A Light: My Tisha B'av Timeline

Photo taken and graphic made July 26, 2004.

Once upon a time, in 2004, I properly observed the no-food, no-drink fast of Tisha B'av that starts Monday night for the first time. The fast, in a nutshell, commemorates a variety of tragedies that have befallen the Jewish people, most notably the destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem in 70 C.E.

So what did I have to say on July 26, 2004?

Tonight begins Tisha B'av. If you don't know what that is, feel free to click here: Learn about Tisha B'av! It's a day of fasting, low-key activities, and reflecting on the destruction of the Second Temple. It's the first holy day of the yearlong cycle for me. I'm kind of excited to participate in my first fast of my path to Judaism. It sounds ridiculous, but I feel a part of something.

I'll admit that I did edit that a bit -- but only for the sake of capitalization and compound modifiers. Later, on July 27, 2004, around 6:30 p.m. I wrote this:

Ok, so fasting is hard. Especially when you promise to meet someone at THE COFFEE HOUSE and then remember you can't drink/eat in respect of the day. So I slept in as late as possible in order to not have to be awake and then went to the coffee house around 3 p.m. and there was Gregory. We sat for about 2-1/2 hours doing our respective tasks and talking in between about the holy grail, Christianity, Atlantis, people, Oasis, music, and everything else you can imagine. I absolutely love my time with Greg because he makes me laugh, a lot. Which I shouldn't have been doing on a day such as today, but I couldn't help but laugh. And now, now I'm here at the DN doing my normal thing. I'm starving though. For pancakes. Chicken tacos. Anything. Everything. Aghhh! Especially coffee. 

I found this quote from MARK TWAIN, which appeared in HARPER'S in SEPTEMBER 1899: "All things are mortal but the Jew; all other forces pass, but he remains." 

It made me brilliantly happy, it did. It makes sense, as well. It seems that although numbers of Jews have decreased, the continuity of the people is what stands and stands tall, might I add.

Ahh. I need to occupy myself for the next several hours. Agh. The sunset is scheduled for 8:47 p.m. folks. It will be a long two hours. Help? Maybe I'll go use my free ticket to see Cat Woman?

Did I go see Cat Woman? No way to tell. But I clearly wasn't doing anything remotely related to Tisha B'av other than fast. (Later that night, while watching the Democratic National Convention, I predicted that Barack Obama would someday be president -- albeit the prediction was for 2016.)

Tisha B'av in 2005 is a void -- I have no record, and I can't recall what I did or didn't do. Did I fast? Did I even get what fasting involved? I was in Denver, CO, interning at The Denver Post, so chances are I was busy sleeping and then working, and chances are I broke my fast by going to Subway for the Teriyaki Chicken sandwich. But that's just a prediction. Who knows what really happened. 

Then, in 2006, I wrote about my experience fasting on Tisha B'av and my frustration with one Jews approach to Tisha B'av for Secular Jews. I think I was the most reflective then. I was frustrated with the idea that Secular Jews don't need Tisha B'av because there's no need for a Temple, so why mourn something that was destroyed when it doesn't impact us today? Of course, at that time, I was a Reform Jew. And it still bothered me. Now, as an Orthodox Jew, it still bothers me. Back then, I wrote the following about the fast and day of observance:

It isn't just about religion, it's about the people and the history and the furthering of the existence of Jewishness.

I suggested that if everyone in the world spent a single day fasting and reflecting on destruction, drought, disease, war, famine, oppression, abuse, and inequality, perhaps we'd all be startled into action. But maybe it's a naive hope. After all, as I said then and I say now, What do I know? I'm just a Jew from Nebraska who grew up in the Ozarks.

In 2007 I wrote about my frustration with the sentiment that on this day we "mourn for a life we no longer want." I was wondering -- and still am -- whether if/when the Temple is rebuilt (G-d willing), will we still observe sacrifices in the same way? Or will the messiah come with some ethically evolved plan for sacrifice that is inline with how we observe things today. Finally, in 2008 (and last year) I wrote about how I felt distant from Tisha B'av, as if I were just going through the motions.

Will I sleep all day and wake up to check blog posts and see everyone else's meaningful and positive declarations of Tisha B'av observance on Tuesday? I don't know. What I do know is that I plan to read -- and read a lot -- on Sunday night and Monday in hopes of properly preparing myself for Tisha B'av. 

And, as the saddest day on the Jewish calendar, I think it's only proper to consider what it means to bring light into the world. To mourn a loss of light in our time, but to imagine a restored light. I suppose by emptying ourselves, literally, of food and drink, we have a chance to fill that place inside with light -- a light that can move outward through a fight for justice and peace. 

I hope that everyone who observes the fast to finds a unique meaning in it, and for those who don't observe the fast to still consider what it means to fill the darkness of the world with light. 

When it's darkest.

I have to remind myself that good things are worth waiting for, peace comes to those who wait, that there is light after the dark, and that most of all, the things we want so very much will come to us if we only have hope and wait. The moment is the most important thing, it is in the moment that we find happiness.

"...the Jew is different. His faith does not depend on things making sense. His belief does not come and go, for it doesn't rely on circumstances or external factors. It is built-in. It's inherently there. A Jew believes.

A Jew realizes that there is much in the world that we do not understand -- mortal creations cannot expect to grasp the ways of their infinite Creator.

A Jew never despairs. He know that unlike the ancient Romans, Greeks, Persians, and the not-so-ancient Nazis -- he is still around to tell the story. He was promised by G‑d that he will always be around. And it is this oath that he holds on to when the times get tough and he is faced with trials and tribulations.

A Jew has faith. He knows that it is often darkest before dawn. He believes that any day the world will one again be filled with light."

---Rabbi Yisroel Cotlar

T'tzavveh

+ Ner tamid (Ex. 27:20): the eternal flame, which hangs above the ark in pretty much every synagogue the world over. This is the first thing mentioned in this week's parshah. The comments in Etz Chayim focus on the importance of light and the meaning of light and fire. I'd never really thought about it, but as the commentary says

"... light itself cannot be seen. We become aware of its presence when it enables us to see other things. Similarly, we cannot see G-d, but we become aware of G-d's presence when we see the beauty of the world, when we experience love and the goodness of our fellow human beings."

The comments go on to describe fire as light that is liberated from a log of wood or a lump of coal, "even as G-d becomes real in our lives in the process of liberating the potential energy in each of us ..."

+ I find this parshah incredibly difficult (much like the past few) to read. It seems hard to consume all of the put this in gold, put that in gold, cover this in gold, make these laden with jewels, do this, do that. The extent to which the kohenim were doused with expensive gear is almost nauseating. This parshah seems so demanding. The clothing seems so extravagant. MyJewishLearning.com suggests:

So it is that all clothing indicates values, revealing with what part of society we identify and where our aspirations lie. The elaborate and startling clothing of the Kohanim indicate how their worldview and their values functioned too. The fact that they wore intricate and expensive clothing amidst general simplicity, that they wore elaborate jewelry when no one else did so, indicates that biblical Judaism stressed the royalty of G-d. Just as G-d's servants dressed like royalty, so we were to relate to the entire ritual surrounding G-d as though G-d were a grand sovereign.

But I struggle with this. I look at the Catholic Church today and see the "royal" status of the pope and I am filled with a sort of disgust. The suggestion that the priests were dressed up as a way of crowning G-d king just seems wrong. And even if that was the purpose of the royal garb and extravagance, then isn't that wrong?

I'll admit that were the Temple to be rebuilt, I would be filled with joy and excitement, but is not the Judaism that has thrived the Judaism of simplicity? The personal relationship with G-d, not the ritual-through-priests relationship with G-d.

I can't reconcile a time -- any time -- when such garments and expectations were thriving. BUT, there is a but. But perhaps this was a reflection of Egyptian culture?

+ And on that note, I have to touch on perhaps the most poignant piece of this parshah -- the olive oil. It's interesting because the parshah begins as I said earlier with the eternal light. The importance of light in Judaism cannot be overstated, either. Olive oil is specified for the lighting of the menorah, even though at the time, olives were pretty much impossible to acquire. There's a lot of commentaries and sermons written on the significance of olive oil in relation to the Jewish people, relating to it's inability to mix with other liquids despite it's ability to spread quickly and soak whatever it comes into contact with. As such, we are like olive oil -- the very substance which illuminates holy objects in our lives:

Like oil, Jews, too, will often find themselves mixing in a wide variety of circles -- social, business, civic, communal or political. And there’s nothing necessarily wrong with that. At the very same time, though, we need to remember never to lose our own identity. We should never mix to the point of allowing our own Jewish persona to be swallowed or diluted.

I think it's particularly important to reflect on this. At the same time, it makes me sad to think about the United States, and how it sort of demanded that everyone turn their oil into water. My only desire to study American Jewry comes from the analysis of assimilation and acculturation -- basically, the LOSS of the Jewish identity. I don't find American Jewry as a whole fascinating ... I simply find the lack of it interesting. Saddening, though. There is still a distinctness, but not in the way that it could have -- and should have -- ended up. Rawrgh.

Chanukiah: Super sized!

So I finally got the video from my cellphone sent to myself. It's a 10-second clip, but I think it expresses the mood of the National Menorah lighting that I went to Sunday. I put it together in this little movie with some other photos from the event and from this evening. The picture in the final clip is a little music box my mom got me for Chanukah that plays the dreidel song. Thanks, mom!

Chanukah: Day No. 3

On this, the third night/day of Chanukah, I nearly forgot to light my menorah here at home. Shame, shame. Perhaps. But it was overshadowed by the fact that I was at the National Menorah lighting ceremony earlier today. As in, from 4 to 5:30. I have to say, it's a mighty fine tradition that I was ecstatic to be a part of. There were nearly 2,500 people gathered on the ellipse to watch the lighting of what is said to be the world's largest menorah. In fact, it almost appears to dwarf the National Christmas Tree.

The event was put together (as it is every year) by the American Friends of Chabad Lubavitch. It was complete with a dancing dreidel and three fantastic cantors who even participated in a colorful rendition of the dreidel song. Yes, the entire ceremony was clouded by another ceremony going on just yards away (evidently THEIR ceremony has been going on since 1948, our bad, really). So you'd hear some tunes from the Nutcracker speech as the rebbe talked about light and darkness. There were children, grandparents, Holocaust survivors and newborns. There were Chabad, Orthodox, Reform, Conservative, and some guy who tried really hard to sing along to the dreidel song. But really, who DOESN'T know the dreidel song?

When the ceremony, speeches and songs (my favorite being "Oseh Shalom" of course), everyone attacked the latke/donut booth. They gave away two latkes a person and as many donuts as you could carry. They had small apple sauce cups (no sour cream!) and a variety of delicious drinkable products. As I was leaving to go back to work, scarfing a jelly-filled donut, I passed a bunch of women speaking Hebrew. I kept wanting to say "Slicha! At mavinah anglit!?" Just to say something in Hebrew to an Israeli counterpart. Alas, I stuffed my face and kept on walking. I seriously power-walked back to work. I said "I'll be gone an hour!" but ended up taking a two-hour hiatus from the not-so-pressing grind of the news business.

Oh! I also picked up a menorah set. Yes, I have my own. Can you have too many chanukiot? Yes, yes you can. I'm fond of the one-for-everyone plan, so I'll be giving this one away. It's cute, though.

I intend on posting photos and video of the event tomorrow, after my camera's batteries have recouped and recharged. For then you will hopefully see the dancing menorah and the three cantors (the three tenors have NOTHING on these guys).

And finally, on the Chanukah vibe, a word from Rabbi Abraham Shemtov, who spoke at the lighting and who had some pretty inspiring things to say: We should not be fighting darkness, we should be bringing light into the world. It is that statement that I likely will be writing about in the next few days. I'm curious whether light can be brought into the world, when there is darkness, without fighting the darkness. Can you ignore darkness for the sake of light? Curious. I will elaborate!

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In other news, I'm a hero! No, really, a genuine hero! Okay, so I didn't do all the work, but I did some. I came home after work tonight, dropped my things and headed out front to check my mail (which is on the porch of the house I live in, and I live in the basement with a side entrance that is beyond a gate. So I have to walk through the gate, down some stairs, out onto the sidewalk, up the porch stairs, and there I am). As I came out of the gate, I noticed a man running across the street yelling at a woman, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. I then looked two houses down and there was a fire in the ivy leaves (most people round here don't have front lawns of grass, but rather just large patches of ivy leaves). The man was on the phone calling 911 and the woman, who I then realized was horribly cracked out and smoking a cigarette, was jabbering senselessly. The moment he got off the phone, a woman came out of her house and said she had a hose that might reach. The cracked out lady then quickly walked away, mumbling and yelling. So we got a pot and a big bowl and started throwing water at the patch of ivy leaves that swarmed up a tree. We were worried that if we didn't get the fire out soon, it would work ALL the way up the tree.

We put the fire out and THEN the fire truck arrived, figures. Turns out the house is empty right now, but used to be a doctor's office/house. The doctor evidently "taught" or "schooled" the children of drug addicts, or "crackbabies." Interesting, I think.

Anyhow, it was my good deed for the night and it gave me a chance to talk with the neighbors, who I realized are my age. Maybe more chance encounters will wind me up with some friends? Hah.