Day 2
I've been thinking today about how this world crisis has offered us an odd paradox. As we watch the world shut down bit by bit and our personal interactions dwindle to almost nothing, there is a fear that our forced isolations will become permanent and that we will lose our connections with our closest of friends and even the strangers among us. And yet, over the past few days, I have felt more connected than ever through the magic of our virtual world.
The Husband and I discussed this during our long drive over the weekend. Imagine that this plague had hit even twenty years ago. Imagine being forced into isolation and the only communication available is your telephone. No Facetime. No photographs. No chats. Now, imagine it had occurred one-hundred years ago. Telephones were limited, mail might have been downsized due to the direct contact, and telegrams were scary and expensive. We live in an amazing era. An era that is so global in scope, that a virus can attack an entire planet in a matter of months but is also so global in scope, that we can sing with nine-thousand people from all over the world on the internet in a mass choir gathering without ever leaving our homes. It may not replace sitting next to your friends in the alto section but it does offer a cooling respite from the separation.
My GUCI friends will remember when our teacher Bonia Shur (z"l) came to camp one summer and taught us, in his own unique way, the valuable lesson of "everything is connected". We laughed and goofed around, thinking it was trite drivel and bullshit philosophy but today it is more important than ever. We are all connected and that connection is now critical to our very survival. The person who stays home is perhaps saving the life of the senior citizen in a nursing home. The person who frolics on the beaches of South Florida is potentially endangering the health of the child with cancer. We can no longer live our lives for ourselves. We must think of every person on the planet as a potential victim and we must do everything we possibly can to prevent the spread. Everything is connected.
Today, my synagogue's weekly Talmud class grew from an average of about five attendees to a whopping seventeen souls, all online. Connection! (People have more flexible work schedules.) Our continuing conversation of Tractate Berachot led us to our current situation. The idea of punishment and reward was on the table and the question was asked, "where does God fit in?" I suggested that rather than looking for theological answers of why The Divine Spirit would let such a calamity occur, we should instead look for sparks of the divinity in our everyday interactions. It reminded me of the Joan Osborne song, What If God Was One of Us. Maybe we are seeing God in the cashier who paid for the elderly woman's toilet paper. Maybe God is in my friend who drove out of her way to deliver groceries to us. Maybe there is a spark of God in my Sister/Cousin who is nursing sick patients through this virus without once complaining or expressing her own fears. These are godly acts and through them, we have been afforded the great gift of connectedness.
This isolation is only beginning. There will be difficult days ahead and I am certain that I won't always be able to wax philosophy and Talmud but will instead be bitter and angry. I'm sure that there will be days when I rail at stupidity and swear uncontrollably. Today, I am merely grateful for my internet access, my friends, my family, my music, and my communities. Everything is connected.
Wash your hands. Don't touch your face. Be kind. Stay healthy.
***Here are the lyrics and video for What If God Was One of Us.
If God had a name what would it be?
And would you call it to his face?
If you were faced with Him in all His glory
What would you ask if you had just one question?
And yeah, yeah, God is great
Yeah, yeah, God is good
And yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah
What if God was one of us?
Just a slob like one of us
Just a stranger on the bus
Tryin' to make his way home?
If God had a face what would it look like?
And would you want to see if, seeing meant
That you would have to believe in things like heaven
And in Jesus and the saints, and all the prophets?
And yeah, yeah, God is great
Yeah, yeah, God is good
And yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah
What if God was one of us?
Just a slob like one of us
Just a stranger on the bus
Tryin' to make his way home?
Just tryin' to make his way…
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Wednesday, 18 March 2020
Tuesday, 25 November 2014
When Prayer is No Longer Easy
I used to get paid to pray.
I realize how utterly crass and unappetizing that must sound, and in truth it is a gross oversimplification of what my position as a cantorial soloist was all about, but there is some veracity in the statement. A huge chunk of the job description was all about leading the congregation in prayer, and I took tremendous pride in the sourcing of inspirational liturgical settings, as well as songs from outside of the synagogue, that would aid my community in the facilitation of their personal and collective davening.
And yet....
Several years ago I began to feel like a fraud. My personal conversation with The Divine Spirit, which had always flowed so freely and unencumbered had, over time, become stale, stilted, and, so very gruelling. There was no specific incident that led to this frustration. No renaissance moment, no lightening bolt. It was a gradual process. The words on the page had become rote, and the music, in which I had previously taken so much comfort, began to seem ordinary and uninteresting. It felt like a huge part of the foundation on which I had built my entire life was crumbling, and I honestly had no idea how to deal with it.
There were times when I wished for atheism. I wondered if lack of belief was more liberating than my personal struggles. But absence of faith was never my problem. Rather, I had become distressed that the old, comfortable ways of engaging had abandoned me. I questioned my spirituality. Oh, how I loathe that word. To me, it is a catchall phrase designed to offer deistic comfort where none exists, and it fails me miserably. How could I be an effective leader of prayer if I simply couldn't find the will to engage in my own?
My recent retirement has afforded me some much needed time to ponder the dilemma. I have taken a step back from the established prayer service, and I have attempted to discover new and non-traditional ways to facilitate my personal dialogue with God. It has been frightening to abandon my comfort zone. When The Husband and I took one of the days of Rosh Hashana this year to hike through some trails near our home rather than attend synagogue, I will admit to some deep and profound feelings of guilt. (We Jews are nothing without a good dose of guilt.) But as we blew the shofar in the woods and performed our own personal tashlich (the ritual casting out of sins) in the Don River, I felt my personal connection with The Divine Spirit repair just a wee bit. I knew that God was there that day and we began the slow and painful process of reengaging our conversation.
And so, I will persist in my attempts to rediscover that which has been lost, to repair that which has been damaged, and I will continue the search for meaningful new prayer rituals. They might include Shabbat walks on the beach when I head south, or they might involve some new practices in yoga or meditation. I haven't yet decided on the path, but I have the freedom now to experiment. I have, however, realized that my personal connection with God hasn't disappeared, it has merely been transformed. It is now up to me and my perseverance to enact the changes necessary to maintain the relationship. To me, it is one worth saving.
Kein Y'hi Ratzon. May this be God's will.
I realize how utterly crass and unappetizing that must sound, and in truth it is a gross oversimplification of what my position as a cantorial soloist was all about, but there is some veracity in the statement. A huge chunk of the job description was all about leading the congregation in prayer, and I took tremendous pride in the sourcing of inspirational liturgical settings, as well as songs from outside of the synagogue, that would aid my community in the facilitation of their personal and collective davening.
And yet....
Several years ago I began to feel like a fraud. My personal conversation with The Divine Spirit, which had always flowed so freely and unencumbered had, over time, become stale, stilted, and, so very gruelling. There was no specific incident that led to this frustration. No renaissance moment, no lightening bolt. It was a gradual process. The words on the page had become rote, and the music, in which I had previously taken so much comfort, began to seem ordinary and uninteresting. It felt like a huge part of the foundation on which I had built my entire life was crumbling, and I honestly had no idea how to deal with it.
There were times when I wished for atheism. I wondered if lack of belief was more liberating than my personal struggles. But absence of faith was never my problem. Rather, I had become distressed that the old, comfortable ways of engaging had abandoned me. I questioned my spirituality. Oh, how I loathe that word. To me, it is a catchall phrase designed to offer deistic comfort where none exists, and it fails me miserably. How could I be an effective leader of prayer if I simply couldn't find the will to engage in my own?
My recent retirement has afforded me some much needed time to ponder the dilemma. I have taken a step back from the established prayer service, and I have attempted to discover new and non-traditional ways to facilitate my personal dialogue with God. It has been frightening to abandon my comfort zone. When The Husband and I took one of the days of Rosh Hashana this year to hike through some trails near our home rather than attend synagogue, I will admit to some deep and profound feelings of guilt. (We Jews are nothing without a good dose of guilt.) But as we blew the shofar in the woods and performed our own personal tashlich (the ritual casting out of sins) in the Don River, I felt my personal connection with The Divine Spirit repair just a wee bit. I knew that God was there that day and we began the slow and painful process of reengaging our conversation.
And so, I will persist in my attempts to rediscover that which has been lost, to repair that which has been damaged, and I will continue the search for meaningful new prayer rituals. They might include Shabbat walks on the beach when I head south, or they might involve some new practices in yoga or meditation. I haven't yet decided on the path, but I have the freedom now to experiment. I have, however, realized that my personal connection with God hasn't disappeared, it has merely been transformed. It is now up to me and my perseverance to enact the changes necessary to maintain the relationship. To me, it is one worth saving.
Kein Y'hi Ratzon. May this be God's will.
Tuesday, 18 November 2014
Search for Joy, Find Peace
So. Much. Sadness.
The news out of Jerusalem this morning made me want to retreat back under the blankets and hibernate until June.
So. Much. Misery.
Watching the images this morning of another family of another aid worker murdered, made my body convulse with pain.
So. Much. Injustice.
Hearing about more social unrest in Ferguson made me want to weep.
Where do we search for comfort? Where do we find joy?
And so...
I willed my body out of bed refusing to yield to the temptation of retreat.
I saw hope in the November sunshine, even though the temperatures were clearly yelling "January!!"
I wrenched myself onto the treadmill with willful purpose, and I ran 5K with coughing determination. I focused on every breath I took, and reminded myself that in each of those breaths was life.
I worked out in a retro camp t-shirt and recalled some of life's better days.
I listened to Melissa Etheridge and was renewed by her pulsating guitar and cut-to-the-bone lyrics.
I showered and let the hot water restore both body and soul.
I watered my plants and saw this.
Esah Einai el he-harim, me-ayin yavo ezri?
I shall raise my eyes to the mountains, from where will my help come? (Psalm 121:1)
It comes from within. It comes from the daily miracles. It comes from an ingrained faith that things can get better. It comes from me.
This poem is by Rabbi Zoë Klein
If God Would Go on Sick Leave: A Poem of Peace
Nowhere is there more prayer.
The Nuns at the Holy Sepulchre.
The faithful at Al Aqsa Mosque.
The worshippers at the Wall.
The call to prayer at dawn and dusk
Warbling from the citadels.
The church bells,
The Persian trills,
The passion spilled over texts
From every major/minor religious sect.
Nowhere is there more prayer than Jerusalem,
Thanks be to God, Hamdilala, Baruch Hashem.
And yet,
I'm starting to think that it's You and not them,
God, what's the point of prayer?
If there's nowhere where
There's more prayer,
And terror reigns
Then, Who's to blame?
If suddenly, without a whisper goodbye,
Jesus, Allah, Adonai,
The three men they admire most
All took the last train for the coast,
And the Moslems got up from their knees
And the Christians put down their rosaries
And the Jews stayed their hands from kissing
Their mezuzahs,
And everyone looked up,
And realized something's missing...
God is missing.
Stop the praying! No One's there,
They'd arrange a party to search everywhere.
They'd look for God
But there'd be no Presence
In Holy Books or stars and crescents
Or steeples and crosses.
People'd be at a loss,
Is He ever coming back?
They'd be so distraught,
Their searching for naught,
There'd be nothing on high
So they'd turn to on low,
There'd be nothing above
So they'd turn to below,
And they'd finally see there,
In the face of the other,
A semblance of sister,
The eyes of a brother,
They'd turn and they'd lean
Upon one another.
You see, every group can't believe that they're the ones chosen,
Every group can't believe that the Holy Land's owed them,
Sometimes faith in You, God,
Builds insurmountable walls,
And everyone falls.
Everyone falls.
How wise are the secularists for whom the dead aren't martyred
But, quite plainly, murdered...
This might sound like an absurd,
ungodly thing to say,
A truly heretical supplication to pray,
(I say this only out of the deepest respect)
But if for a few days, God, You'd just give it a rest,
If You'd take a sick leave and just go away
And let Israel work this out without You in the way,
God, for that kind of peace,
You're a small price to pay.
The news out of Jerusalem this morning made me want to retreat back under the blankets and hibernate until June.
So. Much. Misery.
Watching the images this morning of another family of another aid worker murdered, made my body convulse with pain.
So. Much. Injustice.
Hearing about more social unrest in Ferguson made me want to weep.
Where do we search for comfort? Where do we find joy?
And so...
I willed my body out of bed refusing to yield to the temptation of retreat.
I saw hope in the November sunshine, even though the temperatures were clearly yelling "January!!"
I wrenched myself onto the treadmill with willful purpose, and I ran 5K with coughing determination. I focused on every breath I took, and reminded myself that in each of those breaths was life.
I worked out in a retro camp t-shirt and recalled some of life's better days.
I listened to Melissa Etheridge and was renewed by her pulsating guitar and cut-to-the-bone lyrics.
I showered and let the hot water restore both body and soul.
I watered my plants and saw this.
Esah Einai el he-harim, me-ayin yavo ezri?
I shall raise my eyes to the mountains, from where will my help come? (Psalm 121:1)
It comes from within. It comes from the daily miracles. It comes from an ingrained faith that things can get better. It comes from me.
This poem is by Rabbi Zoë Klein
If God Would Go on Sick Leave: A Poem of Peace
Nowhere is there more prayer.
The Nuns at the Holy Sepulchre.
The faithful at Al Aqsa Mosque.
The worshippers at the Wall.
The call to prayer at dawn and dusk
Warbling from the citadels.
The church bells,
The Persian trills,
The passion spilled over texts
From every major/minor religious sect.
Nowhere is there more prayer than Jerusalem,
Thanks be to God, Hamdilala, Baruch Hashem.
And yet,
I'm starting to think that it's You and not them,
God, what's the point of prayer?
If there's nowhere where
There's more prayer,
And terror reigns
Then, Who's to blame?
If suddenly, without a whisper goodbye,
Jesus, Allah, Adonai,
The three men they admire most
All took the last train for the coast,
And the Moslems got up from their knees
And the Christians put down their rosaries
And the Jews stayed their hands from kissing
Their mezuzahs,
And everyone looked up,
And realized something's missing...
God is missing.
Stop the praying! No One's there,
They'd arrange a party to search everywhere.
They'd look for God
But there'd be no Presence
In Holy Books or stars and crescents
Or steeples and crosses.
People'd be at a loss,
Is He ever coming back?
They'd be so distraught,
Their searching for naught,
There'd be nothing on high
So they'd turn to on low,
There'd be nothing above
So they'd turn to below,
And they'd finally see there,
In the face of the other,
A semblance of sister,
The eyes of a brother,
They'd turn and they'd lean
Upon one another.
You see, every group can't believe that they're the ones chosen,
Every group can't believe that the Holy Land's owed them,
Sometimes faith in You, God,
Builds insurmountable walls,
And everyone falls.
Everyone falls.
How wise are the secularists for whom the dead aren't martyred
But, quite plainly, murdered...
This might sound like an absurd,
ungodly thing to say,
A truly heretical supplication to pray,
(I say this only out of the deepest respect)
But if for a few days, God, You'd just give it a rest,
If You'd take a sick leave and just go away
And let Israel work this out without You in the way,
God, for that kind of peace,
You're a small price to pay.
Thursday, 13 November 2014
Riding with God on a Comet
I stayed in bed a little later this morning for a couple of reasons. Firstly, that nasty insomnia bit me in the ass again and I really needed the extra hour of horizontal time. Secondly, I was absolutely transfixed to the TV watching the live news conference from the European Space Agency as they gleefully updated the progress of the Philae lander that successfully touched down on comet 67P. It was exciting to watch these grizzled scientists act as though they had been given the keys to Willy Wonka's Chocolate factory. Their life's work has just been validated.
If you haven't been following this truly historic experience I really need to ask...why the hell not? This is the astrophysics equivalent of catching a tiger by the tail. Comets are the most mysterious of all known entities in our solar system, and scientific advancement is now giving us an up close and personal look at their composition and movements in real time. We are being gifted with a few more morsels as to the origins of our universe and perhaps a quick glance of what lies ahead. It is a glimpse into the unknown and we as a civilization should be hanging on every photograph and every detail. It is truly fascinating.
But instead of bearing witness to what may be one of the greatest scientific endeavours in decades, too many are being distracted by frivolities. Do you know what the number one story posted by so many on my Facebook feed was yesterday? Kim Kardashian's naked ass. Seriously?
When did we as a society become so incurious? According to recent polls, more than 45% of Americans believe in ghosts while 42% subscribe to a creationist theory of the universe, dismissing all thoughts of evolution. Don't even get me started on the climate change deniers or anti-vaxers. Now far be it from me to dismiss anybody's experiences with the hereafter, but I seriously cannot remember a time in my life when science has been so fully and seriously under attack, and dismissed by so many in favour of mind-numbing trivia. Come on! A pseudo-celebrity's bare buttocks has more people transfixed than clues to the genesis of civilization as we know it.
I was six and half years old when Apollo 11 landed on the moon. I have vivid memories of my parents waking both my brother and me so that we could witness history. I watched Armstrong and Aldrin take those portentous first steps on a grainy black and white in my parent's bedroom. It was a singular moment in time when the entire world united in collective awe. Have we really become so very jaded and so hyper-critical that we can't recognize another when it is presented to us?
It is true that my relationship with The Divine Being has been difficult as of late. I have struggled, as did Abraham, Jacob, and Moses. But I do believe that when presented with an opportunity such as we have been given this week, we must open our eyes and see the truth that is unfolding before us. We must continue to explore and question, and we must find ways of reconciling our theology with our scientific discovery. Maybe then our faith will be rewarded....and I don't mean with images of Kim's derriere.
If you haven't been following this truly historic experience I really need to ask...why the hell not? This is the astrophysics equivalent of catching a tiger by the tail. Comets are the most mysterious of all known entities in our solar system, and scientific advancement is now giving us an up close and personal look at their composition and movements in real time. We are being gifted with a few more morsels as to the origins of our universe and perhaps a quick glance of what lies ahead. It is a glimpse into the unknown and we as a civilization should be hanging on every photograph and every detail. It is truly fascinating.
But instead of bearing witness to what may be one of the greatest scientific endeavours in decades, too many are being distracted by frivolities. Do you know what the number one story posted by so many on my Facebook feed was yesterday? Kim Kardashian's naked ass. Seriously?
When did we as a society become so incurious? According to recent polls, more than 45% of Americans believe in ghosts while 42% subscribe to a creationist theory of the universe, dismissing all thoughts of evolution. Don't even get me started on the climate change deniers or anti-vaxers. Now far be it from me to dismiss anybody's experiences with the hereafter, but I seriously cannot remember a time in my life when science has been so fully and seriously under attack, and dismissed by so many in favour of mind-numbing trivia. Come on! A pseudo-celebrity's bare buttocks has more people transfixed than clues to the genesis of civilization as we know it.
I was six and half years old when Apollo 11 landed on the moon. I have vivid memories of my parents waking both my brother and me so that we could witness history. I watched Armstrong and Aldrin take those portentous first steps on a grainy black and white in my parent's bedroom. It was a singular moment in time when the entire world united in collective awe. Have we really become so very jaded and so hyper-critical that we can't recognize another when it is presented to us?
It is true that my relationship with The Divine Being has been difficult as of late. I have struggled, as did Abraham, Jacob, and Moses. But I do believe that when presented with an opportunity such as we have been given this week, we must open our eyes and see the truth that is unfolding before us. We must continue to explore and question, and we must find ways of reconciling our theology with our scientific discovery. Maybe then our faith will be rewarded....and I don't mean with images of Kim's derriere.
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