reigns, choose to improve, and choose to use this gift of rebirth as an opportunity for greatness rather than a get out of jail free card.
I’ve also learned that while this yearly cleansing is a gift, it is one that is really only received by those who acknowledge it as such. For instance, last year, I didn’t really notice the holiday at all. Sure, I went to meals with family. But I didn’t go to shul, I didn’t really think about much at all, I just let the days pass by like any other. As a result, I doubt anything really changed within me. This time, I hope to do things a bit differently. Why pass up this opportunity? Even for those who don’t believe in G-d, I think it’s a good thing to have a time each year when you force yourself to focus on your strengths and faults, and evaluate where you can improve. Goodness knows we won’t do that on New Year’s Eve. So why not now? Give it a shot; it feels pretty good, I think.
Interestingly, I just learned that on the actual day of Rosh Hashana, we are not supposed to do any tshuva at all. Certainly on the days surrounding it, and on Yom Kippur, but on the actual day, we’re supposed to just focus on the fresh start, and on Hashem’s goodness in the world, if you like. (I feel like I keep having to supplement any statement I make about G-d with a “if you want to,” so from now on, I’m just gona leave it assumed.) Anyway, it’s supposed to be a day of seeing goodness around you, of connection, of joy, of love. So, you might ask, why not have yom kippur first? Why not first do tshuva for the things we did wrong last year, so that we can then be joyful and excited about the coming year with a clean slate? The answer is that you can only do tshuva after you have acknowledged that there is a reason for it in the first place. If the world has no meaning, no beauty, no anything, then what’s the point of trying to be better? So that’s why it goes in that order.
One last thing I learned that I really liked. Rosh Hashana is supposed to be first and foremost about the clal, the community. Yom Kippur is more personal/individual, but Rosh Hashana is meant to be experienced with others. Another word for “community” in hebrew is “tzibur”: we are told to daven “b’tzibur” on rosh hashana, not by ourselves. The word itself reveals what “community” means in this context. “Tzibur” is a contraction of 3 words: Tzaddik, Beinoni, and Rasha, which mean a righteous person, an in-between person, and an evil person. So, when we are told to daven b’tzibur, we are really being told to include every single type of person in the community: not just the good guys, and not just for the bad guys, but rather with and for each and every person there is. Rosh Hashana is not the time to differentiate, to make our own judgments of others, to typecast. It is a time to welcome everyone in, and be as one as we face the new year.
Thought that was nice. So maybe next week, if you go to shul or not, if you have a meal, if you're just with family, think about goodness in the world, and rebirth, and how everyone matters. We're all in this world together, after all. Nice to have a day to acknowledge that.
Shana Tovah Umetukah,
Shira
PS here’s a cute Rosh Hashana song on youtube: http://it.youtube.com/watch?v=vOTOdBzSpYc
And a rap about it that has become a bit of a running joke, even tho it says some serious things: http://it.youtube.com/watch?v=LeFdYp5rU-0
Pps I added gadget thingies to the side of my blog, I’ll prob add more in the future. For now, I put up some clocks, and a science news scroll thing. (I’m cool, I know.)
I’m feeling pretty content, most of the time. I love learning, I love being in Israel, I love the independence I have here, and I love the people I am meeting. I’ve made a few friends who I feel very close to, and I love that there is such a variety of girls at my school. Some grew up religious, others not, some are looking to become more observant, others are just interested in learning, some are young and some are much older. Everyone is open, intelligent, and excited to grow, in whatever way they can.
I also love the way the school itself works; classes are small, as is the building itself -- it’s basically a 2-story brownstone, so there are only 4 “classrooms,” one of which doubles as the dining room, plus a kitchen, a computer lounge, a library, and a reception area. It really does feel like you’re going to someone’s house to learn every day, which I really enjoy. There are only about 50 girls there, and we all live in apartments scattered around the community. Mine happens to be the furthest away, and is a 20 minute walk, so it’s a good way to start out my day. Classes consist of 2 parts: first, we learn the text on our own with a partner, (called a chavruta) basically grappling with it, interpreting the hebrew, figuring out what it means on our own. Then, for the second half, a Rabbi or Rebbetzin will take over and elucidate for us, go more in depth, and create discussion. It’s a great way to learn something, as it gives us a chance to really wrestle with the text, rather than just hearing someone lecture to us about it.
At the same time as I love the learning and the people, I still have a lot of that homesickness going on. I miss Ezra terribly. I know I never took our time together for granted, but somehow it still feels like I should have appreciated him even more while I still got to be around him. And it hurts. A lot. Still, now that we’re so far apart, the distance is only making me feel closer to him, if that makes any sense at all. I think of him a lot, even though I know I’m supposed to be so focused on myself right now, but I don’t think that’s such a bad thing. What’s the point of focusing on yourself if not to grow in ways that make you better at relating to those you love? I don’t even know if that feeling is mutual, but I certainly hope it lasts. I’m also just missing the familiarity of home, of New York, of my family and friends. I miss the comfort of cuddling up on my couch to the Daily Show, having dinner with my Mom, grabbing lunch uptown with my Dad, going out for drinks with David and Danielle, seeing Rae and Liat after they get out of work. I know, I only really had that life for about a month this summer, but I miss it anyway. I’m just so far away here, in so many ways. Even on this blog, although I love the dialogue it has stimulated, the comments sometimes make me feel even more distant. Actually, at the moment I’m feeling it particularly strongly. I kind of want to jump on a plane and come home for the holidays. Sigh. (you should know, I wrote the first 2 paragraphs last night, after a good day, and the second this morning, at the start of a pretty bad one. So that should explain the differences. Blah, I feel pretty down right now. )
So, yeah, I love it, and sometimes I don’t. So now that I’ve completely contradicted myself in the last few paragraphs, I’ll speak a bit on Rosh Hashana.
In Judaism, the new year isn’t really analogous to the secular one. A secular new year’s eve is all about the party, the drinking, the hype, and the eventual inevitable let-down of a night that simply never lives up to expectations. The Jewish one is more like a celebration of time itself, an acknowledgement that we have come full circle, all the way through all those other holidays and seasons, back to the same point we’ve been at so many times before, but this time, hopefully at a higher and better place than in the past. Time is not linear according to Torah; it is an upwards spiral, one that continually goes around and around, each time rising up another level of maturity, goodness, and holiness. It’s all about growth. Am I a better person this time around? Did I improve? Did I try harder, work on myself, learn, and become more than I was? New Year’s Eve resolutions often boil down to things like exercise and diet. But those considered on Rosh Hashana have a lot more to do with real personal growth, such as how you interact with other people, and how you see your relationship with Hashem, (if you are into that). It’s a time to really think hard about the year that has passed, evaluate each and every moment that you can remember, and then consciously choose to learn from your mistakes and victories alike, moving forward with a renewed vigor and zeal for life. Rather than making empty promises to yourself, you’re supposed to focus on where you are realistically heading, based on where you have been and where you want to end up.
Teshuvah, or “returning” (to what? Goodness? Yourself?), is supposed to be like a rebirth; it is described by many as a kind of healing. Much as physical healing brings our bodies back to their natural healthy states, so too tshuva healing can bring our inner selves back to a natural state of purity. The difference being that through tshuva, you return to your natural state with a strengthened ability to weather challenges that will inevitably arise in the future, since you have consciously chosen to be better. Physical healing tends to feel like it is something that happens to us, by taking the right medicines that a doctor prescribes, and sometimes just letting time work its magic on that nasty cold, (although there is surely a mind element to that as well,) whereas in Teshuvah, we are meant to take the reigns, choose to improve, and choose to use this gift of rebirth as an opportunity for greatness rather than a get out of jail free card.
I’ve also learned that while this yearly cleansing is a gift, it is one that is really only received by those who acknowledge it as such. For instance, last year, I didn’t really notice the holiday at all. Sure, I went to meals with family. But I didn’t go to shul, I didn’t really think about much at all, I just let the days pass by like any other. As a result, I doubt anything really changed within me. This time, I hope to do things a bit differently. Why pass up this opportunity? Even for those who don’t believe in G-d, I think it’s a good thing to have a time each year when you force yourself to focus on your strengths and faults, and evaluate where you can improve. Goodness knows we won’t do that on New Year’s Eve. So why not now? Give it a shot; it feels pretty good, I think.
Interestingly, I just learned that on the actual day of Rosh Hashana, we are not supposed to do any tshuva at all. Certainly on the days surrounding it, and on Yom Kippur, but on the actual day, we’re supposed to just focus on the fresh start, and on Hashem’s goodness in the world, if you like. (I feel like I keep having to supplement any statement I make about G-d with a “if you want to,” so from now on, I’m just gona leave it assumed.) Anyway, it’s supposed to be a day of seeing goodness around you, of connection, of joy, of love. So, you might ask, why not have yom kippur first? Why not first do tshuva for the things we did wrong last year, so that we can then be joyful and excited about the coming year with a clean slate? The answer is that you can only do tshuva after you have acknowledged that there is a reason for it in the first place. If the world has no meaning, no beauty, no anything, then what’s the point of trying to be better? So that’s why it goes in that order.
One last thing I learned that I really liked. Rosh Hashana is supposed to be first and foremost about the clal, the community. Yom Kippur is more personal/individual, but Rosh Hashana is meant to be experienced with others. Another word for “community” in hebrew is “tzibur”: we are told to daven “b’tzibur” on rosh hashana, not by ourselves. The word itself reveals what “community” means in this context. “Tzibur” is a contraction of 3 words: Tzaddik, Beinoni, and Rasha, which mean a righteous person, an in-between person, and an evil person. So, when we are told to daven b’tzibur, we are really being told to include every single type of person in the community: not just the good guys, and not just for the bad guys, but rather with and for each and every person there is. Rosh Hashana is not the time to differentiate, to make our own judgments of others, to typecast. It is a time to welcome everyone in, and be as one as we face the new year.
Thought that was nice. So maybe next week, if you go to shul or not, if you have a meal, if you're just with family, think about goodness in the world, and rebirth, and how everyone matters. We're all in this world together, after all. Nice to have a day to acknowledge that.
Shana Tovah Umetukah,
Shira
PS here’s a cute Rosh Hashana song on youtube: http://it.youtube.com/watch?v=vOTOdBzSpYc
And a rap about it that has become a bit of a running joke, even tho it says some serious things: http://it.youtube.com/watch?v=LeFdYp5rU-0
Pps I added gadget thingies to the side of my blog, I’ll prob add more in the future. For now, I put up some clocks, and a science news scroll thing. (I’m cool, I know.)
Monday, September 22, 2008
Hi, G-d. It's me, Shira.
In all this thinking about the upcoming “high holy days,” I can’t help but think about G-d, just a bit. OK, maybe more than a bit. I mean, I am here, in this holy place, learning Torah, learning about myself and who I am and where I’m going and where I’m coming from. So you really just can’t avoid considering the source of it all. Everyone has their own take on things, and hopefully everyone has taken the time to question. I thought I’d write a bit about my own journey in belief, or knowledge, or questioning, or whatever you wanna call it. Here goes.
G-d. Upper-case G, hyphen, lower-case d. Hashem. “The name.” Father in heaven. Master of the universe. Was, is, and will be. Hm.
I read a book over the summer called “Seeing G-d”. It was based in kabbalah, (Jewish mysticism, which is really a lot more than just mysticism, as it’s the same oral law that was passed down from Mount Sinai, just like all the rest of the laws and explanations of the Torah...this stuff was just way more hidden and esoteric, and only accessible to those who were mature and wise and learned enough to enter its depths without going certifiably insane. And no, it is not that which Madonna has taken up as a hobby.) The book spoke about G-d as an all-encompassing entity, as more than just a figure or a place or an idea: it spoke of Him as reality itself, the air we breathe, the sights we see, the voices we hear, the people we know, everything. The first chapter was entitled something along the lines of “Erasing G-d,” and it said that you can only really start to believe in Him once you have forgotten all your preconceived, childish, media-regulated images of Him. Erase the booming voice yelling at Charlton Heston, erase the old man with flowing white robes and a long beard, erase Zeus, and that kid who spoke through a microphone in the school play. Forget the name “G-d,” too – it’s actually just a name of a pagan god, which we adopted for English usage (as is “Allah” btw,) so from now on I’ll try to refer to Him as “Hashem” – “the name,” since I really don’t know what His name is, anyway. This erasing is a much more difficult task than it seems, and I still can’t get that white beard out of my head. But I realized that I had never really tried to think of Him in this way. As present in everything, everyone, every idea, every moment of the universe. Kabbalah says that He has 70 different names, and that each one represents a different attribute of his, or a different way we can come to see or know Him in the world. In the Shmonah Esrei, which is the main section of prayer in the daily service, it says “the G-d of avraham, the G-d of Yitzchak, and the G-d of Yaacov.” The commentators ask, why don’t we just say “the G-d of Avraham, Yitchak and Yaacov”? Why does it have to say “the G-d of” 3 separate times? Why waste words? The answer is that each one of them had a different “G-d,” so to speak. They each related to Him in a different way (through love, fear, and suffering/combination of love and fear, respectively.) So, we say that phrase 3 times to remind ourselves that they each had individual ways of connecting and relating to their creator. Hashem is one, but His access points are many.
But I’ve gotten ahead of myself. I haven’t always been able to think in such terms, nor have I always allowed myself to. Let’s start from the very beginning, as it’s a very good place to start.
When I was little, Hashem wasn’t a question. He was Santa Claus, basically (please excuse the analogy...a thousand separations between the two, as they say in the relig circles). He was there because he was there, because my Mommy and Daddy said so, because my teachers in school taught me to sing to Him, because we didn’t want to make Him cry on Shabbat by touching muksah things, (muksah is a category of objects that we are not supposed to hold on Shabbat, such as money or electrical appliances,) because he gave us things and sometimes took away things too, and because I felt Him. I know, I was young, I didn’t really know anything other than what everyone around me told me I knew, but I really did think I felt Him there. You know how sometimes your ear gets a little clogged up and you hear this beeping sound from somewhere in your head? I used to think that every time that happened, it meant that Hashem needed to talk to me about something. I would literally run to my windowsill, press my little cheek up against the glass so that I could see up to the sky, and I’d just start to talk. Usually I could figure out exactly what He needed to talk to me about – either I had done something I needed to apologize for, or there was someone who was sick or sad who I needed to pray for, or He was just feeling lonely and wanted some company. So I’d sit there and chat, and then I’d say I love you Hashem, and run back to whatever I had been doing beforehand. I never really told anyone about that, which is odd for me – I used to love broadcasting things that I thought would make everyone proud of me, (humility not being my strong suit) and talking to Hashem was definitely something I used to think would get praised (my how times have changed). I guess some part of me knew that this was a relationship best kept to myself. So I did just that. We had our little pow wows by the window, and that was the most intimate connection I’ve ever had to Him in my life.
Then I grew. I grew and I grew and I ended up in middle school, which is when I learned about agnosticism. My Dad taught me that one: I remember sitting with him on the black leather couch in the den, and talking to him about how he was once taught that Hashem fit all the animals into Noah’s ark by making itty bitty versions of them; an idea that sounded preposterous, of course. (I’ve since learned a more sophisticated response to the question, so thankfully I’m not still stuck on that one. But it certainly got to me for a while.) I can’t remember the conversation exactly, but I know that by the end of it, I knew that there was a middle ground between belief and atheism. At that point I still believed, but I think it was then that the questions started bubbling up.
Enter ninth grade. Puberty. Drama. Boys. Confusion. World Jewish History class. We were learning about the Chanukah story, but this time on a historical level rather than a religious one. We learned about how there were two different accounts of it, one written by a Jew in Israel, who witnessed the events firsthand, and the other written by a non-Jew in Egypt, who was writing about it second-hand. We read the sources, and lo and behold, there was not a single mention of the oil that lasted 8 days and nights. The military victory was there, which I supposed was miraculous in itself, but come on, when I say Chanukah, you say oil! Where was the oil? In fact, they both wrote that the reason they celebrated for 8 days and nights was because due to the war, they hadn’t had a chance to celebrate Succot that year, which is also an 8 day holiday. So there it was, right in front of my face: the holiday that had always been my favorite, the one with the coolest miracle and the presents and the latkes, was a sham. I was completely disillusioned. My teacher explained that the oil part of the miracle was written centuries later in the Talmud, and was possibly entered as a way of inspiring the people who were in the midst of a spiritual crisis. The military miracle was cool, but not quite cool enough to get the people out of their spiritual slump, so maybe they added the oil one for good measure. My teacher, who was a kippah-wearing modern orthodox man, then quickly went on to say that of course this doesn’t mean it didn’t happen; only that it is important to learn the original sources so we can make our own decisions on what we think happened.
This killed me.
My own decision? Since when can I make my own decision on this kind of thing? And where was the decision here? Chanukah didn’t happen, plain and simple. Two historical accounts, two different sources, neither one mentions it. Bing bang boom, no more miracle. Of course, that year was also the year I took biology, so this class coupled with a good dose of evolutionary theory basically killed it for me. I was beyond agnostic; He was just gone.
For a few years after that, basically all of high school, I would relate this story to people, and try to find out what they thought. I got many answers, some of which bothered me even more, (“just have faith!”) and some of which just convinced me that no one who believes in Hashem ever really thinks about anything (“ok, but it still probably did happen, right?”). I was convinced that religion was just a made up tradition, that I still enjoyed, but that had nothing backing it up in terms of reality or truth.
I should mention that between the years of 7th and early 10th grades, I was keeping Shabbat even though my family was not. When I was little we all used to keep it together, and those were my favorite years of my life, even to this day. But over separation and divorce and distance and plain old time, Shabbat had disappeared from my home. Fortunately, I went to Jewish camps where all my friends kept it, and my experiences there were so amazing that I knew I wanted to have it at home again as well, even if it meant dong it alone. It was extremely difficult, since I did not get as much support in it as I would have liked, and it ended up feeling like more of a struggle than a pleasure. It turned into some kind of rebellion in a way, and so it unceremoniously ended with the arrival of a boyfriend who wasn’t interested. So much for that. I suppose keeping Shabbat when Hashem’s out of the picture doesn’t really work so well.
So then came college. Off to the University of Pennsylvania, ready to tackle the big questions, like what my major would be and what career I would be preparing for. Ha. Big questions, indeed. I stayed away from Hillel while I was there, since it only reminded me of the personalities at my high school that I did not get along with. It had a cliquish quality to it, and I just never felt welcomed there. I stayed away from Judaism almost entirely, to be honest. I still kept kosher, or sort of kosher, and I went home for holidays and I knew Hebrew and I wore a star around my neck every now and then, but it really didn’t have anything meaningful behind it. If anything, it was a community that was there for the taking, that I felt comfortable knowing was there if I needed it. But I never really made much of an effort to involve myself; everyone was Jewish at Penn, anyway, so I was immersed in the secular versions of it, which felt like enough at the time.
The only exceptions to this rule were the times when I spent Shabbat meals with a Rabbi and his family who lived near campus. They were there to teach, inspire, and create community. Every time I went there, I felt some strange yearning inside. It was simultaneously elation and depression; it was experiencing something I had missed for so long, but that I wasn’t ready to acknowledge was lacking from my life. I did this for four years. Ask anyone who knew me well: I’d come home from Friday evening dinners there with a strange look on my face, and a deep urge to cry all night. I often did just that.
I still hadn’t confronted the Hashem question, and I was pretty set in my agnostic ways by then. Then, the summer after my sophomore year, I went to Israel on a 3-week trip called Meor. It was an incredible experience, full of travelling, and learning. (I recommend it to anyone interested in checking out Israel, for really cheap. Everyone who goes on it says it’s way better than birthright, as you see most of the same sights, plus they make you think. )The learning I experienced on that trip was like none I had ever experienced before; it was so engaging, so real, so close to my heart and mind. I certainly had never learned this way at Ramaz, or in college. They really wanted us to ask, to tackle big questions, to think really, really hard about who we were, and why we were. So I thought. And I asked. And I got answers.
There was one question in particular that had been burning within me for years. How can we be commanded to believe in Hashem? If I don’t believe in the first place, then how can you command me to? Who is doing the commanding, and why should I listen? And if I already do believe, then what’s the point of the commandment? I already believe, so why do you need to tell me to do something I already do?
The answer I received that day changed the way I’ve thought about Hashem and religion forever. The Rabbi responded: In a sense, it is directed at both types of people, and here is why. The Rambam interprets this mitzvah to mean that we must learn about the world. That through learning about the world, as in science, biology, physics, chemistry, nature, people, relationships, ideas, and Torah too, we can find Hashem. I was astounded by this. Was he saying that we are actually commanded to learn science? That it’s not just about believing and faith, that there is an element of finding an answer? I always thought that faith was something you either had or you didn’t, and that I simply didn’t, at least not anymore. I never realized that these crazy religious people thought that you could find Hashem, that it wasn’t just some feeling people had and never really thought about. It was then that I understood what my freshman year astronomy teacher meant when she called our Big Bang class a “religious” lesson. She explained that most of her colleagues who study the origins of the universe end up becoming religious through their scientific exploration, and that she herself was well on her way. Basically, when you get down to it, there’s a lot out there that points to His existence. Sometimes it just takes a really good hard look under a microscope, through a telescope, or into an equation to find Him.
I didn’t start believing then, but I certainly shifted the way I understood belief as a concept, as well as religion and Judaism’s take on Hashem. Rather than an inaccessible impossibility, I saw it as a challenge. I would learn everything I could, and maybe in that way, I’d find my answers.
So I’ve been doing that ever since. Learning, exploring, asking. Reading and reading and reading, specifically the science stuff, since I think biology class really did a number on me way back when. It’s pretty cool to learn about ways that the Torah and science actually match up; for instance, evolution works perfectly well with the creation story, as does the Big Bang, as do the dinosaurs, as does string theory. (Also, that Chanukah hang-up I had got cleared up pretty quick. Phew.) In the end, I have to say that while I’m not at that 100% mark yet on the G-d thing, (is anyone?) I’m certainly much further along. I have found in my studies that most evidence points to His existence rather than not, and while I know that in today’s society, G-d is almost a bad word, I really don’t want to be swayed by the opinions of others. I want to find for myself, and go with what works. I do see Him in my life much more now, even though I am extremely wary of convincing myself of something that isn’t there. I don’t want it to be like in the movie The Number 23, where Jim Carrey starts to see 23 everywhere he goes because he convinces himself of it (even though in the end, it really was everywhere because his evil wife was working against him behind the scenes). I don’t want to see something that’s not there, but I also don’t want to not see something that is, just because so many people have lost sight of it. So, yes, I’ve been looking, and I’ve been seeing. I’ve also had those blind spot moments, when I stop and think that maybe I’m insane, maybe there is no meaning, no purpose, no existence beyond this physical one we see in front of our noses. But I guess while science is starting to get all spiritual on me in its quantumness, and while my own life is heading in a direction that seems much brighter and exciting than ever before, it seems silly to ignore the possibility.
There’s a saying in Judaism: “Where is Hashem? Wherever you let Him in.”
I want to let Him in. I do, despite all the people I know who I can picture scoffing at that. I can admit it, I can say without fear of being judged that I do want to be someone who believes with her whole heart and soul, because I have seen the types of people and families that such a belief fosters. (I’m obviously not talking about fanatics who distort faith to be about terror and murder and violence, nor am I talking about those who use in a more mildly bad way, but bad nonetheless, such as to put others down, or judge people -- anything that has great power for good can also be used for evil, including the name of Hashem. I’m talking about those who use their belief and their relationship with Him to try and live in His image, to be good, to give, to grow, to love, to create, to teach, and to make the world a better place. I’ve met several people like that here. Not such bad role models, I’d say.) I don’t want to be one of those types who pushes their beliefs on others; this is not about anyone else but me. And trust me, I am an extremely rational thinker, almost to the point of absurdity at the moment, as you’ve probably gathered from my last post. I’m not one to believe things that don’t make sense. So even if I can’t write out a logical proof for you, (although there are those who have done so,) I can say that this is making sense, in its way. It’s not a “feeling,” and it’s not a “spiritual high.” It’s not something that just “happened” to me, like an epileptic seizure or some kind of indescribable experience that comes and goes. It’s a reality for me, one of many realities we are never fully aware of I’m sure, and one that I am finally learning to tune into. A process, a journey, an active pursuit.
I see these girls wake up every morning and pray. I see them make little blessings before and after they eat, and I know the words they say by heart. I was trained well as a child to know all of the words, but not the meaning behind them, so now they stand as empty shells, gibberish spoken from mouths that somehow find a higher purpose in those sounds. That meaning is what I seek now. I don’t want to get up and pray when I’m not sure who I’m talking to. It feels fake, hypocritical even. But every now and then, I do know. Every now and then, I get this sense that maybe this time, this bite of an apple won’t be just any old bite. Maybe this bite will bring me closer to someone or something that’s been missing me for several years. Maybe this time, I can just let go, and say the words that used to feel so fake. Maybe this time, they’ll feel real, like those days at the window.
Of course, belief in an all-knowing entity who chose my people to represent His name in the world has its implications. I don’t want to change my life completely. I love Judaism and I love feeling religious and connected to something higher and something more real than so much of the fakery I’ve been surrounded by for so long. But I’m not one of those haters of the secular world. I like my movies and my parties and my meaningless moments and silly conversations about nothingness. But then again, I want more, and I now know that there is so much more to be had. So far, I feel better than I ever have before, with the exception of those years when everything really made sense, when everything was whole and right. Hopefully I’m not just making this all up to make myself feel better. I guess I’ll never really know...but at least I’ll have asked the questions, and examined the answers. That’s all any of us can really do.
B’ahava, Shira
PS there is a girl here, named Erika, who is also keeping a blog about her experiences and thoughts here. She is an amazing writer, way better than I am, and if you really want to get a good sense of my time here, the place I’m living, and the reasons I chose this school, (as well as an idea of what the other girls are like here,) I suggest checking out her blog, as well. Although we come from different backgrounds, I feel very connected to her words, and they express much of what I am feeling as well. Her last few posts have all been about her time here, and they describe the community, the learning, and the feeling we and many others get from being here. She is also sitting right next to me, writing up her own “Hashem” post, which should be up soon. She just read me some of it – it’s pretty amazing, and I relate to it in many ways. Check it out, I promise it will not disappoint: findingeve.blogspot.com. (I also added her blog to my list on the right-hand side of this page, so you can always get to it through that link.)
G-d. Upper-case G, hyphen, lower-case d. Hashem. “The name.” Father in heaven. Master of the universe. Was, is, and will be. Hm.
I read a book over the summer called “Seeing G-d”. It was based in kabbalah, (Jewish mysticism, which is really a lot more than just mysticism, as it’s the same oral law that was passed down from Mount Sinai, just like all the rest of the laws and explanations of the Torah...this stuff was just way more hidden and esoteric, and only accessible to those who were mature and wise and learned enough to enter its depths without going certifiably insane. And no, it is not that which Madonna has taken up as a hobby.) The book spoke about G-d as an all-encompassing entity, as more than just a figure or a place or an idea: it spoke of Him as reality itself, the air we breathe, the sights we see, the voices we hear, the people we know, everything. The first chapter was entitled something along the lines of “Erasing G-d,” and it said that you can only really start to believe in Him once you have forgotten all your preconceived, childish, media-regulated images of Him. Erase the booming voice yelling at Charlton Heston, erase the old man with flowing white robes and a long beard, erase Zeus, and that kid who spoke through a microphone in the school play. Forget the name “G-d,” too – it’s actually just a name of a pagan god, which we adopted for English usage (as is “Allah” btw,) so from now on I’ll try to refer to Him as “Hashem” – “the name,” since I really don’t know what His name is, anyway. This erasing is a much more difficult task than it seems, and I still can’t get that white beard out of my head. But I realized that I had never really tried to think of Him in this way. As present in everything, everyone, every idea, every moment of the universe. Kabbalah says that He has 70 different names, and that each one represents a different attribute of his, or a different way we can come to see or know Him in the world. In the Shmonah Esrei, which is the main section of prayer in the daily service, it says “the G-d of avraham, the G-d of Yitzchak, and the G-d of Yaacov.” The commentators ask, why don’t we just say “the G-d of Avraham, Yitchak and Yaacov”? Why does it have to say “the G-d of” 3 separate times? Why waste words? The answer is that each one of them had a different “G-d,” so to speak. They each related to Him in a different way (through love, fear, and suffering/combination of love and fear, respectively.) So, we say that phrase 3 times to remind ourselves that they each had individual ways of connecting and relating to their creator. Hashem is one, but His access points are many.
But I’ve gotten ahead of myself. I haven’t always been able to think in such terms, nor have I always allowed myself to. Let’s start from the very beginning, as it’s a very good place to start.
When I was little, Hashem wasn’t a question. He was Santa Claus, basically (please excuse the analogy...a thousand separations between the two, as they say in the relig circles). He was there because he was there, because my Mommy and Daddy said so, because my teachers in school taught me to sing to Him, because we didn’t want to make Him cry on Shabbat by touching muksah things, (muksah is a category of objects that we are not supposed to hold on Shabbat, such as money or electrical appliances,) because he gave us things and sometimes took away things too, and because I felt Him. I know, I was young, I didn’t really know anything other than what everyone around me told me I knew, but I really did think I felt Him there. You know how sometimes your ear gets a little clogged up and you hear this beeping sound from somewhere in your head? I used to think that every time that happened, it meant that Hashem needed to talk to me about something. I would literally run to my windowsill, press my little cheek up against the glass so that I could see up to the sky, and I’d just start to talk. Usually I could figure out exactly what He needed to talk to me about – either I had done something I needed to apologize for, or there was someone who was sick or sad who I needed to pray for, or He was just feeling lonely and wanted some company. So I’d sit there and chat, and then I’d say I love you Hashem, and run back to whatever I had been doing beforehand. I never really told anyone about that, which is odd for me – I used to love broadcasting things that I thought would make everyone proud of me, (humility not being my strong suit) and talking to Hashem was definitely something I used to think would get praised (my how times have changed). I guess some part of me knew that this was a relationship best kept to myself. So I did just that. We had our little pow wows by the window, and that was the most intimate connection I’ve ever had to Him in my life.
Then I grew. I grew and I grew and I ended up in middle school, which is when I learned about agnosticism. My Dad taught me that one: I remember sitting with him on the black leather couch in the den, and talking to him about how he was once taught that Hashem fit all the animals into Noah’s ark by making itty bitty versions of them; an idea that sounded preposterous, of course. (I’ve since learned a more sophisticated response to the question, so thankfully I’m not still stuck on that one. But it certainly got to me for a while.) I can’t remember the conversation exactly, but I know that by the end of it, I knew that there was a middle ground between belief and atheism. At that point I still believed, but I think it was then that the questions started bubbling up.
Enter ninth grade. Puberty. Drama. Boys. Confusion. World Jewish History class. We were learning about the Chanukah story, but this time on a historical level rather than a religious one. We learned about how there were two different accounts of it, one written by a Jew in Israel, who witnessed the events firsthand, and the other written by a non-Jew in Egypt, who was writing about it second-hand. We read the sources, and lo and behold, there was not a single mention of the oil that lasted 8 days and nights. The military victory was there, which I supposed was miraculous in itself, but come on, when I say Chanukah, you say oil! Where was the oil? In fact, they both wrote that the reason they celebrated for 8 days and nights was because due to the war, they hadn’t had a chance to celebrate Succot that year, which is also an 8 day holiday. So there it was, right in front of my face: the holiday that had always been my favorite, the one with the coolest miracle and the presents and the latkes, was a sham. I was completely disillusioned. My teacher explained that the oil part of the miracle was written centuries later in the Talmud, and was possibly entered as a way of inspiring the people who were in the midst of a spiritual crisis. The military miracle was cool, but not quite cool enough to get the people out of their spiritual slump, so maybe they added the oil one for good measure. My teacher, who was a kippah-wearing modern orthodox man, then quickly went on to say that of course this doesn’t mean it didn’t happen; only that it is important to learn the original sources so we can make our own decisions on what we think happened.
This killed me.
My own decision? Since when can I make my own decision on this kind of thing? And where was the decision here? Chanukah didn’t happen, plain and simple. Two historical accounts, two different sources, neither one mentions it. Bing bang boom, no more miracle. Of course, that year was also the year I took biology, so this class coupled with a good dose of evolutionary theory basically killed it for me. I was beyond agnostic; He was just gone.
For a few years after that, basically all of high school, I would relate this story to people, and try to find out what they thought. I got many answers, some of which bothered me even more, (“just have faith!”) and some of which just convinced me that no one who believes in Hashem ever really thinks about anything (“ok, but it still probably did happen, right?”). I was convinced that religion was just a made up tradition, that I still enjoyed, but that had nothing backing it up in terms of reality or truth.
I should mention that between the years of 7th and early 10th grades, I was keeping Shabbat even though my family was not. When I was little we all used to keep it together, and those were my favorite years of my life, even to this day. But over separation and divorce and distance and plain old time, Shabbat had disappeared from my home. Fortunately, I went to Jewish camps where all my friends kept it, and my experiences there were so amazing that I knew I wanted to have it at home again as well, even if it meant dong it alone. It was extremely difficult, since I did not get as much support in it as I would have liked, and it ended up feeling like more of a struggle than a pleasure. It turned into some kind of rebellion in a way, and so it unceremoniously ended with the arrival of a boyfriend who wasn’t interested. So much for that. I suppose keeping Shabbat when Hashem’s out of the picture doesn’t really work so well.
So then came college. Off to the University of Pennsylvania, ready to tackle the big questions, like what my major would be and what career I would be preparing for. Ha. Big questions, indeed. I stayed away from Hillel while I was there, since it only reminded me of the personalities at my high school that I did not get along with. It had a cliquish quality to it, and I just never felt welcomed there. I stayed away from Judaism almost entirely, to be honest. I still kept kosher, or sort of kosher, and I went home for holidays and I knew Hebrew and I wore a star around my neck every now and then, but it really didn’t have anything meaningful behind it. If anything, it was a community that was there for the taking, that I felt comfortable knowing was there if I needed it. But I never really made much of an effort to involve myself; everyone was Jewish at Penn, anyway, so I was immersed in the secular versions of it, which felt like enough at the time.
The only exceptions to this rule were the times when I spent Shabbat meals with a Rabbi and his family who lived near campus. They were there to teach, inspire, and create community. Every time I went there, I felt some strange yearning inside. It was simultaneously elation and depression; it was experiencing something I had missed for so long, but that I wasn’t ready to acknowledge was lacking from my life. I did this for four years. Ask anyone who knew me well: I’d come home from Friday evening dinners there with a strange look on my face, and a deep urge to cry all night. I often did just that.
I still hadn’t confronted the Hashem question, and I was pretty set in my agnostic ways by then. Then, the summer after my sophomore year, I went to Israel on a 3-week trip called Meor. It was an incredible experience, full of travelling, and learning. (I recommend it to anyone interested in checking out Israel, for really cheap. Everyone who goes on it says it’s way better than birthright, as you see most of the same sights, plus they make you think. )The learning I experienced on that trip was like none I had ever experienced before; it was so engaging, so real, so close to my heart and mind. I certainly had never learned this way at Ramaz, or in college. They really wanted us to ask, to tackle big questions, to think really, really hard about who we were, and why we were. So I thought. And I asked. And I got answers.
There was one question in particular that had been burning within me for years. How can we be commanded to believe in Hashem? If I don’t believe in the first place, then how can you command me to? Who is doing the commanding, and why should I listen? And if I already do believe, then what’s the point of the commandment? I already believe, so why do you need to tell me to do something I already do?
The answer I received that day changed the way I’ve thought about Hashem and religion forever. The Rabbi responded: In a sense, it is directed at both types of people, and here is why. The Rambam interprets this mitzvah to mean that we must learn about the world. That through learning about the world, as in science, biology, physics, chemistry, nature, people, relationships, ideas, and Torah too, we can find Hashem. I was astounded by this. Was he saying that we are actually commanded to learn science? That it’s not just about believing and faith, that there is an element of finding an answer? I always thought that faith was something you either had or you didn’t, and that I simply didn’t, at least not anymore. I never realized that these crazy religious people thought that you could find Hashem, that it wasn’t just some feeling people had and never really thought about. It was then that I understood what my freshman year astronomy teacher meant when she called our Big Bang class a “religious” lesson. She explained that most of her colleagues who study the origins of the universe end up becoming religious through their scientific exploration, and that she herself was well on her way. Basically, when you get down to it, there’s a lot out there that points to His existence. Sometimes it just takes a really good hard look under a microscope, through a telescope, or into an equation to find Him.
I didn’t start believing then, but I certainly shifted the way I understood belief as a concept, as well as religion and Judaism’s take on Hashem. Rather than an inaccessible impossibility, I saw it as a challenge. I would learn everything I could, and maybe in that way, I’d find my answers.
So I’ve been doing that ever since. Learning, exploring, asking. Reading and reading and reading, specifically the science stuff, since I think biology class really did a number on me way back when. It’s pretty cool to learn about ways that the Torah and science actually match up; for instance, evolution works perfectly well with the creation story, as does the Big Bang, as do the dinosaurs, as does string theory. (Also, that Chanukah hang-up I had got cleared up pretty quick. Phew.) In the end, I have to say that while I’m not at that 100% mark yet on the G-d thing, (is anyone?) I’m certainly much further along. I have found in my studies that most evidence points to His existence rather than not, and while I know that in today’s society, G-d is almost a bad word, I really don’t want to be swayed by the opinions of others. I want to find for myself, and go with what works. I do see Him in my life much more now, even though I am extremely wary of convincing myself of something that isn’t there. I don’t want it to be like in the movie The Number 23, where Jim Carrey starts to see 23 everywhere he goes because he convinces himself of it (even though in the end, it really was everywhere because his evil wife was working against him behind the scenes). I don’t want to see something that’s not there, but I also don’t want to not see something that is, just because so many people have lost sight of it. So, yes, I’ve been looking, and I’ve been seeing. I’ve also had those blind spot moments, when I stop and think that maybe I’m insane, maybe there is no meaning, no purpose, no existence beyond this physical one we see in front of our noses. But I guess while science is starting to get all spiritual on me in its quantumness, and while my own life is heading in a direction that seems much brighter and exciting than ever before, it seems silly to ignore the possibility.
There’s a saying in Judaism: “Where is Hashem? Wherever you let Him in.”
I want to let Him in. I do, despite all the people I know who I can picture scoffing at that. I can admit it, I can say without fear of being judged that I do want to be someone who believes with her whole heart and soul, because I have seen the types of people and families that such a belief fosters. (I’m obviously not talking about fanatics who distort faith to be about terror and murder and violence, nor am I talking about those who use in a more mildly bad way, but bad nonetheless, such as to put others down, or judge people -- anything that has great power for good can also be used for evil, including the name of Hashem. I’m talking about those who use their belief and their relationship with Him to try and live in His image, to be good, to give, to grow, to love, to create, to teach, and to make the world a better place. I’ve met several people like that here. Not such bad role models, I’d say.) I don’t want to be one of those types who pushes their beliefs on others; this is not about anyone else but me. And trust me, I am an extremely rational thinker, almost to the point of absurdity at the moment, as you’ve probably gathered from my last post. I’m not one to believe things that don’t make sense. So even if I can’t write out a logical proof for you, (although there are those who have done so,) I can say that this is making sense, in its way. It’s not a “feeling,” and it’s not a “spiritual high.” It’s not something that just “happened” to me, like an epileptic seizure or some kind of indescribable experience that comes and goes. It’s a reality for me, one of many realities we are never fully aware of I’m sure, and one that I am finally learning to tune into. A process, a journey, an active pursuit.
I see these girls wake up every morning and pray. I see them make little blessings before and after they eat, and I know the words they say by heart. I was trained well as a child to know all of the words, but not the meaning behind them, so now they stand as empty shells, gibberish spoken from mouths that somehow find a higher purpose in those sounds. That meaning is what I seek now. I don’t want to get up and pray when I’m not sure who I’m talking to. It feels fake, hypocritical even. But every now and then, I do know. Every now and then, I get this sense that maybe this time, this bite of an apple won’t be just any old bite. Maybe this bite will bring me closer to someone or something that’s been missing me for several years. Maybe this time, I can just let go, and say the words that used to feel so fake. Maybe this time, they’ll feel real, like those days at the window.
Of course, belief in an all-knowing entity who chose my people to represent His name in the world has its implications. I don’t want to change my life completely. I love Judaism and I love feeling religious and connected to something higher and something more real than so much of the fakery I’ve been surrounded by for so long. But I’m not one of those haters of the secular world. I like my movies and my parties and my meaningless moments and silly conversations about nothingness. But then again, I want more, and I now know that there is so much more to be had. So far, I feel better than I ever have before, with the exception of those years when everything really made sense, when everything was whole and right. Hopefully I’m not just making this all up to make myself feel better. I guess I’ll never really know...but at least I’ll have asked the questions, and examined the answers. That’s all any of us can really do.
B’ahava, Shira
PS there is a girl here, named Erika, who is also keeping a blog about her experiences and thoughts here. She is an amazing writer, way better than I am, and if you really want to get a good sense of my time here, the place I’m living, and the reasons I chose this school, (as well as an idea of what the other girls are like here,) I suggest checking out her blog, as well. Although we come from different backgrounds, I feel very connected to her words, and they express much of what I am feeling as well. Her last few posts have all been about her time here, and they describe the community, the learning, and the feeling we and many others get from being here. She is also sitting right next to me, writing up her own “Hashem” post, which should be up soon. She just read me some of it – it’s pretty amazing, and I relate to it in many ways. Check it out, I promise it will not disappoint: findingeve.blogspot.com. (I also added her blog to my list on the right-hand side of this page, so you can always get to it through that link.)
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Response to a Response
Dear all, (and specifically Dad,)
This post isn’t really about anything I’m doing here; rather, it’s an elongated response to my Dad’s comment on my last post, which you can go look at if you want the context. I started out just typing it as a comment/response, but then my blog wouldn’t let me post it like that because it’s too big, and I figured I spent enough time on it to make it a bona fide post on its own. So, thanks Dad, for giving me a springboard for this post. Just a warning -- this one is very very long...I kind of started typing and never stopped.
Thank you so much for your comments. I really appreciate that you take the time to respond to the things I’m writing on here, this is the kind of thing I love discussing. Don't worry about sounding "pedantic," I appreciate the responses, and I hope for more just like it. I have my own opinions on some of what you said, and while I agree with most of it, I think we differ on a couple of points, which I hope it’s alright if I elaborate on here. And I don't think I'm definitely right on any of it, it's just how I'm thinking about things at the moment.
First off, I don't think you need to be completely immersed in something for it to be the "way to go" for someone – I think at a certain point, one needs to learn what makes sense rationally and what does not, and make clear-headed decisions on it all. I’m not “immersed,” (at least not in terms of what I’ve chosen to take on,) but so far, I've found that there's barely anything I've learned here that is actually irrational, (Judaism being extremely committed to rationality in terms of its commitment to logic and use of the mind,) so in the end, when I make a choice to not do something that makes sense to me, that is my personal decision to hoist my own emotional state above my rational one. That's happened a few times already, but at least I know that I'm trying to grow to a point where I can use my mind to make decisions, rather than only my heart. Sometimes your heart can be wrong...at least, mine can be, and certainly has been before, and will be again. Something can feel totally right, but in the end, it is actually the wrong thing, and visa versa as well, which I think is exactly what you were saying at the end of your comment. (obviously there is a ton out there to learn, in anything in life, and of course I will come across things that don’t make sense to me, and on those specific things I will need to decide whether to do them anyway – a decision I am not prone to making).
The warm puppy theory sounds nice, and I do agree with it in a sense, but since it has gotten me and others into trouble before, I'm kind of liking the idea of going with my mind over all else right now, or at least trying to do that. Sometimes the answer doesn’t feel so "warm puppy," but in the end, it ends up being right. Right can't always feel good after all, at least not at first. I agree that I should do things that make me and those I care about happy. But there are two problems one can run into with this philosophy:
First, happiness is a difficult thing to define. I’ve learned to see it more as a means, rather than an end -- I want to act in happiness, towards other goals, rather than pursue it as the sole object of my actions. (the idea of the “pursuit of happiness” can actually be kind of depressing...if all of life is about pursuing happiness, then what happens if and when we actually get there? We’re done? Just live life, no more growth? I see it more as the pursuit of self-actualization, the pursuit of meaning, the pursuit of reality and growth, using happiness as a tool. That way, happiness will always be with me, but I will not be floundering about looking for what my next goal should be once I feel like I’m “happy” – I’ll use that to keep going.) Something might feel good at the moment, or in the short term, but is that happiness? I think real happiness is involved when you work towards the things that will make you and others ultimately happy, in the long term, and in a real way, rather than just following what feels good from day to day. (example: I've started to keep shabbat again, and while it is at times difficult because I've gotten used to certain things over the years, in the end, I know that it makes me happy in a real sense -- in this moment I might miss TV on a Friday night, but overall, I feel more complete, more connected, and more me when I overcome those things, in order to spend real time with friends and family, and even just thinking clearly for a few hours. (as well as the fact that it makes rational sense to me at this point, which I think has always been the missing piece for me in Judaism -- I've always lacked that understanding that there can be logical rational answers to things, rather than some wishy washy "spirituality" that I just didn't understand or have. Now that I can learn things that make real sense to me, I can make it my own, and I can then take the liberties with it that I otherwise would not have been able to do, when I used to consider it straight-up dogma).
The second problem that might lie in the idea of trying to make myself others around me happy is that feelings change. People change, lives change, situations change. I want to have a set of principles, actions, ideas, that are correct, not just apropos for each situation. Of course I have to be flexible, and I have to know how to react to new and different situations. But in terms of my own personal choices, I want to be able to differentiate between those things that I am doing because I am going with the flow, and trying to make myself or others feel “warm,” and those that I care enough about that they become part of me, they become definite, in almost any situation. (I say almost because obviously there are always exceptions.) So, yes, I want to make myself and others happy. But in the end, happiness is something quite elusive and that I see as being a means rather than an end, and also, I want to be able to know what I really believe is right, and the most beneficial for myself and others, sometimes even regardless of certain particulars and current emotions. The warm puppy philosophy works perfectly, as long as it is a pursuit of truth, or true warmth, rather than a feeling of warmth that can easily dissipate. (I don’t think we disagree here, I just wanted to clarify.)
Now to respond to your comment on spirituality, which is something I’ve been grappling with for a while. You said: “Spirituality comes in when our minds attempt to make some sense of it all. Since our perception is the only reality, invoking a spirit here and there makes it much more palatable. It then easily follows to elevate otherwise minuscule and meaningless human beings to the center of the world. After all, why not?”
I’m not going to pretend to know where spirituality comes from in general, but I can say that for me, what you said is not entirely the case. The only times I’ve felt spirituality are: a) when I’m being swept up by emotional things like singing, dancing, love, connecting to others (the irrational side of it, I’d say, which I find enjoyable at times, but downright dangerous and intimidating and reason for worry at others. While they can make me feel good, I never want to end up making decisions based on those moments. I think people who do that are actually surrendering their higher faculties and abilities, and making a mockery of the incredible capacity we have for logical thinking and deduction. I can understand why people would seek comfort in this kind of thing, but in the end, it can end up becoming more like an addiction to mind-altering substances, rather than an actual experience of meaning and reality.) This feeling is often fleeting, lasts for the extent of the song or dance or moment, and then disappears. Or, b) when I learn something that is so incredibly true to me, that works, that makes sense, logically, emotionally, factually, entirely. Basically, when something comes together in a way that makes every aspect of it completely clear and real, like the feeling of completing a thousand-piece puzzle, with a gorgeous picture on it that didn’t make sense until the very last piece was placed. (I feel this way often when I learn Rambam – his rationality to the point of scientifically picking apart every aspect of life is astounding, and I really enjoy learning things that are analytical like that. I’m not really into the stuff that’s just romantic and flighty – like I said, that stuff worries me.) Those moments feel incredibly “spiritual” to me, or at least I think that’s what it’s called when my whole body and “soul,” or reality, or self, whatever you want to call it, swells in happiness and appreciation of the moment. This kind of “spirituality” lasts much longer, for me – sometimes it never goes away. It is much more real, strong, and tangible than the first type, which is really just a warm feeling rather than a real result.
This second form of “spiritual” experience sounds a lot more like your statement that spirituality comes in when our minds attempt to make some sense of it all, but I think I mean it in a different way. You went on to say that invoking a spirit here and there makes reality more palatable, which actually sounds a bit patronizing, since it assumes that people kind of create certain ideas in their minds to make themselves feel better about reality. That hasn’t been my experience at all, nor is it of those who I’ve spoken to on the matter. (I’m sure it is the case for many people out there, but certainly much less so in circles where they put such a high premium on studying, learning, picking apart every little detail so that the whole can make sense only as a sum of its individually rational parts). Rather, spirituality for me comes strongest when I am feeling the most rational, and the most in tune to reality, even though we can perceive so little of it. I don’t invoke spirits....neither do most thinking people, I hope. I invoke my mind, and my heart sometimes. But I always do my best to base it in the real, because once I start making things up to make things more palatable, I leave myself vulnerable to disillusionment, which will surely come for any thinking person who tries to do that.
It does not, then, “easily follow” to elevate human beings to the center of the world. At least not for me, it doesn’t. Nothing can “easily” follow anything, unless it can be logically deduced from it. If not, then it is not easily following from it; it’s wishfully following from it. I think that believing humans are the purpose of creation often follows from a belief in G-d, because all signs in the world seem to point that way, once you have accepted that there is a design in the world. I’m not gonna debate that here, it’s obviously a waaaay bigger question, and eventually I’ll post about things like that, but for now, I just wanted to object to the idea that the reason people come to believe that humans are the center of the world is through their invocation of spirits in order to make themselves feel better about reality. I think it’s much more than that. You can argue that belief in G-d itself is incorrect, a point that could be argued until the end of time. But it is not illogical, and therefor it is not illogical to think that humans could be the point of creation, and such an idea does not have to stem from a desire to make reality palatable – it can be logically deduced.
One last thing on the subject of rationality/spirituality, (which I find incredibly fascinating, so I’ll probably end up writing a lot more on it). Over the summer, Ez and I took a great class called “the logic of faith”, and we learned that in Judaism, there is no such thing as “faith” – that word doesn’t even exist in the Hebrew language, which is a good way to know whether a concept exists in a society or not. There is such a high commitment to logic, that to have “faith” (which by definition is not based on reason,) is considered sacrilegious. Rather, there is a concept called “emunah,” which is often mistranslated to mean “faith”. It actually means “faithfulness” (a definition proven by multiple contextual uses in the Torah, where “faith” would not make any sense at all, such as Moses’ hands being faithful to their task). So, the point is that we are supposed to first find truth, by using our brains and thinking logically always and looking at the facts we have before us, and only then are we supposed to have emunah, or faithfulness, to the truth that we have found. This is because often, truth can get hidden and confused behind other things, but once we have seen it clearly, with total presence of mind, we are supposed to be faithful to that, rather than let our emotions take over. So, really, the concept of having faith in spirits or something without logical reasoning behind it, is something totally foreign to Judaism, and we are supposed to try very hard to steer clear of that kind of thinking. (Anyone interested in the notes from this class, let me know. It was incredible. Ask Ezra, he’ll back me up. Also, see Akiva Tatz’s books for more elaboration on these concepts, which is where I learned some of it as well, such as Living Inspired, and Letters to a Buddhist Jew).
K im getting repetitive. Anyway sorry this is long, I just find this stuff pretty fascinating, and I love discussing it with anyone who will listen. (ie the whole internet! Yay!) In the end, what we’ve said doesn’t differ too much – I believe that making myself and others happy is the most important thing, I just wanted to go a bit deeper into what that means for me. It’s not really a warm puppy in the end, to me. Puppies turn into dogs, and they’re not always so warm and nice. It’s more like a warm....everythingness. A warmth that really is warm, not just that makes us feel warm. If that makes sense. :) And as for spirituality, my main point is that I don’t invoke spirits...except for one time when I scared Keri and Blake (especially Blake) by making them think their late great Aunt was talking to them through a Ouija board. (Sorry, guys!) :)
Love, Shira
PS update on life: I made pasta last night. And all is well.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Updates, more physics, and some good 'ole repenting
I just finished days one and two of learning. The walk to school is about 20 minutes, which isn't bad, but once it starts getting freezing and rainy it might not be as nice. (apparantly it gets like that here....who knew?) It's been going really well in class - I was learning some pretty high-level stuff, and really got to use a lot of my hebrew and text skills, which are actually higher than most of the girls here (see, I learned things at Ramaz! more on that later.) I learned some Jewish philosophy, some meanings behind prayers, some preparation for rosh hashana, some Talmud/midrash, some Jonah, some Maharal (a kabbalist dude who is awesome,) and some other random things. They're really great about customizing my schedule here, too. For instance, I told them that I don't really want to take a halacha class (halacha literally means "the way to go," or "the walk," and it is basically the details and particulars of all the laws and commandments and ways to go about your day.) I'm just not really at a place yet where I feel like learning all of that, especially since I am still struggling with the bigger questions. Or maybe I'm just going by the ignorance is bliss philosophy. Either way, I don't want to take halacha right now, and they were totally cool with it. Instead I got set up with a tutor, and I get to learn whatever I want. So, one day a week I'll be doing a Q&A session, where I think up questions beforehand and we discuss them, (I have a biggie that I'll write about at some point. Free will, determinism, fun stuff,) and then another day I'll be learning the Kuzari, which is a really cool piece of Jewish philosophy/discourse written by rabbi Yehudah Hanasi. It's basically about this king, the Kuzari, who wants to find out which of the 3 major world religions makes the most sense, so he invites representatives from all three to make a case for themselves before him. I'm pretty excited to learn that one in depth.
I'm feeling a bit better about being here now that I actually got to focus on learning. I'm still homesick, but a little less so. I guess I just need to be occupied. Shabbat was alright. I spent meals with a couple of families, but it was still tough to be away. I ended up sleeping for most of the day, and I bonded a bit more with my roommates.
I spoke to the administrators about possibly switching apartments to be with girls who are a bit more at my level in terms of religiosity and outlook on being here. In the end, I decided to stay where I am for a few reasons. First, I really like my roommate Esther, and while she comes from a frum background, she's very down to earth and fun to talk to. Plus, we learned together in class today, and she's a great study partner (although I am actually at a higher text level, which can be challenging sometimes). I also think it will be good for me to learn to be around people who are different from me. Why come here if not to try and push my comfort zone a bit further? It's a bit intimidating to wake up to 5 girls praying in the livingroom, especially when I'm still struggling with things like that and wondering if I will be, or will ever want to be, the type who can wake up in the morning and pray, but that's alright, I know I can go at my own pace and just do what feels right for me. For now, at least. If it gets too difficult, I may switch apartments.
On the physics thing again -- now that I wrote that out, and read over my brother's and my Dad's responses, I can't really get it out of my head. Every time I sit down at a table, I look at it and wonder if it's really there. Then I wonder if I'm here. Then I get a headache, and wonder if that's there. Fun! I read another cool idea in that same book. When does water become wet? As in: if you have one molecule of H2O, is that wet? No, not yet, because wetness is a description of the distinct level of viscosity water has in its liquid form, and in order to even form a liquid in the first place, there need to be more than one molecule. Fine, so how about 2 or 3? At that point, it is still completely invisible to the human eye, much less the human fingertip. So, is it still called "wet?" Or does it only become wet at the point when it is perceptible? Does a tree falling in a forest make a sound? Well, no, not really. It makes waves in the air, which travel through space, but those only really become "sound" when they reach an ear that can pick up the wave and perceive it as such. So, by that logic, water does not become wet until we perceive it. So then what about everything else in the world? Do things only exist when we perceive them? But we can barely perceive anything at all, it seems. We certainly can't perceive most of the micro-levels of physicality, nor can we perceive all the energy around us (which, as we've established previously, all physicality is made up of in the first place). So maybe none of that exists, either? Well, what if an animal perceives it? Who says the world has to revolve around us human beings? (Well, Judaism says that, but that's a whole other discussion. Or is it?) So maybe all that really exists are things like the hardness of this table I'm sitting at. Maybe even though it is in theory (in actuality, but in terms of my perception, in theory) composed of energy and space, but in reality, in my reality, its hardness does exist. So it could be like my Dad said -- we have to live with what we perceive. We have to go based on that. And even more so -- maybe it only exists if we perceive it. Because we perceive it. Hmmm.
Anyway aside from all that craziness I'm reading about on the side, I've learned some really interesting things here at Shearim already, and I wanted to share some of it with everyone. There's a lot, and I already talked too much about physics so I won't go into everything, I'll just bring in one idea from class for now. So weve been learning a lot about Tshuvah, or repentance (actually the word literally means "to return," which is different from the Christian concept of repenting. Believe it or not, there is supposed to be no such thing as guilt in Judaism -- regret, yes. But not guilt. Guilt holds you back, keeps you down, regret pushes you forward to do the right thing next time. So Tshuvah is supposed to mean a return to goodness, or to G-d, rather than just sitting there feeling bad about something.) So we've been learning about that process, because we are now in the month of Elul, which is the month leading up to Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. So we asked the question today: what's worse? transgressing a negative mitzvah, or not doing a positive one? In non-Jewishy terms: what's worse? doing a bad thing, or not doing a good thing?
So at first glance, it seems obvious that it's worse to do a bad thing. It's worse to steal than to not visit a sick person. It's worse to disrespect your parents than to not give charity. And in a sense, that's correct. After all, when you do a bad thing, you are hurting others, and probably yourself as well, while if you don't do a good thing, things just stay at the status quo. So by utilitarian terms, you are at negative in the first situation, and at 0 in the second, which is higher than negative. Sounds good.
But on another level, it gets a bit more complicated. When you do something wrong, you can at least afterwards try to make up for it. You can apologize, you can work hard to be a better person than you were, you can repay people, you can think back on it and improve. OK, so sometimes damage can't be undone. But in the end, you can learn from things always, and in most situations, you can fix and improve things. But when you don't do anything good, then that means that you missed out on opportunities that you will never, ever, ever have again. If my friend was sick, and I didn't visit her, I will never have that same opportunity again, in that same way, in that same time. Maybe another time I can, but that time, I can't go back to. By the end of your life, when you are about to pass away, you can think about all the things you've done wrong, and you can apologize to whoever you can, even to G-d if you're into that. But you can never go back and do the things you never did, because they never existed in the first place, an the time has already passed. On Yom Kippur, we spend most of the day doing tshuva for things we did wrong. But there is also a place for thinking of all the missed opportunities, as well. Time moves on, and we never get it back. The New Year is a marking of time's passing, of moments that are leaving us that we'll never get back. That's definitely also something to think about.
K, I've typed a lot. Thank you to all those who are commenting, I really enjoy reading them, especially when little debates over physics and politics pop up. Also thanks for all the encouragement on homesickness. Hopefully things will continue to get better. I'm nervous for the holidays...we'll see how that goes.
Till next time....which will be soon....
Shira
PS pictures below, in order: the view out my window, me and my roommate Esther (all dressed up for shabbat, elbows covered as can be, (eep)) and the view from school
I'm feeling a bit better about being here now that I actually got to focus on learning. I'm still homesick, but a little less so. I guess I just need to be occupied. Shabbat was alright. I spent meals with a couple of families, but it was still tough to be away. I ended up sleeping for most of the day, and I bonded a bit more with my roommates.
I spoke to the administrators about possibly switching apartments to be with girls who are a bit more at my level in terms of religiosity and outlook on being here. In the end, I decided to stay where I am for a few reasons. First, I really like my roommate Esther, and while she comes from a frum background, she's very down to earth and fun to talk to. Plus, we learned together in class today, and she's a great study partner (although I am actually at a higher text level, which can be challenging sometimes). I also think it will be good for me to learn to be around people who are different from me. Why come here if not to try and push my comfort zone a bit further? It's a bit intimidating to wake up to 5 girls praying in the livingroom, especially when I'm still struggling with things like that and wondering if I will be, or will ever want to be, the type who can wake up in the morning and pray, but that's alright, I know I can go at my own pace and just do what feels right for me. For now, at least. If it gets too difficult, I may switch apartments.
On the physics thing again -- now that I wrote that out, and read over my brother's and my Dad's responses, I can't really get it out of my head. Every time I sit down at a table, I look at it and wonder if it's really there. Then I wonder if I'm here. Then I get a headache, and wonder if that's there. Fun! I read another cool idea in that same book. When does water become wet? As in: if you have one molecule of H2O, is that wet? No, not yet, because wetness is a description of the distinct level of viscosity water has in its liquid form, and in order to even form a liquid in the first place, there need to be more than one molecule. Fine, so how about 2 or 3? At that point, it is still completely invisible to the human eye, much less the human fingertip. So, is it still called "wet?" Or does it only become wet at the point when it is perceptible? Does a tree falling in a forest make a sound? Well, no, not really. It makes waves in the air, which travel through space, but those only really become "sound" when they reach an ear that can pick up the wave and perceive it as such. So, by that logic, water does not become wet until we perceive it. So then what about everything else in the world? Do things only exist when we perceive them? But we can barely perceive anything at all, it seems. We certainly can't perceive most of the micro-levels of physicality, nor can we perceive all the energy around us (which, as we've established previously, all physicality is made up of in the first place). So maybe none of that exists, either? Well, what if an animal perceives it? Who says the world has to revolve around us human beings? (Well, Judaism says that, but that's a whole other discussion. Or is it?) So maybe all that really exists are things like the hardness of this table I'm sitting at. Maybe even though it is in theory (in actuality, but in terms of my perception, in theory) composed of energy and space, but in reality, in my reality, its hardness does exist. So it could be like my Dad said -- we have to live with what we perceive. We have to go based on that. And even more so -- maybe it only exists if we perceive it. Because we perceive it. Hmmm.
Anyway aside from all that craziness I'm reading about on the side, I've learned some really interesting things here at Shearim already, and I wanted to share some of it with everyone. There's a lot, and I already talked too much about physics so I won't go into everything, I'll just bring in one idea from class for now. So weve been learning a lot about Tshuvah, or repentance (actually the word literally means "to return," which is different from the Christian concept of repenting. Believe it or not, there is supposed to be no such thing as guilt in Judaism -- regret, yes. But not guilt. Guilt holds you back, keeps you down, regret pushes you forward to do the right thing next time. So Tshuvah is supposed to mean a return to goodness, or to G-d, rather than just sitting there feeling bad about something.) So we've been learning about that process, because we are now in the month of Elul, which is the month leading up to Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. So we asked the question today: what's worse? transgressing a negative mitzvah, or not doing a positive one? In non-Jewishy terms: what's worse? doing a bad thing, or not doing a good thing?
So at first glance, it seems obvious that it's worse to do a bad thing. It's worse to steal than to not visit a sick person. It's worse to disrespect your parents than to not give charity. And in a sense, that's correct. After all, when you do a bad thing, you are hurting others, and probably yourself as well, while if you don't do a good thing, things just stay at the status quo. So by utilitarian terms, you are at negative in the first situation, and at 0 in the second, which is higher than negative. Sounds good.
But on another level, it gets a bit more complicated. When you do something wrong, you can at least afterwards try to make up for it. You can apologize, you can work hard to be a better person than you were, you can repay people, you can think back on it and improve. OK, so sometimes damage can't be undone. But in the end, you can learn from things always, and in most situations, you can fix and improve things. But when you don't do anything good, then that means that you missed out on opportunities that you will never, ever, ever have again. If my friend was sick, and I didn't visit her, I will never have that same opportunity again, in that same way, in that same time. Maybe another time I can, but that time, I can't go back to. By the end of your life, when you are about to pass away, you can think about all the things you've done wrong, and you can apologize to whoever you can, even to G-d if you're into that. But you can never go back and do the things you never did, because they never existed in the first place, an the time has already passed. On Yom Kippur, we spend most of the day doing tshuva for things we did wrong. But there is also a place for thinking of all the missed opportunities, as well. Time moves on, and we never get it back. The New Year is a marking of time's passing, of moments that are leaving us that we'll never get back. That's definitely also something to think about.
K, I've typed a lot. Thank you to all those who are commenting, I really enjoy reading them, especially when little debates over physics and politics pop up. Also thanks for all the encouragement on homesickness. Hopefully things will continue to get better. I'm nervous for the holidays...we'll see how that goes.
Till next time....which will be soon....
Shira
PS pictures below, in order: the view out my window, me and my roommate Esther (all dressed up for shabbat, elbows covered as can be, (eep)) and the view from school
Friday, September 12, 2008
Sighs. (and some quantum physics.)
Well, here I am. Sitting in the same cafe I was in about a month and a half ago (actually right outside of it - they're cleaning the floors). Unfortunately, I'm not in the greatest of moods.
For several reasons, this was the first time I ever landed in Israel and didn't feel that elated sense of coming home, that feeling that I was finally back in the right place. No, this time I just felt sad, lonely, homesick, and all the rest. And it hasn't gotten better yet. I guess I feel further away than ever, now that I'm surrounded by people who are somewhat different from me, and in a setting comepletely foreign. At least ofver the summer I was with people I knew from Penn. Now, I live with 5 girls who are all pretty religious, one of whom is engaged. They are all incredibly sweet, but I just don't feel like I fit in yet. The apartment is nice, good sized kitchen and livingroom, two bathrooms, three bedrooms. I have a roommate named Esther from Florida, and our view is spectacular. (I'll try to post pics if my battery doesn't run out first). All around, things are good here, so I know I should be in a better mood. Maybe it has something to do with last night's sleeplessness. I got hit with the worst case of jetlag ever, and didn't end up sleeping a wink until around 8 am. I read a whole book, counted to 600 in my head, made some phone calls, and thought WAY too much about how much time I would be spending so far from home. Is it childish to be homesick? Especially after one day?
When I first got here, I plopped my things down and went straight to Shearim. I was too exhausted to go to classes, so I just met with the administrator and she took me to buy myself some food and then back home to nap, which I shouldn't have done. Everyone has been really welcoming, but it's just not helping yet. I know I need to stick it out, I know the holidays will be great, and either way, I have to give it a real chance. But right now, all I want to do is come home.
On another note, I wanted to write about smething cool I read. I'm reading a book by Gerald Schroeder, who has a PhD in Physics from MIT, and is an orthodox Jew. He writes about the connections between science and G-d, and although they can get a bit technical and over my head, I enjoy them a lot. Anyway the one I am reading now is basically jsut about the intricacies of physics and biology in the world, and I just read something that really made me think. So, you know how we all learned that atoms are made of 99.9999% empty space? So that in intself is pretty cool if you think about it, which I'm sure everyone has at some point -- everything solid that we touch feel see is really mostly empty space. As in, 99.99999% emopty space. So that initself is cool enough, but then you can take it even further with quantum physics, which tells us that even that part that we think of as "solid" -- the proton/neutron nucleus of the atom - is really itself made up of smaller "particles" - like photons - which are basiclly just vibrating strings of energy. Ask any quantum physicist what the world is made of and he/she will tell you that it is basically just a whole lot of energy, neatly mushed up together in ways that make us percieve it as solid, stable objects. A whole world of energy. I'm sure I'm not fully grapsing it, but still, it's pretty cool when you think about it....almost spiritual. What's really actually here? Not that energy isn't real, but we don't even really know what it is to begin with. So what do we actualyl know in this world? Our emotions and thoughts? Aren't those composed of that same energy? Hm.
OK I have to go. I'll try to post more in a couple of days. Hopefully Shabbat will cheer me up a bit.
shabbat shalom,
Shira
For several reasons, this was the first time I ever landed in Israel and didn't feel that elated sense of coming home, that feeling that I was finally back in the right place. No, this time I just felt sad, lonely, homesick, and all the rest. And it hasn't gotten better yet. I guess I feel further away than ever, now that I'm surrounded by people who are somewhat different from me, and in a setting comepletely foreign. At least ofver the summer I was with people I knew from Penn. Now, I live with 5 girls who are all pretty religious, one of whom is engaged. They are all incredibly sweet, but I just don't feel like I fit in yet. The apartment is nice, good sized kitchen and livingroom, two bathrooms, three bedrooms. I have a roommate named Esther from Florida, and our view is spectacular. (I'll try to post pics if my battery doesn't run out first). All around, things are good here, so I know I should be in a better mood. Maybe it has something to do with last night's sleeplessness. I got hit with the worst case of jetlag ever, and didn't end up sleeping a wink until around 8 am. I read a whole book, counted to 600 in my head, made some phone calls, and thought WAY too much about how much time I would be spending so far from home. Is it childish to be homesick? Especially after one day?
When I first got here, I plopped my things down and went straight to Shearim. I was too exhausted to go to classes, so I just met with the administrator and she took me to buy myself some food and then back home to nap, which I shouldn't have done. Everyone has been really welcoming, but it's just not helping yet. I know I need to stick it out, I know the holidays will be great, and either way, I have to give it a real chance. But right now, all I want to do is come home.
On another note, I wanted to write about smething cool I read. I'm reading a book by Gerald Schroeder, who has a PhD in Physics from MIT, and is an orthodox Jew. He writes about the connections between science and G-d, and although they can get a bit technical and over my head, I enjoy them a lot. Anyway the one I am reading now is basically jsut about the intricacies of physics and biology in the world, and I just read something that really made me think. So, you know how we all learned that atoms are made of 99.9999% empty space? So that in intself is pretty cool if you think about it, which I'm sure everyone has at some point -- everything solid that we touch feel see is really mostly empty space. As in, 99.99999% emopty space. So that initself is cool enough, but then you can take it even further with quantum physics, which tells us that even that part that we think of as "solid" -- the proton/neutron nucleus of the atom - is really itself made up of smaller "particles" - like photons - which are basiclly just vibrating strings of energy. Ask any quantum physicist what the world is made of and he/she will tell you that it is basically just a whole lot of energy, neatly mushed up together in ways that make us percieve it as solid, stable objects. A whole world of energy. I'm sure I'm not fully grapsing it, but still, it's pretty cool when you think about it....almost spiritual. What's really actually here? Not that energy isn't real, but we don't even really know what it is to begin with. So what do we actualyl know in this world? Our emotions and thoughts? Aren't those composed of that same energy? Hm.
OK I have to go. I'll try to post more in a couple of days. Hopefully Shabbat will cheer me up a bit.
shabbat shalom,
Shira
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Once Upon a Chicagoan Dream
Just got back from a week in Chicago with Ezra. Man, I love that city. Honestly, I've heard about the midwest charm before, but after having experienced it, this New Yorker is officially humbled. Not only is the city itself absolutely gorgeous, with its incredible architecture, beautiful lake and rivers, clean tree-lined streets, and several cute neighborhoods with different characters and feels to them, but the place is filled with truly nice people! People who want to help you carry your bags, without running away with them afterwards or expecting payment in return. People who hold open subway doors, who strike up conversations with strangers about the weather, (took me a while to figure out who was being nice and who was being...not all there,) who are geniuinely happy to welcome you to their city. I really loved it there...I could see myself living there. Of course, I haven't yet experienced the infamous Chicago wintertime, so I may be speaking too soon. But I did get to go to the aquarium, millenium park, on an architecture cruise, to a Cub's game, and even on a horse and buggy ride...I was your quintessential tourist, and I enjoyed every bit of it.
While there, I helped Ez move into his new place, which he's renting for a few months. I did all the little errands, running around to stores, picking up food and paper goods and dry cleaning and mezuzahs and yada yada. I actually loved doing that, it just felt really nice to be able to help him out. Something I learned over the summer in Israel is that, contrary to what many people believe, love is based on the amount you give, not the amount you recieve. As in, the more you give to someone, the more you will love them. This explains why the love of a parent for a child is always stronger than a child for a parent - parents spend their lives giving to their children, so they end up loving them intensely. So I guess being able to give to Ezra so much this week, and to help him out with everything while he got settled in his new (corner!) office, just intensified how much I love and care about him.
OOOk so here's where I get dramatic/sad. I left Chicago this morning, and it was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Not only will I not see Ez for at least 5 months, but both of us are trying to take this time to really figure out where we're heading in life, not really knowing whether that will actually match up in the end. So, I really have no clue where we'll end up from here. All I know is that I'm in pain, and I'm afraid. Sure, I'm excited to go to Israel. But at this very moment, I can't think of anything I want more than to get right back on a plane and show up at his place. I believe wholeheartedly that I'm doing the right thing. It can only be good for us to both be independent for a while, clear our heads, grow on our own. But what can I say...delayed gratification sucks. Especially when you have no way of knowing whether the gratification will ever actually arrive at the end of it all. Anyway. As a close friend just wisely put it, "it's a time of change." Guess that's true for most people my age. So it goes.
Aside from all that...we also spent a really nice shabbat with a Rabbi's family in West Rogers Park. They were incredibly hospitable to us, and we had some interesting discussions about politics, gambling, Torah...etc. I've been following the elections somewhat, trying to tune in for the important convention speeches and whatnot. I found the Republican convention to be quite infuriating, I still do, but I must say, after talking to the Rabbi a bit about McCain and Obama, I understand the other side a bit better. After all, I do care about Israel quite a bit, and while for me it's not the only important issue, it's certainly one of them. When I asked about whether he cares more about the Israel issue than the well being of his family, he gave me a two-fold answer: first of all, voting for Israel's wellbeing is a vote for the wellbeing of his family, as he considers all Jews to be his family. Second of all, while Iran could destroy Israel with a single nuclear bomb, (an issue which matters a great deal to him obviously,) the possibility that his taxes could be raised or lowered simply isn't as consequential, he said. In the end, his immediate family won't be affected by domestic policy decisions nearly as much as his "extended family" could be by the outcome of this election. He conceded that the Democratic party's domestic policies and values are much closer to Judaism than the Republican's (as in, healthcare, education, welfare, etc.,) but even so, he feels that Israel is more secure in McCain's hands. We didn't really get into Palin too much, since I just got upset about her speech and all around ridiculousness. But I can say that the house next door had a "Palin for President" sign on the front. Oy.
Anyway the end result was that I learned a bit more about his view as a religious Jew on the election, and in the end, it was decided that Torah is not politics -- you can be a perfectly good Jew and vote Democrat or Republican -- it's really just a decision over who you think will actually benefit you, your family, and your country (ambiguity notwithstanding on that one,) the most overall. Sure, orthodox Jews have tended toward voting Republican, but that has pretty much everything to do with the Israel issue, rather than a statement of support for all their values. I'm not sure I'll even be voting in this election, considering I'll be absentee anyway and my vote wouldn't count much here in NY to begin with (the election people figured out that I no longer live in Philly...they're spying on me or something,) but it's certainly intellectually interesting to consider the other side, which is something I've hardly ever done when it comes to voting Dem or Repub. I'd like to think of myself as pretty moderate, an issue voter rather than a party-liner, but it's pretty easy to get swept up in Obamamania this season, rather than stop to think about everything both sides are saying. That's actually something Ezra has always been so good at - listening to the other side, hearing their arguments and allowing himself to realize when he's wrong or when they're right. He probably got it from his parents who are both geniuses. Either way, it's something I admire, and hopefully I can do that a bit more in all areas.
Aright that's enough typing for tonight. I'll be spending all day tomorrow packing, and then I'm off to the holy land to get my learn on. Next post will probably be from there.
<3 Shira
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While there, I helped Ez move into his new place, which he's renting for a few months. I did all the little errands, running around to stores, picking up food and paper goods and dry cleaning and mezuzahs and yada yada. I actually loved doing that, it just felt really nice to be able to help him out. Something I learned over the summer in Israel is that, contrary to what many people believe, love is based on the amount you give, not the amount you recieve. As in, the more you give to someone, the more you will love them. This explains why the love of a parent for a child is always stronger than a child for a parent - parents spend their lives giving to their children, so they end up loving them intensely. So I guess being able to give to Ezra so much this week, and to help him out with everything while he got settled in his new (corner!) office, just intensified how much I love and care about him.
OOOk so here's where I get dramatic/sad. I left Chicago this morning, and it was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Not only will I not see Ez for at least 5 months, but both of us are trying to take this time to really figure out where we're heading in life, not really knowing whether that will actually match up in the end. So, I really have no clue where we'll end up from here. All I know is that I'm in pain, and I'm afraid. Sure, I'm excited to go to Israel. But at this very moment, I can't think of anything I want more than to get right back on a plane and show up at his place. I believe wholeheartedly that I'm doing the right thing. It can only be good for us to both be independent for a while, clear our heads, grow on our own. But what can I say...delayed gratification sucks. Especially when you have no way of knowing whether the gratification will ever actually arrive at the end of it all. Anyway. As a close friend just wisely put it, "it's a time of change." Guess that's true for most people my age. So it goes.
Aside from all that...we also spent a really nice shabbat with a Rabbi's family in West Rogers Park. They were incredibly hospitable to us, and we had some interesting discussions about politics, gambling, Torah...etc. I've been following the elections somewhat, trying to tune in for the important convention speeches and whatnot. I found the Republican convention to be quite infuriating, I still do, but I must say, after talking to the Rabbi a bit about McCain and Obama, I understand the other side a bit better. After all, I do care about Israel quite a bit, and while for me it's not the only important issue, it's certainly one of them. When I asked about whether he cares more about the Israel issue than the well being of his family, he gave me a two-fold answer: first of all, voting for Israel's wellbeing is a vote for the wellbeing of his family, as he considers all Jews to be his family. Second of all, while Iran could destroy Israel with a single nuclear bomb, (an issue which matters a great deal to him obviously,) the possibility that his taxes could be raised or lowered simply isn't as consequential, he said. In the end, his immediate family won't be affected by domestic policy decisions nearly as much as his "extended family" could be by the outcome of this election. He conceded that the Democratic party's domestic policies and values are much closer to Judaism than the Republican's (as in, healthcare, education, welfare, etc.,) but even so, he feels that Israel is more secure in McCain's hands. We didn't really get into Palin too much, since I just got upset about her speech and all around ridiculousness. But I can say that the house next door had a "Palin for President" sign on the front. Oy.
Anyway the end result was that I learned a bit more about his view as a religious Jew on the election, and in the end, it was decided that Torah is not politics -- you can be a perfectly good Jew and vote Democrat or Republican -- it's really just a decision over who you think will actually benefit you, your family, and your country (ambiguity notwithstanding on that one,) the most overall. Sure, orthodox Jews have tended toward voting Republican, but that has pretty much everything to do with the Israel issue, rather than a statement of support for all their values. I'm not sure I'll even be voting in this election, considering I'll be absentee anyway and my vote wouldn't count much here in NY to begin with (the election people figured out that I no longer live in Philly...they're spying on me or something,) but it's certainly intellectually interesting to consider the other side, which is something I've hardly ever done when it comes to voting Dem or Repub. I'd like to think of myself as pretty moderate, an issue voter rather than a party-liner, but it's pretty easy to get swept up in Obamamania this season, rather than stop to think about everything both sides are saying. That's actually something Ezra has always been so good at - listening to the other side, hearing their arguments and allowing himself to realize when he's wrong or when they're right. He probably got it from his parents who are both geniuses. Either way, it's something I admire, and hopefully I can do that a bit more in all areas.
Aright that's enough typing for tonight. I'll be spending all day tomorrow packing, and then I'm off to the holy land to get my learn on. Next post will probably be from there.
<3 Shira
PS here are some pics from chicago...cool fountain and statue at millenium park, ezra's new place (a bit messy,) horse and buggy, and a reflective building on the river. (sorry for the layout...still figuring out how to work this)
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Monday, September 1, 2008
Lasts
Tonight is my last Sunday night in NY before I leave for Israel. (Next week, I'll be in Chicago until Monday.)
My mom told me today that I tend to do these countdowns. I count all the lasts - last time I watch a movie on-demand, last shabbat at home, last sunday, monday, wednesday, friday, last time I fall asleep in this or that bed, last time I wake up in this or that country, last time I hug this or that person, parent, friend, boy.
Dramatic, yes. I'm aware. Nothing is really ending, after all. In several months from now, I'll be right back here again, sitting on this same white canvas couch, watching TV and wondering where the time went. But it feels like things are changing, and fast. It feels like when I get on that airplane in 10 days, I'll be leaving more than just a city behind. I'll be in a new reality, a place where people are thinking about more than their grades or careers or paychecks. A place where people are thinking, period. Discussing, questioning, answering. It'll be amazing, I'm sure...but intense, and perhaps life-changing. What if I get back, and everything is different? It's a big enough departure, at least, to count-down to.
I went shopping at Century 21 today - bought some new shirts and sweaters and skirts for Israel. I have to dress more modestly there, and I'm not one to turn down a good excuse for new clothing. It was kind of surreal. Turning down this shirt for being too low-cut, this skirt for being too high. Making sure to have things to wear under and over and in-between all the spaces that might show too much skin. Exhausting. Nerve-wracking, actually. I hope I don't become so caught up in inches of fabric that I lose the bigger picture. I doubt I will, but then, I've met some people who never meant to, but have. I know the details matter. But every now and then, the details get in the way, especially when all you want to do is wear your favorite new sundress. Mmph.
Anyway, this past weekend was really nice - spent it in Maryland with Ezra's family, and Taryn joined us as well. We ate, we sang, we walked, we played Scrabble. (Ez won, somehow beating my 60-point lead. Argh.) And now I'm back in Brooklyn, sitting on my couch and waiting to get tired enough to fall asleep. I'm heading to Chicago for the first time on Tuesday to help Ez move into a new place, and generally figure out how to say goodbye to him. I have no idea how I'm actually going to get through that one. But neither does he, so I suppose we're in the same boat. Then again, having someone else with you in a sinking boat doesn't make it any less terrifying.
So those are my thoughts for the evening. The movie August Rush just ended on TV. Cheesy, in my opinion. But pretty.
Layla Tov.
S
ps I changed the look of my blog...I'll probably end up doing that a few times, pay no attention, I just have trouble sticking to design decisions.
pps If you got an email alert that I made a new post and you don't want them, let me know. And if you didn't get one and you do want one, let me know that, too.
My mom told me today that I tend to do these countdowns. I count all the lasts - last time I watch a movie on-demand, last shabbat at home, last sunday, monday, wednesday, friday, last time I fall asleep in this or that bed, last time I wake up in this or that country, last time I hug this or that person, parent, friend, boy.
Dramatic, yes. I'm aware. Nothing is really ending, after all. In several months from now, I'll be right back here again, sitting on this same white canvas couch, watching TV and wondering where the time went. But it feels like things are changing, and fast. It feels like when I get on that airplane in 10 days, I'll be leaving more than just a city behind. I'll be in a new reality, a place where people are thinking about more than their grades or careers or paychecks. A place where people are thinking, period. Discussing, questioning, answering. It'll be amazing, I'm sure...but intense, and perhaps life-changing. What if I get back, and everything is different? It's a big enough departure, at least, to count-down to.
I went shopping at Century 21 today - bought some new shirts and sweaters and skirts for Israel. I have to dress more modestly there, and I'm not one to turn down a good excuse for new clothing. It was kind of surreal. Turning down this shirt for being too low-cut, this skirt for being too high. Making sure to have things to wear under and over and in-between all the spaces that might show too much skin. Exhausting. Nerve-wracking, actually. I hope I don't become so caught up in inches of fabric that I lose the bigger picture. I doubt I will, but then, I've met some people who never meant to, but have. I know the details matter. But every now and then, the details get in the way, especially when all you want to do is wear your favorite new sundress. Mmph.
Anyway, this past weekend was really nice - spent it in Maryland with Ezra's family, and Taryn joined us as well. We ate, we sang, we walked, we played Scrabble. (Ez won, somehow beating my 60-point lead. Argh.) And now I'm back in Brooklyn, sitting on my couch and waiting to get tired enough to fall asleep. I'm heading to Chicago for the first time on Tuesday to help Ez move into a new place, and generally figure out how to say goodbye to him. I have no idea how I'm actually going to get through that one. But neither does he, so I suppose we're in the same boat. Then again, having someone else with you in a sinking boat doesn't make it any less terrifying.
So those are my thoughts for the evening. The movie August Rush just ended on TV. Cheesy, in my opinion. But pretty.
Layla Tov.
S
ps I changed the look of my blog...I'll probably end up doing that a few times, pay no attention, I just have trouble sticking to design decisions.
pps If you got an email alert that I made a new post and you don't want them, let me know. And if you didn't get one and you do want one, let me know that, too.
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