I know, I know.  Half of you are probably dismissing this claim.  I’m such a nice guy, you may be thinking. What have I been doing which has been, in anyway, prick-like behavior?

And the other half of you are probably rolling your eyes and saying: “What do you mean kind of?”

Here’s why: Recently I’ve seen some mention across the blogosphere of those who are simply addicted to their cel phones and mobile internet devices. (Here’s one well-written post on the subject.)  The notion that there are some who simply can’t go out to dinner with friends without whipping out their iPhones and Crackberries is annoying at best. I was one of those who jumped on the bandwagon in agreement with this sentiment. I truly value the face time I have with others around me. Most of the time.

Yet when I was with my son at a birthday party for one of his friends from school — at which there were many parents with whom I had a decent share of conversations, I found myself checking my email and my Twitter feed at least four times. Mind you I wasn’t doing this while someone was trying to talk with me; it was simply something to fill the gaps between conversations. But still –  I had this compulsion to be connected.

Part of the allure of Twitter has been its accessibility through portable devices.  You can quickly send out a tweet from places formerly seen to be inaccessible without a computer.  Whether you’re at an airport  in South Dakota or a weather station in Iceland or orbiting one of the moons of Jupiter — you can use Twitter to shout something “quick n’ dirty” to the world.  And chances are that you won’t get caught in the middle of those 140 characters.

Which is why there has been scrutiny about the way people have used Twitter and the potential impact such usage can have to our security and way of life. Example: Congressman Pete Hoekstra using Twitter on his trip to Baghdad which was perceived to comprimise national security.  There are certainly times and places during which using Twitter is inappropriate, but it’s a subjective call as to what those times and places may be. Twittering is kind of like farting: there are places where it’s simply not cool to do it.  But you can probably get away with it and nobody will know. At least — not until it’s already out there…

One of these taboo places in my life has been the synagogue during Shabbat (Saturday) morning services. Our rabbi is a stickler about this: the weekly announcement sheet regularly states that “God is taking all calls today – cel phones are not required!” And then more of a stern prohibition that cel phones be silenced on the synagogue grounds on the Sabbath. Not a bad rule at all — many traditional Jews abstain from using any telephones or electronics on the Sabbath; this really isn’t an environment for cel phones.  Every so often (maybe once every three months) someone’s phone will ring in the middle of the service; the deafening silence which accompanies it is enough for that person to quietly die of embarassment for a fleeting moment before switching it off for all eternity.

I leave my cel phone in the car. (Yes — the notion of using a motor vehicle on the Sabbath is also prohibited by many traditional Jews as well.)  And I’m realizing it’s probably a good thing: For me, Twitter is a means for me to spout random thoughts in the ether for everyone and anyone to hear.  What would happen if I were to do this in this community setting?

This weekend I started to think of the type of way inappropriate tweets one would see coming from a synagogue on the Sabbath:

mr_shiny: Anyone out there know what page in the prayerbook we’re on?

mr_shiny: Really? You’re actually wearing blue Crocs to synagogue? If you were seven I’d let it slide. But you have a wife and two kids!

cantorstein: Let’s get a move-on with the Torah scroll already. WALK FASTER! I’ve already gone through two rounds of Oseh Shalom Bimromav…

redseapedestrian: OMG the kid who they picked to lead Ashrei sounds like Chris from Family Guy! I wonder if I could get him to do the message on my voicemail…

shulpresident: RT @rabbishapiro Shhhhhhhhhhh!

imadeaminyan: Longest. Haftorah. Ever.

knishfan1974: They have the fancy sponge cake at kiddush! NOM NOM NOM

anothercohen: @cantorstein Amen.

Let’s face it: would you be interested in reading this crap on a Saturday morning?  Didn’t think so.  (I’m happy to explain any of the tweets above if you’d like, but — believe me — you’re not missing much humor here.) Maybe it’s all for the best that we keep our services out of the Twitterverse…

ADDENDUM: A quick Google search picked up a site at http://www.jewitter.com/. Take a look — it’s clever and far more succinct than my blog post.

Today was a very busy day — which included rehearsal of tomorrow evening’s reading of Megillat Esther (the Scroll of Esther), going to a costume shop  get the rest of the appropriate accessories (which had a massive going-out-of-business sale!), walking 3 miles roundtrip to deliver a package of Mishloach Manot (just for the exercise), and helping Avi decorate for Purim.

It’s one of my favorite holidays for many different reasons:  It’s a lot of fun. It comes at just the right time in the calendar. It has a great component for kids, as well as a hard R-rated narrative as well.  And, of course, booze.  What’s not to love?

The following video shows Av decorating the Mishloach Manot basket he’s making for his kindergarten buddy. Kind of like a “Secret Santa” type of thing. Except, of course, for the fact that Santa doesn’t make an appearance at this time of year.  You’ll see that he’s writing from right-to-left because Hebrew happens to go that way. It looks very impressive — unless, of course, you know Hebrew. In that case, it simply looks like a sloppy mess which has some resemblence to actual Hebrew letters. But for those of you who might not have those Hebrew literacy skills, just pretend that our son is a genius.

Direct YouTube Link

Chag Sameach everyone…

Direct YouTube Link

(My friend Rich is responsible for the video above — which he made for his wife long before the days of YouTube. I still find it quite impressive.)

Anyway, I’m dedicating this blog to all of your wacky questions about all things Jewish. Ask away! Are you curious as to what the deal is with those weird holidays?  Is your interest piqued when a Jewish male brags about the consistency of his “matzah balls?”   I’ll try to address every question and answer it as entertainingly as possible.

In Judaism, shiv’ah or shiva (Hebrew: שבעה ; “seven”) is the week-long period of grief and mourning for the seven first-degree relatives: father, mother, son, daughter, brother, sister, and spouse. (Grandparents and grandchildren are not included). As most regular activity is interrupted, the process of following the shiv’ah ritual is referred to as sitting shiva. Shiva is part of a suite of customs for bereavement in Judaism.

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Last night I ate sponge cake from a stranger’s table.

Let’s back up a bit: I received an email from the administrator of my synagogue’s front office this past Friday which was sent to several leaders of the congregation. There was a death in the family of one of the congregants. The funeral was held on Friday afternoon. As per Jewish tradition, shiva was to be held at the family’s home for the next few days. This usually entails the mourners (in this case, the wife and her grown children) staying at the house and receiving lots of visitors who are there to help comfort them.  The main time to congregate is surrounding a short, nightly prayer service during which time those in mourning recite a prayer called the Mourners’ Kaddish. The clergy of the synagogue both were unavailable to lead the service for Sunday evening; could someone assist and lead that service at their home on Sunday? I answered back and said that I could help out.

So — off I went this evening. To a home a few miles away. Belonging to someone I didn’t know at all.  Who was grieving for her late husband who died less than a week ago. Kind of a potentially awkward situation…

I thought back to the time about 2 1/2 years ago when we sat shiva for my mom at the home in which I grew up. It was a bit different — at that time my parents were not only members of two different synagogues, but also well-established leaders in both communities. And the folks from a third synagogue knew my dad quite well as he would frequent that congregation’s services on Thursday evenings before he went Israeli dancing.  So we had a huge outpouring of visitors throughout shiva. The place was packed every night when it was time for that service. And since all of us — my dad, my brother and me — knew how to lead the service, there wasn’t really any need for someone from the congregation to help out in that capacity.

There were loads of people from many different communities. Some of them I had known for a long time and hadn’t seen since I had graduated high school sixteen years earlier. Some of them I had met once or twice, or perhaps had heard about from my parents. Some were complete strangers to me. Others I was shocked to see there: there was one woman whom I knew through different circles from my parents as volunteers for our youth grop. She happened to stop by — as a stranger who was performing a good deed by being there with the mourners during their time of grief — not even knowing who they were. When she saw me she realized the last name and put two and two together.

And people bring food — lots of it! Or they order it to be delivered. Some would say that it’s a Jewish thing, but it’s really something shared by most ethnic groups. In this case, so many people wanted to send us a platter of food (so we didn’t have to worry about having to make something to eat) from the local Jewish market that one of their employees (who happened to be a former youth group kid of ours) had to field calls to people saying that we already had more than enough food. Yes — she was turning away sales because they were overwhelmed with people who were kind enough to help us. It was truly an amazing feeling during a really tough time for us. It made us feel that my mom — and our family — were loved and cared about by the community.

Back to last night: The door was unlocked and I saw people milling about inside already, so I slowly turned the knob and openedit, not knowing anything about the people inside. Who was Marjorie, the woman who just lost her husband?  Who were all of the other people? What did the husband die of? How old was he? All of these were uncertainties in my head as I crossed the threshhold.

A relatively cheery woman probably saw that I looked a bit lost ad introduced herself to me. She was Marjorie.  I told her my name, thinking that maybe the synagogue would have mentioned something about the service.  She responded very sweetly. “Ah, yes. Jacob’s friend. Jacob is right in there…”

“Actually, I’m hear to lead the service. I’m from the synagogue.”

To which we both had a bit of a laugh. She apologized; I appeared around the same age as her daughter and son-in-law, so she assumed that I was that Mike.  She invited me in. A few minutes later I was passing out prayer books and w got the service started.

And the service literally lasts for about 5 to 10 minutes. Most of it is recited individually in either Hebrew or English. At the end is a responsive reading of Psalm 42, which was led by Marjorie. The living room and foyer were packed with family and friends, many of whom were reciting the Mourners’ Kaddish along with Marjorie.

And then that was it. Marjorie thanked everyone terafully, saying that this has been such a difficult time for her and that it was good to have people around. She invited people to stay, talk, eat.

I didn’t stay too long — just that one piece of sponge cake. But I did see pictures that were displayed of their family — a very happy family through and through to the end when Marjorie’s husband finally succumbed to the cancer he was fighting. There was a picture o them on a beach — dated December 31, 2008. They all looked happy and full of life.

I mentioned this to Marjorie on the way out.  That although I didn’t know them at all before this evening, it was pretty obvious why so many family and friends joined them that evening. And she thanked me again for leading that service — for ten minutes of my time that simply could have been incredibly awkward.

I don’t consider what I did all that special. I know a bit of Hebrew, I know the basics of the service, I have a loud, projected voice and I can carry a tune when needed.  It’s times like these that I feel that it’s nice to have these skills.

If anything, they help me with these situations which often I dread the most.

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Shiny will return with something a hell of a lot funnier tomorrow. Promise.

If you know my last name, you know that it’s unmistakeably Jewish. My Dad is from Brooklyn. My parents brought their two kids up in a very positive Jewish environment where we were active in our synagogue.  My brother and I attended a Jewish day school, Jewish summer camp and were active in Jewish youth groups. We even found our own Jewish communities in college — and both of us spent time working in Jewish communal professional positions thereafter. When my hair is long enough I’ve got the “Jew-fro” thing going on. I’ve been to Israel three times. I think Jon Stewart is pretty amazing, Pat Robertson scares the shit out of me, and I know a guy who knows a guy who can get you fine, retail merchandise at great, wholesale prices. I speak Hebrew, love onion bagels, and get proud of the fact that someone like Ron Jeremy, of all people, is also a Member of the Tribe.

Now that we’ve got my credentials out of the way…

Over the past few days, some of you may have read some heated discussions on blogs and on Twitter regarding sending Christmas cards or simply expressing Christmas greetings to people who do not celebrate the holiday — in one case, it was another Jewish person expressing her opinion on the subject.  She brought up a very solid point which, in my opinion, was lost in the barbs and drama of the verbal rumble: There are some traditional Jews who may get offended when they receive Christmas cards. I certainly don’t think this applies to everyone who identifies as Jewish, and I also think that there’s quite a bit of gray area regarding context of the expressed Christmas sentiments. In certain circumstances, I think it’s quite rational to be offended by such things.

Let me tell you about the time I received a Christmas card in the mail and was highly offended:

It was December of 1997. I had been working as a program professional on the University of North Carolina campus for an organization called Hillel. For those of you who are unfamiliar, think of it as a Jewish student resource center who provides support and programming on religious and cultural levels. It was my first time living in an area without an overwhelmingly large Jewish population. I had just spent a year working with the Jewish community at Princeton University. Not exactly a huge Jewish population, but it was, after all, New Jersey.  A far cry from North Carolina, where (at the time) Jewish students made up a tiny fraction of the entire campus population.

We had wonderful relationships with the other religious and cultural organizations on campus. We were an integral part of the umbrella group which oversaw all of the campus ministries. I became very good friends, in fact, with the Presbyterian minister. We were all on each other’s mailing lists. We knew about each other’s events and sent invitations out. And when Christmas came along, we would receive a whole bunch of Christmas cards from those working in these organizations. They were all very kind-spirited and happy — expressing warmth and friendship.

I enjoyed getting these cards. They weren’t a means to shove someone else’s religion down my throat; rather, they were a way of expressing someone else’s traditions during a very happy holiday. I found nothing wrong with it.

My beef was with someone not affiliated with our Campus Ministry association –  a woman who had her own following of students and faculty as an independent minister in the campus community. Let’s call her Samantha.  She was very friendly and outgoing. But, at the same time, she was very demanding and not, in any way, afraid to speak her mind about her religious beliefs — even in inappropriate settings.  In my position, I had learned to be as universal and all-encompassing as possible, able to listen to the beliefs of others and hoping that they felt comfortable talking with me without feeling the threat of intrusiveness. Samantha did not take the same approach — reminding me, at campus functions where we would see each other and attempt to remain cordial, that I was doing the whole religion thing wrong. That it was a shame that I had been “brainwashed” by my parents to believe in something which didn’t jive with her beliefs.  I was still young and playing the nice guy role — I should have been more assertive and let her know that what she was doing, on a constant basis, felt like nagging and made me feel less than comfortable.

When I got a Christmas card from Samantha — it was very creepy. And condescending. The motive behind it was part of a pattern — that the way I was living my life and choosing my belief system was totally wrong. And it was perfectly fine that she had this belief. What wasn’t was the constant badgering to try to recruit me to her side.

It’s certainly not the motive of the overwhelming majority of people who send Christmas cards. However, I feel that I was justified in being offended by it. And by her constant patronizing blabbering about how much she and God love me and how much she just wants to make sure I’m on board for eternal salvation.

So — what did I do when I received the card? I rolled my eyes. Planned my revenge — a card of my own back to her! Maybe a “return to sender” on the envelope! A bag of flaming poo on her doorstep! In the shape of a nativity scene!

And after two minutes of that? I was done. I threw away the card and went on with my life.

(And then I blogged about it a decade later.)

I continue to receive Christmas cards quite often. And why not? Some of them are generic from organizations I support or vendors of services which I consume. We have friends who take adorable pictures every year and care to share this tradition and their greetings with my family. Do I expect them to hit the printers with an entirely different template without a Christmas greeting asto not offend? Of course not. I don’t even mind if they don’t cross out “Merry Christmas” and replace it with a creative spelling of “Happy Hanukah*.”

And let’s bring that holiday up for a moment: Hanukkah is not the “Jewish Christmas.” Nor is Christmas the “Christian Chanukah.”  It happens to be a relatively minor, eight-night holiday which falls at the end of the month of Kislev – a Jewish month that usually begins in November or December. Because of the way the Jewish calendar works, Chanukka may begin as early as Thanksgiving weekend or as late as a few days after Christmas. (This year happens to be one of those where Christmas will fall on Hannukkah — or vice versa.)  During certain years on Christmas eve, I hear some people tyrying to be sensitive to my beliefs by wishing me a Happy Chanukah — even though the holiday has long since gone.  It’s a bit disconcerting to hear false assumptions like that being made.  But hey — at least an effort is being made, right?

But with all that — it’s still quite a minor holiday. It’s not analogous to Christmas. It just happens to fall around the same time. The presents and the cool gambling game for children came much, much later — mostly as a reaction to Christmas being celebrated by, at the time, the majority of the Western world.

I know where I live. I’m in a country which is overwhelmingly populated by those who celebrate Christmas in one form or another. Some of them are Christians, some of them are not. We’re not fooling anyone when we suddenly change the name to a “holiday tree” or “seasonal ornaments.”  They’re about Christmas. The modern observation of Christmas (which may or may not have been gleaned by pre-Christian traditions, depending on who you ask). And that’s fine, too.  I love Christmas. I love the lights up on my neighbors’ homes. I even love some of the music. Tinsel is cool. And so are form-fitting santa suits on busty lingerie models. What’s not to love?

But I love it all as a spectator. (Except, perhaps, for the busty models part.) And that’s good enough for me. If I don’t join in, it doesn’t mean that I’m devoid of good cheer. It doesn’t mean that I’m mean-spirited if you don’t get a Christmas card from me. I’ll be like the grandma who takes her kids to the park: I’ll just sit here and be happy watching you celebrate. And get loopy off arthritis medication.

You know — people equate Hanukah with that one dreidel song. Which is sad, really: there are so many more songs which encompass the Chanuka spirit. The following is — well, it’s just another dreidel song. But it’s very cool. And apparently it’s performed by some members of Incubus. Have a listen:

Direct YouTube Link

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* It’s a Hebrew word. There is no correct English spelling. If you feel inclined to write it in Hebrew, it’s חנוכה .

This evening* was the end of the Jewish holiday of Simchat Torah, one of my favorite holidays.  It’s not extremely obscure — especially on college campuses — because it’s a very joyous holiday which, for some, has become a great excuse for excessive drinking. You see, we Jews read a portion of the Torah (first five books of Hebrew scripture) on a weekly basis throughout the year, doing so from a very long scroll wrapped around two pillars, one on each end.  Simchat Torah is when we read the very last portion of the Torah and then rewind all the way to the beginning again.  And because we finish the entire scroll, it’s a perfect excuse for a party. I had a lot of fun this holiday — even though I didn’t touch a drop of alcohol. I assume others took care of that facet of the holiday for me.

The day before Simchat Torah is another holiday called Shmini Atzeret. There isn’t nearly as much of a drinking component to Shmini Atzeret, so it’s less well-known among alcoholic communities.  The literal translation of the holiday is “eighth (day) of gathering.”  You see, it immediately follows a seven day holiday called Sukkot where Jews build these hut-type things in their yards and eat in them (and sometimes sleep in them). And, as prescribed Biblically, there’s this eighth day holiday that you’re supposed to observe seperately from the other seven. But it’s still a holiday in its own right. Oh – and you pray for rain because now begins the agriculturally rainy season in Israel.

It’s really, really, really not very well-known. Kids don’t learn songs about Shmini Atzeret in Hebrew school because there aren’t any.  But it’s important enough that the City of New York suspends alternate side of the street parking rules on it.  Suck on it, Hannukah;  New York City is business as usual on your festival of lights. Ha!

The thing is — Judaism lumps a lot of its holidays right up front in the first month (which usually falls around September/October). And since the most important ones come first, many people get holiday burnout for anything else that comes right after it.  So many of these holidays just slip right under the radar. To be honest, most of the holidays really get ignored — because all the excitement occurs right in the first five minutes of the season! Kind of like NBC’s My Own Worst Enemy. But I digress…

So – here is today’s list. You’re gonna get schooled in Judaism once again. Trivial Judaism that most Jews don’t already know.  I’m sure you’ll find something useful to do with all of this information…

Top 6 Favorite Obscure Jewish Holidays

6. Shmini Atzeret. See above.  New York City does the think with the parking because it’s one of those holidays where, per the Torah, it’s forbidden to work (Numbers 29:35), which includes moving one’s car across the street.  Shmini Atzeret has a bit of an identity crisis — since it’s called the eighth day but is specifically not associated with the other seven days, people try to intentionally separate it from those other seven days by saying that the traditions of the other seven days are expressly prohibited on the eighth day.  But since it’s sort-of-but-not-really the last day of a pilgriage holiday, the Yikzor memorial prayer is recited where people remember their immediate relatives who have died.   And there’s also the prayer for rain.

5. Hoshana Rabba - this holiday actually happens the day before Shimini Alzeret. It’s the seventh day of the holiday of Sukkot, but instead of having that ambiguous relationship, it’s allowed the be part of the Sukkot family. All of the rituals of Sukkot apply and then some.

Hoshana Rabba is what happens when you’ve got a very important take-home exam that will make or break your grade and you have the balls to ask the teacher for an eleven day extension on it. Yes, Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement) which is thought to be the holiest day of the Jewish calendar appears a week and a half earlier — and is supposed to be that yearly judgement day.  Hoshana Rabba is us pleading to God to save us even further. It’s a late development in Judaism (there is no reference to it in the Torah itself) but there are a lot of added prayers and rituals which take place — one of which is to take a willow branch and totally bang it on any hard surface so all of the leaves come off.  It really makes a hell of a mess. Fortunately, vaccuuming is not prohibited on Hoshana Rabba. (But it is prohibited on Shmini Atzeret.)

4. Fast of Gedaliah. About 2600 years ago the Judean kingdom was overthrown by Nebuchadnezzar, the king of Babylonia. Jerusalem and the Jewish temple were destroyed. Nebuchadnezzar appointed a Judean guy named Gedaliah to serve as a governor for that area.  He was in the midst of getting things built back up again until, as part of a power-play, he was assasinated by one of his own.  The anniversary of his death is commemorated as the Fast of Gedaliah, a day where one does not eat or drink from sunrise to sundown.

The thing is — this day happens to be immediately after Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. And it pales in comparison. Besides — there’s a fast day only one week later and it happens to be on — oh, I don’t know, the most important day of the Jewish calendar? If you have front row seats to see The Who and The Rolling Stones within two weeks of each other, are you really going to waste your time seeing Chumbawumba in concert between them?

3. Lag b’Omer. I covered this a bit in this blog entry back in May; it’s the thirty-third day of the 49 day period between the holidays of Passover and Shavuot. These forty-nine days are often thought of as a time of mourning; it is said that after the destruction of the second Temple in Jerusalem many scholars and students were killed throughout this seven week period of time.

Except for the thirty-third day when, apparently, nobody died. Hells yeah! Let’s make a holiday out of it!  Since it’s traditional to let one’s hair grow during times of mourning, Lag b’Omer often turns into a day of mass haircuts.  In fact, some in the more traditional communities will refrain from giving their boys a haircut until age three. Well — if those boys happen to have a birthday which falls within the first 32 days of this period of time, they can’t get their haircuts.  So — a big party is held on day #33 and lots of little kids who look like miniature versions of Robert Plant get haircuts.  Kind of scary, actually…

Oh! And because of a military stronghold victory commemorated on that day, kids are encouraged to play with bows and arrows. Near campfires.  W00t!

2. Tu b’Av. This one means “the fifteenth day of the month of Av.” It’s an extremely minor holiday because (a) it falls during the summer when kids aren’t attending Hebrew school and thus not learning about it; (b) there aren’t any fun, family-friendly activities and (c) in modern times it’s recognized by the omission of a daily prayer that’s omitted  for pretty much a third of the year anyway.

I like to call it the “sporting wood” holiday. That’s because it was the holiday that commemorated the wood offering sacrifice at the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. The sporting wood reference probably has nothing to do with the ancient custom of, on this day, all the unmarried women dressing up in white clothes to sing and dance in the vineyards surrounding Jerusalem. (I simply can’t make this stuff up. Wikipedia can back me up on this.)

So — yay for wood!

1. Asarah b’Tevet. This is a holiday which literally means the tenth day of the month of Tevet. It’s the anniversary of the day 2600 or so years ago that the city of Jerusalem was besieged by the Babylonians, thus resulting in the fall of Judea.  It’s a minor fast day. (No food or drink from sunrise to sundown.)

Asarah b’Tevet usually falls in the winter season. This year it will be January; in past years it’s been in mid-December.

Why is this number one on my list? You’ll see as the time gets closer. If you can’t wait that long, you can read this blog post from 2005. And yes — I’ll be sure to continue the campaign to make this season the Asarah b’Tevet-ist season of ‘em all. You just watch…

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* Per my denomination of Judaism, today was the end of the holiday. Those who practice Judaism in Israel and those who subscribe to a denomination which follows practicing the schedule of holidays as they do in Israel ended the holiday on Tuesday evening instead.

She died on Wednesday after a long illness.  The funeral arrangements were announced verbally at work on Thursday, but that was my day off. An email announcement about the viewing and the funeral came out on Friday after I (and many others) went home for the day. I didn’t know how many others from work would go (and take off a bit early from work), but I knew that it was important that I show up.  I had one co-worker show up at my mom’s funeral two years ago, and it really meant a lot to me.

So I showed up in my suit — minus a jacket (which I kept in the car) and a tie (which I put on before I left for the day). We have a casual dress policy at work, which comes in handy if you’re trying to raise the blood pressure of management by coming in looking sharp — and keeping them guessing if it’s for a job interview at lunch or not.  I did notice, however, that I was the only one dressed up on this 95 degree day.

I asked my co-workers if they were planning on going. Most of them thought about it, but realized that with so many people wanting to go it would leave the office rather thin of employees. So they decided to stay back and let everyone else go.

I turned out to be the only one there from work.

And it was a bit different for me — I had never been to a funeral outside of the Jewish tradition, much less a funeral for a pillar in the local Pakistani Christian community. Actually, it was very similar to a Jewish funeral where there is some singing in Hebrew and speaking in Hebrew and English.  Here it was similar — the opening and closing hymns were Urdu, and the speaking was in English. The main difference, however, was the musical accompaniment. The amazing percussion and melodies were just — well, beautiful. Uplifting, even. As the congregation sang Geet 53 with accompaniment, I was able to pick up the tune rather quickly.  Same thing with the closing Hymn, Zaboor 16.  I quietly asked the person sitting next to me about it and, sure enough, it was Psalm 16! The tune, however, was simply wonderful.

Which gave me an idea: I’ve started to listen to Zaboor 16 online (and will continue to do so with some help from my co-worker).  I want to adapt the tune to the Hebrew version of the same Psalm.  There simply aren’t enough Hebrew-Pakistani musical crossovers around, and I think there’s room to rectify this.

There are many differences between a Jewish funeral and a Christian one — including but not exclusive to — the type of casket (Jewish funerals use an ordinary pine box), the position of the lid (closed in Jewish funerals), and decorative flowers (none in Jewish funerals).  I felt the focus was different as well: here there was a focus on the earth body as a temporary vessel and the spirit being transported to Heaven  where we’ll reunite with her again. The Jewish funeral experiences I’ve had focus on the here-and- now and the memories that live on.  There isn’t a mention of an afterlife.

And you know what? Perhaps it’s comfort zone, ut I’m okay with it.

I linked to a more formal definition of Yizkor above, but I’ll also give you my own spin on it: four times a year (which coincide with the main pilgrimage holidays on the Jewish calendar) there is a special prayer service which is added into the regular liturgy for that day. Yizkor, which literally means “will remember,” is about just that — remembering those immediate family members and friends who have died.  It’s a very brief service which spans a couple of pages, and it comes right in the middle of the regular service.  It consists of a few psalms (including the ever-so-popular Psalm 23), several individual devotions, and a main prayer with a haunting melody.  Oh, and the Mourner’s Kaddish at the end.

I’m not as observant a Jew as I could be, so while others chose to take the holiday of Shavuot off completely (yesterday and today), I had to make a decision as to what I should do with my precious few annual leave days. I chose to do something I had done over the past two years since my mother’s death — which is to come to work dressed for synagogue, take a few hours off in the middle of the day, drive to a nearby synagogue (not my own, but one where I know several folks including the rabbi), join the service already in progress (including Yizkor), stay until the end, grab some lunch on the way back, and return to work.  It’s less time off, more of a meaningful experience for me, and coronaries for my management team who gets to see me dressed in a nice suit and leaving for “an appointment” in the middle of the day. It’s fun to watch them until they realize that it’s likely one of Shiny’s wacky Jewish holidays again and not a job interview.

Today was pretty much the same with a few differences. First of all — no suit. Not even a tie. Just a nice shirt and khakis on a day which called for a heat index of 102. But still nicer than what I usually wear.

Second, I left my office with what I thought was plenty of time to get there. Last year at a similar service for the holiday of Sukkot, Yizkor began at about 11:15. I was there by 10:50 this time.

Yizkor, however, had ended at 10:45 apparently. I noticed this when I found some other congregants trickling out while I was going in.  When I heard the part of the service they were on when I went through the front door, I had realized right away that I had just missed Yizkor.  I had completely blown it.  The entire service was moving ahead of schedule, ending at 11:15.

To his credit, the rabbi was watching out for me. One minute after I entered the sanctuary, I was greeted by a woman who whispered to me that the rabbi was concerned that I had missed Yizkor, and that I could “make it up” by reciting some of these passages individually and joining in with the Mourner’s Kaddish at the end of the service, usually reserved for those who are mourning someone more recently departed or observing the anniversary of one’s death.   I did this.  My eyes welled up with tears (as they usually do during Yizkor) when I got to the individual recitation about remembering my Mom.  I recited the main prayer, El Malei Rachamim, to myself in tune — a prayer I’ve chanted for hundreds of people at services in the past.

It wasn’t the same. I had missed it.

It feels a bit stupid writing about it. It’s as if I’m describing a window to my mother’s memory which opens only four times a year.  And this year it opened and closed a bit too early.  I’m well aware that my memories of her are not restricted to a specific day or time. So — why did the notion of me missing this sting so badly?

There’s a custom regarding Yizkor in many congregations. Immediately before this mini-service begins, there’s a mass exodus of people from the room. Why? Because some felt that it was in poor taste to be in the room for Yizkor if you weren’t obligated to say it.  So people (and most kids) would leave en masse  and return once the all-clear was given.

However, that custom didn’t apply to my family — because of my Mom.  She was a strong proponent of staying in the room to be the support for those who were remembering a parent, or a spouse, or a sibling or a child.  It always disappointed me because I couldn’t step outside with the other kids. And I wasn’t even supporting my parents — whose own parents died when I was well into my twenties.   It was in that room where I saw the camaraderie of people who took this time to concentrate on remembering together. It was where I saw the tears of strong, burly men a generation older than my own dad.  It was a safe space, in a way. A place where you could look around and just not feel alone.

I missed it this time around.

I’m sorry, Mom — I know how much you valued being there for others during this time. And now, as one of those remembering myself, I can see why.

I’ll do my best to be there next time.  On time.

We (Avi, socKs and me) spent the weekend at a camp in the Catoctin Mountains in Northern Maryland. We were volunteering as staff for a youth group convention — the very Jewish youth group in which both of us were involved as teens (albeit we lived in different areas). So our time was spent with about 170 high school students and a few dozen other adults. And we had an amazing time. (We’re weird that way.)

While there’s plenty of free time for the kids to hang out, a lot of the four-day convention was structured with activities — including, as always, an informal educational theme. One of my responsibilities was to lead a series of discussions on the topic at hand for a group of about 14 kids, all in eleventh grade. The kids groan and grumble about having to attend these sessions, but they’re great kids in general, and they end up participating enthusastically.

This year our discussions focused around the concept of acceptance within a community — a topic to which the kids really could relate. As with any peer group among teens, this specific youth group has had its share of being seen as exclusive and clique-y, while many who have been involved attest to its openness and inclusiveness. Questions were raised about the nature of the group in general. Historical (Biblical) examples were used regarding making new people feel welcome. Kids even analyzed specific quotes from “Mean Girls” and related them to their own experiences within their communities — whether it was this youth group, school, family, a sports team, or another place in which these kids were involved. It was nice to see different vantage points as these kids came together from different areas in the mid-Atlantic region. They were talking about peer-pressure, acceptance, fitting in, and group dynamics.

On Sunday things got even more serious.

We spent a good deal of time reading an op-ed piece about Megan Meier, the 13 year-old girl who committed suicide in 2007 after allegedly being traumatized through cyber-bullying. It was discovered that the mother of one of Megan’s peers was involved in certain acts of deception which led to the cyber-bullying; she was indicted by a federal jury a few weeks ago.

This struck a chord with many of the kids in my group. It was an interesting conversation to see them have among themselves: almost all of them felt that the events that transpired could have feasibly happened within their own peer groups. They mostly knew how easily a false profile could be invented, but they also said that they would probably feel betrayed if they were duped by someone masquerading as someone else online. (Most of these kids, by the way, have opted to be on Facebook rather than MySpace — some of them mentioned feeling more comfortable with more privacy options on Facebook.)

When I mentioned that charges had been brought against the mother of one of Megan’s peers, almost everyone demanded to know why the other kids weren’t punished for their roles in the bullying. They held these kids responsible for Megan’s final actions which resulted in her death.

I didn’t want this to turn into a lengthy legal discussion with the kids (especially since I’m not a lawyer) but rather one of ethics and responsibility. We discussed how easy it can be to look at a bullying situation and sit idly by rather than stand up and attempt to do the right thing. I don’t know if our discussion prompted any action by these kids, but I’m pretty sure that, if faced with a similar situation, it will bring them our of their comfort zones for a bit. Maybe that will affect change.

I didn’t discuss my own feelings about the case. I’m furious that a parent would feel justified to be party to such actions alongside her daughter for the sole purpose of demeaning another child. However, I don’t think she was responsible for Megan’s death.

In fact, I strongly believe that Megan was the only one truly responsible for her own death in this case. Call me barbaric; it’s just how I feel.

Do I condone the actions of her peers and the sick, sick adult who bullied her? No. Not in the least. I also don’t feel that it was as easy as her just wearing a thick skin and ignoring the scathing messages hurled her way. For any of us who have survived bullying based on any of our qualities being different, we know that words hurt. And that people can be extremely cruel without realizing how much pain can be inflicted. And we all have had our own coping methods — some of which are social acceptable and some of which aren’t.

The events were cruel to Megan. As I mentioned to my discussion group in a toungue-in-cheek manner, perhaps she took this rather had because she was the one, unique 13-year old girl with body-image issues. But she made a decision — albeit an impulsive one — after a screaming match with her parents about what had transpired on MySpace.

Blaming her death on a malicious adult who participated in a sick joke would be as justified as blaming Megan’s parents for leaving her alone in her room while she was so upset. Nobody expected the suicide to happen. Nobody wanted it to happen. If there was a way for any of the players involved to change something — anything — about what transpired, I’m sure s/he would have done so.

It’s a controversial opinion regarding a controversial issue. And I’m glad I was able to get these kids to think about it.

What do you think?

First things first: Thanks to all of you who have been reading my blog and replying to it. I apologize profusely for not answering comments in a timely fashion; things have simply been extremely busy. But I will answer all of you. It may take a bit of time, but it shall be done.

Let me begin by quoting an excerpt from Leviticus chapter 23, verses 15-16:

וּסְפַרְתֶּם לָכֶם, מִמָּחֳרַת הַשַּׁבָּת, מִיּוֹם הֲבִיאֲכֶם, אֶת-עֹמֶר הַתְּנוּפָה: שֶׁבַע שַׁבָּתוֹת, תְּמִימֹת תִּהְיֶינָה
עַד מִמָּחֳרַת הַשַּׁבָּת הַשְּׁבִיעִת, תִּסְפְּרוּ חֲמִשִּׁים יוֹם

What does that all mean? Don’t ask me; I only translate from English to Hebrew! But here’s the gist: You will count from the second night [of Passover] sheaves of a specific kind of barley — for seven weeks you’ll be doing this until after the last day of those seven weeks, which will be counted as fifty days.

So — this is exactly what happens in traditional circles: we count the forty-nine days from the second day of Passover. Day number 50 is Shavuot, a holiday sometimes described at Pentecost (Pente = 50) which commemorates Moses receiving the Torah from Mount Sinai. Instead of offering up barley as a sacrifice, however, people just count.

Anyway — today is day number 33 of that counting. It’s commemorated through a holiday called LaG b’Omer which means, quite lietrally, “the thirty-third day of the Omer.” (Are we not a predictable people?) You can Wikipedia the phrase and see some of the wacky traditions of the holiday which include giving young kids toy bows and arrows to play with. Fun and dangerous — the ultimate combination of child-rearing!

To commemorate this day, I present some more hilarity through ritual as I present this list. Keep in mind that not all of these are followed by all Jewish people; some customs have been phased out and some are specifically regional. But they’re all just… well, weird. I apologize that I’ve only included five; I’m just in a bit of a hurry today…

Shiny’s Top 5 Wacky Jewish Religious Traditions

5. Tashlich – throwing bread into a moving body of water to represent throwing away transgressions

I actually like this one a hell of a lot better that #1. (Don’t peek yet!) It happens on the Jewish New Year: We think about the things we did wrong, and in order to be better people next year, we symbolize our drive to improve ourselves by thinking of our sins and chucking them into the water. Hey — ducks need carbs, too!

(As with all of these — feel free to Google or Wikipedia certain words such as “Tashlich” for more information.)

4. Covering the Challah Bread while reciting the blessing over the wine

This is a regular ritual: Before a traditional Sabbath or holiday meal, a cup of wine is poured and a benediction is recited over it. Then a similar benediction is recited over bread, the staple of a mean.

But the wine always comes first. It’s a controversial decision, but that’s the way it is.

So — (and I swear I’m not making this up) we cover the bread during the blessing over the wine so the bread doesn’t get jealous that it doesn’t have first dibs at the blessing! Look it up if you don’t believe me. Personally, I think it’s a marketing ploy by the folks who manufacture challah bread covers…

3. Getting so drunk on Purim to the extent that you can no longer distinguish between good and evil.

Purim is a holiday celebrating a victory of the Jewish people whose lives were spared from extermination about 2400 years ago in the Persian empire. The king of Persia at the time, Achashverosh, was a big partier. Everything seemed to revolve around alcohol, so it gets infused here as well. And, literally, the Talmud says to drink until you don’t know the difference between the hero of the story and the villain of the story. There have been many schools of thought as to how drunk that would be… (Check Wikipedia for more about Purim.)

2. Tu b’Av

This is a holiday in the middle of the summer — the meaning of “Tu b’Av” is, literally, “the fifteenth of the month of Av.” That’s most of what we know about it.

From Wikipedia:

According to the Talmud (tractate Ta’anit, 30b-31a), Tu B’Av was a joyous holiday in the days of the Temple in Jerusalem: Unmarried girls would dress in simple white clothing (so that rich could not be distinguished from poor) and go out to sing and dance in the vineyards surrounding Jerusalem.

So — it was literally girls going all out big pimpin’. Except not. Because, well, simple white clothing. Anyway — weird…

1. Kapparos

(CAUTION: Read below before playing. Not pretty.)

Some follow a tradition that, before Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement). a live chicken is purchased and is waved over the heads of a person’s family or community, thus helping to absolve them of any sins of greed before the holiday. The sins are allegedly transferred to the chicken, which is then slaughtered and donated to the poor. Even those in the more traditional communities have deemed this to be controversial. Some have opted to use a sack of money instead and then donate it to charity in the same way.

I have never participated in this ritual.

Well, that’s enough for me. I’m off to a weekend in the beautiful Catoctin Mountains (pretty close to Camp David) with no internet, no twitter, and only intermittent cel phone reception. I’ll be back on Monday — and will likely be even more behind on my comments.

Have a wonderful weekend…