holy wrappings two

What are our holy wrappings? 

This is my attempt to use fiber art to represent my ideas about the way holiness wraps around us. 

You can open the images in a new window and enlarge them

Lessons of a pair of flip-flops

It was the official last week of summer and I was not ready to let go. Winters feel longer, and this summer seemed so very short. So the plan to was to fill a three day weekend with summer warrior activities, starting with a one-hour body pump class, from which I am still sore.  Next on the list, after Saturday prayers, was an hour in the kayak...did I mention that body pump works my entire upper body and that it was threatening to rain? At least there was no lightening since I was sitting in the middle of a lake holding a medal paddle. 

I ended the day with a barbeque at our house for friends.

Sunday started with a short run with the dog through wet grass. I had planned on a 12 mile hike high in the foothills, but the clouds were already closing in so I did not want to head up as high in the hills. I put on my new toe socks, grabbed my pack and, I thought, everything I needed and drove up to White Ranch Park. I parked and reached over for my hiking shoes and...wait for it...found my flip-flops. Not my tevas, but my flip-flops. Not a problem I thought. I always have extra running shoes in the car. Oh, I forgot, they were wet from the morning run sitting at home on the dryer. 

This meant the only shoes I had were a pair of flip-flops. I thought about just driving home and going for a long walk on the bike path near the house. So not appealing. I asked myself: what would a weekend warrior do? I decided to just walk slowly and cover at least 1/2 mile. Luckily I had on my toe socks, so I put on my flip-flops and my pack and slowly and carefully started down the trail.  

This is a mountain trail...not particularly steep...but with plenty of rocks and places to slip. So I walked a bit slower than my normal pace and set my feet down with clear intentionality. And then some magic happened.

The first people I met were hiking in walking sandals and stopped to talk when their dog fell in love with me. We laughed about forgetting shoes, and they shared that they had done that several times. Ditto the trail runners and the women on mountain bikes. They all noticed my feet and shared stories of forgotten shoes and other essential implements. 

I kept walking and decided to redefine my "forgetting" as a gift from Hashem. After a mile, I realized how comfortable I was hiking without ankle or arch support. 
My mind was actually quiet since I was focused on walking. This reminded me of a Jewish chant "Silence is Praise for you" which I started humming and filled my mind with. 

This led to a reflection that I was safe in the wilderness with very little around me, that the Hashem was my protection, not my hiking gear. And I kept walking. 

Somewhere along the way I wondered why I never felt this connected on a regular basis, and I immediately had a flash of my multi-tasking life. My mind is so full of information and must-do lists, there is no space for a conversation with G-d. In fact, if Hashem happened to call me with vital information, I would probably have to put the call on hold. It was my slow walking was opening a space in my mind for the presence of G-d, much like the way that G-d opened a space, through tzimtzum for creation.

After about 3 miles the trail was going to shift through flooded areas, so I turned back and retraced my steps. Slowly.

Now I met people fully equipped for a hike across high Sierra passed with poles and heavy duty shoes and safari hats. They walked on by me without looking at my feet. I wondered about the way we humans think we need so much more to have an experience. High end everything to protect us from the wildness of the outdoors. Maybe all we do need is a bit of faith. Maybe more is less and less is more.


And then near the end of the hike I passed a group of heavily equipped hikers who did notice my flimsily clad feet. One young man said to me:

"You must be a very experienced hiker. What do you know that I don't know?" 

I laughed and told him that this was an accident, and that I would not repeat the experiment, but it was true that sometimes less is more. And really he could give up the silly polls. 

I made it back to the car and home before I realized that I had never stubbed my toe, had a rock in the "shoe", tripped, or felt any pain from lack of support. In fact. I felt great.

The warrior weekend the next day with another kayak trip and a 20 mile bike ride on my new bike. And I had to wonder...would the older slower heavier bike brought just as much joy? 

Holy Wrappings

What does not mean to wrap ourselves in holiness? 

What does it mean to be both joyful and soulful, to be full of laughter and aching for meaning, to be having fun in a wedding dress and softly crying under a prayer shawl?

I have been having fun with a wedding dress for a couple years now, but want to move this blog into a deeper place, into exploring holy wrappings. A wedding dress is one such wrapping. Tears and laughter and prayer shawls and star-lit skies and sunsets and ocean waves can be be too. 

So, if you like my writing, start coming back. I am exploring this in my life, in my art, at my job, on the trail, in my studies and definitely in my writing. To be continued soon. 

Join me...how are you wrapped in holiness?

Yom HaShoah

No wedding dress pictures on this day of remembrance, which corresponds this year to the 13th day of the counting of the Omer, Yesod of Gevurah in a kabbalistic world view.
A day that stops traffic in Israel. A day we are drawn to places that help us remember and might bring us to tears. We question G-d and humans. We question ourselves and wonder what we would have done. Would I have had the courage to run or hide or join the resistance? Would I have had the smarts to survive and save others? If the tables were reversed would I risk my life for others?

Yesod of Gevurah asks us to examine the way that we create discipline and structure in our lives in ways that strengthen our bonds with others. We are asked to re-frame disciplines of practice and structural forms are something so we create then together as friends or partners or communities. These need to be ways to draw people in, to build connection, and to commit to what we value.

So I wonder...can I commit to standing up against genocide? Can I stand up for and be a voice for the ones who have been silenced? Can I live a life that makes a mark in place of all of those who never had a chance? Can my remembrance, my Jewish discipline create pathways of connection that move us beyond remembrance?

Can I be one of the good souls that Anne Frank wanted to believe in...is that something I can commit to? 

Can I live a life as if I was a was one of the Lamed-Vav Tzadikim, the 36 righteous souls whose acts and deeds and presence justify the purpose of humankind in the eyes of G-d. Perhaps this is what I owe those who do not have the chance to live a good life; a pledge to live as if I am a  lamed-vavnik, even if I am sure that I am not. 

Or perhaps it is choosing to live a Jewish life, perhaps that is what I owe those who have gone. To live a life that they were murdered for, even if they did not practice or believe. Perhaps it is to defend religious practices that might seen out of sync, but help people find meaning and purpose and live a good life. 

Perhaps that is what all of us owe: living a life that matters so that we honor all who have come before us and parted the sea, battled for freedom, planted the fields, and given us a chance to live as we choose. 

A woman with wings...a story of leaving a narrow place

     I was born one magical evening at sunset. The sky was crimson and turquoise, and so were my wings. It was not unusual that I was born with wings, most babies were, but mine were especially beautify because they were kissed by the sunset. I grew up like most little girls, laughing an crying, playing and learning, growing and changing. When I was very young I loved to flex my wings like the other children, delighting in the sensuous power and exhilaration that came with dreaming about flight. My wings had the colors of a sunset reflected in the ocean, and grew stronger as I pushed them against the wind.
     Time passed however, as it always does, and I grew older. I was told that the time for play was ending and that I must learn to be a young lady. Proper young ladies do not fly, rather they hold their wings still, secured with ribbons and bows to show off their shape and color, but never their magnificence or power. Nor did proper grown-up women fly for their wings were atrophied and frozen in place.
     When I was young my family would smile at me when I spread my wings and pretended to fly, but now that my wings were stronger and flight was possible, they no longer smiled. It was fine to indulge me when I was little and could not fly, but once I came of age and might try, I had to be taught to behave properly.
     My grandmother took me aside often and told me that nice young ladies did not fly. She had never even considered trying, and look how nice and atrophied her wings were. Look how well she had managed and controlled her life. She told me I would embarrass the family if I did not stop spreading my wings. I must tie them back like a good girl and do what would make my family, and her friends, wanted. Their happiness was more important than my silly dream of flying. 
     My father took me aside and told me that flying was not safe for girls, only for boys. After all, in flying school the men were the teachers, and the boys the students. There was no one to teach me! That was proof that women...ladies...should not fly. 
     I looked up at the sky and pointed...sometimes...high and far away I could see a women flying. Rarely, but there she would be. "Who taught her?"  I would ask. My father would shake his head and tell my that good girls did not fly, and that I should ignore that one, self-taught woman. Being good and safe on the ground was more important than being free in the air.
    My friends told me that if I wanted boys to like me I would have to learn how to hold my wings still and quiet, so they would grow thinner and weaker. No boy would like a girl with strong wings who chose to fly!
     I listened when they talked...I really did. I tried to hold my wings still; I tied them with ribbons everyday at school, even though I was crying inside. I tried to forget the feeling of the wind caressing my wings, the feeling of strength and grace that came when my wings were spread, but I could not. Everyone would be angry and disappointed if I continued to spread my wings so that they could grow strong, but I could not resist. I wanted to fly more than I wanted my grandmother's approval. I wanted to fly more than I wanted my father's praise. I wanted to fly more than I wanted my schoolmate's friendship.
     Sometimes at night I would dream that I was flying amid the stars through clouds of silver mist and webs of moonlight. I tried to tell my mother about my dreams, and she would look sad for me. She hugged me and told me that flying was hard and scary, and that I should do the right thing and make everyone else happy.
     I watched as the popular girls held their wings in the proper way and lost the ability to use them. I did want to be the friend they wanted, but I could not let my wings grow still and useless. I wanted the boys to like me, but not at the expense of abandoning who I wanted to be.
     Finally one evening at sunset when the sky was crimson and turquoise, I walked into the surf and spread my wings. I turned into the wind and felt myself lifted from the waves into the sky. After years of watching hawks and eagles fly, I knew what to do, so I trusted my instincts and began to fly. 
     At first I just traversed the beach, riding the wind with joy in my heart. The world rushed by under me as I flew higher and faster. At last I left the beach behind and and allowed the wind to guide me, following the thermals and shifting breezes. 
     I looked back and say the narrowness of my town, something that I could not see from the ground. I had left a narrow place to the wideness of the skies and my dreams. I turned and flew toward the horizon.

mezuzahs as spiritual cocoons

There is a wonderful history program running on PBS, the Story of the Jews in which Simon Schama poses that 10 million dollar question: how have the Jews survived for almost 4000 years in the face of violence and numerous attempts at annihilation? ?What is the secret of a group of people, perhaps a family, who call themselves a nation, that has kept them alive while powerful civilizations have faded into archeological memory? Why are there still Jews on the planet?

We are not better or smarter, luckier or more talented, richer or more powerful, or more beloved. But we are still here. 

For a secret to work it must be hidden, and yet easy to find to be effective. So what is hidden in plain sight, and easily found that is distinctive to the Jewish faith?

That was my a-ah moment...our entire faith, theology, and belief system is hidden safely in plain sight. Anyone who looks can find it. Anyone willing to invest time and energy can uncover it. By wrapping everything that matters in a protective cover we are demonstrating what we consider valuable.

Much like a cocoon protects a caterpillar as it becomes a butterfly, our wrappings become places that speak of and guard transformation. We put the Torah...our story...into garments. We place some of the holy prayers into T'fillin which are used during prayer. We create pray shawls that we wrap ourselves in as we pray so that we might transform. And we create beautiful wrappings for the words of the Shema blessing to mark our doorways and gates.

These mezuzah covers that mark Jewish doorways reach back to the story of the exodus, when marking our doorways protected us from the angel of death and the last plague. Then we were told to use blood; now we are told to use the words of our central prayer. And we wrap these words in something beautiful so that they are safe and accessible. They look like art, or decoration, and, that same way that way a cocoon blends into the branch on which it hangs, mezuzahs blend into the doorway attracting little attention. Unless of course you know what it contains.

And this is the second gift of the wrappings. Words and stories and prayers can be unwrapped and used. Sacred does not mean untouchable; sacrosanct does not mean out of reach. The words are here, the story is alive, the shawls and coverings are lovely but not holy unto themselves. What they cover is holy, and still accessible. 

I am sure there is more to Jewish longevity than this, but perhaps the wrappings have kept our true secret safe. While Romans stole gold and silver from the temple, that left the words and prayer and stories behind, disguised in their spiritual cocoons. 

Purim and Freedom

There is an amazing sense of freedom that I feel at the top of a mountain. This might be the best part of skiing; the opportunity to see the beauty of the world from the top of a mountain. This ski day was a bit different since it fell on the day before Purim, a celebration of the day the Jews snatched freedom from the jaws of destruction. 

I know that I have written about Purim, the holiday with a female lead character who saves the entire nation of Jews from death. But this year it felt a bit different, and  the meaning of freedom as seen from the top of a mountain seemed profound. In part because Purim is a holiday  that teaches us the power of one evil voice. Haman sets out to destroy the Jews because one Jew refuses to bow to him. One man's ego set mass destruction in motion. And one woman's courage saves a nation

At one point in the story Esther hesitates and her uncle Mordecai says to her:

Do not imagine that you in the king's palace can escape any more than all the Jews. "For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise for the Jews from another place and you and your father's house will perish. And who knows whether you have not attained royalty for such a time as this?"

I wonder...would I stand up? Do I have the courage to fight to freedom for myself and others? Do I understand how blessed I am, and that by Jewish tradition those blessings have corresponding  responsibilities of Tikkum Olam, healing the universe.

As I stand at the top of the mountain I realize how easy it would be to judge others' actions and choices from this mountain top view, something I like to call ski lift spirituality. We ride to the top of the mountain, get off the lift in our warm clothes on our expensive skis, look around and declare "wow...this is a spiritual experience" and then ski down. What if at the top of the mountain I had to give my warm clothes away, or recognize that I was this blessed, this privileged only so that I could help others. What if someone told me that I had been given the gift of warmth and freedom so that I could bring warmth and freedom to others, and that to turn away from this task would cost me my life? Would I fight for freedom, no matter the cost?  

Purim is a time of laughter and celebration...and at the same time a reminder that freedom is costly, and the actions of one individual, for good or for evil, can change the course of a nation. 

looking back leaning forward part two

OK..so really an elementary school reunion needs a bit more discussion.  So let me set the stage. I left a cold wet dreary Denver and landed in a bright warm happy place. The hotel room was not ready....but I did not care. The tide was out, the sun was shining and the ocean was calling. So I had lots of time and many miles to think about the reunion.

I had a bit of information about people's lives, but was fascinated by the thought of seeing everyone. We all had compound stories and myths, adventures and challenges, tragedies and triumphs. I actually could connect some of the pictures from the past with the faces on Facebook. 
And some of the careers with some of my memories. But we had all moved in unique directions. What would we talk about?

The reunion was at a beautiful house in Calabasas. The instructions were for nice casual, which in LA means anything from jeans to jewels. And we all fit into that category. I recognized the faces and the names came back and the stories seemed to weave together. How interesting that our early years seemed align so well with our present, and perhaps our future. We shared laughter and tears and wove our tales together over wine.

The people were lovely, as was the night. And while I realized that any painful memories of the past did not really matter in that way one might think, the past did come into clear focus. It felt like a kaleidoscope had been turned into several beautiful new patterns.  

The patterns shifted. Being on the outside of a group, or at least feeling that I was, made me understand better the dynamics of the outsider. 

Being a lone wolf back then made me a more resilient now. Looking in from the outside made me more compassionate. And...as the song says...being chosen last for basketball made me courageous enough to crave adventure. Not fitting in set me free.

I came home and worked on my art...capturing the nature of Mezuzahs with fiber. OK...that was a leap. But seeing that I was not tied to a old story made me willing to continually write a new one. Mezuzahs? A Jewish cocoon holding a scroll that tells us the secret to becoming a spiritual butterfly. Artist? why not try?

So thank you classmates from my past. You held up mirrors for me to discover myself. You helped me find myself in ways that I could not have done alone. Perhaps we have to dance together, like mezuzahs and doorposts, our past and our present, to find our deepest spiritual truths. Or at least our own path.

Looking back but leaning forward

OK...so mercury really was retrograde when the (now) women I went to elementary school contacted me. They had not been on my radar, or on my life since 8 grade. I skipped half a year and left them behind. I have very few memories from that time, and really hardly any of them are good. 

They posted pictures on a facebook site, while I destroyed any that I found. Remember that weekend in the storage unit sorting my mom's stuff? Yep...I tossed every one that I found. They posted memories and every one's names while I wondered if I had been napping during those years.

And then they wanted to hold a reunion, but in LA, and I was strangely attracted to the idea. It might be because that awkward, fat, girl with the Jew-fro was long gone, replaced by a wild courageous spirit..who still looked good in a wedding dress. It might be because I knew I could add on two days of beach walking in Santa Barbara. Or maybe it was because I needed to put the past to bed. Or...best yet...realize that none of it every really mattered even though it seemed so important at the time.

So..I ran off to Santa Barbara for two days of beach walking and meditation...and shopping. And walking on the beach. And drinking wine on the beach. Thinking about all the challenges of the last year, and the year to come. I was poised between the job I had and what the job would become with a new boss. Who is wonderful...and for whom I will be able to do my best work. 

Why? Because everything I was that kept me from fitting in when I was young, everything that set me up for criticism from from my Grandmother, now made me a powerful leader. 
Not fitting in for all the odd reasons, the fact that I did not like the Beatles, was not good at sports, was not a typical "girl" but was a bit "bossy and pushy" and wanted to be more than the rules said I could...all of that taught me resiliency.  Not fitting in then, made be wonderful at making my own choices now. 

So perhaps my past did matter, but not in the way that I thought. It made me strong, and for that I am grateful.

After the glass Ceiling

I was invited to speak at the Denver Jewish Women's network breakfast today. Hope you enjoy the talk...though of course this not how it was delivered. I only had 6 minutes and I tend to ad lib. But this is the gist of the talk. Much of this is captured in my book, Pirate Wisdom. I would love your feedback.

After the glass ceiling

Let me start by congratulating you on what everyone of you has achieved, and I am sure that each of you has achieved a great deal. Now, let me give you a bit of advice for your future: Never play by rules that define you as the loser. This is going to be the reoccurring theme in the next few minutes. If you have made it through some ceiling, remember, that this new game might have rules in which you have already been defined as the loser and someone else as the winner. You have three choices. First, you can lose….not likely in this group. Second…you can change games…which works if you can find a game with better rules.

OR….better yet…change the rules. I refer to this as Pirating.

Let’s talk about rules for a minute. If you remember the Johnny Depp movie you might remember the line about the “code” (the pirate rules) are more like guidelines. I saw this in action in Israel. If you have driven there you might relate to this story. After a bit of a wild ride one morning from Gezer to Jerusalem I turned to my cousin, who was driving, and said. “So the lines on the road are more like suggestions,”  he tapped his finger to his lips and replied “recommendations.” When we are sailing, in a channel the buoys tell us what to avoid, where NOT to go. But they do not tell us how to sail.

The same is true of the political rules…they are guidelines to tell us where the danger lies, but not how to succeed. So, we need to know how to pirate the rules to our advantage, to change the definition of winning and losing.

First. You made it through some glass ceiling, so clearly you are good at what you do. But…how many of you recognize this? How many of you, if asked why you are so successful would say that you are good at what you do? Or smart? Talented? Guess what most men say?  Yep…I am good.

OK…how many of you would say that you were lucky, had help and busted your tush? All this might be true, but you need to add that you are good at what you do, and ready to push your limits. Ready to rise to the occasion and take on this next challenge.

Second…how do you get heard so that people know you are ready to step up? There are lots of techniques and tricks. Find a mentor, keep talking, be willing to interrupt. But most importantly, you have to bring yourself, your real self, to the job. One highly successful woman friend of mine who is a VP of land in an oil company once told me: You are a woman, and you are always going to be a woman, so you have do this job like a woman. For her this meant wearing heals even though she is over 6 feet tall, wearing skirts and jewelry, and always having candy in her office. It meant, and still means, being able to like someone and discipline them, or dislike someone and praise them, and mentor them both. It meant creating a culture of accountability and appreciation, just like she did for her kids.

This is a tricky balance. The rules say that women are kind, but that leaders are strong.  I would argue that the best leaders balance both attributes, and many more.  We have to demonstrate and communicate both.

So, third, use verbal and body language wisely. Our tradition teaches us that words create worlds, so use them well. Stand up…let’s see what our body language communicates. Stand small hunched over, shoulders up around your ears…legs acting embarrassed….how do you feel?

Now stand in what I call tango position (or Israel stance) core tight, shoulders down and back center of gravity in your hips, which is where it resides for women. Now…how does that feel?

Great. Match your words to your body. Women tend to apologize when we are showing empathy…we say I am sorry rather than how sad. We nod, meaning to encourage, but signal agreement. We apologize before we offer an idea, discount our thoughts before we express them. Communicate what you truly want heard.

Move this style into your response time. I heard a woman speaker who was the head of a large prison system. She said that even when there was a crisis, she took at least two minutes to breathe deeply before she moved into action. She settled herself and her voice so both communicated confidence.

Fourth…just in case you are counting…read the leadership and power books with caution. I actually recommend a book called Machiavelli for women by XXXXXX. Remember, the books about whose hand is on top when you shake may not work for you. Anyone snowboard? I have a theory about trainers and sports lessons. Always take lessons and advice from someone who looks like you. I tried snowboarding and the tall thin man giving the lessons kept telling me to stand up straight. Which meant that I kept catching an edge and whacking the ground. The next day at school a young woman about my build looked at me in disbelief and told me to use my center of gravity, bend my knees and stick out my tush. Which is how I ski. Do it like a woman. Don’t try to be more like a man.

And finally…just for this morning…make sure that you build the life you want to live. Do you want to be the Queen, or the pirate? The captain or the first mate? The president or the VP?  Do you want to leave work at 6 every night and tuck your kids in? Are you an introvert or an extrovert? Find the role that fits who you are and who you want to be, and live it proudly without apology.

So let’s end where we started. Be aware of the political rules. Don’t avoid politics…which is really just a way to get groups of people to move and act in accord. Don’t define it as back rooms thick with cigar smoke. Don’t confuse gossip, yetzer hara, with politics. That is just poor behavior.  Do remember, that being politically astute means that you can write the rules that define you, and other women, as the winner.

You exercise too much and need to eat

BIG ANNOUNCEMENT....I turned 59 in January. Yep...this is what 59 looks like. Strong...vital...alive...and ready for adventure.

I would like to argue with a famous hobbit who said: It is a dangerous business going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to. At 59 I want to step
outside my door and see where the road goes. And I am going to 
drag a few friends along. 

When last you saw that wedding dress Cindy had led me on a teaching adventure to Grand Rapids MI. I returned the favor by taking her on a half-marathon in San Diego. Warm...sunny...and only 13 ish miles. Oh...unless you count the unexpected one mile-ish walk to the start and the quarter mile back to the car.

Of course we did not really have time to prepare for this, or plan our morning. No...we did not carb pack the night before, or even that morning. We started with coffee and a banana each and headed out to the start line. The mermaid series sponsors all women athletic events...and gives out...or sells...mermaid swag. Clearly I had to go. 

As did the dress. So we set off from the start at 7:00 and ran a quarter mile so that we could say we ran and walked the race. This is in honor of our self definition as quarter horses...good for the slow steady long haul...and not thoroughbreds who are tall and thin and run forever. We then set a pace guaranteed to bring us in before the last person...but not in any way win our age class. There was a 67 year old woman who ran the race in 1.5 hours. Wow. 

So on we went with only water and gatorade to fuel us until mile 10 where we found the last few packets of Gu energy gel...think gatorade turned into thick jello. We sucked it down and it actually tasted...sort of good...which is a really bad sign.

 By mile 12...which was actually more than 13 miles of walking...we both wanted lattes and carbs. We are tired of the cheering squads and wanted to sneak by them. But we managed to cross the finish line get our cool necklaces, grab tangerines...and then walk a quarter mile back to the car and soy lattes. 

And of course, because we had so much more to pack into the day, it was 2:00 before we ended up at Cindy's new house (did I mention that she had moved the weekend prior?) and were actually able to sit down...and discover we were STARVING. 

Jewish lesson? Eat...really...eat before you set out on a loooooong walk. 

Teaching is so Jewish

You know how is goes...a good friend asks for a bit of help and of course you say yes...and the next thing you know you are teaching an online course that requires you to visit Grand Rapids MI in January. Beyond cold. And too dark for words. And did I mention cold? Sunrise around 8:30 should be illegal. 

So there we were...facilitating a class on Leadership for cultural change for the Ferris University  Doctorate in Community College Leadership Program in Grand Rapid MI...in January. Of course the wedding dress had to go with me. Teaching and learning are so embedded in the Jewish tradition that this seemed like a perfect fit.

In fact, Jews are called the people of the book, and value learning and study as much as prayer. The book we talk about is not just the Torah (the first five books of the bible) but the entire Tanach and the Talmud, as well as other commentaries and writings. We study as a way to understand what G-d is saying to us. Learning leads to right action...or should.

And study is more than divine recapitulation; it is interpretation and critical thinking and even innovation. Learning is what humans are programed to do. We are wired to adapt and change, and to listen to the world around us in a way that helps us grow. So Jews see study as the listening side of prayer. We do not only ask, we listen, learn and grow. 

The wedding dress on this trip was a reminder to study and learn, even as a "bride" and as a way to welcome in the Shabbat Bride, the Shechinah. It was wonderful to share Shabbat (yes I lit candles at dinner and wore a hat to class) with this group of learners who are opening themselves to change. We had heart-warming moments and I was able to share stories about the Exodus and changing cultural change. There was a reason the generation of slaves had to stay in the desert...they did not embrace change. We talked about Joseph and the "ish" he met on that way to find his brothers and how one personal interaction can set history in motion. We talked about the way that our deeply buried...and often unknow fears prevent us from becoming who we wish to be and creating the world we wish to live in. 

And yes...it was a bit chilly in the wedding dress. Warmer trips to come. 

Where the wedding dress dare not go

So I know this is silly, but the truth is that I have used the wedding dress to help me face adventures that might be a bit scary. The dress can bring humor to turn a situation, or at least change my perspective. 


I hold on to pictures of the dress when I cannot take it with me, like to scary medical procedures. I had one of those on New Year's Eve, nothing too out of the ordinary, just something involving odd bodily probings, and wanted to take the dress. Ric said that was creepy. 

So I asked if I could just take my shell bouquet...and he said that was creepy too. OK...can I take a teddy bear? Nope...just time to "cowgirl up" I guess.

I do believe in courage and bravery and facing our fears, but I also believe that grace in the face of danger can be enhanced with something to hold on to. We tell our kids to hold hands, or we cuddle up with our critters, or we wear our lucky clothes or don our special piece of jewelry. That is what the wedding dress has been for me, not just a celebration of commitment, but also a way to bring humor and joy into what can be challenging. 

So, as 2014 unfolds in front of us full of wild unknowns and frightening propositions and terrifying opportunities (I mean that in a good way), perhaps we all need to find our lucky charm...one that can go with us into creepy places without looking...well...creepy. Something we can hold on to that reminds us that we are as courage is about facing the unknown with grace and a bit of humor. Something smaller than a wedding dress...and a Newfy...that reminds us that we too are human, and that fears our normal. And sometimes we just need to recognize our need for some courage

Leadership and Jewish thought

Leadership is easy when budgets are flush and times are good, and our pithy Buddhist sounding slogans seem wise. However, when resources are tight and tempers are running high, things are much more challenging. Suddenly the challenge of mentoring our staff can seem overwhelming. It is easy to look at two faculty members arguing and wish that they would just "get over it" and move forward. But wishing others to change, or blaming a certain group of employees is the least effective way to change a situation. And in some ways the least ethical. What if I use Jewish ethics...what would a challenging situation look like?

In Jewish thought, rather than looking at a difficult employee and wishing for them to change, the situation should cause me to think "what should I be doing?"  This person and this experience have been placed in my life as a way for me to learn and grow spiritually, or perhaps there is a gift I can give to others. If I focus on what I should be doing, I stop thinking about how the other person needs to change. I change the focus from the deficiency of the other to the gift that I can give, and the gift that I receive from dealing with this person.

Interestingly, when I stop focusing on what is wrong with the other person, I create a space that I can fill with something that will actually help shift the situation. Perhaps I can recognize with is good about the other person, and fill that space with appreciation. If I can appreciate something about the other, then I can approach this person with respect. When I treat another person with respect I hold up a mirror in front of them so that they can see their own goodness and potential.

I do not know if this will work with everyone and every situation, but I do know that it works in my friendships and intimate relationships, and that it is powerful in the classroom with students. I can choose to appreciate and respect them and watch them rise to the academic challenges. 

And so, this is another one of my adventures, shifting my leadership style so that I create more powerful ripples in the world. This might be a very small step in a world so full of complex problems, but it is a step.