There's a sukkah in the yard, and we've done the rain dance.
Sometimes, our rituals have clearly been preserved for a really, really, really long time.
But when spiced up - say, by eating sushi in the sukkah (it's a fresh harvest of the sea!) - they're quite enjoyable.
Happy New Year!
Elder of Zion coordinates a donation matching scheme. It's a great model, except Elder needs more sponsors to match with!
If you have a large gift you want to make, why not use it to match someone else's donation, and prompt them to give a little?
I will admit that I am filled with a sense of foreboding as Tisha b'Av begins.
This is a first for me; this day is not one which I have historically observed; merely noted in passing. Nor am I observing it today, other than to mark - and dread - its arrival.
As others have noted, the three weeks leading up to Tisha b'Av are noteworthy for their sorrow, and as a harbinger of the destruction that always happens at this time of year. Our enemies have noted it as well. The Temple's destruction, of course, was the first event. The Second Temple's destruction. The end of the Bar Kochba revolt. The expulsion from Spain. And, apparently, the start of World War I (this was new to me).
I am not surprised to see that, for the first time, Hizb'allah has launched rockets in the nighttime at northern Israel. Nor am I surprised to see that the Islamic Movement is calling on its supporters to gather at the Al-Aqsa Mosque, to "protect" it from the Jews going to the Temple Mount to mourn. Does anyone else see a riot happening tomorrow, and it being blamed on the "provocation" of the presence of Jews going to Temple Mount?
I hope I am wrong - that I wake up tomorrow and it is just another day in this war. But somehow, I doubt it. Sleep well, my friends - and my your fast be light, the day be uninteresting, and the sun set on Eretz Yisrael.
Each year at Pesakh, I tell this story:
For me, the four children represent the four generations of my family coming to America, and the transformation into Reform Jews. My great-grandfather was born on the shtetl, and was "wise" in the ways of Judaism. He came to America, and lived a quiet, Jewish life. He had seen the pogroms firsthand in Russia, and knew that one day, "they" would come to get him. His daughter - my grandmother - was raised in a house where Yiddish was spoken as freely as English, yet with every breath, she was taught to hide her Jewishness; to turn away from it. While smart in the ways of being a Jew, she was "wicked", and turned her back on her heritage. My mother - now the third generation of American Jews - was raised in a Jewish neighborhood. She attended a public school which virtually closed for all Jewish holidays. She could not, however, attend any Jewish events, for her grandfather would warn her, "Do not be marked out, for one day, they will come for you". So she became a simple Jew. She knew that she was a Jew, and the only Yiddish she knew was, "Kleine Kinder hogn groise oiren." - Little children have big ears. On to my generation. There are three of us, and I am the youngest. We did not even know enough to ask. We grew up in a house with a Christmas tree and a menorah. When I was 11, I decided I wanted a bar mitzvah, so my parents dutifully selected a synagogue, and off we went. Of my brothers, one still lights the menorah next to his Christmas tree. The other has recently fallen into (and back out of) evangelic Christianity, and is now a Methodist. And me? I'm a Jew. And may my children be wise.
But today, I was discussing Meryl's post with my mother; and the tragedy in Seattle. And she said to me, "Maybe my grandfather was right."
For those of you who don't listen to her podcast, Meryl Yourish transcribed it. Here's a snippet:
When you go to church on Sunday, do you ever wonder if a gunman will break into your church and start indiscriminately shooting?When you’re going to the gym at the YMCA, do you have armed policemen standing outside the door?
It's always something in the back of your mind, when you're practicing or congregating. If I forget to remove my kipa after services, I sometimes wonder who noticed, or cared if I stopped to pick up dinner. How publicly should I embrace my Judaism? Would I have Seva's courage, to attend and document an anti-Israel protest?
I don't know. Do you?
Since Meryl needs some cat therapy:
(Yes, I know this is a friend's cat; but mine now live up in Maine)
Laurence Simon, blogging at Meryl's, discusses the merits of changing up your hamburger selection:
Imagine there’s no ketchup. No mustard, too.
So my burger didn’t have mustard. Or ketchup. Or mayo. Or tomatoes.
Just pickles, onions, and two things I won’t mention since this is supposedly a Kosher blog.
I'll note that one shouldn't taunt the Almighty. A few years ago, I developed an allergy to dairy proteins. No milk. No cheese. And certainly, no cheeseburgers. The next time you feel the urge to ask Adonai for a clear sign, don't.
