Paradox

I am wrestling with a paradox right now. I always seem to be wrestling with one paradox or another - and not even just recently. It seems everywhere I turn, I want to define or understand something, but what it is I want to define defies definition. Whatever it is turns out to be both one thing and something else at exactly the same time and at the same time, both of those things that it is are still it. Does that make sense? Probably not. Because it makes no sense. And yet, at the same time, It makes all the sense in the world. See what I mean?

And I wonder, is this a little bit of what it feels like to "wrestle with G-d"? If the people Israel are so called because that, reportedly, is what they do, or what Jabob did, then is this what it's like? Wrestling with an unknown being, who is both an Angel of G-d, and G-d at the same time? Is wrestling with G-d in fact wrestling with the immense and unending paradox of existence, which also both ends and doesn't end, begins and doesn't begin? And we come up with a draw, don't we? We wrestle with G-d, but we don't really get anywhere. That's because there pretty much isn't anywhere to get. We're already here. And we are going to be here. And once we're done wrestling, everything will likely be much more boring in fact, and we'll probably remember having a lot more fun being in the game than out of it.

So this wrestling business is tough. I can't say I like it. It's actually quite frustrating, and I do feel like I'm getting nowhere, because all of my answers lead back to the question. And that's always the way, isn't it? But at the end of the day, I think I am going to feel that if I haven't at least grappled with these notions, then I haven't even really done my job.

Holy Baptism

I just had a striking realization this morning. I was writing the date down, and I realized that it was 28 years ago to this day that I was baptized in the Episcopal Church.

This is a pretty big deal for a Christian family. It's almost as important as your birthday, but you don't really celebrate it, and nobody bakes you a cake. It's kind of like a second birth, in the Christian mind, really. It's where you get to be born in front of everybody, but it's clean, it's sterile. The baby wears a long, white frock, and there's no blood, only water. No screaming, only prayers and promises, with your parents and Godparents standing around, and the whole church watches on.

The Christian church seems to think it owns baptism. But it sometimes forgets that its baptism, as far as I can figure, comes from the same source as the Jewish Mikveh. And Jesus wasn't the only one who went around Baptizing people in the waters of the Jordan. In fact, Jesus himself was Baptized, and it's one of the major stories in the Christian Bible, when he gets baptized by John, and the voice comes from the clouds, and all that. So why do they think that baptism is all theirs, and it's so darn special?

Besides, I think Christians really get cheated on the baptism front. What you get, as a Christian, is somebody splashing a token amount of water on your forehead as a baby (some churches do more), when you are completely helpless, and have no long-term memory or decision-making capacity - and then they stamp the sign of a torture instrument on your forehead with some oil and call you a Christian. Who got to decide that was going to happen to you? Certainly not yourself, that's for sure. And since Christianity is a converts-only religion, it's kind of a nasty trick to say you "converted" when you were a baby. They give you the "opportunity" to "confirm" your "belief" when you are older, but by that point, your head is so filled with lies, you don't know what is true anymore.

Jews get it a lot better, I think. And of course, I haven't done it yet, but I at least have an idea of what goes on. You get a whole pool to yourself. There is no white garment. No aura of sterility to your existence. No, you go in NAKED. You go in with all of yourself, and only yourself. You get cleansed without any additional baggage. So that when you come out, you can truly feel that something is different, because there was nothing between you and the waters of the Mikveh. I find just the idea of it to be extremely profound. In fact, if I had looked at the calendar this way a while ago, I might have even scheduled my Mikveh and my Beit Din to take place on this day. I am about ready to do it. I feel like there is basically nothing that can change my mind at this point. Not the doubts of others, not the derision of my family, not the questions from any Jewish person about why in God's name would I want to choose to become a part of a persecuted people? Hey, well, that's just normal, as far as I am concerned. It's a moot point. The list of reasons for me doing it are long, the list of detractors is both short and filled with flawed logic. So therefore, my choice is clear.

And baptism is purported to wash aways one's sins and make you a new person. This is exactly what my rabbi tells me the waters of the Mikveh are for, such that once I go through them, I will no longer be who I was before, whether I like it or not. There is no going back. It's a tough choice to make, with a lot of pressure, and a lot of reasons to back out. Those are the same reasons, in my opinion, to keep going. So I look forward to going into the Mikveh. I see it as the baptism I choose, and the one I have always desired.

The Flood

I was all set to write an entry about the Noah story and politics. How this Parsha comes at a time when our very country is being cleansed of one system and being replaced by another, and even the economy, it seems, is doing its own version of purging or cleansing, somehow.

Now my story feels slightly more personal. Without going into details, I can mainly say that this rain pouring out my window seems strangely appropriate.

And why do my bad breakups always happen on a Saturday?? I thought I would hold off - so as not to break the Sabbath. But to no avail. The Sabbath has chosen this day to be broken anyway. A day that was intended to be for joyful reunion and togetherness is instead a day of mournful reflection and loss.

But maybe what I thought were general intentions were just my intentions, or the intentions I imagined on somebody else's behalf. What about the world? Why should my intentions have any significance?

And I can't help but think how my actions contributed to it. I know it's not great to sit around and think, oh, it's all my fault. I am not doing that. I am actually sitting here smiling. Because I know I am not wholly responsible. But I do take the weight of responsibility for the actions I know I have done that caused, or served to bring about this loss.

From what began as a simple offer, simply received, we have a chain reaction and a series of events that slowly, but surely, brought about some kind of destruction which was worse than I had imagined.

But maybe this was God's way of aligning the forces so that I did not go and make a rash and faulty decision I would later regret. Still, I believe there was some flaw in my actions, and I do believe a little bit in karma, or at least that sort of response that means what you do doesn't go off into nowhere. It is received by the world and reflected back to you directly.

It is sad, what happened, but in a way, it's a relief. This had been coming for a long time. All the insults and the tension that I/we had been experiencing lately have melted away into one great wash of no-longer-thereness. We needed something to get us to stop arguing. It seems, apparently, that this is the way. He let me go, but I already had my hands off the reins. And there is nothing I can do about it now, and there is nothing I want to do about it. It just is, and I want to let it be that way, to soak into the ground, and saturate the atmosphere, with warm, comforting drops of blessed love and release.