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"The core of reality is not being (which is an intellectual abstraction) but becoming, which is the key characteristic of all, including God. The universe is a welter of endless change, as we and all around us reach the present as the result of the choices we have made, the "choices" creation has made, and the God infused lure toward innovation, creativity, righteousness that is always inviting us toward goodness."
- Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson
Sitting in a room, in the most unlikely of places, I look up at the six people staring at me. They want answers, they want to understand, they seek perspective.
I give it all to them. An hour meeting. I've sweat through my undershirt. But I've also made sense of the questions. I've proven myself to an unsuspecting audience. I've taught and inspired and moved them all, with humility and respect and awe for the process.
The phone rings. I answer. They make me an offer.
This should be the culmination of months, no, years, of turmoil, pain and searching. This should be the moment when I breath a sigh of relief and smile. This should be when I feel free of the mess that was my own creating. This should be redemption.
And, in many ways, it is.
But redemption doesn't always feel like what you expected it to.
I hang up the phone. And while my head is telling me to smile, to shed tears of happiness, instead all I want to do is shed tears of pain. In place of excitement I feel exasperation, in place of happiness I feel hurt.
When Israel left Egypt, they were leaving behind bondage and idolatry. They had every reason to go. And yet, we are taught that not all of them did. Most, in fact, stayed behind. The pain of the known is easier than the uncertainty of the unknown. And even those who left experienced regret. They considered reversing their decision countless times. They longed for what was, even if it never was as good as they remembered.
In the Israelites' move to a better future, they still had to deal with the loss of leaving a past behind. Their redemption was not all timbrels and dancing.
And neither was mine.
I know that a better future awaits me. I know I have opened for myself the possibilities to better represent a true understanding of who I am and what I believe. I know that I am now being sought by powerful people and institutions which all believe in me.
That's humbling, and special, and nice.
But when I got that phone call Thursday night, and my heart ripped open in that moment of supposed-jubilation, I mourned the loss of the reality that was supposed to be.
Dreamers have trouble remembering to not mix-up reality and fantasy. And yet just this mistake is what led Joseph to become second in command to Pharaoh!
Egypt was supposed to be the land of plenty, the land of opportunity and growth and possibility. But it was not. And that reality may be clear as day, but the dream is hard to put to rest.
This is what redemption looks like. Happy from the outside and ostensibly positive, but still mixed with lots of pain and questioning and wrestling.
This is how it has to be. It makes perfect sense. As a good lyricist once wrote, "'Cause breaking up is hard to do." All the more so when you're breaking up with the dream of what your life was supposed to be.
Even if in its place you get a new dream, and a better one at that.
I've recently taken a liking to Keith Oberman's "Countdown" on MSNBC. He's quick, witty, and doesn't air trash on his newscast. He's committed to good journalism, and isn't afraid to calling out other journalists who don't do their job well.
Every night he has a segment called "Worst Person in the World," where he highlights idiotic and evil actions taken recently by public individuals. Most often appearing in this segment is Bill O'Reiley.
Last night, he took on Lou Dobbs and his attack against the ADL for its stance on immigration.
The segment speaks for itself.
In life, as we parade through the streets of interactions and experiences, sometimes we have a chance to say the things we mean, and sometimes we don't. We hold baggage, and push through life carrying it all the time.
And all this baggage, these worries, all this stuff, just gets in the way most of the time, keeping us from truly relating with those around us, rather than treating them as the objects that they can so easily become.
Last night I taught a little about relating. The culmination of a month-long tour of Jewish God-concepts and this night we talked Buber. We looked at the notion of the I-You relationship, and tried to understand it as a radically different way of understanding God.
Nearly all my students had read the book ahead of class - a rare blessing for an undeserving teacher. We discussed, and struggled and tried to explain. What is he teaching? What does it mean? God is the ultimate You? How do I understand that? I think it's stupid.
But sometimes even stupid theologies can teach us very smart lessons. You may not like Buber's God, but that very God can teach wonders about how you should treat other human beings.
I say this to my class, but they don't really get it. They can't get it. They have to witness it to believe.
The conversation evolves. The students begin to share where all this God-talk has left them. What are they thinking? Where are they?
The conversation evolves more, and the skeptic chimes in.
My problem is more than this. I mean, I see these Jews on the street, I pass them and they look at me, I mean they stare truly into my eyes, then, out of nowhere they say "Shalom," or they smile to me. But how do they know?
This sounds interesting. I want to know what she's getting at. Tell us more, I say.
I mean I guess I look at them, some of them doing their Jewish thing all the time, and, I'm not broadcasting it or anything, but they know I'm Jewish. I mean, really? What if I'm not good enough? I don't even know if I believe in God. I mean, I feel Jewish, in my heart, but I don't wear it on the outside. How do they know? What are they saying to me?
What are you really asking, I probe.
Am I Jewish?
Silence permeates the room. And there you have it. In a moment of deep trueness, one in which she opened her heart fully to her peers and her teacher, we all sigh and breath, and comfort her. Of course you are, I say.
A little over a month of learning together and now we've uncovered the motivation behind this move - a change in her life so profound yet subtle that it could go unnoticed. After a life of Jewish ignorance and uninvolvement, she enrolled in a class, and comes every week. She prepares, she thinks, she even brings friends.
She wants to believe. Not in God, per se. Not in commandments. No. She wants to believe that she is a Jew, just as much as anyone else - she wants confirmation, affirmation.
She is.
That was a moment of I-You. Our relationship in that moment transcended objectification. In that moment of realness, my lesson came to life before the class.
Afterwards, on my way home, I chuckled to myself. I laughed about teaching a theology that I don't believe and watching it transform the dynamic of my class.
I laughed in thanks - thanks to the God that my student does not yet know how to believe in, for giving us the ability to live in relationship with other humans. And thanks to Martin Buber, for coming up with a philosophy that is nearly impossible to understand unless one witnesses it in person.
Not quite life-provoking thoughts, but material for my love-needing blog nonetheless. Here, for your entertainment, is a list of the most Google search phrases that has led people to this page over the last few days. Enjoy.
limmud 2008
SHABBAT CARDS BIENNIAL
zach horvitz
cafit of sweet potato soup
hunkletown road kunkletown,pa
fighting building of industrial warehouse next to neighborhood
nachshon ben aminadav children lesson
tzimmes
"jewish girls" *&$&^ [editorial aside: REALLY!?]
NFTY hooking up
Well, I think I've had enough fun here. Good day.
I've run a dry spell this week in posting; too much going on, a nasty cough to overcome, too little time to write.
I know, lots of excuses.
In the meantime, how about this: 10 points to the first person to correctly identify the text, chapter and verse, serving as the background of my new banner image above.
Ready, set, go!
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