Yes, I know what everyone is going to say: You should have figured this out before you got married! Come on!
But what do I know? As a convert married to (for all intents and purposes) a ba'al teshuva, I really didn't anticipate all of the issues with "do we do this? do we not do this?" that would come up in our marriage. Technically, before Tuvia and I got hitched, I could have adopted Sephardic customs (although, let's be honest, it would be hard to describe to anyone why I, a fair-skinned, dark-haired Jewess is eating rice on Passover). Likewise, because the customs that Tuvia inherited within his family are few and far between, with very few regarding kashrut or general family minhagim, he, too, could have chosen his path. In the end, we adopted a Yekki style of hand-washing before kiddush and motzi on Shabbos (what!? it streamlines the process!), but that's about it. (Yekki = Jew of German descent)
Right now, then, the question about customs to which I'm referring involve The Three Weeks -- those days weeks that started with the fast of the 17th of Tammuz (on Tuesday) and culminate with Tisha B'Av. There are a lot of customs, a lot of minhagim that many adhere to in public and private, others just in public, and some not at all.
For example, many will not shave, get a haircut, get married, or listen to music during The Three Weeks, and this is standard Ashkenazic custom. When the Nine Days arrive, leading up to Tisha B'Av, many Jews won't eat meat or do laundry, either.
Where does this come from? The first source for a special status of The Three Weeks as Bein ha'Metzarim is found in Eikhah Rabbati 1.29, which glosses Lamentations 1.3's "All Zion's pursuers overtook her between the straits" and understands "straits" as "days of distress." These days of distress are 17 Tammuz through 9 Av, as cited by Rabbi Isaac Tyrnau in his book Minhagim, a record of Austrian customs. His opinion was then cited as halacha by Moses Isserles in Rema on Shulchan Aruch.
And where does the seriously decreased happiness during The Nine Days come from? In Mishnah Ta'anit 4:6, "from the beginning of Av, happiness is decreased." Okay, that makes perfect sense. But what does that mean? I can decrease my happiness while still eating meat and listening to music, right? What if I only listen to Britney Spears, which makes me sad? And I overcook my steak? Well, many refrain from meat and wine, laundry, and warm baths. Sephardim tend to only observe these restrictions from the Sunday prior to 9 Av, and Yeminite Jews don't maintain any of these customs. (And don't we often cite the Yeminite community as being "the closest" thing to "authentic" old-school Judaism?)
Here's my take: Weeks of mourning tend to diminish the impact of an event itself. When something happens suddenly, your body, soul, and mind are assaulted by the event. I imagine that the Israelites of the First Century BCE didn't think it would really come down to the destruction of the Holy Temple, just as the Jews of Europe didn't think that Kristallnacht would lead to the destruction of 6 million Jews. The sudden impact of reality is what shatters the soul into complete mourning.
Am I a tzaddik? Am I a rabbi? No. I suppose not. But for Tuvia and I to sit down and have a conversation about what we will and will not do during The Three Weeks and The Nine Days, well, I think that we have to be aware of community standards as well as our own expectations and understanding of the meaning of these times.
What do you observe? What don't you observe? Are there any special family minhagim for this period that you've adopted?
Showing posts with label temple. Show all posts
Showing posts with label temple. Show all posts
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Friday, March 14, 2008
Can you sense the struggle in my words?
It was suggested that my e-free Shabbats would be easier if I planned out in advance what my plans were. I thought, "Geepers, that's a great idea," and here I am at 1:30 p.m. on a Friday with no clue what the Sabbath will hold for me. I thought, I should make Friday nights my dinner/movie night, since I've removed myself from regular shul attendance (an ordeal and issue all its own that I might touch on in a second). But what about Saturday? The days are getting longer. I can't spend all day napping, and I sure as hell can't spend all day at the tea shop reading. My attention span is that of a toddler. The weather has been outstanding, but it's supposed to drop a major 15-20 degrees over the weekend, so a stroll along the lake isn't completely out of the question, but doesn't sound as appetizing as it would have yesterday or today (where we've topped out in the upper 50s).
What do people DO on Shabbos?
I mean, people who A) Aren't Married or B) Don't Have kids or C) Spend all day at Shul or D) Sleep all Day. There's a lot of hours in a Shabbat day, folks.
I was reading this week's Torah portion last night, and mind you, we've hopped on into Leviticus, that great book of do's and don'ts that bring us into living a life of priests, a holy nation. There was a little spiel on how the book opens in the singular and slowly moves into the plural, and the author draws on this to come to the conclusion that attendance at shul is much like this -- one enters the sanctuary as an individual, but through prayer in community, one transcends to become a part of the larger Jewish community. I read this and felt this momentary rush of utter guilt.
You see (here's where I touch on my absence at shul), I'm just struggling with this idea of the shul as a social circus. The rabbis as bureaucrats. The entire thing as a production. I want organized chaos, not organized organization. I think I'm still struggling with missing my small shul back home, where it was comfortable, close-knit, where the people wanted so very much to be there, where it felt genuine. And ever since I read that book on Conservative Judaism, well, it reminded me of all the things I've always loathed about organized religion, why for so long I was devoutly religious, but in the sense that I believed, and I prayed, and I felt connected, but I didn't need a space or people. But then I think back to how lonely it was.
It's a very confusing, very heartbreaking thing I'm feeling. I'm so strong in my Jewishness, so settled into the ground I stand on, and yet, for some reason, something is just not completely right. So I'm exploring, evaluating, doting on me, to see what it is. To see what will make it better.
I keep telling myself that once I go off to school and have Hillel, it will be much like what I am used to, a small community over Shabbat dinners and services, holiday meals and festivities, something close, something personal.
Indeed, it's frustrating.
So it's now 1:42, and I'm still stuck on my plans. I should have told the Kosher Academic I was going to invade her place tonight, but I know her husband isn't well and I don't want to catch anything with my trips coming up. So maybe I'll just pick a movie, grab a nosh, and then read. I'll force myself out of bed, try to find some way to fill the space, reflective and full of prayer.
I'll get the hang of this Shabbos thing at some point.
What do people DO on Shabbos?
I mean, people who A) Aren't Married or B) Don't Have kids or C) Spend all day at Shul or D) Sleep all Day. There's a lot of hours in a Shabbat day, folks.
I was reading this week's Torah portion last night, and mind you, we've hopped on into Leviticus, that great book of do's and don'ts that bring us into living a life of priests, a holy nation. There was a little spiel on how the book opens in the singular and slowly moves into the plural, and the author draws on this to come to the conclusion that attendance at shul is much like this -- one enters the sanctuary as an individual, but through prayer in community, one transcends to become a part of the larger Jewish community. I read this and felt this momentary rush of utter guilt.
You see (here's where I touch on my absence at shul), I'm just struggling with this idea of the shul as a social circus. The rabbis as bureaucrats. The entire thing as a production. I want organized chaos, not organized organization. I think I'm still struggling with missing my small shul back home, where it was comfortable, close-knit, where the people wanted so very much to be there, where it felt genuine. And ever since I read that book on Conservative Judaism, well, it reminded me of all the things I've always loathed about organized religion, why for so long I was devoutly religious, but in the sense that I believed, and I prayed, and I felt connected, but I didn't need a space or people. But then I think back to how lonely it was.
It's a very confusing, very heartbreaking thing I'm feeling. I'm so strong in my Jewishness, so settled into the ground I stand on, and yet, for some reason, something is just not completely right. So I'm exploring, evaluating, doting on me, to see what it is. To see what will make it better.
I keep telling myself that once I go off to school and have Hillel, it will be much like what I am used to, a small community over Shabbat dinners and services, holiday meals and festivities, something close, something personal.
Indeed, it's frustrating.
So it's now 1:42, and I'm still stuck on my plans. I should have told the Kosher Academic I was going to invade her place tonight, but I know her husband isn't well and I don't want to catch anything with my trips coming up. So maybe I'll just pick a movie, grab a nosh, and then read. I'll force myself out of bed, try to find some way to fill the space, reflective and full of prayer.
I'll get the hang of this Shabbos thing at some point.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Disappointment.
Shana tovah, friends and passersby. I just downed some apples and honey (oh how sweet!) and am settling in for a quiet night before services in the morning (because of that whole 2-day Rosh HaShanah thing we got goin' on).
I have some explaining to do. Or rather, some dredging. Read on, read on.
Last night after work, Ian and I went to this stellar place called Jury's that specializes in delicious burgers (and it was burger special night!). We then got some ice cream and enjoyed the evening before heading to synagogue for 7:30 services. It was a beautiful, pleasant evening and I was feeling excited (especially after Saturday's S'lichot services) for the holidays. I was so eager.
But then we got there and had to unload some things outside (no bags, PERIOD). There was SERIOUS security. We always had security in Lincoln, but it was usually one guy in front, one guy in back. Even in D.C. last year there wasn't as much security as there was outside of the temple last night. The security people who had us unload weren't -- by any means at all -- friendly. They were stiff, and I understand that security on High Holidays is meant to be serious ... but really. It was unwelcoming and sort of disheartening. We went in and it was a seating free-for-all. I was expecting there to be seating delegation, especially considering how pricey tickets were. But there were only a few dozen reserved seats. There were people running around all over the place with walkie-talkies like it was a huge production.
The ark/bima were pushed far back to make room for hundreds more seats. These seats were folding chairs and we chose to sit in the back in the actual sanctuary, which made the ark/bima seem miles away. The space filled up and there were hundreds of faces I'd never seen before, which was sort of irritating/frustrating.
Services began and it was shocking. The organ and professional choir, not to mention the high-tech sound system (complete with a soundboard and several soundmen), made me feel like I was in CHURCH. Yes, Church. It hearkened to the Christmas services I went to when I was in high school and early on in college. It screamed of the Protestant influence that gripped Reform Judaism way back when and still lingers. What made it more unfortunate was the rabbi talking about how my synagogue has come so far from it's original Reform roots and has become more "traditional." What this means in the Reform movement is that there's more Hebrew in the liturgy -- nothing more, nothing less. And that is irritating. It was even more uncomfortable than last year when the services I went to where held in a local church ... with JESUS all over the walls and crosses plastered everywhere (seriously bad idea, I don't care how inter-faith people are and how little Christianity bothers me).
The service was about what I expected in length, but the entire thing felt like an arena church service and it hurt the very depths of my Jewish soul. People looked disinterested -- even more so than normal. People in their D&G and stilettos and pin-stripe suits and seriously important looking demeanor looked pained to be there.
Last night was the most non-intimate synagogue experience I've ever had. Period. It didn't feel like Rosh Hashanah. I tried so hard to focus. I tried so hard to make it personal and my own. I've been reading and researching and thinking the holiday over. I want it to MEAN something. And then this. This?
The entire thing just made me miss Lincoln. I was so spoiled there. I had a small, close community where even on the High Holidays when the entire sanctuary was filled, people were always engaged (or at least they looked like it). It was intimate, it didn't feel huge. Can I not find that kind of engagement anywhere else but a small town with like, a few hundred Jews? Do I need to go the suburbs?
The temple president got up toward the end and talked about the history of the synagogue. How it began with barely a minyan 140 years ago in what is now downtown Chicago. And now? More than 1,000 families. Families that come and are anonymous and are just there and don't care and show up here and there and make the people like me -- the people who want synagogue to be about more than just belonging to something and doling out cash and shipping the kids off to Hebrew school because it's just what you do -- feel completely faceless.
I'll go to services tomorrow morning, because I need to hear the shofar. Because I hope ... HOPE ... that maybe there will be fewer people, that it will feel more intimate, that it will be what I need and what I remember and what I want.
One of the reasons I was turned off so greatly from Christianity was the mass production of it. The arena feel. The gigantic churches with coffee shops and telecasting and gigantic sound systems and the impersonal nature of church. It felt faceless. And then Judaism, the Judaism I so desire, was a group of people with common passions and excitement about community and tikkun olam and learning what it means to live a holy life. Not the mass production aspect. That was never there.
It's just frustrating. It's frustrating because this is how I rang in the New Year. This is how I begin my year -- feeling frustrated and bitter at the way the place I chose as my religious home handles itself. The regular Shabbat services are great. They're small, they're sweet and intimate. Why can't it always be like that? Why does it have to be a production with organs and professional choirs and sound systems that blast?
I have some explaining to do. Or rather, some dredging. Read on, read on.
Last night after work, Ian and I went to this stellar place called Jury's that specializes in delicious burgers (and it was burger special night!). We then got some ice cream and enjoyed the evening before heading to synagogue for 7:30 services. It was a beautiful, pleasant evening and I was feeling excited (especially after Saturday's S'lichot services) for the holidays. I was so eager.
But then we got there and had to unload some things outside (no bags, PERIOD). There was SERIOUS security. We always had security in Lincoln, but it was usually one guy in front, one guy in back. Even in D.C. last year there wasn't as much security as there was outside of the temple last night. The security people who had us unload weren't -- by any means at all -- friendly. They were stiff, and I understand that security on High Holidays is meant to be serious ... but really. It was unwelcoming and sort of disheartening. We went in and it was a seating free-for-all. I was expecting there to be seating delegation, especially considering how pricey tickets were. But there were only a few dozen reserved seats. There were people running around all over the place with walkie-talkies like it was a huge production.
The ark/bima were pushed far back to make room for hundreds more seats. These seats were folding chairs and we chose to sit in the back in the actual sanctuary, which made the ark/bima seem miles away. The space filled up and there were hundreds of faces I'd never seen before, which was sort of irritating/frustrating.
Services began and it was shocking. The organ and professional choir, not to mention the high-tech sound system (complete with a soundboard and several soundmen), made me feel like I was in CHURCH. Yes, Church. It hearkened to the Christmas services I went to when I was in high school and early on in college. It screamed of the Protestant influence that gripped Reform Judaism way back when and still lingers. What made it more unfortunate was the rabbi talking about how my synagogue has come so far from it's original Reform roots and has become more "traditional." What this means in the Reform movement is that there's more Hebrew in the liturgy -- nothing more, nothing less. And that is irritating. It was even more uncomfortable than last year when the services I went to where held in a local church ... with JESUS all over the walls and crosses plastered everywhere (seriously bad idea, I don't care how inter-faith people are and how little Christianity bothers me).
The service was about what I expected in length, but the entire thing felt like an arena church service and it hurt the very depths of my Jewish soul. People looked disinterested -- even more so than normal. People in their D&G and stilettos and pin-stripe suits and seriously important looking demeanor looked pained to be there.
Last night was the most non-intimate synagogue experience I've ever had. Period. It didn't feel like Rosh Hashanah. I tried so hard to focus. I tried so hard to make it personal and my own. I've been reading and researching and thinking the holiday over. I want it to MEAN something. And then this. This?
The entire thing just made me miss Lincoln. I was so spoiled there. I had a small, close community where even on the High Holidays when the entire sanctuary was filled, people were always engaged (or at least they looked like it). It was intimate, it didn't feel huge. Can I not find that kind of engagement anywhere else but a small town with like, a few hundred Jews? Do I need to go the suburbs?
The temple president got up toward the end and talked about the history of the synagogue. How it began with barely a minyan 140 years ago in what is now downtown Chicago. And now? More than 1,000 families. Families that come and are anonymous and are just there and don't care and show up here and there and make the people like me -- the people who want synagogue to be about more than just belonging to something and doling out cash and shipping the kids off to Hebrew school because it's just what you do -- feel completely faceless.
I'll go to services tomorrow morning, because I need to hear the shofar. Because I hope ... HOPE ... that maybe there will be fewer people, that it will feel more intimate, that it will be what I need and what I remember and what I want.
One of the reasons I was turned off so greatly from Christianity was the mass production of it. The arena feel. The gigantic churches with coffee shops and telecasting and gigantic sound systems and the impersonal nature of church. It felt faceless. And then Judaism, the Judaism I so desire, was a group of people with common passions and excitement about community and tikkun olam and learning what it means to live a holy life. Not the mass production aspect. That was never there.
It's just frustrating. It's frustrating because this is how I rang in the New Year. This is how I begin my year -- feeling frustrated and bitter at the way the place I chose as my religious home handles itself. The regular Shabbat services are great. They're small, they're sweet and intimate. Why can't it always be like that? Why does it have to be a production with organs and professional choirs and sound systems that blast?
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Shanah tovah tikatev v'taihatem!
שנה טובה!
Yes, it's the new year. I have a lot to say about services last night at my local synagogue (which we joined, largely so that we could get High Holiday tickets and wouldn't have to pay 200-400 bucks a pop), and a lot to say about why it caused me not to go to services this morning.
Stay tuned. And may your new year be blessed and filled with all of the sweet things that life has to offer, and may every day that you live be holy and healthy!
Yes, it's the new year. I have a lot to say about services last night at my local synagogue (which we joined, largely so that we could get High Holiday tickets and wouldn't have to pay 200-400 bucks a pop), and a lot to say about why it caused me not to go to services this morning.
Stay tuned. And may your new year be blessed and filled with all of the sweet things that life has to offer, and may every day that you live be holy and healthy!
Monday, May 14, 2007
We're taking our time.
I haven't disappeared. I haven't stopped reading Torah or going to synagogue or being who I am.
I have many drafts written that haven't been posted. Many of them become outdated and sit in my blogger account. I had one about the parshah Emor and how if you flip the letters around you get Omer! How appropriate for Emor to be during the Omer. And other things. Important things. Pertinent things.
I find myself reading a lot more. I'm trying to get through Rashi by Maurice Liber. I've been reading a variety of articles and just finished one about the reception of Rashi's take on Adam having "intercourse" with all the beasts before the advent of Eve. I'm poking around at a paper about Maimonides and another about reading R. Gershom. The bonus to working at a university is the free access to billions of journals and texts online :) I'm horribly spoiled!
Ian and I are filling out the papers to join a temple here in Chicago. It will be my first "paid" membership to a synagogue. In Lincoln my membership to B'Nai Jeshurun (South Street Temple) was taken care of because I was (a) a student and (b) did the temple newsletter. It's strange to actually become a card carrying member of a synagogue, especially one that is so incredibly large. The sanctuary is THE most beautiful one I've ever been in. The building is built in the same style as B'Nai Jeshurun, which is a relief. I "grew up" in the byzantine style, which I find the most beautiful and Jewish. The temples that are built in the style of churches put me off, and this is the first place I've ever felt at home. The thing I'm looking most forward to? Volunteering! Adult education! Activities! Community!
So yes, things are starting to come together. Baruch HaShem!
I have many drafts written that haven't been posted. Many of them become outdated and sit in my blogger account. I had one about the parshah Emor and how if you flip the letters around you get Omer! How appropriate for Emor to be during the Omer. And other things. Important things. Pertinent things.
I find myself reading a lot more. I'm trying to get through Rashi by Maurice Liber. I've been reading a variety of articles and just finished one about the reception of Rashi's take on Adam having "intercourse" with all the beasts before the advent of Eve. I'm poking around at a paper about Maimonides and another about reading R. Gershom. The bonus to working at a university is the free access to billions of journals and texts online :) I'm horribly spoiled!
Ian and I are filling out the papers to join a temple here in Chicago. It will be my first "paid" membership to a synagogue. In Lincoln my membership to B'Nai Jeshurun (South Street Temple) was taken care of because I was (a) a student and (b) did the temple newsletter. It's strange to actually become a card carrying member of a synagogue, especially one that is so incredibly large. The sanctuary is THE most beautiful one I've ever been in. The building is built in the same style as B'Nai Jeshurun, which is a relief. I "grew up" in the byzantine style, which I find the most beautiful and Jewish. The temples that are built in the style of churches put me off, and this is the first place I've ever felt at home. The thing I'm looking most forward to? Volunteering! Adult education! Activities! Community!
So yes, things are starting to come together. Baruch HaShem!
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
A Seder Recap
Sigh. Chag Sameach friends and foes and bloggers.
So the boy and I headed up to Temple Sholom on Lake Shore for a first-night, community-wide young adult seder. Ian didn't stay because of outerlying factors, but I have some thoughts in general on the evening, because truth be told, the evening was a bust.
1) This was a young adult seder, aimed at people 22 to 40. There were 250 people signed up, and it was held in a gigantic room at the temple with tables seated for seven. It was open seating and ... there was NO MICROPHONE. Now, it started at 7:30 on a Monday. That means most people came straight from work or shortly thereafter. It's the beginning of the week. You don't have a microphone. People were RESTLESS. Talkative. Antsy. The rabbi was talkative, not loud enough, and this caused people to leave before the meal was even served. We hadn't even touched the second cup of wine when dozens got up and left. Why? It was 9:30 and we weren't anywhere close to dinner. Finally, the rabbi speeded it up and the evening ended around 10:30. A three-hour seder with a group of young adults? Most of whom likely were twice-a-year attenders? Ridiculous.
2) The haggadah (The Feast of Freedom edition) was ... well ... wordy. It's a great haggadah, and I've seen longer, but there was no transliteration. There was English and Hebrew, but NO transliteration. This meant about 10 people sang everything with the rabbi and the rest sort of hummed the tune. It isn't like services -- it happens once a year! Because it was a community-wide seder, there were Reform, Conservative, (Orthodox?), Conservadox, Reconstructionist -- you name it. A little help would have been STELLAR. It sucked to not be able to participate, because I could read the Hebrew quick enough. I mean, I can do it ... but not that quick, darn't!
See, there's the English on the left there and the Hebrew on the right ... but nothing else! I will admit that this haggadah WAS sort of nice because it had gleanings and explanations and insights on the margins of both pages to offer tidbits on what was going on. The weird thing, however, was that it sort of ... well ... skipped things. We never ate the egg. Well, our table did, anyhow.
3) Tables were doing their seders willy nilly. I sort of supported this, because it was going along so slowly and everyone was so hungry that it was almost necessary. The problem? Our table wasn't, so we were just hanging out as all the other tables noshed on matzo and charoset. I would have supported two large groups or tables to run their own. The shul I went to last year in Omaha did a great job with the large crowd ... but they had a mic. Then again, there was children there last year.
4) The dinner was not warm by the time we got it, unfortunately. The great thing about it was that there was this great matzo farfel kugel ... man. It tasted like bread pudding, really. Which was sort of a treat, of course. The rest of the food was pretty gross. Luckily, the gefilte fish was DELICIOUS with the horseradish. The charoset was pretty subpar, unfortunately. And we never got through the four cups of wine. Somewhere along the line, a few glasses just didn't appear in the haggadah. Sigh. A bust, really.
So basically, by 10 p.m. after dinner, there were about 50 people left. I felt really bad for the rabbi (who seemed pretty young himself), but the way things were going, it was inevitable. There was a woman going from table to table around 9 p.m. asking for someone to go tell the rabbi to quit his yabbering. If anything, I felt bad for the rabbi. It made me think ... would I be willing to keep schlepping through it all in hopes of getting to a few people if I were a rabbi? I don't know, really.
I'll end my first-night Pesach seder rant by saying that I did have some great people at my table (a recent film student grad, three med students and a fellow who is a counselor on Birthright trips as well as works for a company that promotes Jewish environmentalism for youths ages 11-13). I got some info from the latter on a great Birthright program and from one of the med students I got an e-mail address. It was nice to meet some other Jews -- hoorah!
I don't know if I'll make it up to Temple Sholom for Passover services tomorrow morning. Maybe I'm a horrible person but something about the bust of an evening sort of makes me want to sleep (although that's what I did pretty much all day, ugh). Tomorrow I will, however, be making charoset. I'm pretty stoked -- considering it's my first time throwing it together.
I hope your seders managed to work out great. I wish I had another to go to tomorrow ... last year's seders were absolutely fantastic. Next year, there will be a seder at home. I want to make it work, and I will.
Shalom and laila tov.
So the boy and I headed up to Temple Sholom on Lake Shore for a first-night, community-wide young adult seder. Ian didn't stay because of outerlying factors, but I have some thoughts in general on the evening, because truth be told, the evening was a bust.
1) This was a young adult seder, aimed at people 22 to 40. There were 250 people signed up, and it was held in a gigantic room at the temple with tables seated for seven. It was open seating and ... there was NO MICROPHONE. Now, it started at 7:30 on a Monday. That means most people came straight from work or shortly thereafter. It's the beginning of the week. You don't have a microphone. People were RESTLESS. Talkative. Antsy. The rabbi was talkative, not loud enough, and this caused people to leave before the meal was even served. We hadn't even touched the second cup of wine when dozens got up and left. Why? It was 9:30 and we weren't anywhere close to dinner. Finally, the rabbi speeded it up and the evening ended around 10:30. A three-hour seder with a group of young adults? Most of whom likely were twice-a-year attenders? Ridiculous.
2) The haggadah (The Feast of Freedom edition) was ... well ... wordy. It's a great haggadah, and I've seen longer, but there was no transliteration. There was English and Hebrew, but NO transliteration. This meant about 10 people sang everything with the rabbi and the rest sort of hummed the tune. It isn't like services -- it happens once a year! Because it was a community-wide seder, there were Reform, Conservative, (Orthodox?), Conservadox, Reconstructionist -- you name it. A little help would have been STELLAR. It sucked to not be able to participate, because I could read the Hebrew quick enough. I mean, I can do it ... but not that quick, darn't!
See, there's the English on the left there and the Hebrew on the right ... but nothing else! I will admit that this haggadah WAS sort of nice because it had gleanings and explanations and insights on the margins of both pages to offer tidbits on what was going on. The weird thing, however, was that it sort of ... well ... skipped things. We never ate the egg. Well, our table did, anyhow.3) Tables were doing their seders willy nilly. I sort of supported this, because it was going along so slowly and everyone was so hungry that it was almost necessary. The problem? Our table wasn't, so we were just hanging out as all the other tables noshed on matzo and charoset. I would have supported two large groups or tables to run their own. The shul I went to last year in Omaha did a great job with the large crowd ... but they had a mic. Then again, there was children there last year.
4) The dinner was not warm by the time we got it, unfortunately. The great thing about it was that there was this great matzo farfel kugel ... man. It tasted like bread pudding, really. Which was sort of a treat, of course. The rest of the food was pretty gross. Luckily, the gefilte fish was DELICIOUS with the horseradish. The charoset was pretty subpar, unfortunately. And we never got through the four cups of wine. Somewhere along the line, a few glasses just didn't appear in the haggadah. Sigh. A bust, really.
---------------------------------------------------------------
So basically, by 10 p.m. after dinner, there were about 50 people left. I felt really bad for the rabbi (who seemed pretty young himself), but the way things were going, it was inevitable. There was a woman going from table to table around 9 p.m. asking for someone to go tell the rabbi to quit his yabbering. If anything, I felt bad for the rabbi. It made me think ... would I be willing to keep schlepping through it all in hopes of getting to a few people if I were a rabbi? I don't know, really.
I'll end my first-night Pesach seder rant by saying that I did have some great people at my table (a recent film student grad, three med students and a fellow who is a counselor on Birthright trips as well as works for a company that promotes Jewish environmentalism for youths ages 11-13). I got some info from the latter on a great Birthright program and from one of the med students I got an e-mail address. It was nice to meet some other Jews -- hoorah!
I don't know if I'll make it up to Temple Sholom for Passover services tomorrow morning. Maybe I'm a horrible person but something about the bust of an evening sort of makes me want to sleep (although that's what I did pretty much all day, ugh). Tomorrow I will, however, be making charoset. I'm pretty stoked -- considering it's my first time throwing it together.
I hope your seders managed to work out great. I wish I had another to go to tomorrow ... last year's seders were absolutely fantastic. Next year, there will be a seder at home. I want to make it work, and I will.
Shalom and laila tov.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Just another day in paradise.
Ahh, yes. The Tenth of Tevet (עשרה בטבת).
The day -- a minor fast -- begins tomorrow at sunrise, and I'm going to be completely honest and say that I'm glad the days are short this season. I've never complained or moaned or groaned about the fasts. I take them quietly, focusing on the day. But fasts were always hard during school because I was up at 8 a.m. and functioning well through sundown. But now, now in this winter of discontent (let me be ridiculous!), I'm a copy editor who sleeps till 1 p.m. and works from sunset into the evening hours. This means, of course, that like all smart folks, I'll be sleeping through a great deal of the fast, waking only long enough to suffer grumbles and torment for a few choice hours amid a bus ride and walk. But enough about me.
Asarah b'Tevet remembers the siege of Jerusalem by the Babylonians (pointedly Nebuchadnezzar) and the events leading up to the destruction of the First Temple (that's Solomon's) in 586 B.CE.
According to Yanki Tauber, the Talmud describes how, instead of uniting against the common enemy, Jewish factions battled each other in besieged Jerusalem. "Because of baseless hatred between Jews," concludes the Talmud, "was Jerusalem destroyed." How is the situation different today? Questions of "Who is a Jew?" and the battle of Jew vs. Jew. Orthodox and Conservative and Reform and Reconstructionist and secular. The Lubavitcher Rebbe, in questioning the focus on "baseless hate," says that, despite pragmatic and ideological differences, no reason is reason enough for hate.
Says Tauber: "For if there is one redeeming virtue in being under siege, it is the opportunity to realize that we're all in this together."
Think on that tomorrow, whether you decide to fast.
(Also, an interesting tidbit for those of you familiar with Shabettai Zvi, one of my favorite infamous Jewish history characters: One of his first completely outlandish acts as the "messiah" was to change Asarah b'Tevet to a day of feasting and joviality. Needless to say, chaos ensued.)
The day -- a minor fast -- begins tomorrow at sunrise, and I'm going to be completely honest and say that I'm glad the days are short this season. I've never complained or moaned or groaned about the fasts. I take them quietly, focusing on the day. But fasts were always hard during school because I was up at 8 a.m. and functioning well through sundown. But now, now in this winter of discontent (let me be ridiculous!), I'm a copy editor who sleeps till 1 p.m. and works from sunset into the evening hours. This means, of course, that like all smart folks, I'll be sleeping through a great deal of the fast, waking only long enough to suffer grumbles and torment for a few choice hours amid a bus ride and walk. But enough about me.
Asarah b'Tevet remembers the siege of Jerusalem by the Babylonians (pointedly Nebuchadnezzar) and the events leading up to the destruction of the First Temple (that's Solomon's) in 586 B.CE.
“And it came to pass in the ninth year of his reign, in the tenth month (Tevet), in the tenth day of the month (Asarah B’Tevet), that Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon came, he, and all his host, against Jerusalem, and pitched against it; and they built forts against it round about. And the city was besieged...” (2 Kings 25:1-2)The day is connected to several other fast days throughout the timeline of the destruction of the Temple and the subsequent exile, including the 17th of Tammuz and Tisha B'Av. Some consider the day a day to remember those murdered in the Holocaust. Many consider the day to be one of repentence and a call for return to Torah and Talmud.
According to Yanki Tauber, the Talmud describes how, instead of uniting against the common enemy, Jewish factions battled each other in besieged Jerusalem. "Because of baseless hatred between Jews," concludes the Talmud, "was Jerusalem destroyed." How is the situation different today? Questions of "Who is a Jew?" and the battle of Jew vs. Jew. Orthodox and Conservative and Reform and Reconstructionist and secular. The Lubavitcher Rebbe, in questioning the focus on "baseless hate," says that, despite pragmatic and ideological differences, no reason is reason enough for hate.
Says Tauber: "For if there is one redeeming virtue in being under siege, it is the opportunity to realize that we're all in this together."
Think on that tomorrow, whether you decide to fast.
(Also, an interesting tidbit for those of you familiar with Shabettai Zvi, one of my favorite infamous Jewish history characters: One of his first completely outlandish acts as the "messiah" was to change Asarah b'Tevet to a day of feasting and joviality. Needless to say, chaos ensued.)
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