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If you've been to services in the past couple of weeks, you've surely noticed a big change in the sanctuary - a new seating arrangement. We're experimenting with "services in the round" or, more accurately, "in the octagon." In brief (more to come, later) we're trying to play with our physical arrangement to see what effect it can have on our prayers. Can our seating plan help us feel more connected, more spiritual? Can it make praying easier, or more meaningful?
This is definitely a big change, and it will take some getting used to. Having led one service already in this configuration, I can tell you that there were some thing I loved (a much stronger sense of "being together") and some things which bothered me (it's hard to give a d'var torah in the round. I nearly made myself dizzy trying to give equal "face time" to everyone). And, that's to say nothing of the logistics (e.g. sound) which will be iffy, unless and until we decide to make this more permanent.
Of course, what we really need is to hear from our pray-ers - you! What do you think? Have you had a chance to participate in "services in the round," yet? If so, what was good, and what was bad? Please make comments below, and let's get the conversation rolling!
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
What is a soul
Came across this today. In Rabbi Lawrence Kushner's The Book of Words, he creatively redefines common Hebrew religious words, in an attempt to better explain them. For example, he renders mitzvah, usually translated as "commandment," instead as "response." It's brilliant (check it out sometime). But, I don't think I've ever seen his definition of neshama before. Rather than the usual "soul," he translates it as "self." Make sure that whenever you read "self," you're also reading "soul":
The argument over "is there a soul" in the public sphere usually comes down to religious people, who believe that there is a magic force in us - the proverbial "ghost in the machine" - against the scientists who don't believe in anything which can't be measured. Exactly like the debate about whether or not their is a God. There is, however, a middle way. A soul doesn't have to be a mystical energy field which somehow escapes detection. And we don't have to be nothing but fleshy robots, doing nothing but processing inputs into outputs. We can believe in a soul, and a God, without thinking that they are things.
Let me ask you this? Does a music CD contain data, or does it contain music? The answer, of course, is that it contains both, depending on how you look at it. The data comes together to form the music. The parts of me come together to form my soul. The Universe comes together to form God.
You are (like everyone else who is not crazy) a barely coherent hodgepodge of contradictory thoughts, feelings and deeds. What keeps you "together" is an imaginary center called a "self." The parts may not organize themselves gracefully, but their totality is literally "you." Without a "self" you would literally disintegrate.
We speak about our self as if it were real even though it possesses neither substance nor location. It is precisely the same way with God. God is the self of the universe. To say, "There is a God," is to say that creation has some inner coherence and integrity that can make sense. In the same way, our alienation is self-estrangement and estrangement from God."
The argument over "is there a soul" in the public sphere usually comes down to religious people, who believe that there is a magic force in us - the proverbial "ghost in the machine" - against the scientists who don't believe in anything which can't be measured. Exactly like the debate about whether or not their is a God. There is, however, a middle way. A soul doesn't have to be a mystical energy field which somehow escapes detection. And we don't have to be nothing but fleshy robots, doing nothing but processing inputs into outputs. We can believe in a soul, and a God, without thinking that they are things.
Let me ask you this? Does a music CD contain data, or does it contain music? The answer, of course, is that it contains both, depending on how you look at it. The data comes together to form the music. The parts of me come together to form my soul. The Universe comes together to form God.
Gratitude
One of my favorite parts of my job is participating in conversions. I'm not talking about the long, ongoing process of helping someone find their way into Judaism (well, that is a favorite part, but not the one I'm talking about today). No, I'm talking about the actual final steps of conversion - sitting on a Beit Din (a Rabbinical court), deciding to (and, on very rare occasions, not to) accept a convert and then, especially, going to the mikvah (the ritual bath) to perform the actual act of conversion. A non-Jewish person goes into the water, and a Jewish person comes out. Like most (all?) religious rituals, it is simultaneously meaningless (the water doesn't actually do anything. It isn't magic) and absolutely exploding with meaning - usually, the convert has put so much thought, so much love, so much time into the process of conversion, that this final act becomes incredibly poignant and powerful. It's one of those moments which never fails to move me.
Today, I had the chance to sit on the Beit Din and witness the mikvah of another convert (one who had worked with a colleague of mine, not one of "my" converts). One of the (usually) final steps in conversion is picking a Hebrew name, and most people try to find a name with meaning. It might be a Hebrew word that expresses some trait that they admire in themselves, or wish they had. It might be a biblical character they relate to. It might be after a person who was meaningful to them. Today, the giyoret (the Hebrew word for "convert") chose to name herself after her son. You see, her son had died, about a dozen years ago. And, it was that death which had led her to search for something, which had led her, eventually, to Judaism.
It is considered a high form of honor to name a child after a deceased ancestor. This is the first time I've encountered someone naming themselves after a deceased descendant.
If you have children, go home, give them a kiss, and thank God that they are carrying their own name.
Today, I had the chance to sit on the Beit Din and witness the mikvah of another convert (one who had worked with a colleague of mine, not one of "my" converts). One of the (usually) final steps in conversion is picking a Hebrew name, and most people try to find a name with meaning. It might be a Hebrew word that expresses some trait that they admire in themselves, or wish they had. It might be a biblical character they relate to. It might be after a person who was meaningful to them. Today, the giyoret (the Hebrew word for "convert") chose to name herself after her son. You see, her son had died, about a dozen years ago. And, it was that death which had led her to search for something, which had led her, eventually, to Judaism.
It is considered a high form of honor to name a child after a deceased ancestor. This is the first time I've encountered someone naming themselves after a deceased descendant.
If you have children, go home, give them a kiss, and thank God that they are carrying their own name.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Why does God roar? Why don't we?
Our weekly Talmud study group met again this morning (as we will every Thursday at 9:30 a.m. - join us if you're in town!), and we're up to our second full page of Talmud (which, being the Talmud, is actually page 3. Of course). The whole first section of Talmud deals with trying to figure out when we are required/allowed to say the evening sh'ma - in other words, knowing that we are obligated to say the sh'ma "when we lie down," what does that mean? Literally at our bedtime? At the time of evening when most people go to sleep, even if we aren't? Just "nighttime," perhaps? And, how, exactly, do we define those times? It's all very detailed and technical, and, on occasion, headache inducing.
This week, though, we took a side journey through a quote from Rabbi Eliezer (this is Berachot 3a, if you're following along). Eliezer says, "At each and every watch [3 times a night], the Holy One, Blessed be God, sits and roars like a lion...and the sign for this is as follows [e.g. this is how you know that each watch, and therefore each time of "roaring," has been reached]: at the first watch, a donkey brays; at the second watch, dogs howl; and the third watch, an infant nurses from its mother's breasts and a woman speaks with her husband."
Obscure, to say the least. But, with some helpful hints from the footnotes (which point us further down the text) and some talking it through, we came up with a possible interpretation. The first thing that we need to know is that, according to the sages, the reason for God's howling is the destruction of The Temple in Jerusalem. In other words, three times a day, God sits in heaven and cries over the lost Temple and, with it, our exile. The Temple, in case you didn't know, is traditionally understood to have been destroyed because of our sins - it was our fault.
But, why those three signs? What, in God's name [pardon the non-pun], do a donkey, dog and baby have to do with any of this? Quite possibly, nothing. It's possible (and this is strictly my interpretation) that these signs are there because they are so ordinary. Donkeys bray, dogs howl and babies suckle. In other words, those are symbols of ordinary life. Life goes on. The world continues as it was, and as it is.
But, not for God. For God, life is torment. God looks down every day, and sees our people scattered, God's Temple in ruins. Sees discord and pain. And, to make matters worse, sees a world in which no one pays any attention to this. A world which seems to think that this is normal.
Imagine a Social Worker who spends all day trying to help the homeless and hungry, and then goes back home to have dinner at a restaurant with her family. She sees people throwing away mountains of food, not even aware that their scraps would be desperately coveted by those in need. Imagine how hard it would be watching a world where people are so unaware of the pain and misery that surrounds them. Wondering - what would happen if everyone here tried to feed one hungry person today? Could we, together, stop hunger? At least for a while? Imagine how hard it would be for God to watch us, unaware of how far our world is from its potential, and how little we do to fix it.
It is, to me, an incredibly poignant image. So many people criticize God (usually, a God they don't believe in, by the way) for letting bad things happen in the world. What if our sages were on to something, and God is up in heaven, weeping and screaming because we aren't taking charge? What if, through our own actions, we could actually make God smile, instead?
That same passage in the Talmud says that every watch here on earth is paralleled by a watch in heaven. What we do here is reflected "on high." It changes the cosmos. I don't care if you take that literally (I don't). Just know that if you do something good here, you've brought comfort to God.
This week, though, we took a side journey through a quote from Rabbi Eliezer (this is Berachot 3a, if you're following along). Eliezer says, "At each and every watch [3 times a night], the Holy One, Blessed be God, sits and roars like a lion...and the sign for this is as follows [e.g. this is how you know that each watch, and therefore each time of "roaring," has been reached]: at the first watch, a donkey brays; at the second watch, dogs howl; and the third watch, an infant nurses from its mother's breasts and a woman speaks with her husband."
Obscure, to say the least. But, with some helpful hints from the footnotes (which point us further down the text) and some talking it through, we came up with a possible interpretation. The first thing that we need to know is that, according to the sages, the reason for God's howling is the destruction of The Temple in Jerusalem. In other words, three times a day, God sits in heaven and cries over the lost Temple and, with it, our exile. The Temple, in case you didn't know, is traditionally understood to have been destroyed because of our sins - it was our fault.
But, why those three signs? What, in God's name [pardon the non-pun], do a donkey, dog and baby have to do with any of this? Quite possibly, nothing. It's possible (and this is strictly my interpretation) that these signs are there because they are so ordinary. Donkeys bray, dogs howl and babies suckle. In other words, those are symbols of ordinary life. Life goes on. The world continues as it was, and as it is.
But, not for God. For God, life is torment. God looks down every day, and sees our people scattered, God's Temple in ruins. Sees discord and pain. And, to make matters worse, sees a world in which no one pays any attention to this. A world which seems to think that this is normal.
Imagine a Social Worker who spends all day trying to help the homeless and hungry, and then goes back home to have dinner at a restaurant with her family. She sees people throwing away mountains of food, not even aware that their scraps would be desperately coveted by those in need. Imagine how hard it would be watching a world where people are so unaware of the pain and misery that surrounds them. Wondering - what would happen if everyone here tried to feed one hungry person today? Could we, together, stop hunger? At least for a while? Imagine how hard it would be for God to watch us, unaware of how far our world is from its potential, and how little we do to fix it.
It is, to me, an incredibly poignant image. So many people criticize God (usually, a God they don't believe in, by the way) for letting bad things happen in the world. What if our sages were on to something, and God is up in heaven, weeping and screaming because we aren't taking charge? What if, through our own actions, we could actually make God smile, instead?
That same passage in the Talmud says that every watch here on earth is paralleled by a watch in heaven. What we do here is reflected "on high." It changes the cosmos. I don't care if you take that literally (I don't). Just know that if you do something good here, you've brought comfort to God.
Manliness
I've been away a bit more than usual, and that, plus some busy work-stuff, has made it hard to keep up with the blogging. This is me, trying to get back into the swing of things.
Although I've been trying to cut down on the number of blogs I follow (Google Reader is an unbelievable black-hole of time for me), I recently added one, The Art of Manliness (this is where I take a moment to remind my sister, who sometimes reads this blog, that Blog Am is a semi-official work blog, so she should keep her comments to herself). I came across it by random (I think through another blog), and I decided to follow it because a) it doesn't seem to be too busy, so it won't take too much time and b) it has the kind of useless, but still practical, trivia that I love seeing - how to tie 4 different tie knots, how to mix the "5 most important cocktails" and so on. I read it just because it's mildly entertaining.
But, even though I know it isn't meant to be taken seriously, I can't help but wonder about the basic idea - manliness. What exactly does it mean to be a man?
American culture often uses the term "a real man," and that seems to imply something along the lines of John Wayne - tough, resolute. Short of words, long on action. A man's man, as we say. We tell someone who is whining or hesitating to "man up."
But, it's interesting to me that the Yiddish word for "man" is "mensch," which is used completely differently - "a real mensch" is someone who is kind. Someone who is thoughtful. Someone who looks out for others.
And, this bout of ruminating also got me thinking about the passage from Pirkei Avot, the 2000ish year old Rabbinic text which asks "who is mighty? (literally, you could read it as "who is a warrior?") A person who controls his urges." A very different image, to say the least.
So, if we were going to make a blog with the name The Art of Manliness, what would go on it?
Although I've been trying to cut down on the number of blogs I follow (Google Reader is an unbelievable black-hole of time for me), I recently added one, The Art of Manliness (this is where I take a moment to remind my sister, who sometimes reads this blog, that Blog Am is a semi-official work blog, so she should keep her comments to herself). I came across it by random (I think through another blog), and I decided to follow it because a) it doesn't seem to be too busy, so it won't take too much time and b) it has the kind of useless, but still practical, trivia that I love seeing - how to tie 4 different tie knots, how to mix the "5 most important cocktails" and so on. I read it just because it's mildly entertaining.
But, even though I know it isn't meant to be taken seriously, I can't help but wonder about the basic idea - manliness. What exactly does it mean to be a man?
American culture often uses the term "a real man," and that seems to imply something along the lines of John Wayne - tough, resolute. Short of words, long on action. A man's man, as we say. We tell someone who is whining or hesitating to "man up."
But, it's interesting to me that the Yiddish word for "man" is "mensch," which is used completely differently - "a real mensch" is someone who is kind. Someone who is thoughtful. Someone who looks out for others.
And, this bout of ruminating also got me thinking about the passage from Pirkei Avot, the 2000ish year old Rabbinic text which asks "who is mighty? (literally, you could read it as "who is a warrior?") A person who controls his urges." A very different image, to say the least.
So, if we were going to make a blog with the name The Art of Manliness, what would go on it?
Thursday, June 11, 2009
FeedBurner
A rare, completely non-Jewish-content rant. A sorbet, to cleanse your virtual pallet, if you will.
So, I'm trying to set up FeedBurner so that I can track visits to this blog, and maybe add a bit of extra functionality. I can't believe how hard it is. I mean, all I really want to do is to know who, if anyone, is reading this stuff. But, I can't quite figure out how. I mean, do I really have to set up post-feed redirects? Do I even know what those are?
Let's all take a minute and remember that I have a degree in Computer Science. I was a professional computer programmer for 3 years (and 2 summers during Rabbinical School). I am, as my sister will be only too happy to tell you, a certified geek. If I can't figure this stuff out, how do "normal" people do it? Sheesh.
Anyway, if you experience any trouble with Blog Am in the near future, please tell me via Facebook or at RabbiRosenberg@tampabay.rr.com!
So, I'm trying to set up FeedBurner so that I can track visits to this blog, and maybe add a bit of extra functionality. I can't believe how hard it is. I mean, all I really want to do is to know who, if anyone, is reading this stuff. But, I can't quite figure out how. I mean, do I really have to set up post-feed redirects? Do I even know what those are?
Let's all take a minute and remember that I have a degree in Computer Science. I was a professional computer programmer for 3 years (and 2 summers during Rabbinical School). I am, as my sister will be only too happy to tell you, a certified geek. If I can't figure this stuff out, how do "normal" people do it? Sheesh.
Anyway, if you experience any trouble with Blog Am in the near future, please tell me via Facebook or at RabbiRosenberg@tampabay.rr.com!
You don't look Jewish
For a change of pace, check out Vanessa Hidary, "The Hebrew Mamita." A tiny bit of foul language, for those watching at work.
Not my usual fare, but I found it pretty cool.
Not my usual fare, but I found it pretty cool.
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