Making a Tallis

I have started a very large sew ing project: making a tallis, or Jewish prayer shawl.

This tallis is going to be six feet by 21 inches. I must hem it, sew on the stripes and the neck band, and whip stitch holes for the ritual fringes, the tzitziot (singular tzitzit). I bought white fabric with a whiter floral pattern for the body, off-white ribbon for the stripes, and purple floral for the neckband. I want to try to sew it all by hand; the best part about having matching thread is that no one can see your stitches! I'm excited.

Also, please join me in praying for Abby Riggs. Abby is three years old and fighting leukemia. Learn more at www.riggsfamilyblog.com

New Worlds

I had two amazing visions this Shabbat. They are too personal to post here so soon, but I will tell what I've noticed so far. Some of what I noticed, I was able to notice because of two books I've been reading: Lawrence Kushner's River of Light and Abraham Joshua Heschel's Quest for God.

My visions all seem to start with a handle or something to pull. If I don't pull the handle, the vision cannot continue.

If I could only forget, then I could remember and know--oh, everything!

When we leave this world, there is nowhere to go but God, for God is all.

Also, I was feeling slightly manic last night. I had been trying not to have a vision because I didn't want to mess up my mental health. But I couldn't keep it down any longer, so I went and had a vision, and after it was over I felt calmer, saner, healthier!

It's Almost Shabbat!

In two and a half hours, we will begin Shabbat! I love Shabbat! 25 hours of freedom and peace!

No business is allowed.
No writing is allowed.
No craft projects are allowed.
No cooking is allowed.
No lighting fire is allowed.
No cutting or tearing is allowed.

I also do not use electricity. Orthodox Judaism has ruled that for Shabbat purposes electricity is fire. I am not Orthodox and I do not believe that electricity is fire, but I have noticed that refraining from using it makes my day a lot more peaceful.

It's a whole day during which we are not allowed to do anything but read, sleep, and bond with our loved ones. What more could a person want in this world?

In God's Hands, Of Course

About a month ago I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, but I didn't start seriously questioning God until a week or so later, when the full reality kicked in. At that point, I removed my kippah and tzitziot (ritual hat and fringes, both traditionally worn only by guys) and stopped blessing my food before I ate it. I still said the prayer after using the bathroom--old habits die hard--and I continued observing Shabbat and keeping kosher, because I didn't want to shut off my way back. But the joy was gone.

Two weeks or so after that, I absorbed another blow when I learned that the medication that could quite literally save my life renders my bone marrow useless for saving other lives. MAny of my deepest held religious beliefs were shaken to the core. If I had dreamed of drinking alcohol (which I also cannot do on this medication), partying all night (bipolar people should not stay up late), or globe trotting, I could argue that God didn't want me to have those things because they were not in my longterm best interests. But all I wanted was to be God's hands in the world and save lives! Why would God make it impossible for me to do that?

I have walked around and around this issue, examining it from all viewpoints. I still do not have an answer, unless it is to teach me that life is not in my control. But the God I claim to serve (neither know nor love, for we cannot know God and we cannot love what we do not know) does not teach that vindictively. Neither do I think I sinned enough to deserve bipolar disorder as a punishment.

I am back to worshipping God now, simply because I missed religion too much. Yes, my religious behavior is entirely selfish, and I am not ashamed to admit that, because truly I think everyone's is. I have no answers, but I will close with a Hebrew phrase, "Gam zu l'tovah." This roughly translates to, "This, too, is for the best."

Or more colloquially, to quote Steven Curtis Chapman, "God is God, and I am not."

This Stands Out

I know that I have a fairly unusual relatoinship with my God. It is not a relationship without a long-standing Jewish tradition behind it; Judaism is all about bringing God into our everyday lives through the practice of mitzvot, and that is what I do. Still, I know that for most people, seeing God and talking to God and feeling God touching their faces remains a pipe dream.

Many friends of mine--not all, but many--know about my relationship with my God. People have questions; I don't mind answering them. Most people are respectful of my beliefs, even if they disagree with me, and I have had many interesting, soul-searching conversations.

Last night, however, I had a conversation that may forever stand out in my mind.

I was sitting on a bench in the school's Gardens of Israel with a sophomore friend whom I will call "Leeann". I have been trying to catch up with all my friends before I leave, and "Leeann" and I hadn't really talked since we got back to school. We were talking about my Jewish commitment (she doesn't believe in God and is fairly skeptical of my experiences), and she asked if I would ever consider moving to Israel. That is a complicated question for me; I told her the truth, that I hadn't really before this summer, but then God came and told me that I should go this Fall, should spend a year there after college, and that maybe that wouldn't be the end of it.

I went on to explain that I go where God tells me to, that God led me to my current school and hadn't yet told me where to go next, but that was OK because I didn't need to know yet. I continued, telling her that God tends to put me somewhere and step back, and no matter how much I cry out to God, my God stays...not hidden, just inactive. I told "Leeann" that to the best of my knowledge, my God stays inactive because She knows I do a darn good job on my own, that ultimately I must figure out my own life and take care of myself, and besides, She likes to be impressed by me.

Finally, "Leeann" looked at me in shock and said, "So you're just following God. What about you?"

I didn't really answer the question. I gave a couple of qualifications: anything I think God tells me is my human interpretation, so I don't think I'll ever "hear" God telling me to do something I don't want to do; if I really didn't want to do what God told me to do, then I wouldn't; etc. But in truth, there is more to it than that. My soul is part of God; I only feel complete when I leave this world to join with that greater God. Therefore, where God tells me to go is by definition what I want for myself.

Yes, "Leeann", yes. I am "just" following God, and in the process I am finding myself.

Funny

[Informational Sidenote: The shofar is a hollowed-out ram's horn, blown every morning in services from the beginning of the Hebrew month of Elul through Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, at the beginning of the Hebrew month of Tishrei. It works a bit like a cross between a brass instrument and a woodwind, but not really.Some people can blow it; I am not one of them.]



I had just finished leading our school community in morning Shacharit. Feeling pretty confident, I picked up the shofar and turned to face the congregation. "Is there anybody who wants to blow the shofar?" (Silence.) "Can anybody in here blow the shofar?" (More silence.) "All right," I said, "Wish me luck."



I pursed my lips, picked up the shofar, and blew. The shofar made a noise similar to that of a wheezing frog. I tried again, and made the same sound. I gave it two more tries as everyone stood solemnly, trying not to laugh.



Finally, the teacher supervising said, "I heard it."



I responded, "So did I. I move we go to class before I explode." And then everybody laughed.



I can do lots of different things in the synagogue. I can lead morning services for weekdays, Shabbat, and Holidays. I can lead Kabbalat Shabbat and Friday night evening services. I can lead the Torah service for weekdays and Shabbat. I know how to read Torah, and I can gabbai. But I cannot blow the shofar.

A Very Loaded Question

I have gotten very into reading philosophy to teach my mind what my soul already knows so that I can know that I know it, and I am currently reading a book by Neil Gillman entitled "The Way Into Encountering God in Judaism." The book is so profound that my reading is by necessity very sporadic: sometimes I'll read ten pages of stuff I can easily digest, and other times I'll hit something that I need to chew over for days. The Very Loaded Question is in the second category.

And here it is:

The following three statements are individually accepted almost all the time by almost all Jews.

1. God is righteous.
2. God is omnipotent.
3. The victim sof the Holocaust (or you can replace this with Cancer patients, which changes the entire tone of the question) were blameless.

The three statements simply cannot all exist together. Which one do you drop?

Comments Welcome!