A Family Theme

This morning was the second “Shababa” at the religious school where I teach. It’s a new experiment this year, having “Shabbat school” one weekend every month or so instead of having school on Sunday. So far I’ve enjoyed them; they’re different, but unique and a pleasant experience for the teachers and students alike.

Today I had the honor of giving the d’var Torah, which in Hebrew means “words on the Torah.” It’s comparable to a sermon, except it’s not preaching, it’s teaching. See, Jews don’t proselytize–we perseverate. And with all our perseverative studying, it’s only natural to share it with others (studying the Torah is itself a commandment).

In any case, though short and sweet and written with a younger audience in mind, I thought I may as well share the drash here for anyone who may wish to read it.

What Makes a Ritual

There’s a strange phenomena that occurs when I go to Shabbat services: I get up early Saturday morning, I’m fully awake till halfway through the car ride, then my tiredness slowly begins to creep upon me until–right as I walk into the sanctuary–all my energy is gone and I feel like I could fall asleep right there. Ten minutes later, something miraculous happens–as if through osmosis, the energy of the environment, the sacred prowess of the place, the vibrancy of the life-borne prayers surrounding me, the Ner Tamid–the Eternal Light–hanging above the ark, begins to seep inside me until I’m fully alive with the intensity of the moment.

Then I get home and I need a nap. Go figure.

Something amusing also occurred today: Of the four Torah readers, I was the only one who wasn’t a rabbi. Go figure.

2.18 Rabbi Shimon taught:

Be careful when you recite the Sh’ma and the Amidah.

When reciting the Amidah do not make your prayer a prescribed routine but a plea for mercy and grace before God, as it is said, “For He is gracious and merciful, patient and abounding in love, taking pity on evildoers” (Joel 2:13).

Do not regard yourself as an evil person.

Cleavage

It’s not necessarily what you think it is.

2.13 He posed this question to his disciples:

Look about you and tell me, which is the way in life to which one should cleave?

Rabbi Eliezer said: a generous eye;
Rabbi Yehoshua said: a good colleague;
Rabbi Yose said: a good neighbor;
Rabbi Shimon said: foresight;
Rabbi Elazar said: a generous heart.

Said he to them:

I prefer the answer of Elazar ben Arakh, for his view includes all of yours.

I love reading the Hebrew when I can understand it, and since I’ve begun studying my modern Hebrew textbook again, I’m beginning to understand it a little bit better, too, which is always a good thing. Granted, most of the Pirkei Avot is written in Biblical Hebrew (or Aramaic on occasion, if I’m not mistaken), so there are bound to be slight differences in how I interpret these words, given a few centuries’ worth of language progression. It’s a slight fault, I’ll admit, but it makes it no less fun or educational, does it?

H is for Ḥaverim

These past four days I was attending the ISJL Education Conference, the ISJL being shorthand for the Institute of Southern Jewish Life, the organization that provides Hebrew school curriculum and other services to over sixty congregations in thirteen southern states. It was a gathering of at least a hundred, if not two hundred, Jews from more cities than I’d ever heard of and it was wonderful.

We had a fellow from the ISJL who visits every few months. It’s just part of the program, you could say. One thing she told me often is that I must, that I absolutely without a doubt had to meet the ISJL staff rabbi, one Rabbi Marshal Klaven. He was unlike any other rabbi I’d ever meet, she said, and I’d like him.

I did like him. And he really was unlike any other rabbi I’d ever met.

Obvious Facts and Obscure Facets

If I say I’m going to break the trend by not including an introduction, but this very statement precedes the teaching and therefore carries the trend along, is the trend still kept or broken? No matter, just some musings, carry on.

2.6 This was another teaching of his:

A boor cannot be reverent;
An ignoramus cannot be pious;
A shy person cannot learn;
An ill-tempered person cannot teach;
Not everyone engrossed in business learns wisdom;
Where there are no worthy persons, strive to be a worthy person.

Hillel fascinates me. His attention to detail, his slightly skewed lessons that take some genuine thought to come together, his peculiar yet poetic way of phrasing things. If I should ever be a rabbi, I should like to be one like him. I suppose even if I never am a rabbi, I still will be a writer and a teacher, and these qualities of his I most invest my admiration in can still be mine someday. No matter, just some musings, carry on.

As you read this, should you be reading this around the time WordPress mechanically posts it as programmed (for, you see, the magic of the internet allows me to write this on Wednesday and post it on Saturday), I will be in a van destined for Jackson, Mississippi, for the ISJL Annual Education Conference. The ISJL, more verbosely known as the Institute of Southern Jewish Learning, provides my synagogue’s congregational school with our curriculum and most of the teachers are going. Obviously, I will be among them, but I mention this otherwise invisible temporal deception for one key point: That three of the six lines (that’s a whopping fifty-percent!) of this teaching concern, well, teaching. I find it ironically appropriate. The perfect lesson to learn before attending the conference.

I’m stoked.

If Students Be the Food of Life, Lead On

Two down and one to go. My in-depth analysis of my college grading rubric is coming to a written close, and yet is still just blossoming into something more tangible and usable than written thoughts alone.

On Wednesday I discussed the features of a college’s basic profile–their location, their expenses, school colors, and a few other points. Yesterday I spoke about academics, math and Judaica, foreign languages and politics, as well as some things like student/faculty ratios and accelerated programs, and I got some great feedback, too.

Today, I’m talking about life. Student life in particular.

Building Utopias in Five Easy Steps

It’s curious. This morning I went to a B’not Mitzvah for two girls who I helped teach in the fourth grade when I was their madrich. When I got to the synagogue, I ran into our director of adult education. She asked me if I was finished for the summer yet, so I told her I had been since the middle of May and was now researching colleges. She asked what I was studying and I told her math. Then she asked if I knew someone, and I didn’t, but I recognized his name as someone my sister had had confirmation with years ago. He went to U of M and has since gotten his doctorate in math.

Funny things, these connections we make.

After the wonderful service, I ended up sitting at a table during our luncheon with people I hadn’t known. So since mingling is not my strong suit (and for no reason, at the time), I introduced myself. The first couple wasn’t Jewish, but they were neighbors of one my students. I like to think my hospitality made a favorable impression, not to mention they were good conversation nonetheless: He was a photographer and had done Bar Mitzvot up in Raleigh at Beth Meyer. Did I mention NCSU is one of my top choices? Did I mention it’s in Raleigh?

The second couple was engaged in conversation with the others, on the far side of the table with whom I had not easily introduced myself (distance solely our only separator). I overheard them saying their children had attended Elon and Chapel Hill (you can only guess where I’m going with this) and I inquired further, to lovely responses.

How curious indeed. Here I am, looking intently at colleges, and I stumble into not one, not two, but three relevant conversations when I had expected none! It’s almost as if it were all preparing me for today’s teaching. And, by the way, did I mention I love Hillel?

G is for Gophers

G is also for gays, great, goodness, good-will, and God, but as we all probably know, all of those are–can you guess it?–givens. (Did you see what I did there?) I could easily speak of all of these, and I’ve especially already spoken of the first and perhaps the second and third as well, and good-will is easily covered and God is a topic always burning with new ground to cover (better question: did you see what I did there?), but today, I’d rather speak of something more important and more pertinent than any one of those: Gophers.

A bit of background is in order, and the beginning of background comes in the form of frogs, which is not a g-word unless there’s only one and it’s hopping backward, at which point you can call it a gorf. In any case, I happily admit that I knit, and in the knitting community, the technical term for unraveling a knitted piece of fabric is called “frogging,” because you “rip it, rip it.” (True story: That incredibly punny pun is not of my own crafting, no pun intended.)

There’s a few other animals that also need some mentioning here: There’s wolves when we choke down dinner, there’s bears when we have things to carry, and there’s always donkeys when we do thing half-assed (don’t disagree with me, I’m positive that’s where the term comes from, and since the human body is electrically neutral, you can be sure that that means I’m certain).

We deal with many other animals on a daily basis as well, although unfortunately we don’t usually wish to remember them: We all have a sad tendency of being involved with too many pigs, snakes, and female dogs, don’t we, even when we wish to leave the petting zoo and come home at last, not to mention the occasional chicken, rat, or cougar that we cross paths with. It happens. We’re only human.

But there’s one more animal often neglected, and it’s this animal that I’ll be speaking of today.

Sanctity and Solace

Maybe it’s just me.

But one thing that irks me to no end is going to religious services and instead of being welcomed into a calm air of heartfelt love and prayer, being immersed in an ocean of chatter and discourse. True: Community is integral to any religious congregation, but isn’t the point of attending any kind of service to find religious fulfillment, not gossip and how-are-you’s?

The point being, when our rabbi gently whispers into the microphone, “Shh…”, people listen, and soon take their seats, and soon thereafter such an atmosphere of selfless love is fostered and culminates in the utterance of what I’m most thankful for tonight.

Self, Society, Seconds?

1.14     This was another favorite teaching of his:

If I am not for me, who will be?
If I am for myself alone, what am I?
And if not now, when?

This third teaching of Hillel’s is perhaps not only his most famous, but also the most well-known of all the teachings—and I’ve seen it (often without due credit) everywhere from billboards to potato chip commercials. “If not now, when?” Later, obviously, since I’ll talk about each line in turn, as I have with most of the teachings before, and likely will for most teachings hence forth.

The first line here—“If I am not for me, who will be?”—seems as successful a lesson in selfishness as we can muster with such poignant elegance. The Hebrew itself is a hundredfold more stunning, however, in its simplicity and its lyrical quality: “Eem ain ani lee, mi lee?”

But certainly, the same man who taught us to be disciples of Aaron, who said not to seek fame but to study throughout life, could not be telling us now to be selfish, could he?