It's that time again. Rosh Hashana has come and gone and soon it will be Yom Kippur. The High Holidays bring up all kinds of issues for Jewish Atheists. Do I go to work? Do I attend services? Which rituals do I observe and which do I skip?
These aren't significantly different, of course, from the questions any Reform Jew asks at this time of year: once you make religion a matter of choices, then everything requires thought. I suppose the new question is why?
But let's begin with the what. Here's what I did:
1) A pre-Rosh Hashana brunch at my parents' house. We ate apples and honey and a round raisin challah, and it was my job to explain to my brother's kids, who are growing up "culturally half-Jewish" what it was all about.
2) Dinner at home with the fam for Erev Rosh Hashana. Mr. Jewess made fish, which is a bit of a treat since I went vegetarian a year ago (I'm trying to eat fish now because I haven't been getting enough protein) and we talked about our personal goals for the new year and our hopes for the world in the new year.
4) A morning family service for 3rd through 6th graders at our congregation, at which I read the prayers before and after the Haftorah reading.
5) Picked up some food at Whole Foods which we brought home and ate for lunch. I was hoping for kugel and brisket (and something vegetarian for me) but wound up with latkes and wheat berry salad.
Here's what I didn't do:
1) A formal dinner of any kind.
2) Erev Rosh Hashana services
3) Tashlich
4) A second day of Rosh Hashana.
Why?
Starting from the bottom, I've never celebrated a second day of Rosh Hashana and I see no reason to start now. I think it's a sign of the loss of focus I'm seeing within the Reform Movement that many congregations (including ours) now celebrate a second day of Rosh Hashana. We dropped it for a reason. For many reasons, actually, all of which had to do with logic. Now we're bringing it back because people want it. Okay, that happened with Bar Mitzvah before I was born, and I guess I'm okay with that, but if we're going to do it, there should be some reason, logic and meaning behind it.
The same goes for Tashlich. I've actually tried that, but it makes no sense and doesn't really move me.
We didn't get invited to dinner anywhere because my parents wanted to include my brother and he could only come for lunch Sunday. That's cool, although it was a little strange not having plans on Erev Rosh Hashana. I think if that happens again I'll plan something myself. I didn't go to services because Mr. Jewess didn't want to and I didn't care enough to argue.
Basically, I tried to bring meaning to everything that I did. Lunch Sunday, to me, was about family. I played in the playground with The Little Jewess and my niece and nephew and joked with my brother and his wife while we ate, so that was good. Lunch Monday was more complicated. I didn't really believe it was Rosh Hashana because I hadn't had "Jewish" (Eastern European) food. There's definitely that cultural bit there. But that's never been the whole holiday to me.
I think this time of year is one of the most healthy things about the Jewish calendar. It's a really good thing to think about what you can do better, and how you can help make the world a better place. The service I went to also drew some attention (just a little) to how we can be better parents. But I sat in services and thought about the prayers and what that word "God" means to me. I still find the prayers valuable, but I'm not sure to do when the prayers are particularly God-focused. Some of the prayers are asking God to help us. That's cool with me because I can just scan past the God bit and think of it as a metaphor, and then concentrate on the bit I want help with, realizing that I need to help myself or ask for help from other people. But thanking God for making me a Jew is a bit harder to comprehend when you no longer believe in God. What's left to believe in in that sentence?
So that's what it comes down to: What's a holy day when you don't believe in holy?
Which I guess is the point of this whole blog, really. Thoughts?
Showing posts with label Little Jewess. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Little Jewess. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Strike
My thoughts have been swirling lately. Murders in Libya. Strike in Chicago. The High Holidays. First week of Hebrew School. And The Little Jewess had to go to the ER. (She's fine now.)
Issues big and small, and I don't see anything that ties them together. I guess I should start with the big ones, and there's plenty been written by Humanists about the events in Libya and Egypt this week, so I'm going to start with Chicago.
For those who don't know, Mr. Jewess is a Public School Teacher. My parents were also Public School Teachers and I was one briefly. I just want to make my biases totally clear here. But I also think that Unions are generally fighting the Humanist fight.
Unions have brought us minimum wage, weekends, Family Leave, sick time and safe working conditions. They ended child labor and sweatshops. And in this case, the Chicago Teachers Union is fighting not just for a fair wage for professionals with Master's Degrees, but also for reasonable class sizes, safe, clean schools and textbooks available on the first day of school. (Sorry--that last was one of the "concessions" they won from the City before the strike began.
Imagine trying to teach in a 100 degree classroom with a leaky roof and no textbooks. Imagine 45 kids who may or may not have a safe place to sleep, who may or may not have had breakfast, who may or may not have a quiet place to do homework or any books in their houses. Forty-five. And then on top of that, you have a City that is looking to shut down any school it can to privatize it, and your school will only stay open if your kids do well on some test. How many of these children have seen a relative die violently? How many have lost a parent to drug addiction? How many spent time fending for themselves before a relative found them and enrolled them in school? (I take these examples from my own experience teaching in New York City, but I expect they translate to other cities. In any case, they're real examples.)
You want to bond with these children, give them the love that they need to succeed, give them the little bit of attention they need to feel good at something so that they have the strength to push through to learn the things that are hard, but there are forty-five of them and if they don't pass this test your job will be gone, your school will be closed and then what?
And so you strike. You strike for the rights of the children to have a decent place to learn and a shot at success.
You can call the teachers greedy if you want. I can't. I've been there.
I stand with the Chicago Teacher's Union.
Issues big and small, and I don't see anything that ties them together. I guess I should start with the big ones, and there's plenty been written by Humanists about the events in Libya and Egypt this week, so I'm going to start with Chicago.
For those who don't know, Mr. Jewess is a Public School Teacher. My parents were also Public School Teachers and I was one briefly. I just want to make my biases totally clear here. But I also think that Unions are generally fighting the Humanist fight.
Unions have brought us minimum wage, weekends, Family Leave, sick time and safe working conditions. They ended child labor and sweatshops. And in this case, the Chicago Teachers Union is fighting not just for a fair wage for professionals with Master's Degrees, but also for reasonable class sizes, safe, clean schools and textbooks available on the first day of school. (Sorry--that last was one of the "concessions" they won from the City before the strike began.
Imagine trying to teach in a 100 degree classroom with a leaky roof and no textbooks. Imagine 45 kids who may or may not have a safe place to sleep, who may or may not have had breakfast, who may or may not have a quiet place to do homework or any books in their houses. Forty-five. And then on top of that, you have a City that is looking to shut down any school it can to privatize it, and your school will only stay open if your kids do well on some test. How many of these children have seen a relative die violently? How many have lost a parent to drug addiction? How many spent time fending for themselves before a relative found them and enrolled them in school? (I take these examples from my own experience teaching in New York City, but I expect they translate to other cities. In any case, they're real examples.)
You want to bond with these children, give them the love that they need to succeed, give them the little bit of attention they need to feel good at something so that they have the strength to push through to learn the things that are hard, but there are forty-five of them and if they don't pass this test your job will be gone, your school will be closed and then what?
And so you strike. You strike for the rights of the children to have a decent place to learn and a shot at success.
You can call the teachers greedy if you want. I can't. I've been there.
I stand with the Chicago Teacher's Union.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
The Short Bus
I finished reading The Short Bus by Jonathan Mooney an I really liked it. (Note to those following the blog closely: I failed again at reading Religion for Atheists and I have to return it unread, again. But I promise I'll pick it up again after my vacation!) Mooney tells his story with compassion, both for himself and for the people he meets. Heck, he even has compassion for the bus. He makes his points well, too. As far as I can tell, Mooney has two main points in this book:
1) We should celebrate all people for their abilities, and we should never treat anyone as less than human because they think differently than we do.
2) Labels cause more difficulties than they are worth.
I love the first point. After all, that's a fine Humanist statement, and Mooney tests it with visits to a girl who is both deaf and blind, a man who seems to make no sense when he talks, and Burning Man. But he manages to find some beauty in everyone he meets and is convincing in his argument that one school model cannot serve everyone and everyone deserves the opportunity to learn.
On the second point, though, Mooney and I differ a bit. I think labels, when used correctly, can be very helpful. That's why teachers like IEP's (Individualized Educational Plans.) A well-written IEP gives a teacher valuable information about how a child learns, so that she doesn't have to discover it all again. Valuable weeks of school time can be saved, as well as plenty of frustration. In terms of a child's self-worth, and ADHD kid is going to be much better off in my classroom, on Sunday mornings and Tuesday afternoons, if I know he's ADHD and don't ask him to do things he physically can't do, than if I don't know he's ADHD and spend a lot of time trying to get him to sit down and be quiet.
Here's a better example: My Dad has really poor working memory. (Working memory is the part of the brain that remembers instructions and remembers to remember things.) To be clear, he's a really smart man: he has a PhD, he reads great literature, he can hold his own in an argument and he knows more about dinosaurs than any adult really should. But when he says he'll be somewhere, he may or may not show up.
This has been true his whole life. As a child, I often found myself waiting to be picked up at piano lessons, or driven past acting classes and having to double back because my dad got distracted while driving. He even forgot my daughter's first birthday celebration. When these things happened, there would be fights and recriminations and denials and no explanation to be found. These disputes caused a decent amount of stress in our family, and to this day I have anxiety whenever I have to meet someone or wait for someone.
Then, in his sixties, my dad got diagnosed with ADHD. Suddenly, everything made sense. We now understand what my dad can do and what he can't. He understands it, too. So when he's supposed to be at The Little Jewess's school for a special event, my mom makes sure he leaves early, and then he calls her when he gets there. He keeps his phone on so we can call him if he's not where he's supposed to be. My mom is now 100% in charge of their calendar, and she goes over with my dad where he's supposed to be when so he doesn't forget.
My dad's diagnosis was a moment of huge relief for all of us. Suddenly, there were books and websites he could turn to for hints on how to remember things better. My mom no longer blames him for not doing things he can't do, and instead of enabling him, she can structure things in a way that my dad doesn't forget and there is no crisis, and no ensuing fight.
So I kind of like labels. The catch is, the label can't be everything. You have to see the person above all, and treat that person with respect, even if that person needs help.
1) We should celebrate all people for their abilities, and we should never treat anyone as less than human because they think differently than we do.
2) Labels cause more difficulties than they are worth.
I love the first point. After all, that's a fine Humanist statement, and Mooney tests it with visits to a girl who is both deaf and blind, a man who seems to make no sense when he talks, and Burning Man. But he manages to find some beauty in everyone he meets and is convincing in his argument that one school model cannot serve everyone and everyone deserves the opportunity to learn.
On the second point, though, Mooney and I differ a bit. I think labels, when used correctly, can be very helpful. That's why teachers like IEP's (Individualized Educational Plans.) A well-written IEP gives a teacher valuable information about how a child learns, so that she doesn't have to discover it all again. Valuable weeks of school time can be saved, as well as plenty of frustration. In terms of a child's self-worth, and ADHD kid is going to be much better off in my classroom, on Sunday mornings and Tuesday afternoons, if I know he's ADHD and don't ask him to do things he physically can't do, than if I don't know he's ADHD and spend a lot of time trying to get him to sit down and be quiet.
Here's a better example: My Dad has really poor working memory. (Working memory is the part of the brain that remembers instructions and remembers to remember things.) To be clear, he's a really smart man: he has a PhD, he reads great literature, he can hold his own in an argument and he knows more about dinosaurs than any adult really should. But when he says he'll be somewhere, he may or may not show up.
This has been true his whole life. As a child, I often found myself waiting to be picked up at piano lessons, or driven past acting classes and having to double back because my dad got distracted while driving. He even forgot my daughter's first birthday celebration. When these things happened, there would be fights and recriminations and denials and no explanation to be found. These disputes caused a decent amount of stress in our family, and to this day I have anxiety whenever I have to meet someone or wait for someone.
Then, in his sixties, my dad got diagnosed with ADHD. Suddenly, everything made sense. We now understand what my dad can do and what he can't. He understands it, too. So when he's supposed to be at The Little Jewess's school for a special event, my mom makes sure he leaves early, and then he calls her when he gets there. He keeps his phone on so we can call him if he's not where he's supposed to be. My mom is now 100% in charge of their calendar, and she goes over with my dad where he's supposed to be when so he doesn't forget.
My dad's diagnosis was a moment of huge relief for all of us. Suddenly, there were books and websites he could turn to for hints on how to remember things better. My mom no longer blames him for not doing things he can't do, and instead of enabling him, she can structure things in a way that my dad doesn't forget and there is no crisis, and no ensuing fight.
So I kind of like labels. The catch is, the label can't be everything. You have to see the person above all, and treat that person with respect, even if that person needs help.
Monday, July 23, 2012
More about post-its
I tried two meditations today. First, a walking meditation with the dog, focusing on the word "gratitude," then a more traditional meditation lying on the floor using the word "peace" every time I exhaled. I wouldn't call either a success, but I'll give myself some points for a good start.
The walking meditation might not work with the dog. I couldn't walk slowly, one step per breath, because the dog requires brisk walking. He also requires me to stop from time to time. However, while my brain was full of stray thoughts--mosquitos! No, dog, you can't go into the street. Ooh! I can blog about this later!--at least some of my thoughts were about gratitude. Maybe a couple more than I would normally think, so that's something. And I did notice that I was less annoyed by the lawn mower in the park than I usually am. Maybe that was because I was focusing on gratitude instead of how annoying everything is.
The second meditation worked better, and I only stopped (I made it 12 minutes!) because I was feeling a cramp coming on in my left shoulder, and I've had a headache in that shoulder for the past two days and I felt I shouldn't push it. (Yes, a headache in my shoulder. Either you understand that or you don't. Suffice it to say, it's unpleasant and not something one courts.) I didn't feel transcendent or anything, but I did reach a nice state of relaxation that remained even after I got up and started to peruse the internet, until the dog heard the garbage truck and started barking like only a terrier/hound mix can. In fact, I didn't realize how relaxed I was until I was so suddenly surprised out of that state.
I know my choice of "gratitude" for a focus word was brought on by The Little Jewess. She was angry this morning, and in a fit of typical suburban-kid rage, she screamed, "There's nothing good at my house anyway!" Now of course, being American, my child is practically drowning in stuff. And so while I was walking and trying to think about gratitude, I also started thinking about what kind of post-its I'd like to have in my life, and what would be good for my family. I thought I could make a list here and then I can start thinking about what the post-its would look like.
My biggest problem in life is Depression and Anxiety with a side order of OCD. I take meds, but some spiritual practice and regular exercise are known to help as well. So mainly, I'd like my post-its to be things that take me outside of myself while helping me care for my body.
The things I'd like to increase in my life are:
I think that's enough to be going on with. Now I need a new homework assignment: something that will help me to find out what other Humanists are doing to increase these things in their lives.
The walking meditation might not work with the dog. I couldn't walk slowly, one step per breath, because the dog requires brisk walking. He also requires me to stop from time to time. However, while my brain was full of stray thoughts--mosquitos! No, dog, you can't go into the street. Ooh! I can blog about this later!--at least some of my thoughts were about gratitude. Maybe a couple more than I would normally think, so that's something. And I did notice that I was less annoyed by the lawn mower in the park than I usually am. Maybe that was because I was focusing on gratitude instead of how annoying everything is.
The second meditation worked better, and I only stopped (I made it 12 minutes!) because I was feeling a cramp coming on in my left shoulder, and I've had a headache in that shoulder for the past two days and I felt I shouldn't push it. (Yes, a headache in my shoulder. Either you understand that or you don't. Suffice it to say, it's unpleasant and not something one courts.) I didn't feel transcendent or anything, but I did reach a nice state of relaxation that remained even after I got up and started to peruse the internet, until the dog heard the garbage truck and started barking like only a terrier/hound mix can. In fact, I didn't realize how relaxed I was until I was so suddenly surprised out of that state.
I know my choice of "gratitude" for a focus word was brought on by The Little Jewess. She was angry this morning, and in a fit of typical suburban-kid rage, she screamed, "There's nothing good at my house anyway!" Now of course, being American, my child is practically drowning in stuff. And so while I was walking and trying to think about gratitude, I also started thinking about what kind of post-its I'd like to have in my life, and what would be good for my family. I thought I could make a list here and then I can start thinking about what the post-its would look like.
My biggest problem in life is Depression and Anxiety with a side order of OCD. I take meds, but some spiritual practice and regular exercise are known to help as well. So mainly, I'd like my post-its to be things that take me outside of myself while helping me care for my body.
The things I'd like to increase in my life are:
- Peace
- Gratitude
- Love
- Relaxation
- Forgiveness
- Tolerance
- Trust
- Community
I think that's enough to be going on with. Now I need a new homework assignment: something that will help me to find out what other Humanists are doing to increase these things in their lives.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Humanist Passover
This is one of those times of year when my Humanism is tested. I am keeping my house kosher for Passover (as much as I ever did) and we attended two seders. It's Easter today, and my Christian friends are posting all manner of glory on Facebook. And The Little Jewess is eight years old and when she has her cranky moments (she's just been sick and we've had a busy weekend, so they have been more frequent than usual this week) she asks me, "WHY do we have to have a seder? WHY can't I eat bread?"
So...why?
I'm really glad I had those discussions with David.
Because I think it comes down to the story. The story of Passover tells us a lot about Jewish values, and it tells us a lot about who we are as a culture.
WHY do I have to say the Four Questions?!
I think it's essential that it says in the Torah that we should tell the story when our children ask us why we celebrate the holiday. We are a culture that values the curiosity and education of children. And this is a big part of why we have flourished when some other minorities have not. Because whatever happens that uproots one generation, we make sure the next generation has the tools to succeed. In the darkest points of history, when knowledge was despised by many, Jewish children learned to read, and to count, and to think. And we're still here.
The seder is another matter. We went to the second seder because we love that part of my family. My cousin invites us every year and we have a great time. It's also not a majorly religious event--my cousin's seder takes about 20 minutes, tops, and then it's just an enjoyable afternoon (yes, afternoon--I said it wasn't majorly religious) with lovely people and good food.
The first seder we hosted. I can't let a first night go by without a seder--I'm not sure why that is. But I have been working for several years on writing my own service, and it gets more Humanist every year. This year I took out the translations of the blessings and replaced them with Humanist blessings. I'm not sure I can take out the religious parts of the Hebrew, though, because parts of my family would object. We also read the entire Passover story from Exodus, which leads to much interesting discussion. I much prefer reading the story from Exodus to the commentary which is more traditional. So many people don't know the details of the story, and we forget them from year to year. But it's our story, and we should know it well.
But why not eat bread? I certainly don't believe that we'd be cast out of the community of Israel if we eat wheat during Passover. (This blog seems like a more serious crime if we're going to be cast out.) But I sort of like the rhythm of it. That first piece of pizza I eat at the end of Passover is the second best food I eat all year (after the first bite of bagel at the end of Yom Kippur.)
Here I go again, petering out at the end of a post. The fact is, I don't know why it matters to me that I don't eat bread on Passover, but it does. Does everything I do have to make sense?
A previous post on Passover is here.
So...why?
I'm really glad I had those discussions with David.
Because I think it comes down to the story. The story of Passover tells us a lot about Jewish values, and it tells us a lot about who we are as a culture.
WHY do I have to say the Four Questions?!
I think it's essential that it says in the Torah that we should tell the story when our children ask us why we celebrate the holiday. We are a culture that values the curiosity and education of children. And this is a big part of why we have flourished when some other minorities have not. Because whatever happens that uproots one generation, we make sure the next generation has the tools to succeed. In the darkest points of history, when knowledge was despised by many, Jewish children learned to read, and to count, and to think. And we're still here.
The seder is another matter. We went to the second seder because we love that part of my family. My cousin invites us every year and we have a great time. It's also not a majorly religious event--my cousin's seder takes about 20 minutes, tops, and then it's just an enjoyable afternoon (yes, afternoon--I said it wasn't majorly religious) with lovely people and good food.
The first seder we hosted. I can't let a first night go by without a seder--I'm not sure why that is. But I have been working for several years on writing my own service, and it gets more Humanist every year. This year I took out the translations of the blessings and replaced them with Humanist blessings. I'm not sure I can take out the religious parts of the Hebrew, though, because parts of my family would object. We also read the entire Passover story from Exodus, which leads to much interesting discussion. I much prefer reading the story from Exodus to the commentary which is more traditional. So many people don't know the details of the story, and we forget them from year to year. But it's our story, and we should know it well.
But why not eat bread? I certainly don't believe that we'd be cast out of the community of Israel if we eat wheat during Passover. (This blog seems like a more serious crime if we're going to be cast out.) But I sort of like the rhythm of it. That first piece of pizza I eat at the end of Passover is the second best food I eat all year (after the first bite of bagel at the end of Yom Kippur.)
Here I go again, petering out at the end of a post. The fact is, I don't know why it matters to me that I don't eat bread on Passover, but it does. Does everything I do have to make sense?
A previous post on Passover is here.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Acting like God
SO...just when I think I've decided that Reform Judaism is for me (or at least something I can live with) and that I should stay where I am, I get an e-mail from The Little Jewess's Hebrew School teacher saying that she's teaching the children that we do good deeds to emulate God.
I think that is a stupid thing to teach. First of all, I don't want The Little Jewess to act like the God of the Hebrew Scriptures. He's got really bad manners, he's jealous, he throws tantrums and he's a bully. Second, if you tell kids that the reason they should be good is to emulate God, what happens if they stop believing? And where is the room for thought and questioning?
So I checked in with the Rabbi and she said this is definitely the new direction of Reform Judaism. She said one of her goals is "to help Jews find the language for their spirituality." I'm OK with spirituality, but I'm not at all comfortable with this kind of God talk. I don't think I'd have been comfortable with it when I believed in God (or thought I did) but that doesn't really matter because I know I don't believe in God now and that's my Little Jewess in that classroom.
And Mr. Jewess isn't happy about it either.
The search goes on...
I think that is a stupid thing to teach. First of all, I don't want The Little Jewess to act like the God of the Hebrew Scriptures. He's got really bad manners, he's jealous, he throws tantrums and he's a bully. Second, if you tell kids that the reason they should be good is to emulate God, what happens if they stop believing? And where is the room for thought and questioning?
So I checked in with the Rabbi and she said this is definitely the new direction of Reform Judaism. She said one of her goals is "to help Jews find the language for their spirituality." I'm OK with spirituality, but I'm not at all comfortable with this kind of God talk. I don't think I'd have been comfortable with it when I believed in God (or thought I did) but that doesn't really matter because I know I don't believe in God now and that's my Little Jewess in that classroom.
And Mr. Jewess isn't happy about it either.
The search goes on...
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