Today is my 23rd birthday. When I was quite young I hit upon 23 as a personal magical number, and every since then I have been looking forward to and dreading turning twenty three. There's a lot riding on this year, symbolically. This is the year I will be married (that was intentional, when we picked the date), and Hashem only knows what else might be in store before I turn twenty four.
The Jewish calender puts the new year in the fall. My impression (don't quote me on this, I might be wrong) is that the calendar itself is actually counted from around Pesach, in the spring, but Rosh Hashanah is the birthday of creation, and thus the beginning of a new year. It's strange, starting out the year when the leaves are falling and and harvest is coming in. Spring is definitely a more logical time for a year to start (the new year use to be March 25 before Europe switched from the Julian to the Gregorian calendar), but the Jews eat apples and honey and wish each other a sweet new year in the midst of gathering in the fruits of their labors in the previous year. Instead of starting fresh, we start when we are most heavily loaded with the consequences of our work or neglect the year before, and when the worst is not behind us but yet to come. The days are getting rapidly shorter, the weather will soon turn cold and hunger will find us eventually as our stores run low, or even if we do not go hungry we will reach a point where we have not seen fresh greens in way too long. And yet this was when G-d created the world.
Can you imagine that first spring? I was born in the fall, so I must have once experienced something like that. After fall came winter, and everything good and loaded with promise seemed to disappear overnight, to vanish into the short, cold days and long, frosty nights. And then there would come a change in the weather, and suddenly life would come back into the world with such fresh and tender vigor it would be astounding. To see spring green and the bright riot of wild flowers for the very first time in the history of the world would be to have all of one's assumptions about the nature of G-d and Creation shaken, uprooted, overturned.
May this be a year of change equal to the change in the seasons, a sweet year where we carry with us all the good we have collected and add some more to it for the year to follow. L'shana Tova to you all.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Letting Go, Getting Clear
I wanted to write a fuller report of the clearness process I went through with my partner. I don't particularly have time to do so right now, but here's at least a recap.
First of all, we went about the entire thing mostly backwards and upside down. We are not getting married under the care of a Meeting, but merely in the manner of Friends. Thus, there is no Monthly Meeting to do the clearness process with, or to appoint a clearness committee for us. As I understand it, if we were doing everything in good Quaker order we would have come to the meeting when we first discerned a leading to marry and asked to be married under the care of the Meeting. They would have appointed us a clearness committee, and after a clearness process the committee would have come back and reported to the Meeting if they had found us clear and if they recommended that the Meeting take our marriage under its care. At that point a marriage oversight committee would have been put together and we would set the date, tell our friends and proceed with our plans with the logistical, emotional and spiritual support of our marriage committee.
Needless to say, that was not what we did. My partner proposed and I accepted in what I hoped was a prayerful and well-led way, but was almost immediately consumed by doubt as to whether or not we actually felt led by G-d to wed. In spite of this we proceeded through the engagement to-do list for the next eight or nine months, told our family we were getting married, set a date, booked a venue and a band and hotel rooms for the out of town guests. Meanwhile we also met with our elders and mentors, and put together a list of folks to form a clearness committee with, and scheduled times to meet. Doing all this simultaneously made the whole thing more confusing than ever.
Our committee met for four times, without a really clear and articulated sense of what we were hoping to accomplish as a group. We shared stories and concerns, looked for deeper truths, and finally just sat in waiting worship. We meditated on commitment and loss, on failure and on paradox and mystery.
In the second to last meeting we purposefully tried to discern if we were clear to marry, but that meeting did not lead to clarity for me, only more pain and more confusion. By the next day I had started to have panic attacks, and the following day I had a total breakdown and felt my whole life unraveling, unmade like a hat someone stopped knitting, pulled the needles out and began to pull out, one row at a time. I wasn't sure about anything at all, least of all whether I ought to marry my partner. I could barely speak in coherent sentences. Finally I realized that I could not make that decision, that I simply could not know if I ought to marry. I found that it was simply not the right time for that decision, and that either I would reach a better time later (after I get out of this crazy time of transition and flux) or I had already reached that time years before, and I needed to have faith and keep going with that decision. It was a crazy thing to do, to surrender what seems like the most important decision I'll ever make in the midst of serious doubt and reservations. It was a leap of faith, but it was also the only good option. I could not live if I did not trust life, trust G-d and trust myself. That was a turning point, and things were better after that.
The last meeting I came at last into a sense of peace and love in the silent worship. It was a good process, and it did lead to a deep sense of clarity for me, but in such a backwards and confusing way. If any of you readers decide to get married in a Quaker fashion, please do yourself the favor and have the clearness process first, before you get too deep into the commitment to marry.
First of all, we went about the entire thing mostly backwards and upside down. We are not getting married under the care of a Meeting, but merely in the manner of Friends. Thus, there is no Monthly Meeting to do the clearness process with, or to appoint a clearness committee for us. As I understand it, if we were doing everything in good Quaker order we would have come to the meeting when we first discerned a leading to marry and asked to be married under the care of the Meeting. They would have appointed us a clearness committee, and after a clearness process the committee would have come back and reported to the Meeting if they had found us clear and if they recommended that the Meeting take our marriage under its care. At that point a marriage oversight committee would have been put together and we would set the date, tell our friends and proceed with our plans with the logistical, emotional and spiritual support of our marriage committee.
Needless to say, that was not what we did. My partner proposed and I accepted in what I hoped was a prayerful and well-led way, but was almost immediately consumed by doubt as to whether or not we actually felt led by G-d to wed. In spite of this we proceeded through the engagement to-do list for the next eight or nine months, told our family we were getting married, set a date, booked a venue and a band and hotel rooms for the out of town guests. Meanwhile we also met with our elders and mentors, and put together a list of folks to form a clearness committee with, and scheduled times to meet. Doing all this simultaneously made the whole thing more confusing than ever.
Our committee met for four times, without a really clear and articulated sense of what we were hoping to accomplish as a group. We shared stories and concerns, looked for deeper truths, and finally just sat in waiting worship. We meditated on commitment and loss, on failure and on paradox and mystery.
In the second to last meeting we purposefully tried to discern if we were clear to marry, but that meeting did not lead to clarity for me, only more pain and more confusion. By the next day I had started to have panic attacks, and the following day I had a total breakdown and felt my whole life unraveling, unmade like a hat someone stopped knitting, pulled the needles out and began to pull out, one row at a time. I wasn't sure about anything at all, least of all whether I ought to marry my partner. I could barely speak in coherent sentences. Finally I realized that I could not make that decision, that I simply could not know if I ought to marry. I found that it was simply not the right time for that decision, and that either I would reach a better time later (after I get out of this crazy time of transition and flux) or I had already reached that time years before, and I needed to have faith and keep going with that decision. It was a crazy thing to do, to surrender what seems like the most important decision I'll ever make in the midst of serious doubt and reservations. It was a leap of faith, but it was also the only good option. I could not live if I did not trust life, trust G-d and trust myself. That was a turning point, and things were better after that.
The last meeting I came at last into a sense of peace and love in the silent worship. It was a good process, and it did lead to a deep sense of clarity for me, but in such a backwards and confusing way. If any of you readers decide to get married in a Quaker fashion, please do yourself the favor and have the clearness process first, before you get too deep into the commitment to marry.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Jews and Quakers, Law and Grace
Max Carter, the head of campus Ministry at Guilford College, tells me that I should wrestle with the conflict between "law" and "grace" more, and pointed to the fundimental tension between Quakerism and Judaism from Quakerism's earliest conception, namely that "much of the history of early Quakerism has to do with the 'non-necessity' of 'Jewish ceremonies' (as Fox often characterized outward practices)." The latest Friend's Journal (April 2010) also dealt with some of these tensions in their article Singing “Lord of the Dance”: Reflections on Anti-Semitism and Loving One Another by Steve Chase, Maxine Kaufman-Lacusta, Janet Minshall, Free Polazzo, and Joy Weaver. Facing this part of Quakerism has been a long and confusing process, especially since the most common attitude towards Jewish Quakers that I've encountered among Friends has been "oh, yeah, so-and-so is Jewish, and they've just been such a great addition to the Meeting. You know, I find Judaism so interesting. There are just so many connections between Quakers and Jews! Really, there's no reason why it should be a problem for you to be both."
But it has been a problem, a rich and rewarding problem, and I have dove deep into those troubled waters. I have known for years that I cannot be a Jaker or a Quew, because I'm Jewish, and I see no role models among Jewish Friends who keep kosher and keep Shabbos. This is not to criticize or to judge these beautiful souls who have found a way forward as Jews in a Quaker Meeting, but I've always wanted to keep kosher and keep Shabbos, to live true to the law I've been given. And as that's where I know I am led, it's been clear to me that I cannot call myself a Quaker. As George Fox said, for Quakers, those Jewish ceremonies are not necessary (I believe Fox was actually referring to Church traditions and calling them Jewish was simply a way to emphasize his point and insult those who opposed his ideas, but it's still relevant, I think).
But then there's Grace. And I do believe in the Grace of G-d. I don't think Christians have any monopoly on the concept of grace, for Jews certainly appreciate the Grace of the One who has preserved us throughout the ages. But I grew up, I suspect, with a more Christian sense of grace than is perhaps typical among Jews. I believe strongly in the power of G-d to speak through us in a gathered Meeting, and I believe in the Grace which reveals G-d's Truth in our hearts. I believe that we are all beneficiaries of that Grace, and that, yes, sometimes it does save us. From the hardness of our own prideful hearts, mostly, but also from missing the mark (or sin, as it is sometimes called) and giving in to our darkness.
My faith operates on many layers. There is the level on which it is good to follow the mitzvahs and traditions, to take joy and comfort in their structure. There is also the level on which I try to know, one day at a time, what G-d is trying to communicate to me, how He is trying to lead me. They are not mutually exclusive, by any means. They compliment each other well.
Yesterday I came out of the darkness I had been journeying through for most of this year. I came into the peace of clarity on my leading into marriage, and knew that I loved my partner with a clear and fearless heart. That was an undeniable experience of G-d's grace which I received through Quaker process, and which I do not think I could have received through the laws. And that is why, among other reasons, I sojourn with Friends, and perhaps always will. In silence, Truth can be revealed and a community can experience that divine Grace. That is a profound blessing that I hope to never take for granted. Certainly the relationship between Quakers and Jews is not perfect, and at times it can be painful. But those who search for Truth can perhaps learn from one another, at least.
But it has been a problem, a rich and rewarding problem, and I have dove deep into those troubled waters. I have known for years that I cannot be a Jaker or a Quew, because I'm Jewish, and I see no role models among Jewish Friends who keep kosher and keep Shabbos. This is not to criticize or to judge these beautiful souls who have found a way forward as Jews in a Quaker Meeting, but I've always wanted to keep kosher and keep Shabbos, to live true to the law I've been given. And as that's where I know I am led, it's been clear to me that I cannot call myself a Quaker. As George Fox said, for Quakers, those Jewish ceremonies are not necessary (I believe Fox was actually referring to Church traditions and calling them Jewish was simply a way to emphasize his point and insult those who opposed his ideas, but it's still relevant, I think).
But then there's Grace. And I do believe in the Grace of G-d. I don't think Christians have any monopoly on the concept of grace, for Jews certainly appreciate the Grace of the One who has preserved us throughout the ages. But I grew up, I suspect, with a more Christian sense of grace than is perhaps typical among Jews. I believe strongly in the power of G-d to speak through us in a gathered Meeting, and I believe in the Grace which reveals G-d's Truth in our hearts. I believe that we are all beneficiaries of that Grace, and that, yes, sometimes it does save us. From the hardness of our own prideful hearts, mostly, but also from missing the mark (or sin, as it is sometimes called) and giving in to our darkness.
My faith operates on many layers. There is the level on which it is good to follow the mitzvahs and traditions, to take joy and comfort in their structure. There is also the level on which I try to know, one day at a time, what G-d is trying to communicate to me, how He is trying to lead me. They are not mutually exclusive, by any means. They compliment each other well.
Yesterday I came out of the darkness I had been journeying through for most of this year. I came into the peace of clarity on my leading into marriage, and knew that I loved my partner with a clear and fearless heart. That was an undeniable experience of G-d's grace which I received through Quaker process, and which I do not think I could have received through the laws. And that is why, among other reasons, I sojourn with Friends, and perhaps always will. In silence, Truth can be revealed and a community can experience that divine Grace. That is a profound blessing that I hope to never take for granted. Certainly the relationship between Quakers and Jews is not perfect, and at times it can be painful. But those who search for Truth can perhaps learn from one another, at least.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Bridge Builder
I had a long conversation with Kit today, out in the vineyard, about being a bridge builder. About how that requires not that you find common ground necessarily, but that you find ground that's close enough for a connection, and then you build that connection over those things that do divide you. This means that when one is a bridge builder, one spends a lot of time in the in-between places instead of on solid ground. An essential skill of the bridge builder is the ability to live with that ambiguity, that shakiness, that lack of solid ground. And, of course, you have to be able to truly go to both lands, not just stay in the in-between common ground spaces.
It's part of my witness in this world to be true to my community, and to live my faithfulness to the fullest extent possible. Even though I am in the process of marrying a Christian, it is important to me to be the best Jew I can be, to stay true and faithful to my traditions to the fullest extent I'm able, although it can be hard and painful at times. However, it would be worse to reject my religion, to loose that rich and beautiful tradition just because my life path has taken me contrary to what is accepted and expected by my community. I might always be marginalized in Judaism, but I will still be a part of the religious community. And as Kit said, you can't really change something, or challenge someone, unless you love them. If I have a problem with Judaism, I have to deal with it as a observant and practicing Jew who truly loves Torah and my fellow Jew. Otherwise my criticism has no more weight than the words of any other outsider.
It's also part of my witness to affirm the importance of difference. My partner is a Quaker, and a Christian. There are things our traditions have in common, and things we each have in common in our relationship with G-d, but our traditions are also very, very different. Our traditions have their strengths, and they have their weaknesses, but they are not one big mushy monotheistic family. It has been a blessing in my life to learn as much as I can about Quakerism and Christianity, so that I am able to talk to my beloved in that language and to hold him accountable to his tradition. It has also been a great blessing to have him return this favor, and share Judaism with me on Judaism's terms, teaching me what he learns and holding me accountable to the integrity of my tradition. That level of respect and mutual understanding make both of us richer, but within that we are still clear that no matter how much I quote the New Testament to him, I am not a Christian and I feel no desire to be one. It's his tradition, and I love it and appreciate it but it is not my home. I have my own tradition to ground me. His Truth need not compete with or threaten my Truth, although they might contradict and I believe that both of them are True. That is the beauty of paradox, fully lived.
It's part of my witness in this world to be true to my community, and to live my faithfulness to the fullest extent possible. Even though I am in the process of marrying a Christian, it is important to me to be the best Jew I can be, to stay true and faithful to my traditions to the fullest extent I'm able, although it can be hard and painful at times. However, it would be worse to reject my religion, to loose that rich and beautiful tradition just because my life path has taken me contrary to what is accepted and expected by my community. I might always be marginalized in Judaism, but I will still be a part of the religious community. And as Kit said, you can't really change something, or challenge someone, unless you love them. If I have a problem with Judaism, I have to deal with it as a observant and practicing Jew who truly loves Torah and my fellow Jew. Otherwise my criticism has no more weight than the words of any other outsider.
It's also part of my witness to affirm the importance of difference. My partner is a Quaker, and a Christian. There are things our traditions have in common, and things we each have in common in our relationship with G-d, but our traditions are also very, very different. Our traditions have their strengths, and they have their weaknesses, but they are not one big mushy monotheistic family. It has been a blessing in my life to learn as much as I can about Quakerism and Christianity, so that I am able to talk to my beloved in that language and to hold him accountable to his tradition. It has also been a great blessing to have him return this favor, and share Judaism with me on Judaism's terms, teaching me what he learns and holding me accountable to the integrity of my tradition. That level of respect and mutual understanding make both of us richer, but within that we are still clear that no matter how much I quote the New Testament to him, I am not a Christian and I feel no desire to be one. It's his tradition, and I love it and appreciate it but it is not my home. I have my own tradition to ground me. His Truth need not compete with or threaten my Truth, although they might contradict and I believe that both of them are True. That is the beauty of paradox, fully lived.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
My Beautiful Unbuilt House
Tonight I shared my spiritual journey in five minutes. Really, I'm sure it took longer than that.
If you have a beautiful house, say a straw bale house with lots of window seats and nooks and a beautiful south-facing kitchen with lots of windows and a mason stove with a bench that the children and cats love to curl up on (there, that description told you a lot about me, didn't it?), and you have a friend who also has a beautiful house, perhaps a house with a circular floor plan and beautiful art and a stain-glass skylight that makes rainbows on the floor at noon, it would be very pleasant for you and your friend to visit each other and marvel over each other's houses and all their similarities and differences and just really appreciate how beautiful and unique that house is. It might be very different from one's own, but that does not make it less beautiful or enjoyable. However, if you are homeless, going into that beautiful house your friend has will make you want to cry, will hurt your heart with every beautiful detail, because you know that you have nothing to show in return, no home of your own to be content with. Right now, I am that one who has no house, and when I am surrounded by the beauty of the Christian tradition, as I am at Koinonia, I am painfully aware that my house is not yet built.
Judaism is a communal religion; it is a nation, an ethnic history, a culture, a body type, family type, history, as well as being a religion. Thus, you cannot really have an individual Jew. We exist in the context of a wider group.
I believe in the tradition. I believe that it's good to keep the law to the full extent possible, not because of some external pressure or because of rewards in the life to come or because it is good to fit in with one's fellow Jews, lest they judge you, but simply because in Her infinite mystery G-d told us to do so, and that is good reason enough. Some things you just do. It's important to have faith for faith's sake, and to find meaning in the mitzvahs from the rich tradition and stories and the reasons that are given, but also in one's own heart, for one's own reasons and for the sake of a personal devotion and love. I believe in unconditional love, both G-d's for us, and ours for G-d. If we only love G-d as long as G-d provides us with X, Y and Z, that's conditional love, and it will not get us far enough. When you love someone and that someone tells you "it's really, really important for me that we do things this certain way, and that you don't eat those kinds of food, and no, I can't give you a rational explanation as to why," it is possible to respond to this request from a place of such deep love and joy that you feel it is the least you can give to your beloved that you honor these wishes. With the trust that if it were not possible for you to do it, the one you love would not ask that from you, because they love you.
Today I went to a Baptist church, and heard the former president Jimmy Carter teach Sunday school. He talked about the sabbath, and how Jesus made a point of breaking it to heal people. About how restrictive those priests saw the sabbath as being, all those things one could and could not do and how silly that was... And I sat there and thought—Christianity was so clearly formed in opposition to Judaism. If there were no Jews, if all memory of Judaism was lost even as a historical context for the New Testament, Christianity wouldn't make any sense. We are the Other that Christians can point to rhetorically and say "we're not THEM, we're different." So, yes, I am one of those people who thinks about the sabbath (at least to some extent) as all the things one must not do so as to keep it holy, as well as all the blessed things one is able to do which also makes the day holy. Yeah, those silly restricted holy people—that's me, Mr. Carter. I keep the seventh day in a particular way, because G-d was very explicit as far as G-d's expectations in that regard. Although it is very explicitly taught that to save a life (ie, to heal), the sabbath may and should be broken...
This is only part of the story, though. The whole story–it's much more complicated, more complex. There are more sides, more voices who would chime in and say, well, yes, but...
If you have a beautiful house, say a straw bale house with lots of window seats and nooks and a beautiful south-facing kitchen with lots of windows and a mason stove with a bench that the children and cats love to curl up on (there, that description told you a lot about me, didn't it?), and you have a friend who also has a beautiful house, perhaps a house with a circular floor plan and beautiful art and a stain-glass skylight that makes rainbows on the floor at noon, it would be very pleasant for you and your friend to visit each other and marvel over each other's houses and all their similarities and differences and just really appreciate how beautiful and unique that house is. It might be very different from one's own, but that does not make it less beautiful or enjoyable. However, if you are homeless, going into that beautiful house your friend has will make you want to cry, will hurt your heart with every beautiful detail, because you know that you have nothing to show in return, no home of your own to be content with. Right now, I am that one who has no house, and when I am surrounded by the beauty of the Christian tradition, as I am at Koinonia, I am painfully aware that my house is not yet built.
Judaism is a communal religion; it is a nation, an ethnic history, a culture, a body type, family type, history, as well as being a religion. Thus, you cannot really have an individual Jew. We exist in the context of a wider group.
I believe in the tradition. I believe that it's good to keep the law to the full extent possible, not because of some external pressure or because of rewards in the life to come or because it is good to fit in with one's fellow Jews, lest they judge you, but simply because in Her infinite mystery G-d told us to do so, and that is good reason enough. Some things you just do. It's important to have faith for faith's sake, and to find meaning in the mitzvahs from the rich tradition and stories and the reasons that are given, but also in one's own heart, for one's own reasons and for the sake of a personal devotion and love. I believe in unconditional love, both G-d's for us, and ours for G-d. If we only love G-d as long as G-d provides us with X, Y and Z, that's conditional love, and it will not get us far enough. When you love someone and that someone tells you "it's really, really important for me that we do things this certain way, and that you don't eat those kinds of food, and no, I can't give you a rational explanation as to why," it is possible to respond to this request from a place of such deep love and joy that you feel it is the least you can give to your beloved that you honor these wishes. With the trust that if it were not possible for you to do it, the one you love would not ask that from you, because they love you.
Today I went to a Baptist church, and heard the former president Jimmy Carter teach Sunday school. He talked about the sabbath, and how Jesus made a point of breaking it to heal people. About how restrictive those priests saw the sabbath as being, all those things one could and could not do and how silly that was... And I sat there and thought—Christianity was so clearly formed in opposition to Judaism. If there were no Jews, if all memory of Judaism was lost even as a historical context for the New Testament, Christianity wouldn't make any sense. We are the Other that Christians can point to rhetorically and say "we're not THEM, we're different." So, yes, I am one of those people who thinks about the sabbath (at least to some extent) as all the things one must not do so as to keep it holy, as well as all the blessed things one is able to do which also makes the day holy. Yeah, those silly restricted holy people—that's me, Mr. Carter. I keep the seventh day in a particular way, because G-d was very explicit as far as G-d's expectations in that regard. Although it is very explicitly taught that to save a life (ie, to heal), the sabbath may and should be broken...
This is only part of the story, though. The whole story–it's much more complicated, more complex. There are more sides, more voices who would chime in and say, well, yes, but...
An introduction, briefly.
I wish to simply make a little space here.
I am Jewish, yes, and I live in a Quaker community at Guilford College. My life is marked by paradox and by not fitting in, where ever I go. Right now, I am at Koinonia Farm, outside of Americus, GA. It is a beautiful, intentional Christian community, and I marvel at the easy grace and fellowship of the members. What a blessing, to be at home among others of your faith, living in such a way that you are supported and encouraged in your faith. That is truly a gift.
Yes, I practice a form of plain dress (an expression of the testament of simplicity for Quakers and other "plain" denominations, such as Mennonites). So no, I don't fit in with other Jews.
I was born in the wilderness, which is full of Jews really, but not as full as the east coast. East coast Jews make me feel incredibly shy. They can take so much for granted! I grew up in a community that was very aware of its place in the community as religious minorities. So I grew up aware that I was different. From Christians and other folks who I grew up with, but also from other Jews.
That's a bit of background. The rest will fill in later.
I am Jewish, yes, and I live in a Quaker community at Guilford College. My life is marked by paradox and by not fitting in, where ever I go. Right now, I am at Koinonia Farm, outside of Americus, GA. It is a beautiful, intentional Christian community, and I marvel at the easy grace and fellowship of the members. What a blessing, to be at home among others of your faith, living in such a way that you are supported and encouraged in your faith. That is truly a gift.
Yes, I practice a form of plain dress (an expression of the testament of simplicity for Quakers and other "plain" denominations, such as Mennonites). So no, I don't fit in with other Jews.
I was born in the wilderness, which is full of Jews really, but not as full as the east coast. East coast Jews make me feel incredibly shy. They can take so much for granted! I grew up in a community that was very aware of its place in the community as religious minorities. So I grew up aware that I was different. From Christians and other folks who I grew up with, but also from other Jews.
That's a bit of background. The rest will fill in later.
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