thinking jewish

What I Learned at Dinner

The marathon tour of the north and south of California comes to a close. I sit in the center of a table, at a restaurant I haven't been to since my graduation from the fifth grade. One serving of garlic bread comes to the table, then another. The night passes in conversation and preparation to go to the airport, and then, home.

The topic turns to the latest small-town gossip: the family friend who was, at age sixty, fired from his job of twenty-five years. I hear anger, and desperation and frustration. Most of all, I hear betrayal. Not too surprising.

Does Judaism have anything to say about this, they ask. Like, something similar to the shopkeeper's law, another adds. I know not this shopkeeper's law of which they speak. So I ask for elucidation.

You can't go into a store and look around, they tell me, if you have no intention of buying in the first place.

Ah. I know that one, just not by that name. I learned it once, a long time ago, from a peer, a partner in shopping, on Nachalat Binyamin, as I searched for a mezuzah. I was fifteen, and it was what seems like another life.

I'm interested by this party's desire to know what we can or cannot do, according to Judaism, when it comes to business. Are they looking for an entry point into rabbinic wisdom or merely an excuse to justify what they're feeling? The conversation continues.

The waiter comes back, for the fourth or fifth or sixth time, and this time offers dessert. There's the cannoli, and the chocolate cake, and the carrot cake, and something we shouldn't have or want. You see, he already knows of our tribal membership. He's telling us not to order the "Yule Log." I can't imagine anyone ordering a dessert with the name "log," but I see quickly that this man is merely trying to connect - he wants to let us know, in the most subtle of ways, that he too is Jewish.

And we get it, and so does he, and then he defends his recent "lapse of faith," going on to explain that the Yule Log, unlike the other desserts, "isn't kosher." Seeing as there's no rabbi here, I recommend you choose another thing to eat.

Actually...

Actually. Great. I'm outed. We smile. He suggests I bless the cake. Doing all I can to ensure that the fork in my hand does not find it's way to the waiter's left eye, I smile and nod and ask for a decaf coffee.

The conversation continues, and now people have things to share about the Biennial that just swept through this town. It was pretty amazing, especially Shabbat. Oh yeah? Do tell more.

They talk about praying with so many other people - like Beth Israel on the Holidays, they say, but only one, not two seatings. And the rabbi in charge, they say, gave a great sermon. What was it about? Health care, they explain.

I chuckle inside that an hour-long talk focussing on resurrecting Shabbat from the coffers of bad reformations boils down to support for contemporary politics, but wonder what else will be added. Oh well. But they go on, and remember Shabbat, and the initiative, and now the conversation gets interesting.

You see, it's a nice idea, this Shabbat thing, but unrealistic - what with work and society how it is.

But then the man in the corner chimes in, the man who just spent a semester of his own studying in Israel. He keeps Shabbat now, he says. It's about friends and community and stopping and resting. Everyone agrees. If only, they say, we could refocus Jewish life on connections and people and real meaning, Shabbat would easily follow.

I stay quiet through the discussion, taking mental notes in preparation for a long blog entry. But, at the same time, I wonder.

I wonder why it seems to people that Shabbat is so impossible to make real. It doesn't work here in America. Sure, in Israel you can do it, but, here? No way. But I've seen it work - every week! Ha! They're so wrong! Jews make Shabbat come alive all the time in far corners of this western prairy. And so does that man in the corner, and so do so many others.

I wonder if this isn't just the same as that Shopkeeper's Law. It's a question of what we want to do with Torah. Is it a nice book of parables, or is it something tangible, something real, that I can feel and touch and hold? Lo bashamayim hi! It is not in the heavens! No, it is here, and now, and waiting to be held, Moses so carefully reminds us.

And he was so right. But it's only here on earth if we make it so. And it takes a lot of hard work and patience to do that. And it takes listening - listening through long dinners and appreciating people where they are.

We're all at the starting line, each one of us, just waiting for someone to blow the whistle telling us it's OK to go.

Check it Out

Breaking the Code of Ritual Observance:

"Like Linux itself, independent minyanim are at their core expressions of dissent, a call for authenticity as a return to origins: traditional liturgy, text study in the original, hospitality as they imagine it to have been practiced in the more intimate communities of their great-grandparents.

Their counterparts are found in rabbi-led and alternative emergent communities, who are disconnected because they are disaffected: they fear they have lost sight of the core meaning at the heart of faith. Their graceful, user-friendly Mac-like reinventions seek a return to soulfulness, prayer to be embraced and grappled with at the same time, learning that links text and world, social activism that recalls the passion of the prophets."

Greatest Hits

Walking into Starbucks on a warm California winter morning, I hear the voice of a South African on her phone. How did so many South Afridan Jews end up in San Diego? I wonder.

I assume my place in line, and she behind me. Do I know you? she says.

I want her to stop talking to me. She doesn't know me. I've never seen her before. She's just another one of the throngs of quaint-speaking Jews in the area, all the same, all delightful.

She's my third grade teacher.

In an unexpected moment of nostalgia, we catch up, and trade compliments, and go on our ways, me with my split coffee, she with her nonfat latte.  Two days later, I find myself wandering the streets of Berkeley, having visited with a mentor of old, seeing old sights and smelling old smells, and generally living a life once lived.

Nearly four years ago I left these places, separated myself from the life of old, leaving it all behind for Israel and New York, and new organizations and people.

But why forget all this greatness? There were so many experiences and wonders witnessed. And walking the streets it floods my disoriented brain, and I remember the best of it all, the most important things learned, the successes and the hapiness and the life lived.

5. Looks Are Deceiving:
Hippies, liberals, dreadlocks and bumper stickers fill this land. It can seem dirty and ridiculous and off the wall - a foreign country even. This is the place where street vendors yell to tell you "Your yarmulke's on backwards." But in this progressive land of homeless people abundant, there are smart, caring people, ready to make this world an amazing place. Experience is what makes a place special, not aesthetics.

4. The Great Ones Are Always There
I walk into the home late in the morning, and two young voices greet me. Last time I was here, they could barely speak. They run off to play their games, and I sit for an extended coffee with one of the greats who taught me how to succeed, how to thrive, how to be happy, how to be a mench in this world. Four years ago we parted ways, but even today he's here to help at a moment's notice, ready to give advice and a hand and a letter of recommendation. His head is on straight, he wants what's best for the Jewish community, and labors tirelessly for it. He is a dugma to all, and that he stands by me means the world.

3. Good Friendship Doesn't Fade
I sit at a dinner table with two of life's best friends, separated far too long by time and circumstance and busy lives and relationships. But within seconds we pick up where we left off, the smiles and joy doesn't change. We remember the good times, talk about new ones, catch up, eat and enjoy. We rededicate ourselves to better communication. Maybe, this time, we'll succeed. Maybe not. People change. Fads come and go. The good friends remain there, waiting.

2. You Can Change the World
I walk past driveway after driveway filled with Priuses (Priusim?). I ride a comfortable public transit system for $1.40 a trip. I pass through an empty plaza where we rallied, and socialized, and planned our next moves. We danced there on Simchat Torah, gathered there on 9/11. This was a place, this is a place where we were ever cognizant of our ability to change the world - one person, one town at a time. That power doesn't go away. You only lose the ability if you convince yourself otherwise.

1. Don't Believe the Limiting Assumptions
I'll admit that this precise wording I learned in Brooklyn, from life's newest mentor, but the message is the same. Think big. Let your aspirations lift you. Others will rally around your own passion, your excitement, your dedication. I pass the building where we made magic happen - in a month we raised $100,000 and convinced a university to sponsor the visit of a head of state. Everyone said we couldn't do it. No one supported us. But we said screw them. We did it. The important one's believed in us. Other's followed along. It was a night to be remembered forever.

In a time of change, and new people and new institutions, when I take a look at my life and the people in it and what I'm doing and where I've been, it's so easy to forget the big lessons, the one's learned in what seems like a foreign life. But they're the most important ones to remember - the greatest hits, the memories that make life worth living.

They're so important. They're so inspiriing. Thank God for it all.

Your Fill of Chinese

Movie's are so 2006, so why not come to Jewltide tonight?

Go Forth

Last call to all you out there who like Jews, like learning, and like Jewish learning. It also helps if you live somewhere in the northeast.

Registration fee goes up soon. If you're a student or from the New York area, the weekend can be cheap as hell - you have NO excuse.

Check it out. I'll be there. Will you?

Found

Enough said...

It's Shabbat Shabbat Shabbat

For more thoughts about the Seventh Day, check out the URJ's Shabbat blog (question, is the Shabbat blog shomer Shabbat? I guess it's implicitly zocher Shabbat. But I digress...)

Today's post sends you to that one of a kind place called Brooklyn Jews, quoting yours truly.

Enjoy. Talk about it. Get the brain juices flowing. What do you think?

One Fine Day

Friday night, the chairs are full, the couch is crowded, standing room only. Atop the white tablecloth are foods of all kinds and flavors. My living room is filled with new faces and old friends, my peers and others older than me.

I stand near the door and start humming a niggun - something not too difficult, easy to pick up. Some others join in, a few tap the tables to a beat. One by one individuals parade past me, towards the sink, as I sing my tune - a theme song to hand-washing, it seems.

Did I get the blessing right? Which hand to I wash first? Hold this information page for me, will yah.

They ask so many questions because, for many of them, this is a first. First Shabbat dinner. First Shabbat. First time around so many Jews. First time making it real. For others, it's by now old habit - ritual, done over and over again.

This group is here to learn. A year ago, I knew none of them. One by one they trickled into my cadre, slowly they got to know each other. Since, they have built community. They have learned together and celebrated together.

Two pairs are since married, both expecting children. One converted. Another will convert soon. Another is writing an essay on what being Jewish will mean to her.

Some are learning about everything they were robbed of in their childhood - the rituals, the ideas, the meaning behind the acts. Others are here to be challenged. Some here to support the challenged.

But, all in all, they all came to my apartment Friday night. Together, we brought in Shabbat. Together we learned and ate and prayed and sang.

So many thousands of miles away, this same Shabbat, in the hometown, an important rabbi for a large group of Jews proposed that they, a group known for their inobservance, take back Shabbat once and for all.

This wasn't a new idea. Many rabbis, just as influential, have pushed the concept before.

I remember, one Yom Kippur, sitting in the vast emptiness of the San Diego Civic Center watching the day's services. The rabbi came forward to speak. Shabbat was his message.

At the climax of his speech, he stripped off his robe to show his shirt: "Shabbat, Just Do It." So we did it. But did his words have much effect on the community at-large?

Words are nice, and so are programs. This initiative gives me hope, and is, certainly, exciting. But organizations rarely change people, people do. And that individual one-on-one connection is hard, and slow, and takes dedication.

It takes leaders saying, I believe in this, and want to make it real - real for myself, real for others, real for the world. It takes sacrifice, and hard work - the work to say "I believe this so much that I'm willing to give up convenience and ease to make it happen." It takes standing up to the world and saying, "This may fly in the face of how things normally are, but I'm going to do it anyways. I'm going to stop working, and start learning, start resting, start stopping. Stop."

I get a call Saturday night from a handful of my students. They wish I were there, wish they could see me, learn with me. The fighter gets on the phone, "I don't get it," he says. "It's Shabbat, we were surrounded by 5,000 other Jews, but they took us to the Zoo!"

So there's still work to be done.

When the night wound down, and all the guests left my apartment, there were leftovers to still be eaten and a mighty mess to clean up. But already, it was time to think of the next time, the next Shabbat.

It's an endless struggle and a thankless job. It's hard work, for a great purpose.

Time to get moving.

Quote of the Day

“We seek your leadership,” he said referring to the United States. “But if for some reason you are not willing to lead, leave it to the rest of us. Please, get out of the way.”

-Kevin Conrad, delegate from Papua New Guinea to the international climate talks in Indonesia.

God Save Us