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.