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It's like clearing a rockslide. It's easy to find the large rocks, and though they may be heavy, you get a sense of accomplishment with each one you get out of the way --- by rolling, by lifting, it doesn't matter. Then you get to the pebbles and it gets starts to get tedious, but you know it needs to be done. And then you get to the sand and no matter how hard or often you sweep, there's still some left behind --- so you get discouraged and wonder what's the point; maybe you've done enough, so you stop for a while.

At a meeting this week we read Psalm 23 in traditional and contemporary translations. (The latter was from Mishkan T'filah and I didn't find it online.) The leader asked us to react to it in any way we chose. After a little bit of clean-up, here is what I wrote:

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But as a consequence of all of this, I don't connect as much as I should with Rosh Hashana as the (big, singular) day of judgement. It's more like the day of the preliminary hearing. It's important, but it's not the final word. I'm more afraid of Yom Kippur than of Rosh Hashana. I'm not trying to make light of it; I'm just trying to see it in context. I know that others, while beginning their preparations earlier, can appreciate the gravity of the day better than I can now, so maybe I'll get there.

We celebrate Rosh Hashana as the birthday of the world and acknowledge it as the day of judgement. Two themes, seemingly very different but maybe not so different after all. We're all used to the annual performance review and the annual reconciling of financial accounts (and payment of taxes). These are tied to points in time. So, too, the birthday of the world seems a good day for the divine evaluation of the world's residents. (And as my associate rabbi pointed out last night, while this is a Jewish holiday, there's nothing specifically Jewish about its themes -- it's not like, say, Pesach, that commemorates an event specifically in Jewish history. We all have a share in the world and all who believe in God have to settle our accounts.)

I was thinking, last night at ma'ariv, that the day and the year have something in common. We begin the day not at the artifical hour of midnight or at the seemingly-natural time of sunrise, but rather at sunset, as twilight comes to be followed by night. At the beginning of the day things start to darken, with the most challenging or dangerous times to come in a few hours, but by the mid-point (mid-day, so to speak) things are brightening up and the day reaches a climax in light and warmth. So too with the year -- we begin it now, as autumn comes to be followed by the cold, dark winter, but we know that spring and summer are coming. (What's the mid-point of the year? Roughly Pesach.) There's even a rabbinic tradition that the first Rosh Hashana was not on the first day of creation but on the sixth, the day man was created, after which things went downhill rather quickly but will ultimately end in redemption.

Maybe that's the connection -- things seem darker now, as we are being judged and found wanting, but the coming year will grow warm again and we will too, God willing, if we take action. Either that, or I'm reading way too much into this.

My rabbi gave an excellent sermon that's hard to recap. (That's not a complaint; he is very good at sermon-craft in my humble opinion. Sermons are not mere bullet-points; they should settle in somewhat deeper.) He started (after making a connection from that day's torah reading) by talking about Rivka, who, on finding out that two nations were struggling in her womb, asked "lamah zeh anochi?" -- "why am I?" Why is she what, one might ask -- the thought seems incomplete. Or maybe it is complete, and she's asking "why bother?". From this he made a connection to other situations where we might ask "why am I?". There was a lot of good thought-fodder there.

We have a second-day service, which this year filled but did not totally pack the chapel. That's still pretty good for a Wednesday! I chanted torah (which I'd been asked to do the previous Saturday, but I did this portion last year so it was a faster prep). The other two readers read rather than chanting; I didn't know that in advance and I hope no one felt upstaged. I must remember for the future that the reading desk in the chapel is both a little too small and a little too tall, especially if the scroll is wound all the way to one end. We read B'reishit on the second day, so I read the very first verses of the torah. It was hard to see due to the physical setup. Next time I will ask for a step-stool!

Tuesday lefkowitzga joined me for lunch. We had: the standards (wine, challah, apples with honey), baked chicken with peanut sauce, roasted potatoes/carrots/onions, something green (was it broccoli?), and pizelles for dessert (maybe something else too). Drat; should have written that down sooner. Wednesday I invited some fellow congregants (including a pescetarian), and we had: the standards, starfruit, raw veggies with hummus, camembert with crackers (all that was a pre-set), and foil-poached salmon (served cold), brown rice, broccoli. Dessert was a yummy plum tart brought by a guest. I had, but forgot to serve, grapes as well. Wines were Rashi Claret (Tuesday, with leftovers Wednesday) and Rashi "white" -- not further specified, but tasty. The red was labelled "semi-sweet" so I wasn't sure how I'd like it, but it was nice. I'd drink either of these again. (My tastes usually run to pinot grigios or rieslings.)

Shabbat morning the "goofy question" was to name something we like about this season -- a piece of music, food, some aspect of liturgy, family connections, whatever. While there are many things I like, for me the big thing is that there is both the obligation and the opportunity to correct past problems. Opportunity? Yes: see, I have a lot of trouble approaching people to say "that thing I did many months ago? I'm sorry about that", not because of any issues with apologies, but more because I feel awkward -- I imagine that the other person is thinking "so why is she bringing this up now?". If I didn't spot and correct it at the time, I don't know how to go back later and fix it. Having a formalized time during the year helps with that, at least for other Jews. (Of course it doesn't really help with others.) As for the obligation, well, it's pretty easy to just keep putting things off; even with this time set aside I sometimes find myself doing that. If we didn't have the Yamim Nora'im (the days of awe, aka "high holy days" but that misses some important flavor), I'd probably never act. That would be bad. And looking around the room, I think my answer resonated with others too.

(Let me note in passing how challenging it is to write a post on this specific topic. Any mistake demonstrates something I failed to learn, y'know? But onwards...)

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The organizers arranged for Debbie Friedman to come in. She was his songleader when he was a teenager, and he's fond of both her and her music. She joined our cantorial soloist, choir, and band on Friday night, and gave a concert Saturday night. The concert (with associated sponsorships) was a fundraiser for the congregation, and from the turnout and size of the ad book it looks like it was effective. (Of course, I don't know about the costs.)

I don't know how this has been for other converts, but my education did not cover Jewish fundraising (beyond the JNF), and it's different from what I was used to before. When the letter about the ad book came, I thought "I have nothing to advertise" because I don't own a business (unlike a lot of my fellow congregants), so I didn't send anything in. There was an option for "greetings", but that didn't register. When I saw the book Saturday night I understood -- it's more like a memento (think college yearbook, perhaps). A lot of families bought display ads that said "mazel tov" or "thank you" and then just had their names, and some people wrote little testimonials. Oh drat; I would have written something if I'd had the clue that this was appropriate. My rabbi is fantastic, and is largely responsible for my being (1) a member of this congregation and (2) a Reform Jew, and if I'd known I would have praised him in print. Now that I know how this works, I feel kind of bad that I didn't do something as an individual. (The morning minyan bought an ad as a group, so I was part of that. And they listed my name on the committee even though I didn't really do anything.)

The other fundraising aspect, at least, I grokked. You could buy a concert ticket, or you could make a (specified) bigger donation and also attend the dessert reception, or you could make an even bigger donation and also attend the pre-concert "meet and greet", or you could make a big donation and also attend a private function (held a few weeks ago) with the rabbi's family. I usually avoid hoity-toity dinners and the like; I neither enjoy playing dress-up nor want that big a chunk of my donation to go toward paying for the food. (It also feels a little immodest to me -- I'm not criticizing anyone else, just talking about how it would make me feel to participate.) But the concert add-ons felt different to me; they were just little receptions, not a multi-course formal dinner and all the trappings. I actually paid more for the evening than the price of the gala dinner I wouldn't go to a few years ago, but it felt more appropriate to me. Now, it turned out to be fancy desserts and elegant appetizers and wine beforehand, but ok. It didn't trip my "ostentatious" sensor.

But all that aside -- my rabbi seemed to really enjoy the weekend, and he was clearly touched by things people said, and his parents and other family members were able to be there with him, and those are the important things.

Edited to add: let me be clear that everyone involved in the sedarim I went to acted with good will. These are good people; we just have some differences in approach that are turning out to be hard. Clear? (end edit)

The thought of "how come my Roman Catholic friend gets a more fulfilling seder than I do?", combined with a recent discussion in a locked entry, leads to this question: what is it that makes a seder fulfilling for me? What elements make me come away at the end feeling that I'd been at a good seder? (I encourage y'all to chime in.)

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