Passion

It is obvious that we can no more explain passion to a person who has never experienced it than we can explain light to the blind. ~T.S Eliot

I have been thinking a great deal about passion lately; how we live our lives either consumed in it or totally devoid of it. We tell our children to find that thing, that essence, that almost indescribable entity that will bring unfettered enthusiasm to their lives, and then we send them out into the cold dark reality and say "Now, go and try make a living doing it!" (insert cold water shower here!)

Please don't misunderstand me. For those of us fortunate enough to find our "passion" and live the dream, there can be nothing better. We see our jobs as vehicles for a higher purpose. We have managed to turn our hobbies into loves and our fascinations into eager excitements. We enjoy the journey as much as the destination. Wouldn't we all love to say that we have lived our passions?

The Husband can. And so can his best friend and business partner Twin Son of a Different Mother. They have been involved in a passionate labour of love for almost seven years and this weekend we hope to begin to see the fruits of that labour. I cannot adequately express how much pride, love, and admiration I have for these two forward thinkers. It isn't as though a simple bottle of newly released artisan whisky will bring about world peace or cure cancer, but it has brought a renewed sense of spirit (no pun intended!) and fire to The Husband about which most of us can only dream. He is invigorated, energized, and revitalized every single day that he goes to work. How many of us can actually say that?

It hasn't been easy. Worthwhile endeavours rarely are. And while Mr. Eliot had trouble explaining passion, I think that after watching The Husband over these many years, I might be able to aid in the definition.

Passion is doing something you love when you have no knowledge or expectation of financial reward. You want it, hope for it, and pray for it, but you continue to do it knowing that the money may or may not be there in the end.

Passion is found in the sheer joy of the daily experience and not necessarily in the payoff.

Passion is the continuation of the dream when everybody around you is telling you that you are bat-shit crazy!! (That list includes family, friends, spouses, critics, strangers, government bodies and too many others to mention.)

Passion is fighting through the roadblocks set up to deter you from the dream.

Passion is rejoicing in the incremental steps forward.

Passion is allowing for the nutty and off-the-wall ideas to flourish.

Passion is the excitement you feel when that first bit of praise, that first Twitter RT, that first Facebook like comes in and provides you with a small pat on the back.

Passion is the animation in your voice, the light in your eyes, the childlike exuberance you exude when discussing your project.

Passion is defined by your creativity and finds its genesis in your self-worth. 

To The Husband and Twin Son.....I toast to your passion. 

Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Ha-olam

Shecheiyanu v'kimanu, v'higiyanu lazman hazeh

Blessed are You Adonai our God Ruler of the Universe

Who has given us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this day!

A Few Things About My Valentine

If you have spent any time at all reading and digesting the ramblings that often occupy this space, you will know that I do not spend a great deal of time on sappy sentiment and syrupy language. That isn't to say that I don't adore The Husband with all of my being, but neither of us seem to enjoy the gag-inducing patter that comes with Valentine's Day. But there are things that get my romantic instincts churning, and after all of these years together The Husband has become a master at decoding and deciphering. By the way...none of these have to do with paper hearts, flowers, jewelry, or expensive boxes of chocolates. Tell me if any of these sound familiar to any of you.

• I just love it when he cleans without nagging and prodding. There is nothing as sexy as seeing my man with a mop in his hand. Crazy? Perhaps. But nothing says "You Matter" better than knowing that we share and care for our space together. That and the fact that he knows what the smell of Windex in the morning does to me. Oh my!!
• Along that same theme, I outwardly smile when he gases up my car, takes it in for servicing, and of course gets it detailed. Now that's what I call true love.
• We really enjoy cooking dinner together. When both of us are actively involved in meal planning, there is a bond of together time that cannot be equalled with planned dates and excursions. That time spent as a couple is unchoreographed, intimate, and sacred. Far better than the best restaurant meal Toronto has to offer.
• He indulges my crazy hobbies, to most of which he is totally ambivalent. Broadway musicals, baseball, dogs...have all found their way into The Husband's consciousness. When I hear people tell me how much they have in common with their partners, I smile to myself and remember that the similarities that couples have may be the bedrock of their relationships, but it is how they deal with the differences that is truly the glue. (The fact that I am composing this post on one of the many electronic gadgets and toys I have accumulated over the years, is testament to my trying to figure out his world.)

When we got married, our total combined net worth was the bluebook value of a 1985 Hyundai Pony and a few small investments made with leftover Bnai Mitzvah gifts. It certainly wasn't about the money, nor did he capture the heart of the hot willowy blond cheerleader. We are who we are and that has proven to be more than enough after all of these years.

 

So on this Valentine's Day keep in mind that it is attention to the small stuff that is the basis of true romance. The big gestures? Keep them in your pocket for a rainy day.

 

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Shalom Bayit

We Jews will do a lot for Shalom Bayit. Literally translated as "peace in the home", Shalom Bayit is more about maintaining a happy and tranquil family life; not wanting to upset those whom we love with unnecessary aggravation. The Husband might define it as "happy wife, happy life". I, on the other hand, have recently come to fully understand that the authentic manifestation of Shalom Bayit is really all about which way one swings on the pendulum that is the Ohio State/ Michigan football game.

You see, Younger Son's Young Lady is a born and bred, died in the wool, Ohio State Buckeye legacy. I should have realized that this allegiance wasn't run of the mill fandom, when I began to take note of a drastic change in Younger Son's wardrobe. Where NFTY and camp items used to   take up shelf space in his closet, they were fast being replaced by OSU sweatshirts, t-shirts, pendants and scarves. This boy is no fool. Shalom Bayit!! But when he made a nine hour car trip a few years back down south to Columbus for the annual Michigan game, I knew that this wasn't ordinary team fanaticism.

Look, I am a sports person. A Leaf fan who hates Les Canadiens with a passion so strong there is a visceral ache in my belly. The Yankees? They get booed no matter who else is on the field. I mean, I rooted for the Diamondbacks in the series right after 9/11. That's true team hatred. But I have never seen anything like the neurotic, all consuming, complex mania that is Ohio State football. And during Michigan week? Well, suffice it to say that wearing blue this week around The Young Lady is an invitation to excommunication. Shalom Bayit!

In order to fully understand the nuances of this extreme sporting rivalry, I have spent the past few days immersing myself in the culture of one of the longest and perhaps most hateful feuds in all of athletics. Here is a sampling of what I have learned and adopted all in the name of Shalom Bayit!

• The Ohio State/Michigan football game goes back to their inaugural meeting in 1897. It predates the World Series by six years and the formation of the National Football League by over twenty. This isn't just hate. This is your great-grandfather's hate!
• Ohio State isn't merely Ohio State. They are officially known as The Ohio State University. I thought that sounded somewhat pretentious. Of course, I was wrong. There is actually a history as to why this is so, and it has to do with state legislation and renaming the school. The long and the short of it....never insult the Buckeyes by leaving the "The" out of their official school moniker. And pretension? That is something left to that school to the north.
• Which brings me to Woody and Bo. I stupidly thought that Mr. Allen was making a new film starring the Obama's dog, when in fact they were the legendary coaches on both sides who engaged in what is commonly referred to as the "10 Year War"; or as we normal human beings like to call it, "The 70s". Woody Hayes, the slightly insane but beloved coach at OSU, and Bo Schembechler, the equally nuts and paranoid head guy at Michigan, engaged in a battle royal over this decade. One school or the other either won or shared in the Big Ten Championship every single year, and usually both placed in the national rankings. No other game on the schedule mattered. Everything was (and still is) geared toward beating the shit out of the other. When Woody's boys lost one season, he had a rug made with the score emblazoned upon it. Every day his team would stomp on that rug as motivation so that the following season, they would understand the "game" and kick the crap out of the Wolverines. Woody was so immersed in his hatred for Michigan, that he refused to utter the state name, always referring to it as that school or place to the north. There is local legend telling of a road trip through the state when Woody ran out of gas. He famously stated that he would rather push the car on fumes back over the state line rather than fill up in Michigan. Now that's hate!
• I am now a devotee of TBDBITL!!
• Urban Meyer isn't a neighbourhood in Cleveland, but rather the current head coach of the Buckeyes.
• What the f*** is a Buckeye anyway? Well, a Buckeye is a small, shiny, dark brown nut with a light tan patch that comes from the official state tree of Ohio, the buckeye tree. According to Michigan fans "they are hairless nuts", but those are just the jealous rantings of those that are less academically endowed. According to folklore, the Buckeye resembles the eye of a deer and carrying one brings good luck. 

• Scarlett and grey are much more appropriate choices for my colour palette than maize and blue. Apparently, I look really crappy in blue, and yellow is never a good idea, but red seriously sets off my skin tones.
• This is a rivalry that isn't merely about school spirit. This is about hate. Passionate, visceral, "Hatfields vs McCoys"-style hatred. A sampling. 

Q: Why did Michigan change their field from grass to artificial turf?

A: To keep the Michigan cheerleaders from grazing at half time.

or....


One day in an elementary school in Ann Arbor Michigan, a teacher asks her class if the Michigan Wolverines are their favorite football team. The whole class says yes except for Little Jimmy.

The teacher asks, "What's your favorite football team Jimmy?"

Little Jimmy says, "The Ohio State Buckeyes."

The teacher asks, "Well, why is that?"

Little Jimmy says, "Well, my dad is a Buckeye fan, my mom is a Buckeye fan, I guess that makes me a Buckeye fan."

The teacher angered by his reply says, "If your dad was a moron and your mom was an idiot what would that make you?"

Little Jimmy says, "Well, I guess that would make me a Michigan fan."

or...how about this from ESPN


This week my Facebook timeline has been taken over by rabid Ohio State fans. I have seen lunacy in action. Did you know that as of this writing it is 9:41 am and Michigan still sucks? But I have learned my lessons well and even though my degree isn't from THE Ohio State University, I will be rooting hard for the Buckeyes this Saturday afternoon in their quest for an unbeaten season, gold pants, and bragging rights for the next 365 days....all in the name of Shalom Bayit!

Chai!

***For those who asked and for those who could not be there, here are the remarks that I gave this past Shabbat when I was so needlessly and unnecessarily honoured for my work at Temple "Sings All The Time and Won't Shut Up" The names have been removed to protect the guilty*** 

When the powers that be informed me (not asked, but informed) that they planned to mark the end of my "Chai" anniversary at synagogue "Sings all the Time and Won't Shut Up" with an honouring service, my first reaction was nausea. Truly. Pit of the stomach, gut-wrenching, visceral motion-sickness like waves of repulsion. You see, this kind of event is so outside of my comfort zone that it truly meant that my body was screaming at me from within "Run away!! Run Fast!!" And while I obviously could not avoid this evening, I still cannot for the life of me figure out why this kind of human worship was necessary. For those who do not know me well, they might find it shocking that I am actually incredibly shy and extraordinarily uncomfortable with these types of PDAs. (That's Public Displays of Affection for all of you who weren't raised in the 70s and 80s.) It is easier for me to stand up and sing in front of thousands than it is to sit still and listen to somebody publicly extoll my limited virtues. That said, I thank all of you who are present for this event-both those who were in the room and those who have contacted me personally and privately.

It is impossible to reduce 18 years into a few sentences. I was truly stuck on how to convey to all of you-you who have become my family-the depth of my emotion and appreciation for allowing me to be a small part of this great "Sings all the Time and Won't Shut Up" experiment. A friend suggested that I deliver it as if I were writing a blog post, so I have decided to shamelessly steal her idea and hence I present you with my Top Ten favourite things-in no particular order-about being the Cantorial Soloist here at Temple "Sings all the Time and Won't Shut Up".

1. I cannot get you people to shut up. Seriously. You sing all the time. You sing when I ask you to and when I ask you not to. You sing my parts, your parts, the rabbi's parts, the choir's parts, the cello parts, the oboe parts-you sing it all. If I explain to you that a certain prayer like the Ashrei is designed to be antiphonal, you throw your heads back, laugh maniacally at the mere suggestion, and sing it all anyway. I kind of love that about you. 
2. In 18 years I have NEVER EVER EVER attended a board meeting. I'm quite proud of that record. Thank you to all of the presidents over the years who have inherently understood that I would much rather just shut up and sing.
3. Every single music person in this congregation-from each individual member of the choir, to its directors, to the musicians, to the song leaders and music teachers-does what they do as a true labour of love to both the music and the prayer it influences. I cannot begin to count the number of hours that these people have dedicated, the time they have taken away from their families, the work that they have invested, all in the name of making this place the haven for Jewish music and prayer that it has become. And...they have done it all without complaint. Ok-that last part was a slight exaggeration, but I do hope that they all know how I feel about them and their dedication to the task at hand. 
4. I love that our kids walk around carrying and playing guitars, want to learn how to song lead, want to teach music in our school, and become musical role models for the generation coming up behind them. My all-time favourite service of the year is the Second Day Rosh Hashana morning where all of our songleaders join me in leading our congregation in a kind of mass High Holiday jam session. I love the effect of what this L'dor Vador experience-from generation to generation-has had on this community. And when I look at the leaders that many of them have grown to be within our midst, I do feel a small amount of pride. And....yes this is a pitch to get you all to come to that service next Tuesday morning; to participate in a truly unique Temple "Sings all the Time and Won't Shut Up" experience. 
5. I am so grateful that this place has allowed me to be me. Let's face it. I am nobody's classic idea of a cantor or even a cantorial soloist. I sing alto and sometimes struggle with those upper register notes. I am not well-schooled in traditional chazzanut-although I am always learning-and I carry some degree of suspicion towards cantorial concertizing. Instead, I am the one who slings a twelve-string over my shoulder, stomps my feet in an attempt to entice participation, yells from the bimah not to clap on the "One and Three", and encourages you to sing your mistakes loudly and boldly so that you will learn from them. Not your Zaidy's cantor to be sure. Yet, this wonderfully weird place has not only accepted my idiosyncrasies, it has encouraged them and allowed them to flourish. And for those of you who still don't understand the "one and three" thing....well.....you're learning too.
6. And along the same lines...I love that you all have allowed this not quite five foot tall woman to sometimes sit cross-leggged on a bimah chair when my feet don't reach the floor and you have accepted it with bemused discussion, rather than scolding condescension, and that you have allowed me on occasion, to sing in bare feet from up there. Talk about an accepting group. You might see more of that this High Holidays. I am rather hating wearing shoes these days.
7. I know that I mentioned the choir and its leader and musicians earlier on in this diatribe, but we are getting to the Oscars/Emmy/Grammy/Tony acceptance speech that I will most likely never deliver, (one can always hope!) so I need to thank these people directly. This group defines the ideal of Shiru L'Adonai-Singing to God. They are not now and never will be my back-up. They stand on their own feet-barefoot if they wish-and have constantly amazed me with their talents, their support, their love for Jewish music, their willingness to learn and tackle the most advanced pieces, and their dedication to this Kehillah Kedosha! J-words alone do not do justice to express how I feel about our musical journey together. You are my right arm, my best and most honest critic, my partner in this madness and most importantly, my friend. Love!!
8. Every rabbi with whom I have had the distinct privilege and true honour to share this bimah has been incredibly supportive, wildly open to my musical experimentation, actively involved in what happens on this side of the aisle, and has been a true teacher, mentor, and friend. I am reminded of the passage in Pirkei Avot that tells us Asei L'cha Rav u'keneh l'cha chaver-Go and Find for yourself a teacher and make of him or her your friend. I have had and continue to have, incredible teachers and even better friends. No amount of thanks is sufficient to repay the debt I owe these phenomenal people. Rabbis W-A, G, S, and M have shown me that the Divine presence truly does dwell in this place.
9. To my parents-all of them-who have never missed a music night, recital, holiday program, or service-unless they are in some place like Bangalore, Tibet, Shanghai, or cruising the South Pacific; and even then they want me to Skype them in-they are my biggest fans, my most ardent supporters, and my best friends. When people ask me how I got into this bizarre line of work, I answer boldly that it is their fault. Both of my passions of Jewish lifelong learning and music came from them and the love that they instilled in me. So I place the blame for these last 18 years squarely on their shoulders. You could say that Temple "Sings all the Time, and Won't Shut Up" has allowed my parents to see the fulfillment of their dreams. 
10. When The Husband and I decided to leave the place that we had both called home for most of our lives, it was done with careful thought, some pain, a few tears, and difficult discussions. The leaving was the issue, not where we would be landing. Temple "Sings all the Time and Won't Shut Up"embraced our family as if we had been one of you for years. This place is home and that will not change. I love that The Husband and sons have been allowed their own space here and allowed the room to grow into whatever type of Judaism that fits their needs, independent of my work here. The men in my life have had to put up with a great deal. I am not always the easiest person to live with-especially around the holidays. They are the most amazing people I know. I love and adore you all-even when I am in my pre-Rosh Hashana, PMS-like cycle and it seems like I am an escapee from an asylum. You are my heart, my soul, my breath, and my voice. I am silent without you. And as I watch them all squirm as they hear this I say to each of them....too bad. If I had to go through this so did you!

So now--we do what we do best. We sing. The song is based on the words of Rav Hillel who famously said Im ayn Ani Li Mi Li...If I am not for myself who will be for me.....U'ch-se-ani l'atzmi ma-ani...If I am only for myself, what am I....V'im lo achshav ei-ma-tai...And if not now when?

I sing with my voice and in the voice of my people....

Writing Prompts: From the Ridiculous to the Sublime

During the course of this month-long blog extravaganza, I have been rather fortunate. Ideas, stories, and anecdotes have magically presented themselves to me. I have lived in abject terror of the well running dry, of hitting the proverbial wall, but so far so good. Many online sites including Blogher have been offering helpful writing prompts designed to stir the creative juices, but so far (thanks to the deity!) I have found them unnecessary. I was kind of curious about other writing sites and what they might be offering, so I decided to float around the interweb and do a quick and dirty search to see what nuggets of ideas they might be offering to those of us in the final laps.

One site actually suggested that I imagine my life as a coffee maker. Seriously! A coffee maker. How could one possibly get creative about a coffee maker? I kept imaging the sexually satisfying properties of Folgers versus Maxwell House. Which brand really was the best part of waking up or did I really need it to be good to the last drop? Twisted and perverse, I know. Never a true fan of pornography, I decided to move on.

Several sites wanted me to recall a painful breakup or to describe an incident when a supposed friend had wronged me. Gothic images of Inquisition-like torture devices invaded my sleep. Bloody tableaus with dismembered limbs littering dark forests (why do these things always take place in dark forests?) crept into my waking thoughts. Messy crime scenes worse than any imagined or depicted in the most grotesque slasher film pervaded my subconscious. Revenge may be sweet, but it is definitely not clean. After several fitful and sleepless nights, I decided that these kinds of stories were better left up the experts-serial killers and Stephen King.

Several prompts asked me to imagine that I was a princess searching for Prince Charming. Look-I have been married for more than twenty-six years to the same man and have been with him for over thirty. That number encompasses almost 2/3 of my entire life span. I love him dearly and respect him tremendously. How many men do you know who would allow his wife to continually bash him in her blog? He is a wonderful husband, father, and son, but my delusions about Prince Charming disappeared the first time I saw the holes in his socks. No partner is flawless and no marriage is a fairytale. Relationships take work-real involved and tough work-and frankly selling that "princess living happily ever after" bullshit just isn't my style. I prefer the "warts and all" view of life. Sometimes when the princess kisses the frog, he is just a frog. And sometimes he is a brilliant, kind, decent, sort of geeky, but still tremendously sexy man who just happens to love me. I will take that over Prince Charming any day.

Yesterday's prompt on Blogher asked about passion projects and try as I might, for the life of me I couldn't think of a single thing that I am currently passionate about. This little realization just about had me running for the Zoloft. My kids? Always, but they are off on their own life's journeys. My guy? Well, he got his own paragraph one up. My work? I love it and still find satisfaction in it, but passionate? Not so much anymore. Chalk that one up to middle-age. Politics? Puh-leeze! And then it hit me. Sometimes our passions are hidden and out of sight. Sometimes we don't know we are passionate about something until we start to do it and realize that it has become the best part of the day. That is what this little writing exercise has become for me. A true passion. I need to do it or else my day seems incredibly wasted. Am I any good? Who cares! I do it because I truly love it. Look-I may never be able to imagine myself climbing Everest or know what it feels like to be an Italian sports car, (both prompts from other sites!) but I do understand passion and the grip it has on my psyche. Finally, a writing prompt that I could use.

My Friend the Doctor

I am headed out today to celebrate with a dear friend. I must admit that I wouldn't brave the jungle that is Toronto Friday mid-afternoon traffic to head downtown for just anybody, so the occasion must be pretty special. My friend the doctor (I sound like an old Jewish mother) is being feted by the big machers of his profession today, and is being awarded with (I hope I get this right) The Medal for Research Excellence awarded each year by the Kidney Foundation of Canada. This award is given annually "to honour the Canadian researcher who is recognized by his or her peers to have significantly advanced the treatment of kidney disease and related conditions." Impressive, yes? I am so very proud of my friend the doctor (it just sounds so right to say it that way!!) and I am so very honoured that he wanted to share his special moment with us.

My friend the doctor is an incredibly accomplished man. He literally is trying to eradicate disease and rid the world of its ills. He travels the globe lecturing, learning, researching, and attempting to make children's lives easier, happier, and free from pain. (He plays a pretty mean cello too, but I digress.) He is leaving an incredible mark. So, it got me to thinking. What kind of mark am I leaving?

It would be so easy to dismiss my contributions to the world as merely teaching a bunch of Jewish kids how to sing "I Have a Little Dreydl" every Chanukah. But wouldn't that be unfair to all of those kids who went on to teach Chanukah songs and traditions to their own children?  It would be simple to feel disparaging about musically lifting a congregation in soulful prayer. After the idea of curing kidney disease it does seem somewhat trite. But wouldn't that diminish the emotions of the community at the end of Shabbat or Holy Day services?

Look, I know that I am not curing cancer. I will leave that to my friend the doctor. I know that what I do may seem uninteresting or dull to many, but just like him, I am using the gifts that I was given to serve my community to the best of my ability. Maybe my music makes somebody feel just a little bit better on a particularly bad day? Perhaps passing on our heritage to the next wave of young people is my reward of excellence? L'dor vador-from generation to generation.

I am thrilled to be able to join with my friend the doctor on his special day. May he continue to find joy and passion in his work and may it yield fruitful results so that the multitudes that suffer find health and peace. What a great way to enter into Shabbat!


Shabbat Shalom to all who observe.