Taking Submissions: Top Judaism Rumors and Conversion Myths

Do you have a pet peeve when it comes to rumors about Judaism? Do the "hole in a sheet" or "Jews have horns" myths drive you absolutely nuts? Share your favorite rumors about Judaism with me in the comments!

Also, if there are myths about conversion to Judaism and Jewish converts, share those, too. I'm working on a few articles for About.com, and I want to pick your brain (it's called crowdsourcing, because you, my readers, are amazing).

Want to check out some of my recent articles? Here you go:

• What's a segulah?
• The Top 5 Most Misunderstood Things About Judaism
• Jews and Shoes (Davening Barefoot)
• Judaism's Views on Suicide

Ready? Set? Submit your pet peeves and kvetch at me!

The Yom Kippur Approach

Oh hello there half of my new, large kitchen. 

Well, it's a new year, and I'm finally settled (or sort of settled, after roughly 24 hours) into a new apartment with a real kitchen, real living and dining space, but much smaller bedrooms and only one real bathroom. Life, as it goes, is all about compromises and, on occasion, sacrifices.

The past year (not to mention the past two years) has been quite the whirlwind. Moving to Israel, meeting Mr. T and getting engaged, losing both of my jobs, getting married, moving to Neve Daniel, Mr. T hitting rough professional/financial times, us struggling to get by ... and then finding an amazing job, money showing up that we were owed, an apartment popping up that perfectly suited our needs with an impending baby and a 10-year-old boy with us part-time.

It was a year of blessings and curses, in a way. And I cried a lot this year, and not just because I was pregnant for a lot of it (oh hormones).

I learned a lot about myself and what it means to daven (prayer), but not in the "I'm going to synagogue on Shabbat and reading out of the siddur (prayer book)" kind of praying. More the Chana style of praying. I like to think of it as silent but deadly: the quiet, angry moments with HaShem, coupled with the blissful, confusing moments with HaShem. I whispered myself to sleep with all of the problems and blessings on my lips, and I began every Shabbat with silent requests preceded by thank yous for all all of the beautiful things I've been gifted with -- from friends and family to parnasah and the beautiful baby I'm carrying.

After last year's immensely successful (for me) Yom Kippur, where I fasted successfully for the first time in years, I've been wondering how this Yom Kippur will be for me. I'm pregnant, and with the up and down of my blood pressure and dealing with some almost-black-out moments on days where I didn't eat or drink enough, I won't be fasting. Eating as little as possible, I don't even know if I'll make it to synagogue. It's going to be a Chana-style Yom Kippur/Shabbat experience for this gal.

What I do know is that I have all the hope in the world that 5774 will be a year of forgiveness, a consolidation of Jewish peoplehood and religion, and peace to all nations of the world. It's really all I can hope and wish for at this point. HaShem has smiled upon me in many ways, and no matter the amount of "curses" that seem to come my way, the "blessings" are abundant. It just takes a few moments for things to come into focus, sometimes.

Wishing everyone an easy fast, and g'mar chatimah tovah!

Three Steps Forward, Three Steps Back

We've all seen it. Take three steps forward. Take three steps back.

Over Shabbat, Mr. T and I had a series of fascinating discussions about halacha (Jewish law) and minhag (Jewish customs). It was one of those where I lamented not being able to use Google, and Mr. T ran to his seforim (books) and began searching for the answers.

The issue at hand? At the beginning of the Amidah (aka Shemonei Esrei aka the central prayers during the morning, afternoon, and evening prayers), we're instructed in most prayer books to take three steps back and then three steps forward before we begin davening. Why?

Well, the answer is simply because Rabbi Artscroll tells us to, right? It's just what people do. Everyone does. Right?

I was telling Mr. T during dinner about how it drives me nuts in davening when after the Shemonei Esrei when there is no repetition that people take their three steps forward and then do the hop, hop, hop action. Why does it drive me nuts? Because the only reason you're meant to do this is because it's part of the repetition when you say Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh and rise on your toes. If you're running behind and miss the repetition, you finish the Shemonei Esrei and then do your three-kadosh hop. But when there's no repetition, there's no need for the three-kadosh hop.

Mr. T smiled and quipped that the whole "three steps back" before davening is a minhag, not law, and that you're only meant to do it if there's no space for you to step forward -- the forward steps are necessary, the backward steps are not.

What!? Mind blown. So he ran and grabbed his Mishnah Brurah and got searching (because, of course, I didn't believe him). I grabbed all of my siddurim and attempted to find something that says "By the way, this is minhag and you're only supposed to do it if you don't have space!" But I couldn't find a thing.

The outcome?

From Rama 95:1, Mishna Brurah 95:3, and Piskei Teshuvot 95:3: You should take three steps forward to show that you're doing an obligatory mitzvah. The halacha doesn't require taking three steps backward, but the "Minhag Ha'Olam" is to take three steps back in order to take three steps forward.

Mind blown again! That being said, I'm proud that the nusach with which I'm now davening (it's a little green one from England) only says to take three steps forward -- no backwards steps. Interesting!

So why do we all do it? Does anyone even think about it? Did you know that you're not obliged to take three steps back before the Shemonei Esrei? 

Note: There are some people who stand and take three steps back before Tehilot l'el elyon. I can't seem to find where this comes from, unfortunately. Anyone know? (See below.)

Ask Chaviva Anything: What's the Deal with Minyans?

This question on Ask Chaviva Anything! made my heart sing. Why? I love getting questions that are genuine, and this is one of those that is seriously trying to understand a concept in Judaism. So here we go!

I saw your tweet about Mr. T helping making minyan at Ikea, and it made me curious. I'm not Jewish myself, and while I'm familiar with the concept of making minyan, it's not something I would have expected at Ikea. Can you tell me a bit more about making minyan and the contexts in which it occurs?

Before I answer the question, I have to express to you how amazing Ikea in Israel is. Yes, everyone complains that it's more expensive than in the U.S., and although that is true, it's completely written over by the fact that they have kosher food at Israeli Ikeas! Yes, you can go and get breakfast or lunch or dinner and a coffee and a 2 shekel ice cream cone (alas, they only put it in cones because it comes out of a machine, so no ice cream for this gluten-free foodie), and not worry about anything. It's like ... heaven. Especially as someone who used to go to Ikea and relish in the cheap food there. Being able to get a filet of salmon with two sides and a beverage for 35 shekel is a major shocker, especially because at just about any restaurant in Israel you can't get a salmon dish for even double that amount.

Sorry for the tangent, I couldn't help myself.

Now, minyan refers to the amount of men over bar mitzvah age required for public prayer in Judaism for the typical morning, afternoon, and evening prayers and a bounty of other public prayers. Although it's permissible to pray alone, there are some medieval commentators (Rashi) who suggest that one is obliged to pray in a minyan of at least 10 men and should travel near and far to seek out a minyan, while others rule that it's okay to pray on your own and not seek out a minyan (Ramban/Nachmanides). The downfall is that we understand that HaShem's presence rests with a group of at least 10 men praying together in a way that it doesn't with the individual who prays alone. But either way, Judaism praises any individual who manages to pray three times daily.

The term minyan comes from the Talmud and its origins are in the Hebrew root mem-nun-hey (מנה) meaning to count or number. It's also related to the Aramaic word mene, meaning numbered, which appears in Daniel 5:25. The way that the Talmud (the Oral Torah) -- both the Babylonian (Bavli) and Jerusalem (Yerushalmi)  -- arrive here in basically the same way based on a concept called gezarah shavah, meaning that if it's said here, then it's also said the same over there.

We start with Leviticus 22:32, which uses the word "midst" in the following way: "And I shall be sanctified in the midst of the children of Israel." Then comes the word midst in Numbers 16:21: "Separate yourselves from the midst of the congregation." Lastly, the term "congregation" appears in a verse about the 10 spies that returned to give a negative report of Israel in Numbers 14:27:  "How long shall I bear with this evil congregation which murmur against me?"

Bam! The conclusion here is that a congregation of HaShem comprises 10 men. The Yerushalmi arrives there in a similar way, but with a bit more of a connection to Jacob's ten sons.

When do you need a minyan? Basically any time that the Torah is being read publicly, any time you need to say Kaddish (the prayer for the deceased), at a wedding, and any time that you are going through the morning, afternoon, and evening prayers (among a slew of other times, really). In Judaism, when in doubt, you need a minyan to say anything that puts you publicly with the congregation of HaShem.

There are loads of "cheats" involved in the minyan, like if you live in a secluded area and only have nine men plus a boy under bar mitzvah age, but an entire book could be written about the history of when 10 wasn't doable and what we used to do in times of crisis when finding 10 men required loss of life and limb.

Does this help answer the question?

Shabbat in Yerushalayim

Shavua tov! What. A. Shabbat. Where do I begin? Seriously, where!? Last night I spent some time at the home of some good friends and had the most delicious crisp of my life. Also? They had air conditioning, which was stellar and a nice reprieve from the heat I've been dealing with at my apartment. It also was nice to just sit and chat for several hours about everything and anything. It was comfortable, and relaxing, and amazing! Today, I slept in pretty late, had some cereal, and then schlepped off to the Kotel. The amazing thing about living in Jerusalem is that I can just wander aimlessly and at a pace as slowly as humanly possible. I arrived to the Kotel around two something, which means I was able to sort of sit and people-watch and daven for about three hours.  I had some crazy, bananas emotional moments while davening, realizing that I was really, really there. In my Ohel Sarah siddur, there was a special supplication for the Kotel, which I read a few times. There also was a special prayer for finding a zivug, which I read several times. Between Minchah and Ma'ariv, I was reading Pirkei Avot, and came across something 2:20, which gave me some insight into my search for a zivug ... 

Rabban Gamliel the son of Rabbi Yehuda the Prince said, Torah study is good with a worldly occupation, because the exertion put into both of them makes one forget sin. All Torah without work will ultimately result in desolation and will cause sinfulness. 

All who work for the community should work for the sake of Heaven, for the merit of the community's forefathers will help them, and their righteousness endures forever. And as for you, God will reward you greatly as if you accomplished it on your own.

Yes. Work and Torah. Avodah v'Torah. A real mensch does them both, and it keeps him occupied enough so that he doesn't have wandering eyes. So the Kollel guys and the work-only guys and the no-work guys ... no dice.
And then there were a few things that I realized ... things in which I think a PSA is needed!

• The reason people walk backwards away from the kotel is because it's as if you're walking away from a King. It's a sign of respect. Watch some old movies with English royalty and you'll see very much the same. A lot of people didn't seem to know why or for how long you are supposed to walk backwards (seriously? there isn't a limit, but don't run into people!). 
• The scarves that are available at the entrance are to cover your shoulders if you're wearing a tanktop or to cover your hair if you're married. Women were doing all sorts of crazy things with the scarves, but I noticed people of all ages covering their hair with the scarves. I think this is a bit of the confusion between the Orthodox Christian/Muslim/Jewish faith traditions. 

Part of me thinks there should be some kind of sign at the entrance to the Kotel in various languages explaining the traditions, practices, and so forth. What do you think? 

I realized after davening Minchah that there was actually a minyan down toward the Kotel (I was hanging out at the back) where the men stand really close to the mechitzah, allowing women to listen and participate. So when it came time for Maariv, I headed down there, which was nice, because they did a stellar havdalah! Yes, a giant cart pulled into the men's section with bundles of mint, which people passed out and around for havdalah! Talk about nifty. 

What a Shabbat. I saw so many attractive bochurim, so many young frum girls, and realized that I'm so old out here in the dating game. But that's what all the davening was for, right!?

Shavua tov, cheverim!

The Hebrew Index: If you ever have questions, let me know. Or if you want me to blog about any of the words I'm using or concepts I'm sharing, let me know, too! 
davening = praying
Maariv = evening/night prayers
Mincha = afternoon prayers
havdalah = the end-of-Shabbat prayers, separating Shabbat from the rest of the week
mechitzah = the divider that separates the men's and women's sections
bochurim = single guys
frum = Orthodox or observant
cheverim = "friends"
Ohel Sarah siddur = a specific prayer book for women published by Artscrolls
Kollel = that place where guys study after yeshiva -- it's like yeshiva for adults
yeshiva = religious "high school"
zivug = match, or partner
Kotel = the Western Wall, also known as Ha'Kotel Ha'Maarav (kotel = wall)

To Talk in Shul

I was digging through some old posts for something and came across an old post that was very near and dear to my heart. Thus, I started writing this blog post.

Several years back, I attended shul at probably the most talkative congregation on the face of the planet. The entire experience was a mess for me -- someone who cherishes the silent moments while davening or listening to Torah reading or being in solitude with someone saying kaddish. I love what I like to call the "organized chaos" of an Orthodox service -- when there are places for loud or communal davening, the voices intermingled whooshing upward are beautiful to me. But the rest of the time? Silence is golden.

The Zohar identifies a person who speaks about worldly matters in synagogue as a kofer b'ikar -- a heretic (Parashas Terumah 131a), and the Roke'ach adds that one who speaks during prayer is guilty of masig g'vul or stealing the sanctity of the synagogue (Hilchos Teshuvah, Siman 26). One text goes so far as to say that he who speaks in shul is chillul Hashem -- desecrating the name of HaShem.

And then there is the Mishnah Berurah citing the testimony of the Eliyahu Rabbah who writes in the name of the Kol Bo saying, "Woe to those people who speak during the prayers. For we have seen several synagogues destroyed as a result of this sin."

So what's to do? According to a halachic ruling by the Kaf HaChaim, a person who habitually talks during prayer should stay home and pray alone, rather than bring others around him down to his depths of disrespect, making him a chotei u'machti es harabim -- a sinner who casuses others to sin and forfeits his portion in the World to Come (olam ha'ba).

I understand that so many people come to shul to be social, but there's a reason most synagogues have a social hall. There's a sanctuary, there's a social hall. I guess I don't understand why for some these two spaces have to be the same. Is it really so difficult? And with more and more studies coming out showing that multi-tasking is a myth, you can't really say that someone wants to be present for the Torah reading but also be social -- you're not taking in the parshah if you're talking, and you're sinning by talking during the reading anyway.

What do you think?

Note: These texts come from a two-part bit in "Praying with Fire" -- one of my favorite mini-books. 

The Motzei Shabbos Minute

For some reason, my brain happens to work in insane creativity and pensiveness overdrive on Shabbos -- probably because I know I can't write anything down. So here are some things that crossed my mind over the past 25 hours.

• I can't seem to figure out which lights to leave on and which to turn off for Shabbos. You'd think, after nearly a year of living in this apartment and being Shomer Shabbos that I'd have it down. Alas, I always miss one. When I was married, it was my ex's job to keep tabs on the "what to do before Shabbos starts" list. The benefit of this was that if he missed something, it wasn't my fault. (hashtag "perks of being married.")

• Why do I snack so much on Shabbos? What is it about these 25 hours that make me want to do nothing but sleep and eat? I used to do a lot more reading and learning, but these days it's eat a bunch, sleep until 3 p.m. on Shabbos afternoon, get up, go to shul, nosh, pray, sleep. 

• I've realized I have very inconsistent habits when it comes to when I sit down for the brachot during Torah reading aliyot and when I stand. Sometimes I find myself standing for all of mincha, sometimes for all of maariv. I don't know that there's a hard-and-fast rule about whether you stand or sit, whether you do a full lean-over for the bracha or if your tush coming off the seat in a little nod is enough. Maybe I should ask my rav. It's interesting the mish-mosh of sitting and leaning versus standing and fully leaning that goes on. Consistency is key in so many of the things that we do. 

• Guitars are weird in shul. I don't know why. I love to sing, I love to dance. But. I don't know.

• Feeling a little weighed down from my overcooked Moroccan cholent and spending last night noshing some coconut ice cream and chips (not to mention staring down the yellow-based food options at seudat shlishit for which I did not consume) ... I've realized I've let myself go a little. I need to walk the walk if I'm talking the talk. Yes, I am a gluten-free, egg-eating vegan, but that doesn't mean that junkfood abounds for someone in my shoes. So I'm going to call this the Aliyah Diet. Step one? Throw away everything I own foodwise (and donate the stuff that isn't open). I'm going to stick to a strict shopping list that will serve the three meals a day I consume -- no more, no less. By and large, what I eat is going to be focused on my two favorite change-the-way-you-eat-and-feel books Crazy Sexy Diet and The Eat-Clean Diet ... both say "diet" but mostly are focused on eating vegan, living foods.

• Moving to Israel doesn't scare me. At all. Is that rational?

Some Uncommon Questions

Photo a la OneShul.

I'm busy at work in my second semester at NYU in the Education/Jewish studies dual M.A. (yes, I already have one M.A. from the University of Connecticut in Jewish studies, but you can't have too many, right?), and I've discovered that my technological and social media know-how is a huge boon to my experience. In just about every class so far, I've been able to pull on my experiences online to make connections that are ever-so-much-more important when it comes to education, and not just in the Jewish world. Social media skills are what we have to teach students, because at some point, I have no doubt in my mind that such skills will be a prerequisite for just about every job out there.

Along with the growth of social media and online networks, however, come questions. I've been thinking more and more about these questions, and as I prepare for my panel at SXSW Interactive next month, I really would like some kind of insight into whether we have answers or whether we've moved along quickly enough to even be able to consider answering these questions. And these are just a few. Ready?

• Yichud. Basically this word refers to the prohibition of men and women who are not married from being in seclusion or in a private place together. There are a bajillion ifs and buts tied to this law, but that's the basic gist. This means that I wouldn't invite a single man or a friend's husband over to my house for coffee, k? Now, my question is how we apply the laws of yichud in a digital age. Is it okay to text and email with a woman who is not your wife? With your wife knowing? Without your wife knowing? I'd say the former is okay, the latter violates yichud. What about online chatting or messaging through Facebook or Twitter via Direct Message? How do we apply the laws of yichud to Social Media? Should we? Is it being too strict to think that it should be? You have to consider that just as it was "dangerous" for a man and a woman to be secluded privately because g-d knows where it would end up, so, too, have people found that in the digital age, private communication is quite the same thing, just in a different medium. Thoughts?
• Davening. There are great collaborative communities online like OneShul from PunkTorah.org that create an online space for prayer (davening), but can you count in a minyan (a quorum of 10 men needed for prayer) if you're only there digitally?

I guarantee you these are two things that the rabbis of old never would have considered, even on the most distant of horizons. So how do we approach these kinds of things today? My big thing is the idea of the New Community, which exists online, where people in the most remote of locations can find a community and participate Jewishly online. This community comprises a bevy of denominations and boasts synergy in a beautiful and innovative way. The question is: Are we ready for it? I know the Reform community is, but what about the Orthodox community? How do we approach life online via halacha and modern sensibilities? 

Respond at Will, Please.

I am thinking of joining a gym. I have a free gym membership on campus, but the joint is a mess and it's full of ski bunnies and that's not how I roll. It would be worth the price, I think. It's motivation.

I shipped off an application to the Rabbinical Council of America's beth din wing. Yes, I have spoken out against the process in the past because I heard horror stories of women across the internet -- waiting months, sometimes years for rabbis and interviews and hoops. After considering my options, and having various batei din organized, and after careful, hard, difficult, and frustrating consideration, I have decided that the RCA way, while not perfect, is the best route for me at this current juncture. B'ezrat haShem, maybe I'll be converted by the time I go to Israel in late November. Please daven for me! And if you want to read my 11-page-long "Journey to Orthodox Judaism" ... let me know. It's a real crowd-pleaser and tearjerker (maybe?).

I'm feeling incredibly disenchanted about school right now. My head just isn't in it. I've realized that having a "real life" and trying to have a "school life" is a mess. It's even messier when you have three Shabbos meals to prepare, 250-page novels to read over a period of a few days, and paper topics to come up with on the fly. If I hadn't been at my Ulpan this summer, I don't know what I'd do because I'd also be having to worry about Hebrew. I find my mind wandering to lists of "what to buy" and "what to do" rather than "what to read for class." I'm in Suzy Homemaker mode these days, and I can't figure out why. I think my mind is on the conversion, my life in the community, my future and possibly impending life with Tuvia, and everything therein. I know it's possible to double, triple, and quadruple duty everything, but I'm not use to the multi-tasking and responsibility outside of my own personal bubble.

I've been pondering a lot of questions, but I'll just pose one here. It relates to prayer. I know I read in my b'racha book that a b'racha said in the head and not out loud means it is as if the b'racha wasn't even said. I know that this is equally try with the Sh'ma from the Midrash. Does this apply to all prayer? Or just blessings (b'rachot)? In my mind, this is where all of the mumbling in shul comes from, but I know there is a precedent for the lips actively moving (without sound in the case of all davening with the exception of those things that *must* be said aloud, like the sh'ma). Am I crazy here?

I'll leave everything at that for now. I have some interesting things to write about from my Midrash class, but I just don't have the energy to grab the book and my Tanakh and type it all out right now. Stay tuned!

Passion, Fire, and Self-Respect: Part II

I posted a few days ago about my frustration and dare I say disgust with a weekend spent in a certain community -- from the way people talked their way at full volume through the davening to the jungle-like attack on the kiddush table after services. And a lot of you agreed that it's a problem. To be honest, the latter is of less importance in the long run, and people's manners are something I can't exactly change. It can be attributed to how we're raised, what our parents tell us is right and wrong, our own perception of decency and self-respect, and having respect for those around us. People, I'm sad to say, lack a general filter for right and wrong when it comes to manners nowadays, and I find this pervasive among the Orthodox Jewish community. I'm not saying people live in filth and are out-and-out rude -- there are exceptions to every rule and assumption -- but overall, I'm frequently blown away. Now, maybe I'm partial but I can think of two communities (including for the most part my own) where this isn't such a problem.

But the talking during davening? This exists everywhere. Everywhere except maybe a few select shuls where if you talk, you're really, seriously chastised with an unverbal, eye-piercing excommunication from the sacred space.

Interestingly (one of those "wow" moments), the readings for the weekend in my "Praying With Fire: A 5-Minute Lesson-A-Day" addressed the very issue that I was experiencing. Maybe it aroused more anger in me, maybe it brought the situation fully into perspective. I joked about taking the book with me, and shouting to the people what exactly our sages have said on this very issue of talking during davening. But I didn't. Instead? I'm going to share it with you here, and maybe I can alter how some of us (we're all imperfect; even me!) carry ourselves in shul, while davening.

"The harm done by disturbing others (by talking during prayer) is so substantial that the Shulchan Aruch rules that to avoid disturbing others, a person saying Shemoneh Esrei should not raise his voice in prayer (Siman 101, Se'if 2). ... If this is the halacha regarding voices raised in tefillah, one can surmise that there would be no tolerance for disturbances created by voices raised in casual conversation."

The text goes on to discuss various rabbis who cited the cause for certain  massacres being because the community didn't respect the shul, they spoke during davening, bringing harm upon the community. I think this is a little harsh (at one point it is suggested that the reason the Sephardi community was saved from the Holocaust is because of their strict rules NOT to speak during davening), but interesting to ponder at any rate.

The Zohar identifies a person who speaks about worldly matters in synagogue as a "kofer b'ikar," -- a heretic (Parashas Terumah 131a), and the Roke'ach adds that one who speaks during prayer is guilty of "masig g'vul" or stealing the sanctity of the synagogue (Hilchos Teshuvah, Siman 26). One text goes so far as to say that he who speaks in shul is "chillul Hashem" -- desecrating the name of HaShem.

And this text was made for me: "The impact of talking during prayer is sometimes perceived more keenly by newcomers to Judaism (that's me!), who have not become desensitized to it. They cannot reconcile the great divide between what prayer truly is and how it is sometimes treated." Now, I see the divide, I'm just really annoyed. The author goes on to discuss that if this is the impression to a new comer or ba'al teshuvah, imagine how the children feel. If they see it, they can't discern what is normal and what is not, and thus talking during services is the "norm" -- it perpetuates the myth that this is in fact okay.


In essence, by talking during davening, you're negating the mitzvah of davening by committing the sin of nullifying the prayers! It's a horrible cycle. Why don't people see that? On Shabbat, for example, a person is 13 blessings short of the required 100. Throughout Shabbat, we fulfill the commandment by eating various foods and delicacies, but if we fall short, we compensate by listening to the blessings said over reading of the Torah and the Haftarah and responding Amen. But if we're talking during all this, we probably fall short, and where's that leave us?

Let us talk to G-d quietly, in devotion that is personal. After all, "there is too much ugly noise in our world today." Why bring more?

Shemonei Esrei: Deconstructed!

Every time I'm davening, I stumble over this bit in the Shemonei Esrei that, translated by Artscroll reads

Rebuilding Jerusalem

And to Jerusalem, Your city, may you return in compassion, and may You rest within it, as You have spoken. May you rebuild it soon in our days as an eternal structure, and may You speedily establish the throne of David within it. Blessed are You, HaShem, the Builder of Jerusalem. 

My beef with the text comes with the bolded words there. The Hebrew looks like this:

The text makes sense to me in that it calls for a rebuilding (uvnei) of Jerusalem, but I find the wording on the throne of David difficult. Jerusalem, after all, was destroyed a few times over, with the Temple -- the first and the second -- being destroyed. In my mind, the rebuilding of Jerusalem is largely in reference to the reestablishment of a Temple, a central place of worship for Jews. But the throne of David, established at one point in Israel, needs not be established but merely to be re-established. It's confusing to me that verb associated with Jerusalem is rebuild, but the verb associated with the throne of David is an original, an establishing.

The verb translated as establish, tachin (להכין), literally means "to prepare, make ready." My favorite Hebrew-English/English-Hebrew online dictionary uses the verbs לייסד, להקים; לבסס for "to establish." (Note: These probably are strictly modern Hebrew verbs, not sure about the Biblical Hebrew. Boneh is pretty standard for building, to build, builder, etc. in the Hebrew Bible. Someone with more knowledge of the varying verbs relating to building or esetablishing or constructing in the Tanakh.)

Thus it seems to me that the text in the Shemonei Esrei is actually calling for Jerusalem to be rebuilt as in the glory days and for the city to be prepared and made ready for the throne of David once again thrive (i.e. be re-established). At any rate, it makes me feel a lot better about reading it every time I daven. It has always seemed awkward to me that it would be "establish." 

Then again, I tend to pick apart words and phrases much more than is necessary. I'm guessing this hasn't bothered anyone else, right?

Because You Want to Hear the REAL Chaviva.

Disclaimer: I usually edit my videos, put in little slides with quirky commentary, but I wasn't up for it, so it's just a long video of me discussing my new siddurim, prayer, bensching, davening, and more. Pardon my pronunciations, my general tomfoolery and all else that follows!

Chavi is BACK!

Brace yourselves, folks. Chavi is BACK in business. The first semester of my graduate career is officially over, and I'm praying for all As on my first, official, graduate school report card. But in truth, I'm done thinking about academics for the next month, I think. We all know this is a lie, as the moment I have a free second, I'm going to be starting in on "The Essential Talmud " by Adin Steinsaltz in preparation for my Talmud course next semester.

This week, though, has been one of highs and lows. Ups and downs. Emotional extremes.

The highs? The significant other (known henceforth as Tuvia) gave me some early Chanukah gifts -- a much-needed toaster oven, a much-needed HP printer/scanner/copier, and most beautifully, a glittering, shiny Star of David necklace. I started packing for my Birthright trip, with the knowledge that this time next week I'll be basking in the sun of Israel, davening in the land of my ancestors, exploring the land.

The lows? I realized that my knowledge of New Testament studies is nil. I found myself frustrated studying for my Bible exam because of my inability to comprehend the unresolved (academically and theologically) issue of Jesus as G-d (Jesus can suffer, G-d can't, but Jesus is still G-d -- note: not the SON of G-d, just G-d, a common misunderstanding of our Christian brethren).

The lowest of the lows? I found out, around 5 p.m. yesterday while stressing about my Bible exam, that my father has lymphoma. They don't know just yet whether it's Hodgkins or non-Hodgkins. They don't know what stage it's in. They, of course, being my parents. Until they meet with the oncologist, we don't really know anything.

My brain was frazzled this morning. I couldn't get my toaster to work. I spent 10 minutes trying to fix it. I realized later, after throwing my bagel frustratedly into the trash, that I'd unplugged the power strip with the toaster and microwave instead of the refrigerator plug, which had been my original intention. I got all the way to class and then realized I'd left my term paper (which I needed to hand in) back in my room and had to schlep back to get it before the test. This morning was a head explosion, can't focus, struggling to breathe kind of morning.

The best way for me to describe my current emotional state is stunned. Not upset or sad or depressed, just stunned. I don't know if that makes sense, but it makes me feel bad that I'm not bawling my eyes out every five seconds. Although, when I informed my professor of the news, I nearly started crying, which would have been a travesty, as it was moments before I started the exam. The thing is, when I was little, I freaked out about death. I spent some amount of time crying at night, unable to sleep, devastated at the idea of death and everything just stopping. And then I had a realization and I realized that it was so insignificant -- life was important, this life, this existence. Ever since then, I've been unable to get really depressed about death. I haven't been able to overwhelm myself with loss. My grandfather died in April, and I was stunned more than upset. My great uncle died maybe 12 years ago, and I wrote a poem about how happy his memory was for me (he used to always steal my nose). And now? I'm just stunned. Empty, stunned shock. Maybe I don't know what to think.

But the important thing is? I'm back. After Shabbos, I'll be writing about, well, Shabbos. I've been doing the Shomer Shabbos thing, and tonight Tuvia and I are heading to to a modern Orthodox shul. We'll see how it goes. But tonight, I'll be thinking of my father. And if it isn't too much to ask, I would hope y'all could donate some of your prayers tonight to my father. He has no Hebrew name, he's not Jewish, but he is my father.

I'm back, baby. I'm back!

Torah on Board!

I spotted this story over on Tzipiyah.com and had to share. It's a very, very snazzy little newsbite about a Torah scroll dedication aboard the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv commuter train in Israel!

 

A specially commissioned Torah scroll was dedicated on Sunday for use aboard a commuter train by a traveling prayer quorum (minyan) on the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv line. ...

Between 20 and 40 people pray in the train's Mesilat Yesharim Minyan [prayer group] each morning after it leaves the Beit Shemesh station. The last carriage on the early morning train is unofficially reserved as the temporary "synagogue," drawing both men and women, as well as Israel Railways crew members. The regular participants are a mixture of native Israelis and immigrants from North America and Europe who work in Tel Aviv in banking, law, computers, medicine, education and business, but who choose to live in the religious communities in Jerusalem or Beit Shemesh. ...

Darren Shaw made Aliyah from London in August 2006 ... hired a scribe to write an unusually small Torah, which is just 30 centimeters [about 12 inches] high. Fellow traveler Ariel Abraham, originally from Elizabeth, New Jersey, has converted a suitcase on wheels into a portable Holy Ark.