Holding on to our Memories

היום שלשה עשר יום שהם שבוע אחד
וששה ימים בעמר
Today is the thirteenth day, making one week
and six days of the omer
יסוד שבגבורה
A day of foundation in a week of strength

I emailed the "Rabbi Alan Lew on Baseball" post to my friend Roger, who has a Zen Buddhist practice and is an avid baseball fan--so I figured he would get many of the nuances of Rabbi Lew's writing. But it turned out he got a nuance that I had been unaware of, even with all the times I've read those words.

Roger liked the sermon, but remarked, "wow--he was really angry about the strike." I had never noticed any anger--to me, he was just describing the feelings of fans at that time, and was vintage Rabbi Lew. But Roger, someone who knew of Rabbi Lew but never met or studied with him, felt the heat of emotion. "Maybe it's a Jewish thing," he concluded. And you know, maybe it is.

As Jews, we have a long history and very full memories which imbue our ritual practice. We relive our past moments as a people--in Passover seders, in Purim schpiels, in reading and studying Torah each week. We relive our past moments in our lives--in taking stock each year on Yom Kippur, in remembering our loved ones on the anniversary of their passing. This rituals hold our memories--they bond us and sustain us through the years, through the centuries.

So in his sermon, Rabbi Lew was invoking that long tradition. Just as we re-enact the liberation from slavery each year, feeling the joy of freedom and the angst of the uncertainty that lies ahead, Rabbi Lew would always remember the hurt caused by the loss of trust in a game he held so dear. But it makes the healing brought by Cal Ripken's record that much more powerful. As he said:

"Cal Ripken had never failed to show up, and this achievement seemed to me to penetrate right to the marrow of the mysterious spirituality of Baseball and its power to transform us."

So thank you Roger, for showing me a nuance I'd never seen. And, of course, thanks always to Rabbi Lew, who would surely appreciate Roger's insight--one fan to another.

Our Struggle to Never Forget

היום שנים עשר יום שהם שבוע אחד
וחמשה ימים בעמר
Today is the twelfth day, making one week
and five days of the omer
חוד שבגבורה
A day of humility in a week of strength

On Friday, my friend Randi Taylor and I went to to see "Our Struggle: Responding to Mein Kamf" at The Contemporary Jewish Museum. It was a second visit to this exhibit for me, and will not be my last visit. The images contained in the space are compelling on so many levels--beauty and horror; hellish and divine; hope and despair.


The daughter of French painter and photographer Linda Ellia came home with a copy of Mein Kamf, found at a friend's house. Holding the book in her hands, Ms. Ellia, a Jew, found that "my fingers burnt. I couldn’t keep it to myself. I had a duty to share it with others. I wondered how I could set about preventing such a massacre reoccurring and generating so much evil." She took some pages and used them as a basis for artwork that could express her deep emotions. She then took another step:

"One evening I had the idea of inviting people from all conditions and walks of life to participate in producing a collective work. I would cut out and distribute each of the 600 hundred pages of the book randomly, or to people of my choice. These 600 contributors would represent the deaths of over 6 million deportees.

The objective is to express on each page the emotion it evokes.
Together we will recreate the book. It will become « Our Combat »"

As you walk through the space, looking at these haunting images, you can feel the emotions involved in the creation of the pages. There is intense interaction with the text. Many choose to completely obliterate the words, but in very different manners. Some highlight the words, either for emphasis of meaning, or to change the intention. I encourage all who can to go and see the exhibit for yourselves, feel your own interaction with these artworks that transform those words filled with hate. Those who cannot get to the CJM, you can see some of the pages on Linda Ellia's Notre Combat website.

Today, on Yom HaShoah, on this day of Holocaust Remembrance, take a few moments to remember that we must always be aware of the ongoing battle against those who promote hatred and become part of the fight, not a bystander.

What's the line between honor and dishonor?

היום אחת עשר יום שהם שבוע אחד
וארבעה ימים בעמר
Today is the eleventh day, making one week
and four days of the omer
נצח שבגבורה
A day of perseverance in a week of strength

The haftarah we chanted today is one of those juicy readings that combines great stories with strong teachings that bring up complex issues. I'd love to study this in a group sometime.

The reading, 2 Samuel 6:1 - 7:17, starts with the incident of a man, Uzzah, who kept the Ark from falling off its cart during transport back to Jerusalem. What happens to him? "Adonai was incensed at Uzzah. And God struck him down on the spot for his indiscretion, and he died there beside the Ark of God"

Okay---this so does not work for me. The person who prevents this holy Ark from falling from the cart on to the dusty ground and saves it from potentially great damage, gets zapped? Shouldn't he be honored? I don't get it. Anyone want to explain?

Back to our story.....

After a three-month layover because everyone was just so freaked out by the incident, the Ark transport continued on to Jerusalem. When it arrived, King David "whirled with all his might before Adonai." Michal, daughter of Saul, the former king, saw David "leaping and whirling before Adonai and despised him for it." She said, "Didn't the king of Israel do himself honor today--exposing himself today in the sight of the slavegirls of his subjects, as one of the riffraff might expose himself!" David's reply, "It was before Adonai who chose me instead of your father and all his family and appointed me ruler of Adonai's people Israel! I will dance before Adonai and dishonor myself even more, and be low in my own esteem; but among the slavegirls that you speak of I will be honored."

When I first read this today, my take was that Michal was calling David out on inappropriate behavior, exposing himself as he danced, thus dishonoring rather than honoring. It was pointed out to me that David was likely dancing like the Whirling Dervishes of the period, and so it was an accepted sacred dance. Then it would be Michal who was being inappropriate in calling David out. Okay, that's one for discussion. Especially in light of what comes next.

King David notes that the Ark is a tent, not a house--the implication being he would like to build that house, the Temple, for the Ark. Nathan tells him to do what he wants, God is with him. But that night Nathan gets the word that while God is with the people Israel as they set roots in the land, Nathan is to tell David "When your days are done and you lie with your fathers, I will raise up your offspring after you, one of your own issue, and I will establish his kingship. He shall build a house for my name, and I will establish his royal throne forever."

Was David's manner of dancing, whirling, connected to the reason he isn't to be the one to build the temple? Maybe his passion, even when it was directed at God, was so great that there was a need to have someone more grounded to direct this monumental endeavor. The builder was to be a direct line from David, unlike the way David took over from King Saul, so he still gets the kavod, the honor.

I'd love some input if anyone would care to offer any. Or maybe you have some questions of your own. Discussion anyone??

We are just one part of creation.....

היום עשרה ימים שהם שבוע אחד
ושלשה ימים בעמרToday is the tenth day, making one week
and three days of the omerתפארת שבגבורה
A day of compassion in a week of strength

Yesterday I wrote of the new Koren siddur I'm using, for which Rabbi Sir Jonathan Sacks, Chief Rabbi of Britain, wrote the introduction, translation, and commentary for this siddur. I've been receiving his weekly Torah commentaries for a couple of years. Through his writings, I often find new ways to look at the parshiot, which is the best you can hope to get from teachings.

This week's parsha, Shemini, Leviticus 9:1 - 11:47, lays out the laws of Kashrut--what can be eaten, what shouldn't be eaten. I highly recommend reading Rabbi Sacks' commentary--you can find it here. He shows how the practice of kashrut serves as a reminder that humans are just one element of creation, not the center. He uses the description of creation contained in Job as opposed to the Genesis creation story to make his point:

Job is the paradigm of the righteous individual who suffers. He loses all he has, for no apparent reason. His companions tell him that he must have sinned. Only this can reconcile his fate with justice. Job maintains his innocence and demands a hearing in the heavenly tribunal. For some 37 chapters the argument rages, then in chapter 38 G-d addresses Job "out of the whirlwind". G-d offers no answers. Instead, for four chapters, He asks questions of His own, rhetorical questions that have no answer: "Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation? . . . Have you journeyed to the springs of the sea or walked in the recesses of the deep? . . . Does the rain have a father? . . . From whose womb comes the ice?"

G-d shows Job the whole panoply of creation, but it is a very different view of the universe than that set out in Genesis 1-2. There the centre of the narrative is the human person. He/she is created last; made in G-d's image; given dominion over all that lives. In Job 38-41 we see not an anthropocentric, but a theocentric, universe. Job is the only person in Tanakh who sees the world, as it were, from G-d's point of view.

Particularly striking is the way these chapters deal with the animal kingdom. What Job sees are not domestic animals, but wild, untameable creatures, magnificent in their strength and beauty, living far from and utterly indifferent to humankind:

Do you give the horse his strength or clothe his neck with a flowing mane?
Do you make him leap like a locust, striking terror with his proud snorting? . . .
Does the hawk take flight by your wisdom and spread his wings toward the south?
Does the eagle soar at your command and build his nest on high? . . .
Can you pull in the leviathan with a fishhook or tie down his tongue with a rope?
Can you put a cord through his nose or pierce his jaw with a hook? . . .
Nothing on earth is his equal- a creature without fear.
He looks down on all that are haughty;
he is king over all that are proud.

This is the most radically non-anthropocentric passage in the Hebrew Bible. It tells us that man is not the centre of the universe, nor are we the measure of all things. Some of the most glorious aspects of nature have nothing to do with human needs, and everything to do with the Divine creation of diversity. . .

. . . We now understand what is at stake in the prohibition of certain species of animals, birds and fish, many of them predators like the creatures described in Job 38-41. They exist for their own sake, not for the sake of humankind. The vast universe, and earth itself with the myriad species it contains, has an integrity of its own.

I hear the vegetarians saying, "Okay, so shouldn't we just not eat other creatures-wouldn't that practice better serve the point?" Yes, but the reality of the situation, from thousands of years ago when this was written up through today, is that mankind will eat meat. So I can appreciate setting up a practice when one must be mindful of what is eaten. What this teaching adds for me is the realization that we need to remember to view the other creatures of the world on their own terms, not as subservient species.

Because the chanting of Shemini falls within the omer period each year, I have looked at the issue of kashrut and what that means on both a personal and group level each year. And each year I see these teachings from a different perspective. You can see those posts here and here. It's a good bet there will be another one next year -- it's just all a part of the joy of studying Torah.

UPDATE: I am happy to have such a knowledgeable group of readers. I received an email last evening gently correcting my statement that Shemini is read during the omer period each year. On leap years, in which an entire month is added to the Jewish calendar, the chanting of Shemini will happen before Pesach begins. Thanks to all of you for helping maintain the integrity of this blog.

The Prayer Experience

היום תשעה ימים שהם שבוע אחד
ושני ימים בעמר
Today is the ninth day, making one week
and two days of the omer
גבורה שבגבורה
A day of strength in a week of strength

I'm in my eleventh year of a consistent prayer practice. I showed up in the sanctuary of Beth Sholom for Shabbat services on January 1, 2000--it was the place I needed to be that day. I've been going to Shabbat morning services almost every week since then. I attended my first morning minyan at Beth Sholom in November, 2000. I was starting my meditation practice at Makor Or with the 6a sittings and then went to minyan at 7a. My meditation practice has a different schedule these days, but I remain a "minyanairre", going 3-5 days a week.

Someone once asked me, "what do you pray for? I mean, you certainly pray enough, what are you asking?" Prayer is not about asking for something. In the years that I've been following this practice, I've only seriously "asked for something" once. When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer with thoughts of dying overtaking my psyche, I stood there and asked for "5 more years, 10 would be even better." (I'm 8 1/2 years removed from that moment--make your own connections :)

I look at prayer as a form of meditation, with my focus on words and chants instead of breath. It's about being in the present moment, giving up control, taking note of how I am, what I am, where I am, what surrounds me. There are days when the words just come from my heart and I need no siddur - prayerbook. But I do appreciate the structure that has been created through the centuries by our sages, and the poetry of the words they have chosen. And as I recite those words all these mornings, they seep into my being and can be a great comfort when I have no words of my own.

Through the good graces of Congregation Netivot Shalom and my good friend Edna Stewart, I have been able to attend a series of teachings with Rabbi Stuart Kelman on liturgy. I can't think of a better person to teach these classes. Rabbi Kelman has a passion for prayer--in terms of his practice and sharing his knowledge and experience with others. Along with the particular studies of specific prayers, he has given me two teachings that have been transforming for me.

The first deals with how to approach prayer. Rabbi Kelman says you ask three questions: What does the prayer say? What does the prayer mean? What does the prayer mean to me? Reflecting on those questions alone can be a form of prayer. It gives the act of prayer fluidity, for the answers change through the years and the centuries on both personal and tribal levels.

The second is to remember to cycle through different siddurim through your practice. There can come a fatigue, a boredom when using the same book for many years. Visual changes in format refreshes your view of the words, often bringing new meanings to mind. Different commentaries can uncover previously hidden nuances.

That second teaching came just as I was experiencing the boost from changing my siddur. I have recently opted to use the new Koren Siddur for prayer. I first heard of this because I receive the weekly Torah commentaries from Rabbi Sir Jonathan Sacks, presently the Chief Rabbi Of Britain. He wrote the introduction, translation, and commentary for this siddur.

This siddur does have a radical format change. The Hebrew is on the left side, the English translation on the right. From the FAQ on the Koran Siddur website (To view the pages of the siddur on their website, click here.)

Why is the Hebrew on the left side of the Siddur and the English on the right?

This placement allows the Hebrew and English texts to align at the center of the Siddur. It enables you to move between the two languages comfortably, to find meaningful line breaks easily, and to follow page turns intuitively. This placement also creates visually pleasing pages that “breathe,” as white space flows to the margins.

I've only been using this siddur for a couple of weeks, but I imagine I will be engaged with it for a good while. No, it's not egalitarian, coming as it does from the Modern Orthodox tradition. I add and change as I see fit--something I have to do with any siddur I use. But it's given me a lift I need as I shift back into concentrating on my place in prayer rather than always making sure there is a place for everyone else. As I work to find more balance in my life, it's nice to have teachers like Rabbi Kelman and Rabbi Sacks to help me along the way.

My Yoga/Jewish Convergence

היום שמנא ימים שהם שבוע אחד
ויום אחד בעמר
Today is the eighth day, making one week
and one day of the omer
חסד שבגבורה
A day of loving kindness in a week of strength

What a great class today at Yoga Sita. Because of the small class size today, my teacher, Susannah Bruder, was able to spend more time than usual with each student, fine tuning each pose to the needs of each our unique bodies. She is a great teacher, and I am grateful to have studied with her for all these years, as well as count her among my friends.

I have been practicing yoga for 13 years. My practice includes not only the physical asanas(poses) but the study of the philosophy. In fact, my study of yoga philosophy was the start of my path back to Jewish practice. Yoga philosophy centers around how we live in this world and how we live within ourselves. It can have universal appeal because it isn't deity based. That is what allowed me to delve into it as I started to look for a life integrated with spiritual practice.

I never ignored the fact that yoga is infused with the stories from Hindu scriptures. That is the culture that yoga sprung from. Sanskrit--the language of the seminal yoga texts--is the liturgical, sacred language of Hinduism. The names of the poses are also in Sanskrit, and many refer to legendary Hindi figures. But the practice of yoga is not Hinduism, although it can be one aspect of it. Being in a pose that is named after a Hindu god or goddess doesn't mean I'm worshiping that god or goddess.

I do, however, experience a Yoga/Jewish convergence. Because Hinduism and Judaism are both ancient ethnic religions, their sacred texts are also considered to be stories telling the history of their people. The texts are written in a sacred language--Sanskrit and Hebrew, two languages that are written with no vowels. The texts were originally transmitted in specific oral tones, as demonstrated today as the chanting of the Sutras and the Torah.

Yoga seems contain the moral fiber of the Hindu religion, with teachings that parallel teachings of the Torah. Many yogis spent their life studying and commenting on the sutras and other texts, just as the Jewish sages throughout the ages have written commentary--and commentary on both practices is still being written today.

I owe the meditative part of my Jewish practice to Rabbi Lew, who brought me the teachings and showed me the importance of melding meditation and prayer. But while his discovery and tie to this practice came from his Zen Buddhist experience, my ties to the practice come from yoga. Just as Rabbi Lew could feel at home in the zendo of Tassajara, not bothered by the statues and shrines found there, I feel at home in a yoga studio, not bothered by any altars dedicated to Hindu sages.

I'm still working on my concept of God. For now, I would describe God as Transcendent Energy. There is only One, but that One has many aspects and many names. The Sephirot I'm using to count the omer are 7 emanations of that One Transcendent Energy. What some would see as separate gods and goddesses, I see them as part of the One.

And so, on this day I am reminded of the loving kindness with which my yoga practice feeds and energizes my Jewish spiritual practice. I am strengthened in body, mind, and soul.

כן יהי רצון
May it always be so

One day too long.....

היום שבעה ימים בעמר
שהם שבוע אחד בעמרToday is the seventh day,
making one week of the omerמלכות שבחסד
A day of majesty in a week of loving kindness

It's time for bread -- whoo hoo!

Some will wait until tonight, but my week of Passover ended after services this morning. Personally, I think it's time to drop the extra day added to the three Jewish Festivals--Pesach, Shavuot, Sukkot--for Jews who live outside of Israel. (For those of you who don't get any of this, click here for an explanation.) We live in an age where we no longer rely on observation to determine the start of our lunar days. With no doubt as to when the Festivals start, there's no reason to add an extra day for safety. This is an ancient custom--not law--that has long outlived it's reason for being.

It's days like this that I feel myself moving further and further away from my roots in the Conservative Movement. One foundation of the movement was the understanding that how we live in the world changes through the centuries. We need to look at the customs and laws that our ancient sages set so that the religion could work in their new world environment and make adjustments for ours. Those are the teachings I want from each new generation of leaders.

Three and half years ago I ended this post with my declaration that I no longer would identify as a Conservative Jew. Nothing has changed since then. There's been lots and lots and lots of talk--but no action. The leadership talks about how aware they are of the falling membership in synagogues and the increasing disengagement of the members that remain. But all their solutions seem to be centered around wooing that elusive "young adult" demographic. I wish they would listen to my friend, Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg, who wrote in this article for the Jewish Daily Forward:

"In fact, the most successful programs that I can think of — in terms of lifespan, vitality and overall contribution to the Jewish community — are those that are not defined by age or generational identification. They’re opportunities for people with common interests to come together to work from a Jewish perspective on a cause or issue about which they feel passionate, to pray with a particular sensibility, to make or enjoy Jewish cultural offerings or to take part in study that touches the heart. These are programs that have depth, substance and vision, and have been created by the same types of people who ultimately participate in them."

The type of programs that Danya describes are the ones I'm looking to attend and to create. When asked, I refer to myself as "post-denominational" to avoid any labels. I'm enjoying "free agent" status, open to all opportunities that come my way.

I will have alot more to say about this subject as I write through this omer period. With all my talk of cutting loose, I'm someone who likes to have a place--and that place is proving hard to find. Maybe my task will be to keep that place within me, so any space can become my place.

Spring ahead, Fall back

היום ששה ימים בעמר
Today is the sixth day of the omer
יסוד שבחסד
A day of foundation in a week of loving kindness

I was glad to be able to share Rabbi Lew's thoughts on baseball in yesterday's post. It's not just our mutual love of baseball that brings him to mind right now. One of the foundations of the practice at Makor Or was to create a spiritual path with the cycle of the Jewish ritual--daily, weekly, monthly, yearly. Rabbi Lew taught us how to take those cycles and use the stopping points along the way to check inward as we move outward in the world.

It was Rabbi Lew who taught me the connection between Pesach and Yom Kippur, positioned halfway through the year from each other. They are both times when we take stock of our lives. Pesach is liberation, looking forward to the rebirth that comes each spring. Yom Kippur is introspective, looking back as we reflect on our lives at the present moment as we face the harvest of autumn.

This year, as I begin this journey of the omer, I see the connection it has with the meditative practice of Elul. They both are a specific period of time when we take a bit of each day in reflection. With the omer, the time starts after the first bursts of celebration--we experience the liberation, then we take the steps to receive the revelations. In Elul, we start by analyzing the realizations of our present, making our teshuvah, our return to our true selves that we offer on Yom Kippur.

I will revisit this idea this coming Elul to see if I still feel this relationship with the omer. I wish I could share this with Rabbi Lew. But I am so grateful to have the benefit of his teachings that continue to guide me on my path. Zichrono L'vrachoh--his memory continues to be a blessing to me.

Rabbi Alan Lew on Baseball

היום המשה ימים בעמר
Today is the fifth day of the omer
הוד שבחסד
A day of humility in a week of loving kindness
It's damp and a bit gloomy in San Francisco today, but I can feel the sunshine that comes with the start of baseball season. There's something magical about this day because no matter what team you root for, whether at the top of the heap or a struggling franchise, everyone can dream of their team going to the World Series.
One of the bonds I had with my teacher, Rabbi Alan Lew, z"l, was that we were both fervent sports fans, although the Warriors were the only team we had in common. As far as baseball was concerned, he was a National League snob and loved to make reference to "that other, bush league team across the bay" that I rooted for. But then again, I could never understand how he could ever root for the Yankees, even during the World Series of 2001.
So on this day when hope springs eternal, I give you an excerpt from one of my favorite Rabbi Lew sermons, given during Rosh Hashanah 5760 in September, 1999. I know he would appreciate me sharing it with all of you today. And I think many of you who knew Rabbi Lew will be able to hear his voice as you read.


---------------

I have been a baseball fan all my life. The most vivid memory I have is my first visit to Ebbets Field in 1948. My Uncle Benny, my favorite uncle who died a few years later, took me. It was the day the Dodgers clinched the pennant that year, and after the game the crowds poured out onto the street outside the Dodger dressing room and waited for their heroes to come out. In those days, athletes used to wear sport coats with white shirts -- no ties, collars spread wide open -- and as long as I live, I will never forget the sight of Gil Hodges immense Adam's apple protruding out of the open neck of his white shirt. He was a god.

Another sight I'll never forget; a short while later my father took me to my first night game, also at Ebbets Field. Coming into the park, I caught my first glimpse of that glistening green grass diamond bathed in the arclight. My heart still stops a little whenever I walk into a stadium and see that.

And, of course, in 1948, Jackie Robinson began the civil rights revolution by penetrating baseball, because both he and Branch Rickey seemed to understand that baseball was at the heart of the American psyche, and if America was going to change, it had to change here first. You know, Louis Finkelstein, the great chancellor, perhaps the greatest chancellor of the Jewish Theological Seminary, had the same insight. He used to say, you can't be an American Rabbi unless you know baseball.

And in fact, I learned about social justice and civil rights and racial prejudice, not in school, not in synagogue, but through baseball.

Pee Wee Reese, the little colonel, died the other day. When Pee Wee Reese became the only player on the Dodgers to befriend Jackie Robinson, he also became my favorite player and he remained so until he retired.

Most of the ballplayers then were from the south. Pee Wee Reese was from the south too. Louisville, Kentucky, to be precise. But when the other players got up a petition saying they wouldn't play with Jackie Robinson, Pee Wee Reese refused to sign. And then one afternoon in Cincinnati, when the fans were taunting Robinson mercilessly, and even some of the players were joining in, Pee Wee Reese walked over and put his arm around Jackie Robinson and stood beside him. Later, Jackie Robinson said, I never felt alone on a baseball field after that.

So When Jackie Robinson couldn't find a house to buy, I sent him a letter inviting him to come live in my neighborhood. He wrote me back. He said he was sorry that he couldn't live in my neighborhood, because he and his family had just purchased a house in Stamford, Connecticut.

Baseball mirrors life in a subtle and deeply spiritual way. It has a deep aesthetic and we pour our souls into this mythic diamond and allow our deepest aspirations and conflicts to play out there.

The pitcher gives up two singles in a row and then there is an error and the bases are loaded and gazing down on this pitcher from high up in the stands -- up in the upper deck where God sits so he can see the big picture -- gazing down on this pitcher we recognize his agony, we identify with his sense of impending doom, of endless trouble overwhelming him on all sides. Then it's over in a flash. Someone hits into a double play. הפכת מספדי למחול לי פתכת שקי ותאזרני שמחה – his mourning has turned to singing, his sackcloth and ashes to joy (Psalm 30,verse 12). And sure it had cost him a run, but it could have been worse -- much worse.

Then the next inning, your team leads off with a triple -- man on third, no outs -- infinite possibilities for success. But then they walk the bases full and as the possibilities for success increase, so does the possibility of trouble. Now you could hit into a double play. Now you could squander all this good fortune. Now your success could turn to failure.

Suddenly, the ball squirts away from the catcher. There's a thrill of fear.

And you feel all this inside your kishkes. This is happening to you. This is happening in your soul. Your soul is living out this drama.

When [Major League] Baseball went on strike some years ago, the year before the Ripken record, in fact, the cynical sports writers all said, 'This is a travesty, but the fans deserve it, because as soon as the strike is over they'll all come crawling back and fill the parks again.'

But to everyone's surprise, the fans did not come crawling back. Either they took vows to avenge the injury by not attending any games that year, or they simply lost interest -- they feigned indifference -- the surest sign of a broken heart there is.

Why were we so hurt? Because we felt we had been violated spiritually. We were invited to pour our souls and our hearts into this spiritual world, and our basic assumption in doing so is that this world would go on and on and on, like any good religious cosmos; that it would persist. And then Baseball goes and violates the cardinal rule of any religion. It stops showing up. It doesn't keep going no matter what. They didn't play the World Series the year of the strike for crying out loud. And in doing so, baseball gave us a very clear and a very ugly message; their money was more important than our souls.

We gave them our souls -- they held them in sacred trust -- and then they broke the faith. They didn't show up. They invited us to open our souls and then they failed to support them with their continuing presence. They didn't persist. They weren't there. They weren't present. They left our soul to flounder, like a fish flopping around on the counter at the fish market.

So when people say, Mark Mcguire and Sammy Sosa saved baseball last year with their successful assault on Babe Ruth's cherished record -- with their incredible shower of big, booming home runs -- I respectfully disagree. I think baseball began to be saved the year before, when Cal Ripken broke Lou Geherig's record. This record -- his performance -- was precisely the antidote for the abomination baseball had committed. Baseball had failed to keep the faith, baseball had failed to show up, baseball had stopped. But Cal Ripken had showed up every day for 2,131 days. Cal Ripken had never failed to show up, and this achievement seemed to me to penetrate right to the marrow of the mysterious spirituality of Baseball and its power to transform us.

Simple human presence -- simply being present, simply persisting in being here -- has a tremendous spiritual power. It has the power to heal. It has the power to nurture.

Dry Bones No More

היום ארבעה ימים בעמר
Today is the fourth day of the omer
נצח שבחסד
A day of perseverance in a week of loving kindness

Today I chanted the haftarah for the Shabbat during Pesach - Ezekiel 36:37 - 37:14. I wrote about this haftarah three years ago when I first realized the vivid imagery these words portrayed of the Holocaust and the founding of the State of Israel--even though this was written around 600 B.C.E. You can read that post here.

While studying it this year, I saw an additional teaching. Three times in his vision, God tells Ezekiel to proclaim his prophesy. First, in 37:4, God says, ""Prophesy over these bones." When Ezekiel complies, the bones come together, get their sinew and their skin. Then, in verse 9 God says, "Prophesy to the breath." When Ezekiel does this, the bones come to life and rise. And in verse 12, God says, "Prophesy, therefore, and say to them: Thus said Adonai, your God. I am going to open your graves and lift you out of the graves, O My people, and bring you to the land of Israel."

This reminds me that while faith in the teachings of our people will keep us alive through the generations, we need to do the work. It is the prophesy we need to hear, whether we believe in God or not. We need to find those true leaders and teachers who will guide us through the rough times. I'm not sure who or what God is--that's something I'm continually working on. But I do know that the teachings of the Torah, the teachings of the Tanach have sustained the Jewish people for thousands of years. They have kept us alive and breathed life into us. As long as we can still hear them, we will survive.

And on this day of perseverance, I remember with loving kindness two of those survivors to whom I dedicated this haftarah today. Mitzi Wilner, z"l and Goldie Rassen, z"l--two incredibly strong women who lived through the hell of the valley of dry bones and survived with their faith intact. They shared their love of life and Judaism with me and for that, I will be forever grateful.

What does it mean to be free?

היום שלשה ימים בעמר
Today is the third day of the omer
תפארת שבחסד
A day of compassion in a week of loving kindness


The first night of Pesach I attended a lovely seder hosted by Aryae Coopersmith and Wendy Berk, founders of the Coastside Torah Circle. Along with food and wine/grape juice, we were asked to bring a two minute story to share, entitled “A Time in My Life When I Felt Most Free.”

The first thing that came to mind for me when I saw that in the email was, "I don't know that I've ever felt free." It was very disconcerting. But it has given me something to, as my friend Robert Russo would say, cogitate on.

What does it mean to be free? Are we ever truly free? Is being free something to strive for? Wouldn't pure freedom cut us off from our relations with those around us--both in our personal lives and in the larger circle of the world? It's one thing to be free to do whatever we want, whenever we want, but what about the consequences to others? So is freedom just a concept, not an action? I don't expect definitive answers, but welcome anyone who wishes to share their thoughts on the matter.

Back to Monday night's seder--how did I handle the issue? I told of two times I felt liberation--something related to freedom but no the same. One was when I moved from NY to SF, sharing my thoughts given in yesterday's post. The other is right now, as I liberate myself from feeling hemmed in by a spiritual center that no longer serves me and move towards a spiritual practice that feeds my soul.

כן יהי רצון May it be so

The best move I ever made

היום שני ימים בעמר

Today is the second day of the Omer

גבורה שבחסד

A day of strength in a week of loving kindness

On April 1, 1986, I walked out of my NYC apartment for the last time and flew to San Francisco, starting not just a new chapter in my life, but a whole new book. I was not entering unknown territory. For the year and a half prior to that moment, I had been going back and forth between NY and SF to be with Ken. On my visit that February I secured a job (which didn't turn out to be so secure, but that's a story for another day). I was as prepared as I could be to make the move and I knew that it was a move I had to make.

That decision was based on the need to move towards something, as opposed to being propelled by the need to run away. I didn't come to San Francisco to reinvent myself, but I have been able to become more of who I am with no expectations to weigh me down. I am lucky to feel that I have ended up in the place I was destined to live. My "New York-ness" will never be completely stifled--I still talk fast with hands waving, and can still become very impatient waiting in line. But San Francisco has my heart--it is my home.

As I look back I realize it took strength to make that leap of faith. And the loving kindness that I have found here all these years proves it was the right leap to make.