I'm sorry I haven't written more this summer. I had ambitions of sharing a lot more, and recording a lot more for my own records than I ended up doing here, but that's a reflection of the intensity and time commitment far more than a lack of what to share. In some ways, I'm looking forward to only having a few learning projects in the coming months, allowing me to more fully digest each of them. This experience has been amazing; a lot to digest. I think my greatest improvements have been in Gemara. Elie Kaunfer teaches my gemara shiur, and he's wonderful. Animated, insightful, curious, and funny.

We're learning the 10th chapter of Psachim (Passover, though it's had fairly little to do with the holiday thus far), and recently have been looking at a discussion of Havdalah, the ceremony with which we end Shabbat. The rabbis in the discussions get so worked up, to the point where Abaye curses one of his peers based on the ending he wants to use for the blessing that ends Havdalah! Emotions run high around separation.

There are only a few hours left of Tisha bAv. This fast was a lot harder for me than the last one. I've been thinking a lot about the need to separate time, between the sanctified time of Shabbat and the creative time of the rest of the week, and now the need to designate time for sadness, for facing the distance between us and an obviously active presence of God. There are a number of ways of marking this day as one of mourning (in line with the rules of mourning for someone who's just lost a family member. I've been thinking about dad a lot, how these restrictions apply to him more expansively, this month in particular and how oppressively the system forces mourners to acknowledge their loss. What feels oppressive to me might feel liberating for people more thoroughly experiencing loss. It seemed like it went in both directions for mom last year). One of the customs is to not greet one another. It's so, so challenging. I'm really looking forward to saying hello to people tomorrow.

I think one of the questions TbA highlights for me is the importance of living within a system. This summer has been expansive for me in many ways. Living in a halachic community has been supportive and exciting. Halacha shiur with Ethan Tucker has demonstrated creative and surprising ways in which Halacha has developed and ought to be/is developing, challenging a lot of my conceptions of halacha as a fixed system, and reinvigorating it's literal meaning, that, like Taoism, suggests it is a way of walking through life. It's strange to feel confined by halacha and to feel like it's not about confining but about living meaningfully; I totally trust the importance of having a day of mourning, despite the discomfort and challenge of it.

On the 17th of Tammuz, Elie gave a shiur about how one of the opportunities that a fast day yields is tzedakah giving. The act of fasting is less important than the behavior it elicits, and giving tzedakah in accordance with what we would have paid for food is a small way to convert the discomfort of fasting into a service of the extended community.

I have some anxiety about leaving this community and experience.

I'm excited, though, to see what doors it opens and how will I take it with me. I'm looking forward to my time in Denver and DC, then returning to Wellesley, where I'm entering my last year in September. I'm teaching in Denver on my first Shabbat home, August 15th -- I'll definitely be bringing some ideas from this summer. I'm planning to teach at Wellesley, too. I feel like I've been filled to the brim, I'm grateful for the opportunity to share the wealth of ideas and resources I've been exposed to this summer.

Radical Acceptance

I spent this Shabbat outside the city, visiting a dear friend from school at camp. Shabbat was wonderful, culminating in walking barefoot in the grass and laying alone in a field, looking at the sky and the fireflies in the time between seudah shlishit and havdalah, which was exactly what I needed, the absolute tikkun to intellectually stimulating, exhausting 14-hour days in the heart of New York City. I felt such sweetness -- my time here has been an absolute gift. Many compelling conversations, amazing people, a few great New York adventures (after volunteering Wednesday afternoon, I walked with a friend from lower midtown to the bottom of Manhattan (Battery Park, where there was a stellar view of the Statue of Liberty and a concert in the park), then went to the Nuyorican Poets Cafe in the evening. My suitemate last year wrote her thesis on Spanglish literature and Nuyorican identity, so it was wonderful to experience it).

Thought I would share one of the things that have been shifting my thinking a bit. Judaism as a Spiritual Practice, one of my favorite classes, is taught by Rabbi James Jacobson-Maisels. Every week, he brings in a number of Chassidic texts specific to a practice that we do that week in class, then independently at least once throughout the week. It's always interesting to see how differently I experience the practices when I'm alone than when I was in class, guided by James and doing the activity as a member of a group. We've meditated, met with a 'spiritual chevruta,' ate intentionally, sang as a way of opening to spirituality. This week, we've been working on 'radical acceptance.'

The process goes soemthing like this: identify a specific challenging, uncomfortable thought. The examples we discussed were fear of inadequacy, rejection, desirous thoughts toward someone forbidden to you, frustration with a particular person. (It's important that you are able to conceive of a tikkun (antidote/correction/balance) to the feeling the thought elicits. For example, for anxiety, the tikkun can be open space.)

Then focus on that thought, and drop the object of the thought. If it's anxiety about an event, let go of the event and just focus on the anxiety. Breathe in the dark, the negativity of the feeling. James, in guiding this exercise, said to feel the texture of the feeling, and invite it in. There's something wonderfully liberating about, rather than avoiding discomfort, sitting in it, inviting it in.

Breathe out the tikkun. The white, airiness of open space, let it surround you. Just breathe and sit in the feeling; or direct that feeling toward God (this is particularly useful when distractions arise during davening).

It's an amazing practice in being present. It allows me to revel in discomfort because it gives me the opportunity to really FEEL that experience, and to be okay with it. The mashal James brought to class was of a night guard who stands watch and hears a thief approaching. He has the option of shouting to scare the thief away, or quietly waiting until the thief enters the castle, then catching him inside. The night guard who scares the thief away leaves the castle vulnerable and the thief on the run, while the night guard who catches the thief can chain him up (or educate and redirect him, perhaps). It's important to only let the thief in if the night guard has the chains to capture him, though. Likewise, this exercise should only be done when you can imagine a tikkun for the offending idea.

Happy accepting!

Naming and Serving

I’m taking a class with Rabbi Dianne Cohler Esses, “Rabbinic Views on Suffering,” which focuses on the narrative of Nadav and Avihu, the sons of Aaron who are consumed by fire when they offer unsolicited ‘strange fire’ before God. I was struck reading last week’s Torah portion by the linguistic parallels between the descriptions of Nadav and Avihu’s actions and those of the followers of Korach. The offerings of both are responded to with an ‘aish ochelet’ (‘a consuming fire’). It is unclear exactly what is consumed; it seems to consume their souls, as their bodies remain and need to be removed from the camp. 250 of Korach’s followers are killed by this fire.
I can’t imagine living in a paradigm where God blatantly punishes the ‘wrong’ worship. Aaron’s eldest sons and Korach’s followers all sought an intimacy with God that was forbidden to them, they wanted to make offerings that weren’t prescribed. Were these efforts to go beyond the call of duty, or a disingenuous desire to connect to God?
What does it mean that we no longer have a clearly subscribed way to serve God?
Does the modern lack of clarity about the nature of God allow us to create God? Has God changed so that there is a greater variety of ways to connect, to serve appropriately?
The Kotzsker Rebbi taught that worshipping the same way two days in a row is idol worship. Because God changes, our relationship with Him must evolve. I wonder to what extent God can actually change, how much of that seeming change (for instance, the reactive and responsive ‘version’ of God in the Torah, versus the seeming hiddenness of God now) is merely our lens shifting.
There are places in Prophets where ‘haEl haGadol haGibor vhaNora’ (“The great God, the Mighty, and the Awesome,” a line said by Moses, now cited in the Amidah prayer) is modified, only using two of those descriptors “HaGadol vHaNora (Daniel 9:4)” or “HaGadol vHaGibor (Jeremiah 32:17).” The rabbis of the Talmud address this discrepancy saying “Since [the prophets] knew that the Blessed Holy One is real, they could not ascribe false [things] to Him.” (Babylonian Talmud Yoma 69b). Do we ascribe false things to God? Without prophecy, I suppose we can’t really know. We have to rely on people from thousands of years ago and trust that God hasn’t changed so much…I think the modern tension of a Jewishly engaged life dances along a line between innovation, honesty, and tradition.
I’ve been looking at a lot of places in Tanach where the people have an intimate experience of the presence of God, and are horrified, fear-stricken, incapable of being in that relationship. I wonder if the apparent distance we feel from God is out of His graciousness: while it takes a lot of work to relate to Someone hidden, the project of revealing God can be at our own pace, can be to reveal the aspects of God that each person wants to find, to relate to.
I’m feeling tremendously grateful. While I’m certainly still figuring out what it means to be relating to God, I feel so, so blessed. I had a wonderful Shabbat in the city, culminating in Lizzy (my wonderful roommate) and I hosting 15 wonderful people in our itty bitty living room – the walls could hardly contain the song and sweetness.
Today there was blue sky, which was also quite remarkable.
[These ideas came from a number of places: wonderful conversations, classes, and divrei Torah.]

Terms and the like

Just thought it might make more sense to have them in one place than defining them throughout...


Shacharit, Mincha, Maariv -- morning, afternoon, evening prayers
Daven -- pray
Machshavah -- (Jewish) thought/philosophy
Shiur -- lesson
Tanach -- (TaNaCH) Torah, Nevi'im, Ctuvim; Pentatuech, Prophets, Writings aka Jewish Bible)
Talmud -- Mishna (~200 CE, codified by Yehuda haNasi) and Gemara (~400 CE), oral Torah, written down

I arrived in New York last Wednesday and settled in to my apartment on 115th & Amsterdam, a short stroll from the 1 line on the Subway (I love public transportation), which I take early in the morning and early in the night to and from Hadar, on 69th & Amsterdam.
I want to tell you about each day, every class, every dvar Torah, the experience of davening three times a day with a community, being surrounded by people committed to vibrant Jewish life through learning, praying, and connecting with other people. It’s a little overwhelming. Mostly it feels utopian.
I had some hesitation the first few days about davening; it was (still is…) fast and not having a mechitzah compounded the contrast to davening alone at school, where I’m usually completely in my own space. In just a week, though, I’ve come to love the communal davening. I love the communal mumbling then the silence of the amidah – communal silence fascinates me. What an idea – to gather people and share a private, nearly silent experience.
This is a totally egalitarian community: men and women daven together 3X/day, men and women wear tefillin everyday, men and women learn and teach gemara, men and women do service projects. Like Wellesley, it brings humanity, rather than gender, to the center (which seems to me to be pretty rare, particularly in an observant context. It happens even more so than at Wellesley, I suppose, because Wellesley uses gender separation to overcome gender issues, while Hadar somehow renders gender differences irrelevant to the conversations at hand. Assigned chevruta partners for Tanach and Talmud are same-gender by and large, though).
Most days go from 7:30AM-9:30PM (here’s the schedule if you’re curious – it’s amazing. Monday, at the end of the day, I was completely exhausted. Tuesday, I left feeling ready to take on the world. It’s so satisfying to have a really full and stimulating day).
I wish I had the energy to prepare an eloquent drash on some of the beautiful Torah I’ve been learning, but, alas, I’m tired and Shacharit is at 7:15 tomorrow because of Rosh Chodesh, so just a little sociology for tonight...I hope you’re doing well wherever you are reading this.

Hello, sweet friends!
I leave Denver for The Big City on Wednesday. I am thrilled to be spending the summer at Yeshivat Hadar, an amazing insitution for exploring Torah and Jewish life. "Kol Hashem bHadar," a line from Psalm 29, literally means, "the voice of God in glory," but I get a little giddy thinking that the voice of God is in (Yeshivat) Hadar -- I'm hoping to find that this summer. And am excited to share it.
(You can also listen to Hadar's podcasts and see some of their source sheets here)