Jewish Christmas Mitzvah

Every year someone asks me...so what do Jews do on Christmas? The answer is not simple. Just as so many non-Christians in American celebrate the holiday in a secular fashion, there are Jews who have joined the Christmas frenzy. But many of us do not.

This year I had an overwhelming sense of gratitude for simply surviving the year. The final insurance for my Mom's move showed up the day before Christmas, so we have put that event FINALLY in the past. Somehow I managed to hold down my job, deal with the move, be a half-way reasonable friend and wife, continued to train my Newfoundland, and dedicate some time to my own spiritual growth, which includes writing, my fiber art, and studying Hebrew. The year was full...and I feel blessed that I made it through the rough times with my sense of humor and relationships intact. 

Actually, I have more to be thankful for than I can actually express. I am alive. When I was 25, after a wonderful day of skiing, my intestinal track performed two 360 degree loops around my appendix and turned gangrenous. By the time I called the paramedics, I was so swollen I looked like I was 6 months pregnant and I was writhing in pain. I remember bits and pieces of the next several hours, the exams that made me scream, the insertion of the NG tube, and then waking up after surgery. 

They asked me if I knew where I was and what had happened..and all I really knew what that I was not in pain. The doctor later asked me if I was a runner. When I told him that I was, he nodded his head and told me that it had just saved my life. He estimated that I had less than four hours to live when the surgery started. It took ten days in the hospital with an NG tube to come back from the edge of darkness...minus seven feet of intestinal track and an appendix.

I have gone through two major surgeries since, one to repair a weakness at the suture site, and each time awoke with a sense that I had been gifted extra days, and that each moment is special in some way. I do lose sight of this at times, but something always brings me back.

This Christmas it was volunteering at Shalom Park where my Mom now lives. I met a 100 year old woman who told me to make sure to live every minute of my life fully. She was spry and lovely and energetic and sharp and happy. She told me to give thanks for every gift, to take care of the needs of my body, and to have adventures. She said she was blessed by my visit...but honestly I was blessed by the time I spent with her. 

So, what do Jews do on Christmas? Well...some of us try to spread a bit of kindness, give something back to those around us, and...perhaps...find a miracle or two.

Wishing the best of this season of miracles.


 
 

Be a voice for peace

In this season of celebration, this season of remembering miracles, I want to share one of my favorite

stories with you (source unknown):

"Tell me the weight of a snowflake," a coal-mouse asked a wild dove.”

  "Nothing more than nothing," the dove answered.

"In that case I must tell you a marvelous story," the coal-mouse said. 

 "I sat on a fir branch close to the trunk when it began to snow.

 Not heavily, not in a raging blizzard.  No, just like in a dream,

without any violence at all.  Since I didn't have anything better to do,

I counted the snowflakes settling on the twigs and needles of my branch.

 Their number was exactly 3,471,952.  When the next snowflake dropped onto the

branch--nothing more than nothing--as you say--the branch broke off."

  Having said that, the coal-mouse ran away.

The dove, since Noah's time an authority on peace, thought about the story for a while. 

Finally, she said to herself, "Perhaps there is only one person's voice lacking for peace to come to the world."

This story has helped me find my "inner philanthropist" and become more generous. It has helped me realize the power of one action...one voice...one hand extended to a stranger. Or one light shining inside one person. 

Take the time to be one voice...one hand...one light. 

Jewish Reincarnation...you read that right

There is a Jewish notion that every soul is born with a mission...in Hebrew we call this our Tikkun....what we are sent here to heal...the damage we are sent here to repair. The people we meet, our friends and significant others, and those who touch us in passing, are often messengers to help us understand our own Tikkun...our own mission. 

This means that the traits in others that drive me crazy, might be lessons to help nme grow at a spiritual level. Drat....I hate when that happens.

So OK...my soul came her to accomplish something. I get that.
I get that some of my experiences might based on the way my soul did not complete a task in a prior lifetime. The purpose of reincarnation, gilgul from the Jewish point of view, heal our mistakes and to reach our highest potential. 

For example: The heroes of the Bible and later Jewish histories are said to be the reincarnation of earlier heroes. Thus the soul of Cain (Genesis 4:1‑16) entered the body of Jethro and the soul of Abel the body of Moses. When Moses and Jethro met in friendship they rectified the sin caused by the estrangement of the two brothers (Exodus 18:1‑12). (as cited here).

I have to say that if this year is any indication, I was a VERY nasty person in a least one previous life. A psychic reader once told me that I had willingly walked down the seven of eight steps into evil in some prior life...wonderful. 

Maybe this is why it is so difficult for me to actually pay attention to the rules...why I find it hard to know what is right or wrong...and maybe why I love pirates. Guess I was one. 

In Jewish thought we have up to four opportunities to return and complete our soul's mission. I would like to think that I do not need all four to actually do this...but I have to wonder...if I do take my soul to the highest level...can I just come back for the joy of it? Because as I focus seeing the light in others, and shining my light brighter, this world becomes an amazing place. 

Yes...there are horrid injustices, but there are thousands of organizations and millions of individuals who want to change these. Yes...humans can be cruel and vicious and wicked...but we can also be courageous and kind and generous and heartfelt. And as I focus on the light in others, I find more and more that deep within us there are powerful drives to create a legacy of goodness and light. 

To be continued as I explore the light

The light in the darkness

Sometimes I think I am making progress, becoming a more spiritual person, a better person, a better leader. Sometimes I think I am calmer, more thoughtful, less likely to overreact, more likely to think well of others.

And then I find myself caught up in a conversation and hear myself pass judgement on a person or event without stopping to ask for the real details. My tongue spins a tale before it asks deeper questions. My thoughts run away with deadly scenarios, before I consider the many other possibilities. My heart forgets that everyone deserves to be heard with compassion, deserves a chance to tell their story. I judge before I understand, trust the darkest interpretation without seeing a person's inner light.

So for the rest of the season of darkness I pledge to focus on the light in others. I pledge to bring my light into every situation with the hope that it will allow others to do the same. There are dark, cold, scary places in each of...places that we hide our fears and wounds...that might be transformed with just one candle. I pledge to be that one, small, determined, courageous candle. 

Focus on the light to find the joy

There are some messages of Chanukah that we talk about a great deal.  
To begin with, the victory was not easily won. It actually took over 25 years and took persistence and perseverance and resilience and stamina. All traits that I admire...and that also sound exhausting. 
 
This is not a message that most of us want to hear. We do not want to believe that change takes time and hard work and effort. Sometimes I would rather be able to give the world a Jean Luc Picard "make it so" command and watch the world jump to fulfill my command. Or maybe not. Maybe I want to stop pushing and achieving sometimes.

In fact...in some ways I have been fighting this push-back from the world my entire life. Yes I am persistent and resilient and know how to persevere. But somehow these traits have been inextricably linked to measures of success....meaning we win in some competition. In my life this has meant that I was pushed to perform and compete whenever I demonstrated talent or skill...and then praised or shamed by the words persistence,  stamina, perseverance...and bravery. So sure...I can be brave and push myself to ski or write or ride or play or perform better, stronger, in front of larger crowds, with higher measures of success. 

Sure. And I can also lose all the joy in the activity by doing so. Pushing to reach higher...fly higher...ski double diamonds...compete at dancing...ride a Thoroughbred instead of a quarter horse...perform on the piano...white water kayak....sail across the Pacific...run a 10K and then a 1/2 marathon and then a full marathon faster...and faster...and faster...and faster. And by the way....why don't I apply for a VP position and move on up the ladder? 

The truth is that I am not driven to do any of those things. I often dive deep driven by profound curiosity...and immerse myself in the study or the practice or the experience...until I am done. Or until I have reached the level I find joy. And then sometimes I am done. And then I find that I have moved on to something new.  

There is some point at which "better" is inversely connected to "joy"  

There is a point that pushing harder becomes work and I lose my creative edge, my joyful spirit, and my connection to my inner voice. 

So yes...persistence and perseverance are wonderful, until they are not. Sometimes resiliency means letting go and trying something new. Switch from piano to knitting, from riding to hiking, from running to walking from kayaking to sailing, from content area to new content area. Embrace being a renaissance women and let go of being a master of one craft. 

So I want to embrace a different lesson from Chanukah, one that focuses on a few candles in the dark night. The light is much smaller than the darkness...it does not drive it away...but it can light up my soul. I can embrace joy in the face of awards, intrinsic motivation in the face of assessment, and creative expression in the face of standards and measures. 

And so can you.

The Miracle of light

As the world has fun with Thanksgivukkah (chanukah starts tonight at sunset), I find myself inundated with misinterpretations of one of the minor holidays. So...let me start the season by clearing up a few things.

 Chanukah is NOT a Jewish Christmas.
Chanukah has only one spelling in Hebrew. All the different the English spellings are variation of transliteration.
Chanukah always starts on the same date on the Jewish calendar, which is a moon calendar, and as such does not alight with the Gregorian sun calendar. 
We do not get or give a gift for each night. 
There is no such thing as a Chanukah bush.
AND.....wait for it....this is NOT the celebration of light over darkness....except in a very metaphorical sense. 

This is a holiday celebrating a small war that was won by a small group of Jews who refused to assimilate. We celebrate it by commemorating the miracle of faith. If you don't know the story, after the war, the Maccabees cleaned the temple which had been desecrated by the Seleucid Empire. The final task was to light the holy lamp that burned 24 a day with the purified olive oil. There was only enough oil for one day, but the lamp burned for seven, giving the people enough time to purify more.

So...we light one candle on the first night, and add another one each subsequent night, to celebrate this miracle of oil. Which is also why we eat fried food.

BUT....I think that the real miracle happened when people rejected the force of assimilation, when they chose to align with an inner compass, and when a lamp was lit with the faith that the fire would burn...even with all evidence suggesting these were ridiculous choices.

In some way, this holiday is about our choices to be more than we think we can be. We are not destined to follow the majority. We are not doomed to absorbed into the predominate mind set, or to be governed by the interpretations of others.

We can all go beyond our skills and capabilities. We can always reach further and climb higher. We are more than out titles and our history and our assumptions and our old nightmares.

So yes...in some ways this is a festival of light over darkness...but it is so very much more. 

NOTE: pictures of the wedding dress lighting candles tonight!!!

Back to the past

I do know that the planet Mercury has gone direct. In fact, I know for a fact that it never moved backwards, it just appeared to do so in the night sky and in my astrological chart. So why is my life still in retrograde? 

This past month I was suddenly contacted by a few of the (now) women from elementary school. They started a facebook page, posted class pictures, listed all the names, and are planning a reunion. They posted pictures with my fat frizzy haired likeness standing in the top row. Pictures that I tossed when I found them in my mother's move mess...the boxes that came back from the mojave desert. She would never know and I would never have to see them again. 

Trust me....when we were packing I was tempted, but I did not toss any of the photos. But then there were those two days of sorting through boxes in the storage unit...and all those all pictures of the young me. In the heat and dirt of the day the pictures looked even worse than I remembered...and they hit the trash.

But now, they appear on facebook. And the women who used to tease the chubby frizzy me, want a reunion to celebrate friendship. Hmm. Must be a retrograde. In all the years that I visited my Mom in the house that I grew up in, I NEVER ran into anyone from my K-12 years. EVER. The weekend before we moved her I connected with my best friend from high school who I had not seen since I was 18. And now women I have not seen since middle school when I skipped a grade. 

I am no longer that awkward child who felt deeply, craved madly, and who found no outlet of expression, who found no solace at school and wished to be someone her heart told her she could be. What saved her? Her piano and her books on spirituality and the stories she wrote. So maybe this is not an invasion from the past, but an invitation to visit what was deep within me....to be continued. 

And no...I will not post those pictures...only pictures of who I have become.

Live at the edge of possibility...and wear your "special" clothes

There is a novella I have been working on that starts with Mercury going permanently retrograde. My mother's move, and everything connected with it, seems to be caught in that type of loop, with the most recent episode the trip to LA canceled due to the shooter. 

So there MUST be some message, or series of messages, in something so profoundly escher-like. Three steps up....two steps down...and then the staircase flips. After being trapped in this craziness since July, I sank into the situation.

So what are some lesson? First...WEAR YOUR SPECIAL CLOTHES NOW! When I was packing my Mom's clothes I found itens with the tags still on them. Somewhere in the Mojave desert these brand new pants and shirts and jackets are creating Christo and Jeanne Claude like effects for the viewing pleasure of the local wildlife. 

Second: USE YOUR CHINA! Eat off of your pretty plates and drink from your wonderful crystal. I was packing my Mom's china which had not been out of the safe storage packs for years and asked her why she did not just use them. Her response was that she might break one, and then she would not be able to set a table for twelve. So they sat unused...and then they were broken in the move.

Third:  EVERYDAY IS A GREAT DAY! Everyday has a blessing buried in it somewhere. It might be difficult to find, but the blessing is there. We can wear our special clothes, use our beautiful things, laugh with a friend, or give thanks that the sun rose and the world is still full of possibilities and opportunities and wonders. 

So choose today to laugh with a friend. Choose today to see some miracle. Choose today to live on the edge of possibility. Choose today to have fun conversations with anyone you deal with on the phone. Choose today to walk down a different street or take a small adventure by wearing something wonderful. Choose today. 

Canceled flights, LAX shooting, Mercury retrograde, and a wedding dress

Last weekend the wedding dress and I tried to take my Mom to LA for visit...something I promised to do when she moved here. We spent weeks making the arrangements and then Mercury went retrograde in Scorpio. As we passed through security in Denver someone started reading the news to us about a shooter at LAX in terminal three, where we were scheduled to land. Within an hour our flight was reported as delayed, and fifteen minutes later we were told that all flights to LAX were canceled. 

We had been watching the bedlam taking place at LAX. People were trying to walk in and out of terminals, planes were on the tarmac waiting to unload (some people waited for 4 hours or more), and the roads were in long-term gridlock. 

Something about this day seemed familiar...and then I remembered. The last time my Mom and I flew together was four years prior on Rosh Hashanah on an emergency trip to Tulsa to see my brother before he died. We were delayed leaving Denver, and then trapped in Tulsa for a night on our return. To top it off, the fire alarm went off twice at the hotel resulting in a sleepless night.

Back in Denver, Ric picked us up in the same place he had dropped us off three hours prior and we headed home. We filled some hours having pedicures, had a lovely Shabbat dinner and went to bed....and  then around midnight the fire alarm started beeping, reminding me every 15 minutes that it was time to change the battery. My Mom and Ric slept through it, but even with my head buried in a pillow it kept me from a deep sleep. Beyond coincidence....beyond Mercury retrograde...beyond belief. Clearly there is some connection between these two trip.

So, if everything is a gift from HaShem...no matter how crazy...what is the message buried in this one? How are these two trips connected?

Perhaps there is a connection between the first day of November and the High Holy days. I checked. November 1st 2014 was Cheshvan 28th in the Jewish calendar, the day tradition tells us after the flood ended and Noah left the ark and offered thanks for surviving a rather rough journey.  Curiouser and curiouser.

Maybe there is a message in the reading for the day. I checked. It is the parsha in which Issac blesses the younger son Jacob rather than the older son Esau, all of which was orchestrated by Rebecca. OK...so add sibling challenges, and confusing family dynamics to giving thanks for wild journey's. 

So what can I do with all this? With a few twists...perfectly permitted when creating a Jewish "drash"....I come up with this.

Maybe we need to realize that everyday is connected to Rosh Hashanah because everyday and any day is a holy day full of miracles and reasons to give thanks. Everyday holds a piece of life's story, the world's story, and my story.  Everyday, without our knowing it,  we are saved from being stuck on the tarmac, saved from a flood or from crossing paths with danger.

Every day is an opportunity to be holy...to be better...to become more of who I dream I can be. Everyday I have a chance to be beautiful, inside and out, to wear a wedding dress and celebrate like a bride. Not just on Rosh Hashanah or on my wedding day.

And maybe other is one more connection.  Perhaps when I am open to see beauty and miracles around me, I am surrounded by beautiful miracles. 

We will try this trip again, and maybe this time we will fly easily to LA with the wedding dress. Either way, whatever happens, I know it will be a blessing.

What would happen if...

What would happen if we stopped allowing ourselves to become our to-do list?

What would happen if we switched our focus from URGENT and ACTION to walking and breathing?

What if at the end of the sky...

at the end of the sea...

time disappears and there is only now.

What if in the end the answer is presence and awareness and now?

Who would we be if we did not spend our time protecting ourselves from the full human experience? 

Who would I be if I was not afraid of what I can be?

What if I just walked? Halakhah...to walk...and the way...and the law. So what if all we need to know we discover by walking through this world open to the wonder around us?

color of change

My favorite colors are attached to seasons. I love the turquoise blue of summer and the stark whites of winter. (I would talk about spring, but I find it schizophrenic and annoying.)  But in reality, fall is the season that often puts transition in perspective. The colors of fall are so helpful in my efforts to see EVERYTHING in my life as a blessing, even the approach of the cold winter months. 

These are clearly transition colors, sent to remind us to let go of one season and embrace the next. How funny that color psychologist will tell us that 

 blues are relaxing and invite us to enjoy the moment..and breathe deeply, while reds and yellows and orange are about moving...high energy...change. How true. The blues of summer help us, no matter how active we are, be present. However the colors of fall invite us to move, to change, to expect a new challenge. 

So maybe these amazing colors are a way of preparing us for 
the long dark nights to come. A message that there is beauty in change. That the colors of our spirit are the most brilliant when in motion...when embracing transition and change. 

This is an amazing gift. Perhaps when we are struggling with new beginnings, which means we are facing endings, our spirit shines brightly, lighting the way through the seemingly dark places. Perhaps when we acknowledge our fears, release our resistance, move beyond our denial, and take just one step forward, we become beacons of color for others to follow. Does the first tree that is courageous enough to turn from green to red call out to the others that it is time to become spectacular? Can we do that same?

No...the dress has not changed color, but it will be on the road again soon, as we approach the change from fall to winter, from light to darkness, and from turquoise to wild fiery spectacular brilliant red.   

Asher Yatzar and Glen Canyon Dam

 

There is a prayer that is said every morning thanking Hashem for the wondrous workings of our bodies.We give thanks that the many vessels and organs of our body are appropriately opened or closed, for if they were not we could not stand. The exact prayer is:

"Blessed are You, Hashem our God, King of the universe, Who formed man with wisdom and created within him many openings and many hollows. It is obvious and known before Your Throne of Glory that if even one of them ruptures, or if even one of them becomes blocked, it would be impossible to survive and to stand before You (even for a short period). Blessed are You, Hashem, Who heals all flesh and acts wondrously."

Some of us have  almost died when the valves and vessels in our bodies have been blocked or ruptured, and we know the truth of this prayer. But I was reminded of this in a very poignant way  a few weeks ago from several thousand feet flying to San Diego. 

The plane took a route I did not recognize over canyon lands, and I noticed a lake in the distance...what looked like a canyon that was glistening blue. Lake Powell...of course. There is was...the flooded canyon that had once been a place full or wildlife. But what I thought was the lake was merely a canyon full of water beyond the lake...a flooded river. I kept looking at the water, expecting to see the lake any minute, but the plane flew on for miles and miles....and more miles. At last...the lake. And then miles later...at last Glen Canyon Dam. One dam backing up hundreds of miles of water and flooding canyons...changing eco-systems that had been built over thousands of years. 

One dam...one blockage...and the world was changed. And if that blockage were to be opened, the dam to burst, no life could stand below it in the flood of water becoming wild and free.  

 And maybe this relates in some way to the wild ride we have had moving my mom. The doors of the moving van were opened when they should have been closed and her life history flowed out across the desert. Yet, even with this, there was a way to live on....to move passed what was lost and to create new boundaries and openings and closings. In fact, perhaps this was a gift from Hashem too, a door that should have been opened had been closed, and so Hashem opened it. The door to new beginnings, to opportunities, to new lessons and possiblities needs to be open. 

When we close it with our fears and opinions and outdated behaviors, we cannot move forward in this world. And so...if we are lucky...a door that has been closed is open for us. All that has blocked us flows down river clearing the way for a new perspective and experience, perhaps with wild abandon, perhaps with earth shaking changes. Either way, we learn that we cannot create the illusion of safety by blocking what should flow free, or releasing what should be closed. 

How is a Sukkah like a wedding dress part two

So how is a Sukkah like a wedding dress? In fact, how is a airplane flight like a wedding dress? 

In Jewish mystical thought, space, time and matter are all forces of divine energy. These are all thought of as sparks that fell to earth at the time of creation and became embedded in existence. The sparks of time, space and matter all must be elevated in holiness for the world to fulfill the divine plan. That is way every action, no  matter how small, can often create powerful ripples in the world. This is why the way experience our journey, the small decisions we make (or refuse to make), and the almost unnoticed actions we take (or turn away from), can send seismic waves through all of existence.  A small earthquake in Africa can eventually move the tectonic plates in California. 

So, what does that  have to do with a wedding dress, a sukkah, and an airplane flight? Each in their own way put us "between worlds" and in some way more aware of time and space and matter. The Sukkah, for example, marks the end of one period of Jewish holy days and a movement into another season. We sit in a hut or booth...or in our case a tent...that has the illusion of structure and security, but is open to nature's wildness. We are aware that matter does not keep us safe, and that time and space move in some sort of unison. We put our faith in the seasonal parade to predict what we should wear to stay warm and safe and dry. 

The same is true in an airplane. We are traveling in something that can feel solid and is able to stay in the air based on the physics of the air and motion that few of us really understand.  We are again between worlds...in a very physical sense...and in a personal sense. We have no control over the plane. We cannot speed up or slow down the flight, nor control the time changes we fly through. We cannot fill our emotional space with phone calls or emails. We are at the whim of the wind and the sky and the skill of the pilot. And Hashem.  

And what about a wedding dress? It too marks a transition point. A new bride dons the dress as a single woman....who is partially married....almost married...committed to say those life altering words in a short time. Yet she is not married. She has planned for this day and now must let go of the details and trust that the events will unfold in some lovely way. And...even more importantly...she is trusting in something that she cannot see....love and faith in another human being.

We sit in a sukkah and have faith that we will be safe from nature's caprice. We fly in a plane and trust that human planning and schedule inconsistencies will still allow us safe passage. We dress in special garments and speak vows of love and trust that the words of the other carry the same heartfelt intention and commitment as ours. We act on faith and trust and hope and love as we enter that passage way of transformation and transition. 

And in that way our actions demonstrate our "emunah" out willingness to take a leap of faith into the sky, into the sukkah, or into intimate relationship with another. 

how is a sukkah like a wedding dress?

Much like the famous Mad Hatter riddle "why is a writing table like a raven" this question sounds nonsensical. So I will leave you to ponder it for a day or two. I can add one hint...in the same way that an air flight is like a wedding dress.

To be continued. 

The mermaid gift...much like a sukkah

What is the true mermaid gift? It is the ability to stay fluid in a world of dichotomies.

Fluidity between dichotomies.

The ability to have a hand in both worlds, to see the many sides of a situation and flow between them. To move from paradox to paradox to paradox, and still have faith in the consistency of the sea. To know that speaking the truth is powerful, but knowing how to speak it in a way that is heard is even more powerful. Knowing that success is something to enjoy, and then move beyond. That true greatness come from sharing our gifts so that others around us surpass us as we joyfully celebrate their success.

And then we swim on to the next adventure.

Life is not predictable, nor was it ever meant to be. It was meant to be embraced and explored and celebrated and experienced, while laughing and crying and shouting and finding silence. The tides rise and fall to remind us that there is a consistency in the changes around us. Mermaids know this and stay fluid in the paradoxical world of dichotomies. 

How is this like a Sukkah?

We sit in a "booth" with three sides and a roof open to the sky and thank G-d for safety and protection. We sit in the world, open to all types of weather, and rejoice in the freedom we have to move from place to place and harvest what we have planted. We are nomadic and rooted. We are exposed and protected. We are in transition from one season to the next. Maybe we are mermaids! 

Rosh Hashanah thoughts rebooted

We are told in Exodus that “Six days shall you work, and on the seventh shall you desist.” So we are supposed to work 80% of the time, and rest 20%. How funny that we don’t argue with G-d about this equation. 80% of my time spent working? Why don’t we demand more time to stop? Maybe it is because, according to the sages, we are 80% body and 20% soul. Maybe it is because our brains and bodies evolved as we walked 10 – 15 miles a day across savannahs. Maybe because stopping was dangerous and put us at risk.

We had to stop at night when the moon illuminated the sky, giving us a sense that we were safe in the darkness. Maybe this is the real message of stopping on Shabbat; that we are safe in the darkness of the world that we inhabit on the other 6 days. If we stop we can be illuminated, or perhaps be a light that illuminates and warms other people. After all, lighthouses don’t walk around much.

What if the world stopped for 25 hours every week? No pollution, no war, no competition. Would that 20% be what makes the 80% sustainable? Is this another message of Shabbat? Sustainability comes from stopping.

How funny that I resist stopping on Shabbat, when I beg for it on other days. You know, those times that we wish would last forever, wishing that time would stop and let us hold our memories still in a moment of time. And yet when commanded to stop…I rush on. Maybe if I had to pay for stopping that was disguised as another religion it would be easier to embrace….like a meditative yoga retreat.

My doctor, a traditional Jew, dared me to stop. My orthodox girl friend invited me to stop, saying it would be good for my soul. So what am I afraid of? Self discovery, like that which comes while reciting the Al chets? That I might have to re-define my value in the world? That I might find G-d…..or that G-d might find my hiding place?

Jewish mystics explain that as the sun goes down before Rosh Hashana, the universe goes into a comatose state, it stops. A slumber descends on all existence; everything comes to a standstill in cosmic silence, in apprehension of our contract being renewed. So perhaps I am afraid that stopping might mean G-d will rewrite my contract…that I will need to find a new way of being in the world.

So I tried to stop, but the world moved on. The phone rang, friends invited me out for lunch, my email filled up, the slopes beckoned, and the mall opened early. Wow…this is harder than I thought. I am out of step and out of time with the world around me….but in step and in time with Shabbat and that 20% of me that wishes to illuminate the world for good. Oh cool….in some ways stopping makes me rebellious. OK, I can do that

My goal then this year is to increase the time I stop on Shabbat, second by second. To become Shomer al z’man, a guard of time. Rather than building a fence around Shabbat, I am going to use Shabbat as my fence around stopping.

Shofar blast and broken china

Yom Kippur is over with a final blast of the shofar, a sound powerful enough to bring down the walls of Jericho, and easily break a few china plates. 

This year I needed the 25 hours of fasting and prayer. Hours in which I did not check email, try to multitask, solve anyone's problems, or deal with any projects. I fasted, I prayed, I sang, I fasted, I walked, I added a little yoga...I think I mentioned fasted....and prayed some more. For the first time in months, I felt spiritually full, while hungry and haunted. Some of the prayers grabbed me and and offered to carry me to the sky...did I mention it was raining and thundering and lightning? Some of the songs carried me home to the sea and rocked me in the waves...did I mention the floods in Colorado? And then there were the words that connected the dots of these past hard months.

"We (meaning the Jewish people) found freedom at the sea (as in walking through the reed sea) but found community in the mountains (torah at Sinai)." Wow. There is the tweet version of my life story. Freedom at the sea and community in the mountains.

During Yom Kippur the forces of destruction and creation dance together, showing us the many sides of any power, any action. Our intonation turns a sentence from a demand to a question, from a rebuke to a compliment  from and ending to a beginning. And the shofar, that blast that is meant to wake us from our spiritual slumber and complacent patterns  can frighten or inspire. It is meant to remind us that the forces that destroy can also create.

I felt inspired. I felt full and loved and moved and ready to say "hineni," I am here with all of my being, physically and spiritually, ready to do what I am called to do and fully present in the moment.

And so, of course, the movers called...again...ready to pick up the things that did not belong to us and all items that were trash.

Just in case you have not been following the tale of the mystical move, most of my mom's stuff was scattered across the desert, retrieved and delivered to us in large moving boxes for us to sort. It arrived at late one night right before labor day, and even in the dark it was disturbing. Items that had resembled furniture, things one might have in a house, showed up in sealed boxes.


We spent the next few days sorting her stuff from the other family's stuff....and from the desert trash. Bits of barbed wire shredded lace shirts and sweaters. Chunks of concrete filled what used to be pots and pans. Rocks and sand and sand and rocks were everywhere...along with the scent of a cologne that had spilled in the other family's box. 

 And it was during the sorting and searching that the mysteries emerged. We found broken china...and several salad plates still in their wrappings. We found an artistically mangled candelabra, and all of my mother's miniature tea pot collection. 
 We found mashed and crashed and broken china everywhere, and the suddenly seven perfect plates. 
Glass in frames broken...and perfect picture frames. And somehow, each find was more perfect than it had seemed before. Twelve small plates seem so much more inviting than 12 full place settings.

Destruction and perfection, combined without seeming purpose or sense in boxes filled with other people's clothes and books and memories. The China cabinet was there, but only the shell...no back, no shelves, no drawers. Just the wooden frame that used to house what was now shattered.

Perhaps like the hearts and souls of the Jews standing beneath that fiery mountain in the desert all those centuries ago. Did their hearts shatter....were their old beliefs shredded? Were they awed by what they found in their own tangled and torn and dented and bent selves? Were the items they thought were important, the bits of a past life that they held dear, blasted from them, creating a space for a new beginning? In the end, were they shells open to receive Torah?

And the final irony of it all....the movers were supposed to pick up everything...the other family's stuff, the trash, and my Mom's stuff. They were going to deliver what we had left of mom's and then head west to the company hub. But the truck did not have room. All they could carry was the other families belongings and the trash. And we were back at the beginning....because on the first day of the move back in L.A. the truck was already too full and they could not load everything. Deja vu....or the twilight zone.

And it was raining and the roads leading to my mom's house were flooded and closed. A flood with no room on this ark. That's OK...we will build our own. 

We sent them on their way taking the trash and all those many boxes that did not belong to us...while the lightening and thunder and rain sang them out of town. 

 

High holy days and moving disasters

Close your eyes and imagine a well lived in house, one that has been, lovingly at first, collecting memories and papers and tools and utensils and decorations and books and clothes and shoes and furniture and silk flowers and knick-knacks and cleaning supplies and dishes and linens and pictures...and...and...and for over 50 years. The paper fills filing cabinets and overflows onto desks and counters and tables and nightstands and beds and...and...and. Now imagine having to face sorting and tossing and packing and moving to another state in just over a month. That is how I spend most of my summer, helping my mother take on a new adventure in Colorado.

Sorting and tossing is easier for some of us. I am a tosser...a donator of stuff. I have stopped buying things that need dusting and now limit my souvenirs to small pins that fit on my day pack. Things that are not worn or used in a year move on to new homes. My brother was completely antithetical to this. He bought and stored and packed things around him for comfort and joy and to match his theory that "he who dies with the most toys, wins."

But back to my Mother's house. There was a memory attached to each item, and she made a yeoman's effort at letting go, but we still ended up having the movers take more than she would be able to use. And that is where the wild adventure began.

The first movers did not have room for everything on the first truck. So they told us a second truck would be there in an  hour to pick up the rest of her belongings. My girl friend and I opened some wine and sat in the almost empty house waiting for the next truck. Hours passed. We called the company and hit brick walls and promises. We waited some more. And finally....cheers....the second truck arrived. And...you have to guess at this point...they did not have room for her belongings. As you might imagine a very heated phone conversation followed.

The next day I was on the phone early trying to get an idea if this company could pick up everything they had stranded me with. By the end of the evening I had my answer...no. And of course I only had one more day to get everything out before the new owners took possession. Believe it or not if you google something like emergency movers, there are companies that pop up. I called one and they...miracle of miracles...were there in four hours and packed and loaded and stored everything else with plans to put it on a truck to Denver.

Back to the first movers who had headed down the road with the majority of the contents of the house. What are your guesses? Alien abduction? Highjacked to Canada? Swallowed by a sink hole? No, nothing that good. Just an accident with the truck rolling twice, bursting open and spewing my mom's belongings, all the things she could not bear to part with, across the Mojave desert. Yes...really.

What happens in a situation like this? Well the DOT steps in and calls the shots. Anything blocking the highway is pushed off so that traffic can flow. And what is in one piece is picked up and put in boxes and loaded on a truck and delivered. Everything, even if it is attached to barbed wire or is full of desert rocks. Did I mention that there was more than one family's belongings on the truck and that they mingled wildly has they danced across the sand? 

That is how I came to spend a long Labor Day weekend in a storage unit sorting their stuff from mom's stuff from trash. For hours...and days. In the end we had 25%...one quarter... of the load that we started with. And all of this happening in the month of Elul, just days before Rosh Hashanah. 

I was ready to ask G-d for a sticky note, some detailed explanation of this crazy experience. What was the point? A friend of my, a very religious friend, suggested that I look at this as a blessing from Hashem. This is what was supposed to happen. And so I tried.

And amazingly, it started to make sense. Our memories are not held in our material items, but in the depth of our hearts. The memories we wish to return to are full of love and laughter and tenderness and kindness and humanness...all of which are etched deeply in our minds and souls. We are like pieces of spiritual clay molded by our experiences and memories.

But we are not "done" in the way that a statue or painting is completed at some point. There is always more that we are becoming, that perhaps Hashem is wanting us to become. Holding on tightly to who we were years ago, or even yesterday, keeps us from embracing the next future that is waiting for us. And if that future is challenging and frightening, a few comforting memories will help us, but not the entire collection. I can only cling to one teddy bear at a time. 

And so perhaps this was the lesson, and the reason that some where in the desert a coyote is sitting on a red overstuffed chair wearing an outfit from Chicos, a jaunty men's hat, reading a romance novel and wondering who sent him these wonderful gifts. The old stuff needs to be left behind so that we have room for a new life. We cannot bring all our old memories, good and bad, and expect to build a new future. We cannot cling to what was and become someone profoundly new.

OK, so this is not really such a new lesson. I know that. But wow....this one came with the force of a hurricane or tornado. 

L'shana Tova. May you leave the book of last year behind you and walk bravely into the book of life before you.

  

The Shofar and I Have a Dream

In honor of the month of Elul and the anniversary of I have a Dream.

A Story: Moses was on Mount Sinai for forty days learning all of the Torah and the oral law. After forty days he descended with the tablets only to find that the people below had given up hope of his return and that the men had built a golden calf. After destroying the calf, begging G-ds forgiveness for the people, and setting the tribes in their order, Moses went back up the mountain.

This time, however, his brother Aaron, the often silent priest, and his sister Miriam, the singing prophetess who found water in the desert, realized that the Israelites needed help retaining hope, and faith, and a belief in the future.  So the two of them ordered that the shofar be blown everyday in camp so that everyone could hear the sound of hope, the sound of faith, and the call to leave the life of slavery behind as they became a holy nation.

According to Jewish tradition, Moses was on Mount Sinai during the month of Elul, and returned to the camp on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, commonly called the Jewish New Year. This holiday, however actually is seen as the birthday of the planet, the birthday of creation. So the Shofar is also a reminder of the promise of a new day, a new chance, and new opportunity. In fact, there is a midrash, an interpretation, that suggests that G-d went up in the blast, ascending the mountain with Moses in the sound of the shofar. The sound of these blasts not only gathered the people of Israel together, it also elevated the divine spirit.

These blasts also remind people that we are moving into the days of atonement, which requires a return to G-d, called Tshuva.  The Shofar calls us to “At-one-ment”….between individuals and  with G-d. 

Honoring my Mother

The last few weeks the dress has been patiently waiting in the closet for another adventure. I have been traveling a great deal to help my mother transition from the 3 bedroom house in California she lived in for 53 years to a 2 bedroom cottage in Colorado at Shalom Park. I spent several weekends going through closets and drawers, tossing and packing and shredding to get ready for the move. Oh yes...I do still have a full time job in Colorado, so I built up a number of frequent flyer miles. 

All of this was done with love in the Jewish tradition of honoring one's parents...which actually has a twist most people do not know about. The Hebrew word "kavod" found in the talmud does not really mean honor, but more closely aligns with the English work "dignity" 

There is a profound difference between these two notions. I can honor my parent by making sure she is fed and clothed, but I am commanded to give her dignity in the way that I help her. This means feeding and clothing a parent, but making them feel beholding or unimportant does not count. In the same way that a baby who is fed but not held or loved can die, all of us need that sense of dignity and belonging as we age. 

There is also a clause about how far we must go to take care of our parents. We are not allowed to injury ourselves, physically, emotionally or financially, for our parents. 

"At the same time, while honoring your parents is a tremendous mitzvah, you also need to be responsible for your own welfare. One is not required to endanger his emotional or physical health for a parent. Therefore, if a child cannot cope with the parent's behavior, he is permitted to keep his distance."

This means that while we are supposed to help feed and clothe our parents, we are not supposed to drain our own saving to do this, or put ourselves in any sort of danger. This is a message that while others matter, we are still obligated to take care of ourselves. And that the focus is not on providing things and stuff, but on helping someone live with dignity. 

After cleaning out 53 years of papers and tchotchkes and clothes and furniture and utensils and tools and pictures and art decor and books and boxes and, and, and, and, and, I get it. None of us live well because of our stuff. Once our basic needs are met and we have what we need to function, more stuff does not make us happier, healthier or wealthier. It is the living with dignity, having a sense of meaning and purpose in the world that matters. Regardless of our age, regardless of our circumstance, human dignity trumps merchandise. 

We are still in the process of getting the details in place, stuff moved, and paperwork settled, all of which I will handle. The key, however is for me to handle it in a way that provides my mom mother with "kavod" in the truest manner. 

Honoring my Brother with every step

There is one way to feel gratitude with every step. Raise money for a great organization . Next step attend an event that is in a beautiful place. Walk with your hubby and newfy in this beautiful place with other people raising money for the wonderful organization. Watch people with MS struggle up the hill wearing T-shirts that say "I can, I will, I do." Cheer them on. Make up Team Newfy songs as you hike. Here are a few:
1. These Newfs were made for walking...and that's just what they'll do
2. I won't be your newf of burden
3. Hang on Newfy...newfy hang on
4. Newfy walking in the rain
5. Walk right in..sit right down...my newfy going to go to town
6. Walk like a newf
and on and on.

Then have a great cup of coffee in Steve's honor.

Great day...join us next year.

Small steps toward gratitude

As Ric and I...and the wedding dress...round out the first year of our newest wedding I have been focusing on ways to improve our marriage. A new dress and new Katubah deserves a new relationship, and since the only way to change a relationship is for each individual to change, I decided to take a workshop on Jewish Marriages.

I am struggling with some of the lessons, and thought I would share it here and see if anyone else has this experience. According to the course there is power in turning complaints into gratitude, which I do agree with. Sort of. Most of the time.

The first step is to ask what I am feeling...am I angry or resentful or disappointed or let down or overwhelmed? Admit it. OK...got that part.

Next I am advised to be willing to let go of the negative state of mind. Hmmm...am I addicted to this sad thought? Would I rather be upset? This is what Victor Frankl talked about...we never need to be a victim of someone else's behavior. My happiness is based on my own choice to be happy. OK...I can choose my own state of mind...and I am willing to move on to a more positive attitude. 

So now what? I am supposed to ask what I actually know...what are my assumptions about this situation  Maybe there is something in Ric's past that makes him react strongly to an event or to a set of circumstances. Maybe he is having a flashback to something in his past. Or maybe he is afraid of something bad that will happen in the future. Or maybe I am. So let go of all the assumptions. 

So far so good. Sort of...this takes work. 

Now for the really rough part. Can I accept this is from G-d in some way? Hmm...this is rougher for me. Maybe I can see something difficult as paying a spiritual debt, or a tikkun olam (healing the world) or about tshuva (returning me to my spiritual path) or a nisayon (test), but the theology is rough for me. 

If this is true then everything that happens in my life is something I need to be grateful for. Everything, according to Jewish tradition, comes from G-d. So this means that I deserved this or earned this? OK...for small things...but what about big things? This sounds a bit too much like notions of karma...everything is decreed based on what I have done in past lives. I might have been really bad...in fact i think I was. OK...so tikkun olam for my past actions. 

Maybe something rough DOES prepare me for the future. Maybe something hard DOES wake me up and help me make different choices. Maybe it is not punishment, but a challenge that will help me grow.

Giving thanks for things that are scary or rough or challenging is really difficult. But some people have done this in powerful ways. 

Here is one piece from a mother who lost a son recently
four spiritual options

Then there is a famous story about sisters in a nazi concentration camp who gave thanks for the fleas in the barracks. The fleas ended up being a blessing.

I know people who have said thank you for legal challenges, and the challenges have gone away. I know people who have expressed gratitude for medical issues and gone on to live healthy vibrant lives. But still.....not sure that I use this in all situations. 

But I think I can try this in my marriage...at least try. Maybe I can start by letting go of my assumptions that I know how things are going to work out, or that I need to be in control of life. Small steps toward gratitude. 

Thoughts? 

I will let you know how I do with this. 

Places in our soul

The dress has traveled to many places with me this year. Some I enjoyed and was sad to leave.Others I happily waved good-bye to. Thinking about this I remembered a story that I read recently.

Rav Yitzchak Hutner told: I once took a walk with Rav Kook and another man amidst the mountains of the land of Israel. Rav Kook told how impressed he was by the landscape.       The other man asked him, “But you were in the Alps.  What is so special about these mountains?”  

 Rav Kook replied, “The Alps did not speak to me.” (Shivchei Harayah, p. 195)

This story speaks to me the way that the red rocks of the American southwest speak to me. I have been in many places that are geologically amazing, layer upon layer of rock leading back into the past, that are similar to canyonlands, but were silent.

I remember walking through Mesa Verde and hearing people wonder why the Anasazi moved into the rock ledges. I was so surprised to hear the question. Of course that they moved into the rocks...the rocks sang to them. The DNA of the rocks vibrated with the DAN of the old ones...and I can feel and hear this.

The same is probably true of Petra and the people who originally lived there. I was so excited to go deep into those canyons and feel and hear the rocks...but they were silent. Not for others, but for me.

However the rocks in Safed called and chanted and reached for me. The houses built out of stones like a gathering of caves around the central high point, for a moment, transformed into Mesa Verde before my eyes. The rooms I walked into embraced me with prayer and chant and song. The same thing happened in the tunnels of Jerusalem. I am linked to the rocks in Israel through my DNA.

This explains perhaps why certain oceans reach out to me with song, welcoming me as a  secret mermaid, and others seem to simply tickle my toes without any special connection. The Pacific calls me to me, while the Atlantic is merely a friend. The Mediterranean sea at Caesarea  and Tel Aviv laughed aloud when we met, inviting me to stay and stay and stay. 

My husband says that his Pacific kisses the Hawaiian Islands. I love the ocean there too, but also feel at home along the Monterey coast.

I have learned to accept this sense of resonance with gratitude and without question.  How wonderful that some people are called to the plains and some to the mountains and some to the sea. Perhaps this is why humans spread out across the planet, walking and sailing from one continent to another...looking for resonance. Searching for the place that sings them home. 

I love the Colorado mountains and hiking, buy my soul is filled with the sea. Someday I need to follow that call back to the shore, with or without a wedding dress, with good friends, new friends, old friends, and people I love. Someday I need to follow the song of the sea the holds the essence of my DNA.