The Backward Omer

One of the more profound things that I have done this year was to count the Omer leading up to Shavuot. And while I was immersed in that process, and memorizing the prayers, and focusing on what I was going to do differently each day, I didn’t have much time to contemplate the logic of the sequence. If anything, I thought it was backwards. Why did we Start with Chesed, and Finish with Malchut? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

My Rabbi told me that, in fact, some Jews do count the Omer backward (Malchut to Chesed) from the time of Tisha B’Av to Rosh Hashanah. I thought that sounded like it made more sense. But, thinking about it, I can see the wisdom in the design of the Chesed-Malchut delineation.

Many of us speak of working “toward” Chesed. As if Chesed were a goal. As if Love were an endpoint, a locus to be reached. But this, we should all know, is not the case. Because if you think of it like that, like some sort of rainbow with a pot of gold, you will be chasing it forever and never find it. The happiness of love is realizing that you’ve already got it. There is no rainbow to hold. Seeing it is what makes it exist.

And so you can't move toward Chesed, because it will always get away from you. But you should start with Chesed. In whatever you are doing, it is the thing, the tool, the energy you take with you that guides you and supports you along the way.

And what is the goal? What is the endpoint? The ending is a state of Majesty. A state of Grace. A state of imperceptible wisdom that comes from the union of two halves.

Which brings me to my logic. The day that comes before Machut, Dignity, is Yesod, Bonding. Unity. It is not the dignity that comes first.

And before Bonding, there is Humility, Hod. In order to submit to Bonding - with ourselves, with others, with God - we must first be humble. We must remove our Selves and Our Stories, and seek to listen instead of speak. We must seek to care and understand, not just be understood and cared for.

And what comes before Hod? It is Victory. It is Eternity. It is strength of conduct. Strength of will. Strength to persevere, even in the face of opposition,and to succeed, despite intimations to the contrary. It means not giving in to those volatile forces that tell us we are not big enough, not good enough, not worthy. It means transcending those merciless ideals, and instead having compassion on ourselves, in order to succeed.

Which is why Tiferet comes immediately before. Because in order to find that victorious state, we need to be capable of being compassionate, both of ourselves and others. To look through to others’ needs, and the needs of ourselves, and fulfilling them, not for self-gratification, but for the gratification of the world. It needs its mouth fed and it’s hands filled. And every empty hand and empty mouth is an opportunity for compassionate action in the interests of justice. Like water filling in the cracks.

But having compassion means we also must have restraint. We can’t be compassionate to every extent, or we will overextend ourselves. We need to protect our boundaries, ourselves, or we are only doing a disservice. Even the one we seek to help will be without the blessing they deserve. No one wants to take more than someone can reasonably give. Your loss is the world’s loss, too.

And that restraint, that Gevurah that we practice on our Chesed, on our overflowing, boundless sense of love, is what gives it shape. It gives it motion, form, and definition. It guides it to a specific place, so that, when we are compassionate, and loving, it is with focus, will, and determination, not merely with a neverending feeling of generosity. If there were no boundaries to love, it would mean nothing. If there was no discrimination, no choosing of where it should be, it would be nowhere, because it would be everywhere. It would be too common to be precious. There is a reason not everyone can spin their straw into gold, or why King Midas starved. When gold is ubiquitous, it is not a blessing, but a curse. But not to have it, means you have nothing to start with and nowhere to go. With the seed of Chesed, you can flower in Malchut.

And, once you reach that place, it turns out not to be an end at all, but leads back to the beginning, and opens the door again to a boundless and strong sense of Chesed.

And so, the sequence is not backward at all. It is the wisest way to practice. Because if you start with Chesed, you will finish where you want to be, and in the end find out that where you wanted to be was always where you were, you just needed to see it, and to be on that Journey. And Life itself is the prize you carry.

Mazal Tov

I thought Judaism would be a good choice for my life. I didn't know it would be a good career move.

And in this case, it was the most organic kind, the best kind. The kind where you are just talking to somebody, and it turns out they have a position open. So you interview for that position, but it's not the right position. But oh, it turns out they have another one open that you are, by the grace of God, well suited for, for whatever reason. And so it goes.

And in the process, you feel not a sense of trepidation, but a sense that it is all somehow working out in your favor. As it always does. Because it should. Because that is the way the world works. Unless you are fighting against it.

And the other thing you feel is that you are supported. When you tell the people you are converting, and they say that is a wonderful thing. They don't turn you down because you're not "real." They see you for what you really are. A person who has free will and can make a choice. And if choosing to be Jewish is a great thing, whether you are Jewish or not to begin with, well, then it's a great thing. Who am I to argue? It makes me happy.

What would he really do?

Christians ask this question all the time - What Would Jesus Do? But I don't think it means what people think it means. Or rather, they say it/ask it, meaning one thing, but they're taking the person out of context. They want to say he would turn the other cheek or wash someone's feet, or something like that. What they really mean is, what would I do if I were Jesus?

Because if they really thought about who Jesus was, they'd have to start with the first order of business, which is that he was a Jewish person. That being the case, any answer to that question would need to be a Jewish answer. As in, he would be doing the Jewish thing of that time, whatever that was, plus that he was being himself. He was both for the community, and for promoting himself and his own beliefs. He was, perhaps, the first Marketing professional of the Common Era, and he had a cohort of followers to further his interests, or so it would seem, if they weren't furthering their own. It was all politics, really.

But basically, Jesus was a Jewish guy, talking to Jewish people. So what would he have done? Rested on the Sabbath, studied Torah, and celebrated Passover. All of these things that Jesus did do.

It's just been brought to my attention that Jesus in fact wore Tzitzit. Amy Jill Levine points out in "the Misunderstood Jew," that this is alluded to in the Gospels. But since Christians hardly know what tzitzit are, nevermind what they are for or why they would be significant, nobody really cares. The "fringe of his garment" I always took to mean just basically the edge of it. And nobody is going to explain this to you, because, to them, it's not important. Any allusion to actually following Jewish practice would be taken as some kind of aberrant blasphemy. So it's silenced and suppressed.

AJL is correct, the Jewishness of Jesus is a scandal, as far as the Church is concerned. Because if Christians knew how Jewish Jesus was, and how Jewish were his teachings, they wouldn't be Christian.

Holidays

As I prepare myself mentally for the High Holy Days in just a few weeks, I am also already dreading a certain other High holiday: Christmas. It dawned on me when I opened to perused the office supply catalogue for the holiday season. Looking at "Season's Greetings," and various other Christmas-related themes, whether religious or not, brought up in me a strange kind of dread, low, in the pit of my stomach. I found myself not entranced, but mildly disturbed by the image of a small girl holding a red and gold wrapped package to her ear.

It's not that I hate Christmas. Well, okay, it is. Perhaps that makes me a Scrooge. But it's not that I don't want to give, it's that I don't want to get. I don't want to get lots of meaningless gifts from friends and family feeling like they have to make me feel better.

That, and the fact that it's meaningless in general. At least for me. This even began last year, before I started this whole conversion process. But the symbols of Christmas really mean nothing to me anymore. What does a star mean, if it's not the thing over Bethlehem? And what's so much more meaningful about that star than another? I'd rather just appreciate each star for what it is. They're all pretty great. And it's good to have a tree in the house. I like that. I might keep up that tradition. But apart from that, I am feeling really disenchanted and not particularly looking forward to the Christmas "Season." But I guess I'll have to get used to it.

Like getting used to seeing Christian radio bulletin boards. Just because I'm not Christian anymore doesn't mean they are going to go away.

On Being Good

I don’t want to be good, I want to be Good. Good is where you only do things to please people. You run around, trying to make everybody happy until they give you a pat on the head and say, ‘oh, you’re so good, little girl.’ But there’s no real satisfaction in that. To truly be Good means you have to be a little bit not good. It means you work hard, but not too hard. You extend yourself, but don’t overextend. You give. But you keep a little for yourself. You can’t be Good by being good all the time. You need to hold back a little. The light needs a little darkness to keep it in check.

Blowing the Shofar

Last night, in a class on Rosh Hashanah and the month of Elul, Estelle Frankel brought us two shofars. One was hers and one was God's. She handed one to each of two students present. I had never heard a shofar before - except as the opening sound in Godspell. But here it was a totally different experience. I imagine it would be very powerful to hear one of these sounded over the desert. It would remind you of your soul being echoed from a distance. But what it sounded like to me was the call of a loon. It had those long wails, the breaking from a low note to a high one. The punctuated trills. And the two shofars sometimes were in unison, sounding a harmony, or creating a tonic or third wave of sound in between them.

As with the shofars, often two loons will be calling to each other over the water in the darkness. That's when we would hear them. In summer, up at Uncle Bud's Cabin on the lake in Maine, at night, with the yellow porch light attracting the moths and mosquitoes. We would sit on the porch, reading, talking, or playing games of cards. And my mother would hear the loon, and she would sit back and retreat into herself. It was like the loon was calling her home. Because, in a way, it was.

There is something comforting about hearing a sense of longing outside yourself. Because that's what a loon makes. That's what a shofar does. It makes the sound of a soul yearning to come home, or, as Inigo Montoya said in The Princess Bride when they hear Wesley's soul-wrenching cry, the "Sound of Ultimate Suffering," and that's how they know it is the Man in Black.

But the shofar, making that sound, brings us home. Because it creates that longing outside us, it gives us permission to feel it inside, where we typically ignore it. And then, once it is felt, it can be released. And we realize that in fact, our soul is not out wandering in the desert somewhere, nor does it want to be. It's right here in our chest. And all we have to do is remember its longing to come home, and give it that space to live here with us, instead of letting our egos push it aside.

The Jewish Dance

On my lunch break, I walked out to get a smoothie. As I walked away from the smoothie shop in the mall, a girl at the cosmetics stand was handing out samples of hand cream. She placed a packet in my hand, and looked intently at my chest, where the Star of David hung below my collar bones. After a little squint, her eyes brightened. You’re Jewish! She smiled. And she did a little dance. So this is what it’s like. When Christians recognize each other, it's like suddenly everybody is miserable under their joy. When people see that you’re Jewish, they don’t just commiserate with you, they get happy. They want to dance. They want to help you. They want to do things for you. This makes me happy. This makes me want to be Jewish even more. This makes me want to do a little dance.