Removing the Stumbling Blocks
What do you think of when you see a pile of eyeglasses?
Is this what you see in your mind’s eye? Or do you see the potential of giving sight to thousands?
A Bar Mitzvah student in our congregation placed an empty box in the foyer of our shul, requesting donations of prescription glasses, sunglasses, and readers. His goal? To collect 1,800 pair and donate them to an organization that will retrofit them and make them available to one of the 153 MILLION people worldwide who have uncorrected vision problems. Imagine the significant impact one pair can have to bring clarity to one whose quality of life is compromised by impaired sight. Now imagine the impact of 1,800 pair.
When I heard of the 1,800 pair goal, I admit that I worried it was out-of-reach. But as of last Shabbos, Mattitiyahu b. Miriam had collected over 1,200 pair.
Bringing to life the words of Theodor Herzl, If you will it, it is no dream.
You-Hoo…I’m Over He-re
Modern Jewish Mom Rabbi
Looking for me?? I’m over at Modern Jewish Mom today, sharing ideas about Shavu’ot.
*Accept with Your Left, Shake with Your Right
Courtesy iStockphoto
It was, without question, the most excruciating graduation exercise I had ever endured. It was also the longest. Longer than my graduation from Ithaca College or my graduation (MAHL) and Ordination from HUC.
For starters, it was a very large class. Each and every student’s name was called. One by one by one… This was after the class had presented five musical selections. Out-of-tune. And mumbled as most of the words were clearly above their heads. Which wasn’t saying much as these graduates didn’t stand more than 3 and a half feet.
Welcome to Preschool Graduation!
I think that I have pictures of this wretched blessed event somewhere. Pictures of a five year old on the verge of a meltdown. Having barely made it through a TWO HOUR ceremony, Beernut was overwhelmed by the sheer mass of people (including tearful children, cooing grandparents, etc.) who had descended on the catered reception. He was so undone by the entire experience that we hurriedly said our goodbyes to the grandparents (2 sets) and great-grandparents (1 set), cancelled our dinner plans, and escaped to the car.
The whole thing was a colossal waste of time. It isn’t that I don’t believe in supporting my childrens’ accomplishments. I just think that things have gotten out-of-hand as far as what qualifies as a notable accomplishment. A more appropriate way of marking the transition from preschool to Kindergarten should most certainly be on a smaller scale. A personal note from the teacher, a class photo, and cookies and punch. Fini.
As for an accomplishment worth noting…
*actual instructions given to these graduates. They might want to have included “and try not to wet your pants until after you’ve received your diploma.”
Remembe(RED) is a memoir meme. With our usual limit of 600 words, this week’s prompt asked us to share a graduation memory. Congrats to the Class of 2011. As always, constructive criticism is welcomed!
Well, Look What We Have Here
Image by © Royalty-Free/Corbis
In a moment of bleary weakness, I let Poppyseed come home after shul on Friday night. To be equitable, Beernut switched places with her on Saturday night. And to give Bubbe-and-ZaydeGiraffe a well-deserved break, I brought Beernut AND Poppyseed back home to spend afternoon with me and Peach. Which elicited the following response from their little brother:
You’re letting the kids come home? But I need my peace-and-quiet!
Should have taken your advice, little four-year-old. Because the Bigs were very excited to be home. And their exuberance was…shall we say…loud.
In addition to the aforementioned reason for dispatching the children to my poor parents, I also knew that it would be hard for them to see strangers traipsing through our house at all hours of the day and night. Beernut goes to sleep at 7:30pm and does not take kindly to being bothered after that time. We’ve had people come to see our home all the way up until 8:45pm. And while I always have the option of saying it isn’t a good time, that doesn’t seem to be prudent given that we want to sell the house.
What I hadn’t foreseen was Poppyseed’s discomfort with people lurking around and peeking into every corner of the house. Which leads me to this afternoon’s slight mishap. At a pre-arranged time, a realtor brought his clients to see the house. Poppyseed waved hello and then, I thought, retreated back into the study. Beernut offered a greeting without even looking up from his Wii game. And Peach, as has become his practice, proceeded to give the couple a tour of the property. Things were going swimmingly until the husband opened the closet door in Poppyseed’s room and, much to their mutual surprise, discovered a petite seven-year-old sitting on the bureau. Whereupon they emitted sounds of shock. In unison. The man struggled to regain his composure; Poppyseed, as one might expect, promptly burst into tears.
And so continues our ongoing search to find the right family for our home.
Shared Responsibility
Courtesy iStockphoto
As soon as it’s Motz’ei Shabbat (Jerusalem time), they started to arrive. Submissions for the upcoming Haveil Havalim (the Jewish blog carnival), sent by eager bloggers, fill my mail box.
I thought I wasn’t signed up to host until the week beginning June 5th?
Sure enough, a quick glance at the schedule reveals that though I am not scheduled to host until the 5th, no one else volunteered to host this week’s edition.
?וּכְשֶׁאֲנִי לְעַצְמִי, מָה אֲנִי — If I am only for myself, what am I?
It is not my responsibility to host this week. But since the links are arriving in my inbox, I could just go ahead and host this week and again next week. After all, a volunteer project depends on people volunteering.
.אִם אֵין אֲנִי לִי, מִי לִי — If I am not for myself, who will be for me?
In other words, no one else is going to protect my time. In fact, unless I set boundaries, others will be more than happy to take my “free” time from me.
?וְאִם לֹא עַכְשָׁיו, אֵימָתָי — If not now, when?
Though hosting the blog carnival two weeks in a row would allow for its publication this week and next week, I truly did not have the time to do it this past week. At least, I didn’t have the time to do it well. I take my commitment to host very seriously. I block out time to read not only the submitted blog posts but others from around the Jewish blogosphere that might be a good addition to the other links.
I host every five to six weeks. And the other volunteers host on a regular basis as well. Which means that the majority of the folks who participate in the blog carnival are not taking a turn.
So if you are looking for this week’s edition of Haveil Havalim, there isn’t one. Any posts that were submitted have gone to the Great Trash Bin in the atmosphere. Be sure to check back next week for what promises, already, to be a great edition.
Repetitious Torture
Courtesy iStockPhoto
Which really wasn’t fair. To the song.
Oseh shalom bimromav
hu ya’aseh shalom aleinu
v’al kol Yisraeil
v’imru, v’imru amein
May the One who makes peace in the High Heavens
make peace over us,
and over all Israel
and let us say, and let us say, amein.
These words are found in our daily liturgy. The Kaddish, to be exact. Its message is an important one. So important, in fact, that the custom at my former synagogue was to conclude the service with these words. Every service.
Had we used a different musical setting each week, I imagine I wouldn’t have such negative feelings. However, at some point in the early 1970’s, the decision was made that every service, and by every I mean every, would conclude with the version composed by the incomparable Nurit Hirsch.
Structurally, the piece follows an ABCBA structure, known as arch form. (Putting the $80K music degree to use once again, DadGiraffe.) Hirsch’s melody is pleasing and easy to learn. And though it placed only third in the first Hasidic Song Festival in 1969, it was catapulted to international success, finding its way into worship all across the Jewish spectrum.
But no song is the right song for every occasion, every mood, every anything. We are hard-wired for music. And, as studies show, we have emotional responses to the music we hear. I have written before about the negative visceral reaction I have each time I hear a certain leitmotiv. So too have I written about the way a certain contemporary setting of a piece of Catholic liturgy takes my soul to the most amazing places. Even with a piece that makes every fibre of my being soar, I could not listen repeatedly to that and no other. Not only does that particular Lauridsen composition not fit every one of my moods, I would most certainly come to despise it with forced repetition.
Which is precisely what occured with the Nurit Hirsch Oseh Shalom.
“Give it time,” said a well-meaning friend, “you’ll come to like it again.”
It’s been nearly seven years.
She was wrong.
Red Writing Hood is a writing meme. This week’s instructions: Write a short piece – 600 words max – that begins with the words, “This was absolutely the last time” and ends with “She was wrong.” Have fun with it. Think outside the box. Don’t go with the obvious.
I can’t say that I had fun with it, I have no idea of I thought out of the box, and this seemed like an obvious direction for me. Who knows. As always, constructive criticism is appreciated.
Not AGAIN
Courtesy of Microsoft Office
Dear Ploni B. Ploni Elementary School,
I was extremely disappointed to receive the flyer announcing this year’s Annual Dance Day on Wednesday, June 8. While I have nothing against Dance Day, I do object to its placement on Shavu’ot.
It seems that each year, you have scheduled an important school function on a major Jewish holiday. For example, I missed Open House two years ago when it was scheduled on erev Shavu’ot. Nor did I attend the Volunteer Luncheon three years ago because it fell during Pesach and there didn’t seem much point to go to a lunch and not eat.
I acknowledge that things have gotten better over the years. No longer is the first day of school in any danger of falling on Rosh Hashannah. And the teachers are always thoughtful in not giving too much work during “your holy week….Chanukah.” But Hallmark doesn’t dictate which are the major Jewish holidays; the Torah does.
And, ironically, it is the giving of the Torah that we commemorate on Dance Day…er, Shavu’ot.
This is where being a Reform Jew is just plain complicated. Last year, after keeping the kids out of school for Sukkot and Pesach, I added Shavu’ot to the mix. After all, it didn’t seem consistent to short-shrift the holiday whose guest-of-honour started it all. Yet one year later, I am seriously considering sending them to school so that they don’t miss out on this annual tradition.
And I really resent being put in that position…
Sincerely,
FS
Separation
Courtesy of Microsoft Office
Even with all of the planning and anticipation, seeing the “for sale” sign on the front lawn makes it all so real. We’ve known for months that this moment would eventually arrive; the moment when we would be opening our home to strangers. Strangers whom we hope will fall in love with our house.
For several years, this house has seemed cramped. A one child family when we found our first home nearly nine years ago, it didn’t take long for us to outgrow it. This house has survived two pregnancies, numerous birthday parties, and countless playdates. We’ve mourned some of our most profound losses here and celebrated some of our most thrilling moments.
In the days leading up to MamaBear’s death, the separation of her soul from its earthly husk was visible to those who were closely watching. Similarly, our little home has been stripped of much of the outer trappings that made this house look like our home. As if the soul of Beit Frummie is preparing to separate from the physical structure that has guarded and sustained it these several years.
It is time…
Games We Played
What we knew from *gypsies you could fit in a thimble.
To the best of my knowledge, neither PepGiraffe nor I had ever had any contact with a gypsy. Oh sure, we had heard MamaBear, z”l, say that our uncle had been left on the doorstep by gypsies, but that didn’t supply us with much information. Besides, we’re pretty certain that was just a story…
And yet, “playing gypsy” was a favourite game of ours when we were very young. We’d raid MomGiraffe’s scarf collection and tie them on our heads and around our waists. Costume jewelry adorned our every limb. And then, if I remember correctly, we’d run around the yard, screeching like banshees. I can just imagine what a sight we must have been.
Welcome to the world of make-believe. Countless hours spent making up stories, acting out scenes from books or movies, putting on neighbourhood talent shows. Whatever grabbed our fancy. And without benefit of mass-produced dress-up clothes, we were forced to make do with whatever we could find. And we did.
I feel like such an alter kocker when I say “it was a different time back then.” Except that it’s true. Things really were different. We were expected to amuse ourselves rather than depend on our parents for our entertainment. They weren’t being negligent; they were forcing us to develop our imagination.
Did we get bored? Certainly. Only back then, boredom wasn’t seen as the nefarious condition it has since become. For out of boredom came some of our most creative schemes, dreams, and plots.
The sound of bangle bracelets brings a hint of a smile as I recall those long-ago, carefree days.
*We did not know, as we do now, that the term “gypsy” is an exonym for members of the Roma community and is regarded as pejorative.
Remembe(RED) is a memoir meme. With 600 words, this week’s prompt asked us to recall the games played when I was young. Though board games were given as examples, I wanted to share a cherished memory of long-ago days. When life seemed serene and our imaginations ran wild. As always, constructive criticism is welcomed!
Proving our Loyalty. Again.
Judging by the flags, today the Frummies visited the American-Israel Expo.
OK. Not really.
Today the Frummies visited the Israel Expo. But the American flags did a really good job of showing the outside world that we are loyal Americans. Just like everyone else.
When the decorations went up earlier in the week, the perimeter of the fence was lined with Israeli flags. It looked beautiful. And utterly appropriate for an Israel celebration. And then…in miten drinen, American flags were added. For every kachol v’lavan, a corresponding Stars and Stripes.
What is it that we fear? Do we still believe that the outside world will question our loyalty if we display the flag of our spiritual Homeland without the American flag?
We would be naïve to dismiss that notion as outdated or alarmist. A cursory glance on Google proves that there is no shortage of anti-Semites who openly accuse American Jews of holding allegiance to Israel above and beyond their allegiance to the United States. And, by the way, these beliefs are held by anti-Semites in countries around the world.
But putting up the American flags will not disabuse anyone who is committed to hate. And since that is the case, why put them up in the first place?
Unless we are trying to convince ourselves…
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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