When G-d Sends A Rowboat

Well, the nation is moving slowly back to some kind of normal. I'm not completely certain what that means or what that is, but I think that isn't completely realistic thinking. BACK is not the right word. We will never go back to what once was. We have lost our 21st century pandemic cherry to COVID, and while a hundred years ago we managed to survive Spanish Flu, this time, the vast array of transportation modes made transmission rates explode. For the moment, masks are off, people are gathering inside public spaces, and even I'm trying to figure out if my fall jaunt to Israel is gonna happen this year. The jury is still out on that one.

The first minyan back in the chapel
17 bodies/16 zoom boxes. Not too shabby

One of the more interesting conversations about the new normal came this weekend. Our shul had regular services with a full Torah service. Yes, masks were in place. At the same time over 100 intrepid souls sat in our regular places in the pews, we were still streaming live. That stalwart factor of my life, morning minyan, is now outside on Sundays, weather permitting, and inside on Tuesdays. We will gradually add more days. But therein lies the rub: our morning minyan now spans two countries and a bunch of states. 

We have regulars zooming into Minnesota from Canada, New York, Alabama, and Wisconsin. These folks are there every morning and as long as we can see 'em, they are counted to make up the 10 necessary for a minyan. As we go live, do we stop counting them? Does it have to be 10 people in the physical room? Or 10 faces we can see? But we have created this incredible, diverse community and we were there for each other during the duration. How do we not continue to count them to make a minyan? 

One idea is 10 in person is a minyan. 10 on zoom is a minyan. 5 and 5 is not. For a full Torah service with aliyot, 10 must be in the room. What happens if there are not 10 in the room? Is reading from a tikkun without aliyot permissible in this configuration? 

To many, this is a tempest in a teapot. This is our shtick and who cares so long as we make a rational decision for our community? Why does this matter?

Well, it matters to me. Or, should I say, the process matters to me. The conservative movement (not to be confused ever with conservative politics or political parties) looks to the traditions of rabbinic Judaism when faced with change. 

Balancing tradition and modernity is a dance, which ignites innovative ideas—those that shape our work to strengthen synagogues and those that influence how we live meaningfully as Jews today.                                                                United Synagogue for Conservative Judaism 

I'm not going into all the details of what the movement does or does not do, follow the link above if you're curious. But I am interested to see how the adjustments we have made this past year to deal with the pandemic become part of the new reality. It's really very exciting to be in the middle of these changes. 

Changes are not to be underestimated. They aren't always perfect or even tidy. Sometimes, they start small and snowball into something greater. Sometimes it's a small adjustment that ends up with a seismic shift. You never know. Kinda like the butterfly effect. 

And speaking of seismic shifts...

There's an old joke (#3 according to the ZJOD hit parade of humor and one of my all-time faves) where Sam is in a flood zone. He's on the porch when a man comes by in a rowboat, then the second floor when a motorboat comes, then on the roof when the helicopter comes, each time, turning away help by saying "G-d will save me! I have perfect faith!"  And he drowns. When he stands before the throne, he complains "Why didn't You save me? I had perfect faith!" And G-d answers, "But Sam, I sent you a rowboat."

G-d sent Israel a rowboat this week. 

Naftali Bennet & Yair Lapid

Look, I think the first PM of this shift, Naftali Bennett, is significantly too far to the right but here's the thing: this is a coalition government. An Islamist party is in the mix, and the ultra-orthodox are out of the coalition. This is progress. NOT having the Haredim in the mix means that the rest of the Jews have a chance of having more democracy in a place where the population is so diverse and the government these last twelve years has been so deaf. 

I was listening to Arieh O'Sullivan's interview with Jerusalem Post editor-in-chief Ya'akov Katz for KAN, the Israeli English news service. Like most Israelis, he sees this election as an opportunity for the government to actually work for Israelis instead of themselves and power. He points out that Bennett may hold right wing views on some policies, but in the past, while holding other posts, he has encouraged meetings with all sectors of Israel, including Reform and Conservative rabbis. The exclusion of the Haredim from this coalition means relations with the Jewish Diaspora stand a chance of improving. 

Israelis are exceptionally good at criticizing their own government. They have raised it to an art form. Bibi is still a MP and is already saying he will bring this government down. Haredim are planning a march for tomorrow (Tuesday) to protest the new government. Bennett et al are not going to sail smoothly into fixing what's wrong. But they get to begin that process. They will learn to navigate the reefs and the shoals. With luck, they'll have lots of co-pilots willing to help out when and where needed. With even more luck, they'll all cooperate and learn to listen to each other.

This election isn't a rescue helicopter or even a motorboat. It's definitely a rowboat, but one that might help Israel to move slowly forward out of the morass that it is in politically, socially, and internationally. 

Yeah, year, I'm Pollyanna. We know this. But I need to believe that there is hope for the new government the same way there is hope for our government.

Meanwhile, back at the golf club: Yurtle McTurtle made one hellaciously stupid pronouncement today. As The NYTimes reported today:

Senator Mitch McConnell, the Kentucky Republican and minority leader, threatened on Monday to block any Supreme Court nominee put forward by President Biden in 2024 if Republicans regain control of the Senate next year.  

“I think in the middle of a presidential election, if you have a Senate of the opposite party of the president, you have to go back to the 1880s to find the last time a vacancy was filled,” Mr. McConnell said in a radio interview with the conservative commentator Hugh Hewitt. “So I think it’s highly unlikely.”

Why now? Why say something this stupid before the midterms? Well, when you have a teeny-tiny tootsie like the other guy and you're under his thrall and desperate to keep him from exposing whatever teeny-tiny Acme Anvil he has dangling over your head, you're going to say anything to keep him happy. The GOP is not in control of the Senate. The GOP continues to prop up that less-than-benevolent despot because if they don't, he will drop that anvil on their heads. Which, of course, speaks to the larger issue of whether or not our rather fragile democracy is in danger. The biggest hope we have is that in their investigations into tax returns and business practices, the various attorneys-general will be able to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Feckless Loser is a fraud, a phony, a thief, and a charlatan who has preyed on his minions. We can only hope that his minions finally come to understand they have been betrayed in the worst possible way. If not.......

The Wifely Person's Tip o'the Week

COALITION: 

an alliance for combined action, 

especially a temporary alliance of political parties forming a government 

In Israel's current state, this is a good thing. 

Light, Shadow, and Invisibility

Young Sir and I have been having an ongoing conversation about light and dark; specifically sunlight and shadows. This started a couple of weeks ago while we were taking a walk around my block and we noticed our shadows preceding us. I explained about the direction of the light, and then we played with our fingers, spreading them apart, then pushing them together, and noticing how we can see the light between our fingers and then, when we squish 'em together, there is only dark. The conversation picked up again at last Friday's nanny-day. 

We were in the backyard when suddenly he said, "Look, Savta! Shadows!" 

I looked down to study our shadows. Then I pointed to our feet. "Our shadows are still attached to our feet!" We picked up one foot and saw light fill the space, then put it down to see if our shadow was still attached. Young Sir was very relieved to know his shadow was still stuck to him. I just smiled as I thought of Wendy Darling stitching Peter Pan's shadow back onto his feet.

The conversation progressed to cover that which we can see and that which we cannot see. Keep in mind, Young Sir is only 3, so the science isn't all that helpful here. He was, however, glomming on to the word invisible. I think he liked the concept of not being seen. I'm not quite sure how he was processing visible v. invisible, but clearly he knew what invisible meant. 

On Shabbat, I was giving this conversation a fair amount of  thought. The word had come up a number of times this past week, and I was grappling with some of the implications of invisibility. Women of a certain age are routinely invisible, as are widows. You can poo-poo that all you want, but it's the truth and we who are one, the other, or both know how true it is. We certainly are not the only invisible people around here; we are but two clumps. Invisibility is a real issue for all sorts of very real people. And for a variety of reasons, not all of which are earth shatteringly monumental. Some are quite small and seemingly insignificant to those outside the group in question. For those in the group, it is neither small nor insignificant.

But that got me to thinking about what else happened this past week. Allow me to color outside the lines for a moment.

Just about 12 years ago, Ziggy died. Mourner's kaddish had to be said, and even though the strictest obligation for a spouse is 30 days, I decided I would recite the mourner's kaddish for 11 months. Since both my parents were alive, I'd never said kaddish formally before. I came to appreciate the importance of morning minyan. 10 people have to be there (we are an egalitarian minyan counting men and women) and every once in a while, we struggle to get 10. So when my 11 months were over, I kept coming, paying it forward as it were. Work shift issues cut into the number of days a week I could be there, but I worked out a schedule that guaranteed at least one day a week I would go to minyan before work. Another shift change, and I was back to 6 days a week. It was an obligation I accepted not just for the sake of community, but for my own need to center myself in the mornings. 

Some of us are bullish about  being at minyan...even after the start of the pandemic when we had to figure out how we could make this work on Zoom. By looking at the tally sheet to my immediate right, I can tell you today is the 347th day we have had Zoom minyan (there's no morning minyan on Shabbat and holy days that require other arrangements.)

See, I am the keeper of the names, a tradition started on a yellow pad many years ago by Bud Sweet (z"l) and continued to this day...because I brought the sacred yellow pad home that last day in the chapel. I've actually been the keeper for most of the years I've been coming to minyan. The number on the far left with a V- is the actual number of people praying that day in the minyan. We have one who comes in from Canada, a couple from Florida, one from Alabama, one from New York, a bunch from Wisconsin, and some who just show up on Zoom because they know there will be a minyan and they can say mourner's kaddish. During regular times, we listed who had an aliyah to the Torah and who davened each of the 3 sections of the service. These days, there is no formal Torah reading, so we list who read the section. In the 347 days we have been davening together every morning, we have fallen shy of 10 only twice...which is about the same for a year of in-person gathering. Our average daily attendance on Zoom is 26. 

Because we do this every day with no hype, no fanfare, no expectations of anything, we pretty much fly under the radar. We're kinda like the pillars that hold up the sanctuary....after a while, you don't notice them either because they are always there. And that's exactly how it should be. We don't do this for us, we do this for the community. It's a group effort. 

My dad was a minyan kinda guy. For him, it started when a close friend lost her father. Dad started going to minyan to make sure they had 10 men (it was not an egalitarian shul.) And it became a habit. He even had a page to announce. When the folks were making the move to Florida, they gave Dad a plaque to take with him...and they named his pew in the chapel for him. He told me he cried the day they gave him the plaque. He told me going to minyan was one of the most important things he ever did in his life because this is what you do for your community. 

In my home shul that is now gone...having merged with another synagogue...daily minyan was a community responsibility. You got a notice when it was your week to make sure they had a minyan. Minyan duty was an expectation, something that came with your membership, kinda like jury duty. It was an integral part of that community, a shared responsibility. Minyan was important. And most people respected that obligation.

As Governor Walz lifts many of the restrictions on gatherings, a committee was formed to explore how our synagogue would reopen. There are so many moving parts, so many aspects to consider for a community that has traditionally served congregational lunch on Shabbat week in and week out. There are so many classes and meetings to consider, so many Twin Cities-wide community events to evaluate that the committee is, understandably, overloaded. And I get that. 

What I didn't get this week, however, was why our little piece of everyday ritual isn't important enough for us to be asked for representation on that committee. We are the ones who are in the building every day... even when it's officially closed on Mondays. We are on site Sunday thru Friday, rain or shine, snow or sub-zero temps. Reopening impacts us more directly than any single group in the shul. And we have discussed this amongst ourselves, trying to figure out how to answer the inevitable question. 

Turns out, the question may not be addressed to us after all. Seems the chairperson did not have the  "bandwidth" to reach out to us.

Yeah, in the greater scheme of things, we are small potatoes. We are just the ones who are there when you need us, when it's your day to say mourner's kaddish. You just expect we will be there to make a minyan.  And we will. We will be there for you because that's what we do. 

If you must know, morning minyan was the light in my shadow 12 years ago. It got me through that horrible, horrible first year without Ziggy. It got me through the death of my father-in-law, and then my parents. Minyan gave me the bandwidth to learn to breathe again after each tragedy. I suspect it does the same for many others. 

When in the course of mourning one feels bereft, untethered, and alone, minyan is there to hold you up, make sure you're breathing, and most importantly, let you know that you are seen. That you are not standing in a shadow.  That you are not invisible.

The Wifely Person's Tip o'the Week

Covid restrictions may be lifting right now, but general stupidity is not.

Use common sense: wear a mask in crowds 

and be aware:

not everyone who says they are vaccinated actually are.