Sunday evening our associate rabbi gave a sermon (video link) on how we use words to include or exclude. Readers of this journal will recognize the talmudic tale she includes. (So will lots of other people; it's kind of famous.) It's easy for discourses on this topic to be pat bordering on dismissive of real human complexities, but this talk was more nuanced. When she posts a text copy I'll add a link, but for now all I have is a video (~20 minutes).

Monday morning our senior rabbi spoke about pachad, deep fear (video link, ~21 minutes; text). I'm not going to try to summarize it.

I chanted torah on the second day. I didn't realize it was being streamed/recorded until somebody told me on Shabbat. Since it was, I'll share video evidence for anybody who wants to know what I'm talking about when I talk about chanting torah. (That's high-holy-day trop or cantillation, which is different from how we chant on Shabbat.) I decided fairly late to do my own translation from the scroll; by default my rabbi would have read it out of the book. It's not a hard translation, but word order is different between Hebrew and English, which is why there are some brief pauses in places you might not expect just knowing the English. (Also, I never really did settle on a good English word for rakiah; I've heard several.)

Simchat Torah went well for me this year. I felt more included than in past years; our rabbis are doing a better job of making it not just about kids. There was still a lot of kid stuff, but this non-parent adult did not feel as alienated as at some times in the past.

Friday night (we follow the Israeli calendar, so Friday rather than Saturday) was pretty packed, and also pretty rowdy because of a large number of kids. There wasn't a lot of actual dancing with the torah, but that's normal for my congregation and people had a good time regardless. Everyone who wanted got multiple chances at carrying either a torah scroll (adults who felt up to it), a scroll of the prophets (adults who wanted something lighter), or one of the small stuffed torah toys (kids). There was a lot of singing.

On Simchat Torah everyone who wants one gets an aliya. We do four, two at the end of D'varim and two at the beginning of B'reishit. (I don't know if that's the usual number, though those are the usual readings -- finishing and starting again being the whole point.) The way my rabbi makes sure everyone gets an aliya is to divide it up by birthdays in batches of three months. That works.

We had previously agreed that I would read (well, chant) the beginning of B'reishit. I had wondered how this would work -- if my rabbi did D'varim and then I did one aliya in B'reishit and then my rabbi did the last one, wouldn't that look a little funny? (I had offered to do as much of B'reishit as he wanted; I'm doing the whole thing next week for Shabbat.) Not to worry, though -- it turned out we had all three rabbis there, so each rabbi and I took one aliya. I really liked hearing from all three of them; one of them is very rarely on the pulpit. (His focus is education.)

My birthday was in the last batch, so after I finished reading I stayed up there for an aliya. So my rabbi handed me the other sefer torah to hold. (I don't know who was holding it before -- possibly the rabbi who was about to read.) None of the rabbis seemed interested in taking it back afterwards, so instead of going back to the congregation I (at the urging of the third rabbi) stayed up there for the conclusion of the torah service. Standing in front of the ark with all three of our rabbis felt indescribably special.

Saturday morning the crowd was smaller and mostly adults. It was also fun, with lower decibel levels. :-) I read again -- possibly a little better, as the previous night I had learned that with that scroll and that desk and a portion that (of course) starts at the top of a column, I couldn't get close enough to see well for the first several lines. (I pulled more of that torah reading out of my head than is, strictly speaking, proper.) After the service Friday night I found out where they keep a small stepstool -- ah, much better!

We have a beit midrash after services on the second Saturday of each month, and the rabbi in charge saw no reason to change that just because it's Simchat Torah. So we had a nice little study session around some midrash about the death of Moshe and his numerous appeals to God (and the angels, and the sun and the moon, and...) to get to go into the land. I'd heard some of this before but not all of it. Interesting stuff.

And thus ends the marathon of fall holidays.

I chanted torah and gave the d'var torah yesterday. (I'll post the d'var separately.) I read the Akeidah, the binding of Yitzchak, which is a challenging passage.

The text itself is pretty sparse: God decides to test Avraham, telling him to offer up his son Yitzchak as a burnt offering in a land some distance away. Avraham gets up in the morning, gathers what he'll need, and heads off with Yitzchak and two servant-boys. Three days pass and then they arrive. Avraham tells the servants "wait here and we'll return". Avraham and Yitzchak head up together, and Yitzchak asks "err, dad, where's the lamb?" and Avraham dodges. Avraham builds an altar and binds Yitzchak on it, and just as he's about to slaughter his son an angel cries out "stop!". Avraham sees a ram and offers it instead. The angel then tells Avraham that he'll be rewarded through his descendants -- they'll be as numerous as the stars or as grains of sand on the shore, they'll possess the gates of their foes, and everyone will be blessed through them. Avraham then heads back to the servants (Yitzchak is not mentioned) and they leave for Be'er Sheva, where Avraham will live.

It says somewhere in the talmud that a sage who can't find 150 reasons for a beetle to be kosher is no sage at all. I don't have 150 interpretations of the Akeidah, but I can see more than one. Here's the one I brought out in my chanting:

God gives this command. Avraham reluctantly heads off to comply; God gives him three days to stew over it (either to be sure or to bail). Yitzchak questions him and, with tears in his eyes, he says "God's in charge". Once they arrive and things are set in motion, though, Avraham's approach changes: it's like pulling the big sticky bandage off your skin; you can try to do it slowly and make things worse, or you can just grit your teeth and yank. I read it as Avraham gritting his teeth and trying to get it over with, which is why the angel had to rush in (calling from heaven instead of arriving) and had to call Avraham's name twice. After a tense moment, Avraham snaps out of it and says "yes?". For the first time Avraham looks up and sees the ram, which he offers up in place of his son, while Yitzchak sits by, stunned. The angel gives his promise, Yitzchak bolts, and Avraham returns alone, knowing he can't go home to his wife now.

Last time I read it I read it differently, and presumably next time will be different too. Torah is like that.

Even though I made some mistakes and had to be corrected, I think this went pretty well and I got lots of compliments. People appreciated the effort I put into reading it interpretively. (They didn't have the text in front of them, so I gave a summary and some keywords to listen for in advance.) I'd like to be able to share that reading with interested friends, though I'm not sure how to do that usefully for folks not fluent in Hebrew. If I produced an audio file, is there an easy way to turn it into a video with "subtitles" timed to the chanting?

We had a visiting rabbi this morning. (Not known in advance and not official; this was a relative of a member of the minyan.) I noticed that she was very quietly chanting along with me. Alas, she and her family left right after the service, so I didn't get a chance to talk with her. It did strike me that, usually accidentally, the more-knowledgeable-than-most-laypeople visitors tend to show up disproportionately on my weeks. Hmm. (It's not always accidental; there was one time we were having a visiting cantor who declined the offer to chant the portion, and consensus was that I was the congregant least likely to freak.)

The "H" in "NHC" stands for "havurah" [sic :-) ], which suggests a certain style of prayer: participatory, musical, casual. (I don't know if it's fair to equate chavurah with the Renewal movement, but there's clearly overlap.) The institute actually had a variety of services, and some of what I found surprised me.

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Overheard from a Diablo game: "...as long as you resurrect faster than they heal..." Um, yeah. :-)

I didn't know about the Netflix prize until siderea posted about it. Nifty! Improve their predictions by 10%; win a million bucks. It'll be interesting if the psychologist ends up beating the mathematicians.

I recently attended a religious service that had a lot of poetry in it. Or, at least, I assume it was poetry, but it made me wonder: surely modern (meterless, structureless) poetry is more than just doing things with white space, right? I mean, I understand a sonnet or a sestina at some level; I see the challenges that faced the author and can appreciate the artistry worked within those constraints. I have, thus far, been unable to develop such an appreciation for the choice of where to put a line break, except in the small subset of cases where that creates a change in meaning or creates an accrostic or some such. It feels, to me, sort of like composing music without concerning oneself with key, mode, or time signature. Obviously I'm missing something.

I was asked a few days ago to read a short torah portion this Shabbat. I wondered how long it would take me to learn (it's about 12 lines in the scroll). Answer, for first-order learning: 35 minutes. That was surprising. Of course, it will require daily reinforcement to keep it, but that's fine.

Note to self: I was talking with someone recently about what I look for in candiates for the laurel (the SCA's highest award for arts and sciences), and remembered that I had written about this a while back. Yup, still believe all that, almost six years later.

Friday at work I completed a big merge of my project's code to the main branch in source control. (Yeah, two hours before leaving for a four-day weekend, but I'd done a lot of testing first.) I've learned some new things about Perforce (source-control system) and our build system. I have also learned that while I can do this sort of configuration management, I really, really want us to hire someone who actually wants to do this stuff on a regular basis.

This morning I was asked if I could read torah next Shabbat. ("How much?" "As long as it's a valid reading, I don't care what you do." "Ok.") This does get better with practice; I don't think I would have been able to learn a non-trivial chunk in less than a week a year ago. Cool.

Thursday we got email from our Hebrew instructor. She is, alas, sitting shiva in Israel, so she sent mail to tell us that (1) class was on anyway as originally scheduled and (2) we'd have the sub again. Only three people showed up; the sub told me that happened at the last class (three weeks ago) too (different three people; that was the night my in-laws were in town, so I missed it). The sub is good, so I hope she's not taking that personally. The bad student I previously wrote about wasn't there, so we actually covered new material. I suggested to the sub that she send email to everyone with the assignment and what we would be doing next week; with luck this will innoculate us some against "but I don't know this!" whines from people who miss classes and don't do the homework. We'll see.

I had a nice conversation with the sub on the way out of the building, and then for half an hour after that, about theology, observance, the local community, learning languages, and the like. That was pleasant. (And hey, we now have each others' email addresses...)

Today we visited with my family. They do Christmas, so Dani and I still do the gift thing with them for their sake. My parents got me two more volumes of Rashi's commentary on torah (yay!), and we got a bunch of other goodies. In a moment of "oh, you did that too? oops", both my parents and my sister got us nice tea assortments. Tonight we cleaned out the tea cupboard (I've been meaning to prune it for a while); who knew that tea had sell-by dates? (This revelation came when considering a box that neither of us remembered buying.) Mmm, new, fresh tea.

We got my sister an iPod (nano), which she was pretty excited about. She does not have a computer, but she has access to several nearby (her kids, our father, and if worse comes to worst she can come to our house, though it's farther for her). She has a long commute and no CD player in her car, so I figure she'll spend an afternoon loading a bunch of CDs onto her iPod and be good for a few months before needing to do it again. Not having a computer of her own shouldn't be a huge hardship, despite the protests of her kids. (We bought her an adapter to charge it from house current and an adapter for playing in her car.)

My father just got a laptop (Macbook), apparently prompted in part by the thought during their trip to Italy that it would have been convenient to have. (Duh; if I'd thought of it I would have lent them my iBook for that trip.) So he's now playing with Leopard, 'cause that's what came installed. He mentioned that he still has a G3 machine (predecessor to his desktop machine); I wonder if it can run iTunes. :-)

Tomorrow I'm getting together with friends to play a game of "Dogs in the Vineyard", an unusual role-playing game I previously wrote about. This should be fun!

In the passage I'll be reading for this coming Shabbat there is a small oddity. There is a pronoun, which must be feminine per the grammar, which is spelled "hei (chirik) vav alef" and understood to be "hi" (fem). "Hi" is correctly spelled with a yud, not a vav; "hu" (masc) is spelled "hei vav alef", so if reading without the vowels you'd normally read this "hu". Except, as I said, it's part of a phrase involving a feminine verb, so it can't be.

I've seen spelling errors before and the tikkun (reference text for torah readers) has always noted it, thus far. This time, no note. None of my chumashim have any commentary on this passage (or that part of it, anyway). I don't own the correct volume of Rashi. I asked another torah reader (experienced and fluent in Hebrew) and she shrugged and said this happens a lot and it probably doesn't mean anything.

I'm curious, though. If it is an anomoly, it happens in a particularly interesting place (i.e. I can see an interesting interpretation). But if this sort of thing is common, I don't want to read into it.

Do any of the torah readers among my readership have any thoughts on this?

We have a new associate rabbi (just ordained, from Jerusalem), and this Shabbat the senior rabbi was away so he was on his own. So much for a gradual introduction. :-)

He did a very good job with the Friday-night service. He seemed at ease on the bimah, and he spoke well during the sermon. (Not reading and mostly not from notes either; I want to learn how to do that!) I know that he feels a little uncertain about his English (not his first language), but really, he did fine. Nothing to worry about there. (Hebrew aside: he pronounces the ayin. I can't quite figure out how; more observation is needed.)

He had never been to the informal morning service, so he asked the chair of the worship committee to have someone in the group lead it and the chair asked me. (I told him to give others the chance first and he did ask a couple people, who declined. Only later did it occur to me that maybe some people are nervous about leading in front of a rabbi, as opposed to when we're on our own. I, on the other hand, am not bothered by that in the least, any more. :-) )

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