I came back from Israel from Women's Reconnection trip. It was a trip designed for all of us (nebachs) who did not qualify or otherwise were not able to go on JWRP. In a nutshell, it was an amazing trip and I do recommend it to open-minded seekers. Here are some more of my jumbled jet-lagged thoughts before they escape and become not important.
I was the youngest of the group, by a decade at least. However, I had no problem connecting and participating and interacting with other women. I know that we were a self-selecting bunch of those open to new experiences and new connections. I also know that being in the presence of so much wisdom acquired through age and trial and error was humbling. Also, I noticed how many women were divorced or on their second marriages. I wondered how many of them needed this trip at a different, earlier point in their lives. I was grateful to take it now instead of waiting another twenty years to "focus on myself".
The trip and the participants made me feel normal, like I belong, that there is no problem with being myself, feeling what I am feeling, observing what I am observing, learning Torah and practicing the way that I do. There was no sense that there is a need to investigate anyone's kashrut or check anyone's tzitzit. I marveled at that because the trip included a few rebbitzins and I even noted it to them explicitly. We were all just Jewish women, enjoying the hospitality of other Jews.
I got a confirmation that my connection to Hashem is intact. I davened at the Kotel and kever Rachel and at Shiloh, and had no problem pouring my heart out in heartfelt prayer. G-d's presence (shechina) was there, and I could feel approaching it, focusing my thoughts, letting whatever burdened me to flow from my lips. I was not ashamed to cry. I was not limiting my thoughts, wondering if I am asking for too much, or whether it is my place to ask. I am not mad at G-d, or questioning his existence or ability to influence the events. I am mad at the people on the ground, who are committing evil in his name, denying me access to the Divine by their hypocrisy.
I was truly happy and content in Israel. Maybe it had to do with the lack of responsibilities. Maybe it had to do with a distance from my children and being able to be defined by something other than an overwhelmed mother of five. Maybe it's because the caregiving for my extra-needy child was not in my hands. Maybe it was because everything was simpler. Maybe it had to do with being able to move, walk a lot, not have to spend hours sitting in the car driving carpool, driving to activities. Perhaps it had to with having a loosely set schedule, where at any given time there was only one place I was supposed to be and only one thing I was supposed to focus on instead of the constant barrage of preparations and anticipations and things that I forgot to do that I experience in the States. Maybe it was being physically removed from the trauma that is my current shul and rabbi and alleged child molester and no ability to bring this all to light. Maybe it was being surrounded by so many women who simply bearing no ill will towards me.
I am a self-defining introvert, normally hanging back, reserved, not social, not seeking to reach out, needing my own space and craving peace and quiet. In Israel, due to the nature of the trip and the comfortable supportive atmosphere, I found myself seeking the company of others, reaching out, disclosing personal details, volunteering answers, and being "out there". Yet that felt like a very authentic part of me. There were a few times that I did feel overwhelmed and overstimulated, but nowhere near as much as I feel in the States on any given day. I wonder whether I am not just an introvert, but I simply try to minimize draining and cursory interactions so that I do not end up with extra pain.
Finally, as far as the learning aspect of the trip, I felt that the bigger messages of gratitude, recognizing and acknowledging the Divine, being G-d like in my actions, and being vulnerable with our pain and with the pain of others made me feel like I am on the right track. It took me many years and many uncomfortable twists and turns to arrive at the place where I stand but to find the classes that reinforced and deepened those themes was affirming.
From the very first time I went to Israel to this trip (my third), I felt that in Israel there is a continuum of observances and beliefs rather than discrete groupings that are taking place in America. Some of them are way out there, and some of them appear to be most like familiar American divisions, but the unity of the Jewish people somehow trumps over everything. We had a kabbalat Shabbat at the Kotel (my first Shabbat in Jerusalem) and, as we were signing with our small group, we formed a circle. All of a sudden, other women joined in: frum, not frum, in skirts, in pants, with hair covered and not, and even quite a few tourists who I am pretty sure were not Jewish. Somebody was recording the whole spontaneous scene with a cellphone and nobody was waiving for her to stop. A few days before we explored the theme of feeling a touch of the Divine. Joint experiences in the multitude of others came up. At this moment, singing and dancing together, like one person with one voice and one heart, I felt G-d's fingerprint in the world. I am not a mystical person, I am very rational and logical by nature. However, the way that this trip spoke to me was mystical and mysterious. For some reason, this is what I needed to take away.
Showing posts with label participation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label participation. Show all posts
Thursday, November 15, 2018
Monday, June 4, 2018
betrayal of disengagement
I finally finished reading "Daring Greatly". There is a passage that haunts me, from the beginning of the book when she talks about vulnerability myths. I keep coming back to it again and again.
Brene Brown uses a marble jar analogy for trust, how trust is a collection of marbles slowly gathered over time, one marble here and one marble there. One cannot wait for it all to work out to start collecting marbles, but one is entitled to dump the entire collection and smash the jar when betrayed.
"When we think about betrayal in terms of the marble jar metaphor, most of us think of someone we trust doing something so terrible that it forces us to grab the jar and dump out every single marble. What's the worst betrayal of trust you can think of? He sleeps with my best friend. She lies about where the money went. He/she chooses someone over me. Someone uses my vulnerability against me (an act of emotional treason that causes most of us to slam the entire jar to the ground rather than just dumping the marbles). All terrible betrayals, definitely, but there is a particular sort of betrayal that is more insidious and equally corrosive to trust.
In fact, this betrayal usually happens long before the other ones. I'm talking about the betrayal of disengagement. Of not caring. Of letting the connection go. Of not being willing to devote time and effort to the relationship. The word betrayal evokes experiences of cheating, lying, breaking a confidence, failing to defend us to someone else who's gossiping about us, and not choosing us over other people. These behaviors are certainly betrayals, but they're not the only form of betrayal. If I had to choose the form of betrayal that emerged most frequently from my research and that was the most dangerous in terms of corroding the trust connection, I would say disengagement.
When the people we love or with whom we have a deep connection stop caring, stop paying attention, stop investing, and stop fighting for the relationship, trust begins to slip away and hurt starts seeping in. Disengagement triggers shame and our greatest fears--the fears of being abandoned, unworthy, and unlovable. What can make this covert betrayal so much more dangerous than something like a lie or an affair is that we can't point to the source of our pain--there's no event, no obvious evidence of brokenness. It can feel crazy-making.
We may tell a disengaged partner,"You don't seem to care anymore," but without "evidence" of this, the response is "I'm home from work every night by six P.M. I tuck in the kids. I'm taking the boys to Little League. What do you want from me?" Or at work, we think, Why am I not getting feedback? Tell me you love it! Tell me it sucks! Just tell me something so I know you remember that I work here!
...Like trust, most experiences of betrayal happen slowly, one marble at a time. In fact, the overt or "big" betrayals that I mentioned before are more likely to happen after a period of disengagement and slowly eroding trust. What I've learned about trust professionally and what I've lived personally boils down to this:
Trust is a product of vulnerability that grows over time and requires work, attention, and full engagement. Trust isn'\t a grand gesture--it's a growing marble collection.
(pages 51-53)
Brene Brown uses a marble jar analogy for trust, how trust is a collection of marbles slowly gathered over time, one marble here and one marble there. One cannot wait for it all to work out to start collecting marbles, but one is entitled to dump the entire collection and smash the jar when betrayed.
 |
| https://i1.wp.com/blog.centralaz.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/D_DaringGreatlyBraidBookReview.jpg?resize=540%2C360 |
In fact, this betrayal usually happens long before the other ones. I'm talking about the betrayal of disengagement. Of not caring. Of letting the connection go. Of not being willing to devote time and effort to the relationship. The word betrayal evokes experiences of cheating, lying, breaking a confidence, failing to defend us to someone else who's gossiping about us, and not choosing us over other people. These behaviors are certainly betrayals, but they're not the only form of betrayal. If I had to choose the form of betrayal that emerged most frequently from my research and that was the most dangerous in terms of corroding the trust connection, I would say disengagement.
When the people we love or with whom we have a deep connection stop caring, stop paying attention, stop investing, and stop fighting for the relationship, trust begins to slip away and hurt starts seeping in. Disengagement triggers shame and our greatest fears--the fears of being abandoned, unworthy, and unlovable. What can make this covert betrayal so much more dangerous than something like a lie or an affair is that we can't point to the source of our pain--there's no event, no obvious evidence of brokenness. It can feel crazy-making.
We may tell a disengaged partner,"You don't seem to care anymore," but without "evidence" of this, the response is "I'm home from work every night by six P.M. I tuck in the kids. I'm taking the boys to Little League. What do you want from me?" Or at work, we think, Why am I not getting feedback? Tell me you love it! Tell me it sucks! Just tell me something so I know you remember that I work here!
...Like trust, most experiences of betrayal happen slowly, one marble at a time. In fact, the overt or "big" betrayals that I mentioned before are more likely to happen after a period of disengagement and slowly eroding trust. What I've learned about trust professionally and what I've lived personally boils down to this:
Trust is a product of vulnerability that grows over time and requires work, attention, and full engagement. Trust isn'\t a grand gesture--it's a growing marble collection.
(pages 51-53)
Saturday, January 10, 2015
"Kids nowadays" and grown-ups at kiddush
The line one always hears, especially from people of a certain age: "Kids nowadays..."
They are rude.
They are loud.
They are pushy.
They get away with everything.
We belong to a small shul. Technically, it's a start-up, so everything is small and DIY type of thing, including kiddush. I like that my kids are involved in setting up for kiddush, and that the woman in charge takes time to think of a weekly theme related to a parsha, making it fun and educational. But more that that, they are vested in setting up and cleaning up.
One of the things that annoyed me to no end about a bigger shul down the road is the total mess of a kiddush. There was a kiddush committee who set up kiddush in advance. I tried volunteering for it years ago, but I was told that I cannot bring my kids, as it would violate sanitary standards. Then, as davening was over, the doors to the social hall were closed until some predetermined time, and the stampede of people and kids stormed the tables, grabbing food like they will never be fed. Five cookies at a time, ten crackers, mounds of vegetables, globs of humms... Moreover, as people and kids finished eating, the food waste was apparent in piles of uneaten food left on plates for the janitorial staff to clean up. I lost my cool when I caught a bar-mitzvah-aged boy pouring soda from his cup straight onto the drinks tablecloth. "What do you think you are doing?!! And who will be cleaning this up?"
I had high hopes for our smaller chevra (group). The rule is, grown-ups take food first, and then the kids. The place is small, so we are talking about a dozen of people.I hoped that once kids will be responsible for set-up and clean-up, they will not be inclined to make a mess, or waste food. I also hoped that there will not be scarcity, and civilized, well-mannered approach will prevail.
Today I realized that before we complain about kids nowadays, we need to take a look at ourselves. The kids who set up kiddush did politely wait, but the grown-ups disappointed.
It is rude to grab a quarter of a cake for yourself, when not everyone had a slice. It is rude to talk right by the table, blocking everyone else's access. It is rude to ignore the child who does grab half the donuts or candy, and not to stop them and tell them to put some back (I have done that, to my children's chagrin). And it is rude not to clean up after yourself.
Meanwhile, my kids are being plied with candy and sweets (it is Shabbos!) against my express wishes. No, they do not need more sugar or food coloring, no, they do not need more sweets. And please stop testing willpower of a child by repeatedly offering him a treat. You will not be the one dealing with his refusal to eat lunch, or his off-the-wall behavior later in the day.
You will be walking home, shaking your head, and saying: "Kids nowadays..."
They are rude.
They are loud.
They are pushy.
They get away with everything.
We belong to a small shul. Technically, it's a start-up, so everything is small and DIY type of thing, including kiddush. I like that my kids are involved in setting up for kiddush, and that the woman in charge takes time to think of a weekly theme related to a parsha, making it fun and educational. But more that that, they are vested in setting up and cleaning up.
One of the things that annoyed me to no end about a bigger shul down the road is the total mess of a kiddush. There was a kiddush committee who set up kiddush in advance. I tried volunteering for it years ago, but I was told that I cannot bring my kids, as it would violate sanitary standards. Then, as davening was over, the doors to the social hall were closed until some predetermined time, and the stampede of people and kids stormed the tables, grabbing food like they will never be fed. Five cookies at a time, ten crackers, mounds of vegetables, globs of humms... Moreover, as people and kids finished eating, the food waste was apparent in piles of uneaten food left on plates for the janitorial staff to clean up. I lost my cool when I caught a bar-mitzvah-aged boy pouring soda from his cup straight onto the drinks tablecloth. "What do you think you are doing?!! And who will be cleaning this up?"
 |
| http://jewishexponent.com/blog/taking-the-kid-out-of-kiddush |
Today I realized that before we complain about kids nowadays, we need to take a look at ourselves. The kids who set up kiddush did politely wait, but the grown-ups disappointed.
It is rude to grab a quarter of a cake for yourself, when not everyone had a slice. It is rude to talk right by the table, blocking everyone else's access. It is rude to ignore the child who does grab half the donuts or candy, and not to stop them and tell them to put some back (I have done that, to my children's chagrin). And it is rude not to clean up after yourself.
Meanwhile, my kids are being plied with candy and sweets (it is Shabbos!) against my express wishes. No, they do not need more sugar or food coloring, no, they do not need more sweets. And please stop testing willpower of a child by repeatedly offering him a treat. You will not be the one dealing with his refusal to eat lunch, or his off-the-wall behavior later in the day.
You will be walking home, shaking your head, and saying: "Kids nowadays..."
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
on fiercely competitive latkes
Every year, my kids look forward to Chanukah. Every year, I feel like a phony going into it.
It is not a major holiday, yet the expectations are through the roof. There are eight days, so there is hypothetically time to get it "right", even if not on the first night. There are candles to light (and husband who might or might not be around when it's time to light). There are menorahs to fill with oil. There is food, lots of labor-intensive food. There are presents, which I normally try to avoid, yet they somehow crop up.
There is a song, which contains a line "every mother prepares delicious latkes". It makes me feel like a fake more than anything. I can make good latkes, but, somehow, I do not always feel inspired around this time of year. I did not grow up celebrating Chanukah, and my mother was certainly not making latkes. I feel that there is this expectation of latke perfection, crisp and hot, emerging just as candles are lit. Usually for us, it is time of intense phone negotiations of whether my husband will be home to light or not, coming back from somewhere, rushing, whiny kids, toddlers trying to knock off the menorahs. These awesome latkes just do not have space to be made in such an atmosphere. Every year, I dread them, and every year I end up making them, with bitterness and resentment.
This year, it seems, the foodies are trying to outdo themselves. I saw a recipe for beet latkes with goat cheese. I did not even investigate: my kids will not eat them, and I hate goat cheese, There are poutine latkes, which made Wall Street Journal. One friend proudly displayed Jerusalem artichokes, harvested from her garden, surely organic, about to become her latkes, So the pressure is being ratcheted up.
I bought 10 lbs of potatoes, in anticipation of all this latke hullabaloo. I also bought my secret ingredient: yucca. It goes nicely with potatoes, and adds crispness to the latkes without adding any taste that my kids find disagreeable.
This morning, I got up, dreading the night. My husband said that he should be home by candle lighting, and taekwondo was not happening due to promotion test. 8 yo told me last night how he had plans to make a Chanukah puppet show, and would I so kindly write it down into his planner as an activity for today?
So I figured that no real school work will take place, not on his end. 10 yo ended up helping him with drawing the backgrounds. I had to remind him a few times not to hijack his brother's story, but, overall, they worked together, drawing and cutting. At some point, 10 yo was writing down his own script. He also wrote down his own plan for today, which included mishna homework, chumash, language review and geography. 8 yo did typing and Rosetta Stone. Not bad for no interference and whip cracking on mommy's part.
The baby took an earlier and shorter nap, and the sun came out from behind the clouds. I hustled the boys to the park for a few hours, to enjoy this gift of great weather, before it was time to get my daughter from her preschool. When we got home, I rigged up the extension cord for the PVC menorah and wound up the last two strands of lights.
Then I came inside. 10 yo followed me on my heels, offering to peel potatoes for latkes. He peeled and chopped, and then suggested adding carrot to one batch, ostensibly to celebrate the birthday of a stuffed bunny. I have been hearing about this birthday bunny for weeks now, but it did not make food demands. I told 10 yo that I expect humans not to complain too much when they find carrot in their latkes, and was reassured that some humans will eat it, as long as I make a separate batch without carrot.
Then, as I was mixing batter, he offered to show 1 yo Chanukah movies, to keep him out of the kitchen and away from hot oil. I asked him to organize his brother and sister to set the dining room table for dinner. They got out a cloth tablecloth,wine glasses, candles, and a light-up globe. I was not supervising at all, hoping for the best.
A great miracle happened here: my husband did make it home for candle lighting, the latkes were all done by the time he came in, nobody got burned on the candles, and we were treated to a beautifully set table. The kids ate the carrot latkes. Then they each had a bag of chocolate gelt, with 1 yo managing to eat one coin still in foil. 8 yo treated us to a puppet show. He got 4 yo to hold up the backgrounds, as he narrated and spoke for all the characters. They were not fancy, all drawn in pencil, with an obvious touch from 10 yo, but it was clear that some thought and preparation went into the narrative. Jokes were inserted. Some paper violence might not make it a suitable show for very young children. No presents were mentioned, not even once, even though I sat on Amazon and ordered them something. (I usually get them yom tov gifts, but this year I did not get around to it when chagim were here, so I sort of owed it to them. Nothing like mommy guilt to make the world go round.)
Now I dread tomorrow night, when there will be taekwondo, and there will be crazy dinner crunch coupled with candle lighting. At least I have some latke leftovers.
It is not a major holiday, yet the expectations are through the roof. There are eight days, so there is hypothetically time to get it "right", even if not on the first night. There are candles to light (and husband who might or might not be around when it's time to light). There are menorahs to fill with oil. There is food, lots of labor-intensive food. There are presents, which I normally try to avoid, yet they somehow crop up.
There is a song, which contains a line "every mother prepares delicious latkes". It makes me feel like a fake more than anything. I can make good latkes, but, somehow, I do not always feel inspired around this time of year. I did not grow up celebrating Chanukah, and my mother was certainly not making latkes. I feel that there is this expectation of latke perfection, crisp and hot, emerging just as candles are lit. Usually for us, it is time of intense phone negotiations of whether my husband will be home to light or not, coming back from somewhere, rushing, whiny kids, toddlers trying to knock off the menorahs. These awesome latkes just do not have space to be made in such an atmosphere. Every year, I dread them, and every year I end up making them, with bitterness and resentment.
This year, it seems, the foodies are trying to outdo themselves. I saw a recipe for beet latkes with goat cheese. I did not even investigate: my kids will not eat them, and I hate goat cheese, There are poutine latkes, which made Wall Street Journal. One friend proudly displayed Jerusalem artichokes, harvested from her garden, surely organic, about to become her latkes, So the pressure is being ratcheted up.
I bought 10 lbs of potatoes, in anticipation of all this latke hullabaloo. I also bought my secret ingredient: yucca. It goes nicely with potatoes, and adds crispness to the latkes without adding any taste that my kids find disagreeable.
This morning, I got up, dreading the night. My husband said that he should be home by candle lighting, and taekwondo was not happening due to promotion test. 8 yo told me last night how he had plans to make a Chanukah puppet show, and would I so kindly write it down into his planner as an activity for today?
So I figured that no real school work will take place, not on his end. 10 yo ended up helping him with drawing the backgrounds. I had to remind him a few times not to hijack his brother's story, but, overall, they worked together, drawing and cutting. At some point, 10 yo was writing down his own script. He also wrote down his own plan for today, which included mishna homework, chumash, language review and geography. 8 yo did typing and Rosetta Stone. Not bad for no interference and whip cracking on mommy's part.
 |
| Older brothers are the best: they put you in a swing, they push you |
The baby took an earlier and shorter nap, and the sun came out from behind the clouds. I hustled the boys to the park for a few hours, to enjoy this gift of great weather, before it was time to get my daughter from her preschool. When we got home, I rigged up the extension cord for the PVC menorah and wound up the last two strands of lights.
Then I came inside. 10 yo followed me on my heels, offering to peel potatoes for latkes. He peeled and chopped, and then suggested adding carrot to one batch, ostensibly to celebrate the birthday of a stuffed bunny. I have been hearing about this birthday bunny for weeks now, but it did not make food demands. I told 10 yo that I expect humans not to complain too much when they find carrot in their latkes, and was reassured that some humans will eat it, as long as I make a separate batch without carrot.
 |
| crunchy munchy latkes |
Then, as I was mixing batter, he offered to show 1 yo Chanukah movies, to keep him out of the kitchen and away from hot oil. I asked him to organize his brother and sister to set the dining room table for dinner. They got out a cloth tablecloth,wine glasses, candles, and a light-up globe. I was not supervising at all, hoping for the best.
Now I dread tomorrow night, when there will be taekwondo, and there will be crazy dinner crunch coupled with candle lighting. At least I have some latke leftovers.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
run your family like a business?
Lots of hours nursing means lots of hours reading. I came across this article in Time: Executive Parenting. A similar article can be found here. I found it to be slightly ridiculous. In fact, I even read it out loud to my husband. His first reaction: if we run a family like a business, can we fire people for not performing? Well, of course not! Meanwhile, there is a desire for efficiency and blurring more lines between home and work. If your house is not a place to relax, then what is it? Another stressful environment to be managed?
Anyone who dealt with newborns for a long period of time knows the first rule of newborns: there is no predictability to their schedule, and. therefore, there is no predictability to your schedule. The baby got up, nursed and now he might:
Which one will it be? Can you guess whether this is a good time for you to start on a major project, or will you be interrupted every five minutes trying to soothe a baby? No wonder so many parents are anxious: how come you are doing the same thing, but getting vastly different results? Moreover, if a baby cries, is he evaluating your performance and finding it lacking? Easier to hand the kid over to daycare, tell them to feed formula (in easily measurable amounts, but this is a topic for another post), and go on with your predictable workday.
Beyond newborn, how about relationship building? Is it really made out of the same blocks as a team at work? When I was in college, taking a Jewish Philosophy class on the Lonely Man of Faith, my teacher said: never marry a person because you will make a great team. You would be missing the point of connection due to existential loneliness. Or, in other words, no relationship will go far if it's just about efficiency. Dating takes time, and it is convoluted. Relationships bloom when there is time to connect casually and leisurely.
A lot of time is wasted on reading the same story over and over again. A lot of time is spent on taking children out to the park. A lot of time is spent cuddling the boo-boos and tucking kids into bed. But all these moments of a seeming waste of time are building up a relationship. Once the relationship is there, it will not seem odd that a 9 yo will sit everyone down and say that we need to have a family meeting to discuss everyone's grievances, and what's working and what's not. He did that, tonight, just as everyone was getting into pajamas. We did not come up with a mission statement and weekly goals, but everyone got the floor, starting with the baby (he seemed content with life), moving on to 3 yo (she was content playing with her necklace) and then to 7 yo. He brought up again how he wants to go and paint pottery just with me and the baby. 9 yo brought up bigger stuff: sleeping arrangements, dishwasher arguments, sibling arguments, money, going to Israel. I got the floor next. I brought up uneaten camp lunches, and the schedule for next year. Lastly, my husband brought up how he has so little time to spend with us, and to take care of the things he needs to do. We spoke about all these issues in an atmosphere of trust. Everyone had a turn, everyone chimed in with suggestions. Some things were brought up that we, as parents, were not aware of. We resolved quite a few of the issues.
The meeting was a success. What differentiated our meeting from the article was the bottom-up instead of top-down approach. If there is a need for a meeting, we will call a family meeting. If there isn't a need for one, we will not hold it just because it is scheduled in. Moreover, if we discover that a family meeting is not the best way for us to address what ails us, we will try something else. We will not sacrifice relationship building for the sake of efficiency.
Life is a meandering journey, not a sprint. We will get there, but we might as well have fun along the way.
Anyone who dealt with newborns for a long period of time knows the first rule of newborns: there is no predictability to their schedule, and. therefore, there is no predictability to your schedule. The baby got up, nursed and now he might:
- fall back asleep for five minutes till you put him down
- fall asleep for two hours
- scream and scream
- poop and want to nurse some more
- chill out, look around, and be totally content
Which one will it be? Can you guess whether this is a good time for you to start on a major project, or will you be interrupted every five minutes trying to soothe a baby? No wonder so many parents are anxious: how come you are doing the same thing, but getting vastly different results? Moreover, if a baby cries, is he evaluating your performance and finding it lacking? Easier to hand the kid over to daycare, tell them to feed formula (in easily measurable amounts, but this is a topic for another post), and go on with your predictable workday.
Beyond newborn, how about relationship building? Is it really made out of the same blocks as a team at work? When I was in college, taking a Jewish Philosophy class on the Lonely Man of Faith, my teacher said: never marry a person because you will make a great team. You would be missing the point of connection due to existential loneliness. Or, in other words, no relationship will go far if it's just about efficiency. Dating takes time, and it is convoluted. Relationships bloom when there is time to connect casually and leisurely.
 |
| http://cdn.zmescience.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/eco_efficiency_hare_tortoise.jpg |
The meeting was a success. What differentiated our meeting from the article was the bottom-up instead of top-down approach. If there is a need for a meeting, we will call a family meeting. If there isn't a need for one, we will not hold it just because it is scheduled in. Moreover, if we discover that a family meeting is not the best way for us to address what ails us, we will try something else. We will not sacrifice relationship building for the sake of efficiency.
Life is a meandering journey, not a sprint. We will get there, but we might as well have fun along the way.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
The presence of kids in shul
From 613 Torah Ave, Vayeilech:
A boy breaks a jar of marmalade. Strangers make nasty remarks:
-Small children do not belong in stores!
-Excuse me, sir, I do not mean to show disrespect,
But tell me, how do you expect,
A child to learn to get on along,
If are you always keeping them at home?
-Yes, you must take him out each day
And show him what's the proper way
He may, indeed, make some mistakes,
And you will pay for the mess he makes
But in raising a child, that's what it takes.
-We learn this lesson, without fail,
From the special mitzvah of Hakhel
(A quick background: the mitzvah of Hakhel involved gathering up the entire nation once every seven years for the king to read parts of the Torah. The explicitly mentioned parties are men, women, small children and converts.)
The song can be found here.
I did not grow up with 613 Torah Ave tapes, so we are discovering them together. Not every single piece is meaningful or well-thought-out, but this particular part resonates strongly with me. It is hard to grocery shop with kids. It is hard taking them all to the post office, or the cleaner's or any other store. The errand is not efficient, and things are bound to get ruined. You are bound to get some dirty looks and remarks. But that's what it takes. Rashi comments that the reason the small children were brought to Hakhel was to give reward to their parents. So, it was not for them to learn Torah, or to listen to it, but for their parents to show that Torah is so precious to them, that they will drop everything, inconvenience themselves, and bring their kids. Something tells me that national gathering was not quiet and produced quite a few gray hairs in parents.
What if the Torah placed decorum over the importance of the learning experience?
I am well into Shmuel I in my Nach Yomi. In the first perek, it talks about how Elkanah would go up to Shiloh once a year and bring his family with him. Abarbanel comments that he brought "even his young children in order to inculcate them with the pure fear of G-d that would come from the atmosphere and service at the holy place, and so that the presence of the entire family would increase the joy of the festival observances". Unless children were different in those days, I strongly doubt that it was an easy undertaking. After all, Elkanah was a wealthy individual, couldn't he leave the children with the nannies at home? Couldn't he leave the wives at home, as well? Women do not have an obligation to pray, and he was the one bringing korbanot on their behalf. However, apparently there was a learning experience there not to be missed. Maybe when Chana saw what Penina's children were gaining from exposure to the Mishkan, she got an additional motivation to pray for a child. After all, the essence of our prayer is based on Chana's prayer, the prayer of one who had no obligation to pray.
Where am I going with all this?
I believe the above sources corroborate two points:
1. Children belong in shul and are expected to become the members of the community from an early age.
2. The prayer of women should be encouraged.
These two points are closely related to one another, especially in the modern setting of a shul. If women (of any age) are encouraged to come to shul to daven, they will be bringing children to shul. If the shul provides an atmosphere which encourages women to bring their children to shul, the children get to learn by observing and participating in davening, and the mothers can get a chance to daven. If the children feel valued as members of a congregation, performing such functions as holding doors, opening and closing the aron, changing page numbers, setting up and cleaning up kiddush, let alone singing Adon Olam, they are more likely to look forward to growing up and joining the congregation in prayer.
Too often, a shul places decorum over the needs of its congregation. A place full of decorum most likely has fidgety adults as well, same fidgety adults who hush the mothers who dare bring their kids in. The mothers do not feel welcome, and so they leave. The kids are discouraged from being inside: after all, how long can a child sit still in a place where he has no function? He has two paths: either learn the grown-up language and outperform them (for example, by extending Amens longer than anyone else), or drop out. Then we have a crisis of kids leaving the fold. And how many Chanahs never get a chance at a heart-felt prayer?
I will finish with three anecdotes, all showing how decorum has nothing to do with kavanah.
I attended a bar-mitzvah in Richmond, VA, right before Rosh HaShana. The shul there does not have a ton of kids, but a boy went up on Friday night to sing Yigdal. He marched up, was draped in a tallis and then belted out... Adon Olam! There was a pause, he was corrected, caught his place, and then continued, with the congregation joining in. He made a mistake, but he learned a most valuable lesson: his service is valued, and when he stumbles, there is a community which will correct him and set him on his way.
What if the boy was booed instead, or not allowed to say Yigdal at all?
During Shabbos day, right as bar-mitzcah speeches were starting, Mr. Griff, the gabbai, motioned that he has something to add. Now Mr. Griff is old-school, he is all for proper decorum. He is imposing, and he looks just, as his name sounds: someone who very clearly indicates what flies in his shul and what doesn't. I do not know how many rabbis he saw come and go, but he runs the place. What Mr. Griff had to say was surprising to me: he spoke how the bar-mitzvah boy, while being a wee one, would go up with his father to open the aron, holding on tightly to his father's hand. Then, when he got older, and realized that Mr. Griff will not eat him, he would wait for his cue, and go up on his own. And look at him now, reading his parsha!
What if Mr. Griff did not tolerate little boys on the dais, never welcoming them up?
The most personally inspiring davening of recent memory happened on our trip to Israel. On Shabbos morning, we were brought to a fairly standard Israeli shul. I had to rummage for nusach Ashekanz siddur, the mechiza was a white curtain, and the davening was moving at a brisk pace. But there was an incredible kavanah (intent) in the room. When the congregation recited the prayer for the Israeli soldiers, they inserted the names of the kids from that shul who are serving. When they mentioned Tzion and Yerushalayim, it was not an abstraction standing in the way of kiddush, but a real place, so close to their hearts. When the baal koreh read from the Torah with a kid draped over his shoulder, nobody flinched. Nobody flinched, either, when he took that kid to the restroom, and another person took his place for one aliyah. There were some women in shul, and some kids. There was no pomposity, just an earnest expression of a congregation.
Isn't that what tefila is supposed to be about?
A boy breaks a jar of marmalade. Strangers make nasty remarks:
-Small children do not belong in stores!
-Excuse me, sir, I do not mean to show disrespect,
But tell me, how do you expect,
A child to learn to get on along,
If are you always keeping them at home?
-Yes, you must take him out each day
And show him what's the proper way
He may, indeed, make some mistakes,
And you will pay for the mess he makes
But in raising a child, that's what it takes.
-We learn this lesson, without fail,
From the special mitzvah of Hakhel
(A quick background: the mitzvah of Hakhel involved gathering up the entire nation once every seven years for the king to read parts of the Torah. The explicitly mentioned parties are men, women, small children and converts.)
The song can be found here.
I did not grow up with 613 Torah Ave tapes, so we are discovering them together. Not every single piece is meaningful or well-thought-out, but this particular part resonates strongly with me. It is hard to grocery shop with kids. It is hard taking them all to the post office, or the cleaner's or any other store. The errand is not efficient, and things are bound to get ruined. You are bound to get some dirty looks and remarks. But that's what it takes. Rashi comments that the reason the small children were brought to Hakhel was to give reward to their parents. So, it was not for them to learn Torah, or to listen to it, but for their parents to show that Torah is so precious to them, that they will drop everything, inconvenience themselves, and bring their kids. Something tells me that national gathering was not quiet and produced quite a few gray hairs in parents.
What if the Torah placed decorum over the importance of the learning experience?
I am well into Shmuel I in my Nach Yomi. In the first perek, it talks about how Elkanah would go up to Shiloh once a year and bring his family with him. Abarbanel comments that he brought "even his young children in order to inculcate them with the pure fear of G-d that would come from the atmosphere and service at the holy place, and so that the presence of the entire family would increase the joy of the festival observances". Unless children were different in those days, I strongly doubt that it was an easy undertaking. After all, Elkanah was a wealthy individual, couldn't he leave the children with the nannies at home? Couldn't he leave the wives at home, as well? Women do not have an obligation to pray, and he was the one bringing korbanot on their behalf. However, apparently there was a learning experience there not to be missed. Maybe when Chana saw what Penina's children were gaining from exposure to the Mishkan, she got an additional motivation to pray for a child. After all, the essence of our prayer is based on Chana's prayer, the prayer of one who had no obligation to pray.
Where am I going with all this?
I believe the above sources corroborate two points:
1. Children belong in shul and are expected to become the members of the community from an early age.
2. The prayer of women should be encouraged.
These two points are closely related to one another, especially in the modern setting of a shul. If women (of any age) are encouraged to come to shul to daven, they will be bringing children to shul. If the shul provides an atmosphere which encourages women to bring their children to shul, the children get to learn by observing and participating in davening, and the mothers can get a chance to daven. If the children feel valued as members of a congregation, performing such functions as holding doors, opening and closing the aron, changing page numbers, setting up and cleaning up kiddush, let alone singing Adon Olam, they are more likely to look forward to growing up and joining the congregation in prayer.
Too often, a shul places decorum over the needs of its congregation. A place full of decorum most likely has fidgety adults as well, same fidgety adults who hush the mothers who dare bring their kids in. The mothers do not feel welcome, and so they leave. The kids are discouraged from being inside: after all, how long can a child sit still in a place where he has no function? He has two paths: either learn the grown-up language and outperform them (for example, by extending Amens longer than anyone else), or drop out. Then we have a crisis of kids leaving the fold. And how many Chanahs never get a chance at a heart-felt prayer?
I will finish with three anecdotes, all showing how decorum has nothing to do with kavanah.
I attended a bar-mitzvah in Richmond, VA, right before Rosh HaShana. The shul there does not have a ton of kids, but a boy went up on Friday night to sing Yigdal. He marched up, was draped in a tallis and then belted out... Adon Olam! There was a pause, he was corrected, caught his place, and then continued, with the congregation joining in. He made a mistake, but he learned a most valuable lesson: his service is valued, and when he stumbles, there is a community which will correct him and set him on his way.
What if the boy was booed instead, or not allowed to say Yigdal at all?
During Shabbos day, right as bar-mitzcah speeches were starting, Mr. Griff, the gabbai, motioned that he has something to add. Now Mr. Griff is old-school, he is all for proper decorum. He is imposing, and he looks just, as his name sounds: someone who very clearly indicates what flies in his shul and what doesn't. I do not know how many rabbis he saw come and go, but he runs the place. What Mr. Griff had to say was surprising to me: he spoke how the bar-mitzvah boy, while being a wee one, would go up with his father to open the aron, holding on tightly to his father's hand. Then, when he got older, and realized that Mr. Griff will not eat him, he would wait for his cue, and go up on his own. And look at him now, reading his parsha!
What if Mr. Griff did not tolerate little boys on the dais, never welcoming them up?
The most personally inspiring davening of recent memory happened on our trip to Israel. On Shabbos morning, we were brought to a fairly standard Israeli shul. I had to rummage for nusach Ashekanz siddur, the mechiza was a white curtain, and the davening was moving at a brisk pace. But there was an incredible kavanah (intent) in the room. When the congregation recited the prayer for the Israeli soldiers, they inserted the names of the kids from that shul who are serving. When they mentioned Tzion and Yerushalayim, it was not an abstraction standing in the way of kiddush, but a real place, so close to their hearts. When the baal koreh read from the Torah with a kid draped over his shoulder, nobody flinched. Nobody flinched, either, when he took that kid to the restroom, and another person took his place for one aliyah. There were some women in shul, and some kids. There was no pomposity, just an earnest expression of a congregation.
Isn't that what tefila is supposed to be about?
Thursday, March 29, 2012
This is a Pesach plea
A little girl is crying...
A little girl is crying at the seder.
She is hungry. She is not crying because there is no food; she is crying because her Mommy made fancy food to impress the guests and now she has nothing to eat. All she wants is some chicken and potatoes, but instead there are piles and piles of dishes with unpronounceable names.
She has no place to sleep. She is not crying because she has no bed; she is crying because her parents insisted on having a seder out and now she is tired, but her comfortable bed is far away.
Her clothes are no good. She is not crying because her clothes are tattered and old; she is crying because they are super-starched and uncomfortable. The white lacy collar is already crimson-red from grape juice and her mommy gave her an ugly look and shook her head.
She is tired. She is crying because this seder is dragging on too long, and she long ago lost interest, lost her place in the hagaddah, but the host wants to boast next morning that they had the longest nirtzah on the block.
She feels lost. She was trying to ask her Mommy today about the haggadah, but her mommy was too busy solving her friend's potato kugel crisis over the phone, so the girl was waved away.
Maybe she is not at the seder at all, she is crying because she is home with a babysitter while her parents are having adults-only seder, with fancy wine and even fancier conversation. She is not sure what her teacher meant when she said that seder is about kids asking questions. Who is she supposed to ask questions of?
A little girl is crying....
A little girl at risk.
A few years down the road, her parents will be crying because she won't be at the seder at all.
Please make your sedarim so that your kids would WANT to be there.
A little girl is crying at the seder.
She is hungry. She is not crying because there is no food; she is crying because her Mommy made fancy food to impress the guests and now she has nothing to eat. All she wants is some chicken and potatoes, but instead there are piles and piles of dishes with unpronounceable names.
She has no place to sleep. She is not crying because she has no bed; she is crying because her parents insisted on having a seder out and now she is tired, but her comfortable bed is far away.
Her clothes are no good. She is not crying because her clothes are tattered and old; she is crying because they are super-starched and uncomfortable. The white lacy collar is already crimson-red from grape juice and her mommy gave her an ugly look and shook her head.
She is tired. She is crying because this seder is dragging on too long, and she long ago lost interest, lost her place in the hagaddah, but the host wants to boast next morning that they had the longest nirtzah on the block.
She feels lost. She was trying to ask her Mommy today about the haggadah, but her mommy was too busy solving her friend's potato kugel crisis over the phone, so the girl was waved away.
Maybe she is not at the seder at all, she is crying because she is home with a babysitter while her parents are having adults-only seder, with fancy wine and even fancier conversation. She is not sure what her teacher meant when she said that seder is about kids asking questions. Who is she supposed to ask questions of?
A little girl is crying....
A little girl at risk.
A few years down the road, her parents will be crying because she won't be at the seder at all.
Please make your sedarim so that your kids would WANT to be there.
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