No'ach: A rough sketch.

This is, in essence, what it looks like when I study Torah. Comments, short excerpts and things that catch me off guard that I pen for future examination. I'm trying to go throughout the year, keeping up with the Torah, it's commentary and haftarah readings. My text is Etz Hayim: torah and Commentary, which is a Conservative text. Additionally, I have a full Hebrew-text Tanakh and the Jewish Study Bible. So, basically, I've got my bases covered. Although I did not write remarks on last week's Parhsha (or dedicate nearly as much time to it), it's there. I haven't gotten to this week's haftarah reading, and I am saving that for tomorrow morning. So here you go, this is the thought pattern of Amand for the No'ach Torah portion (B'reishit 6:9-11:32).

+ 7:22 -- Was G-d concious of sparing the life of all marine animals? Why? All creatures on "dry land" are swept away in the flood, but not marine life. Curious ...

+ Amazing that locations in such early biblical and near Eastern stories can be pegged (8:4).

+ Olive branch is bitter? I had no clue ... but what irony, eh? The dove and the olive branch have come to symbol peace. We refer to leaders passing or sharing the olive branch, but how appropriate that it has a bitter taste, for all compromises tend to leave a bitter taste in one's mouth.

+ "The fear and the dread of you shall be upon all the beasts of the earth..." (9:2) -- Is this an attempt to quell the desire of humans to reach a higher eschelon of superiority? Is this meant to put humans in a position of power so that they don't seek to unseat G-d? The commentary suggests that this was in response to the human idea (when man was commanded to be vegetarian) that men could behave as animals. Thus by G-d differentiating the power and dietary restrictions ... man no longer could behave as animals, because they were "above" them. Interestingly, I'd have to disagree. Other commentators?

+ "I have set My bow in the clouds, and it shall serve as a sign of the covenant between Me and the earth. When I bring clouds over the earth, and the bow apears in the clouds, I will remember My covenant between Me and you and every living creature among all flesh, so that the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh." (9:13-15) -- (prayer for rainbows! ... keeping promises, recited after seeing a rainbow) Wow. I had no clue that there was content regarding rainbows in Torah. I almost feel cheated ... the magnificence has always been something I appreciated, but I had no idea that it was tied to a sort of convenant reminder with mankind. It almost makes the beautiful sight MORE magnificent. This also is curious re: when rainstorms produce no rainbow.

+ (10:2) -- Great grandson of Noah is named "Ashkenaz" ...? Does this have any bearing to the term "Ashkenazic" ...? The commentary suggests that the people of the Ashkenaz line were island people of Greece, etc., but says nothing about the common belief that Ashkenazic Jews are those descended of Eastern Europe, Germany, Poland, Austria, etc. In fact, if I'm not mistaken Greecian Jews were considered Sephardic, if anything, not Ashkenazic. I must investigate!

+ (10:8) -- How did Nimrod go from being the first man of might on Earth to being a name called of someone who is a complete idiot? Also, in commentary says he was the first to "misuse" his talents, killing first animals and then humans because of his bloodlust. Interesting and amusing.

To the ocean!

Peshat: The literal (as opposed to figurative) meaning, as discussed by Rashi.

We see comments like she “always knew he was a fiction, but believed in him anyway” (15) and “This is love, she thought, isn’t it? When you notice someone’s absence and hate that absence more than anything? More, even, than you love his presence?” (121) and “It was not the Jew, of course, who invented the love poem, but the other way around” (197). It seems like all the characters are searching desperately for this thing they neither understand nor know where to find. It’s as if going through the motions is enough.

--Me, March 7, Response paper on "Everything is Illuminated" for Jewish-American Fiction

I miss school. I miss it a lot. Reading through old papers and simple responses I wrote on small stories and entire books makes me miss my literature course -- the only literature class I took and enjoyed. I'm trying really hard to get through the spaces I'm in so I can turn the other way and work on getting back to school. I really am most pleasant with my head in a book or when I'm working on a 10-page paper on the Catholic Church's "fatherland" approach to Jews in the Holocaust. I. Love. to. Learn.

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I've recently developed a 24/7 sour stomach and jaw pains. The jaw pains are a result of what has been said is TMJ by a doctor I visited up in Westminster. She suggested a dentist, and everyone I've told that to has suggested a chiropractor or sports physical therapist. I finally bought a mouthguard, which seems to have helped last night. The anti-inflammatories don't seem to be doing much, unfortunately. The earplugs I bought to drown out my roommates are sort of working. I'll get down on my knees in the morning and thank G-d when I live someplace that is devoid of creaky floors above my slumbering noggin.

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I recently realized my newspaper gets copies of MOMENT magazine (which I love, though wish they cared more about the editing that they fail to pay attention to), so I scooped up a copy and am stoked to read the new issue. And in other news, I found this stellar site: http://www.algemeiner.com/

A Note, Part Deux

A note for the children who someday will call me "mother" and the grandchildren who will call me "bubbe," I can only hope. Part II

At Stapleton Elementary School in Joplin, Mo., where I went for K-5, there was something special about the cafeteria. Not only did the cafeteria serve as the multi-purpose room, stage for presentations and awards and as a, well, cafeteria, but there was something that editing a menu for elementary schools for the Extras section at my current job that sparked a memory. In the cafeteria, sometimes we'd have to sit boy-girl-boy-girl and sometimes we'd have to sit with our class. Other times, we'd sit all girls on one side and all boys on the other side. The rules changed daily, it seemed. I remember going to the large, box-like silver milk container to get chocolate milk from the red crates -- usually I went for the still-partially-frozen cartons. I'd proceed up to the lunch counter and they'd give us our helpings of this and that. Only after everyone was seated would they announce that there was enough for seconds -- but on a first-come, first-served basis. The most popular items seemed to be the miniature Mexipizzas. But what was so special about the cafeteria?

The traffic light. A real, genuine traffic light -- red, yellow, green.

Sometime in my later years at Stapleton, the principal installed a stoplight at the front of the cafeteria/gymnasium. During lunchtime, the lights would change, depending on the volume of the chattering children. When someone would start mixing their mashed potatoes with their pineapple tidbits, a table would roar with laughter from boys and squeals from girls with bows in their hair. The moment noise grew louder than a hush, the light would move from green to yellow, a sign that it was a little too loud and to quiet/settle down.

If things got really out of hand -- let's say someone decided to initiate a minor food fight or one of the boys was picking on one of the girls -- laughter would boom and girls would squeal louder. This usually meant that the cafeteria monitor would switch the stoplight to red, which meant (in plain terms) "shut the hell up." At the red light, a single whisper was asking to be sent to the principal's office or to have recess stripped away. After a few minutes of complete silence -- with the exception of clattering pots and pans from the lunch ladies and silverware scraping plastic trays -- the light would return to yellow and slowly work its way back to green. Usually by that time, though, it was time for recess.

Recess, of course, is a whole different story that includes the honeysuckles, the big tree at the far end of the playground, the four-square courts, the metal railroad cars/monkey bars and the big metal slide where a kid went down head-first (and cracked open his skull, of course, on the gravel and rocks below). I'll tell those stories eventually.

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My Judaica blog also seems to be wanting to float into a log of sorts. Lately I seem to be having small chance memories of things I haven't thought about in ages. Autumn and wintertime do that, though. It's the scents of this time of year where you cloes your eyes and are transported to a completely different time and place where your feet were much smaller, hands quite tiny and your eyes were much wider. So that's where I'll head. Wherever the moment takes me.

A tisket a tasket.

A note for the children who someday will call me "mother" and the grandchildren who will call me "bubbe," I can only hope.

I went grocery shopping today and in the produce section I stopped by the pears. On sale, 10 pounds for 10 dollars, I picked up three. And while handling the oddly-shaped fruits, I thought of my father. My father who used to cut slivers of his pears for my brothers and I. My fruit intake as a child consisted of pieces of pear my father would slice off, paper towel cupping the green fruit and short knife slicing pieces small enough and big enough for a child. I loved him more for each piece he gave me. He'd do the same with apples, but it's pears that remind me of my father.

It's the only produce that reminds me of anyone, really. Keep small things like these. They'll keep you smiling while handling fruit in the produce aisle thousands of miles from the people who helped you grow.

Send in the clowns?

I went to Starbucks to get a Carmel Apple Cider, which I was told was absolutely delicious and after having one yesterday see myself becoming addicted to, but they informed me that they were fresh out of apple juice. WTF? They could easily have jaunted across the street to the Yes! Organic Market and procured some, but no. So instead? I'm drinking a Coke. I don't even like soda. It burns my throat and makes me feel gross. But water just didn't sound right. (Sidenote: Thanks to those who have responded to my last post. In due time, in due time.)

And now, stolen from my good friend from the north, Beth:

Complete the Thought:

Never again in my life: will I allow myself to be torn down. Verbally or emotionally (hopefully physically is never something I'll step upon).

When I was five: I believe my family had recently moved to Joplin, Missouri, where we lived in a duplex on 33rd Street. I loved Barbies, of course, and dreamed that someday my brother would play house with me. He never did.

High School was: not as good as college, but one of the best four-year periods of my life. Most people have horrible middle school/high school experiences ... but I? I loved high school, though I wasn't "popular" or anything, I was involved in drama, choir, sports, math club, acadec, quiz bowl ... and my first love came in high school, and that's a memory of a person I cherish.

I will never forget: the summer that Andrew, Anthony and I spent so much time together, once driving to a small Nebraska town to visit a friend, where we watched figure-8 racing and a movie that freaked our friend's friends out. I still have the mix CD from the trip, too.

I once met: Topher Grace, Joshua Jackson and Gideon Yago. Okay, so they were merely in my presence, but Topher Grace did say some things one thing to me, such as "excuse me" (when he was standing in the aisle as I tried to pass). That's another experience I will never forgetting ... being in a swanky bar filled with no more than 30 people, 3 of which were the afformentioned stars. Actually, he was wearing a ballcap just like that when he was standing in front of me, which was why it took a few seconds for me to be like, "that's him!"

There’s this girl I know who: I wish would drop everything and go back to school and get her master's and PhD, because she's brilliant, driven and selling herself short.

By noon I’m usually: still in bed. When I'm not, I'm usually sitting ni frnot of my laptop watching crappy Danielle Steele movies on WE.

Last night I: worked till 10:30, went to SoHo until their internet crashed, went home and made eggs and waffles, got a stomach ache, talked to David until he was too tired and went to bed, watched some crappy TV and then read about 30 pages in "Extremly Loud and Incredibly Close" before turning off the light around 4:30 in the morning.

Next time I go to church: interesting. Church, you say? I guess my mother often says "did you go to Jewish church?" It isn't church. It's synagogue, temple, shul, house o' Jewish worship. Anyhow, the next time I go hopefully will be Saturday morning, G-d willing and sleep willing.

What worries me most is: that I won't end up in grad school and will regret it for the rest of my life.

When I turn my head right, I see: the entire Washington Post newsroom (the 5th floor, that is, which includes Metro, Financial, Foreign and National).

When I turn my head left, I see: Joe's, JoAnn's and Leslie's desks, the obiter desks and the construction going on to the east of the copy desk. They ripped out our coffee/food station, bastards.

You know I’m lying when: I fess up two seconds later. I have a hard time lying.

If I was a character written by Shakespeare I'd: probably have to ask David what character I should be. He's the Shakespeare whiz, not I. The only character I know well enough to even mention is Juliet, and I sure as heck am not her.

By this time, next year: who knows where I'll be and what I'll be doing. I can't really foresee anything right now except that I hope to still be with David and I hope to still be on the Right Coast.

A better name for me would be: Chaviva. It is in the blog name, it's my Hebrew name, and I like that it encompases the meaning of my birth name and Hebrew. That's probably why I chose it.

I have a hard time understanding: genocide. I'll leave it at that and speak at length at another time.

If I ever go back to school I’ll: focus on Judaic Studies for a master's and possibly PhD, specifically on history and more specifically on medieval Jewry (the thinkers and teachers).

You know I like you if: I can have a conversation with you while looking you in the eye at length.

Three people who bore me are: unnameable.

Take my advice, NEVER: drive 19 hours without any sleep and without stopping except for meals. Take your time on a roadtrip, okay?

My ideal breakfast is: scrambled eggs, homefries (the potato things, not hashbrowns), toast with jelly, a cup of milk and a cup of juice.

A song I love, but do not have is: Al Green's "Let's Stay Together"

If you visit my hometown, I suggest: going to Runza, Sher-E-Punjab, Bison Witches, and to go to Pioneer's Park and walk around UNL and downtown Lincoln.

Why won’t anyone: genuinely surprise me (I hate surprises, but long for them, I've never really been surprised ... I wait for it, I hope for it ... and nothing).

If you spend the night at my house, DO: not sleep on the floor. Really, please don't.

The world could do without: a lot of things. The first things that came to mind were GWBush, guns, fast food, soda, candy and war. But come on now. I really think the world could do without the notion or presence of "superiority."

I’d rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: eat steak, roast beef, pot roast, bacon, sausage, ham or any similar products.

My favorite blonde is: John Wenz. Oh wait, this says "blonde," which implies a female. I don't think I have a favorite blonde.

Paperclips are more useful than: corpses. Have you seen the movie "Paperclips" ...?

San Diego means: Saint Diego? Je parles Francais!

For Jews and non-Jews:

I spotted this illustration with an article I just read, and, without knowing what the article is, I'm curious what the random viewer thinks this illustration means. I'm not as visual of a person as I once was, but I think it's interesting to take an illustration or photograph out of context and see what the casual viewer/reader takes from it. So here it is (comment to tell me what you think it is in regards to, what it means, what it means to you):

Did I vanish?

No, I didn't vanish. I've been busy with work, Yom Kippur, being sick, getting well and analyzing my career/life path for the not-so-distant future. There's thoughts of grad school being tossed around this noggin (Baltimore Hebrew University, that is), in addition to all the other stuff that consumes me in all my free time. I figured it up that out of the 168 hours in the week, I have about 70 of those where I am neither sleeping nor working to just sit and be completely, absolutely worthless. So I purchased two books today.

1) Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer: I checked this book out from UNL's library shortly after it was released, but with all my reading and efforts to finish my senior thesis and graduate, I didn't have time to read it. Thus I didn't really enjoy it, especially after getting through Everything is Illuminated -- possibly one of the best books I have ever read. It was absolutely magnificent, so getting into ELIC was sort of hard. Summary: It's about a little boy whose father dies in the WTC during 9/11, complete with mini "flip book" of man falling from the WTC (sort of horrifying).
2) Fabulous Small Jews by Joseph Epstein: I believe I read a review of this in Commentary magazine. It was either that or in one of my other Jewish rags. Summary: It's a collection of short stories by a man who has written for the New Yorker, Harper's, Atlantic Monthly and has a NYT bestseller called Snobbery.

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Today was the start of Sukkot. I've decided that when I get married and have children I'll be building my own sukkah, no matter how wacky the neighbors think I am. Now what, you ask, is a sukkah? Well, this cute little Popsicle sukkah is the best example of a sukkah that I have for you. Sukkot means "booths" and is a festival of the booths in honor of the harvest. It's a four-sided little hut with three vertical walls and a ceiling that cannot be made solid, which means that you must be able to sit in the sukkah and peer into the heavens and see the stars. Some people use latticework to create the sukkah ceiling, then covering it with leaves. It's a 7 or 8 day holiday that includes lots of feasting and hanging out in the sukkah. I'm sort of glad I don't have a sukkah right now, though, as it's cold and rainy in D.C. -- definitely NOT sukkah weather unless you have a sukkah space heater and some umbrellas. The final day of sukkot is Shemini Atzeret and soon after is Simchat Torah -- a stellar holiday that finalizes the reading of the Torah for the year, which sends you back to Genesis to start all over again (Jews cycle through the whole Torah each year, though some Conservatives and Orthodox take 3 years to read the whole Torah -- that is, they read only PORTIONS of each Torah section and spend 3 years completely getting through the Torah, though they still celebrate the beginning-to-end of Simchat Torah).

Sukkot also includes the use of the Four Species -- lalav, hadass, etrog and araveh -- which are used during prayers and also adorn the sukkah (it's part of the whole harvest thing). Of course there's biblical precedence for this: "And you shall take for yourself on the first day the fruit of goodly (meaning of Hebrew uncertain, but modern Hebrew "citrus") trees, branches of palm trees, and boughs of thick trees, and willows of the brook" (Lev. 23:40).

Essentially the holiday is a reminder of the travails and travels in the desert (for 40 gall darn years) before entering the land. You eat in the sukkah, call it home and hang out in thanks for G-d's protection during the wandering. Who WOULDN'T want a sukkah, eh?

A Rosh Hashanah video.

Please ignore the unfortunate missing "for" between "time challah" in the slide ... it's late, and I'm too lazy to go back through and resave the movie and reupload it to YouTube. Enjoy the klezmer!

As the sequoias.

The first time I went to a Conservative synagogue, I was told by a friend that when the mourner's kaddish is recited, to stay seated unless I actually am in mourning for a lost loved one. I sat there as a few of the 20 or so people there stood up on old, worn ankles, tired hips mustering the strength to stand tall in the sanctuary while reciting the prayer that does not once mention death. I mouthed the words to myself, because it was what I knew -- when reciting kaddish, the congregation stood together with those mourning, each holding each other up. This is an across-the-board kind of thing, though it varies from shul to shul. I can confidently say that most Conservative/Orthodox shuls are the kind of places where only the mourners will stand.

But last night at Erev Rosh Hashanah services, the rabbi gave probably the most poignant explanation for why all congregants should stand during the kaddish. He told the congregation about an article he had read about the seqouias -- the tall trees that grow thin and high. The roots of these trees are pretty much at surface level, that is, they do not grow very far below the immediate surface. So how do these trees stand so very tall when threatened to be blown over by the smallest breeze? The roots are intertwined across entire forest areas. The roots lace together, creating a strong, solid structure, a base of root upon root that allows each tree to hold his neighbor up, and in turn, to hold up the entire collection of sequoias. Without one, they all would falter.

How appropriate is this? How beautiful an analogy for why a congregation should stand, arms intertwined and souls laced together tightly in a sanctuary space with those mourning and those not mourning, simply to support one another in a time of extreme sadness? Like the sequoias, Jews, too, should interlace themselves, standing tall and help one another brave the wind that blows soft, then hard, across our cheeks.

The strangeness of surroundings.

Services were swell tonight. Quiet and light (except the sermon, of course, which was heavy on the Israel conflict -- "Israel is only popular in death and defeat"). The strangest thing? The services (because there are a bajillion people who attend) were at a Methodist church. The weirdest thing was sitting through the superJewish services with a copy of the "Holy Bible" with a giant cross on it sitting right in front of me in the pew. Then there were the plaques on the walls around the sanctuary proclaiming the glory of certain people who served Jesus Christ as good Christians. Oh, and the kicker? The Ulysses S. Grant plaque. I wanted to place a big blanket over it like the crosses that were covered up around the sanctuary.

I know I shouldn't be picky. Services are services no matter where they're held. There were kippot and oodles of Jewish bubbes, but ... I miss my shul in Lincoln. I miss the comfort of knowing everyone. This temple is too huge to know anyone. I walked around the oneg grabbing honey cake and apples and stood alone near the exit, hoping someone would say "hello! who are you!?" but everyone seemed to know everyone else. So I stood, and I left.

I guess I just need a shul buddy.

Shabbat Shalom v'Shana Tova!

The new year cometh.

Tomorrow at sundown begins Rosh HaShanah, one of four Jewish new years, also THE Jewish New Year by practical terms. The year and reading of the Torah ends and begins. We feat this weekend and then, on Oct 1-2, we consider the trespasses of the past year; how we turned our backs in the field to a G-d so presently standing before us with openness.

I want to share a bit from my "A little joy a little oy" desk calendar. Every now and again it has something fruitful and funny. I always put my calendar a day ahead so I don't get behind or confused when editing for tomorrow's paper. In reality, I work a day ahead. But I was poking far ahead to see what the calendar had to offer, because I won't be here this weekend because of the holiday. For Sept. 23, the calendar quotes Rabbi Neil Comess-Daniels in his 2000 Rosh HaShanah sermon.

"... it's time to put your hand in the hand of someone you love ... and recognize that we only have a very short opportunity to be the humans upon the sand and not the pebbles. ... It's time to recognize that the real value of our lives is ... experiencing the ... seemingly insignificant things. It's time to recognize that things don't need to be the slickest ... to be great ... and appreciated. It's time to repent but not wallow in repentance. ... It's time to take a stand for ... what we believe. ... It's time to realize that we are as small and as very large as the pebble upon the sand, no matter how we count the years. Amen."

I think it's incredibly well written and speaks to the essence of the High Holy Days. I look back on the month of Elul at this point and think about a rebirth and renewal I wasn't expecting. I've met someone who makes me feel alive and happy -- someone who speaks to my heart without wanting to change me (Ani L'Dodi V'Dodi Li). As the new year approaches, I'm thinking about how life has handed me something precious, something to be truly thankful for as the new year approaches. Yom Kippur will give me a chance to consider the past year and some of the horrible, insane things that went on and that made me turn my eyes downward and away, into the dirt at my feet instead of the figure in the field. It's funny how long and changing a year is and yet how we can catalogue its events like a shopping list. I intend to mark things off of the list and leave it in the dirt near my feet as I walk away from 5766 and into 5767.

In this week's parshah, Moses sings to Am Yisrael, saying "Remember the days of old / Consider the years of many generations / Ask your father, and he will recount it to you / Your elders, and they will tell you" how G-d "found them in a desert land." Moses tells them how G-d made them a people, chose them as His own and gave them a bountiful land. So I remember and give thanks for my people, past and present, not to mention the future of the Jewish nation.

Also something to consider: Ramadan begins on the second day of Rosh HaShanah. Two religions and nations in strife must share a day that happens to be holy in both spheres. I only hope that, with this in mind, perhaps the Middle East will sit still for a day, relishing in the gifts they've been given -- the Jews for their Torah and Israel and the breath of life and the Muslims for the giving of the Koran to Muhammad. Neither religion or nation is blemish free. I'm not going to argue politics or history, for both peoples have committed crimes and acts that G-d would sooner mark us off than have to watch. But let us hope, and pray, that on Sept. 24 both groups -- and all of those who live near -- can calm their minds and hands to reach not for triggers but apples and honey.

Ani L'Dodi V'Dodi Li

Oh I wish all of you who read my blog and whose blogs I read would hop over and get a BLOGGER BETA. It's quick, it's painless, and I can't comment on any of your blogs becuase I switched. Do you know how much this sucks? Hugetime, that's how much.

So, consider it, will you?

Also: Got the new laptop today. It's gorgeous. I'm not sure what I'll name it yet. I find that naming the inanimate objects in my life somehow makes them more agreeable. It's a Dell, and it's lovely. It also means there's a good chance I'll post more often, as when the thoughts hit me, I should have my computer there with me.

That is all.

On this day in History

So we sat down to remember, today, the tragedy that befell the world's greatest civilized, industrial nation five years ago. The tears, the fear, the injustice of the destruction of human life -- free, intelligent, American human life. The life of dreams and picket fences. The life of corporate suites, elevators, bathrooms with automatic sensors. THE dream. The one, and the only. Everybody wants it, and we have it. And "never again," we say, will such destruction befall we, the people of the United States of America, who love peace, justice and liberty for all. Who demand it, who breathe it. Never. Again.

I have mixed feelings about 9/11. I feel guilty about it and wonder why I can't seem to smile and nod at the truckload of unanswered and unaswerable questions that haunt the skeptics. "You know, saying it was a conspiracy is like those people who said the Holocaust never happened," someone said to me today. But it isn't the same thing. Not at all. Not in the slightest. I never DENY that those thousands died on 9/11/01. Rather, I deny the why and how they died that is given, fed, pumped into each of us. And I'll leave it at that.

On this day in history, which we all know will be a turning point in history books and civics lessons worldwide, there were other important things. Of course, these things I'll mention have a mighty Jewish flavor, but I don't want to forget thoese things. So here they are:

1) Sept. 11, 1941: Charles Lindbergh makes an infamous speech called "Who are the War Agitators?" in Des Moines, Iowa, where he states that the Jewish "prowar" machine is responsible for promoting entrance into the war. He refers to the "Jewish race" and how unfortunate it is for the troubles they face, but that it is no reason to enter the war.

Said Lindbergh: "If any one of these groups -- the British, the Jewish, or the administration -- stops agitating for war, I believe there will be little danger of our involvement."

He went on to say that the Jews, in running most major industries of communication, had the capabilities to promote their ideas and that this was a great threat to "our interests" -- meaning nonJewish interests.

Said Lindbergh: "Their greatest danger to this country lies in their large ownership and influence in our motion pictures, our press, our radio and our government."

He clearly painted a picture of "us versus them." Don't worry, we put his happy face on a stamp.

2) Sept. 11, 1921: Nahalal, the first moshav in Israel, is settled. A moshav is a collective of farms, in a community, very similar to kibbutzim. Interestingly, starting in the 1970s and 80s, most moshav relied largely on outside Arab labor, as many of the folks living on the moshavs took jobs outside the community. I'd like to think there's been a return to the community-mindedness, but who knows. It's weird to think a settlement similar to kibbutzim became known largely as exurban or suburban.

3) Sept. 11, 1962: You know that boy band from Britainland that took the world by surprise? Yes, the Beatles recorded their first debut single, "Love me Do." What happened to that happy, Britpop that the world loved so much? The BSB and N'Sync don't really compare. And as much as I hate to say it, neither did the New Kids on the Block (bites her tongue).

4) Sept. 11, 1978: Peace talks. Yes, peace talks. It was Carter, Begin and Sadat and they sat down at Camp David to talk PEACE between Israel and Egypt, as well as the greater Middle East. I'm glad Egypt and Israel got their skeletons packed away, but what about everything else?

5) Sept. 11, 3 BCE: This one sort of shocked me. After my known interesting Sept. 11 facts ran out, I turned to wikipedia, which says that this date is the second day of Rosh HaShana in the Julian calendar. My response: Que?

6) Sept. 11, 2005: Almost forgot this one, can't believe I did. This time last year, Israel shocked the world and those living in Gaza settlements by announcing the removal of settlers from Gaza after 38 years. I don't know that it had amazingly immediate results, but I will say that in the long run, it was a good step, the best of steps. You have to start somewhere, and with the amount of compromise Israel has tossed in the peace-building pot, this doesn't surprise me in the least. Now if we can just get a Palestinian leader who cares more about his people than ridding the world of the Jews and Israel.

And there we are. There's your history lesson. Don't forget that also in 1941, ground was broken on the Pentagon or that in 1978 the final victim of smallpox kicked the bucket or that John Ritter died on Sept. 11 and so did Johnny Unitis. Or that several thousand people died for reasons that we may never know or understand.

Give it 20 minutes, it'll be a new day and anniversaries will seem trite and insincere. I promise.

A large portion of the Torah discusses the suffering Jews will face if they do not properly serve G-d when they enter the land of Israel. And after all of the talk of destruction and illness, there comes the statement in this week's portion, Ki Tavo, that explains WHY these things will befall the people, "Because you did not serve G-d with joy and a happy heart , when you had everything" (Deuteronomy 28:47).

Maimonides wrote that we must serve G-d with joy. And of course, this makes me think about living with a joyous and happy heart. It makes me think that whatever befalls me, if I live with a happy heart, then nothing can seem unable to move beyond. It's my, well, philosophy in the past few years, and it's why I seem to be able to do things with a happy heart, even when everything seems horribly grim.

I just wish I could impress it upon others.

When there's too much to handle, look to the sky.

I'm sort of struggling with a lot right now. I'm attempting to maintain calm as I trudge through a seemingly neverending field of thorns. Everytime I come upon a beautiful swath of green grass, I seem to step on the one rock present. One after the other, after the other. But the sky is still blue and the sun bright. I'm trying to keep my head up, and above, what lies below. What else is there to do but hope for things to be okay, coasting at a pace of comfort and ease? If there's one thing I've gained from my experience within and path to Judaism, it's that this is what matters.

I managed to have a day where I lost my place to live, fell in a puddle in the Safeway, got locked out of my apartment and had back and neck pain that surpassed any pains I've had in a long time. This also came after 24 hours of being the happiest and most taken care of I've been in a long, long time. Good with the bad? The past three or four days have been lengthy and painful. I've decided to take my car home to my parents, so they can have the car and I can rely on public transport. Last night, as I told my dad I'd gotten the days off for my trek home, the check engine light came on. The car jerked and the speedometer wigged out. I took it to the Auto Zone today and found out my transmission module is acting up again. The same thing happened last month. I. Just. Can't. Win.

But I'm smiling anyway.

My trip West will be taken with a fellow o' mine. The company will make the adventure less horribly unbearable and probably also easier to do. I'm looking forward to the adventure. Probably my last shot -- for a long time -- at being home. I'll see John, BisonWitches, poke into the Daily Nebraskan, and show him my town. It'll be a good refresher, a good reminder, and time to ease myself into the High Holy Days. And that's why I'm smiling.

I look at it, as the ultimate mitzvah. An adventure to aid my family, to ease their minds and hopefully help them out. What a time for a mitzvah of epic proportion, too. I hope my fellow knows his coming with also is an ultimate mizvah.

Just as a tiny seed awakens the infinite power of life hidden within the earth, so a mitzvah buried quietly in the ground can ignite an explosion of infinite light. Charged with that power, all the world is changed. --Teaching of the Lubavitcher Rebbe

And hopefully, soon, I'll be back on track with my studies, my mind, my prayers, my habits and my life.

Islam, where have you taken my friend?

So the release of the two fox "journalists" by militants after being kidnapped in Gaza two weeks ago gives me hope. Are militants realizing that maybe their efforts in kidnapping are absolutely futile? That, you know, maybe there are more civil, logical ways of dealing with demands and frustrations?

Evidently the two men were "converted" to Islam before being released. After their release, they said it was not a "real" conversion. I mean, if all they wanted to do was convert a few shmos who work for Fox, they could have set up a little stand outside the Fox office hocking the Koran. No need to kidnap, really. Look at the Christians; they're doing wonders converting folks, and they're not kidnapping anyone.

On a similar note, I found that a friend of mine who took up Islam has disappeared, in a way. That is, he went on some trip, to someplace, and even some of his closest friends don't know where he is. His exploration of Islam I first took as a wonderful thing. He'd been an athiest and we got along well without talking religion. But the few times after he took up his studies that we spoke (after moving out of the dorms, there was a lull in conversation after two years of spending time every day together), his resolve was mighty. Islam was the one true religion, the one religion that never treaded on any people, let alone did anything out of peace-loving character in the history of its existence. I opened my mouth to respond and he dismissed himself for his prayers -- this was before he and another friend were to attend shul services with me, out of curiosity. He said, after services, that he could understand a lot of the Hebrew, because there were similarities between the Arabic and the Hebrew. It was the only connection he and I had in the awkward last year and a half of college. I saw him at a party once, he had on the cap that I see many Muslim men wearing. My friend, with pale skin, freckles and blazing orange hair who I spent so many nights up late with, and I had nothing to say.

It's strange because I forced myself into his life freshman year. Those wipe-off marker boards that people attach to their doors for passersby to write obscene things on, became the welcome mat for me into his life. He was quiet, in his big, oversized red shoes. I started writing notes on his door and once he came to my room, asking to look at my calendar -- he didn't have one of his own, he said. We talked, awkwardly, and the next year he and one of my closest friends lived together. I spent every waking moment not at the newspaper or in class in their room. He had little crabs and at one point, a mouse. Before moving out that year, he brought his puppy to his dorm room. I visited him a few times that first year outside the dorms, but he started to change. I started to change. We changed simultaneously, but I embraced this truth and questioning philosophy of my religion, my faith. To me, he seemed to embrace an isolationist, definite quality to everything.

Last year I asked someone how he was. I saw him once in a blue moon and I heard he was "taking inventory" of his friends. Ridding himself of some, growing closer to others. He was throwing out the people he didn't think were necessary anymore. I don't know where or if I fit into that. So the last time I saw him was at that party. My final semester of college. He jumped up out of the chair he was idling in and greeted me so warmly. We exchanged "how're yous" and then other people walked up, started talking. The conversation moved into the kitchen and we kept looking at each other, smiling, this old sense of familiarity, but nothing. Others carried the conversation and when I decided to leave, I sort of half new it would be the last time I saw him. Maybe for now, maybe le olam. I remember walking back to my car, feeling distressed that I couldn't connect to him. But there was this automatic divide, and maybe he didn't notice it. Maybe it was our religion, our cultural adaptation to different ways of life. It's sad, though, because if two converts within two embattled faiths can't hold a conversation comfortably, how can we expect a born-Jew and born-Muslim to be warm with each other? Or maybe it's easier. I don't know.

I think often about him. I worry about him, and I worry what he'll become and what he may do. It's the fear of radicalism that scares me. The devoutness that consumes you into blindness. When I hear Bob Marley or ska music I think of him dancing around his room. Vegan delicacise make me think of the mush he'd sometimes eat in his room when the cafeteria failed him. There's so much about him I loved so dearly, I wonder if it's still there. But I can't bring myself to find him and ask, and I don't know why.

"A teshuvah-wind was blowing" -- Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn

One: A break.
A meme I stole from Tikkun Ger (though not tagged, I felt the need ...):

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your blog along with these instructions.

The text: "Israel is surrounded by enemies. Nations conspire and take counsel together to destroy her. Yet, He Who sits in the heavens laughs; ... " from The Prophets by Abraham J. Heschel, which I am reading with a friend (or will be reading, anyhow).

Tagging: Andrew, Christy, You know who you Are, Melanie, Beth

Two: Some Elul thoughts, or A month of the rabbis on Elul
From Chabad.org (probably my MOST favorite site):

"It is like a king who, before he enters the city, the people of the city go out to greet him in the field. There, everyone who so desires is permitted to meet him; he receives them all with a cheerful countenance and shows a smiling face to them all. And when he goes to the city, they follow him there. Later, however, after he enters his royal palace, none can enter into his presence except by appointment, and only special people and select individuals. So, too, by analogy, the month of Elul is when we meet G-d in the field..." (Likkutei Torah, Re'ei 32b; see also Likkutei Sichot, vol II p. 632 ff.)

Further: "In Elul, teshuvah is no longer a matter of cataclysmic “moments of truth” or something to be extracted from the depths of the prayerbook. It is as plentiful and accessible as air: we need only breath deeply to draw it into our lungs and send it coursing through our veins. And with Elul comes the realization that, like air, teshuvah is our most crucial resource, our very breath of spiritual life."

Three: Parsha Shoftim
Shabbat Shalom. This week, Moses instructs the appointment of those who will pursue and enforce justice. In every generation, according to Moses, there will be those entrusted with the task of interpreting and applying the laws of the Torah. This parsha has quite the place in modern Judaism, and an article I read last night in Tikkun really makes this hit home. The article discussed the modernization of Judaism, the evolvement from priests to rabbis to lay people. The latter, of course, being the modern application of those entrusted with leading services and minchas.

It wasn't rare at my shul back home to have a lay person lead services, delivering the sermon and bringing the Torah out. It was strange, to me, though it also was relaxing, as I could paint myself in that picture up on the bima. At the same time, I worry about the future of the rabbi in modern Judaism. Orthodox and Hasidism seem to have a pretty tight rein on the idea of the rabbi -- they are, as Moses foresaw, those entrusted with "interpreting and applying" laws of Torah. The article stressed the importance of an academic Jewry that could serve as lay leadership, interpreting and applying the laws. Analyzing them to bits for blogs and sermons on Saturday mornings. Is this the next step of the teacher evolution?

There's nothing wrong with lay-led services, but the rabbi's purpose is ever so important. Rabbis (those trained, anyhow) serve as encyclopedias of every cubit (har har) of Judaism, from Rashi to Maimonides to the Baal Shem Tov to Moses. Rabbis I've encountered may not know everything, but their passion for exploring and teaching and interpreting the laws of Torah are astounding. Lay leaders are often very involved in shul activities, serving on trustees boards and donating large sums to the local Yeshiva or Birthright foundations. They often have a deep-seeded need to participate in the community, Torah studies and shul choirs. But lay leaders also tend to be businessmen/women, journalists, artists, computer scientists, engineers, doctors, etc. Rabbis have the chance to home their skills and focus on one thing -- Torah, Judaism, halakah. Lay leaders already have so much on their plate without tossing responsibilities of rabbinic duties on top.

Maybe it is preemptive, but the article made me wonder. Is this the evolution of our sages, scholars and teachers in modern Judaism? Are rabbis an endangered species, not from a lack of interest but because lay leaders are taking the reins?

Who's to say. Anyhow, I'll think on the role "those entrusted" on this Shabbat, as I also reflect on Elul and my kavannah. Shabbat shalom, friends.

You know you're edging on the High Holy Days when ...

So a Jew walks into a CVS around 2 in the morning looking for some eggs (No, it isn't a joke). This Jewess was craving eggs and in addition to some eggs picked up a few Rosh HaShanah cards. Why? Because I actually have people to send them to this year. I've had the month of Elul on my mind all week, but this really smacked me into gear. That, and the insert in the Sept/Oct. issue of Tikkun that will likely serve as a supplement to my routine for Rosh HaShanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot and all the other minor holidays filled with goodies that swamp the next few months.

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Elul begins at sundown and also begins a month of, well, reflection and planning. It is a month where, for the first time, I will read Psalm 27 each morning when I wake in addition to my other morning prayers. Elul is a month where I will think of the phrase Ani l'dodi v'dodi li from the Shir HaShirim -- the roshei tivot (first letters) which spell out ELUL. The phrase translates as, "I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine." This is the essence of what Elul is. Elul turns G-d toward us and us toward G-d, reminding us of the love, strength and support we plead for. Elul also is a time to think of Moshe and his ascent for Adonai to re-inscribe the tablets, which happened on Rosh Chodesh Elul in 2448. Moshe was on the mount for 40 days (Yom Kippur) at which time he gained G-d's forgiveness for the people. How amazing to think that more than 3,000 years ago on this very date Moshe was climbing the mount ... and Moshe managed to achieve Divine mercy and forgiveness. It's a startling, and almost unreal thought.

One rabbi suggested that Elul and teshuvah are meant to return us to the beginning, to allow us to dwell in the place G-d intended for us, to restore us to our original character. In some places, each morning of Elul the shofar will be blown, and Jews will listen with kavannah, or intention. This is what Elul also is about, kavannah -- what is my intention? What is Elul for me?

Sh'ma adonai, qoli eq'ra v'chaneni v'a'aneni. --
Hear Adonai, as I cry with my voice; be gracious and answer me
(Psalm 27: 7, my transliteration/translation).
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The thought of not hearing Clarissa blow the shofar this year -- because she is at B'nai Jeshurun in Lincoln and I am here -- is a sobering thought. For two years I got to listen to her mystify the twice-a-year Jews with her talents. But when I think back to listening to Clarissa and the shofar and the bearded man from the balcony with the voice of a young tenor shout each of the shofar calls, I don't think I had kavannah. To be sure, my attention was had, but was I within myself in the place I needed to be?

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I read an article in Tikkun about a guy who was at a bookstore in Tennessee when he ran into a college-age kid who was browsing the small Judaica section in a Border's books. He observed that the kid would pick up a book, flip through it and put it back as if he wasn't really looking. The guy walked over to the collegian and they got to talking about what this kid was looking for -- G-d. The collegian said that G-d was missing from so many books. That G-d is almost devoid of meaning in modern Judaism -- in nearly all followings therein. It got me thinking. The one thing I always detested about "religion" was that it lacked rhyme or reason. Things were done because "that's just what we do." You go to church on Sunday because that's what a good Christian does. You daven three times a day, because that's what a good Jew does. You go to confession, becuase, well, that's what a good Catholic does. The WHY gets lost in translation. That's also what drew me so much to Judaism ... the idea of rabbis across centuries arguing things down to the accidental ink blot on a specific Talmudic trachtate. It is, enlightening and brilliant the amount of discussion and argument that goes into Jewish thought. But it feels like we're missing something. G-d?

When rabbinic and Talmudic Judaism was born, G-d almost disappeared from the Jewish map. It makes you wonder of Adonai is sitting idly by, waiting for Jews everywhere to realize that when they left for Summer Vacation, they left good ole' Adonai sitting on the front porch stoop. Many, many years later, there Adonai sits. Waiting. And what are we doing? Well, I'm not sure.

I know what I'm doing. I'm making a concerted effort to "rekindle the flame" as a popular phrase within the Jewish literary circles quips. I carry G-d with me more than I ever did when I was wrestling with organized religion or my fear of life after death. It's almost an unconcious hum in my head, always keeping me at ease. It's the moments when I'm ill at ease that I seem to cry out, truly and deeply, for strength, reciting the words in the Siddur (page 75) that my rabbi and I discussed so often (cannot rebuild a bridge, but can mend a broken heart). I don't want to be a Jew-by-habit, I'm a Jew-by-Choice, who chooses to create a holy bubble where G-d is more than just four letters in the holy books.

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So each morning when I rise, I'll rebuild the figure near the bimah and the shofar, the sound it makes calling us to repentence, to focus on heshbon ha'nefesh -- taking stock of oneself, the soul, reflecting and asking for Divine forgiveness. I'll recite the Psalm, calling Adonai to hear my cries, and I will think of Moshe, ascending the mount for the third time on this day in 2448. I will find my kavannah, and I will keep my beloved close, as my beloved keeps me close.

Ha Ohelim.

I am out of sorts. And these are the words I sing.

Sh'ma Elohim rinati, haqshivah, t'philati.
Miqtseh ha'aretz, elecha eqrah -- va'atoph livi.
V'tsuryorum mimeni tanheni ki hayitah mahsetli migdal otz mipenoyev.
Agura v'ahalkah, umalim; echeseh ve'seter chenaphecha. Selah.

It is my own transliteration of Psalm 61:2-5. A prayer that says,

Hear my cry, O G-d, attend unto my prayer.
From the end of the earth I will call to you when my heart is faint. Lead me to a rock that is too high for me.
For you have been a refuge for me, a tower of strength in the face of the enemy.
I will dwell in your tent forever, I will take refuge in the cover of your wings. Selah.

Selah? A word that can't seem to be translated, found in many of the psalms. Or as Merriam-Webster says: "a term of uncertain meaning found in the Hebrew text of the Psalms and Habakkuk carried over untranslated into some English versions." Some say it is purely for the musical nature of the psalms. It represents a pause in the text. Others say that it serves as a reminder of the significance and importance of the prior words. I suppose it doesn't help that even ancient biblical commentators didn't mention the word or its meaning.

There is something unimaginable, special about reading the Hebrew and knowing the translation, feeling the words as they present themselves. One semester of biblical Hebrew and several years at shul have given me a vocabulary necessary for completing phrases and speaking the prayers in the morning and evening and being able to whisper them as I move through dark hallways and along tree-lit paths.

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I went out tonight and got some ice cream. I was feeling lonely, despondent. I went over to Glover Park (also the name of my neighborhood) where there often are baseball games being played. I sat down on the top step, four steps above a kid in a baseball cap clapping furiously for two teams of men he didn't know. I watched two teams lob balls into the outfield, scoring a few runs and eventually some home runs. The team in full black had a double header, so I went inside to the Whole Foods and bought a drink for the second game. The team in all black was having its way with the other teams, and I was at peace, for a bit.

It reminded me of my entire childhood, until we moved to Nebraska. The first 12 1/2 years of my life, or what I remember of them, I was on the baseball field more or less every summer. First it was dad playing with his work team and then it was my older brother playing tee-ball and then baseball and up into high school. I spent a lot of time hating the time on the field, and a lot of time loving it. My best friend's dad practically ran the league in Joplin, Missouri. We'd pick up trash in exchange for a free Chick-O-Stick or full pickle from the concession folks. If we picked up a foul ball, we'd get a free small soda. We spent most of our time with the other kids our age behind the brick building that housed the bathrooms. There were piles of wood that we would never sit on, but we'd play our own games and talk. When my little brother was born my friends and I got kicks out of watching him interact with a little girl a few days older than him named Chloe. We pretended they were destined to be together becuase not only were they born in the same hospital days apart, but their big brothers played in the same league. I was a child and on that field I was free. Until midnight or later we'd dance around with the fireflies until the last crack of the ball against a bat. Families would pour out of the parking lot on the rocks and dirt and the crunching is a sound I'll never forget. Dust rolling up from behind the train of cars is an image that sits with me every summer. Sometimes I'd stay at my friend's house and sometimes she'd stay at mine. Summertime was ours. Occasional we'd go to Country Kitchen with the winning team and eat chicken fingers or mozzarella sticks.

The dust, the chalky dirt the color of earth, pickles, chick-o-sticks, large black plastic bags, bottles of water, yellow-colored brick structures, lights with a haze of bugs and dirt below -- this was my summer as a child.
Sh'ma Elohim rinati, haqshivah, t'philati. Attend unto my prayer, Adonai.