Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Addendum to My Last Post

I just had a class on Tishah B'av that I felt was important enough to warrant an addendum to my last post. I'll keep it short.

The class began with the Rabbi enumerating all the times we think about the destruction, much like I did in my post. When we eat, when we pray, when we marry, when we build our homes, and certainly during these 3 weeks. But then he asked the key question: Why? He said he was not looking for the stock response that we must mourn the loss of the Temple. If it were just about mourning, then we would not devote so much time to it. And besides, there is no such thing in Judaism as doing something just to remember. The only reason we do anything is to grow as individuals. So what kind of growth do we get from this? Why is this one aspect of Jewish history so integral to our lives, and what take-home message should we glean, beyond the sadness we feel? Who should we be on the day after Tishah B'av? How should we have changed?

The answer lies in the very cause for the destructions themselves. We know that the first Temple was destroyed because of 3 cardinal sins: idolatry, adultery, and murder. After a mere 70 years, the Temple was rebuilt. The second Temple was destroyed for only one sin: Baseless Hatred. And it has been about 2,000 years, with no rebuilding in sight. We learn from this that we should consider hating other people to be worse than all 3 of the cardinal sins combined. It is the worst thing we can do, to hate someone, to mistreat someone, to disregard someone. The Talmud says that any generation in which the Temple is not rebuilt should consider themselves the ones who destroyed it. This means: we are still mired in the exact same problems they were back then: We are still not loving one another enough, being good enough to eachother, kind enough, helpful enough. In the context of a religious Jew, this could mean that we are paying more attention to ritual laws than those that involve how we treat one another. That we are missing the entire point of being a holy person: holiness does not come from separating onesself, being aloof, judgmental, and putting more effort into our personal observance than into the way we treat others. Holiness means connection, loving kindness, and giving. It means friendship. It means family. It means being kind to strangers, to children, to the elderly, to the poor. It means honoring our parents. It means giving the benefit of the doubt. It means seeing the good in every person.

So, I want to update my last post with this:

May we all learn from the mistakes of our own history, and learn to love one another and be good to one another. We must not let this time pass by without growing closer to those we love, as well as those we dislike. May the pain of the past serve as a reminder that we must be better givers and comforters, better friends and family members, better people.

Sorry, I thought that was important to add in.

Have an easy and meaningful fast if you are fasting.

Love, Shira

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

3 Weeks, 9 Days

I am in mourning.

At least, I'm supposed to feel like I am. The past three weeks have been an extremely trying time throughout Jewish history, chock full of terrible attacks, destructions, genocides, and the like. We commemorate and memorialize all of the pain and death by going through a period of increasingly stringent and palpable mourning. For three weeks, we are told not to listen to live music, not to cut our hair, not to buy new clothing, and not to take showers for pure pleasure. Then, for the last 9 days, we up the ante by not wearing clean clothing and not eating meat or drinking wine. Finally, on the 9th day of the Jewish month of Av, (Tishah B'av in Hebrew,) we reach the culmination, the peak of our sorrows as a nation. We fast for 24 hours, do not bathe, do not wear leather, do not wear perfume, and do not sit on high chairs. We do not even greet eachother "hello". We literally go into a state of mourning. The 9th of Av was the day on which both Temples were destroyed (first by the Babylonians and then by the Romans, and by "destroyed" I mean that the entire city of Jerusalem was set on fire, thousands were murdered and starved to death, and everyone else was exiled). The 9th of Av was the day on which the Jews committed the sin of the spies who spoke slander about the land of Israel thousands of years ago. The 9th of Av was the day on which the entire city of Beitar was massacred long ago. The 9th of Av was the day when the Jews were exiled from Spain. The 9th of Av was the day when World War I officially broke out. The 9th of Av is the day on which we remember all of these things and more, when we concentrate all of our pain and sadness over the past and current sufferings of our people, when we consider what we have gone through, what we have lost, and what we are still missing to this very day. The 9th of Av will be this Thursday.

I decided to write this post because for the past 3 weeks, I have had to take on an extremely difficult task. I have had to try and force myself to concentrate on loss and destruction, during a time when I currently feel so content. Honestly, this summer has been wonderful (see previous posts). Everything feels like it's going right – I loved my Meor trip, I love my classes at Shearim, I love my friends here, I love my boyfriend, I love that I have a job waiting for me when I get home. I feel confident, I feel secure, and I feel self-aware. Most importantly, I have clarity, the same clarity that I've prayed for so many times before, that I've hoped for and striven for. It's finally here. I finally know what I want and where I want to go, and I finally have the courage to face life head-on, with the knowledge that plans are made to be broken, and I will end up just fine either way. And yet, with all this, I am literally commanded to not be all that happy right now. We are not, G-d forbid, told to be sad for three weeks. To the contrary, it is a mitzvah to always be happy, even as we mourn, which is interesting in itself. But we are certainly told to lessen that happiness, for the time being. And honestly, I'm having a pretty hard time doing that.

I tried focusing on all the things we are supposed to focus on. I've been learning the book of Eicha, or Lamentations, which is what we read on the night of Tishah B'av. It is the heart-wrenching, highly poetic prophecy/lament by Jeremiah, which chronicles the destruction of the Temple and all the terrible atrocities that came along with it. I certainly know a lot more about the graphic details than I did before – mothers eating their babies, babies sucking at the breasts of their dead mothers, things like that – but to be honest, after an hour a day of studying that, all I want to do is go out to dinner and forget about it. I want to exist in my happy state, get some pasta with Ezra on Ben Yehuda Street, watch an episode of Entourage on my computer, and fall asleep. I guess that's one response to tragedy, to try and get away from it. But I don't even think that's it. I think it's more that I can't relate to it in any real way. I'm not reading the stories of people I know and feel connected to. I'm reading the stories of people who were tortured and died long, long ago, back in a time which the modern world doubts most historical accounts of anyway. I'm learning about a Temple, a building, a time, that I have never seen with my own eyes, never experienced, and frankly, never really cared about. And I'm supposed to cry about that? I'm supposed to act the same way I would if my own family member passed away, G-d forbid? Please.

And yet, that's exactly what I'm supposed to do, somehow. What all of us are supposed to do, somehow. The Torah often tells us to feel things, even when we don't feel them naturally. We are told that if we have a wedding and a funeral on the same day, we must be happy at the wedding, and sad at the funeral. We are told that love is a choice, not something we "fall" into with no control over ourselves and our emotions. We are told to be happy during the month of Adar, and sad during the month of Av. We are told to feel as if we were leaving Egypt at the Seder table, and feel as if we were at the destruction on the 9th of Av. All of this, we are told to feel. Not just to think, or study, or act out. But feel. As if we could control our emotions with our minds. As if we could tell ourselves to feel something. Imagine that.

I mentioned over dinner last night with a couple of friends that we are somehow supposed to be feeling sad right now, even as we enjoy each other's company. It's something that still baffles me, so I've spoken with a few people about it. One of them responded, "yeah, but it's hard to mourn the loss of Jerusalem when we are sitting in the middle of it, and it's thriving. We have it now." I was a bit taken aback by her comment to be honest. It really made me think. Do we "have it"? I mean, yes, we have the state of Israel, thank G-d. We have relative freedom to do what we want (as long as America says it's OK, ) relative religious freedom (as long as it doesn't upset local politics too much,) and most importantly, freedom to live openly as Jews (as long as we are not in the wrong place at the wrong time). And I am thankful for all of that, as we should all be. But do we "have it" in the sense that we are meant to? Does a higher state of being than this one still exist within our grasp? Can we even contemplate what that would mean? Right now feels pretty wonderful to me, both on a personal level, as well as on a nationalistic and cultural one. So what, then, am I mourning exactly? Over this not being good enough?

I tried to think of an analogy for myself, to help put it in clearer terms. Imagine someone holds out 2 envelopes, and tells me to choose one. I pick the one on the right, open it up, and to my joyful surprise, I find $100 inside! They tell me to keep it, use it on whatever I want. I feel great. I just got a free gift of a hundred bucks, and can finally afford those books I've been dying to buy (once a nerd, always a nerd). But before skipping off to the bookstore, out of curiosity, I ask what was in the other envelope. They open it up to reveal $10,000. Oof. My $100 doesn't seem quite as amazing anymore. I'm still happy to have it, but I leave with a slightly bitter taste in my mouth, knowing that I could have had so much more if I had just chosen the other envelope. By this analogy, I guess maybe the state we are in is that we don't even realize there is $10,000 to be had. We are so enamored with our $100 bucks that we skip around joyfully, completely oblivious to the existence of the other envelope, an envelope we could easily attain were we to do the right things. And then, to take it a step further – imagine that same person comes running after me as I am paying for my books, and snatches even that first 100 out of my hands. Now I am left with nothing but the memory of that which I had, and that which I could have had. Now, unless I convince myself that I am better off without any of it, I cannot be happy. So is that what we've all done? Convinced ourselves that we are better off with what we have now, which apparently is "nothing" compared to what we could be and have as a nation?

Just to throw a little confusion into the mix, we are also taught: "who is rich? He who is happy with his lot." So how on earth are we supposed to be happy with our collective "lot" as a Jewish nation, while simultaneously mourning our losses and lackings? Shouldn't we be happy with our lot of $100, or our lot of nothing as the case may be, rather than coveting after the $1000 all the time? We are literally CONSTANTLY remembering the fact that we have no Temple, and that G-d's immediate presence has left Jerusalem, and that we are in exile. We remember it every day, we mention it in every prayer and every time we eat and every Shabbat and every holiday, we remember it in our happiest moments, such as at weddings when the groom breaks the glass (everyone yells mazal tov then because they figure it marks the conclusion of the ceremony, which, if you think about it, is quite a perversion of the actual point of breaking the glass). And of course, we remember it right now, in these 3 weeks, 9 days, and finally the 9th of Av itself. We certainly are not happy with our lots. Is this not a contradiction in terms?

But maybe I can answer my own question here. Throughout the year, we do mention the destruction constantly. But we don't focus on it in a negative way, we don't go through our lives feeling empty and sad. On the contrary, we are told to always live happily. We exist on two levels: one of reminiscence and one of living for the present. We "never forget," as we say about the Holocaust, but we also keep the commandment to "be happy always." We are human beings, and we are nuanced and multifaceted and complicated enough souls to be able to handle this constantly contradictory existence. Except for right now. Right now, we do focus on one side of it: the negative, the pain, and the loss. We do lament the lack, and we consider what we could be if we were to have true glory again. We recognize that we only have the envelope with $100 and maybe not even that. We recognize that while it may feel nice and happy right now, we are still not where we could or should be, and we could still be so much more. We think about the pain of our people, and we relate it to our own lives. And then, after we mourn, we get right back up again and celebrate life. The happiest day of the year is the 15th of Av – a mere 6 days later. Weddings start up again immediately, music is played in the streets, and we rise from our mourning like phoenixes, renewed and ready to rejoice with full hearts. So maybe it's all about having a structure for our sadness. The entire concept of Jewish mourning when someone passes away is to have a comfort for the living. To allow yourself the time and space to mourn so that after Shiva ends, you can get back up again and reenter the world. Earlier this year, I wrote about my friend's mother who sat shiva here for the first time when her mother passed away. She said that it was an incredible experience. People who never really take the time to feel the pain and sadness of loss will never really be able to move on from it. So maybe these weeks are a time for us as a nation to do just that. Take all of our suffering and persecution, which we have way too much of, and compact the pain into a 3 week, 9 day, 1 day period. And more than that, to force ourselves, just once a year, to recognize the state we are in. To understand the loss we should feel deep down, even if it is not apparent to us in our daily lives. To notice that our people have been oppressed, and killed, and persecuted so often and so brutally, and to force ourselves never to forget their suffering. To take a step back from our happy go lucky lives, and feel like we are a part of something greater, a family that needs us, a history that yearns for our attention, and a future that begs for our input.


 

Last week, a three year old girl fell into an uncovered manhole near a playground in Jerusalem. A passerby saw her fall, and without hesitation he jumped in to save her. But the hole had been filled with garbage over the past several years, and the poisonous methane gasses had grown strong within it. She was dead before he could reach her.

A story like that hits you hard, somewhere between your throat and your stomach. But it hits you even harder when you get to school the next day and find out one of your teachers is missing because that little girl was her great-niece. When you think about your own little niece, and how much you love her and how empty the world would feel were anything to happen to her, G-d forbid. And a story like that forces you to mourn, even if just for a few minutes, over the pain of another person you never met. If that's possible, then maybe it's also possible to take that feeling, and extend it to the thousands, the millions of others who have gone through such indescribable loss, such inexplicable and irrational suffering. Maybe this Thursday, it will be possible for me to sit on the ground, and cry. Maybe.


 

May all of you only know simchas and happiness your entire lives. And should you encounter pain, may you feel connected enough to your family and your nation to know that everyone else will feel your pain with you, and that no one will ever forget it. Until the time comes when everything makes sense, and when the 9th of Av switches from a day of mourning to a day of rejoicing, may we all have the strength and clarity to make it through our most trying times, as individuals, as families, and as a people.


 

Love, Shira

Sunday, July 12, 2009

“The great thing in the world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving.”

The last couple of months have been, in a word, wonderful.

I was a madricha on the UPenn MEOR Israel trip, which went really, really well. I met incredible people, had deep and meaningful conversations, and was able to teach, learn, and grow throughout. The touring was fun as well, though I’ve been to most of the places we went to already, such as Ein Gedi, Eilat, and the Dead Sea. The real fun was in the mornings, when I learned together with the students. I’ve heard many of the concepts before, especially having been on the trip as a student myself, but it’s still invigorating and refreshing to hear it all again from this new perspective, having learned and lived it for the past several months. The students were inquisitive, challenging, and stubborn – which made it all the more exciting to learn alongside them. I had my moments of difficulty, such as when people would doubt my intentions or my resolve in terms of my own life choices. But in the end, those moments made me stronger, and I feel blessed to have been given the opportunity to test my own convictions, knowledge, rationality, and heart. I believe I passed.

After the trip, a few students chose to stay longer to learn for a couple more weeks, so the other madricha and I put together a whole other learning program for them. That was definitely a bit of a logistical maze, as well as a financial nightmare, but we persevered, and made it happen. It went very well, and I was even able to run a couple of the workshops myself, which was great. I also was in charge of putting together all the Shabbat plans – I brought my girls to three extremely different experiences, each with its positive and negative aspects. The most important thing, I felt, was that they get a sense of different communities, and different ways of doing things. There is no one way to be a Jew, to keep Torah, to observe Shabbat. Diversity is so important, and while many people have the misconception that to be religious, Jewish or otherwise, means to become narrow-minded and singular in ones approach to life, I have made it my business to try and debunk this unfortunate myth. Of course there are reasons why such an idea exists – but it is not the Judaism I practice, and is certainly not the one I would recommend to any healthy person. The point is to be who you are, not who someone else tells you to be. To express yourself, not to express people who have no connection to you or your circumstances. I could go on and on about this, but yeah, that’s why I wanted to bring them to families who keep Shabbat in a variety of ways. Not everyone agreed with every type of household, and not everyone felt comfortable in every setting. I think that’s fine, in fact, I think that’s great - as long as one knows how to be respectful either way, and not judge others. No one does it “right” or “wrong”. Everyone just does, and is, and exists, and has a right to the respect of everyone around them. My girls learned that – and had a great time, as well.

OK that’s enough about that. Sorry, I just get into these things.

What else…oh yes, I got a job! Starting in September, I will be teaching Kindergarten/1st grade on the upper west side of Manhattan. I’m extremely excited about this. I’m going to wait to write about it until I know more details. But yay!

Since the end of the learning program, I have been back at She’arim, which is the seminary I have been in all year. I really love it here. I am so close with the girls here, as well as the teachers, and it just feels like a second home to me now. It’s so nice to have a place so far away that will always feel so close by. I know that for the rest of my life, anytime I come to Israel, which will be extremely often, I will have a place where people know me, and are happy to see me. I also love learning here. I just feel so much more in tune with myself when I can sit and focus, concentrate, discuss, question, delve deeply into concepts without fear of rejection or ridicule. I’ll be here for another few weeks, and I’m definitely trying to make the most of it before having to return to the states, where it will be much harder to make the time and space for this kind of thing, especially when juggling a job and possibly grad school. I also happen to be in an incredible living situation, rooming with one of my best friends, and enjoying the seniority of having been at the school since September. All in all, I love where I am.

As for the learning itself - I’ve been doing a lot of independent study lately, reading very interesting contemporary texts, some more troubling than others, regarding issues I am still tackling in terms of philosophy, life, priorities, etc. It’s a challenge to be sure, but an extremely rewarding one. I am left constantly questioning my beliefs and decisions, which is so important. I think that the day I stop questioning would be the day I lose my hold on myself, and on reality. I don’t feel like getting more specific, since I’ll probably just sound like a child trying to explain nuclear physics. But while I may not always understand, and I may not always feel comfortable with the conclusions I draw, at least I know that I am doing my research, putting in the effort that I can, and making informed decisions for myself. I know that in the end I can't have all the answers, and I never will. I’m only human after all, and there will always be someone smarter, someone more eloquent, someone more convincing towards their way of life or their opinions and ideas. I guess I just have to trust myself and my instincts, and live accordingly, all the while constantly reexamining my own foundations. Of course, this can get tricky when the ultimate goal is to give to others. That balance of self and other is one I still need to work on striking. But hey, it’s a process. A long one.

Ezra has also been here for the past several weeks, which has been amazing. I love having him nearby, even if we don’t speak or see each other every day. We are so rarely even in the same city, and it’s a comfort just being in the same time zone as him. His parents came to visit as well, and that was really fun. We hung out, went out to eat at my favorite restaurant, drank wine, etc. It was so nice of them to come here – they’re wonderful people. Clearly the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.

Shavua Tov, everyone. Thanks for reading this long overdue post.

Love,

Shira