The course of true equality never has run smooth

This article, written by the mother of four grown sons, one of whom is gay, describes her reaction to the Conservative movement's stance on LGBT members and clergy. Although the article is five years old, I was surprised to find that reparative therapy, long since debunked (i.e. "pray away the gay") was even on the table. I was less surprised to find that, while LGBT folks could be ordained, they were not allowed to engage in sexual relations with members of the same sex. Though I'm not a parent, my reactions were very similar to those of the author.

As much as I like our large Reform synagogue for many reasons, it's still very white, middle- to upper-class, Ashkenazi and hetero-couples-with-kids oriented. There is absolutely the intention to be accepting of all people, but I've seen lesbian couples asked if they're sisters (or mother and daughter, when the age difference is nowhere near that wide), unsure reactions to transwomen and complete bafflement when discovering that someone is a transman.

I cannot presume to say how Judaism should be. I can say how I would prefer it to be, and that is with the recognition that diversity within our people is something to be not merely tolerated, but celebrated.

(I've been reading bits of things here and there about the ongoing struggles of Sephardic, Ethiopian and Mizrahi Jews, in Israel and elsewhere. I converted into the Ashkenazic tradition, and I wish the Introduction to Judaism class had included more information about other Jews. There's probably a whole 'nother series of posts I could write, but I need to learn a lot more first. I can, however, say that I believe that no group who excludes these and any other traditions, whether or not it's intentional, can call itself truly inclusive.)

I'm not sure why

I have come to the conclusion that, while I am completely comfortable calling myself Jewish, I am not comfortable referring to myself as "a Jew". I don't know why this is. I mean, I'm sure it's because I'm a convert, and maybe I think that while anybody can become Jewish, only those born into it are Jews.

I think this probably doesn't make sense.

Believing in Child Labor, Sweatshops and Torture

For whatever reason, a lot of Christian-oriented blogs are coming across my radar lately, but it's not as though Jews have a monopoly on social justice.

This post discusses how the ways in which we act may or may not accurately reflect what we think we believe. That's a rather convoluted sentence (for a rather convoluted concept), so here's an excerpt:

"Take the example of buying chocolate from a corner shop. If I know, or suspect, that the chocolate is made from coco beans picked by children under the conditions of slavery then, regardless of what I say, I believe in child slavery."

Of course, it's not that simple. It's worth reading through the comments as well for a variety of perspectives.

Breaking up with God

I found this piece over on Huffington Post very interesting. It's written by a woman who throughout her life has struggled with her relationship with G-d, even hearing a calling to become an Episcopal priest. As of her writing this post, she and G-d are no longer together.

My relationship with and opinion of G-d has always been ambivalent. I'm grateful that my sponsoring rabbi specifically said that belief in G-d wasn't a requirement of conversion. Sometimes I long for the security of a firm belief in a deity with specific characteristics, but then I remember that that way lies fundamentalism in its unpleasant sense, and I don't want to go there.

Is G-d required for democracy?

At a graduation I attended recently, the keynote speaker suggested that, in societies where most people follow all of the laws all of the time, human societal obedience is based on a fear of punishment. This punishment can come from either a human dictator or G-d. He further suggested that, in order for democracy as we understand it to work, the society must be predicated on the latter, even if that society has drifted (for better or worse) from its faith-based roots, e.g. the United States.

He further posited that dictator-based societies upon which democracy is imposed from the outside tend to break down rapidly. He used Haiti as an example of this; ousting the Duvaliers, as bad as they were, did nothing for Haiti's political stability, and the country still struggles today.

This is, of course, a simplification of what he said, which must in and of itself be a simplification of the concept; I'm sure tomes could be written about this, but he had to fit it into a small part of a graduation speech. A quick Internet search does not reveal that he's written about this, but I'll see if I can't find something more in-depth later.

Making a Jew

I've now been a Jew for both a Jewish and a Gregorian calendar cycle. I've found it most interesting, although very difficult to put into words, how much of a difference the conversion ceremony made in my experience. It broke down the last wall that I hadn't even realized was there, and now any residual discomfort I may have felt as a "not-quite-a-Jew" is totally gone. I had none of my previous December anxiety (which I thought I'd written about, but I don't see it. Maybe I wrote it somewhere else), was comfortable enough to host our seder (albeit in a nervous way) and no longer feel the need to qualify my Jewishness with "by choice".

Unless somebody asks, and then I'm also completely comfortable discussing my journey without feeling defensive or like I have to prove that I'm sufficiently Jewish to claim the word.

(I've been asked twice "You're Jewish? I thought you were Irish" (meaning Irish Catholic). By the same person. Who is Jewish. I really like this person, and I do have Irish heritage, but twice?)

I found this article, entitled "How We Make A Jew", while looking for something else. My own mikveh experience was very similar to this and was immediately followed by a conversion ceremony at the synagogue and then Qabbalat Shabbat services. And then a festive oneg at our favorite bar-and-grill.

I felt so blessed then by the warmth and acceptance I received, and that blessed feeling has continued ever since.

Celebrating death?

A week ago today, the world learned of the death of Osama bin Laden. I have been sitting with this ever since, trying to decide what, if anything, to say.

I have not been able to summon much of an emotional reaction to the death itself. I do feel a certain relief that he's gone, but not more. I suspect that, had I lost anyone in the 9/11 attacks, or had I lived in NYC or DC, I would feel differently. But I was living in the middle of the flyover states at the time, and, while we were alarmed and dismayed, I don't think many of us really considered ourselves or our community a likely target.

I was, however, rather distressed to see the celebrations in the streets. It's not that I don't understand the impulse, and I certainly don't mourn his death. Maybe it's just that mob mentality of any kind makes me nervous.

Several of my friends indicated that they would have preferred to see bin Laden captured and put on trial. Since I can't imagine that such a trial wouldn't have ended in the death penalty for a completely remorseless man anyway, I'm actually fine with the way it went down. Any trial would have just been a public spectacle.

In searching for the midrash about God chastising the angels who sang when the Egyptians were drowning, I found this blog post, posted about Parsha Beshalach (this year, I think...before bin Laden's death, anyway).

I particularly liked this portion of the post: "God 'does what He has to do,' but that doesn’t mean it isn’t tragic that there are bad people. It is so sad that people choose to hurt people, and punished they must be! But God mourns that loss of a human being who just couldn’t use his/her life in the right way. How can we internalize this message, and where can we apply some of this perspective?"

I don't believe that any particular emotional reaction to this is wrong. And I hesitate to compare this country's jubilation over an evil man's demise with the celebrations in certain countries by certain segments of their populations in response to 9/11...the events are hardly equivalent.

So I sit with my discomfort and worry about backlash and pray that I and my loved ones never find ourselves on the wrong end of any kind of mob.

חג שמח

Chag Sameach Purim!

So here's an article about why we're supposed to drink ourselves stupid on Purim.

C and I drank ourselves toasty at our synagogue's 21+ Purimshpil last night, but not to the point of embarrassment. Yes, drinking is a mitzvah, but still, we have to be welcome back there.

One of our fifty-something friends did come wandering up to us near the end of the night, asked if someone nearby was someone else (there was a slight resemblance between the individuals in question, but not THAT much) and then declared that he was in no way responsible for anything he said.

"What did they put in YOUR drink?" we asked.

"I don't know, but whatever it was, it's pretty good!" he said.

We think he doesn't normally drink much. We made sure somebody else was driving him and his entourage home.

American Judaism and Racism

This article was posted a couple Martin Luther King Jr. Days ago. The article itself is interesting; the comments are fascinating, involving a lengthy exchange between the author and an American Jew who sees no racism in American Judaism.

I think it's fairly obvious that segregation definitely exists; I attend a multi-thousand family synagogue (I mean, most of them don't go regularly), and I can count on one hand the number of non-white congregants I see on a Friday night. And I live in a diverse metropolitan area. I personally know one family who chose not to join our congregation because they did not think it was racially diverse enough for their half-Asian children (and honestly, I tend to agree).

That does not mean, of course, than any individual Jew is a racist, but that many Ashkenazic Jewish organizations don't do much to encourage racial diversity.

Anyway, the article and comments go into much more detail with much more basis than I can do here. Go forth and read.

Dear Certain Parents:

From Reform Jewish Outreach's Purim newsletter:

'Dress up as your favorite Purim character (or any costume you like). During the service, whenever you hear the name "Hamen," you should spin your grogger (a colorful, loud noisemaker), stomp your feet and do everything in your power to make sure his name is not heard. This is one time when it is truly a mitzvah (commandment) to make noise in the sanctuary.' (Emphasis mine.)

See that bold sentence there? That means that, the rest of the year, it is NOT a mitzvah to make noise in the sanctuary. We all know that sometimes babies cry and toddlers squawk. If these children cannot be quickly soothed, and we do understand if they can't, please take them out.

More to the point, however, if your school-age, verbal, possibly-literate* child is attending services with you, that's a really good time for them to learn about Sitting Down and Being Quiet and maybe...just maybe...even Following Along With The Service. Because even if your kids aren't particularly interested, there are a whole bunch of adults around you who are there to worship, and it's very difficult for some of us to focus and pray when there are unattended children running up and down the aisles. Especially when some of those children are nine or ten years old.

Yours in vexation,

Anath Shalom

Rediscovered mikveh

This article is about a recently uncovered mikveh in Baltimore, which may be the oldest mikveh in the United States, located in the basement of a row house.

The place where I had my mikveh is more like a spa, but really, just about any place in which a person can fully submerge and that is at least partially fed by natural water has the potential to serve as a mikveh.

Patrilineal descent

A short essay by Rabbi Andy Bachman, discussing the idea of patrilineal descent.

I've always had some trouble reconciling Jews-as-a-race versus Judaism-as-a-religion. It was made very clear to me, by more than one rabbi, that the only way to enter the Jewish people as a convert was via religion, and I'm completely fine with that. I love learning, reading, experiencing Judaism in so many ways.

But then, it's always bugged me a little that someone who can trace their Jewish matrilineal descent is automatically Jewish, regardless of their background or whether they've ever set foot in a synagogue or know a word of Hebrew or Yiddish. (Well, I expect most native English speakers know a few words of Yiddish.) And yet, someone who can trace their Jewish patrilineal descent is not automatically Jewish if their mother's not, even if they grew up going to shul every week, observing every Shabbat and holiday, can recite Talmud backwards and forwards. (And yes, if someone's gone so far as to learn Talmud, I would suppose he or she has undergone the conversion process at some point, if necessary.)

The Reform Judaism stance, as I understand it, makes a great deal of sense to me. Reform Judaism accepts both matrilineal and patrilineal descent, as long as the person was raised Jewish.* In the article (and the comments), Rabbi Bachman discusses some of the issues involved.

Personally, it's a moot point for me, but I continue to find the "Who is a Jew?" debate fascinating.

*Edit: In reading through the comments, it seems my understanding of the Reform stance is flawed. Will continue research.

A note on backdating

I'm trying to write at least a little something about each Torah portion. I'm way behind in this, but I want to get them near the correct date, so I'll be backdating and filling in as I go. Not, I think, that anybody is reading, but in case someone is, thought I'd mention it. Carry on.

Details, details

So one of the reasons C. and I appreciate the Reform movement is that Reform Jews don't consider halacha to be binding. We especially consider this around Shabbat prohibitions, or lack thereof...we use electricity; we drive; we cook. (Well, sometimes we cook.) We try not to spend money frivolously, but we will buy things we need or go out to dinner.

We joke between ourselves sometimes that at least we don't have to worry about accidentally winnowing or threshing, since we thought those were purely agricultural prohibitions, and we live in the middle of a city.

We were, however, mistaken, as it turns out. It is, indeed, possible to thresh when one is not a farmer. I have not explored the possibility of inadvertently winnowing.

I do not, of course, intend this as a criticism of Orthodox Judaism; it's more an eye-opener for me as to how very little I know. I do know that, if I attempted Orthodoxy, I'd get so spun up about the details that I'd end up spiritually paralyzing myself. But I have great admiration for those who manage to balance fairly strict observance with living in today's world.

Something else I did not realize

But only because I hadn't looked...

Both the Amidah and the Kaddish traditionally require a minyan.

I'm not sure how strict our rabbis are about having a minyan to proceed with the prayers, since I don't think I've ever been at a Torah study in which there weren't at least ten adult Jews present. I do know that one of the rabbis nearly started a service using the Torah scroll to stand in for one Jew, since only nine were there, and I do know our synagogue has a lay-led weekday minyan that does not require ten people to say the Amidah and Kaddish. I've been twice (it conflicts with my work schedule most of the time), and once there were five of us, and once there were three, but we didn't leave anything out.

From the Wikipedia Amidah article:

Interruptions

Interrupting the Amidah is forbidden. The only exceptions are in cases of danger or for one who needs to relieve oneself, though this rule may depend of the movement of Judaism. There are also halakhot to prevent interrupting the Amidah of others; for example, it is forbidden to sit next to someone praying or to walk within four amot (cubits) of someone praying.

*****

Clearly, this article is written from an Orthodox perspective. Maybe Conservative. Definitely not Reform...at least, not from our synagogue, where people wander in and out throughout the entire service, including the Sh'ma. I didn't even know about this halacha.

Although if anyone needs to relieve him- or herself at any point, I'm TOTALLY FINE with said person leaving and returning whenever. Truly.

And Miriam was a weaver of unique variety

Many people have posted Debbie Friedman's Mi Sheberach, which our congregation sings most weeks. So I thought I'd post one of my favorites instead...

Miriam's Song

A brief departure

So after this week's Torah study, I had a bunch of potential posts forming. Then I heard about Tucson; then I heard about Debbie Friedman (z'l). So the rest will wait.

May the memories of Christina Greene, Dorothy Murray, John Roll, Phyllis Schneck, Dorwin Stoddard and Gabriel Zimmerman be a blessing, and R'fuah Shlema to their families and loved ones, as well as to Congresswoman Giffords.

Every one of these deaths is a tragedy, but much coverage is going to the child*, the judge and the young Jewish man. CBS has an article touching on all six of the lives lost.

And R'fuah Shlema as well to the family and loved ones of Jared Lee Loughner, who must be just as horrified, baffled and devastated as the rest of us.

*Yes, I teared up typing that. There's a phone interview with her mother that I cannot even try to watch.

Parashat Bo 5771

(backdated, actually written 2/22/11)

The Plaut commentary on Parashat Bo suggests that the slaying of the first-born of the Egyptians and the sparing of the first-born of the Israelites sets up the tradition of primogeniture, and that that tradition is at odds with the frequency with which, in the Torah, God prefers a younger sibling to carry out His plan.

I'm not so sure the two are in direct opposition; Egypt mourned deeply but survives to this day. It seems to me that the Torah shows that primogeniture is often not the best determinant of merit.

(Spoken as an only child, mind you.)

Happy Goyische New Year!

This post from myjewishlearning.com discusses ways in which to make your secular New Year observance more Jewish. I've been thinking lately about how often we discuss the Jewish idea of separation; in fact, Rabbi H, our new(ish) rabbi, gave a Qabbalat Shabbat sermon this New Year's Eve about this exact topic. I'm trying to figure out the balance between separation and inclusion. As Reform Jews, we are encouraged to live in the world, while at the same time being sure to separate the holy from the mundane, Shabbat from the rest of the week, wheat from chaff...no, wait, wrong Bible.

I don't really make New Year's resolutions per se, but I do try to take an inventory and decide what to improve four times each year: January 1, mid-April (my birthday), early July (when C and I met) and, of course, the Days of Awe. That way, I don't feel like I have to wait a whole year and give up in the meantime.