There’s A Story…
There wasn’t anything especially outstanding about the meal. We were in a kid-friendly establishment and the kids weren’t behaving in any ways that would have garnered attention.
And yet…
The people at the adjacent table kept peering over at us. Trying, but failing, not to be obvious.
What could be of such interest? Then it hit me.
“You know, we’re not one family,” I tossed over my shoulder.
“Ah…”
“It’s just that our spouses weren’t able to join us for dinner tonight,” I continued.
In explaining the exchange to the kids, SuperMom’s Other Half (SMOH) said, “sort-of like The Brady Bunch.” Except, sadly, the cultural reference was completely lost on its intended audience; not one of our kids has ever seen The Brady Bunch.
Unlike me. Watching The Brady Bunch after school was a daily activity for many years. Thanks to syndication, it aired a few times each afternoon. And at some strange times… (Anyone else recall 4:05pm start times on SuperStation WTBS?)
We loved that show, my friends and I. We would even go so far as to tape [Audio-tape, that is.] episodes so that we could play it back over-and-over again in order to memorize the dialogue and act out episodes.
I’m not sure what we found so compelling about the show. Not one of my friends was a part of a blended family. And I was the only one of my close circle of friends who came from a large family. Maybe it the plethora of story-lines that were clearly written from the perspective of kids. Kids dealing with normative, run-of-the-mill problems such as getting glasses, dating, sibling rivalry, etc. The writers took conflicts to which we could relate, armed the characters with some great dialogue, threw in a few visual gags, and you’ve got a hit. Add an occasional family trip (Grand Canyon, Hawai’i, Kings Island Amusement Park in OH) and presto! The perfect recipe for a classic sit-com.
I do not know when was the last time I caught an episode. But a recent scroll through a list of all five seasons’ worth of episodes makes it seem as though it could not be as long ago as I know that it was. While I don’t love every single episode, each one recalls certain memories from my girlhood. And though no one could argue that it was the best-written or best-acted show of all time, it will remain a treasured part of long ago days.
Take a second look at the picture. Do we even seem like one, big, happy family? Seriously. Would the adults in this shot look so happy and relaxed?
[For the record, I suppressed my yetzer ha-ra and refrained from telling the nosy folks at the next table that we were actually on a date…with our combined gaggle of seven children.]
Remembe(RED) is a memoir meme. This week’s prompt was to think about tv show from our past. What feelings does the show evoke? What memories does it trigger? And with our usual limit of 600 words. How timely that one of my all-time favourite shows, The Brady Brunch, was referenced just the other night at dinner. As always, constructive criticism is welcomed!
Haveil Havalim #320 — Summertime edition
Photo Credit: Veer Images
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Two factors have affected this week’s edition of HH:
- There has not been an edition since To Kiss A Mezuzzah hosted it three weeks ago.
- Blog Carnival sent me not a single submission. So many, many thanks to Jack for going back into the system and digging out what he was able to uncover.
and
Aside from the “no more than 3 post” policy, any omissions are completely my fault and my fault alone. My sincerest apologies.
And with that…
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Torah
Jew in the City reminds us that someone is always watching in Anthony Weiner’s Resignation and the Lesson We All Should Learn.
Speaking of the abuse of power, The Rebbetzin’s Husband examines this (sadly) ongoing issue in The Corruption of the Rabbinate.
In-Law problems? Not a new phenomenon, according to The Rebbetzin’s Husband in In-Laws: The Out-Laws of the Torah?
Lessons of caveat emptor by Parshablog in The Inventor of the Segulah Ring, Reb Yoel Baal Shem Tov and The Chasam Sofer’s position that the Zohar is a forgery.
And if you’ve been wondering whether or not Rashi sinned in his opening statement of Parashat Korach, Parshablog can help you with that too.
While we are on the topic, Rabbi Leigh Ann Kopans does double-time as this week’s D’var Torah with her contribution to the Jewish Fail Awards – Korach.
What is our purpose? According to A Chassidishe farbrengen, The Jew’s mission [is] Refining the sparks. And what of physical desires? A Chassidishe farbrengen outlines The true purpose of thirst and hunger.
Israel
In A Night at the Movies, Isramom introduces us to the award-winning film, Footnote.
Now here is a novel idea! Political team-building at a resort over Shabbos. Israelity gives the details in A government getaway in Safed.
Over at Shiloh Musings, Batya ponders whether Obama’s Pushing the Arabs to More Extreme Anti-Israel Positions and shares her thoughts on As the American Presidential Election Campaign Heats Up…. She also gives some geographical perspective in 70 Kilometers From the Israeli Border.
An upcoming Conference on Israeli Sovereignty in Judea & Samaria is the focus on this post by conference coordinator, Yoel Metzer.
Esser Agaroth takes a look at Protesting the Reprehensible Occupation and shares a recent encounter with a Sneaky, Sneaky, Christian Missionary! and ponders What To Do About Them.
The Torah Revolution has something to say about The Anti-Jewish State.
Over at Shiloh Musings. Shifra recreates for us a touching experience in Planting Stones: Our Nitzan Synagogue Cornerstone Ceremony.
Some lovely snapshots of Dimona by Cosmic X in Jerusalem. And Robin, from Around the Island, shares photos from 1st Grade Graduation.
The Exiled Warrior, exiled no longer, lets us in on his very personal Transformative Zionism. (Ruti writes, “This first-year aliyah assessment was written by my son, who at 21 will go into the IDF on July 3. Sometimes, it takes a lot longer before parents know for sure that they have been successful. Please share my nachas, and my prayer that all of our idealistic young soldiers live long, healthy, happy lives, with great stories to tell their grandchildren.” To which we add, keyn y’hi ratzon.)
Even when the dream to come Home is strong, life in Israel can take a little getting used to, as Bat Aliyah describes in Milk in Bags and Other Consumer Behaviors for Olim.
As always, we can count on Joel Katz to provide us with comprehensive coverage of issues of Religion and State in Israel (here & here and here & here.)
Judaism
So one of the things I most enjoy about The Rebbetzin’s Husband is his ability to find a Jewish teaching that is applicable to any situation. Is Re-Routing Causing the Spread of Anxiety and Depression? and Wow, Does That Feel Good. Thank You, Dirk Nowitzki! are just two recent examples.
An eclectic post about life as he sees it, including humor, poetry, and insight, NY’s Funniest Rabbi takes a serious turn in “Du du du du du du, it’s just another day.”
Life is full of ups and downs, as Rabbi Marci Bellows points out in Sunrise, Sunset: A Weekend in the Life of a Rabbi.
What in tarnation is going on at Yale University? Jewish Ideas Daily sheds some light in Anti-Semitism and Man at Yale.
Liberty’s Spirit weighs in on Elite Westchester County Community Welcomed Defender of Fogel Massacre to their High School.
Is there or isn’t there? Rabbi Josh Yuter, at Yutopia, debunks the most common and harmful myths of the so-called “Shidduch crisis” in Orthodox Judaism in The Myths and Realities of the “Shidduch Crisis.”
Curious about the Aleph Kallah? Velveteen Rabbi describes it with such clarity that one can imagine being at One Amazing Day at the ALEPH Kallah.
There is a difference between praying and being the one responsible for leading others in prayer, as Susan, over at To Kiss A Mezuzah, explains in Leading My First Shiva Minyan.
A Walker in Jerusalem asks Do Judaism and New Urbanism have anything to say to each other?
“Half-Shabbos” has gone viral. Hadassah, over at In the Pink, asks her son about texting on Shabbat. Rabbi Leigh Ann Kopans offers a distanced response to the “Half-Shabbos” uproar from a Hillel rabbi’s perspective in Going Half-sies. Melissa, from Redefining Rebbetzin, has this to say in Half-Shabbos, Half-Hearted. And Rabbi Gerald Skolnik responds with The Answer to ‘Half Shabbos’ is Whole Judaism.
Shabbat: Coming to you 52 times a year. And 11 Kid-Friendly Shabbat Ideas coming to you from the Minnesota Mamaleh.
We bless our sons in the names of Ephraim and Manasseh, but many of us never stop to think about who they were or why we’d want our sons to be like them. Over at JewishBoston.com, David Levy gives it some thought in Fathers and Sons: A Special Blessing. Speaking of blessing our children, Amy, over at Homeshuling, talks about her experience in Bless your children well….
Ooo…ooo…a new book from Amy Meltzer (of A Mezuzzah on the Door fame) called The Shabbat Princess. Bonus: Amy will visit any Jewish camps within a two hour drive from her home. Read the post for more details AND to see the book trailer!!!!!
Ah…JewCamp. Who doesn’t love it? The Ima has written A Mama’s Prayer for Summer Camp that is touchingly humourous. (Oh, and check out what she actually wrote and sent in A Letter I Sent My Son at Camp.) Rabbi Elizabeth Wood, at Sects and the City, lets us in on Summer Camp: Memories of a Lifetime. Over at Or Am I, Rabbi Paul Kipnes tells of the Joy, Freedom and Blessing in Abundance at Camp Newman. And Marjorie Ingall explains why she is sending her daughter to a Zionist summer camp.
For obvious reasons, this post, over at TCJewFolk.com, caught my attention: Rabbis Don’t Do Laundry.
And a public service announcement from On the Fringe.
Kashrut/Food
Looking for a yummy treat on a hot summer day? Isreview takes a look at Goats Milk Gelato “The Smooth Side.”
In the mood for schnitzel, but short on time? Check out Tivoll’s and OfTov’s Toaster Schnitzel over at Isreview before hitting your makolet.
History
As my teacher, Dr. Martin A. Cohen constantly reminded us, history is written by the winners. Or, in this case, history is photographed (an manipulated) by the winners, as seen in Red Army Flag over Reichstag (via Best Hoaxes and Pranks).
Over at Marc’s Words, learn about The Ship that marked the birth of a unified nation.
Humour
Check out the Inaugural edition of the Weekly Jewish Fail Awards over at (H2H) Hollywood to Holy Land.
They drove slowly through town, in search of a place to buy a soda, when suddenly Judy caught sight of a dusty sign reading, “Jake’s Bibles & Hebrew Collectibles. A tallit katan…in Wolf Point, Montana? Not what she was expecting to find on a recent roadtrip. (Kippah-tip goes to Ben’s Tallit Shop)
Culture
Wondering how to say “What time is our meeting?” in Hebrew? Curious to learn Hebrew tongue twisters? Thanks to Good News from Israel, you can now Learn Hebrew Phrases on Facebook. Also available, Hebrew phrases concerning Medical Help and Pharmacy. Jacob also has some stunning Photos and Video of the Jerusalem Festival of Light and the Lunar Eclipse for us to enjoy.
Over at Israelity, we get a preview of what looks to be a wonderful doll exhibit at the Eretz Israel Museum (in Tel Aviv) in Nostalgia Sunday: Dolls on Display. (I played with my dolls too…) Also to be found is Painting a portrait of a school in Jerusalem.
Personal
The Mystery Woman desires a life with no regrets in If Only and shares love and loss in Moonlight.
Happy Hair-aversary to one of the two Redefining Rebbetzins!
We Jewish professionals talk often about the Jewish journey. The Edible Torah reflects on this notion in jewish journeys: imperceptible motion, monumental movement.
JaneTheWriter writes about taking her future into her own hands in a Fair Weather Friend? Brave, brave Jane — you are in our prayers.
Finally, a chapter in my life comes to a bittersweet end as I bid farewell to my beloved shul. Read about it here and here.
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And that concludes this week’s edition of Haveil Havalim. I hope that you enjoy reading these posts as much as I did!
Next week will be hosted by Esser Agaroth. You can participate in the next edition of HH by using our carnival submission form. Past posts and future hosts can be found on our blog carnival index page.
Correspondence
Photo courtesy of Microsoft Office
I love the mailman. I love the mailman because he is the one who holds all the potential of mail in his mailsack.
I don’t know when this obsession with mail began, but I do recall listening for the squeak of the rusty hinges on the old mailbox at my childhood home as a young girl. And watching for him from my bedroom window.
Six days a week is ripe with the possibility of a letter. Or a catalogue. Or a magazine. Reading material of some sort. No matter where I have worked, my co-workers are aware of my delight when the post was delivered.
And yes, even in this age of email, Twitter, and texting, there is nothing like the handwritten letter.
Shocked? Don’t be. For all my embracing of social media, the personality of the author is lost in correspondence when committed to screen in Times New Roman. Every letter looks the same. The content, of course, differs. But one printed email looks like any other. And in that sameness, we are that much more removed from the identity of the letter writer.
Whether away at camp or at college, simply seeing my name and address on the front of the envelope made me smile as I recognized the penmanship. My mother’s small, perfect script. My father’s barely-legible scrawl. My grandmother’s elegant hand. My grandfather’s artistic flair.
In my garage, awaiting The Big Move, sit boxes that contain precious letters, cards, and notes. Physical mementos from loved ones, now gone. I am longing for the day when the kitchen is unpacked, closets organized, and kids are settled. For it is when that time comes that I will be afforded the time to reread those letters. To hold the same pages that soaked in the ink and touched the hands of those who penned them. What will I find in those boxes? Stories long forgotten? Words of encouragement? Or disappointment? Expressions of love? And will the passage of time shed light on old misunderstandings? Weaken resentments? Heal wounds?
What awaits me in those boxes, I do not know. But I am curious. Oh, so curious…
Red Writing Hood is a writing meme. This week’s prompt asked us to talk about finding a forgotten letter or card from someone important in your life–whether good or bad. What does it say? How does it affect you or your character? What is done with it? It is a premature prompt as all of my letters are packed up and waiting for the moving vans. As always, constructive criticism is appreciated.
Definition of a Friend
On hold with American Airlines, I frantically text the Ima, “can I crash at your place tonight?” I needed to get to PA by Tuesday morning, but a series of unfortunate events prevented me from making my connection on Monday afternoon.
My mobile rang. It was the Ima. “Of course.”
The American Airlines representative was back on the line.
“Can you get me to Chicago today?” I inquired, “Because if you can get me to Chicago today, I can fly out first thing in the morning.”
So it was that the Ima drove a half hour to get me, gave me a comfy place to rest my keppe, and had Abba Sababa drive me back to the airport a mere seven hours later.
And there were baked goods awaiting me upon arrival.
Oh, Sweet Elixir
For six years, I ate the same thing for lunch: one peanut butter and jam sandwich, a baggie of chips, and three Hydrox cookies. And for the price of a dime, a half-pint carton of milk. Packed in the requisite metal lunchbox. (Favourite? Charlie’s Angels.)
Note: not jelly, but jam.
There is a hierarchy where spreadable fruit is concerned. Far-and-away, it is preserves that best preserves the integrity of the fruit while managing to be spreadable as well. Next is jam. While not as fruitful as preserves, jam still retains a goodly portion of fruit. Jelly? Well, good as a last resort. Too jiggley and wiggly for my palate. Doesn’t spread well and barely resembles anything with any nutritional value.
Alas — my favourite flavour is grape…and grape is not available as a preserve.
Anyway, I ate my P and J sandwiches, and aformentioned accoutrement, each and every day (sans a field trip) simply because it never occurred to me to ask for anything different.
Different rules for field trip days. Lunch boxes weren’t permitted on field trips. Most likely because the teachers had enough trouble keeping track of their charges. To be responsibile for lunch boxes on top of that was asking too much. DadGiraffe had a supply of brown paper bags, kept on top of the refrigerator, for just such occasions.
Away from school grounds, buying milk was not an option. And though a tinfoil-encased can of soda was offered as a special treat on field trip days, the year one thousand, nine hundred, eighty-one saw the release of self-contained elixir known as Capri-Sun.
Capri Sun was an amazing product. Made from juice concentrate, the 6.75 silvery pouch was, in my mind, a miracle of physics; trapezoidal when full, yet rectangular when flat. With a flared bottom, this amazing container was able stand upright when placed on a horizontal surface. AND…it came with a straw.
I had never seen anything like it.
With a price point that far exceeded the ten cent milk that we kids consumed four days a week, Capri Sun was not destined to be a daily drink. [Early release on Thursdays meant lunch at home.] It was, however, perfectly priced to be an occasional offering.
Like on field trip days.
Remembe(RED) is a memoir meme. This week’s prompt was about a memorable school trip. In order to keep it tightly written, a limit of 600 words. Despite some amazing choir tours and field trips to Disneyland and other places, the first thing that came to mind was the silver pouch. As always, constructive criticism is welcomed!
Transitions
Photo courtesy iStockphoto
That’s it. No more. I think I’ll read a Chelm story. (Not this Chelm. THIS Chelm.)
Ideas flitted about my head, but avoidance is a powerful force. Suddenly it was Thursday and I truly thought about writing something on Thursday. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It felt as though the tear in my heart would suddenly burst open, unable to stem the emotional flow any longer.
I think I’ll read a Chelm story, I told BossGiraffe on Friday morning.
Um…you know, I’m going to be speaking, he countered.
So Friday afternoon, I sat and forced myself to write what was to be my final d’var Torah. I turned to text. I turned to it because, for me, that is my natural starting point. And because I have often found it soothing to play hide-and-seek in the spaces between the letters.
Here. I tossed it on BossGiraffe’s desk. If it’s no good, I’m reading a Chelm story.
“Well…I like the ending.” (Which is the equivalent of saying, “Well…she has a great personality.”)
BossGiraffe offered some wise counsel.
Ten minutes. Ten minutes is all I need…
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Several times in the book of Deuteronomy, the text indicates that Joshua will be succeeding Moses as the leader of the People Israel. Though God has made the line of succession known to Moses and Joshua in chapters 1 and 3, the news is not made immediately public. It is only near the end of Moses’ life, in chapter 31, that Moses names Joshua, son of Nun, as the one who will “go with this people into the land that the Eternal swore to their fathers…” With the endorsement of Joshua by their beloved leader, the people readily accepted him as they moved forward on their journey towards the Promised Land.
Transitions, by their very nature, are fraught with unease, mistrust, and anxiety. We humans dislike change and are wary of new situations and new people. But future success of a new leader, as our text points out, is heavily influenced by the way in which the individual who previously occupied a position handles the period of transition.
Many chapters before the announcement that Joshua would succeed him, Moses positioned the younger man as his assistant in several settings, the most recent being in the parasha of last Shabbat, when Joshua was one of the twelve scouts sent to report back on the Promised Land. By the time that he assumed leadership and seeing that Moses had placed his trust in Joshua, the people willingly followed him to claim the land.
Many of you have already had the opportunity to meet our new Cantorial soloist, Plonit bat Plonit. What you may not realize is that I was intimately involved in her selection. And as painful as it is for me to leave, it was a pleasure to take part in the process. For you see, I have a vested interest in this place. It has been my spiritual home for all of its thirty-five years of existence. Who I am as a Jew is due in large measure to the values, practices, and rituals I learned here. I met my husband here. Like my siblings and me, our children have received the entirety of their religious education here. I have worked hard to help our shul flourish and I do not want my efforts to be for naught.
Plonit and I have spent many, many hours together in advance of her assuming her new position. I have shared our traditions, our customs, our eccentric practices. What things ought to remain and areas where change will be most welcome. But she is not me and, ultimately, will make the role her own. Plonit has a stunning voice and a good heart. You will be served well by her.
With every beginning, there is an ending. Chazak v’amatz – Be strong and of good courage. And may the Holy One continue to bless the works of your hands.
Keyn y’hi ratzon — May this be God’s Will.
Closure
Courtesy of Microsoft Office
I was really dreading it. I hardly slept on Thursday night, in fact.
I think it’s is because I feared a repeat of the last time that I left a synagogue. That parting was especially painful because it wasn’t acknowledged in any official way. My final Shabbat service was…like any other Shabbat. Except that the following week, someone else would be in my place. No parting gift from the board. The senior rabbi was unable to muster a single word about my six years with the congregation. The experience was saved by the love and generosity of two friends from that synagogue who made a presentation that evening. And that was that.
This past Shabbat was completely different. In every way.
The sanctuary was overflowing. Nearly every past president of the congregation was present Friday night (and they were all represented at my brunch a fortnight ago). A cross-section of our entire shul community sat in the pews. Singing. And praying. Laughing. And crying.
A great deal of time went into crafting the flow of the service, selecting pieces of music that best expressed my joy of leading this shul — my home congregation — over the past five years. I also chose pieces that my musical partner-in-crime, our incredible accompanist, plays with particular artistry. Though I haven’t spoken much of it, the loss of her constant presence in my life will be great.
I was keenly aware of that inevitable absence as I listened, trying desperately to commit each note to memory. Holding each precious phrasing within my soul. I dread saying goodbye to her. We put it off until the next morning…
I spoke. BossGiraffe spoke. We stepped before the open Ark for a blessing. (Flashbacks of my Bat Mitzvah service…which took place on this very bimah…)
And then, suddenly, the service was over. A beautiful oneg Shabbat, filled with farewells, hugs, tears, and laughter.
Neither Life Nor Death
Photo courtesy of Fotolia
A curly-haired 4-year-old. Wandering from stall to stall, eyes frantically searching for his mother. “Ima, Ima, where are you?” His pleas grew fiercer and fiercer. She could hear him over the din of the market. “Stay right there, b’ni (my son). Ima is coming.” Hurriedly, clumsily, she moved towards the voice. “Ima, Ima…”
Giladi. It was the same dream she had been having for one thousand, eight hundred, twenty-three nights. And it always ended the same way; waking up without her boy. Without her Gilad. In the dream, or in reality.
There is no handbook for parents of captives. No guidance for living… No! Not living. But existing in this vapid netherworld between life and death.
Life has, to some extent, continued. Five years, after all, is a long time for the young. Gilad was barely a man when he was stolen. She wondered what he looks like now that he has passed into adulthood. Yoel graduated university today. And Hadas, now a woman, was still in her girlhood when this nightmare began. Gilad had missed it all.
She has said little, these past many months. What is there to say? That part of her dies with every passing day? That few mothers have had to suffer this limbo without being afforded any assurance that her son still lives? That giving in to her worst fears is tantamount to giving up hope?
But as awful as her sleep has been, she is dreading tomorrow. Like a yahrtzeit, the anniversary of the death of a loved one, but without the closure. There is no word for the anniversary of captivity. There should be, she thinks. Five years is surely long enough to create one.
Red Writing Hood is a writing meme. This week, we were asked to write flash fiction – 300 words maximum – inspired by the word “Life.” With tomorrow marking the 5th anniversary of the abduction of Israeli soldier, Gilad Shalit, I explore what might be going through his mother’s mind as she faces waking again to a living nightmare. As always, constructive criticism is appreciated.
In Her Name
Public Domain Images
It has her name written on it. Poppyseed Frummie. A letter. From a friend.
I knew that it was coming. The friend’s mother had asked for our address. How delighted Poppyseed will be to discover a letter, addressed to her, sitting on her desk in the morning.
It isn’t as though she has never received any mail. Birthday cards. Letters from Bubbe and Zayde and the tantes when she’s been away at camp.
But this is different.
I am curious. I would never read a piece of mail addressed to someone else. Heck, I don’t even open things addressed to PC.
But I am curious.
And sad. Because this is just one of the many infinitesimal steps along the path between dependence and separation.
Nearly every day since she was born, Poppyseed has been pulling away from me. In fits-and-starts. Imperceptible changes that are necessary for development.
And that slowly breaks my heart.
Just Like Last Time?
Photo courtesy of Fotolia
It’s not a performance.
Just keep going; no one is perfect.
The number of times I have offered one of these platitudes to a student must surely number in the thousands. Which is why, when telling them to myself, I found them empty. Unsatisfying. Mocking, even.
Don’t let one bad chanting get you down.
It’s in the past; let it go.
The circumstances are different; you’ll be great.
No matter what words of encouragement came to mind, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I was going to screw up this Torah chanting like last time. Just like last time…
Each synagogue has its own minhag, its own custom, when it comes to the reading or chanting of Torah. In more traditional settings, the reader (or chanter) will be publicly corrected if he (or she) mispronounces a word. This is done out of respect for our sacred Text; each word is meant to be read the way that it is meant to be read. No variations. How this done, however, varies from place to place. In some shuls, the gabbai quietly pronounces the misspoken word and the reader goes back and says it correctly. Other places are less concerned with protecting the pride of the reader and every wisenheimer, from his seat no less, will shout out the correct pronunciation in what results in a cacophony of indistinguishable syllables.
The Reform movement has historically taken a different approach. We find a teaching in the Talmud (Baba Metzia, 58b) that states: He who publicly shames his fellow it is as though he has shed blood. Holding that shaming the reader would be considered worse than accidentally mispronouncing a word, the reader is not publicly corrected in order to prevent embarrassment. Additionally, and this applies most especially to inexperienced chanter, shouting out the correct word can completely throw the chanter off his or her game.
Now when it comes to the chant, my teacher, Dr. Eliyahu Schleifer, taught that there is no Halakhic basis for making a correction should the chanter sing the melody incorrectly.
But, as I said, every synagogue has its own customs…
I have only chanted in a Conservative synagogue two times in my life. The first time was such a disaster that it took me quite some time to recover from the experience. And to make it worse, that disaster was at the aufruf of JockBro and Syl.
Parashat Chukat. I had carefully and lovingly prepared my reading. I knew that portion. I knew that portion backwards, frontwards, upside-down. I had been working it over and over again. I did a practice read from the scroll the day prior to Shabbat. My confidence was not misplaced.
I was not the only reader that Sabbath morn. Nor was I the only reader to make mistakes. I was, however, the only out-of-town reader. And while the other readers’ mistakes went uncorrected, my reading was singled out for any misstep of word, melody, or even properly stated words. It was humiliating. And I felt as though I had embarrassed my brother in front of his soon-to-be makheteyneste.
Fast forward three years: I have been asked to chant one of the aliyot at the Bat Mitzvah service of one of PC’s cousins. Parashat Re’eh. It is a long section. I spend no less than five weeks preparing the reading.
I was not the only reader that Shabbat morn either. I was preceded by the father of the Bat Mitzvah. He’s Israeli. With a mesmerizing Yemenite trope.
It is my turn. And it is nothing like last time.
Remembe(RED) is a memoir meme. This week’s prompt was a fill-in-the-blank-for-your-own-prompt Prompt:
The first time I ________-ed after _________-ing. In order to keep it tightly written, a limit of 600 words. Mine came in at 598. It was not my intention to write about Torah chanting so soon after my post from two weeks ago. However, memoir prompts take us where THEY want us to go. Six years after that disastrous reading and I still feel the sting of humility. As always, constructive criticism is welcomed!
Frume Sarah is Shabbos-observant -- in a Reform way, that is. Please note that from Friday afternoons until one hour after sundown on Saturday evenings, Frume Sarah will be unavailable, in observance of the Jewish Sabbath.
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Thank you for your understanding...and gut Shabbos!!! 
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