Sukkot for sukkot!

Shuk arba'ah minim: I was wearing a tank top and shorts, and had my iPhone with me. I walked through the rows, realizing that each stand had almost the same goods as the one before. Not only that, but many of the vendors were wearing the traditional Israeli cut neck t-shirt and pants of some sort. Most were not wearing a kippah or tzitzit. The men (and there were no women in this shuk, just men) were loud and enjoying themselves, spending their Friday morning preparing for Shabbat but also getting the essentials for sukkot which would start two days later, on Sunday night. They were dressed in the traditional black pants, white shirt, tzitzit and kippah, their  peyus swinging as they wandered from vendor to vendor.

I took my phone out to snap a few pictures, realizing this was likely a once in a lifetime opportunity. The entire thing was the same stall, over and over, with these men in tzitzit and kippah picking up different leaves, deciding if this one or that was Kosher. How did they decide which stand to frequents. Which guy gave the best deal? Culd you mix and match, taking a palm from one guy, because his were the most closed on top and taking the willow branch from a second, the etrog with the pitom most securely attached from a third vendor? However, none of my questions got answers.

Merely seconds after I freed my camera, a man started shaking his head at me, going off in Hebrew about my disrespect for the shuk and the people obviously doing their business there. How was he to know that I also didn't have business there. I was holding an Israeli newspaper in one hand, so I obviously spoke Hebrew, what was the big problem. Apparently, by my taking pictures, I was invading into their private lives, something that they did out of halachic respect and necessity. I, on the other hand, was a mere observer and therefore shouldn't be making these people, living their lives, into a spectacle.

I was baffled, because that was not my intention in the slightest. Therefore, I quickly backed out of the shuk and ran across the street into the normal shuk. At least there I felt comfortable and was treated like an equal, or just someone to give the vendors a profit. I bought my olive oil, finding the store with the lowest price (stepped in a puddle of melted fish ice-maybe that was my karmic retribution), and made my way home.

~.                         ~.                     ~.                       ~.                       ~.                       ~.        

Today, Max and I helped decorate the sukkah at David and Miri's, after helping put it up last night. After having an entire conversation with a student t Pardes about the Kashrut of Sukkot, I realized that it wasn't Kosher to halachic standards. Even more important though, I didn't necessarily care. Miri is putting up a sukkah because of the holiday. Plain and simple. So what if it doesn't have three free-standing walls. The thought of it is what triumphs. The importance of being together with family, decorating in a way that signifies the beauty and significance of nature, the ability to see the stars--those are what I find even more important. And those are the aspects of the chag that they are maintaining.

When I have my own house, maybe I will make sure my Sukkah follows exact halachic standards. But what is more likely is that I will recall the importance of tradition, of family, friends and  celebration, and ensure that my sukkah and sukkot celebration maintains the spirit of the holiday. Miri has taught me a lot in the short time we have stayed with her. She reminded me that family is more important than something like going to shul on Friday night or Saturday morning. She also showed that the spirit of a holiday is what matters, bringing people together and reminding them that we love them. The importance of listening to the people around us and respecting them. The importance of giving back. But most importantly, she reminds me, constantly, what it is to live in love and put love into all you do.

That is the lesson I will take with me this holiday season!

Judgement day

 

Reading Vidui, or the confession part of the service, I was struck by the words in the Machzor, the prayer book. The following is the poem that emerged from that:

Each year we repent

Ask forgiveness, apologizing, lamenting, beseeching—

The potential we are bestowed with, that inwardly we possess, we did not fulfill.

The אחריות, responsibility, to our fellow man is still incombent upon us

And yet, we’ve reached this day

The most holy day, שבת שבתון, the day of judgement.

Here we stand,

Before you—

            Incomplete

            Unwhole

            Unsure.

But here.

We are indeed present,

accepting you,

            struggling with the past

looking with open heart to the new year.

Hear our prayer;

Accept our prayer

Listen.

We are ready.

This year, we will try to do better.

This year, we will not stand idly by our neighbor.

This year we will deal honestly.

This year, we will act in love justly.

I have done wrong, an entire alphabet of woes,

But so too have I done right.

Help me, guide me, encourage me, O God.

Today I stand before you in judgement

Prepared for repentence

Prepared for understanding,

Knowing I have failed.

But in that, I know I can do better.

I WILL do better

On this Yom Kippur day

I pledge to do better—

            on myself

            to my friend

            my neighbor

            my community

            to my world

סלח לנו, מחל לנו, כפר לנו.

Forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement.

Amen.

Chicken...I think I'll pass

I love being Jewish. The traditions, the food, the prayer, the conversations, the opinions - you name it, we've got it. We even have those traditions that as a Reform Jew, I sometimes get a little squeamish over.

Enter Shlocking Kaporot (symbolic atonement using a chicken). My first encounter with this pre-Yom Kippur tradition was last year during Yom Kippur. My father stood on the Bimah and handed out rubber chicken finger puppets to all the children after Havdallah (he preached about it at some point during the day). The purpose confused me, but I had a rubber chicken to swing around my head nonetheless.

Coming to Jerusalem for the year, I was encouraged to take advantage of the many opportunities around me offering glimpses into worlds very separate from those of a Reform Jew. Once such opportunity was heading to the shuk for Kaporot. As I needed to go to the shuk anyway, I figured why not. Although I am incredibly susceptible to emotional reactions (especially when I have already had an emotional day), I should have known it wasn’t the best idea, but alas, hindsight is 20/20…

I found the big sign announcing that people could come in and pay to have their sins transferred to the chicken and therefore allowing them to start Yom Kippur on a clean slate. I walked up the stairs, unsure what I would find under the black mesh canopy. In a C-shape were stacked dozens of crates of live chickens. The smell was unbearable while the sound was a gentle squacking (until a chicken was taken out of its plastic crate and transferred to a cardboard box for the shocket (butcher) to have easier access.

Although five or six people asked me if I wanted to do it, I gave a wide-eyed answer of no, wildly gesticulating my disapproval and fear of this custom. Instead, I just wanted to watch (which I managed to communicate in bumbled Hebrew).  So, I stood there, a fearful 22-year-old, feeling out of place as the smell permeated my brain cells, waiting for someone to come in and actually have the chicken swung over their head.

At first, I watched as an Asian woman read off a list of names for a couple, asking that each person on the list have the ritual performed for them. To this, the shocket slit the throat of each chicken and threw it in a funnel like contraption so the blood could drain from their necks as they thrashed within. The next step would be the shave off the feathers with a brutal sounding standing machine, which would allow the chickens to be given to those in need of meat for the chag (holiday).

Finally, a woman showed up and I watched the shocket swing the chicken over her head, over and over, 4 repetitions of three times each. The entire experience was fascinating. No matter the request, the chicken ended up kaput, dead. And these people worked at this job all day, smoking, eating, joking as they did it. I was thoroughly disgusted.

However, this is not my practice. Although I don’t think it is humane or particularly nice (some may say chickens don’t have feelings, but they have never heard the ethereal squack of a chicken when its being held by its wings nor have they witnessed what a thrashing chicken looks like), I understand the intention behind it. One wants to be as cleansed as possible before he or she comes before God tomorrow, on THE day, Yom Kippur. I just feel there may be better ways to do it.

I will apologize to those around me. I recognize that I may not have atoned for EVERYTHING I have done wrong in the past year, but I know that I am not perfect, and that I have sinned. Yom Kippur is not just a day for atoning. It is also a day for petitions and for living, for celebrating being written into the book of life. I will remember the importance of gratitude, of appreciating the fact that I am alive each and every day.

            Most importantly, I will say thank you. So, thank you!

Thank you

Around the time of the high holidays, we are reminded often to apologize for the wrongs we have done to man, because only then can we make good with God. However, it slips our minds that we should also say thank you, acknowledging what good happens in our lives. Hence, the following poem, dedicated to all those who touch my life, either daily or once. So to you I say:

Thank you...

Thank you for support,
for kindness and love;
Thank you for determination,
for compassion and relief;
Thank you for wisdom,
for understanding, power, and light.
Thank you for all that you do each day, in and out. Although the importance of that thank you is often left at the wayside, I recall it nd offer it to ou.
Thank you.

Wanderings in the north of my home(land)

Last week we went on a study tiyul to the north. These were the musings that came out of one of the days of learning. My thoughts were jumbled, but full of passion and potential insight for the future.

What is our connection to the land? Are we as humans able to make connections to the land, or is that ideological connection only one-sided and potentially unattainable?

We visited moshav Avivim and talked with one of the guys whose involved in the founding of the moshav. Located directly next to the Lebanese border, this moshav used to be open and the children played with each other. Now, the moshav is closed off by not one gate but two: the one surrounding the moshav and the one marking the border with Lebanon. While the story of the moshav and this particular man is fascinating, what struck me and a few others even more potently was the chicken coop. The moshav supposedly produces all of the eggs for the entire country of Israel. Next to the overlook where we were talking was located one of the coops. Walking over I was struck by the fact that all of the chickens were standing in a straight line, all squawking loudly. As I got closer I noticed they had two barriers between them and the outdoors (three if you count the roof/the fact that they were suspended from the ground). They were kept in a metal cage with a hatched bottom for their excrement to fall through and set at an angle to make their eggs easier to collect. Kept happy with a seemingly infinite supply of grain, these chickens are housed three to a cage. Then there is the problem of the outside fence, marking the barrier of the enclosure. The chickens could see out (again, the importance of a view of some sort depends on ones belief in animals having feeling).

The coop itself was fine, as I understand the importance of having a particular place to collect eggs. However, I could not stomach the idea that these chickens never got to be outside, not walk on this incredible soil. Turning to Abby, I exclaimed that I wasn't sure if I wanted to eat eggs any more, especially if they came from such a cramped and seemingly inhumane manner. She agreed and I walked on to explore.

A young man was entering the house as I turned the corner and I asked if I could come in. Actually, he invited me in if I wanted to take pictures. Of course I accepted. I was unprepared for what exactly the space held. Under the four rows of chicken cages (resurfacing the question of the necessity of space and fair treatment) were what looked like drip castles a kid might make on the beach. These were not made of sand. The excrement was almost a foot and a half high in some places, making me surmise that they rarely clean it out. Disgust welled up within me and I quickly ventured out to breathe next to the fruit trees.

Returning to the overlook site, I sat with Jordan and Abby, who were still discussing fair treatment and whether or not it is important to have some connection to what you, as a person, are partaking. We talked about how odd it is that so many people go through their lives without even considering what they are eating and the origin from which it comes. Recognizing the difficulty inherent in working the land and slaughtering an animal for food (never mind the negative connotation given to the word slaughter), we considered what kind of compromises were possible. The best suggestion was to be involved in the slaughter, because if we cannot physically kill an animal we wish to partake in the future, why is it acceptable to eat the meat? While I am not making any huge life changes now (my experience at Livnot last week taught me the importance of truly considering something before I implement it), I definitely feel a more profound necessity to acknowledge where my food comes from. I will continue to eat free range chicken and eggs as much as possible and consider other options as they are presented to me.

Jordan and I had an interesting continuation of the conversation once we reloaded the bus. He was grappling with the issue of the connection we have to the land. As land is not a thinking or feeling entity, how can we claim a connection when it is not necessarily reciprocated? If the Jewish people left the land tomorrow, would the LAND itself be saddened by the loss, yearning for the people?

Traveling through the land, sprawling with vineyards, orchards, pastures and beautiful trees, we were struck by this idea. Without "connection to the land", why would they have any desire to remain in the land? Without the idea of connection, it would seem the Jews as a people have less of a rationale for remaining in Israel and especially for the number of Kibbutzim and Moshavim built on that very same foundation.