I just had a very bizarre thought. I actually thought that there was a way in which the death penalty could be a good thing. But wait, hear me out. I don't actually support capital punishment. I don't support the death penalty. But I was thinking about biblical stonings and punishments of death, and it occurred to me to think about them in a new way.
Here was my thought process: I was thinking about my date over the weekend, and how the guy I went out with seemed convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was unlikable, unlovable, and I think, also, a complete waste of time. (Either that, or he just wasted my time by taking me out so that he could spend the whole evening talking about this.) And I thought about my response to him by email, which consisted of me saying that his efforts had failed, and I had found him likable nonetheless. And then it occurred to me that I like just about everybody. Or if not everybody (because it's not true that I actually like everybody), then I believe that there is at least one likable thing about every person.
Usually, these likable elements come out in moments of human/physical banality. Such as, the person has to use the bathroom, or they get sick, or they have to eat, or even the fact that they have a favorite food. I took the thought to the extreme and wondered if that could apply even to the most egregious criminal. We see these people as "evil" or "animals" and often they behave without a shred of normal human emotion. But they are still Humans. They still have to eat. They still probably have tastes and preferences. And yet, at a certain point, maybe even They don't consider themselves human.
So I thought: what is the one most humanly humbling experience of all: death.
And then it became clear to me.
I have trouble with all the stonings and killings in the Bible of people who create even minor transgressions. I don't like extreme punishment. The stories are meant to inspire fear and a sense that the commandment is so important that it should be carried out, or else death will ensue. I don't like guilt-tripping and I don't like being threatened, even if the carrying-out of the threat is not forthcoming in our everyday lives, such as stoning a person to death for gathering firewood on Shabbat, which occurred in last week's Parsha). What became clear was the purpose of death in certain situations. And it occurred to me that it was maybe not always a punishment.
Let's say, for example, that all sins or crimes are equal. It doesn't matter what you do, but if you go out of line, then that action makes you "inhuman." The teachings of the Mitzvoth and the Torah are meant to keep us Human. They are not intended to keep us in a limited area of being, but to keep us closer to our Humanity, our vulnerability, our frailty, and our beauty. When we move away from those mitzvoth, from those teachings and ideas, we become separated from ourselves, others, and humanity.
If a person is on Death Row, s/he has done something so terrible that we don't even see that person as "deserving" of the same treatment that we would give another human being. But if you think about the moment of death, the moment of execution, for a moment. In that moment, on the table, or wherever they are - they may be in a room, separated from everyone - but at that time, and immediately after, they become Human again. Death is the great leveler. It brings us all down. We do not survive because we are "good." We all die, in the end. There is an Italian saying, I believe: "Kings and pawns go in the same box." In that way, we are all equal. While we are living, we are not equal. Some people behave better than others. Some people are nicer than others. Some are more respected or respectable than others. But at the moment of death, we are all equal.
Therefore, giving death to a person who has committed a sin that harms all of humanity, we are giving that person back their humanity. Evil cannot die, but humans can. Therefore it makes them Human again. Albeit in a terribly inhumane way. There is no way that I can envision purposely killing a living individual in a way that is truly helpful or gives glory to G-d, but, conceptually, I can see how it works, and it makes at least biblical capital punishment a bit softer for me, that it comes not as a punishment, but as a gift. A strange gift, which, in the case of some individuals, may even be a welcome one.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Night Out
I went on this odd kind of date last night. I think I should date more Jewish men, but for some reason, ever since I converted, I either haven't had the interest or the opportunity to do so. Or I've had both, but it somehow hasn't worked out that way. Although, as I told one friend recently, I do believe that in all the people that I date, I see something "Jewish" in them, even if they have no idea that it's there. This was the case with the guy I went out with last night. Although, in the end, it was pretty awkward, and I don't know that anything will come out of it.
When it started, he and I were having a really nice dinner conversation, or so it seemed. I mean, no major sparks were flying or anything, but there was definitely stuff to talk about. Then, on the way to the theater, we talked a little bit about religion, but not too much. I had told him over dinner about my conversion, and I knew already that his family was Catholic, but that he didn't have any observance of his own. He didn't say he was "spiritual" or anything, he just joked about going to Hell.
When we got to the theater, we were early, so we had a drink. Then I probably did either the best or worst thing I could have done: I asked his age. That was only because, after talking to him, I realized he was probably older than I thought he was. But once I thought about it, I guessed his age right: about 15 years older than me. But he seemed pretty miffed about the fact that I guessed right. And then I was slightly miffed about the fact that he guessed me wrong - putting me at least 5 years younger than I actually am. I suppose I could have taken it as a compliment, but then that would have been inauthentic of me.
Overall, I suppose if people generally perceive him to be much younger, and me to be only a little younger, that would make our perceived ages actually pretty close. (It was kind of funny how the guy at the bar later in the evening referred to us as "kids." but then, he was pretty much older than both of us.) On the other hand, if you think about our actual ages, if he was that much older than I am and he thought I was much younger, that means he thought he was going out with someone about 20 years his junior. And he may have seemed kind of disappointed that I wasn't. It's hard to tell. But maybe that's why, when he wrote to me afterward, he wanted to thank me, but said he didn't think we should "date" anymore.
There I was, thinking I was "too young" for him. Whereas, it's possible I was in fact not young enough! Now that's a bit scary. If everything else had been equal, I think the age would not have been an issue. At least it wasn't an issue for me. Or rather, I was thinking that I had to work through that "problem." Like I'd have to accept the fact that he's so much older and doesn't want house/wife/kids, etc., and whatnot. But in fact, it was him. HE very well might have the problem.
And the other red flag: I joked, in the bar, after the show, about being 12 years old, and the way he said "perfect" was a little too convincing. He seemed to actually have a momentary fantasy that reminded me just a little too much of the way pedophile perps typically look in an episode of Law & Order: SVU. So maybe I was on a date with a closet pedophile. Not to perpetuate a stereotype, but he was raised Catholic, and has since left the church. So who knows? Maybe he was molested as an altar boy, and he either has or has not told anybody about it.
And even if that's not it, obviously something is nagging at him, and is preventing him from even allowing for the possibility that maybe we could even have a short relationship. It's like he opened and shut the door with little or no input from my side of the garden. And maybe that's the worst part of it for me. So perhaps I should just run for the hills. Maybe I should take his polite offer of being "platonic" and just leave it at that.
I will say I did get my hopes up, just a little bit. It's natural. It's been a couple of months since I've been dating anyone, and to me, I look forward to possibilities. I like cuddling and canoodling and all of that. I wanted to touch him, but I felt like he was nervous. Or maybe he just didn't want to touch me. Which didn't feel good. It also doesn't feel good to be chucked aside because you are "too old" when in fact you are 15 years younger than the guy you are on a date with. Of course he didn't say it was the age, but I have a strong feeling that that's at least part of it. Which is why, I guess, my only regret might be that I DIDN'T leave the theater half-way through, as he kept alluding to my having that particular option. He seemed to expect it the entire time. He even checked to see if my bag was still there when I did get up at one point to use the ladies' room. Of course, I wanted to stay. I was having a good time, and I was looking forward to continuing our conversation. But in hindsight, maybe I should have left, because I can see two things:
1) He was really wasting my time, and
2) He might have respected me more for leaving.
Either way, I guess it's no big loss on my part. I got a nice night out at the theatre and a few drinks. And I hate to make a judgment about anybody, because it is more in my nature to give people the benefit of the doubt, but that is usually also my downfall. I think someone is so great, because I see that part of them that is hidden, even from themselves, and I say, "this person is valuable and worthy." I can love them. And I do. Regardless. But while I'm doing that, I miss all kinds of surface details. I miss the fact that they are way too interested themselves, or in younger girls, which shows signs of all kinds of bad activity, even if he isn't, like he said, "an axe-murderer." (Like he would tell me if he was).
And I overlook (even if I see them) things like the fact that he kept talking himself down, and wouldn't even look at me during dinner. A bit suspicious. So I get the feeling that he has defined himself as "a loser," and he's not open to any other type of interpretation. Maybe a younger girl than me would be more malleable, or corrigible, or would laugh at more of his jokes. Maybe she would look up to him and not be so complicated and burdensome. Maybe she wouldn't have FEELINGS, or be real in anyway. The age would distance her enough that he wouldn't even feel like they were in the same planet, or universe, and he'd never really have to have an actual relationship with her. Maybe that's his ideal woman: a doll he can dress up and pose. Unfortunately, that's not me. But I also think he's conflicted, because, even as he wants that, kind of, he also, like many men, wants to be dominated by a powerful woman. But either way, I think it comes down to self esteem.
If I were to, for example, challenge his notion that he is a complete and utter failure at life and undeserving of any kind of attention or affection, it would throw him off too far. Maybe he is too old, or maybe just thinks he is too old to change any of that type of thinking. I mean, I tend to go for older guys, because they have a more nuanced, balanced, and calm approach to life. But on the other hand, if it means that they can't change anything about the way they think, and if they will reject me on account of the fact that I MIGHT challenge the way they think, then they prove themselves right, and whether they actually are or are not a loser, is immaterial. What is ultimately proven is that they do "lose" what they had thought they wanted in the first place. But by that point, they've given themselves enough reason to believe they didn't want it anyway. The old "sour grapes" philosophy. I hate being pegged as a "sour grape." But on the other hand, I suppose that doesn't make me any less sweet.
Shavuah tov
When it started, he and I were having a really nice dinner conversation, or so it seemed. I mean, no major sparks were flying or anything, but there was definitely stuff to talk about. Then, on the way to the theater, we talked a little bit about religion, but not too much. I had told him over dinner about my conversion, and I knew already that his family was Catholic, but that he didn't have any observance of his own. He didn't say he was "spiritual" or anything, he just joked about going to Hell.
When we got to the theater, we were early, so we had a drink. Then I probably did either the best or worst thing I could have done: I asked his age. That was only because, after talking to him, I realized he was probably older than I thought he was. But once I thought about it, I guessed his age right: about 15 years older than me. But he seemed pretty miffed about the fact that I guessed right. And then I was slightly miffed about the fact that he guessed me wrong - putting me at least 5 years younger than I actually am. I suppose I could have taken it as a compliment, but then that would have been inauthentic of me.
Overall, I suppose if people generally perceive him to be much younger, and me to be only a little younger, that would make our perceived ages actually pretty close. (It was kind of funny how the guy at the bar later in the evening referred to us as "kids." but then, he was pretty much older than both of us.) On the other hand, if you think about our actual ages, if he was that much older than I am and he thought I was much younger, that means he thought he was going out with someone about 20 years his junior. And he may have seemed kind of disappointed that I wasn't. It's hard to tell. But maybe that's why, when he wrote to me afterward, he wanted to thank me, but said he didn't think we should "date" anymore.
There I was, thinking I was "too young" for him. Whereas, it's possible I was in fact not young enough! Now that's a bit scary. If everything else had been equal, I think the age would not have been an issue. At least it wasn't an issue for me. Or rather, I was thinking that I had to work through that "problem." Like I'd have to accept the fact that he's so much older and doesn't want house/wife/kids, etc., and whatnot. But in fact, it was him. HE very well might have the problem.
And the other red flag: I joked, in the bar, after the show, about being 12 years old, and the way he said "perfect" was a little too convincing. He seemed to actually have a momentary fantasy that reminded me just a little too much of the way pedophile perps typically look in an episode of Law & Order: SVU. So maybe I was on a date with a closet pedophile. Not to perpetuate a stereotype, but he was raised Catholic, and has since left the church. So who knows? Maybe he was molested as an altar boy, and he either has or has not told anybody about it.
And even if that's not it, obviously something is nagging at him, and is preventing him from even allowing for the possibility that maybe we could even have a short relationship. It's like he opened and shut the door with little or no input from my side of the garden. And maybe that's the worst part of it for me. So perhaps I should just run for the hills. Maybe I should take his polite offer of being "platonic" and just leave it at that.
I will say I did get my hopes up, just a little bit. It's natural. It's been a couple of months since I've been dating anyone, and to me, I look forward to possibilities. I like cuddling and canoodling and all of that. I wanted to touch him, but I felt like he was nervous. Or maybe he just didn't want to touch me. Which didn't feel good. It also doesn't feel good to be chucked aside because you are "too old" when in fact you are 15 years younger than the guy you are on a date with. Of course he didn't say it was the age, but I have a strong feeling that that's at least part of it. Which is why, I guess, my only regret might be that I DIDN'T leave the theater half-way through, as he kept alluding to my having that particular option. He seemed to expect it the entire time. He even checked to see if my bag was still there when I did get up at one point to use the ladies' room. Of course, I wanted to stay. I was having a good time, and I was looking forward to continuing our conversation. But in hindsight, maybe I should have left, because I can see two things:
1) He was really wasting my time, and
2) He might have respected me more for leaving.
Either way, I guess it's no big loss on my part. I got a nice night out at the theatre and a few drinks. And I hate to make a judgment about anybody, because it is more in my nature to give people the benefit of the doubt, but that is usually also my downfall. I think someone is so great, because I see that part of them that is hidden, even from themselves, and I say, "this person is valuable and worthy." I can love them. And I do. Regardless. But while I'm doing that, I miss all kinds of surface details. I miss the fact that they are way too interested themselves, or in younger girls, which shows signs of all kinds of bad activity, even if he isn't, like he said, "an axe-murderer." (Like he would tell me if he was).
And I overlook (even if I see them) things like the fact that he kept talking himself down, and wouldn't even look at me during dinner. A bit suspicious. So I get the feeling that he has defined himself as "a loser," and he's not open to any other type of interpretation. Maybe a younger girl than me would be more malleable, or corrigible, or would laugh at more of his jokes. Maybe she would look up to him and not be so complicated and burdensome. Maybe she wouldn't have FEELINGS, or be real in anyway. The age would distance her enough that he wouldn't even feel like they were in the same planet, or universe, and he'd never really have to have an actual relationship with her. Maybe that's his ideal woman: a doll he can dress up and pose. Unfortunately, that's not me. But I also think he's conflicted, because, even as he wants that, kind of, he also, like many men, wants to be dominated by a powerful woman. But either way, I think it comes down to self esteem.
If I were to, for example, challenge his notion that he is a complete and utter failure at life and undeserving of any kind of attention or affection, it would throw him off too far. Maybe he is too old, or maybe just thinks he is too old to change any of that type of thinking. I mean, I tend to go for older guys, because they have a more nuanced, balanced, and calm approach to life. But on the other hand, if it means that they can't change anything about the way they think, and if they will reject me on account of the fact that I MIGHT challenge the way they think, then they prove themselves right, and whether they actually are or are not a loser, is immaterial. What is ultimately proven is that they do "lose" what they had thought they wanted in the first place. But by that point, they've given themselves enough reason to believe they didn't want it anyway. The old "sour grapes" philosophy. I hate being pegged as a "sour grape." But on the other hand, I suppose that doesn't make me any less sweet.
Shavuah tov
Saturday, February 20, 2010
You shall accept gifts for Me from every person whose heart so moves him.
- Exodus 25:2
Overlay it with pure gold - overlay it inside and out...
- Exodus 25:11
I have been reading lately about the concepts of giving and receiving love. Which is to say that, in a healthy, communicative relationship, one does not only give love, but needs to be able to receive it as well. And often, when we think that the barrier between another person and ourselves is that the other person "doesn't love us," in fact it often is the case that it is we ourselves - because of our own hurts, fears and rejection due to former wounding - that are actively, unconsciously, blocking that love from being received by us. And so we don't "feel" loved, even though we are loved.
The only way to solve this problem is to actively, consciously, focus on receiving gifts. And I think that is an important lesson that is given in our Torah portion this week. Moses is instructed to accept gifts for God "from every person whose heart so moves him." So, for example, not from the people who Moses thinks are better or more able to give gifts than other people. Not from the people who Moses thinks are serious, or authentically giving a gift. But from all of the people who are "so moved" to give a gift. And it is not the gift itself, although instructions are given as to what kind of gifts the people are meant to give in order to build the tabernacle and the ark, but the important thing is that the person has a desire to give the gift. And the second important thing is that the gift is received.
In this parsha, Moses receives the gifts from all the givers, and he receives them on behalf of God, but also on behalf of all of us. In this parsha, I think we can understand, on an intrinsic level, that we are like Moses, and like Moses, we have permission to receive the gifts that all people - and God - wants to give us. Whether or not we think that person is sincere, and whether or not we actually believe ourselves to be worthy.
We already know that Moses does not think he is worthy. He refused to even speak God's words to Pharoah, because he was self-conscious of a speech impediment. So we know that Moses is not perfect. And even though for the most part, he does what God asks him to do, even he has limitations, and they are physical and emotional limitations that are part of his body. They are part of who he is, and part of his relationship with God. But even so, he has permission from God to "accept all the gifts" of the people for the tabernacle.
And so we, too, have permission to "accept all the gifts" that those in our lives wish to give us, for the sake of God. We can accept them "for God," if we don't believe we can accept them for ourselves, and it is with those gifts, that we build the tabernacle and the ark to carry the tablets of the covenant.
The second thing we are told is that, when building the ark, we are to "overlay it with pure gold" both inside and out.
Certainly this was meant literally, but when I read this, I read it as a metaphor for the body. Because the body is a wondrous, marvelous tabernacle. As I study the parts of human anatomy in preparation to work with people and their bodies as a bodywork practitioner, I am constantly amazed and astounded at the beauty and complexity of the architecture of the human form. And it is this architecture that we carry around with us and move with and in every moment of our lives, to the point where we almost always take it for granted. We often mistreat our bodies, we feel embarrassed by them. Sometimes we ignore them completely. But they are part of us, they are us, and they are not "us" at the same time.
But when I say that I see this image as a metaphor for the body, I mean that, like the ark, we are constructed of precious materials "both inside and out." And I mean that, in a body, the muscles are what allow a person or an animal to move. Gold is beautiful to look at, and because of that, it is like the muscle of an economy. It allows people to move, eat, and enjoy life.
When you think of a body, you think of the muscles you can see, on the outside. Perhaps you flex your arm and witness a bulging bicep. Or perhaps you are aware that the muscles of your neck and back are sore from holding your head up, or from stress. Maybe you've gone running and your calf muscles feel sore. These muscles are precious material, and they are overlaid on the acacia wood of our bone structure.
But there are muscles inside you that you cannot see, and they are just as important. Inside your neck, under the round bone of your skull you have suboccipital muscles that hold your head up and allow it to move and rotate. Inside your leg, you have the iliopsoas muscles, which begin in the inner thigh, at the hip joint, and connect all the way up inside the torso, on the inner spine, just under the diaphram, which is the source of our breath. The movement of the diaphram creates the tzimtzum into which air rushes to fill the space that is created in our lungs, and the muscle returns to push air out again.
And then there are my two favorite hidden muscles: The subscapular muscles, between your shoulder blade and your rib cage. And the iliacus, which connects to the iliopsoas, and is a swath of muscle tissue lining the inside of the pelvic girdle, those two great wings that support and carry in them the weight of all that is precious - all of those inner organs that are both delicate and strong, and which function continually to keep us alive for as long as we are here.
Those wings, to me, are reminiscent of the Cherubim (Keruvim) that are to be placed at either end of the lid of the ark.
The keruvim shall have their wings spread out above, shielding the cover with their wings. They shall confront each other, the faces of the keruvim being turned toward the cover... There I will meet with you. And I will impart to you - from above the cover, from between the two cherubim that are on top of the ark of the pact - all that I will command you...
- Exodus 25:19-22
And so it is from the space between, where we confront each other, where we face each other, that God speaks. And it is also from within.
Because the body is a vessel not only for our internal organs, but for our spirit, and for what we know as "living Torah." We all carry within ourselves the "living pact" that we don't just do with God - it is something that we are.
And sometimes it is from that space, from between the wings, that God speaks. Because your body is a vessel of your pact with God. It is your pact with God. It is a gift and a vessel for God. And it is often through our bodies, from that place, between even the two halves of ourselves that face each other, that God speaks to us.
Shabbat shalom
- Exodus 25:2
Overlay it with pure gold - overlay it inside and out...
- Exodus 25:11
I have been reading lately about the concepts of giving and receiving love. Which is to say that, in a healthy, communicative relationship, one does not only give love, but needs to be able to receive it as well. And often, when we think that the barrier between another person and ourselves is that the other person "doesn't love us," in fact it often is the case that it is we ourselves - because of our own hurts, fears and rejection due to former wounding - that are actively, unconsciously, blocking that love from being received by us. And so we don't "feel" loved, even though we are loved.
The only way to solve this problem is to actively, consciously, focus on receiving gifts. And I think that is an important lesson that is given in our Torah portion this week. Moses is instructed to accept gifts for God "from every person whose heart so moves him." So, for example, not from the people who Moses thinks are better or more able to give gifts than other people. Not from the people who Moses thinks are serious, or authentically giving a gift. But from all of the people who are "so moved" to give a gift. And it is not the gift itself, although instructions are given as to what kind of gifts the people are meant to give in order to build the tabernacle and the ark, but the important thing is that the person has a desire to give the gift. And the second important thing is that the gift is received.
In this parsha, Moses receives the gifts from all the givers, and he receives them on behalf of God, but also on behalf of all of us. In this parsha, I think we can understand, on an intrinsic level, that we are like Moses, and like Moses, we have permission to receive the gifts that all people - and God - wants to give us. Whether or not we think that person is sincere, and whether or not we actually believe ourselves to be worthy.
We already know that Moses does not think he is worthy. He refused to even speak God's words to Pharoah, because he was self-conscious of a speech impediment. So we know that Moses is not perfect. And even though for the most part, he does what God asks him to do, even he has limitations, and they are physical and emotional limitations that are part of his body. They are part of who he is, and part of his relationship with God. But even so, he has permission from God to "accept all the gifts" of the people for the tabernacle.
And so we, too, have permission to "accept all the gifts" that those in our lives wish to give us, for the sake of God. We can accept them "for God," if we don't believe we can accept them for ourselves, and it is with those gifts, that we build the tabernacle and the ark to carry the tablets of the covenant.
The second thing we are told is that, when building the ark, we are to "overlay it with pure gold" both inside and out.
Certainly this was meant literally, but when I read this, I read it as a metaphor for the body. Because the body is a wondrous, marvelous tabernacle. As I study the parts of human anatomy in preparation to work with people and their bodies as a bodywork practitioner, I am constantly amazed and astounded at the beauty and complexity of the architecture of the human form. And it is this architecture that we carry around with us and move with and in every moment of our lives, to the point where we almost always take it for granted. We often mistreat our bodies, we feel embarrassed by them. Sometimes we ignore them completely. But they are part of us, they are us, and they are not "us" at the same time.
But when I say that I see this image as a metaphor for the body, I mean that, like the ark, we are constructed of precious materials "both inside and out." And I mean that, in a body, the muscles are what allow a person or an animal to move. Gold is beautiful to look at, and because of that, it is like the muscle of an economy. It allows people to move, eat, and enjoy life.
When you think of a body, you think of the muscles you can see, on the outside. Perhaps you flex your arm and witness a bulging bicep. Or perhaps you are aware that the muscles of your neck and back are sore from holding your head up, or from stress. Maybe you've gone running and your calf muscles feel sore. These muscles are precious material, and they are overlaid on the acacia wood of our bone structure.
But there are muscles inside you that you cannot see, and they are just as important. Inside your neck, under the round bone of your skull you have suboccipital muscles that hold your head up and allow it to move and rotate. Inside your leg, you have the iliopsoas muscles, which begin in the inner thigh, at the hip joint, and connect all the way up inside the torso, on the inner spine, just under the diaphram, which is the source of our breath. The movement of the diaphram creates the tzimtzum into which air rushes to fill the space that is created in our lungs, and the muscle returns to push air out again.
And then there are my two favorite hidden muscles: The subscapular muscles, between your shoulder blade and your rib cage. And the iliacus, which connects to the iliopsoas, and is a swath of muscle tissue lining the inside of the pelvic girdle, those two great wings that support and carry in them the weight of all that is precious - all of those inner organs that are both delicate and strong, and which function continually to keep us alive for as long as we are here.
Those wings, to me, are reminiscent of the Cherubim (Keruvim) that are to be placed at either end of the lid of the ark.
The keruvim shall have their wings spread out above, shielding the cover with their wings. They shall confront each other, the faces of the keruvim being turned toward the cover... There I will meet with you. And I will impart to you - from above the cover, from between the two cherubim that are on top of the ark of the pact - all that I will command you...
- Exodus 25:19-22
And so it is from the space between, where we confront each other, where we face each other, that God speaks. And it is also from within.
Because the body is a vessel not only for our internal organs, but for our spirit, and for what we know as "living Torah." We all carry within ourselves the "living pact" that we don't just do with God - it is something that we are.
And sometimes it is from that space, from between the wings, that God speaks. Because your body is a vessel of your pact with God. It is your pact with God. It is a gift and a vessel for God. And it is often through our bodies, from that place, between even the two halves of ourselves that face each other, that God speaks to us.
Shabbat shalom
Sunday, January 24, 2010
The Scent of a Rose
I love the fact that Judaism has a prayer for everything. A prayer for waking up, a prayer for going to sleep. A prayer for meals and a prayer for drink. A prayer, even for a snack. There are prayers for things, and prayers for feelings, for intangible things like events. And it's wonderful, because those are the times when your soul seems to want to say something, and you just wish you could put the words to it. Judaism has those words. But the odd or paradoxical thing about it is that the moment you go to say them - or at least for me - when I say the prayers, or do some ritual thing like eating an item off a seder plate, I am whelmed, perhaps under-whelmed at not the sacredness of the moment or a mystical feeling (which I might get, say, walking silently in a grove of trees) but rather at an almost banal, profane aspect of the moment. Suddenly, instead of focusing on what's inside, I am focused outside, on word, speech action. Maybe I'm not "doing it right." But I don't know that there is a "right" in Judaism. There is certainly "the way things are done." But ultimately, the way you do it, if you do something consciously, is right. This is the way it is for me. This is my experience. And I don't think it means the moment isn't sacred. Maybe it means that it is.
I just got back from my first Rosh Chodesh women's seder. I was invited by a friend that I met in San Francisco, but it was held in the East Bay, not too far from where I live. So I went, and there were about ten of us. I was thinking about prayer, because I was thinking about sacred space, and the space was sacred. At a few points during the seder, I wondered, what would an outside person, maybe a neighbor standing just outside the window, think, if they heard our mumbling in unison, with candles in front of us. It all seemed like, maybe from the outside, it was some mystical, cultish thing. But from the inside, it was just normal. We were just people, sitting around, with candles, saying things and sharing thoughts, stories, experiences.
The theme of the meeting was Tu B'Shevat, the New Year of the Trees, since that holiday is coming up next weekend. On the table were mandarin oranges, dates, strawberries, cinnamon sticks and a bowl of red rose petals. There were four sections, and at each section we would take in the scent of one of the items. The dates we ate afterward.
The rose petals were beautiful, bright, and velvety, but they had very little scent. Not at all like the rose that seemed to bloom just for me on the day that I left my little house in France. I clipped that rose and took it with me, but then I wished that I had left it. It looked so beautiful on the tree where it was. And of course it didn't bloom "for me." But it seemed to. It seemed to salute me. And when I saw it there, I buried my nose in it's petals and smelled the sweetest scent of rose I've ever smelt.
In the last section of our seder, we read a guided mediation, where we were supposed to be walking somewhere (wherever we went in our imagination), and were distracted by a scent. Then we would turn to see what the thing was giving off the scent, and were told that this was the scent of our soul. We were supposed to interact with it in various ways, and then finally leave the place and continue on our way. We were to first just take it in. Then find out what kind of "nourishment" it needed, and then ask it for a gift.
I was doing the reading, so it was hard to concentrate until I put the paper down and closed my eyes. In a hurry, I jumped right in and found myself on a dirt path in a forest of low trees, maybe pines. they were fairly dark. I was on a larger, gravel path, but a smaller dirt path opened up to my right. And even though I was supposed to be drawn by the scent, I saw first before I smelled that there was a bright red rose on the periphery of my vision. Before I turned, I thought, maybe this is a mistake, it's supposed to be something else. Maybe I'm just thinking of this because we just smelled rose petals. But even so, I decided that if that was the case, this was still what was coming to mind, so I was going to go with it. And the rose was very bright and deep, the color, and its petals still fairly tight, just starting to bloom.
It wasn't very far off the path, and it was growing in a clearing. What did it need? It needed what all plants need. It needed water. So I gave it some water. And it seemed to thank me. Then I realized that behind it was a stone well. The rose was growing right at the edge of it, with two long stems. One had the larger, opening rose, and the other, a little bit below, was a bud, red, but not open yet.
The well was the one that we used to play on in the church yard. I will never forget it. It was low, with a wide lip of stone, and cherubs carved on the outside. It was no longer functioning, and there was only a metal grate covering a gravel bottom on the inside, where we would go in and sit. But once it must have been a working well, because there was a rusted iron pulley above it on a wrought iron arch. My friend T. painted it once in one of his paintings.
In my vision, it was a working well, though. Even though I didn't look in, I knew that it was filled with water. I gave the rose, which was there to represent my "soul" some water, and it gave me the well in return. I didn't even have to ask. It just gave. It knew that was what I needed.
And so, I spent a few moments with the rose, and decided that I didn't want to leave. But after I thought that, I turned and left and walked back out to the main path.
I just got back from my first Rosh Chodesh women's seder. I was invited by a friend that I met in San Francisco, but it was held in the East Bay, not too far from where I live. So I went, and there were about ten of us. I was thinking about prayer, because I was thinking about sacred space, and the space was sacred. At a few points during the seder, I wondered, what would an outside person, maybe a neighbor standing just outside the window, think, if they heard our mumbling in unison, with candles in front of us. It all seemed like, maybe from the outside, it was some mystical, cultish thing. But from the inside, it was just normal. We were just people, sitting around, with candles, saying things and sharing thoughts, stories, experiences.
The theme of the meeting was Tu B'Shevat, the New Year of the Trees, since that holiday is coming up next weekend. On the table were mandarin oranges, dates, strawberries, cinnamon sticks and a bowl of red rose petals. There were four sections, and at each section we would take in the scent of one of the items. The dates we ate afterward.
The rose petals were beautiful, bright, and velvety, but they had very little scent. Not at all like the rose that seemed to bloom just for me on the day that I left my little house in France. I clipped that rose and took it with me, but then I wished that I had left it. It looked so beautiful on the tree where it was. And of course it didn't bloom "for me." But it seemed to. It seemed to salute me. And when I saw it there, I buried my nose in it's petals and smelled the sweetest scent of rose I've ever smelt.
In the last section of our seder, we read a guided mediation, where we were supposed to be walking somewhere (wherever we went in our imagination), and were distracted by a scent. Then we would turn to see what the thing was giving off the scent, and were told that this was the scent of our soul. We were supposed to interact with it in various ways, and then finally leave the place and continue on our way. We were to first just take it in. Then find out what kind of "nourishment" it needed, and then ask it for a gift.
I was doing the reading, so it was hard to concentrate until I put the paper down and closed my eyes. In a hurry, I jumped right in and found myself on a dirt path in a forest of low trees, maybe pines. they were fairly dark. I was on a larger, gravel path, but a smaller dirt path opened up to my right. And even though I was supposed to be drawn by the scent, I saw first before I smelled that there was a bright red rose on the periphery of my vision. Before I turned, I thought, maybe this is a mistake, it's supposed to be something else. Maybe I'm just thinking of this because we just smelled rose petals. But even so, I decided that if that was the case, this was still what was coming to mind, so I was going to go with it. And the rose was very bright and deep, the color, and its petals still fairly tight, just starting to bloom.
It wasn't very far off the path, and it was growing in a clearing. What did it need? It needed what all plants need. It needed water. So I gave it some water. And it seemed to thank me. Then I realized that behind it was a stone well. The rose was growing right at the edge of it, with two long stems. One had the larger, opening rose, and the other, a little bit below, was a bud, red, but not open yet.
The well was the one that we used to play on in the church yard. I will never forget it. It was low, with a wide lip of stone, and cherubs carved on the outside. It was no longer functioning, and there was only a metal grate covering a gravel bottom on the inside, where we would go in and sit. But once it must have been a working well, because there was a rusted iron pulley above it on a wrought iron arch. My friend T. painted it once in one of his paintings.
In my vision, it was a working well, though. Even though I didn't look in, I knew that it was filled with water. I gave the rose, which was there to represent my "soul" some water, and it gave me the well in return. I didn't even have to ask. It just gave. It knew that was what I needed.
And so, I spent a few moments with the rose, and decided that I didn't want to leave. But after I thought that, I turned and left and walked back out to the main path.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
A burning bush in the Wilderness
This past Shabbat's parsha was Sh'mot, the first book of Exodus. In services this week, we had a guest preacher give the drash. And he really was a preacher, from the Church across the street. He had something very powerful to say about how African Americans can relate readily to the story of the Exodus, because the memory of slavery is still a fresh one in many of their minds.
He had a lot of other interesting things to say, too. One comment had to do with the burning bush. He drew attention to that, and to the wilderness as a place in which to meet God - where God meets us, in fact, and speaks to us. And He uses signs to grab our attention. In this case, it was a bush, consumed by fire, but not being burned.
Here is the text from my copy of the JPS Tanakh:
An Angel of the LORD appeared to him in a blazing fire out of a bush. He gazed, and there was a bush all aflame, yet the bush was not consumed. Moses said, "I must turn aside to look at this marvelous sight; why doesn't the bush burn up?" When HaShem saw that he had turned aside to look, God called to him out of the bush: "Moses! Moses!" He answered, "Here I am."
And once I read the text more closely, I got a lot more out of it. For one thing, at the beginning of the section, it doesn't say that God is there - it says "An Angel of the LORD appeared." But we know that "Angel" means messenger. So in this case, the "messenger" is the blazing fire. This is like God's handwriting on the world. Or God sending a text message by way of his wireless, languageless device - the Universe. Or maybe, this wasn't the text just yet, but rather the beep, buzz or ring tone that lets you know you have one.
The thing is, with cell phones, pagers, emails or anything, you have the option to answer or not. You can ignore it. Save it for later. Maybe you're just too busy right now. You don't want to be bothered. But Moses says, Hey, what's this?
I love Torah - you have this ancient text, supposedly about people who have little in common with us, in terms of their daily lives, and yet, they're just people. This is basically how any of us would respond. Like rubberneckers on a highway. Whoa, what happened here? Only here is Moses, out in the wilderness, with no one to corroborate what he is seeing. He is the only one who can describe this vision, and who knows what he was really looking at? Was it a bush? Was it really on fire? Was it something else? Or does it even matter? Because, whatever it was, it got the message across.
So first, you have the bush. And presumably, this bush was not right in front of Moses, because he said, "I must turn aside to look at this marvelous sight." So Moses shifted his gaze. He saw something out of the corner of his eye, and he went out of his way to look. He didn't know that God was calling to him. In that moment, he was simply aware of his surroundings, and willing to give something a second look that didn't seem to jive with his usual understanding of the world, i.e. that when bushes are filled with fire, they normally burn up.
And then it says, "When God saw that Moses had turned aside, he called to him out of the bush." And that may seem like a throwaway line. It's what you expect. Moses sees the burning bush, and the next thing you know, God is calling to him out of it. Simple right? But that line is loaded. It says God saw. So what that line is really giving us is a glimpse into the Mind of God. And it also gives us a little kernel of doubt. God sees everything, right? So if Moses had NOT turned to look at the bush, He would have seen that, too. So God was sitting on pins and needles for a while there.
Here is this guy, Moses, out in the wilderness with a flock of sheep, and God wants to call to him and make him the liberator of the Jewish people enslaved in Egypt. So God has to figure out a way of getting Moses' attention, and when he does this, by way of the burning bush (you could make an argument for a better way, but maybe that's all God had at the time) He can't even be sure if Moses is going to look at it, never mind respond. God sends the text, and the beep goes off, but what if Moses doesn't hear it? So there is God, watching to see what Moses does. When he sees that Moses has turned to look at the burning bush, then He speaks to him out of it. Not before he gets Moses' attention. He doesn't speak to get his attention. He only does it after the attention is given.
He says, "Moses! Moses!" And he answers, "Here I am!"
Not, What do you want? Not, Who are you? Just, Here I am.
And I'm thinking, what does this say to me? What does this mean in my life, right now? The pastor, who gave the drash, made a good point that when we get a call from God, or from our neighbors, we should pay attention, and think about what it means to answer, and what it means to Act. I really appreciated him saying that, because action is important to me. It's one of the things I love about Judaism - that it's not a religion of passively sitting by and imbibing philosophy, knowledge or belief, but one, ultimately, of action, and preferably action that benefits an entire community, and/or one's own life and of those close to us.
But I also wondered, and thought about later, what are the burning bushes in my life? What are those things, items, phenomena, dancing in the periphery of my vision that I should be turning my gaze toward and saying, Hey, what's this? I'm going to check this out. What are those things that aren't happening the way they are supposed to that are demanding a closer look? And if I don't look, maybe I am going to miss an important message. If Moses hadn't looked at that burning bush, the entire story of Exodus wouldn't have happened. Or at least Moses wouldn't have been a part of it. Maybe Moses wasn't the first one. Maybe God had tried to reach dozens of other men, or even women, and all of them had been too caught up in their own lives to pay attention to the message God was sending.
So if we don't pay attention to the messages in our own lives - to those burning bushes, those outliers of experience that make us say, Hey, hang on a minute, that's not quite right - we're missing a big piece of the action. We're missing the opportunity to not only have a conversation with God, but to liberate ourselves and possibly many others from the negative forces that are enslaving them.
Shavuah tov.
He had a lot of other interesting things to say, too. One comment had to do with the burning bush. He drew attention to that, and to the wilderness as a place in which to meet God - where God meets us, in fact, and speaks to us. And He uses signs to grab our attention. In this case, it was a bush, consumed by fire, but not being burned.
Here is the text from my copy of the JPS Tanakh:
An Angel of the LORD appeared to him in a blazing fire out of a bush. He gazed, and there was a bush all aflame, yet the bush was not consumed. Moses said, "I must turn aside to look at this marvelous sight; why doesn't the bush burn up?" When HaShem saw that he had turned aside to look, God called to him out of the bush: "Moses! Moses!" He answered, "Here I am."
And once I read the text more closely, I got a lot more out of it. For one thing, at the beginning of the section, it doesn't say that God is there - it says "An Angel of the LORD appeared." But we know that "Angel" means messenger. So in this case, the "messenger" is the blazing fire. This is like God's handwriting on the world. Or God sending a text message by way of his wireless, languageless device - the Universe. Or maybe, this wasn't the text just yet, but rather the beep, buzz or ring tone that lets you know you have one.
The thing is, with cell phones, pagers, emails or anything, you have the option to answer or not. You can ignore it. Save it for later. Maybe you're just too busy right now. You don't want to be bothered. But Moses says, Hey, what's this?
I love Torah - you have this ancient text, supposedly about people who have little in common with us, in terms of their daily lives, and yet, they're just people. This is basically how any of us would respond. Like rubberneckers on a highway. Whoa, what happened here? Only here is Moses, out in the wilderness, with no one to corroborate what he is seeing. He is the only one who can describe this vision, and who knows what he was really looking at? Was it a bush? Was it really on fire? Was it something else? Or does it even matter? Because, whatever it was, it got the message across.
So first, you have the bush. And presumably, this bush was not right in front of Moses, because he said, "I must turn aside to look at this marvelous sight." So Moses shifted his gaze. He saw something out of the corner of his eye, and he went out of his way to look. He didn't know that God was calling to him. In that moment, he was simply aware of his surroundings, and willing to give something a second look that didn't seem to jive with his usual understanding of the world, i.e. that when bushes are filled with fire, they normally burn up.
And then it says, "When God saw that Moses had turned aside, he called to him out of the bush." And that may seem like a throwaway line. It's what you expect. Moses sees the burning bush, and the next thing you know, God is calling to him out of it. Simple right? But that line is loaded. It says God saw. So what that line is really giving us is a glimpse into the Mind of God. And it also gives us a little kernel of doubt. God sees everything, right? So if Moses had NOT turned to look at the bush, He would have seen that, too. So God was sitting on pins and needles for a while there.
Here is this guy, Moses, out in the wilderness with a flock of sheep, and God wants to call to him and make him the liberator of the Jewish people enslaved in Egypt. So God has to figure out a way of getting Moses' attention, and when he does this, by way of the burning bush (you could make an argument for a better way, but maybe that's all God had at the time) He can't even be sure if Moses is going to look at it, never mind respond. God sends the text, and the beep goes off, but what if Moses doesn't hear it? So there is God, watching to see what Moses does. When he sees that Moses has turned to look at the burning bush, then He speaks to him out of it. Not before he gets Moses' attention. He doesn't speak to get his attention. He only does it after the attention is given.
He says, "Moses! Moses!" And he answers, "Here I am!"
Not, What do you want? Not, Who are you? Just, Here I am.
And I'm thinking, what does this say to me? What does this mean in my life, right now? The pastor, who gave the drash, made a good point that when we get a call from God, or from our neighbors, we should pay attention, and think about what it means to answer, and what it means to Act. I really appreciated him saying that, because action is important to me. It's one of the things I love about Judaism - that it's not a religion of passively sitting by and imbibing philosophy, knowledge or belief, but one, ultimately, of action, and preferably action that benefits an entire community, and/or one's own life and of those close to us.
But I also wondered, and thought about later, what are the burning bushes in my life? What are those things, items, phenomena, dancing in the periphery of my vision that I should be turning my gaze toward and saying, Hey, what's this? I'm going to check this out. What are those things that aren't happening the way they are supposed to that are demanding a closer look? And if I don't look, maybe I am going to miss an important message. If Moses hadn't looked at that burning bush, the entire story of Exodus wouldn't have happened. Or at least Moses wouldn't have been a part of it. Maybe Moses wasn't the first one. Maybe God had tried to reach dozens of other men, or even women, and all of them had been too caught up in their own lives to pay attention to the message God was sending.
So if we don't pay attention to the messages in our own lives - to those burning bushes, those outliers of experience that make us say, Hey, hang on a minute, that's not quite right - we're missing a big piece of the action. We're missing the opportunity to not only have a conversation with God, but to liberate ourselves and possibly many others from the negative forces that are enslaving them.
Shavuah tov.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Drash on Joseph
There was a Bat Mitzvah at services this week, and this girl had one challenging parsha to write a drash on. Va-Yehi - And He Lived.
Jacob lived. For better or for worse, 147 years. (I still want to know why they lived so long in those days, when we think so much of our medical advances now - but that's a discussion for another day.) Jacob, who, with the help of his mother, conned his way into getting his father's blessing while Esau was out doing just exactly what was expected of him. And for this, he was forced to flee his homeland and live in exile, even if he did become extremely wealthy because of it.
Now Jacob and his family live in Egypt, and he is dying. So he summons Joseph, his favorite son, to him, to instruct him not to bury him in Egypt, but in the tomb of his own ancestors. Then Joseph comes back to Jacob again, when he is very ill, bringing his two sons with him. Then he does a strange thing. Jacob blesses Joseph's sons. But not only does he place his right hand on the head of the younger, and his left on the head of the elder, he has to cross his arms to do it. So, despite his old age and weak sight, this is clearly a deliberate act. And it seems to recall his own life. Never mind Joseph's. Whereas it is expected that the elder sibling will always be favored, he instead favors the younger. It is like a tribute to his own experience, and the birthright he garnered, despite his less-favored position in his family.
And this, in some ways, is the tradition we inherit. I know it from another source. Because I grew up with the teachings of Jesus, one of perhaps, the most famous Jews of all time, who said, "and the last shall be first, and the first shall be last." In a similar vein, he also said, "And the stone that was rejected shall become the chief cornerstone." This is another way of saying, Don't trust what you've been given. Don't trust what looks obvious. What seems to be the stronger, more obvious choice, will not necessarily be so. What you at first reject may become the most important element of your life. And sometimes, being rejected, that is often the first step in the process of becoming something or someone truly instrumental.
But that isn't what I had planned to write about today. I wanted to write about forgiveness. Radical forgiveness. Which, to my mind, at least in this case, is not forgiveness at all, but rather, an extremely whole and sensible point of view.
Because, while the story starts with Jacob, it becomes a story about Joseph. Joseph was certainly the favored of Jacob's twelve sons. So favored, in fact, that they hated him, tore up his clothes and threw him in a pit to die. Joseph was saved, was taken to Egypt, where he became wealthy and saved the land from famine by way of his dreams. And after this, he saves his own family from the famine as well - the same family that tried to kill him.
Now, I may think I have it bad sometimes, but at least my siblings didn't try to kill me, in a literal sense. Or even figuratively. My parents didn't try to kill me. They did other things that upset me, but not that. It gives you a little perspective when you realize someone else's life is worse than yours.
After Jacob dies and Joseph buries him in the cave in the field of Machpelah, where Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Rebekah and Leah are buried, the brother's get together and say, "What if Joseph still bears a grudge against us and pays us back for the wrong we did him?" Fair enough. They should be concerned. After all, it seems they have a guilty collective conscience. They admit themselves that they wronged their own brother, and now, of course, they have been brought to shame because in end he saved all their hides.
I was told, during the service, that the bat mitzvah girl is the daughter of a child psychologist. And this was somewhat evident in the fact that she spoke about the way we inherit our parents' bad behavior sometimes, and this is all over the Torah - especially in Genesis. But I read a lot of psychology, too, and part of me is saying that, while I don't know why Jacob favored Joseph, and probably none of us will know why, there's a good chance that his doing so actually became a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you tell one child they are a good child, and one child they are a bad one, eventually they will both figure out a way to live out the designations you have made on them. (I knew a woman once who had two sons, and every time she would talk to one of them, she would tell him, "you're the good son." She did this with both sons.) In a way, we can even do this kind of self-fulfilling prophecy on ourselves. Or, as Henry Ford (and doubtless others have) said, "Whether you think you can, or you think you can't, you are right."
So Jacob planted in Joseph the seeds of greatness, and in his other sons, the seeds of resentment. The next plan of the other 11 sons was motivated by guilt and fear. Rather than confront Joseph and say, Hey, you know, look, we were crap back there when we threw you in the pit. It really sucked and we're sorry. So we hope you can forgive us. Instead they make up some phony message from their dead father, which obviously can't be corroborated, saying that he (Jacob) had instructed Joseph to forgive his brothers.
Joseph is in tears, so we can only assume that he believes them. Or perhaps he takes this as their own confession of guilt, and sees through their hastily-constructed lie, even though he doesn't say it. Then they fling themselves down and offer to be his slaves. But Joseph refuses. And I love what he says:
Have no fear! Am I a substitute for God?
Besides, though you intended me harm,
God intended it for good,
So as to bring about the present result -
the survival of many people.
From there it is a short paragraph to his death at the age of 110 years. But in this statement alone is an enormously valuable legacy.
I mentioned that I read a lot of psychology. I read a lot about cycles of abuse and bad behavior and bad thinking, and about how these things become perpetuated, both within ourselves, and with other people, by constantly responding to the abuse, the fear, and the pain. The message is always the same: the only way to break the cycle is not to respond to the abuse. Don't acknowledge the fear. Don't let the pain drive your actions. As soon as you've done that, you've lost the battle. But it's one of the hardest things to do when you think those are your only options. When everyone you have ever known has abused you or treated you badly, it is really easy to want to do the same thing. And yet Joseph refuses. He refuses to be caught up in that cycle.
But it is not through his own power, or his own perspective that he is able to achieve this enormous sense of - probably unjustified - forgiveness. Because he not only forgives his brothers. He, in essence, thanks them. He says, If you hadn't done that to me then, I wouldn't be where I am now. Talk about heaping coals. But heaping coals was when he saved their lives. Now he is on a whole new level.
Now he is on the level of God - seeing the Big Picture. He doesn't respond to his own feelings of pain, of hurt, of betrayal and abandonment. He has accepted his past, and he is grateful for it. Because even though he knows he can never really "know" the Mind of God, he can see how circumstances have led him to where he is, and get past what would be simply a knee-jerk reaction and instead see how a negative experience became a positive one for him. He doesn't say to his brother's a lame, "It's okay, guys, let's move on," either. He acknowledges a higher power, a greater plan. He humbles them again, indirectly pointing out that even their most vicious intents were no match for the Mind of God. And maybe he believed in himself, maybe he didn't. Maybe he just lived his life with his eyes open, and wasn't willing to "take an eye for an eye." Because he, like Ghandhi, realized that that would make the whole world blind. But in the end, by being able to step back, to step out of his own experience and look at it with the cool eye of reason, he was able to stop the cycle, giving his brothers nothing to feel guilty for, nothing to be angry about, and putting responsibility exactly where it belonged - in God's hands.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
