Corners of Your Field

I've been doing my morning tefillah regularly now for over two weeks, and am struck by the passage that lists the mitzvot "for which no fixed measure is prescribed," or, as I read it, that you can do as much as you want, and it won't be too much. The first in the list is one that has long captured my imagination: leaving the corners of your field for the poor.

This is not only a measure of tzedakah, but it is also one of dignity for the poor and of recognition of who truly owns the land. I don't know if this was ever practiced in ancient Israel, but I like to think about how we could practice it today. Most of us don't own fields anymore, but we do own property or shares of companies. We could set aside a corner of our houses that could serve as temporary shelter for the homeless, for example. I'm still thinking on this one, but it seems like a mitzvah that is worth following...

Starting From Brokenness

(I guess this is the beauty of a free blog—I can go for months without posting and not feel toooo bad. But I still do. Jewish guilt? No. Not giving myself a break? Yeah, I need to work on that...)

I recently conducted my family's seder here in Sepharad. One of the themes I like to highlight is the passage, textual and spiritual, from brokenness to redemption—Quitting Mitzrayim, for those who need the extra prompt—that we take throughout the course of the meal. Of course, in real life, redemption doesn't come in four or five hours. I feel like I'm always at the beginning of the road, broken in some new way. I suppose that's what the journey is about, though, assessing where you are at any given moment and proceeding from there.

I feel like the soul searching vis-a-vis rabbihood has been a bit like this. Granted, I have had a few other things to be preoccupied about, but I'm really no further now than I was when I started. Or rather I've swung to both extremes and ended up in the same place as I started. On the one hand, when I think about the time away from my family, the expense, and the endless hours of study that are involved in rabbinical school, I think this is not the right time in my life to do this. On the other hand, every time I hear of folks' rejection of the old Judaism which I know an alternative to, or for that matter, every time I pray, I think, "this is what I should be doing!"

On that note, and speaking of brokenness, I recently started wrapping tefillin in the mornings. It's a longer story than I want to tell here, but the very short version is that I found Maqom's tefillin gift shop and, after having them ship a set to my mom, who dutifully carried them here for me, I got my very own set of unkosher tefillin. There's something beautiful about wrapping broken tefillin. These were clearly worn with a lot of love for many years, and their scrolls are dust, for all I know. But in their brokenness, they are helping me on my journey to redemption. It's as if between the tefillin and I, there just may be enough parts to put something good back together. I think R. Abrams puts it beautifully on the site: We don't throw out people when they get old, scratched or worn down. Let these tefillin remind you that no matter what brokenness you have experienced in your life, you have great worth. It's a good reminder, especially on the days when I feel I don't know anybody anymore, I don't remember what I'm good at, and I'm not sure what I'm doing here in this land that so forcefully ejected my mishpocha long ago...but that's a topic for another post.

On Blessings

I've been rereading parts of R. Lew's "Be Still and Get Going" on the basics of Jewish Mediation, partly because I need to get back into the habit myself, and partly because it was the only book in the house — until today — that I hadn't already read in the past three months.

He describes the wandering mind and getting back "into the moment," which he — as well as others — asserts is the point of meditation, its biggest benefit. The longer you practice, the easier mindfulness becomes, and the more it bleeds into your every day. Mindfulness is close to G-dliness, to borrow a phrase, because G-d is in the moment. "Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh," I was/am/will be who I was/am/will be, G-d tells Moses when he wants to know what name he should tell the Israelites — history, existence, and potential all wrapped in the only moment that counts: the now.

This struck me in terms of the Jewish tradition of blessing — a blessing for everything and everything with its blessing — that some find tedious, onerous or, worse, rote and mechanistic. Why do the rabbis insist we should say 100 blessings every day? So we should miss the soul of the universe going by as we utter nonesense? Exactly the opposite. We should be aware of our world, grateful for its bounty, mindful of its constant blessings.

If you haven't made the connection — and I didn't until last night — meditation helps us bless, and blessing is mindfulness of G-d's presence. So, a blessing on you that you should be more mindful and bless 100 times a day.

Dream, Brother

I wrote the rabbi last week with some of the questions I had — mostly for myself — on the last blog post. I have not yet heard back from him. Not surprising, as he's a busy man. I'll try back next week if there is still no answer. Hopefully, my email program will be back up and running by then.

Last night, though, I had a dream that I went to visit him. He was at a very crowded desk (though not nearly as much as his real one!), in a large basement for an industrial-type building that seemed otherwise to have been used last sometime in the 1950s. He looked up, glad to see me. I was glad to see him, too.

[Not part of the dream — we celebrated our first Shabbess in Seville last weekend. It was sweet, but a bit lonely and made us miss Beyt Tikkun a lot.]

We chatted for a while, and he asked me if I'd read the book he'd recommended. I don't recall what book it was or if it was real one. I told him that I had not. He commented on a recent email he'd sent out and asked my opinion. We chatted for a bit more, and then I asked him if he'd had a chance to read my email about the rabbinate. He said, "oh yeah, that. Let's go for a walk."

We walked outside, around what looked like condo complex. He was rather spry and walking briskly. He explained to me along the way that he didn't think it would be a good idea after all, my going to rabbinical school. "If you're looking to get political," he said, "it's not always good for people to know that you're coming from a spiritual perspective. It turns people off."

Then, dreamlike, we were joined by a few more folks, students, and we sat down for a Talmud lesson, which I also can't remember. End of dream.

It was good to see the rabbi, and talk, even if what he said was totally opposite of what he spends most of the time preaching!

This week, I want to find the congregation here in town. From what I understand, they're fairly traditional, but I'd like to get into the habit of daily minyan, and I can't do that alone. Once we're a bit more settled, I also want to start posting for a progressive English-language Kabballat Shabbat/minyan, to see if I get any takers out here.