Jewish Moments: from the mundane to the sublime
I waded out against the push of the gently-crashing waves, my 2nd-grader's hand in mine, waiting for the water to get deep enough. The beach we were using had such a gentle slope that I could barely reach water even waist-deep. So I waited for a large wave to come, curled up at just the right time, and let the warm, saline water wash over me. I was Jewish, at last.
But more on that later. Here is this week's roundup of "Jewish moments"...
To be honest, I went through most of the week without anything "especially Jewish" happening to me, until Thursday evening.
There was that moment Thursday night when my students noticed me working desperately hard to plan Shabbat...
Thursday afternoon, I realized that - what with my wife's early-to-bed, early-to-rise high school schedule and my teach-'til-9pm Tuesday-Thursday class schedule - we were not going to see each other again, in terms of having any substantial conversation, until Sabbath was about to start on Friday night.
I fit in two desperate phone calls, one right before my night class and one during our scheduled break, to try to figure out what the family was doing for Shabbat. Synagogue? If so, then what to do with four children over-tired from a week of school? Shabbat-at-home? Then what to do for Sabbath dinner, and how to procure the all-essential challah, since I won't have time to bake this week? Dinner before sunset, or after lighting the candles? A next-day hike, or a hang-around-the-neighborhood day?
I've said it before, but a day of rest takes a lot of work!
Anyway, a few of my students seemed to notice that something was "up". I explained that my wife and I hardly see each other on school nights and I just needed to communicate to her about Sabbath dinner. One of them said it was refreshing to see people actually trying to make a marriage work these days. She has no idea how much work that takes, but it was a sweet thing to say. Another asked "you won't see each other all weekend, either?" -- and I realized my mistake. Sabbath dinner happens Friday night, at the start of Shabbat, not like "Sunday dinner" at the end of a weekend. These goyim, sometimes it seems like they don't know anything...
There was that moment Friday afternoon, when a man noticed my kippah in a Starbucks and asked how to become Jewish.
No, seriously, he did. We, the Jews, have something that a lot of people out there in the world are looking for, searching for - this guy said he had been searching for a long time - and we keep it locked up and un-advertised. It's about time for us to fling the doors wide open and invite the world in. Slash soapbox.
I told him that I had just finished that process, that it takes about a year, and that my synagogue had a regular Intro to Judaism class if he was interested. I scrawled my synagogue's information down on a piece of paper and sent him off into the night.
I will probably never see the man again, but it's a mitzvah to welcome the stranger, you know?
There was Friday night, lighting candles and singing blessings and Shabbat songs with a bunch of over-tired, slap-happy kids and a work-weary wife, followed by a tub of fried chicken and various veggies for dinner.
The wine, the challah, even the chicken never tasted quite so divine. As much as I love going to the synagogue for Shabbat, this was exactly the "Jewish moment" my family needed right then.
Then there was Sunday morning. Religious school. A time I have come to dread. My wife went in to my teenager's classroom to observe a holocaust lesson out of professional interest. So I was left to try to coax my 12-year-old to study Hebrew when he just wanted to run outside to the car while also trying to coax my 7-year-old to go back to class even though he felt too old for the group of kids he was with, and all of his friends had moved up to 3rd grade, and all he wanted to do was play foosball.
Epic fail.
I did succeed in getting the 2nd-grader to re-integrate with his class on, like, the fourth try. But only after I snapped at the religious-ed VP because the stress was starting to get to me. I apologized, of course, but you can't un-do something once it's out there.
And I did succeed in getting the 7th-grader back to class, eventually, when Hebrew was over and it was time for the fun stuff.
Have I mentioned the word "dread"?
Then there was Sunday morning. When I heard rumors that my 14-year-old had started a Jewish resistance movement at the High School by refusing to take off his kippah when a teacher asked him to follow the no-hat rule. "It's not a hat, it's a religious item," he is reported to have replied.
One parent applauded Ryan, and went on to tell me that other Jewish kids at the High School were talking about wearing their own kippot to school this week in a show of solidarity. I don't see that actually happening, but wouldn't it be awesome if it did?!?
The rabbi stopped by to tell me that Ryan was his new personal hero, and then went on to applaud his efforts at public Jewishness in front of his religious-school class.
Then I talked to Ryan and found out that he doesn't have any clear memory of talking to a teacher about his kippah at all. He supposes that it probably happened, just that it didn't seem important enough to remember.
But it seemed important enough to everyone else at his school that everyone but me had heard about it already.
This is the way legends get started...
And then finally there was Sunday afternoon. When we started off by getting to the rabbi's office later than planned, and added to that a bit more drama than was really necessary about the matter of each boy (and myself) needing a hatafat dam brit. What is that, you say? It's a little pin-prick thing male converts who are already circumcised do to commit themselves to the Abrahamic covenant. And half of my kids freaked out about it. And the other half, naturally, bragged about not flipping out in front of the ones who did freak out, because sibling rivalry is big business in my household, and that made the drive down to Galveston's East Beach oh so pleasant.
And that brings us back to where I started this piece. From the mundane to the sublime. Wading into the waters of rebirth, avoiding jellyfish as we did so (have I mentioned my kids freaking out about things?). Letting my old life wash away in the warm, salty water.
I felt...wet.
To be honest, the moment was slightly anti-climactic. It was hard to get into the water, and my mouth tasted of salt and sand, and my kids were freaking out about jellies...and it really didn't matter, because the transformation was all in my head anyway.
And there was a transformation. A subtle shift, perhaps, from just practicing Judaism to actually being Jewish. But it was enough. I had made it to this moment in time. Sheheheyanu!
But more on that later. Here is this week's roundup of "Jewish moments"...
To be honest, I went through most of the week without anything "especially Jewish" happening to me, until Thursday evening.
There was that moment Thursday night when my students noticed me working desperately hard to plan Shabbat...
Thursday afternoon, I realized that - what with my wife's early-to-bed, early-to-rise high school schedule and my teach-'til-9pm Tuesday-Thursday class schedule - we were not going to see each other again, in terms of having any substantial conversation, until Sabbath was about to start on Friday night.
I fit in two desperate phone calls, one right before my night class and one during our scheduled break, to try to figure out what the family was doing for Shabbat. Synagogue? If so, then what to do with four children over-tired from a week of school? Shabbat-at-home? Then what to do for Sabbath dinner, and how to procure the all-essential challah, since I won't have time to bake this week? Dinner before sunset, or after lighting the candles? A next-day hike, or a hang-around-the-neighborhood day?
I've said it before, but a day of rest takes a lot of work!
Anyway, a few of my students seemed to notice that something was "up". I explained that my wife and I hardly see each other on school nights and I just needed to communicate to her about Sabbath dinner. One of them said it was refreshing to see people actually trying to make a marriage work these days. She has no idea how much work that takes, but it was a sweet thing to say. Another asked "you won't see each other all weekend, either?" -- and I realized my mistake. Sabbath dinner happens Friday night, at the start of Shabbat, not like "Sunday dinner" at the end of a weekend. These goyim, sometimes it seems like they don't know anything...
There was that moment Friday afternoon, when a man noticed my kippah in a Starbucks and asked how to become Jewish.
No, seriously, he did. We, the Jews, have something that a lot of people out there in the world are looking for, searching for - this guy said he had been searching for a long time - and we keep it locked up and un-advertised. It's about time for us to fling the doors wide open and invite the world in. Slash soapbox.
I told him that I had just finished that process, that it takes about a year, and that my synagogue had a regular Intro to Judaism class if he was interested. I scrawled my synagogue's information down on a piece of paper and sent him off into the night.
I will probably never see the man again, but it's a mitzvah to welcome the stranger, you know?
There was Friday night, lighting candles and singing blessings and Shabbat songs with a bunch of over-tired, slap-happy kids and a work-weary wife, followed by a tub of fried chicken and various veggies for dinner.
The wine, the challah, even the chicken never tasted quite so divine. As much as I love going to the synagogue for Shabbat, this was exactly the "Jewish moment" my family needed right then.
Then there was Sunday morning. Religious school. A time I have come to dread. My wife went in to my teenager's classroom to observe a holocaust lesson out of professional interest. So I was left to try to coax my 12-year-old to study Hebrew when he just wanted to run outside to the car while also trying to coax my 7-year-old to go back to class even though he felt too old for the group of kids he was with, and all of his friends had moved up to 3rd grade, and all he wanted to do was play foosball.
Epic fail.
I did succeed in getting the 2nd-grader to re-integrate with his class on, like, the fourth try. But only after I snapped at the religious-ed VP because the stress was starting to get to me. I apologized, of course, but you can't un-do something once it's out there.
And I did succeed in getting the 7th-grader back to class, eventually, when Hebrew was over and it was time for the fun stuff.
Have I mentioned the word "dread"?
Then there was Sunday morning. When I heard rumors that my 14-year-old had started a Jewish resistance movement at the High School by refusing to take off his kippah when a teacher asked him to follow the no-hat rule. "It's not a hat, it's a religious item," he is reported to have replied.
One parent applauded Ryan, and went on to tell me that other Jewish kids at the High School were talking about wearing their own kippot to school this week in a show of solidarity. I don't see that actually happening, but wouldn't it be awesome if it did?!?
The rabbi stopped by to tell me that Ryan was his new personal hero, and then went on to applaud his efforts at public Jewishness in front of his religious-school class.
Then I talked to Ryan and found out that he doesn't have any clear memory of talking to a teacher about his kippah at all. He supposes that it probably happened, just that it didn't seem important enough to remember.
But it seemed important enough to everyone else at his school that everyone but me had heard about it already.
This is the way legends get started...
And then finally there was Sunday afternoon. When we started off by getting to the rabbi's office later than planned, and added to that a bit more drama than was really necessary about the matter of each boy (and myself) needing a hatafat dam brit. What is that, you say? It's a little pin-prick thing male converts who are already circumcised do to commit themselves to the Abrahamic covenant. And half of my kids freaked out about it. And the other half, naturally, bragged about not flipping out in front of the ones who did freak out, because sibling rivalry is big business in my household, and that made the drive down to Galveston's East Beach oh so pleasant.
And that brings us back to where I started this piece. From the mundane to the sublime. Wading into the waters of rebirth, avoiding jellyfish as we did so (have I mentioned my kids freaking out about things?). Letting my old life wash away in the warm, salty water.
I felt...wet.
To be honest, the moment was slightly anti-climactic. It was hard to get into the water, and my mouth tasted of salt and sand, and my kids were freaking out about jellies...and it really didn't matter, because the transformation was all in my head anyway.
And there was a transformation. A subtle shift, perhaps, from just practicing Judaism to actually being Jewish. But it was enough. I had made it to this moment in time. Sheheheyanu!
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