To Cut or Not to Cut…It’s a Private Matter
By Wikipedia Loves Art participant "The_Grotto"
I have never paid much attention to the infant circumcision debate. As an observant Jew, there is no debate. Since Biblical times, our boys have been circumcised on the eighth day of life. When our sons were born, it was a given that each one would be brought into the Covenant just as their father, uncles, grandfathers, etc. had been. Each bris was a profound experience for me as a mother and for our family.
For centuries, outside governments and rulers have banned ritual circumcision as a way of severely restricting Jewish life. One of the freedoms guaranteed to all citizens in this country is the right to practice religion, free of governmental interference. The First Amendment prohibits the local and federal governments from passing a law “respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.”
Which is why the upcoming ballot initiative in San Francisco is cause for concern. Though the ban does not expressly target the Jewish community, the notion that practice of our centuries-old ritual would carry with it a misdemeanor charge for the mohel, as well as payment of up to a $1,000 fine or serve a maximum of one year in jail, is extremely unsettling. No exemptions for religion will be accepted. And now, it appears that Santa Monica residents may have an identical measure on their ballots come November.
I cannot help but see this as a Jewish issue. For non-Jews, whether or not they remove the foreskin from their sons’ penises is their business. It is, and should remain, a private matter. For Jews and Muslims, however, circumcision is a societal and religious practice. As a Jew, I am equally concerned about the infringement of religious freedoms for my Muslim cousins. Because any society that is willing to suppress the rights of one religious group will have no compunction in limiting the rights of all.
For more on the subject, a thoughtful op-ed can be found here.
Enough Already!
Courtesy of iStockPhoto
First, we had to write about envy. Fine. Envy I could do. The following week, gluttony. Apparently both topics were related. Seven Deadly Sins. But gluttony I don’t know from and I really struggled with that post. Which brings us to this week.
Another week, another deadly sin. Why not?
For this week’s prompt, let’s talk about sloth. Emotional or spiritual apathy. It’s not doing what we think we should. It is closer to apathy than it is to simply being lazy. It is putting your kids in front of the TV instead of playing with them, for instance.
I found this quote – I believe from Samuel Beckett – that I love for this prompt: “Sloth is all passions the most powerful.”
First of all, putting one’s kids in front of the television instead of playing with them presumes that I one had any intention of playing with them in the first place. Next, sometimes putting them in front of the television is the only way that I one can make dinner.
My own issues aside, I thought sloth was a noun. I also thought that it was an animated character. My good friend, JaneTheWriter, thought so as well.
A favourite Go, Diego, Go! episode in our house features Sammy the Sloth, who seeks Diego’s assistance in rescuing a mama sloth and her baby..
Cute, no?
Sammy is a bit on the slow side. No, not that kind of slow. Let’s just say that Sammy moves with little speed. Rather than see this physical limitation as a negative, the storyline highlights the slow speed of Sammy’s movement as saving him from a few harpy eagles.
As it turns out, there is more to sloth than a cute furry marsupial. But I don’t want to write about it. Because I just don’t care.
You see, we’ve got **count them** six hundred thirteen commandments. I’m pretty busy keeping up my end of The Bargain. I don’t have time to worry about someone else’s anything.
Which, as it turns out, is sloth. I think.
Red Writing Hood is a writing meme. This week’s word count was 600 words or fewer. My reluctantly-written submission was well under that. As always, constructive criticism is appreciated.
Elsewhere
I’m over at TheSmartly today. Come join us.
Ongoing
Tzzzz-tzzzz-tzzzz The initial strike of the phosphorous-tipped match sizzles and emits an indescribable odour. And it is a scent that I will forever associate with my mother.
It’s a conflicting scent. On the one hand, I connect it with Shabbat. Each week, we usher in the Jewish Sabbath with the lighting of the Shabbat candles. Shamor and Zachor — keep and remember. One candle for each side of a single utterance. The sizzle. Brings warm, Shabbos memories from my youth to the surface.
Contrast that with that same scent of the match that is followed by a smoky, suffocating stench. At the height of her smoking, my mom blew through smoked through a pack of cigarettes a day. Benson & Hedges. The entire house smelled like cigarettes.
Amazingly, not one of us suffered from the risks associated with smoking during pregnancy or secondhand-smoke. Not a premature birth or low-birth rate among us. No asthma or related breathing problems. And none of us grew up to be smokers.
Having a parent who smokes creates its own conflict. Growing up, lots of people smoked. Parents, scout leaders, characters on television. When then-Surgeon General, C. Everett Koop released his landmark position paper, “Toward a Smoke-Free Society by the Year 2000,” to the Minnesota Coalition for a Smoke-Free Society 2000 in the year nineteen hundred eighty-five, things began to change. Cigarette packaging began to carry a warning from the Surgeon General. School anti-drug programs named tobacco a gateway drug and encouraged kids to get their parents to quit.
Sometimes she would finish a pack and ask one of us to go get another one from the far right drawer in the kitchen. I hated that. I hated that because I felt like an accomplice. But to disobey was breaking a pretty major rule. I certainly didn’t have enough knowledge to know that getting cigarettes for someone addicted to nicotine might fall under the category of lifnei iver — placing a stumbling block before the blind. All I knew was the emphasis placed on honouring one’s parents.
Sure, she tried to stop. More than once. She stopped when she was pregnant with her first child. But it was so stressful that her obstetrician encouraged to her continue smoking. “The stress isn’t good for the baby.” Several attempts to participate in the Great American Smokeout yielded some very short-term results. Until…one ordinary day in November 1987…my mom quit. She quit. Cold-turkey. After twenty-five years, my mom became a former smoker in a single day.
Don’t be impressed. It wasn’t by choice. You see, hospitals have rules about smoking. And while there are designated smoking areas, it isn’t possible to get to one of those locations when hooked up to oxygen and with drainage tubes protruding from a collapsed lung.
Much to our surprise, my mom’s primary spontaneous pneumothorax was not believed to be caused by her smoking. Examination of her lungs showed several weak spots that her surgeon felt were congenital. [For my money, I think the surgeon should have lied and blamed it on the smoking.] Contrary to the majority of patients with a PTX, my mom required surgery and a somewhat lengthy hospital stay. During which time, they still refused to allow her to smoke. Which she rather resented.
No. To quit smoking in a single day is not impressive. Especially when one is connected to machines. What is impressive is the daily decision to remain a non-smoker. Though for years after her release from the hospital my mom would reach for phantom pack of cigarettes, she never took up the habit again. She could have. Millions of times. But she didn’t.
It’s the choice that is impressive. Each and every day.
Remembe(RED) is a memoir meme. An image prompt this week. Non-fiction and 700 words or fewer. When others become entangled in my story, is it fair to share the story with the world? I’ve never really talked about how it felt to grow up as the daughter of a smoker. I leave you with this: my mother was a shell of herself when she smoked. Now, she is a beautiful, shapely woman whose (relatively) newfound culinary skills are stunning. As always, constructive criticism is welcomed!
A Point of Commonality
“Mama, what’s that?”
At a pancake breakfast sponsored by the local Kiwanis club, Poppyseed spies something unfamiliar at the second station.
“It’s treif, sweetie.”
“Are they going to make us take it?”
“No, love.”
We waited patiently. As we approached the second station, Poppyseed straightened up as tall as she could.
“No thank you. We don’t eat treif.”
With twinkling eyes, the grandfatherly gentleman nodded in my direction.
“Why did that man just nod his head, Mama?” wondered Poppyseed.
“Because he’s one of us. He understands.”
And isn’t that ultimately what we are seeking? People who just “get us?”
Budget Victim
Dear Parent/Guardian of 5th Grade Students,
The Personal Growth & Development Program for the ******** ****** School District 5th grade students will no longer be presented due to budget issues and decrease in health services personnel. In an effort to continue our support of parents as their children begin the process of moving into adolescence, we have scheduled two parent nights to be held in May, one for boys and one for girls. Both parents and 5th grade students are invited.
A video will be shown that includes anatomy and physiology of the male reproductive system for boys and female reproductive system for girls as well as physical and emotional changes of puberty. The importance of cleanliness and hygiene during adolescence will also be discussed.
Resources for parents will be available to help devlop open communication about this very important stage of development. There will also be time for questions from parents and students. The presentation will be conducted by Plonit-bat-Plonit R.N., a former school nurse who taught this program in the classroom for many years.
If you are unable to attend the presentation, you may check out the video, “Just Around the Corner,” by calling Health Services at XXX-XXXX.
s/ Director, Support Services.
First of all, “Personal Growth & Development Program” is so non-descript as to be beyond the point of ridiculous. A quick Google search (and yes, BossGiraffe, Google is my preferred search engine) pulls up many, many sites including the following options:
- a freshman orientation program for athletes at Clemson
- a workshop run by a self-proclaimed “inspirer” (caution: involves deep breathing!)
- a five-day workshop in Sedona (more deep breathing)
- a four month group coaching program
- program to assist disabled students acquire skills necessary for independent living
Let’s call this what it is: Sex Ed. That’s right. S-E-X education. If the powers-that-be can’t even write the word, how the heck can they be expected to teach about it?
Because of the fiscal nightmare in the Golden State, sex education is no longer being offered in our district. This undated letter was sent home in backpacks on 11 May — just two weeks prior to the Girls Presentation and nearly three weeks prior to the Boys Presentation. I don’t know about other 5th graders and the likelihood of said letter to get from the backpack to the mother in a timely fashion, but it took until Friday before the letter got to me. US Postal Service is far more reliable. Or email is always good.
As the financial crisis wasn’t just sprung on us, I would have to imagine that the district didn’t just make this decision last week. Most families are not just waiting around, hoping for some evening activity on a school night to be announced. Everything else is on the annual calendar; this should have been included.
Parent involvement in this topic is crucial. Unless it’s when my kid is with his peers. Then my presence is detrimental. Who in their right mind thinks that putting parents and kids together for this session will create a “safe place” for either the students or their parents?
First music. Then the arts. Even our science program has been affected by budgetary shortfalls. But sex ed? I am appalled that this decision was make without input from parents. Sexual education, of course, doesn’t shouldn’t begin in the 5th grade because, in fact, we humans are sexual beings. Sexuality is present from birth. How we talk about our bodies, the words we use for genitalia, the values and morals we model for our kids — this is lifelong sex ed and we are the experts. Or, we ought to be. But how many parents shy away from anything remotely resembling “the talk” because of his or her own discomfort? So if the school doesn’t include this in the curriculum, what happens to those students as they make their way through adolescence?
For me, I’m good with the proper language, body talk, and values. What I rely on the school is to explain the technical stuff in a way that my fifth grader can understand it. I could manage, but it seems to me that a health professional would be better suited to answer any biology questions than a rabbi.
Maybe this will cover it?
Cultural Disadvantage
By Ariaski via Wikimedia Commons
On this particular occasion, the other kids were speaking about a subject of the most serious nature: Lucifer. I had only been listening with one ear, but as the tension in their voices increased, it became harder to ignore them.
“You don’t seem concerned,” said they.
“Concerned about what?” said I.
“About what? About Lucifer,” said they.
“Lucifer? LU-ci-fer? Are you kidding me?” said I.
{{shocked stares}}
“Lucifer?” continued I, “the cat from Cinderella?”
And that, my friends, is one of the many cultural references that has eluded me because I see the world through Jewish eyes.
This week’s instructions: “Let’s continue on with our prompts based on the Seven Deadly Sins.”
I could not name the seven deadly sins if my very life depended on it. I can name the Ten Great Statements. I can tell you which three mitzvot (commandments) cannot be broken even at the risk of one’s one life. But until today, I had never read through all seven sins and their origins. In fact, thanks to Lawrence Sanders, I thought the Seven Deadly Sins was a series of mystery novels. (Though it seems as though he only made his way through four of the sins.)
The Seven Deadly Sins are as follows:
- Lust
- Gluttony
- Greed
- Sloth
- Wrath
- Envy
- Pride
Now it isn’t as if Judaism endorses these behaviours. It’s just that we have a very different view of sin. First and foremost, a sin is a behaviour rather than a state-of-being.
Like so many things in religion, the Seven Deadly Sins of today are not the Seven Deadly Sins of 4th or even the 6th century. It took a bit of reworking before the Church settled on these seven. Since their codification by Pope Gregory I in 590 CE, the Church went to town. Seven corresponding holy virtues were assigned and demons were paired with each of the sins. And the definition of each sin was expanded so that it was as comprehensive as possible.
This week’s specific sin? Gluttony. The only time I ever heard anything remotely related to this word was when my mother would say, “what, are you a glutton for punishment?” I’m guessing it was a rough translation of something in Yiddish, but one can never be certain. BubbeGiraffe’s native language is Yinglish so much of her English sounds as if it’s been translated from the Yiddish.
I look at the word ‘gluttony’ and I think of a character weakness, not a moral flaw. Forget about one’s spiritual health, overeating is not good for one’s physical health. Not to mention that we now know that overeating is often masking something else. It is a symptom of something much more troubling. And its effect on the body can be detrimental.
Magazines aimed at women, both young and mature, regularly run articles on the topic of emotional eating. I used to skim those articles and feel sympathy for those whose emotions dictate what and how they ate. Until I realized, during a particularly stressful time, that those articles were describing me.
Al cheit…For the sin of eating as coping mechanism, God of forgiveness, pardon me, forgive me and grant me atonement.
Red Writing Hood is a writing meme. This week’s word count was 600 words or fewer. Or, in my case, exactly 600. As always, constructive criticism is appreciated.
Take Me Away
By Heulwolf (Own work), via Wikimedia Commons
I need a vacation.
No, really. I am in desperate need of a vacation. PC and I haven’t been on vacation since we took an Alaskan cruise back in 2006. And that was a quasi vacation as I was serving as Scholar-in-Residence and had daily commitments all week. So that takes us back to a trip to Mexico in 2004. Yes, that’s right. That was the last time that PC and I were away, sans family, for an extended period of time. No wonder I’m tired.
There are different types of vacations and different styles of vacationers. Prior to motherhood, I was the active, on-the-go, take-it-all-in kind of tourist. Willing to try almost anything. Zip-lining, sea kayaking, hiking, whatever. I enjoy taking tours and learning about local history and culture. Museums, churches, and cemeteries are always top of my list. And shopping.
Motherhood has changed all of that. Rather, the combination of motherhood, a full-time rabbinate, and the additional demands of parenting a special-needs child is what has radically altered my vacation requirements. I’m not seeking adventure. Relaxation. That’s what I need. I need a place where I can completely unwind. Where I can be pampered. And while away the hours. A tropical destination immediately springs to mind…
Without such a trip in the foreseeable future, I live vicariously through the pages of magazines, brochures, and websites. Planning, plotting, scheming, but mostly dreaming.
This itinerary, however, stopped me dead in my tracks: Footsteps of the Cossacks.
Yes, you read that correctly. Footsteps of the Cossacks. A twelve day journey that includes the opportunity to “immerse yourself in Cossack traditions.”
Like participating in a reenactment of an 1881 pogrom, maybe?
That was the first thought that came to mind. Because that is my experience, or, should I say my family’s, experience with the Cossacks. In Russia. In Ukraine. In Lithuania.
Scheduled stops include:
Call me hypersensitive, but I just don’t see taking this “pleasure” cruise. While there are historical landmarks to explore and cultural experiences to be had in these destinations, I cannot help but recall once thriving Jewish communities that were violently cut down during waves of state-sponsored massacres.
Hawaii, perhaps??
Wonders Never Cease
Frume Sarah is not from the feminists.
It’s true.
When forced to self-identify, I state that I am an equalist. Which isn’t really a movement at all. If required to choose an actual movement, I suppose I would reluctantly align myself somewhere between egalitarianism and complementarianism
So what possessed me to purchase a copy of a colouring book entitled, Women in Jewish History, is a complete mystery. But purchase it I did and the next thing I know…Poppyseed has it in her hot little hands and is reading about an amazing and varied group of women.
Emma Lazarus
Hannah G. Solomon
Hannah Senesh
Anne Frank
Ruth Bader Ginsburg
Judith Resnick
{just to mention a few}
This nothing colouring book has inspired conversations about selflessness. Bravery. Wisdom. Courage. And in unexpected ways. Poppyseed was enthralled with the bravery of the non-Jewish friends who went to great lengths to keep Anne Frank and the other occupants of the Secret Annex safe for nearly two years. Though equally impressed with Hannah Senesh’s bravery, she was particularly touched by the selflessness of non-Jews saving Jews.
Rather than set out with any agenda to teach my children about admirable Jewish figures, it turns out that by leaving this colouring book in Poppyseed’s sight was enough to get the lesson started.
I mean…who can resist a colouring book?
The Red Dress Club: Iceberg, Greenberg
By Waugsberg (own photograph - eigene Aufnahme) via Wikimedia Commons
DadGiraffe was in college during the 1960s. More accurately, DadGiraffe was in the library during the 1960s. At least that was what we finally concluded. It seems that for any major historical event during that turbulent decade, he was either on the way to the library, at the library, or returning from the library. Meaning that his cultural literacy is a bit on the weak side.
[In all fairness, DadGiraffe was Phi Beta Kappa at UCLA and that gave him preferential access to “the stacks.”]
Which brings us to Summer 2005. With my first year of Reform School under my belt, I was floundering in Hebrew. An occupational hazard, as one might imagine, for a future rabbi. For reasons far too complicated for this post, I needed to retake my final examinations and DadGiraffe offered to tutor me. Hoping to lift my spirits, he suggested we take our studies to the great outdoors and head for the beach.
Now here’s the thing: yes, DadGiraffe is a second generation Californian and yes, he has lived within close proximity to the beach for nearly all of his life. But he’s not from the beach bums. Or the surfers. An annual family outing to the nearby bay was just enough to satisfy the requirement. It just so happened that my need for a tutorial coincided with his annual trip.
On this particular sunny day, we found parking on a residential street some blocks away from the shoreline. Shlepping along, we came upon a house that resembled a makeshift altar of some sort, complete with tall memorial candles and pictures.
DadGiraffe: It looks as though that is a house of mourning.
FrumeSarah: I’m sure it is. That’s a picture of Jerry Garcia.
[a few moments of thoughtful silence]
DadGiraffe: You know, that’s really funny. There’s an ice cream flavour called “Cherry Garcia.”
FrumeSarah, collecting herself: Yeah. I know. It’s named for JERRY Garcia.
DadGiraffe: Now, who’s Jerry Garcia?
FrumeSarah: Jerry Garcia? Lead singer of the Grateful Dead…
DadGiraffe: Oh, those are the teddy bear guys, right?
FrumeSarah: uh-huh. They’re the teddy bear guys, Dad.
Remembe(RED) is a memoir meme. This week, the assigned topic? Sand. That’s it. No other guidance. Or word count. The word brought up so very many past experiences, but this was the one that clambered to be told. 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.
Comments made during this time will be held in a queue, to be moderated afterwards.
Thank you for your understanding...and gut Shabbos!!! 
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