Haveil Havalim according to Esser Agaroth
Head on over to Esser Agaroth for a plethora of good reads. FrumeSarah will be hosting next week so stay tuned for HH FrumeSarah Style 🙂
Sh’ma Take Seven
I know that there are musicians who talk about nailing a song in one take.
I am not one of them.
When the engineer announced “Sh’ma take 7,” I had this wild vision of Moses on Sinai with God’s bellowing voice;
“Sh’ma take 7.”
Which got me thinking. We have an unlimited number of “takes.”. That’s what the High Holidays are. Another take. Another chance to do it right. To fine-tune. To do it better the next time.
We got the Sh’ma on that 7th take. And laid down the tracks for five other pieces.
And now it’s time for bed…
You’ve Got To Be Taught To Hate
Have you seen this:
Winnipeg ‘white pride’ mother regrets redrawing swastika on child’s arm
Channah told me about this at shul over the weekend. Again, I certainly don’t want the government to control what I teach my children. But this just isn’t OK.
Promises Kept
The dog tag bangs against my clavicle. I have been wearing it for some time, usually discreetly. Today, though, I want to draw people’s attention to it. I want them to ask me whose it is. I want to tell them about Udi, Eldad, and Gilad. I want them to know about the loss that our people has suffered today and the hope to which we still cling.
Ehud “Udi” Goldwasser and Eldad Regev were brought home to their families today in black coffins. Forensic examinations provided the closure that has eluded the Goldwasser and Regev families for seven hundred thirty four days. Udi and Eldad were alive when they were taken by Hezbollah and were returned dead.
Without question, the issue of a prisoner swap is a complicated one. Israel has always upheld what she views as a moral and ethical obligation to bring home her solidiers even, as Prime Minister Ehud Olmert states, “at the heavy price of releasing a heinous murderer.” But it would be impossible for the State to routinely send its youth into harm’s way without ensuring the welfare of her soldiers.
The “heinous murderer” is Samir Kuntar. He is responsible for infiltrating the border in 1979 and murdering four Israelis, including the brutal murder of a 4-year-old girl and her father. The release of Kuntar and four Hezbollah terrorists was celebrated in Lebanon and Gaza with the prisoner release being hailed as a victory by both Hezbollah and Hamas.
It is both our actions and reaction that define us. And divide us. Never would such human destruction be regarded as a triumph. Never would the arrival of a convicted murderer be commemorated.
We are still waiting for Gilad. His capture by Hamas was just a few weeks prior to the kidmapping of Udi and Eldad, and Hamas has repeatedly maintained that Gilad is still alive and will be returned safely in exchange for Hamas prisoners being held in Israel.
It is this hope that sustains Gilad’s family. The same hope that had fortified Udi and Eldad’s families and is now no more. Now they search only for peace as their boys are placed in the earth that they gave their lives to defend.
HaMakom y’nachem etchem b’toch sh’ar aveilei tzion v’rushalayim.
May the Holy One comfort us among all the mourners of Tziyon and Yerushalayim.
Out of the Box
It is amazing that we made it safely out of childhood with only some faded scars to show for it. Wandering unsupervised throughout the neighbourhood, our parents must have had some vague sense that we were having a good time and were out of harm’s way. No cell phones to track our every move. No chaperones to catch us when we fell. No schedules to prevent us from enjoying the bucolic days of our youth. Free time was yet to be regarded as evil and many an afternoon was spent lazily watching clouds float across the powder blue expanse.
And then there was The Box. Leftover from the move the summer after my Kindergarten year, The Box was laden with possibilities. Over the course of its lifetime, it was a house. A grocery store. A telephone booth. (Remember telephone booths??) And after being rigged to some kid’s skateboard, it even served as a Colonial Viper from Battlestar Galactica. Though now that I think about it, it is a miracle that no one got seriously maimed or injured given that we rolling down the street in our “Viper” with scant visibility and absolutely no way to steer or brake.
Today’s kids live in a reality filled with stuff. There is a Jewish word for that stuff. It is known as chazerai. Every time I turn around, the toys seem to have participated in some sort of reproductive swell. Due, in no small measure, to the proliferation of plastic junk distributed by McDonald’s – which is now the largest toy company in the world. A recent foray through my kids’ closets, playhouse, and dumping ground (which I insist on referring to as our living room) supports the statistic that one out of every three toys received by American children each year comes from a Happy Meal box. Birthdays, Chanukah, Pesach, visits to the goody box at the doctor/dentist. All understandable gift-receiving opportunities. But when did it become de rigueur for birthday party guests to walk away with swag?
I see that I am not alone in my desire to return to simpler times. April Capil, creator of the Fridge Box, recalls that “the most creative thing I ever played with as a child was a cardboard box.” Committed to keeping environmental impact to a minimum, Capil has designed an ecologically sound plaything that encourages “kids to spend a little time every day daydreaming.”
Crazy, no? A business selling cardboxes in order to promote imaginative play? Eh. Maybe not so crazy after all.
In the meantime, I see toy recycling in the near future here at the Frummie House. And thinking they’ll be too busy playing in a cardboard box to even notice.
In the Blink of An Eye
Five hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes. Jonathan Larson challenges us to measure a year of one’s life. Moments. Snapshots. Memories. But in the life of a child, a year is so much more. Take a certain five year old. One year of her life is 20%. That is significant. A tremendous amount of growth and maturation happen during 20% of anyone’s life but most especially during childhood.
And, as Poppyseed learned this week, loss can happen as well and that can be frightening.
Driving in the car, Poppyseed began to shriek as though in pain.
“Oh no!!”
“What’s wrong, Pop?”
“I can’t remember anymore!”
“What can’t you remember?”
“God. Tell me what She feels like. I don’t remember Her anymore!”
I don’t know if I’ve ever heard such panic in her voice.
“Remember Poppyseed? You used to tell me what it was like before you were born. You used to tell me about how you and God would play together?”
“I can’t remember anything!” she sobbed.
Is this how it happens? Is this how our connection with the Divine is severed? She has always spoken so intimately about God. I just assumed that meant I could shield her from whatever it is that happens to cause so many to lose that bond. Was I wrong to believe that the disconnection did not have to be inevitable?
Jack Jack Attack
Jack’s outdone himself with this week’s edition of Haveil Havalim. See for yourself!
Subjective Definition
Definition A
“That’s not fair!” = “I didn’t get my way!”
This is the most common usage of this phrase by children. Employed on a regular basis, the child’s sense of fairness is measured only by whether or not he (yeah, yeah — or she) gets what he wants. True equity does not factor into the equation whatsoever.
Definition B
“That’s not fair!” = “My sibling gets to do something that I don’t!”
Utilized less frequently, this handling of the phrase conveys the irrational sense of imbalance felt by kids.
Like tonight. Right in the midst of Pajama Havdallah, Beernut gets a funny look on his face.
“I don’t feel very well,” he says.
“Could it have been the SIX pieces of pizza you ate, Beernut?”
“And the cookies too, Mom.”
Whereupon he promptly threw up.
Just a little. I got him into the bathroom moments ahead of the projectile vomiting. Afterwhich, he felt MUCH better.
Later on, Poppyseed whines:
“That’s not fair. Beernut got to throw up and I didn’t!”
For real. She was actually distraught that Beernut got sick — really grossly sick — and she didn’t. I could understand if he got to go to Disneyland and she didn’t. I could even understand if he got special attention or treatment (such as sleeping in Mommy and Daddy’s bed), but he didn’t. He had to go home right away and went straight to bed. She, on the other hand, got to stay the rest of the evening — which was past her bedtime.
So which part is unfair??
My Story, Your Story, Our Story is One
On the occasion of my 13th birthday, my parents presented me with my own pair of candlesticks in honour of being called to the Torah for the first time.
On the occasion of her 13th birthday, her grandmother removed a bible from the shelf, tore it in two, and handed the larger section to her, saying “this is the only part you’ll ever need.”
This Shabbat, having immersed herself in the mikvah and met with the community Beit Din, she will publically affirm her commitment to the Jewish people.
These steps are the final part of her journey. My journey to Judaism was a simple one as I was born into a Jewish family. For others in our community, their spiritual trajectory can be a curvilinear one. Sometimes with twists and turns. Bumps and roadblocks. Until finally we are able to welcome them home.
One of the true joys of being a rabbi is working with conversion candidates. Their fresh approach to Judaism and the enthusiasm with which they approach their new faith is restorative. I work with Jews all day long and for those of us born into this people, we forgot. We forget how darn lucky we are to be a part of this Covenental Relationship.
Of course, if you weren’t shown how amazing it is to be Jewish, maybe you never considered yourself lucky…
I blame my parents. And their parents. And their parents. For instilling in me a passion for our people, our faith, our Homeland, our God. A passion that drives me to tears. And sometimes brings me to my knees.
They took seriously their responsibility “and you shall teach them dilligently to your children” (Deut. 6:7). I blame them…and thank them.
One day, I hope, my children will blame me too.
Between a Rock and a Hard Place
Imagine coming to this country as a young child, having an ordinary life as an acculturated child of immigrants, only to discover in the process of applying to college that they, and you, are in fact here in this country illegally. Your entire life has been a smokescreen. And now you are faced with an impossible choice; make application to become a legal resident, and risk deportation in the process, or continue to live in this country illegally.
Today’s LA Times ran an article about undocumented college graduates. I did not know that undocumented students were even eligible to attend college in the States. I seem to recall questions regarding my place of birth and my citizenship on the college apps, but perhaps things have changed.
THe irony is that the system has put these young adults in an untenable position. A 1982 Supreme Court ruling permits illegal immigrants to receive a public education, during which time they are encouraged to stay in school and go to college. The same encouragement all students in our school system receive. Public universities do not ask about legal status and some private institutions even have scholarship money available to help these kids get a college education. Here’s the kicker — upon graduation, they are defined not by their academic achievements but by their immigration status. A status foisted upon them by their parents whose only desire was to give them a better life, full of opportunities.
Immigration is a hot button topic especially here in the Golden State where it is estimated that 40% of the US undocumented population resides. That’s at least two million people. Two million people. Many of whom DO pay taxes. DO put into Social Security (with no benefit to them as they are ineligible to receive it.). [Which is good news for our belaboured Social Security system.] And which is why the following snarky comment from Rep. Dana Rohrabacher (R, Huntington Beach) is both misleading and hurtful:
To these students, I say I hope you return to your home country right away and I hope you repay what you have spent of other people’s money. It’s a horrible crime.
Many of these graduates came to this country as infants or small children. They are native English speakers with no working knowledge of any other language or culture. This is the only home they have known.
What are they supposed to do now?
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