Post holiday lessons keep coming

Those of you who are Jewish know that we just completed the High Holidays.  Those who aren't Jewish might not know, or at least, might not know that this season of the year is about self-reflection, inner review and a determination to do things better in the coming year.

I had a particularly meaningful Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement) this year, so it shouldn't surprise me that the lessons that go along with it just keep coming.

Today's piece showed up in my e-mail inbox, in a post from a site called Tiny Buddha.  Here's a little bit of what it said...

Finances, relationships, responsibilities, and life in general can certainly create a great deal of noise in our heads. However, if we truly want to feel inner peace, we must take the time to learn to be mindful instead of mind full. This, and only this, will allow us to respond to life instead of reacting to it.

I have tons of happy memories from my childhood and a few harsh ones too. Unfortunately, the harsh memories are those that we replay over and over again, until we heal them. A difficult memory that stuck with me for a very long time was my mother’s pattern of despair.

She would appear agitated or frustrated about something and soon after she would yell, “One of these days, you’ll come home and you’re not going to find me!” (There’s still a part of me that shudders a bit when I hear those words.)

As a child, this was a clear sign that my mom was angry about something and if I didn’t hurry up and make it better, she just might leave. (Read more....)

I immediately stopped there. In my head, I heard my own mother's voice making similar threats whenever I upset her or any number of other things upset her. But my mom's threat wasn't exactly the same...it was to die. She spent her life facing a huge number of illnesses, some of her own making and some not, but she used those sicknesses as a weapon to express her anger.

My mom passed away in 2011, in large part because she refused any treatment that would have kept her alive and functional. She had finally made good on her threat to die.

Like the author of the post, I too had to reach the understanding that her anger and her threats weren't really about me. She had had a rough childhood, filled with loss and probably neglect. She had some very real health challenges. But this brilliant woman (and I do mean seriously brilliant) didn't have the ability/interest/skills/desire to channel her anger appropriately. She lashed out at her children, her husband, her neighbors as a reaction to any kind of frustration or fear or upset. She alienated almost everyone who should have mattered to her in the process, and she died without her children or friends or any family except my dad around (her choice.)

I have lived my entire adult life in terror of becoming my mother. I asked friends, family, even a therapist if I was like her. They assured me I was not. I sought out other role models for being a mom (mostly from my LDS friends who, thank goodness, were more than willing and able to model healthy family life for me.)

I embraced  the influence of spirituality and family heritage that she had rejected, and have used it to help me find deeper meaning in life. I have tried to find peace with her since her passing, focusing on the few good memories, and offering my hopes that she is now at peace herself, free from the demons that fueled her anger.

But...since moving to Texas last year, I have seen some aspects of that reacting in myself. I am unhappy here.  I am lonely and lately, not feeling well, as I deal with what seems to be an intense allergy to the place  (I can't remember the last day I didn't wake up stuffy and coughing.) And I am homesick for Florida.

Unfortunately, that unhappiness has spilled over into some angry reactions. I thought a lot about this during Yom Kippur. But it was Vicki Savini's article that crystallized exactly what was  happening, and reminded me what to do about it. And why it matters so much that I do work on it.

I will never be perfect.  No one will, and even the greatest saints sometimes mess up and get angry when they should step away and breathe. But I want to do better at responding instead of reacting. I want to incorporate that stepping away and breathing and finding the source of my feelings instead of just reacting.

I have no idea whether the message in my inbox arrived at just the right time to help me with what I was already feeling, or if the feeling made me more aware of the message.  And it doesn't really matter. I am just grateful for the synchronicity.

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Image via http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Buddha_in_garden.jpg

Do you have stories of synchronicity to share?  I would love to hear them! 

Words from the Talmud on Kindness

It seems that some of these get overlooked in the rush to construct or discern new rules or more details about daily activities. So I thought a little reminder might be in order for all of us.

Getting the Sabbath all wrong

I have friends from all kinds of religions who agree that the Sabbath is an amazing gift. A chance to escape from the daily grind and renew. In the Torah, Shabbat is mentioned twice:

In Exodus 20:11, after Fourth Commandment is first instituted, G-d explains, "because for six days, the L-rd made the heavens and the earth, the sea and all that is in them, and on the seventh day, he rested; therefore, the L-rd blessed the Sabbath day and sanctified it." By resting on the seventh day and sanctifying it, we remember and acknowledge that G-d is the creator of heaven and earth and all living things. We also emulate the divine example, by refraining from work on the seventh day, as G-d did. If G-d's work can be set aside for a day of rest, how can we believe that our own work is too important to set aside temporarily?

In Deuteronomy 5:15, while Moses reiterates the Ten Commandments, he notes the second thing that we must remember on Shabbat: "remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the L-rd, your G-d brought you forth from there with a mighty hand and with an outstretched arm; therefore the L-rd your G-d commanded you to observe the Sabbath day."

Because Shabbat rest was mentioned in connection with the building of the Temple, the Rabbis concluded that anything one would have to do to build a temple is forbidden on Shabbat. They came up with 39 tasks or chores, and from that list, a host of other prohibitions based on the assumption that anything even remotely like anything on that list is also forbidden. And that's where the problem starts.

In the world in which the Temple was constructed, and in the world in which the Rabbis first derived the list of forbidden tasks, life was hard and physical. There was no such thing as a weekend or a 5 day work week. Every act, from cooking to treating the sick to traveling required real physical labor, either from a person or an animal or both.

Now jump forward a few thousand years, or even a few hundred. We travel with no physical effort from us or animals. We light up a room or cook a meal with a flick of a switch...no wood to gather, fires to start, or massive pots to carry. We can cook in seconds on a paper towel, or illuminate our homes with a single remote.

We work, but by and large, our work is conducted in offices and cubicles. We are a sedentary society, much to the concern of bathroom scales and doctors. We have moved from a world where physical labor 7 days a week was the norm, to one in which many people are lucky if they get 20 minutes of exercise a week.

Our work is constrained by rules...what we wear, whether we may use a telephone or chat with a friend, where we sit, how long we have to eat, and when, if it all, we may go outside during the workday. We live by the clock, arriving at leaving based on times set by someone other than ourselves. Our work is the work of sitting, thinking and rules.

Blessed Shabbat! A gift from G-d to free us from our work for one day out of seven.

Except by following the rules detailed for a different place and time and lifestyle by Rabbis who could not have envisioned the slavery of the cubicle, or the lack of physical activity we now endure, we completely miss the point!

Rest, real rest, and a separation from the workday week requires that we use our bodies. Get out of the walls which enclose us and run and swim and dance and walk in nature. Do the things our daily slavery prohibits like painting, writing poetry, creating a scrapbook or making music. Traveling with our families to museums and parks and the ocean to experience that blessed gift of freedom Shabbat was meant to be.

Thanking G-d for our world, for our freedoms, for one chance in seven to break free from uncomfortable clothes and clocks and go out and experience the world created for us.

In this world so far from that of ancient Israel or 19th century Europe, we need a new and realistic definition of work...and rest. We need Shabbat, as we always have. We just need it for different reasons.

One hand loves, one hand hates

Last week, I went to a meeting of Jews, Muslims, Christians and others at the local Islamic Center. The attire ranged from hijabs and robes to tank tops and jeans. The youngest was, I think my daughter, age 10. The eldest was probably well into her 80's, maybe 90's. This group of about 100 or so people represented countries around the globe.

The one thing we shared? A desire to learn, to come together, to understand our neighbors and ourselves. To dispel the fear that comes from misinformation, stereotypes and media-fed hysteria.

For three hours, we sat there and talked. At the direction of the leader, each table was mixed to represent a good cross section of the religions and ethnicities present. Also at her direction, we discussed our backgrounds, our spiritual journey, our beliefs. We mulled over similarities and differences -- and found the similarities to be a MUCH longer list. We ate sweet pastries, and talked some more. At the end of the evening, each table sent a representative to the front to summarize what we had found.

It was a wonderful inspiring experience. And just the beginning. Our next meeting will be at a synagogue, where the learning and dialog will continue.

The very next day, I opened my e-mail to find a forward from my uncle. A former federal agent, now retired. It was a top to bottom diatribe of hatred against Muslims. A no-holds barred rage that "they" would dare to be in "our" country. He had not written it, but he had forwarded it. This particular uncle has forwarded hateful e-mails to me before and I have privately asked, each time, that I be left off his list. But he has not stopped.

Among my very religiously mixed family, this uncle happens to be Christian. Practicing. So I responded to him (and everyone on his sent-to list) with a message suggesting love and understanding as the only truly brave answer to such an e-mail. I then proposed that instead of forwarding messages of hatred, which of course only increases hatred and violence, perhaps he would consider forwarding a quote from the Christian Bible....

5:43-48

"Ye have heard that it hath been said, 'Thou shalt love thy neighbor, and hate thine enemy.' "But I say unto you, 'Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and them which despitefully use you, persecute you, that ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven; for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.' For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? Do no even the publicans the same? And if ye salute your brethren only, what do ye more than others? Do not even the publicans so? Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect."

That, I wrote, would be a true act of bravery in the face of hateful messages.

The response from my family was ANGER! My answer was labeled "uncalled for" and "inappropriate" They were enraged at me. I was told to "Read a little about the Koran....and don't live in a shell."

I am saddened. Stunned. The contrast between the meeting and the message is too great.

I cannot remain silent in the face of hatred and distorted half-truths. But must I lose my family to stand up for what I know to be right? Does anyone have a suggestion?

So where does a non-Christian minister belong?

I am a Jew.

I am seriously drawn to Islam.

And I am an ordained non-denominational minister.

Who wants to be a minister. In practice.

No, let me correct that, not "who wants". Who feels incredibly drawn towards being a minister. I identify completely with the books I read about people who have felt and acted upon that kind of calling. I am fascinated in conversation with clerics of all faiths. I am drawn, irresistibly to the preaching, visiting the sick, performing life cycle events. Serving G-d in a very specific way.

But I have no interest in Christianity. Just G-d. The ONE.

So where do I go with this?

A spiritual conundrum...

Wondering where G-d is leading me...

I received an invitation to attend an Islamic awareness day at a local public place this weekend. I've RSVP'd a maybe, because I am just learning about Islam, and doubt my abilities to answer even the most basic of questions with any degree of accuracy.

And yet, I want to go. Not to be the source of answers about Islamic practice or theology, but to be an answer to the very first question that should be asked...

Why ask about Islam? Especially as a Jew. Why ask?

Every person who walks up to this table on Sunday will have their own answer io that...curiosity about what they've heard/seen on tv, a desire to prove their own superiority to another group, genuine intellectual interest about some point or another of the faith. I'm sure that the reasons will be as numerous as the people who stop by.

And I'm sure that among all of those people, there will be a few who share my answer.

Because I could not help but ask.

Because the driving search for what this life means and what I am to do with it has led me, step by step, moment by moment to this place and this time...looking back, I can see the turns and twists that brought me here.

...to this place, and to these questions.

The next what's and why's remain to be seen. For now, knowing that I need to ask is enough.

When it's time to let go and move on

The concept of bersheit or bashert, soulmates, is basic to Judaism. To find the one G-d has selected for you is the ultimate assurance of a love and compatibility. After all, G-d doesn't make mistakes.

Unfortunately, we mere mortals sometimes do. We fall in love, sometimes for reasons we can name, and sometimes without a single reason we know of. We find the partner of our dreams, and they return the feeling. And all is well with the world. We have found our true love.

But then sometimes, for reasons we may never understand, that perfect union is shattered. It may be financial hardship, a job in a distant city far from the beloved, a devastating illness, an accident, or a heartwrenching betrayal. And suddenly the entire future we expected shifts out from under us and crumbles into a dust too fine to ever be reassembled. We struggle to stay on our feet, to find something to grab onto. Clearly, it would be a good time to seek more stable ground.

The problem is, many of us don't. Or perhaps can't. We stay where we are, clinging to swaying branches and trying to regain our footing in the sand, certain that if we just find a way to stay still and look around, we'll discover a way to rebuild our lives as they once seemed to be, and all will be well.

So how to do we know when it's time to take those first hesitant steps away, and when the earthquake is only temporary? How do we separate the tests from the end? And if we move, how do we ever find the courage to let go and stand beside someone again without tethering ourselves to the nearest escape route? After the big earthquake, is it possible to love without a safety net?