Conversations with a wise man.

Talking is a powerful thing, well, dialog at least. Because there really is no better way to develop ideas than by sharing thoughts.

Now let's just just to the chase after that gray area, here's some black and white:

1. I do not believe that Torah was written by the hand of God. Inspired by God, sure, but I've always thought that was kind of a cop out anyway.
2. I do believe in a God that is all encompassing, all powerful, all knowing, and one at once.
3. Yet, if I do not believe Torah is God's own work, why would I believe in the God of Torah, a perception of divinity created by human beings?
4. I should not is the simple conclusion.
   

I do not believe in the God of Torah in the sense that I do not believe God would manifest Itself as a burning bush never to be consumed. I think that is just a metaphor, a good one at that, but a metaphor. For God to be everything and one, It cannot be one place and not another, that is not a possibility. That's basically why I cannot believe in the God of Torah as God Itself.

Still though, can't help but think that in another time I would be killed for idolatry. Thank the Lord for Post-Modernism.

Talking to God.

My friends are inspiring. So inspiring they help me articulate things that have been brewing in my mind for ages.

I wish this could be as good as the way I said it before but I know that will probably never come out the same again. Here goes.

When I pray I talk to God, what I say is another matter entirely:

Sometimes, I pray spontaneously for whatever seems appropriate at the time.

Sometimes, I sing psalms to God praising It.

Sometimes, I recite the testaments of my faith in God contained in the Sh'ma and it's blessings.

Sometimes, I address God as people would have addressed an ancient ruler saying the Amidah and and the prayers and requests contained therein.

Sometimes, I petition to God silently to myself, like after the Amidah, where I ask for courage, strength, and ability to accomplish all my goals and dreams.

Sometimes, I thank God for making me different and special like in the Aleinu and all other reasons to say that blessing.

Sometimes, I praise God as in the Kaddish and reflect on It's greatness.

Sometimes, I just ask God to help with the fixing of the world and all that goes into that.

But all times and always, I talk to God. Using whatever inflection I deem appropriate, I talk to God because I want that connection, that's why I pray.

I. We. I verus we. I and we.

It's the ultimate showdown in cooperation. The community I belong to and the beliefs I hold.

Should I send that e-mail relating to the service I'm supposed to plan on Shabbat? My community would say no, that to communicate in such a way pertaining to Temple matters on the Sabbath would be ill advised. My thinking is that I have to get it done and I happen to have time on Shabbat and it does nothing to interfere with my decision and method of observance, so why not?

Money cannot exchange hands prior to the Kabbalat Shabbat service, well why not? Are we to go to such lengths to prevent exchanging money on the Sabbath at Temple yet the next day probably purchase a good or two? So is this the reason we cannot have a donation box for a social action event, really?

Is it that important that we observe a tradition that may not be our personal one in order to not transgress in the name of Judaism, working for the temple or on the Temple grounds? Is this not a bit hypocritical of us?

Assuming we do not force others to donate or carry money and respond or check their own e-mail, would it not be totally acceptable to follow our own Sabbat beliefs even at a building called "Temple"?

Consonants make you sound smart.

I couldn't believe it. A Reform Hazzan stood in front of a group of 6th-graders and said to them: If someone in the back is being obnoxious and standing, that's fine, once they realize we're all waiting for them, they'll usually get embarrassed and sit down.

Now, don't quote me, but that was the spirit of the speech. Now isn't it sort of a sad state of affairs when standing for the V'ahavta is "obnoxious"? Shouldn't the person leading the prayer lead and let the person praying pray how they would like? Is that not what this movement is all about?

Or is there Reform minchag, or tradition, that is more binding than halacha, or law, seeing as we sort of build our own practice in this movement? Right? Should I sit during the V'ahavta if I stand for Sh'ma? Is it anyone's business but my own?

I like to think after doing my research and learning my facts I'm making an informed decision to say Sh'ma, and therefore V'ahavta, in the position I happen to find myself after the blessings that accompany the prayer. Or even if it is my choice to dance around, should that not be acceptable if that is how I choose to say/sing/hum/coo/lullaby/play-the-harp-to/whatever-it-is-I-do? I think it should. Who cares how I pray but me and God.

Honestly, it doesn't matter what anyone thinks of my choice of prayer. I do it because I like it, the things I do feel right to me. It is really important to the community that I pray the way they choose to and say the words they say?

I think the way we take this pluralism thing to heart is weird.

Josh is lonely.

In a world full of people.

Seems like a facebook status and a facebook world. Surrounded by people but having a hard time finding a meaningful relationship. It's so hard to find a dialog, an I thou moment. Everyone seems more interested in themselves and cheap thrills to care even the slightest about something important.

I suppose it's a symptom of adolescence in some way. Everyone seems really interested in partying and having a "good time" but all I want to do is talk about life. I want to talk about holiness, what's confusing, why (why not?) tradition is important. Well, you get the point.

But, I'm not obnoxious enough to claim that this is all I have wanted. Now that I'm interested, I think about it more, before I did think of cheap thrills. I needed something to get me thinking, motivated, and matured. But I am obnoxious enough to claim that I am these things now.

I'm looking for deeper meaning and deeper relationships. Moments sanctified in time by a holy connection that I feel with other human beings and myself and God. But that's a lot to ask at 16. I feel it might be asking too much, especially of the people with which I have become associated. But then what am I to do? Do I give up? Let these cheap things run my life until I've reached a stage where I can reach out? Is there a place that values thought and intellect where I can take refuge? Where is that place?

I feel like Sarasota is such a small place and I need more diversity within and outside my comfort zone. Above all else, I need peace, individuality, freedom, and autonomy. I guess that's it.

Too much?

Opposing view points.

Whenever I need a different opinion on a Jewish matter, I turn to one place: askmoses.com

It's ann interesting, very pro-Chassidic, as far as I'm concerned, site. There is always a conflicting opinion to be had and since I have little other source of Jewish scholarly knowledge (sad, I know), I turn there.

Tonight's matter: the 9th petition in the Amidah: right for us to ask God to cause suffering for the wicked?

Well?

Friendship,

What's friendship? Here's the contest, tell me what friendship is in one sentence. What it means to you. What it is to have a rapport or dialog instead of two monologues running on at once.

It is encouragement? Support in the face of adversity? Surely these things are a part of friendship, necessary to a healthy one.

But then, what is the course of action when these basic elements of a relationship break down. Do you abandon your friends when they do not support your decisions? Where do you turn if this becomes the case?

This one is difficult. Too hard I think. I could really use some support.

T'filah, davening, Amidah, Sh'ma; all that Jewish prayer.

I feel the week coming on, I really do. But I'm reminded of this week gone past. This week with all the good and bad.

I had a discussion with a good friend who gave some rather insightful advice, but more importantly was struggling herself. She was questioning why prayer was so rigid, citing the old baal t'filah practice of improvising the prayer followed by the chatimah, or last line of the prayer basically.

I must say I agree for the most part. That sort of prayer is ideal in some situations, if and only if the community enjoys that type of prayer and the baal himself is extremely knowledgeable in the prayer he happens to be leading. (Don't bash the he things, that's just the way English works. Could always be a woman. :])

But this weekend was an interesting prayer service experience for me. The NFTY-STR fall kallah, all our little youth groups gathering in one big movement. The premonition came quickly: the cover of our little print out siddur read, "party like a Rock STR...live like a jew!" We do it all the time, but it bothers me. Jew is capitalized. It is a proper noun so grammatically it should be and it is the name of our own people so why do ourselves this discredit? Move on, it's Shabbat, bring it in without conflict please.

Page 4:
Chatsi Kaddish
Barchu
"If we were forced to choose just one, there would be no way to deny that Judaism is the most important intellectual development in human history." - David Gelernter.
Ahavat Olam

Now, I can't imagine too many people even noticed this apart from me. But where was Ma'ariv? Surely that reading has little place replacing a prayer whose chatima involves the coming of night. Surely this self rightous quote does not replace our praise for God. So why there? And where is that prayer? I am reminded of that conversation I had so strongly...baal t'filah be dammed. This seems to have little knowledge involved.

Amidah for the service:
Avot
G'vurot
K'dushat HaShem
Shalom Rav

Four prayer. Four of seven included in our packet. I was perturbed.

And this post just wouldn't be the same without that delicious irony as the cherry on top; the weekend's theme: Pluralism. The study theme.

This especially got me thinking. What is the reasoning behind these alterations, surely there is one. Am I wrong in thinking these prayers should have been included? Am I wrong in believing it's wrong to leave them out? Was it wrong that we were told to Stand before Sh'ma and do what was our custom before the V'ahavtah? Was it wrong that it was printed before Sh'ma that is was the minchag of the temple to stand and hold hands during our holiest of prayers?

So what is pluralism then? Is there a line between tradition and pluralism? If so, where is it? Can a service be a service without these prayers? Is it a part of "pluralism" to leave these parts of the service out? Or, is it too far to leave out prayers for whatever reason?

I am torn, more heavily to one side, but that is irrelevant. What is pluralism?

It must have been 5th grade

Maybe 6th. But the rest of the story I remember all too clearly. It was Sunday School, after Hebrew of course, because I didn't even know that Alepf was silent so I still had to catch all that up before my b'nai mitzvah as it was. I didn't need to the pressure of feeling "Secular" surrounded by the "Jewish"kids saying prayers and all.

But thinking that Hebrew is all that makes that distinction is dead wrong. It was a nicer than normal day in class, considering it was mostly a quiet day and my fellow school mates were keeping to themselves; I didn't much like them back then. We were working on 5 adjectives to describe ourselves and I had come up with 3 when the teacher regrouped us.

"How many of you," she began, "described yourself as 'Jewish' on your list?"

I looked down and sure enough "Jewish" was no where to be found. In fact, I didn't even think of Jewish as a word to describe myself and was shocked when 2 or 3 of the kids raised their hands.

That was a long time ago, today Jewish is probably the number one word I would identify myself with. It bears so much more weight than just 'funny' or 'cute.' It means so little in relation to my personality, but so much in relation to my morality and belief. It's a different sort of descriptive word I find.

But how, is the problem, how do I incorporate this Jewish thing into a modern life? Can I be the Jew I want to be in the society in which I live? More and more the answer seems to be a begrudging "no."

Tsit-tsitot and kippot, shacharit and kabbalat shabbat, prayer and study, kashrut and shomrei shabbos. Things, Jewish things fundamentally, that I try or what to try to observe or do.

I wear my tallit katan and kippot, I try to pray shacharit so often and go to Friday night services at Shul, I pray when I can and study when I can.

Those last two. About those.

Keeping Kosher is something I want to try to do. But how? Tonight at dinner the only food available to me was a double cheeseburger and fries from McDs, not my favorite food at any rate, but sustenance. So what was I to do? I ate. I have given up on keeping Kosher at this point. There are too many instances where it is too easy to violate, unless I go veg...thoughts thoughts.

Observing the Sabbath. I had my own way. I didn't do school work, instead I took a day off to study, pray, sleep late, and just generally rest. It was good. It wasn't in keeping with what some might call Shomrei but, I observed in my own way. Now however, this Shabbat, I have a dilemma. I have an AP American History test on Monday for which I must read quite a lot of material, Sunday is not enough to cram. I have to do school work on my day of rest. My recovery from school work.

How do people make this modern Jewish thing work? how do you do what you want to do? How do you observe in your own way?

How do you do it in the modern day??

I miss it, I really do.

It's a lifestyle I once had. Today, I would consider it abysmal and foolish. Then, I was just confused and wanted no part of it. But right now, I feel like I want it back.

My old school was private, Jewish, and Orthodox, well to some extent. Every morning we would pray, I would sit there, confused. I hit a friend with a prayer booklet once; how was I to know it was wrong? I was young, but not young enough to be chastised by someone I didn't even know.

I yelled "BUM" every time it came around in services. I thought I was real funny. But It's not as if I understood the prayer, how was I to know better?

I didn't know why we had to walk 3 miles to a river to toss bread in or why there was a giant sukkah in the entrance of the school about this time of year. I didn't even like these things, more importantly, no one gave me a reason to care about them.

Yet, looking at my friend's older brother who went to this same school would have been enlightening today. He was learning Hebrew, not the "here is how to say cat" kind of stuff they taught us second graders, but the real thing, no vowels and all. He understood the walk to toss the bread and the sukkah as I do now.

But despite my improved knowledge, I can't help but feel that I missed out a lot of my Jewish education. I feel like I could have known so much more. Between daily Hebrew classes and a rabbi always on call, I could have explored so much. Would it have been worth it, though, in such a halachic community? Could my Judaism have survived without a sense of self-righteousness? I suppose these are the answerless questions.

That explain it though. That explain why I want what I want. I want Jewish understanding that I would have had in South Africa. I want to know everything I can learn. Jewish prayer, language, holidays, culture, history, everything. I want to know everything I missed out on.

I feel like I owe Reform Judaism my outlook on many things, but I feel like it owes me a Jewish education. I can't really blame the movement for my being Jewishly illiterate for so long, but I need a scapegoat. It's hard to have to blame oneself. But I was young and foolish, and the opportunity for an improved Jewish education in constantly on the horizon.

This semester in the shackles of a painfully boring secular education; next semester in Tzuba, next semester in Israel.

Clique.

The more I learn, the less I know.-someone who probably knew more (or less?) than me
; Voltaire I think.

Nearing the end of T3M this summer, we discussed what we had learned in that two week class. My head was jam packed, but when it came my turn to talk about what I had learned; I put two fingers barely an inch apart and said simply "about this much."

And it's true, I have so much more to learn. Every little thing reminds me.

As I sat in my little Reform Shul's little Shabbat Shachrit minyan minus 1, I tried my hardest to pray. I generally concentrate on my prayers but recently I've found my mind drifting at all times, apparently (and most unfortunately) prayer included.

I lack a familiarity with the usual minyan there.

For this reason, I find myself missing those minyans at Kutz, even the minus 8 minyan once. They taught me a lot; they kicked my Jewish identity up and down the long beaten path; they shaped my own minchag; they changed the way I looked at prayer. I miss those early morning minyans.

I also miss Israeli dancing. Celebrate Shabbat in the most touristy American fashion we can: "super chouette!" I loved it, just watching was enough to keep me exhausted. i loved that song sway like a palm tree though, I danced once or twice to it.

But I digress, I want that kol echad sort of feeling I had in that pagota back here. It's a lot to ask and daily davening cannot be replaced by one Shabbat minyan a week, it just can't. But at one point during our little Reform/Recon service, somewhere between readings from Heshel, from Kol Haneshama, a Recon Aleinu and saying Kaddish with nine people present, I felt such a familiarity rush back to me that I prayed a prayer that wouldn't usually be a prayer as loud as the Hazzan if not louder.

Tsadik katamar yifrach Ke'erez bal'vanon yisgeh.

Every week we say it, every week I'm the loudest. It just feels right to me, the message, the melody, everything.

I've been singing it all day can't get it out of my head, so when I got home just a few minutes ago, I looked it up. Thank you audio searches. But for some reason, I couldn't find a lyrical version. This frustrated me, my favorite psalm and no lyrics? Bah.

But the third non-lyrical version hit a switch. That familiarity switch: I know this song! This prayer is the Israeli dance song I love! Of course sway like a palm tree!

The righteous man will flourish like the palm tree!

This makes all too much sense all of a sudden, but this loosely based coincidental realization just leads back to the beginning of this post.

If I didn't know this about my favorite psalm and favorite dance tune, what else don't I know? Even such a simple thing had slipped my notice, who's to say more important things haven't? Of course they have, this post would be a waste if the only thing I was thinking about was this psalm, there's just one more thing on my mind. One more thing that the internet doesn't have to know; one more thing that no one but myself has to know. For now at least.

So, if there are two things to be learned from this, (1) never stop nearing, you won't know nearly little enough, and (2) sway like a palm tree.

Untold frustrations of self image, or confessions to a blank web page

It's weird you know, I face this mess of a life I've created everyday. Here is kind of an unedited, unabridged version of what I think about it:

Simply, I have made many mistakes in the past. Probably too many. I don't like to think of them as mistakes, I like the term "learning experiences' but that stupid euphemism just doesn't describe them. Things you learn from are soon forgotten, their lessons remembered; mistakes, on the other hand, stay with you. Sometimes not even mistakes. Sometimes it's just a shit-happens issue. For the life of me, I cannot decide which of the two is worse.

On second thought. It's late. I'm tired. If I have the energy, passion, or some incentive to write more about this tomorrow, maybe I can give me conscience some reprieve.

My place.

Last night I had an interesting conversation with a friend and teacher about our places in the reform movement. Today, I doubt myself in the strangely ideal place to continue my thoughts.

Tonight I did not attend services as I would have liked, rather my mother required my services. I was to take care of about 15 little kids with the help of a few others. Before everyone arrived we were setting up as I sang some of my favorite Shabbat melodies...about 10 miles from my Temple...in a church lobby. Right after my dad got the McDonald's and I was forced to eat, as I am every first Friday of the month, that terrible treif, or unkosher food, my thoughts turned to my place. My place there was simple, I was helping my family as it expected. Yet, that conversation I had popped into my mind.

What is my place in this movement of mine?

Well there began my pondering. My experience with the URJ has been quite a good one. I have not attended a function in which I felt a Jewish choice of mine was simply disregarded and I was not allowed the ability to follow my decision. Then again, I eat treif and observe Shabbat in a way some would consider no observance at all, driving and the like, and consider every thing in life a choice, everything.

It seems my place in this movement is rooted in NFTY, appropriate, considering I am a Reform youth. Yet, NFTY is such a holy place to me. It is a place of absolute expression of one's Judaism free from any fear of criticism. It is a place to learn and grow in my own way. I am thankful I have been given this opportunity.

Still, I can't help but think that all this is true because NFTY is run so directly by my peers, of my peers, and for my peers, myself included. I worry, with all I've seen recently, what my place will be when these glory days are over and my place in the movement changes. If my place becomes that of Rabbi, college student, or temple member, what will my place be? Will I too struggle with my place in what I consider my own movement as many of my friends have? Will I loose sight of what it is to be Reform in my mind, what the movement means?

As I think these things, I choose to enjoy the time I have left and hope for the best after this whole high school thing. Until then, I'm just gonna eat the chicken nuggets because everything else from McD's tastes awful.

I feel like this entry was not as well expressed as I had wanted. I'm tired.

Inherent elietism.

There is a new teacher at my school who took over for the old AP Language and Composition teacher. Although I doubt he will find this particular blog, he would be pleased to know that I've learned something from his class.

Typing youtube.com into my browser, I think, is far removed from an elitist activity: everyone does it and everyone understands it.

Next, I look up a video. "A peace made for our ancestors," a song by some NFTY-SAR kids made with a Jewish audience in mind. Yet my mind drifts from the song to what my teacher said just the other day. Shalom Rav and Yad b'yad are hardly references that any non-Jew will readily understand, but they make up some of the beginning verse of the song.

Then I click around Singer's blog and make my way to Mah Rabu, from there to another Jewish blog. As I sit there learning, I am again reminded of what my teacher said. I, a reasonably knowledgeable (or so I like to think), am having to look up the meaning of some of the more dense, less common Hebrew.

Now I am annoyed.

Why don't I know about these things? I should know the Hebrew for these familiar concepts, dammit!

All I can do is sit here and think. Think that I should be learning these things and it's the right thing to do for me. Think about those that have less motivation to study these things for whatever reason. Think about those who aren't willing to put forth the effort to learn these terms and what they mean. Think about the lack of resources we give to let those with less motivation understand.

No one is more or less guilty of this. But when someone comes across a "Jewish" blog with vocabulary they don't understand, they are likely to dismiss it. It's only right that we keep ourselves from going down this path. It is best to write understandably or offer some more common phrase for what one means. Unless it is your choice to write specifically for a learned Jewish audience, in which case, I feel we exclude many valuable opinions.

What my teacher said I still feel is right. Using language not everyone understands in a scholarly work is elitist. You exclude those that don't understand even when you may not mean to.

Food for thought. I want to write for everyone so plain English (or at least an explanation) will always come from me.

Merry Shabbat.

I want to go to services tonight, I really do. But there are curtain things that bother me more this year at my temple than they did last time I returned from Kutz. Things I don't understand, and simply won't except.

To me, a religious movement that founds itself on choice through knowledge, especially ritual choice, should allow you to daven in whatever way you find most acceptable to you. That is your autonomy. And I have been told that the tradition of one's shul is the equivalent of halacha, but even Yoffie, in the best way he can, has said we're not a halachic movement, it's about choice.

Please be seated.

Actually, I'd rather stand. So many, of those moments bothered me in Temple last week. I'd like to go back and daven with my Reform community, yet, the community unity I seek isn't there.

Not to say my home is much help. When I told my dad that, or something like it, I was told not to make it into a "political thing." It's not that. It's simply that I don't feel comfortable with the way my community chooses to function. It doesn't "work" for me.

I think I will try to go anyway....is that right, wrong? Who knows? If you do, share the secret. Until then, I have to get ready.

Temple starts at 6, whether the sun is down or not. Shabbat Shalom.

Prepare for Shabbat, you have three days.

This summer I was challenged by a teacher and friend to find holiness in 20 minutes. Granted, it took a little longer than that, (I almost missed lunch) before I had an epiphany. What my idea of holiness truly was. Granted again, it differed widely from that of my teacher and also not the subject of this blog.

The interesting thing is that I was able to do it. Granted, I'll never be truly satisfied with what I think is absolute holiness, I think God embodies it, but I've yet to think of another thing. Yet, all that in twenty minutes was a big deal. Or, was it?

To me, the idea that I was able to find, understand, and articulate "holiness" in twenty minutes is not a testament to my genius; rather, it is a testament to my modern mind. These days we all refuse to wait and demand instant gratification. Yet, we are to prepare for Shabbat starting on Wednesday.

I love the idea. How sweet is an event that it take three days to prepare oneself? How great is this day?

Maybe this stems from a newfound adoration of Shabbat, but how incredible is it that my favorite holiday comes once a week. That is not a question; there is no reasonable answer.

I have my own way to prepare: a commitment to having only as much homework as I can finish to avoid doing it on Saturday. It may not be much, but it will be my way to sanctify Shabbat. How will/do you prepare?

Havdala and the Florida Flood Story

Separation between holy and profane. What a concept. I know at least one man that puts a lot of faith in it, even saying that it is holiness; as in the answer to the simple question "What is holiness?"

Yet on this last Havdala of the Summer, the separation is as thick as the humid Florida air. And it is nothing but a huge separation, holiness from profane, play from work, learning from learning.

This summer has been the experience of a lifetime, the good I've left for others, I hope, is even close to what they gave me and what I managed to take away. The holiness of some of the relationships I have formed with the people I truly miss and have in so many ways influenced me and my future is almost palpable. The end of the summer is not a separation from that, our relationships will always be there, but it is a return to profanity. A return to the I and it relationships we all face everyday, a return to something we may not want to accept but is all too apparent.

I return now to my school work, my secular education. Profane by my account, boring, unspecialized, and overly competitive. There is little fun to be had there. I also leave a place where my Jewish knowledge had so much opportunity to expand. I do not expect to discontinue my Jewish studies by any means, but this lack of teachers, time and resources will be an impediment.

And although the sun is still bright here, Shabbat and summer, for me, have ended. Their end was too apparent. I sat here working on my AP Chemistry Summer Assignment so I could do something fun to celebrate the last day of summer tomorrow (something I feel might be a bit damped by this experience), when suddenly the whitest flash I have ever seen flew before all I could see, this accompanied by the deafening boom. Thunder and lightning, the start of a short storm. Rain to wash away the summer and begin a fresh school year. This storm is the end of summer.

Even though we have that covenant, I'm building an ark. Just to be safe.

Shabbat Shalom!

Shabbat Shalom! Each week it seems to be a new start doesn't it? It's a fantastic thing being able to live in the image of the world to come.

At any rate, at the end of Torah to the max we had a discussion: Where do we go from there? We've learned all this great stuff, but is that any good if we don't do anything?

A lot of us talked about the discussions we would have with our Rabbis with our newfound knowledge and chutzpa. I thought that was a genius idea.

That is until I went to services tonight. My temple is a operatic cantorial sort of thing, not my favorite by any means. Yet, as we began the service something felt right. It was good to be home, in my home temple. Then it began. L'chu n'ran'na was not what I would have liked. And from there is became evident that this type of worship was not for me; not to say it's not for anyone, it just doesn't make me want to pray, let alone celebrate Shabbat. When no one got up or opened to the door at the end of L'cha dodi it almost felt like I was locking Shabbat out. It was a terrible image.

It has become clear that I will need a different environment to pray in. Silent pray is an impossibility in my congregation, the instructions almost counter my idea of a Reform Jewish service, the experience simply did not "work."

But somehow, having a pow wow with my Rabbi does not seem like the thing to do. These people that pray at my Shul enjoy their prayer experience I'm sure. If it wasn't meaningful to them they wouldn't return. I think that is the path I will choose. I need a new space, a new community, otherwise I simply cannot pray and have the words rise.

Where I am, I will fill that Shul with prayer. The Baal Shem Tov would not be amused.

"Does this kippah make my head look fat?"

Oh the joys of expressing one's Judaism is a not-so Jewish world.

At a party tonight, a friend of mine commented that my head looked wide (or was it long? I don't recall.) with my kippah. She soon decided that it was just the haircut I got. Or the other night when a got a rather interesting yet simple comment, "nice tassels." This of course referring to my tallit katan. At any rate, trying to explain the fringes came to no avail. It is hard to justify something as complex as the 613 mitzvot of Torah being represented in this simple garment to anyone who really had no interest in the first place. Well no interest, of course, other than to remark on my "tassels."

At the end of the day you realize something interesting about sporting Jewish garb as it were: you become a spokes person for all things Jewish (I think I read that in an iTorah somewhere). At any rate, what is the obligation, is there one even, of wearing these items in a public setting? Certainly, there is a stereotype.

At the party I attended tonight, there were several types of pizza. Indiscriminate in my eating habits as I am, I reached for a slice with meat. Stop the presses. Immediately I had a total stranger inform me that there was meat on that slice of pizza. I looked puzzled and replied that "Yes, yes there is." The person gave me an even more confused look than I could ever muster and commented that, "I didn't think you would mix meat and dairy..." Needless to say I spent quite a while having a conversation about my reasoning behind my feelings of our Kosher tradition. But what was the point of that?

Honestly, I think the person that commented was more confused than I about Judaism by the end of our conversation. It's hard to explain the ideology of an entire movement in one 10 minute period.

I think we should print out leaflets.

Religious, observant, oh my!

I've read a lot of funny things in the past few days. My personal favorite line in all the wisdom and clashing ideas was just so simple it would be a shame to go without repetition: "neo-observant youth."

I imagine you understand by now that I am talking about the Jewish Week article.

What a strange issue this is; well strange is hardly the right word, perhaps estranged is more suited to this circumstance. Because we are in many ways estranged from the old religious traditions our people once held dear, are we not?

Alas in this post-modern world (It's a buzz phrase so sue me), I may live to eat those words. Since reading that article I've argued with myself and ate many a time the Jewvanile conclusions I came to.

Now for the big question: What is it to be "more religious" or "more observant?"

Does that mean laying tefillin every day for a morning prayer session or could that be as "religious" to one as a morning jog is to another? Can one ever be more religious than another? And if so, what is the criteria for that? Is it more religious to spend Saturday morning in Shul or doing volunteer work and picking up trash? What is this concept of "more religious?"

"'I’m definitely one of the more observant people in my [rabbinical school] class,' Singer said." Charged words from a wise man. What is it then, this thing: "more observant?" As I ate dinner this evening (a fantastic concoction of Stouffer's microwaveable lasagna, highly recommended if you're looking for treif), I could not help but think of the words I had read in Singers blog not so long ago: "I don't eat treif so that I can remember that even the way I eat can be holy."

Hmmm. Is that what it is to be more observant? Does that make David more observant than me? Is the, now empty, package of meat and cheese in my trashcan what makes me a less observant Jew?

Or when we talk about observance or religiousness, do we mean to talk about something else, something English lacks the ability to express? Do we mean observance as a strictly "I follow more commandments than you?" or an "I follow them better?" or are we trying to expresses "I attempt to embody more of our peoples traditions than you do?"

Then the biggest question, far (or not so far?) removed from the labels of more religious or more observant, what is it to be holy (or more holy? Is there a more holy even?)? Is one holy as a result of being observant or religious? Observant of what then, ritual or good deed?

Now I am more confused than when I started writing this. The final question is the really scary one though: does all this even matter? You tell me.

It begins.

So this is a blog. And this is what blogging is like.

This whole activity has been so built up that it seems like this one post will mean something. It feels like what I should be writing here should be groundbreaking. Yet at the end of the day, all I can do is think, write, and think some more.

But right now, it is late and I need sleep. Maybe something profound will be found here tomorrow. Till then, let this be the end and tomorrow, I'll start from the beginning.