St. Patrick’s Day Postscript
Photo courtesy of Microsoft Office
I got pinched today. More accurately, I was threatened with a pinch.
The hostess at a local restaurant, noticing that I was not attired in green, playfully remarked,
“I’m going to have to pinch you…”.
Her hand moved towards me.
Frume Sarah: I’m neither Irish nor Catholic.
She blinked a few times, as though I had uttered something in an unfamiliar language.
FrumeSarah: This holiday…it’s really a date on the liturgical calendar of the Church. And I’m Jewish.
Hostess: No way. I had no idea.
FrumeSarah: Um…the holiday is called Saint Patrick’s Day. That didn’t give it away?
Anyone wonder what else has slipped past her?
Not Everyone
[Ed. note: In advance of tomorrow’s “festivities, I offer this repost as a preemptive explanation]
*Lá Fhéile Pádraig Sona Duit!
If you don’t know what this means, then it doesn’t really matter what “they” say; apparently NOT everyone is Irish on St. Patrick’s Day.
Arriving at the salon for my Rosh Chodesh mani/pedi, it didn’t take more than a few moments to realize that everyone must have gotten the green memo. (Though supporters of the Orange Institution would be have received the orange memo.) And then, much to my horror, I realized that I too was wearing green.
Saint Patrick’s Day doesn’t really register in Frume Sarah’s World. I had selected a green blouse with nary a thought to the Feast Day for the patron SAINT of Ireland.
“Oh no!” gasped I.
Not having time to shelp home (11.4 miles. Each way.), I decided to do a Target drive-by.
Yeah, I know what you’re thinking.
Lighten UP, Frume Sarah. It’s not like it’s a religious holiday or anything.
Except. It kinda is. Or was, at any rate.
Patrick was born in Scotland around the year 385. As a teen, he was captured and sent to Ireland to herd sheep. (Now, that sounds familiar.) Anyway, during his six years of captivity, Patrick grew deep in his Christian faith, though he was surrounded by Druids and pagans. Upon his return to Britain, he commenced his studies for the priesthood. Inspired by a dream that had the people of Ireland calling him to return, Patrick served the Church by christianizing the polytheistic Irish. Legend teaches that Patrick used the three-leaved Shamrock as a tool in order to explain the Trinity.
In the early 1600’s, March 17, the yahrtzeit of Saint Patrick, was added to the liturgical calendar of the Church as a holy day of obligation. These days are not unlike our yom tovim.
On Sundays and other holy days of obligation, the faithful are obliged to participate in the Mass.
Moreover they are to abstain from those works and affairs which hinder the worship to be rendered to God, the joy proper to the Lord’s day, or the suitable relaxation of mind and body.
Just as Lag B’Omer serves as a temporary cessation of the restrictions during the counting of the Omer, Saint Patrick’s Day is a brief respite during the Lenten season. Prohibitions were lifted, giving rise to the consumption of enjoying cabbage with either corned beef or bacon and alcoholic beverages during this period of abstinence.
Saint Patrick’s Day remains a sacred day on the festival calendar of both the Roman Catholic Church and the Church of Ireland. Regardless of what society has done over the years to secularize and commercialize this day. I recognize that I am in the minority. However, as a person of faith, I cannot condone stripping the religiosity away from a holiday that belongs to another faith community.
So, no. I am not Irish on Saint Patrick’s Day any more than a citizen of Nigeria is American on Thanksgiving or a Buddist is Jewish on Sukkot.
* Happpy Saint Patrick’s Day!
Ode to a Wooden Spoon
1996~2011
Thou slender, lean with dependent strength
Thou hast turned throughout the years.
Mixing, folding with perfect faith
Cherished recipes that act as mirrors.
Pancakes with secret ingredients,
Hamantaschen, prune or mohn?
Serving once to dull the pain of penetrating wounds, now gone.
Dinners blended with rapt expedience
Turning, swirling like a song.
Thou shalt be for a memory of when mine brood wast young.
And The Winner Is…
For me, the highlight of running this giveaway was being exposed to other people’s favourite pieces. Here is a list of what folks submitted:
Vienna Teng’s Lullaby for a Stormy Night
John Fogerty’s Centerfield
“Sound” by James
Brahms’ Second Piano Concerto
2nd movement of the Mozart Clarinet Concerto
“All I Ask of You,” from the Phantom of the Opera
Beatles song “Blackbird”
The Star Spangled Banner [THIS is how ya sing it!]
American the Beautiful is pretty special too 🙂
Journey anthem “Don’t Stop Believin’”
“Defying Gravity” from the Wicked Soundtrack.
The Piano Sonata No. 14 in C♯ minor “Quasi una fantasia”, op. 27, No. 2, by Ludwig van Beethoven, popularly known as the Moonlight Sonata
Bach’s Concerto in D Minor for two violins and orchestra
Imagine – John Lennon
Only Happy When it Rains – Garbage
If I Ain’t Got You – Alicia Keys
Barbra Streisand’s “Papa can you hear me?” from Yentl
“Over the Rainbow,” sung by the famous singer from Hawaii, Israel Kamakawiwoʻole
And my answer?
O Magnum Mysterium composed by Morten Lauridsen. [Not what you were expecting, huh?!?] I can’t explain it. Though I recognize the beauty of the words for those who believe, the text does not fit into my theology in any way. The composition uses chordal structures and harmonies foreign to my ear…yet familiar to my soul. After practicing and perfecting the nusach of the Yamim Noraim, this is what I listen to before coming face-to-face with the Holy One.
So now…the moment for which you have been waiting…Melissa S-G has won an autographed copy of Soul’s Delight! Mazal tov!!
Rewritten…and Ruined
Wikimedia Commons
Among the first apps I downloaded on my iPad (again, shout-out to BubbeGiraffe for guiding PC in the right direction) was MeeGenius for Peach. I loved the idea of my nearly-four year old being able to access stories at times when no one was available to read to him. MeeGenius has many of the classics available with word highlighting and easy playback. Yippee!!
Except…
Somehow in this age of helicopter parenting, the end of the story has been softened. Changed. Destroyed.
Down the chimney came the wolf, only to find the pig seated at a table with a full meal for two. The pig shared the food with his new friend the wolf, and showed him how to enjoy many other delicious foods.
Um…what?!?
I seem to recall a very different outcome for both the wolf and the first two pigs. In the original version, after the house of straw (Pig #1) and the house of sticks (Pig#2), the respective pig was eaten by the wolf. Unable to blow down the house of bricks (Pig #3), the wolf did indeed come down the chimney. Right into a pot of boiling water and, thereby, becomes the main course for dinner.
Too violent? The Disnified version has the wolf come down the very same chimney, but with radically different results. He burns his tuches on the scalding water and runs out of the third pig’s home while they join in a rousing chorus of “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?”
Somehow the story loses its punch with the wolf being seated at, rather than being served on, the table.
*****************************
In other news, the latest edition of Haveil Havalim is up over at the Ima’s Bima!
Not OK
Depending on which news outlet is doing the reporting, this is a picture of a ‘ketubah,’ ‘ketubah-style document,’ or a’Jewish-style marriage contract.’
Whatever it is called, Frume Sarah does not approve.
Before I start getting comments like “it’s a lovely gesture,” “lighten up,” and “what’s the harm?” let me say that I have nothing against the Royal Couple. They should live and be well. In fact, I intend to rise at some unGodly hour and watch the Royal Wedding, as I did some thirty years ago.
My feelings towards this “ketubah” are similar to those of Sandra Bullock’s son having a “bris.” In both cases, we have a ritual article and a ritual practice being reappropriated by non-Jews. And I am not comfortable with that.
Many years ago, I attended a seminar that included a panel of religious leaders from a variety of faith traditions, discussing interfaith weddings. I was profoundly disturbed by the presentation made by a minister from the Unitarian Universalists. She talked about creating a ceremony that drew from many different faith and spiritual traditions. Like a patchwork quilt. A bisl of this, a bisl of that. As they say, a bisl un a bisl, vert a fule shisl [a little and a little and it makes a full pot.] OK — she didn’t actually say the “bisl” part, but you get what I mean.
My emotional response was like one who had something forcibly taken. What gives one religious community the right to take a religious practice from another faith tradition and use it completely out of its original context?
Am I the only one who finds it distasteful that artist, Michael Horton, “took a traditional ketubah text and ‘de-koshered’ it so that it would be suitable to honour a church wedding and then removed the husband-to-wife obligations outlined in a ketubah, so that his text could be purely commemorative.”
The original intent of the ketubah was not to be “commemorative”; it was, and is, a legally-binding document. I know that many Jewish couples choose an English rendering that is flowery and inspiring and, as Jews, that is their right to knowingly select a more contemporary, vernacular language.
If the artist wanted to gift the couple with something Jewish, what about a lovely Birkat HaBayit instead??
Meaningful Schmutz
28 February 1990
8:00am
Music Theory II
As always, Dr. Arlin strode into the classroom precisely at 7:59am. Only on this particular day, she had a bit of schmutz on her forehead.
It is a darn good thing that I thought to silently count to five before saying anything. Because the poor sod who inquired was on the receiving end of quite the lecture.
In my defense, I had never seen anyone observe Ash Wednesday prior to that brisk, snowy day in February. Given the observance includes ashes placed on one’s forehead by the priest or minister, I imagine I would have noticed it.
Ash Wednesday, for those of the Mosaic persuasion, is the start of the forty-six day period before Easter, commonly known as Lent. If childhood experience is to serve as the basis for my knowledge, then Lent would be the period when one gives up chocolate. Seriously. Every one of my Catholic friends gave up chocolate for Lent — every year. Leading me to the misguided conclusion that Lent doesn’t really work…and it’s better to just do the Ten Days of Repentance, culminating in Yom Kippur.
Dr. Arlin was, without question, the most demanding and most intimidating professor with whom I studied. I also learned more about music theory from her than from anyone else. I learned as well how to stand tall and walk through one’s day while observing a religious behaviour that was unknown to most.
I have thought of her every Ash Wednesday for the past twenty-one years and pray that her Lenten season is filled with meaning and purpose.
You Sing Too?!?
A few months ago, I excitedly tweeted about the upcoming release of my CD. Among the many comments was one from someone who knows me solely through my writing. Her reaction?
You sing too?!?
Yes, yes I do. I have been singing throughout my entire life. I have always been surrounded by music. Sometimes internally, sometimes externally. There has been a soundtrack streaming within me since I was very young. Its presence has soothed me and comforted me. And it has accompanied my soul.
Over the years, there have been certain pieces that have grabbed hold of me and propelled my very soul into God’s very Presence. Not songs that I merely enjoy, but a select few that transfix me.
What one song moves you in a way no other piece of music can do? It can be from any genre, any artist, any one composition that delights your soul.
One lucky respondent will win an autographed copy of my new CD, Soul’s Delight. (You can take a listen here.) The giveaway, a first here at Frume Sarah’s World, ends on Monday, 14 March (8 Adar II) at 12:01am PDT (don’t forget we are “springing ahead” here in North America in the wee hours of Sunday).
Personal Preference
I don’t know why I am surprised. After all, each one of them has his or her specific likes and dislikes. About everything.
Each one of my children prefers a different way of doing the Bedtime Sh’ma:
- Beernut likes me to sit behind him so that I can scratch his back.
- Poppyseed likes me to sit with my face close to hears so that I can smooth her hair. Sometimes she sings along, but mostly she just lets out cleansing sighs.
- and Peach? Peach likes me to lie next to him so that he can take my face in his hands while we sing the prayer in unison.
Each ritual is my favourite for each one perfect for its rightful owner.
The Trajectory of Acceptance
tra·jec·to·ry [trə-jĕkˈtə-rē] — the path a moving object follows through space as a function of time.
One throws a ball and can expect it to travel in a parabola before falling back to earth. Taking into account, of course, the resistance from the elements that can, and will, affect the journey of the said object (If you are so inclined, Galileo, Kepler, and Newton go into greater detail 🙂 ).
ac·cept·ance [ak-sep-tuhns] — the agreement to experience a situation, to follow a process or condition (often a negative or uncomfortable situation) without attempting to change it, protest, or exit.
A month prior to Beernut’s sixth birthday, we received his formal diagnosis: Asperger’s Disorder. I was thrilled. Really. After five years of telling our then-pediatrician that I suspected some developmental delays, I was relieved to have an expert put a name to what I had been seeing. With a diagnosis, I felt, we would be able to fix him. Of course I never would have phrased it that way. It is only with hindsight that I have come to understand what was really going through my mind.
At the time, I was aware that PC and I were at different levels of acceptance. But my perception was warped. I believed PC to be floundering in denial while I, on the other hand, was elated in the Land of Acceptance.
That too was a form of denial.
Five years have passed since we received a label. A label without a clear definition and definitely without a cure. As Beernut often says, “it’s a disorder, not a disease.” In some ways, I am far less accepting than I was. The road we have traveled has been misleading. Perhaps we were willing victims, avoiding the realities of Beernut’s deficits.
In the past several years, I have found it difficult to read books or watch films about children or adults who struggle as a result of special needs. There is a certain ebb and flow to that. Without having plotted it on a chart, I imagine that I am far more capable of emotionally handling these topics during periods of relative calm as far as Beernut is concerned.
That’s just a guess.
A few months ago, while at a conference I found myself at the book table. I selected a few books whose authors had spoken at some of the sessions I had attended. One book, on the topic of making it through a tough time while maintaining faith and hope, was decidedly not in my pile. With the author standing about two feet from me, however, I felt as though I owed an explanation.
FrumeSarah: I’m really sorry. I want to buy your book, but I just can’t right now.
Author: It’s OK.
FrumeSarah: I will, at some point. Just not now.
Author: OK. It’s a very good book.
A few moments pass and I think to myself, “why should this author suffer just because of my mishegas?” and I march back over to the table and pay for the book.
FrumeSarah: So, I decided to buy the book now. After all, why should you suffer just because of my mishegas? I’ll just put it on the shelf until I’m ready. I’m just too sad right now.
Author: But it’s not really a sad book. It’s about hope.
And I walked away. I walked away because this very respected and well-known author wasn’t really hearing me. She heard my words, but wasn’t listening to the pain behind them.
The book sat. It sat. And it sat and sat and sat. Until finally, knowing I am scheduled to be in a meeting with this author in the upcoming weeks, the book came off the shelf. I read that book this past Shabbos. And I cried. I cried because I saw so much of my own situation in the author’s experience. I cried because it hurt so much to read the words. I cried because I wasn’t ready to hear whatever message of hope the author intended for the reader.
Unlike a rock or a ball or a satellite, the trajectory of acceptance follows a jagged path, unable to be anticipated by any scientific or mathematical equation.
She should have known that…
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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