Exhibitionist No More

I have not been writing much, lately. I was thinking that I made this blog because I wanted to bare myself to the world, and that sharing my personal thoughts and feelings, and having people comment and respond made me feel good and validated. I feel myself, lately, thinking about writing a new post on the blog, and then upon consideration, thinking, "Do I really want to share this with the world?" A conversation with a close friend would probably do the trick. Or just writing down my thoughts in a journal. I am thinking this is a good development.

The reason that I fell in love with war stories was the raw, naked humanity. I suppose I modeled that style in all of my writing. But I think that I am learning to be more cautious, and more private about my humanity and myself. I just wanted to fill in the world as to why the posts have been coming more infrequent. That's all. If people want to share their opinions about this new trend, I'm interested to hear. But it's not really an open discussion. I see it as a stage in development and growing up. There you have it, folks.

Is a Synagogue a Place to Pray?

I was in the Upper West Side this afternoon, just before the sun was setting, and I hadn't yet davened mincha. I was right near the Carlebach shul, and while I didn't know about the shul's hours, I thought I ought to check to see if I could daven in there. I found the doors locked, and so I rang up and heard a voice call back, "Who's there?" I didn't see why that mattered, but i told him my name, and that I just wanted to daven mincha. The voice replied, "what did you say? I can't hear you." "I just want to daven mincha by myself," I told him. The unlocking-door buzzer sound, and i was set. I came in, found the light switch myself to what must be the sanctuary, took a siddur off the shelf, and I said mincha.

I was thinking of how many times I have tried to do this and have found locked doors. I passed the church down the block from the shul where I had just prayed, and I thought of the way the church is portrayed in the movies-- if a person needs to reach out to God in times of crisis, despair, or even gratitude, there is a house of prayer that is always open and available for his or her outpouring. I think Chassidic stories tend to portray the synagogue in the same way. But today, our shuls are opened for services, and that's usually it. If a person wanted to call out to God, she might have to do it in the movie theater across the street from a locked shul, in a phone booth (not a bad choice, but they're becoming more and more uncommon) or next to a tree planted in between the pavement of the sidewalk in front of the imposing, locked building. These are places I've gone to pray at times that i haven't had a house of worship available. Of course, my prayers were the same as the ones they say in synagogue during the services, mostly-- I'm just not good with timing. But what if I wanted to call out to my creator from the innermost parts of my heart.

The services are really that conducive to this kind of thing, themselves. But a locked building really kills the opportunity to use the shul as a place to connect to God within a Jewish framework. Of course, those other places also have little angels waiting to carry your prayers up to God, but this phenomenon of the locked synagogue is a missed opportunity to actually create a sacred space for all Jews at all times. Imagine a person is having a hard day, and during his lunch break, he stops into a shul at an off time and goes to rendezvous with God there. That's a pretty cool thought, no?

Writing in Rhyme

Often I will begin to write a poem, and the first thing that comes out is a rhyme, somewhat resembling a Mother-Goose nursery rhyme. I will begin to write, and then it's as though the sounds of the words make the poem-song write itself.

This is very interesting to me, as a poetry teacher once told me to avoid the rhyming style, since it's too easy; too simple. Find a better word- try harder to make it work. I hear what she was saying. The search for the write word can be hugely important and rewarding. And the rhyme becomes the cop-out.

But what if the reason Nursery rhymes hold the power they hold is that they rhyme. The process of writing a rhyme is, just like i said, one where the sounds make the poem write itself. As though the poem was there before me-- before time, before the words even existed. Like the way the midrash says that the Torah predated the whole world.

The fact that a rhyme seems to write itself, the way a cadence needs to follow the Dominant Seventh, or the listener is left unfinished-- unsatisfied. The rhyme needs to be written, or else you're playing tricks with our minds.

And yes, mind games can be cute, and hold messages. But those messages are not as basic as the one that predates time. And anyway, you often don't need to mention the rhyme, because everyone knows what it was going to be. Since it's expected, the variation from that pre-existent theme is appreciated.

So we can just stop being afraid of what's predictable and human. The experiences we might be going through might sound cliche, but it's precisely the face that everyone experiences it that makes it cliche. And it's okay to be Cliche.

I wrote this poem a couple years ago, and this post reminds me of it:

Tzimtzum

I want structure like a rhyme

But I don’t really have the time

to sit around and think up ways

to measure out words and phrases.

I want to burst out of my very own skin

and dance on the street, so I can begin

to be who I am, no more and no less

and stop for nothing, lest I regress.

See, structure like rhyme is fine and it’s cute

but in my soul, structure makes me feel mute.

If the reason I am writing is because I’m alive

Rhyming a poem’s like going on automatic drive

Where the sounds of the words

and the rhythms I’m hearing

Create all the music

and my mind has no bearing.

Still, there’s something to music

that I can’t get enough of

it, something that’s calling down to me

from way up above.

Penetrating deep into my inner existence

That continues to persist, despite resistance.

How can there be beauty in these far-fetched, stretched lines?

All structure would seem to do is confine and undermine

all human expression, unless that’s just the thing--

that the beauty we hear and feel is exactly what we sing.

Of course, life also has surprise in it, and that's what the plays on the rhyme can try to capture. But I still find the rhyme a comfort and a pleasure.

Comments are welcome, as always.

Leaving Freedom Behind

At the end of last February, I started a post that I called, "Taking Freedom to Task." It began as follows:
"One of my favorite books that I never finished reading was Erich Fromm's Escape from Freedom. Fromm attempts to explain why Totalitarianism was so popular at the beginning of the last century. He argues that the breakdown of the caste system left people feeling aimless and without meaning in their lives. The structure that predetermined lives with few decisions provided was replaced with loneliness and freedom in excess."
That's all I got to, back in February. This book had a huge impact on me, and it explained to me why the Torah is a huge blessing to people, and how somehow, being subjugated to something greater than oneself is liberating. I didn't understand how far reaching these lessons were, however, until more recently.

Having started teaching, I've been in a kind of "Freedom Laboratory." Before the school year began, I read a delicious book called, "How to Teach so Kids Can Learn." The book emphasises giving information and stating expectations so that students will come to make good decisions on their own. I implemented much of what the book told me, and while I was getting feedback from parents and students that I was well liked (which was hardly my agenda-- at least consciously), I discovered on a recent test that I gave that the students are aching for the bondage of rules and detentions. They feel like I give them too much freedom. The principal has echoed the sentiment. I need to be the queen in my classroom, and rule over the students with a strong hand.

The structure the kids are craving was surprising to me at first. I couldn't understand why kids would want to fight against me, when I am just concerned for their well being that I want to help them learn. But the truth is that, put in their place, I probably would have done the same thing, back then. Too many choices for kids who aren't used to making decisions like, "what am I going to have for dinner?" is overwhelming, and intimidating. The kids don't say so, at first. They rebel, and rejoice in their newly-found freedom. But they end up feeling that the classroom is too chaotic, and they long for structure.

Last week we read Parshat Noach in Shul, and I would like to invite everyone who struggles along with me to take this opportunity to move from the destruction of the mabul (flood) back into a recreation of structure, which will nurture an environment for growth and opportunities. It is the tohu vavohu (some kind of cosmic, primeval mess) of water (which is fluid and without boundaries) that needs to be divided and distinguished from land that makes the vast and beautiful ocean. Without that, there is no room for life. Only chaos.

If anyone has thoughts, comments, similar experiences or any other insights, please share it with us.

Growing-Up Jewish

I've been thinking lately that Judaism is not made for kids. This hypothesis is counter-intuitive to many. Since there is a tendency in this country to educate children in the ways of Judaism, and then allow them to somehow become disconnected from everything Jewish when they grow older, many people assume that there is nothing for adults to connect to in Judaism.

If adults do connect to Judaism, as in the community I grew up, it is generally an intellectual endeavour to get to obscure and hidden messages beneath the surface, where reading a basic Jewish text from the Bible or even the Talmud is insufficient, and it requires something deeper, something further. I am not saying that those further studies are meaningless, they are certainly not. However, I have come to the conclusion that the basic practice of Judaism has been wrongly labeled as childish and unsophisticated.

I have been preparing and have begun teaching the book of Samuel 1 to 6th grade girls. While the stories are engaging, and mostly understandable, reading the text over as an adult has brought me to the realization that the Bible is hardly for children. It is full of stories about honor, war, politics, true love and loyalty-- all of these themes understood only minimally in childhood and much, much more fully in adulthood.

Similarly, going through the Jewish holiday of Yom Kippur at the age of 23 brought me to an understanding far surpassing what I could have felt and thought at a younger age. It is only through life experience, and different kinds of interactions with varieties of people, confronting real responsibilities and experiencing real loss can people actually relate to so many of the messages of the day. Surely, some parents will try to teach their kids about responsibility and the like, but it has been my experience that life is most poignant when experienced first-hand.

Granted, I stuck it out with my Jewish education longer than most do, and I come from a place where people are engaged in the intellectual pursuit of Jewish texts and history, but I feel the at this point in my life, the Bracha of Shehechiyanu can take on a new meaning-- that G-d had brought me to this time and place where I can grow emotionally in my relationship to Judaism-- and to Him.

Chag Sukkot Sameach!

Certainty on Days of Judgement

I have been encountering Jews lately who feel Jewish enough to identify themselves as Jewish and to celebrate the High Holidays. I think that it is wonderful that people feel that Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are un-intimidating enough that despite leading inactive religious lives the rest of the year, many people feel comfortable enough to join us all in Synagogue and Temple on Rosh Hashanah, and to send New Years greetings to one another.

I also find this phenomenon somewhat ironic, since the time is traditionally when we crown G-d our King, and reaffirm our commitments to Him for the rest of the year. We reflect on our errors, and we commit to returning to G-d and fixing our ways. For someone to affirm commitments to a religious institution from he is largely unfamiliar and usually unaffiliated, the holiday must have a strange flavor. However, the fact that this time exists for this group is fantastic, in my opinion. I think it allows many people a chance to explore religious questions and issues that go ignored on a regular basis.

I encountered a person on facebook a couple of weeks ago, who, when I reminded him that Rosh Hashanah was coming, proceeded to share a full account of his feelings towards Judaism and his reflections on Temple, Sunday School and his Bar Mitzvah. He discussed an effort to escape conventions, repetitive rituals like prayer and grace after meals that become meaningless and also his frustrations with Jewish-mandated limitations of sexuality.

This past Rosh Hashanah I spent a lot of time talking to some Jews who are college and post-college aged, all involved in the process of questioning communal and traditional assumptions about convention and reconsidering them. We talked about blurring gender lines, and we talked about the soul, spirituality and reincarnation. One of the college students is a musician, and he said that his inspiration comes from John Cage, who questions all of our assumptions about what "music" means. He thought we should live life-- and try to detract from all the meaning-making.

I come to this from a sheltered-ish life, of a modern orthodox, wholesome Jewish home where I was never exposed to cross-dressing, hallucinogenics, or even Jews from other denominations. I've seen much more in recent years, having traveled to more places and sought out some things, but I haven't seen that much. I come with a rather limited perspective, and yet I find that the way traditional Jewish practice has been laid out for us, while not perfect, can be extremely meaningful. I have been in shuls where I didn't like the set-up of the balcony-women's section, and I didn't know a person there, and was not greeted by anyone new, but despite my alienation and bad feelings, when it came time for Kedusha, I could not help but feel inspired by the Prophet's words. I see the angels singing praise to G-d and I forgive the Jewish people for all their sins and all our insularity and unwelcoming qualities.

I hear about people doubting G-d's existence, or metaphorising Him into something that is not a being separate from man, and I hear where they're coming from. But then I feel the clean air outside and I see the sun peaking glaring rays through the clouds in a blue sky, and I feel His presence. I don't have an easy time forcing the religious experiences of every holiday. I think that Rosh Hashanah is a hard holiday to get into, with all it's paradoxes and dichotomies. But when I hear the shofar blasts, it is difficult to be unaffected. There is a power to the practices inherently, and they are what keeps us going.

One of my first days at work, I was running around like crazy all day-- busy planning lessons and preparing materials and games, and I did not have a second to stop. I bring my sixth graders to mincha every day, and at that mincha, I was so grateful for this prayer that cuts directly into the middle of our day. I opened up the siddur, and I knew I wouldn't have gotten a chance to talk to G-d-- but that that was exactly what I needed to do. The Brachot flowed from my lips the way they always do, but my in my heart, they meant something unique. This strengthened my commitment to praying prayers that are very repetitive. I don't think I would have been able to construct an appropriate prayer, but when the time comes for the Bracha that is on-topic, I'm there, and I know that G-d is listening.

Just some reflecting on the "meaningless rituals" that I've heard so much complaining about lately. If anyone has different experiences or thoughts, your comments are welcome, as always.

Mind-Control

Along my travels this month, I found myself in Toronto, at the Exhibition, which is a huge kind of national fair, with vendors from all over the place, a boardwalk of games and rides, all kinds of displays and shows. I attended a hypnotist show, with my friends there, and I volunteered to be hypnotized, together with some 25 other members of the audience.

We were up on stage, and the hypnotists had us do some things, while he played with our minds, asking questions with too many double negatives so as to confuse us. We had our eyes sealed shut, and I tried to open them, but I couldn't. He had us roll our hands in circles around each other, and then uncontrollably switch directions. I was amazed that it worked, and kind of scared by the loss of control.

Then, the second part of the show, he put the volunteers into a trance, having us relax completely, and fall on the stage floor. I relaxed as he told me to, but as I fell to the floor, I checked to see that I wasn't falling on anyone. it could be that that's what did it, but after that, the rest of the show, I sat on my seat and was unaffected by any and all of the hypnotists instructions. I tried to do what he said-- he had us carve out mountains, he told us we saw a cloud that was the shape of a turkey float into a cloud the shape of an oven, and i tried to imagine these things. He trained the volunteers to be terrified of his face when he placed his thumbs on his two front teeth. He made one guy think he was a superhero, another that he was Captain Kirk. He made a woman forget her name-- a belt turn into a snake, and most everyone on stage was with him on everything. But I sat there, and watched, and tried to feel it-- but it didn't come. He had everyone scream "No, you shut up!" whenever they heard him say "shut up," and to think their butts were being pinched by the person next to them, or even by someone in the audience. I sat, and wondered why it wouldn't work for me. I felt left out, since it seemed, everyone else could loose a hold of his/her conscious mind, but i couldn't.

A friend of mine who does hypnosis told me that when in a trance, a person will not do anything that he finds morally unethical. Maybe that was the problem for me. The hypnotist had us imagine everyone in the audience was naked, and then that we were. But i was out of it way before then. He had a guy give him his wallet repeatedly, under this spell. I was astonished by how well it worked for everyone else, and how i was completely unaffected by his instructions.

I think there's a kind of paradox involved with control in general, and is not different when it comes to being in control of the mind. A parent, teacher, youth group leader, politician-- all these people have a certain amount of power and control over other people, but at a certain point, they all need to recognize that people have their own wills, and they need to let go.

I think people have a need to let go of their minds, as evidenced by the fact that so many of us like to be intoxicated, and because we love to drift into a dream. I think that the process of hypnosis a kind of paradox-- a catch-22, if you will. I had too much control to let go of my mind-- and not enough to be able to go under the trance. It takes concentration and focus to let go of ones mind in a hypnotic trance, and I didn't have what it takes. Or did I have too much?

Do you think I ought to try it again? The hypnotist promised that we would feel more well rested than if we'd slept all night when we came out of the trance. I think that is alluring enough to give it another shot. I aspire to be able to lose control-- at least to a degree. Hmm.