Goldilocks Syndrome, p. 2

So it finally happened: we visited an Ortho place. Though there were a couple of points where I was nervous about needing to use my transliterated siddur (and being slightly paranoid that people would know I wasn't entirely sure what I was doing all the time), I am happy to report that neither of us burst into flames.

Mrs. Yid and I decided to take the folks over at the MO shul up the road up on their offer and go to their Tisha B'Av service. We probably wouldn't have gone but they said they were going to be showing a film from the OU on the importance and relevance of Tisha B'Av. "What do you think?" I asked her. "Since I'm fairly ambivalent about this holiday I guess it wouldn't hurt to find out more about it," she said. "Plus at least you should be able to get some good blogging out of it." Touche, my Eshet Chayil.

In keeping with my post-Tisha B'Av attempts to practice slightly less lashon hara and slightly more dan lekaf zechut, let's start with some pros.

- The mechitza, while certainly present and notable, was not excruciatingly misogynistic to the degree that I felt uncomfortable having Mrs. Yid sit there. The women's section was approximately a third of the size of the sanctuary, faced the ark, and Mrs. Yid was able to see what was going on. So, at least the women weren't being kept behind a one-way mirror or in a fenced in shed in the back or up in a balcony. And we stuck our noses into their weekday chapel while we were waiting for services to start and found out that all the mechitza there consists of is a waist-high curtain dividing the back portion of the room from the front (I guess they're on the honor system?)

- The rabbi had a very nice voice. His very Ashkenazic accent threw me off sometimes, but the dude could sing.

- The rabbi had a nice mini-drash on connecting fasting with ethical behavior. There was a good line on how "If we can control what goes into our mouths, we can also control what comes out of it."

- There's something nice about knowing that the people at shul are there specifically to be in shul. Yes, there was small talk and socializing, but the guys in the men's section (and by the time we were into services, there were probably about 30-35) were clearly there to daven.

Now some downsides:

- The movie didn't start until about 45 minutes after the flyer said it would. In fact for the first 40 minutes it was just us, a random Chabad guy and a 30-something gal who grew up at Beth Elderly. Eventually the rabbi showed up with his laptop and we all crowded around it in the Beth Midrash. Low marks for logistics, folks.

- The "movie" itself was actually 4 not particularly good 20-minute speeches/drashlets. We watched two and were super underwhelmed. Rabbi Weil's was first and was fairly rambling. He spent a fair amount of time drawing parallels between Tisha B'Av in Jerusalem and the Holocaust (he was very hung up on the fact that both involved people being "shipped like cattle"-- a line he repeated about 5 times, and particularly unfortunate after I found out he grew up on a cattle ranch). He also talked a lot about the 23rd kina where Rabbi Yishmael's son and daughter each get enslaved by Romans, who then decide to breed them. Maybe it was just me, but it seemed like R. Weil was spending waaay too much pathos on what is essentially a creepy pseudo-incest story. I also like how the "happy ending" of this story is the two of them recognizing each other at daybreak and dying in each other's arms. Um, hooray? My favorite part was when Weil mentioned that this kina wasn't written  down until the 1000s-- because "only that generation, that had suffered the Crusades, could truly understand that first generation's pain." Yeah, or they wrote it down in response and as a commentary on their own experiences. Please tell me I'm not the only one coming to this conclusion. I mean, if we critique the Gospels because they happened a whole 70 years after the supposed fact, I don't think we should be mentioning that this "totally reliable" story from our "great mesorah" was just twiddling its thumbs for a thousand years or so before anyone decided to put it on paper.

Weil's last focus was connecting Tisha B'Av to Holocaust survivors and talking about the lasting effects of trauma, which was fine, but his tone was kind of weird. He kept saying things like, "Even though they survived, they didn't really survive. Truthfully, they died in the Holocaust." Maybe it's just me but I found this extremely distasteful. First of all, the fact that many survivors lived with, and struggled with, their memories and trauma is not the same thing as saying they died along with the rest of their families. Not only is this problematic in terms of being extremely general (on a very touchy topic), it verges on being downright dismissive of the lives that survivors worked so hard to rebuild after the war. If I was a Shoah survivor, even if my life afterwards was hard, I'd be pretty pissed at this guy for essentially writing me off as a living corpse. Not a fan.

- The second clip we watched was from Rabbi Weinberg. His tone was slightly cloying (How can our fellow Jews not realize how lame golus is? Because it totally is, right guys? Who's with me?), but at least much less offensive than Rabbi Weil's. I feel like it might be interesting for a liberal Jew to have a conversation with Rabbi Weinberg just to offer him a different perspective on the notion of perfection and ways to attain it. It's not that we don't see that the world is imperfect, it's that we aren't expecting the Messiah to come and fix it.

We couldn't stand to watch the other two videos, but I may get around to checking them out eventually.

- There were only 5 ladies on the women's side, including Mrs. Yid. She reports that they alternated between davening (younger folks) and gossiping (older ladies). She said that her favorite part was when the rabbi folded the bimah around like a crazy transformer toy/Star Trek console. She used an Artscroll siddur for the first time and described its commentary as "Repeatedly starting off with a reasonable to plausible statement, then jumping immediately to a crazy conclusion, and always in the most authoritative tone you could imagine."

- The breakneck speed of the davening on the men's side was pretty tricky for me to keep up with, though I did my best. I was slightly taken aback by how quickly everyone around me was davening, and, from my end, it seemed like more of a chore to get through rather than a particularly spiritual experience for any of them (except maybe the Chabad guy next to me). I suspect this was probably a combination of being really ready to go home and eat and the fact that when you daven multiple times a day it probably loses some of its buzz.

- Not to be overly picky, but... despite the fact that we were clearly new folks there, only 2 people came up and said hello (the one lady in the Beth Midrash, and the rabbi, and he was rather curt and a tad prickly). Again, to give the benefit of the doubt, this was probably due to it being the end of fasting, but still a little annoying since we had been supposedly invited. I was trying to decide what to call the shul on the blog today and right now I'm leaning towards Congregation Rodef Shaarei, because after 3 hours there I was running for the doors. (I would be open to going back there again for a happier holiday, potentially even as part of more community-wide collaboration, though I do think not letting the women participate would probably be a deal-breaker.)

To sum up: I suppose, as always, we have a bit of the goldilocks syndrome going on here. We don't really get a lot out of super touchy-feely anything goes services a-la Bnei Hippy, but the service at Rodef Shaarei wasn't all that meaningful or stimulating, either. Bnei Hippy was a little too centered around everybody's individual issues rather than looking at Tisha B'Av, but Rodef Shaarei and the OU film seemed overly focused on pat answers like, "You have to want geula," or, "We didn't learn from our mistakes and so God let the Temple be destroyed again." I'm certainly open to the idea of using Tisha B'Av as a mussar opportunity, but a theodicy-based view of history doesn't really work for me.

Like I said in part 1, I see Tisha B'Av as primarily a holiday of commemoration. There's room in there for an emotional and personal component, but I personally don't feel that it should be overshadowed by either my own ego or supposed ethical/ideological failings. Sorry Rabbi Weinberg, but I don't buy the argument that my personal lack of yearning for Moshiach is why we still live in an imperfect society.

Next year if we can't find a decent middle-of-the-road service, I may just get a book of English-translated kinot and we'll study and discuss that.

Goldilocks syndrome, p.1

For Tisha B'Av eve, Mrs. Yid and I went to the community-wide service at Temple Burning Bush/B'nei Hippy. (There was a dairy-veg potluck beforehand, but given my food allergies, it seemed best to pre-game on our own, so we had take-out sushi at home.)

It's so rare these days that we attend services elsewhere, so I brought back my old format:

Pro:

- Togetherness. We had 13 different Jewish communities represented at the service. That was pretty cool. Not only that, but we got a letter from two of the Orthodox shuls in town saying that they would have liked to attend but due to davening parameters (mixed seating, kol isha, instruments) they couldn't come-- but that they invited all of us to visit them the following day. Not sure how this was received among the rest of the crowd, but I for one appreciated the spirit of community. Even if you disagree with them, you have to respect people's boundaries and take them where they are.

- Atmosphere. Once again, sitting on the floor with candles and reading Eicha was a very interesting experience.

- Some good drashot. The shul rabbi talked about some of his experiences in Israel, particularly Jerusalem, both before and after 1967, and also brought up the contradiction that we are mourning a city that is no longer destroyed. There was some politics (he likes politics) about Women of the Wall, which I found a little inappropriate, but I was impressed by his conclusion, where he said that, to recall the rabbinic teaching that just as the Temple was destroyed due to sinat hinam, and it would only be rebuilt through ahavat hinam, we as liberal Jews had a responsibility to NOT HATE the Orthodox, to forgive them for whatever acts we've been blaming them for, and a responsibility to try to understand "the other side." "Tolerance and understanding are important, and tolerance doesn't start with the other side reaching out to you, it starts with you working on yourself."

- Some contemplation. Sitting there, listening to Eicha and trying to conceptualize the initial, as well as subsequent, tragedies we were commemorating, I realized that, in my view, observing the holiday didn't really didn't relate to whether Jerusalem had been rebuilt or not. We were remembering what had been lost, the people, the accomplishments, the culture, and so on. While for some people actually observing (or caring about) Tisha B'Av might be a challenge, I don't particularly buy the argument I've been seeing that the dilemma is primarily because Israel has now been "rebuilt." (The rabbi, for instance, mentioned that a friend of his, from a religious Zionist family, could not square mourning for the destruction when the land was being rebuilt, and so he regularly spent Tisha B'Av picnicking with his family in a park.)

This may be trickier in Israel (it might be hard to mourn Jerusalem when you can see it out your window), but for me, this doesn't really seem like a problem. (And no, it's not because we don't have a third temple.) For me, this is about commemoration. A few days ago, I was trying to conceptualize how to explain Tisha b'Av in case my students asked me what it was about, and I came up with this:

Tisha b'Av is like the Jewish 9/11. I'm not super-big on 9/11 commemoration specifically,, but as a concept, I think it's one that non-Jewish Americans can easily understand. It's about remembering what happened, memorializing the people, and trying to generate some lessons from it (in whatever direction that may be). And, as with 9/11, the commemoration doesn't stop once the physical buildings are rebuilt.

For me, Tisha b'Av is a chance to remember that bad things have happened to our people, and to be contemplative about it. As one Reform rabbi I read today wrote, "Yom Kippur is about me. Tisha b'Av is about us."

Now, not to get too far into sinat hinam territory, here were some things that didn't quite work for me:

- Too many shuls. Not that too many were in attendance (we probably had no more than 100 people). Just the fact that there are that many liberal Jewish organizations in the area is a little silly to me-- particularly when the community seems to be shrinking. I won't go so far as to say it suggests sinat hinam per se, but I do wonder how much of this state of affairs is a result of need versus people's inability to get along.

- Instruments. I'm not a huge fan of instrumental accompaniment in shul generally, but it seems particularly odd on a holiday where instruments are specifically forbidden. At least there weren't any bongos.

- English Eicha. I'm not saying you can't chant Eicha in English, just that if you're going to try it (especially with the Hebrew melody) you actually need to do some planning and figure out how to make it scan. On the bright side, the rabbi only tried this with one chapter.

- Trotting out the "93 Bais Yaakov girls" story as an exemplar of Holocaust martyrdom. Look guys, this story has been debunked, like, a lot. Here's an idea, folks. We've already modified the liturgy to deal with parts of theology we disagree with. How about we either phase out or at least qualify these Holocaust narratives that we know to be fictional? This is my same complaint with shuls that include "Yossel Rakover talks to God."

- Too much weird davening. To be fair, the rabbi did give people a chance to daven maariv in the sanctuary with siddurim. But I think only three people opted for that. Everyone else was treated to a guided meditation version of the amidah. Even that I could have potentially been ok with, but things like, "the shemoneh esreh has 18 blessings in it, and 18, as we all know, is the Hebrew word for life. Think about what you want most out of life." (And this was from the Conservative rabbi!) I suppose they were trying to make everyone comfortable, but it didn't do much for me.

- Too much sharing. Related to this, I recognize that this was probably about building community and all, but I really don't care what the people around me want out of life, or whatever else was flitting around in their heads during the not-quite davening session. Maybe I was just a little grumbly at this point, but it's the truth. There's a reason why your davening is supposed to be between you and God.

I have some further thoughts about how segments of liberal Judaism seem to be focusing more and more on emotional rather than intellectual needs and where I think it comes from and might be going, but I'll leave that for a later time.

Next: Tisha B'Av day at our first Orthodox shul!

Is this what liberal kiruv looks like?

I finally got my parents to shul! It was quite an accomplishment. They came for a Kabbalat Shabbat service where I was leading and though it wasn't exactly their cup of tea (they wouldn't even go inside the place until we got there, even though we were a little late), it was nice that they made the effort, and also that they commented on how happy and proud they were that we had found a community.

In related news, I have been asked by a very good old friend to officiate his wedding, on the grounds that they want "some Jewish content" and that "you're funny." Though they're in a very different place than me and Mrs. Yid in terms of practice and spirituality (the bride is not Jewish and though my friend went to Hebrew school and was bar mitzahed, the most religious thing they do these days is come to our seders), I decided to accept. I basically see it as an opportunity to put a bit of a Jewish stamp on it from a cultural perspective, even if it's not a halachic wedding (after all, neither was ours).

Most recently, Mrs. Yid and I volunteered at the giant Pride parade manning a booth for Beth Elderly along with another member of the young guard who I'll call Leib. Leib is our resident gay black Jew (welcome to San Francisco!), and as such, tends to have some useful perspectives when it comes to growing the congregation and keeping it welcoming to all potential members. So we stood at the booth with brochures and shema bracelets. At one point the rabbi's 3 year old started just handing them to people. Then he started putting them on people without waiting for them to take them.

... Then he started slipping them in their pockets. The best point came when he wiggled one onto an old Chinese man's cane without him noticing.

"He could be a Chabadnik!" we said.

We got some sign-ups for the shul mailing list, but mostly we just had conversations. Some were very interesting, like the secular-ish Muslim woman who wanted to compare notes on how open Judaism was to gays vs. Christianity or Islam, or the man raised Orthodox who had been "spoiled" by his parents and who was now a Buddhist, or the guy who had been accepted into Harvard Divinity School who wanted to know the difference between Orthodox and Reform Judaism. (Answer: here, ask the Reconstructionist rabbi of our Conservative shul! Who went to Yale Div School!)

Some conversations were a little weirder, like the drunk topless man who wanted sympathy for a bad experience with some Israeli Haredim he had in 1992 ("Do you understand my point? Do you?" "Yes, yes I do. Have a pen."), or the drunk topless woman who chatted with Mrs. Yid for half an hour about being a recovering Baptist and whose best friend (Jewish) loved to tell the story of the oven of Akhnai as a proof-text of how much Jews love arguing.

By the end of the day, we were just handing out shema bracelets to anyone who wanted them (note: next year, get English translations!) Some folks really liked the message of unity (Muslims, Mormons, Catholics), others seemed to find it too sectarian (the ex-frummie said it had too much baggage, one kid wearing a rainbow raccoon tail didn't want it because he couldn't read Hebrew). One lady grabbed one, turned it over, squinted at it, said, "That's interesting!" and stomped off. The rabbi said maybe next year we'll modify the bracelets so they don't actually have the name of God on them. Another alternative might be to make some with the theme of B'tselem Elohim (or Elokim.)

Even though at the beginning of the day I was a little weirded out at the thought of pseudo-proselytizing, by the end it was ok. It wasn't specifically about trying to turn anyone Jewish, just letting people know that we were around, that we were accepting, and that people were welcome, even if they were just curious. Though I've seen more bad outfits (or lack thereof) than I need for quite a while, it was still a fun experience.

Does an election still count as a coup?

Quite a few things have happened since November. First, the rabbi asked me to help lead Carlebach-style Kabbalat Shabbat services once a month. The old folks are still getting used to it, but they seem to like the peppiness. It takes about an hour and a half. We have wine tasting afterwards. So far it seems to be a hit (bringing in about 30 folks for a Friday night service, which is about 2-3 times the usual attendance).

I am still getting used to leading anything, much less prayer. I know enough to know I don't know all that much, but I figure that if people find it meaningful or enjoyable and it gets people in who otherwise wouldn't attend that it must be a good thing.

In related news, I was asked to join the Beth Elderly board and was almost unanimously elected (one old lady in the seat in front of me voted against, then immediately turned around and said "welcome aboard!")

I had my first board meeting on Monday. It took over two hours. Mrs. Yid called me afterwards to ask how it went. I wonder if "Jesus tapdancing Christ" was the most appropriate response.

There are now four of us young folks (30 and below), plus the rabbi who's in his late 30s. The rest of the board ranges from 50s to 80s. Needless to say, we are not all exactly on the same page. The young folks know the shul needs to find ways to attract new members. The outgoing President stirred up a big fuss when he proposed trying to make a new "Kehillah" consisting of several small shuls in town and moving under Temple Ol'Faithful's roof. While at the moment there seems to be very little enthusiasm about the idea from the Old Guard (one older board member, who I'll call Fishy, railed against each of the other small shuls, singling out B'nei Hippy in particular as "not even being a real synagogue!"), I think it's been invaluable in getting them all talking about how to keep the shul sustainable. The reality is whether we stay in our shteibl or find somewhere new, we need to be able to give people what they want and need, and folks like Fishy who think "everything is doing great" are kidding themselves if they think we're going to get anyone in the door with facilities that aren't ADA compliant and bathrooms that are older than me. At a bare minimum, we need to invest in our building, our infrastructure, and our programs. These are non-negotiable.

So, yeah, there's a little work to be done. I don't know how much I'll be able to help, but hopefully I can do some good. I'm not sure how I feel about becoming so entrenched within a community structure in such a short amount of time, but my hope is that we can help keep things going and maybe even bring some new blood and ideas into the shul.

For the cherry on top: Today I'm going to see an old friend from high school who asked me to officiate at his wedding. I've come quite a long way from the first time I opened up "Basic Judaism" 14 years ago.

P.S.

Masha the Meshugenner had a major melt-down in shul when the rabbiw as discussing shmita and the Jubilee and opened it up to comments from the crowd. She is fairly Republican and didn't like the idea of everyone losing their private property. Ezekiel, who is about as oblivious as Masha to opinions other than his own, said he thought it was a nice connection to the modern-day green movement and then shot her response down by saying that the synagogue was no place for political arguments. Masha got super pissed, stormed out cursing, and then milled back and forth in the back for another 20 minutes before calming down and doing a hora with the kids during L'Dor V'Dor.

The moral of the story? Maybe certain shul members should only be allowed to talk to the rabbi, not each other.

Milestones

Part I- Planning a coup

Apparently my friend Abraham has a master plan for taking over Beth Elderly and turning it from "the friendly but ancient shul" into "the friendly shul with lots of old people and a bunch of young folks, too." Interestingly enough, a lot of it hinges on me and Carlebach-style davening.

Like us, Abraham and his wife used to frequent Evil Minion quite a bit. And, like us, though they enjoyed the davening style, they found it a little hard to connect with the community. So they kept looking, eventually ending up at Beth Elderly, where the people are friendly but the davening is, sad to say, kind of dead. The cantor has a penchant for warbling and the rabbi likes Carlebach but can't carry a tune. Some of the older folks are interested but they don't know enough to lead it themselves. So when Abraham found out I can sing quasi-decently and knew all the tunes to Kabbalat Shabbat from our several years going to Evil Minion services, he got very excited.

Basically, the plan is to start our own breakaway minyan... except instead of breaking away from Beth Elderly, we'll instead take it over.

There is a spare room in the shul that is in the process of being cleaned out. Right now we're thinking that we will be able to set up shop in there and start doing some Carlebach stuff by January. If people like it, we will hopefully be able to attract some of the regulars (and maybe even some new folks) out of the main sanctuary and into our clutches. The goal is to have two services, give people a chance to do what they like, and then have both finish around the same time for a joint kiddush/oneg. The key to the plan is that once the alternative minyan gets more attendees than the main service, the rabbi has agreed to have the two groups swap rooms. The hope is that eventually, most people would opt for the livelier service while still giving the old-timers the option to stick with their preferred tunes if they wanted to.

At first I was a little alarmed by this idea, since to me it seems a little mean to boot the old folks out of their sanctuary. But I also realize that if Beth Elderly is going to keep going, it needs fresh blood, and this might be one of many ways to make that happen. So I'm on record as a potential minyan member, and we'll see what happens come January.

Part II- An early start

Abraham and I had this conversation a while ago, so it's been in the back of my mind. What I wasn't expecting was to get a dress-rehearsal for it last weekend.

I should back up. Mrs. Yid and I went to our first ever shul retreat! It's a big tradition and we'd heard a lot about it. Usually we are both a bit on the shy side at shul so it was a little overwhelming to think about spending a whole weekend with 100-odd congregants, but we decided to be brave and go for it. As it happened, it was a wonderful weekend. We got to spend lots of time with different people from shul-- some we already knew, like Abraham & Sarah and the rabbi & his wife, and some folks we only knew by sight who we now know a little better. I was happy to have Mrs. Yid there to help me get out of my shell a bit, and I think the whole weekend was the better for it.

One huge thing that happened was on Friday night. We got into the hotel late (it was about 50 miles out of town and we were driving during a rainstorm) and were gulping down dinner when the rabbi came over and mentioned to Abraham that he was thinking of doing a Carlebach tune or two during services.  Within a minute or two, this somehow morphed into him turning to me and asking if I'd like to LEAD a Carlebach Kabbalat Shabbat! (My brain stopped working at that point so my memory is a little foggy, but I seem to remember Mrs. Yid having something to do with it.) I stuttered that I'd have to think about it for a minute and sat back down. Luckily I had insisted on bringing our transliterated siddurs to dinner, so I whipped one out and started going through the service to see if I could actually remember all the melodies. With some help from Abraham, I got through them all, and with lots of encouragement from my wife, decided to take the plunge and go for it.

I was quite nervous when we started the service, but I did my best to keep my eyes on my book (or closed during the niggun parts) and got through it. Half the time I even had some fun. And it was really interesting; a lot of the people seemed to really get into it. I had been worried some of the older folks would be annoyed that it was so different, but a lot of them were enjoying the energy of the davening-- especially the rabbi's wife, who said that loves Carlebach and used to go to a Carlebach minyan in Israel a lot when she and her husband were studying there, and has missed it a lot in the last few years. When we were done, one of the really active board members came up to me and said, "That was really great. Our services should be more like that. In fact, I think I services should always be like that!" Abraham and I were pretty happy after that.

The rest of the weekend was lovely and we had a lot of fun (though I got bested by an aliyah yet again!), but for me that was the absolute highlight. I've led Jewish stuff at my house before, but that's always been in a setting where I'm the most knowledgable one in the room. It's a very different feeling to be leading things in a group where people know what they're doing, in many cases probably more than you. It was nerve-wracking, exciting and special all at the same time.

Part III- Aftermath

The rabbi sent out an email before Shabbat. He thinks we should start doing Carlebach style davening more regularly-- at least once a month! I don't want to take too much credit, but I know that at least part of this is thanks to last week's service. I did something and it made a difference. I did something that had an effect, if only in a small way. All of a sudden I'm feeling like I'm really part of the community... and that the community is a part of me. I'm very happy to have been part of that service, and very hopeful that this direction, along with other things the shul is doing, help make the community more vibrant, sustainable and engaging.

Part IV- Epilogue

The Saturday of the retreat I realized we were just one week past Zayde's 16th yarzeit. Even though I was past the date, I said Kaddish for him anyway-- for him and Bubbe. Together and apart, images and reality, all of it mixed up together, as always.

It's amazing to think it's been sixteen years since he died. Sixteen years of me growing up in a mental shadow, or at least reflection, of him. Sixteen years of doing family research, discovering so much about where he and the rest of the family came from. Sixteen years of trying to better understand his faith; of learning about Judaism, and then actually putting my knowledge into practice. Sixteen years of forging my own identity, one strongly, even intensely, rooted in my family's past, but focused on my future.

Sixteen years ago I didn't know what a kippah was. Sixteen years ago the only Jewish friend I had was as clueless and disengaged as I was. Sixteen years ago I had never observed Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur, much less Sukkot, Shavuot or Tisha B'Av. Sixteen years ago I wouldn't have imagined I'd ever have a Jewish blog, belong to a synagogue, or lead a prayer service.

I'm not the kind of Jew my grandfather was, and in some ways I regret that, because I know how incredible important that identity, that practice, and that worldview were to him. But I also hope that if he were here, there would be a part of him that would see how far I've come, and how much of it is rooted, at least in part, in wanting to better connect with him, and that he'd be proud.

Because I am.

Pulling in the family

Last night Mrs. Yid and I were hanging out with my brother Deacon Yid and his girlfriend, Mini. Mini is from the suburbs and her family seems to practice a fairly secular form of Protestantism. Like Deacon, she tends to lean towards the atheist side of things. She's come to a few of our holidays and seems to be ok with things (she's a little hard to read). At least she has less of a chip on her shoulder than Deacon, who made a big point of telling her at our seder, "You don't have to eat anything you don't want to, or read anything that you don't want to" (he always refuses to read or recite anything that mentions God).

Anyway, they were around, and we mentioned that we were going to be heading off to Havdalah at Abraham and Sarah's house. Interestingly enough, they said they were game to check it out. I had some hopes that they would find it kind of cool, but things didn't pan out quite as I had planned... we left kind of late, the house was a little crowded, Deacon seemed a little uncomfortable with people drinking, and unfortunately I hadn't mentioned to the rabbi ahead of time that they were coming or reminded him of my brother's extreme lack of knowledge/interest/comfort level with Jewish stuff. So we hung out for a while and then eventually did Havdalah, but it's hard to say whether they were really enjoying themselves. They were also pretty tired (Deacon keeps crazy hours and frequently doesn't go to bed until 4 or 6 in the morning) so who knows how they were doing by the end of things.

I feel like part of the reason Deacon doesn't really connect with Jewish stuff is because, 1- there's a longstanding lack of knowledge or connection due to our nonexistent Jewish education, and 2- the lasting ideal family images he has were largely created by popular media he saw as a kid and young adult--the overwhelming majority being secular and/or Christian. So for instance, if you ask him about his ideal family holiday, he thinks of a George Rockwell family sitting around a Christmas tree drinking cocao and singing Christmas carols-- though, to be fair, he is also into Hanukkah and asked for help getting a menorah and the right blessings when he was away at college. He certainly isn't into Christmas as a religious holiday, but I think he's attracted by the pageantry and imagery of it as compared to, say, Hanukkah. I don't think my brother necessarily "should" be doing Jewish stuff like I am but I do think popular media has played a big role in what kind of holidays and rituals he is or isn't interested or inspired by.

Honestly, I wish this hadn't been their first introduction to havdalah. If ritual or fanciness is your thing, you're not going to get a lot out of our havdalah. If it's deep spiritual insight, well there wasn't really any of that, either. It was really just some friends hanging out, talking shop about the shul, cracking jokes, and then doing the quick candle-spice-wine dip. Not all that impressive for your first time. I really wish they had come to the last one we had at our house, where they might have felt a little more comfortable. I'll have to check with Deacon in the next few days and see what he thought of it.

Still, it was cool of them to check it out, and maybe they'll come the next time we host Havdalah. We can always hope.

Hey, I got my brother to participate in a Jewish ritual...does this make me and Mrs. Yid kiruv workers now?

Sometimes a plateau isn't so bad

The High Holidays have come and gone, and while nothing went perfectly, plenty of things went reasonably well.

Let's back up for a moment. Since leaving college, we have shul-hopped nearly every year:

Year 1: Temple Ol'Faithful with my high school buddy and his family- lots of English, no connection with the shul, and a particularly awkward invitation to lunch on Yom Kippur.

Year 2: Beth Elderly with a college friend- this was during the year we spent a lot of time there while they were trying to keep themselves going without a regular rabbi. During the high holiday services, their aging rabbi emeritus came back so they would have someone to lead. A lot of Hebrew, very little transliteration, a gigantic age gap, etc. We were trying very hard and so were they, but something wasn't quite clicking. (Though they do get two awesome points for inviting us to open the dark during Avinu Volcano Malkeinu.)

Year 3: Our first year of living in the Mission and our only time going to Evil Minion for the Holidays. Zero transliteration, very hard to follow. Also I got sick and couldn't fast. Not very fun.

Year 4: Temple GLBT. Decent mussar but a little overly political for my tastes; also more English than I would have preferred. Was feeling depressed and didn't fast.

Year 5: Temple GLBT, round two. First year with Machzor Eit Ratzon! Finally had the ability to pray as much of the service-- in a traditional way-- as I wanted, which made a huge difference in my experience. Got sick again. No fasting.

So this was year 6, which makes us feel very old. Since we've decided to shore up Beth Elderly's young guard ranks, we returned to the shul for the holidays, and I have to say, it was actually very pleasant. In some ways, not a lot has changed: the building has still seen better days and most of the congregants are as old as my parents, if not older. But in the four years since our last HHDs there, the tone of the shul has really started to develop, at least for us. The rabbi and his family have made a huge difference, as has the appearance of a handful of younger people our age. The shul has invested in new partially-translated siddurim and machzorim, as well as some basic cosmetics like new chairs for the congregants. The regulars are clearly working on trying to make the shul appealing and inviting to younger members.

More than that, though, this time around we've really been trying to invest some time and effort to connect with the shul, or at least key members of the community. We aren't always successful (Shabbat attendance is still a challenge, especially with my new job taking up so much energy), but it's definitely making a difference. People know who we are, and we're getting a little better at knowing who they are, too.

On a deeper level, too, I feel like we're finally starting to get some sort of idea about where we want to be-- or at least which direction we want to go in-- in terms of observance. We certainly aren't at the point where we're going to become shomer mitzvot but I think we're developing a greater awareness of Jewish values (such as kashrut, shabbat, tzedaka) that we want to honor and take seriously, though we're not yet clear about what form that might take.

Feeling more confident and educated about davening as well as greater Jewish identity made a huge difference in my High Holiday experience this year. Also, I'm happy to report that for the first time in a while, I was able to fast! (Unfortunately the next day I came down with a bad cold that I'm still getting over and which caused me to miss Sukkot and Simchat Torah. Having all these holidays coincide with being exposed to tons of child germs is a really bad mix.)

I'm sure I'm reading too much into all this, but I feel like this High Holiday cycle is a decent metaphor for where we are with our lives generally (community/observance-wise, job-wise, housing-wise, and family-wise): no, things aren't perfect, but they're better than they've been in a while. So here's to enjoying getting to a halfway-decent plateau. I'm hoping things will only get better from here.

New experiences, some conversations, and choices

Since Mrs. Yid and I have joined Beth Elderly there have been a bunch of developments:

• I successfully attended morning minyan (next one will be this week) and davened with Zayde's tefillin. Between the tefillin and my Moses-eqsue beard (hooray for summers off!) I am definitely rocking some impressive Ortho-vibes. 

• For our one-year-anniversary, I got Mrs. Yid a new siddur and she got me my own tallis. In related news, we are huge Jew-nerds. 

• I have slowly gotten more comfortable attending Young Guard Havdalah stag. The most recent one was held on top of a fountain and included the rabbi's candle burning through his kiddush cup. I think this will be the last time we use a beer pong cup for this purpose. 

• I have started using Ayn Keloheynu as a basic Hebrew primer. It's slow going, but has been very satisfying to finally see some progress with my reading ability. I'm actually able to sound some words out-- and was sort-of able to follow along with the chanting of Lamentations at Tisha B'Av in the Hebrew.

• I ordered some knit kippot and have started wearing them more. This one is my favorite. I told Abbot Yid I was contemplating wearing one when I start my new job-- if Mrs. Yid can cover her hair it seems only fair I do something, too-- and not surprisingly, he's really, really not a fan. I also got a tallis katan but have concluded that even in San Francisco, that stuff is too darn hot for the summers. Maybe I'll try again come winter.

Also in the mix have been several "community events" bringing together multiple liberal congregations in the city. The first one was Shavuot, which included Temple Burning Bush, Beth Elderly, Temple Old Faithful, and B'nai Hippy. Rabbis from each community led study sessions on different topics and people chose from a programming "menu" to decide where they wanted to go. Mrs. Yid and I attended a session on Hasidic storytelling and a discussion of whether the Torah can be considered true by rational Jews. The second session, led by the rabbi from Burning Bush, was quite fascinating. The rabbi is from an Orthodox background and has a major axe to grind with literalist interpretations of Torah. Funnily enough, much of the talk involved more liberal congregants arguing with him that he was treating the text super-literally in order to set up a straw man. The Reform and Renewal people were actually arguing for the integrity of the Torah against a Conservative rabbi! Very fun. (It made me think a little of the Oven of Akhnai, actually.)

The second community event was Tisha B'Av, which, like Shavuot, neither Mrs. Yid nor I had ever celebrated. Apparently the liberal community in the city had been abuzz by how many people came to Shavuot, because this time in addition to the four original congregations, there was Beth Halfpipe as well as three or four indie minyanim and kehillot. This time the rabbis opted for a whole-group approach. After dinner we had short drashot alternating with some singing. When we were moving into the sanctuary to read Lamentations, one of the singers came up to me.

"I liked your singing."

"Yes, I could see that it moved you."

"So, are you, like, an Orthodox guy?"

"No."

"Ah, I thought that you might be Orthodox because of your beard."

"No, but my grandfather was Hasidic."

"Ah, so you have some Hasidic DNA in you."

"A pintele!" (This got a chuckle.)

Then Mrs. Yid came up and said hi. Looking at both of us, the guy remarked, "You both look very Hasidish." We shrugged.

Turning to Mrs. Yid, he asked, "Do you also have Hasidic ancestors?"

She replied, "No, but I have very venerable Protestant ones!"

"Ah," he said. "So you're a Jew-by-choice?"

I looked at her for a minute.

"Yes," she said, taking my hand. "And honestly, so is he."

Later I went home and Googled the guy. Turns out he's an old friend of Shlomo Carlebach. Zayde would be so proud. (Abbot Yid, not surprisingly, had never heard of Shlomo.)

Traditional but Alternative

Mrs. Yid and I have enjoyed our time shul-hopping but are happy to have found a congregational home. What we hadn't expected was that the shul-hopping would continue after we joined the shul. Case in point: last week's Kabbalat Shabbat with a new Reform minyan start-up (they call themselves a kehillah, which I guess sounds more friendly to Reform ears than a minyan- maybe it's generational; my parents still have visceral reactions to that term). There were guitars (fine), a harmonica (not bad, actually), and a mercifully brief use of bongos (cue irritated glowering from Mrs. Yid). The drash was pretty rambling (please don't end each point by saying, "I just thought that was interesting,") but at least people were engaged. Ultimately the visitors were nice and friendly, but the services encapsulated all the ways in which, as Mrs. Yid put it, "We've been ruined on Reform."

This isn't exactly new-- loyal readers will recall our first minyan at college was Carlebach-inspired at a Conservative shul, and we spent many enjoyable services at Evil Minion which is a Conservadox partnership minyan par excellence. Still, what with us slowly starting to take more mitzvot (or pseudo-mitzvot) on, the idea of belonging to a community that actually purports to follow some version of halacha-- in both positive and, perhaps, "restrictive" ways, no longer feels quite so at odds with our own philosophies. Mrs. Yid told me shortly before we got married that for her to feel connected, she needed to feel like she was actually doing Jewish things, and I think there's something to that.

There was another interesting moment the other week: towards the end of the service we started talking with an older gay man I'll call Irv who hops between Beth Elderly and Temple GLBT. We mentioned that a lot of the visitors seemed to come from the Reform tradition (some of them mentioned being current or former members of Temple Touched by God, and I recognized their photocopied siddur from Mishkan T'filah). Irv commented that he had noticed that, but added that given that background, he was surprised at how non-inclusive the service was. He said it was one thing for a place that does traditional liturgy to stick with that, but that he didn't understand why you would leave people out if you specifically do liberal liturgy. We knew what he meant; Temple GLBT alternates pronouns during Hinei Ma Tov, and also adds a section about different orientations during some choral prayers. It doesn't always resonate with me personally, but it's nice that it's there.

Afterwards, Mrs. Yid commented that Irv seemed to have been testing the waters with us; our clothes were probably reading as uber-frum (which has happened before), but he saw Mrs. Yid using Mishkan T'filah, and when he mentioned Temple GLBT we responded positively and even mentioned that we had gone to services there several times. From there he felt comfortable enough to come out with mild criticism. But that what it really came down to, in her eyes, was that both we and Irv are outliers, "alternative," and that she saw the Kehillah folks, and their home community of Touched by God, as "mainstream" par excellence.

It's a little counter-intuitive to think of the poster-child for liberal Judaism in the city leaving people out, but Mrs. Yid was basically saying that because they're so big, and so establishment (and have been since their founding), some people fall through their cracks. A mega-shul can do some things really well and cater to lots of niche groups, but since they've never needed to struggle for members they've never needed to think about "misfits" like us or Irv-- whereas Beth Elderly and lots of the small shuls are basically almost all misfits at this point. That's not to say we wouldn't be welcome, but it's not the same as a small place as Beth Elderly, which is really motivated to get to know its members and make sure it speaks to them (and where there seems to be more awareness about how diverse and wide-ranging the congregation is).

Though I'm still not exactly sure how much halacha I'm prepared to personally accept, I think I'm becoming more comfortable with the idea of being part of a community that at least seriously considers what halacha has to say, and I think worship style is part of this evolving sensibility as well. However, some of our foundational core values are also inclusiveness and diversity, so I think balancing those two elements is going to be an ongoing process as we try to take our Judaism and our community-building more seriously.

Growing Up

Mrs. Yid and I have decided to join Beth Elderly! (I'm still trying to figure out a better name for them, but for now, it is what it is). I sent the shul admin guy an email saying "after five years, it's time to make it official."

As part of this making things official business, we decided to finally attend a Saturday morning service. It was fine, maybe not as fun as Friday night, but nice. Lots of people were out of town for a shul event so we definitely stood out, but we got lots of encouraging smiles from the regulars. One fun (?) moment came when the shammes handed me an aliyah card. I had about fifteen minutes to totally overthink things and decuple-check the transliteration of the blessing in my siddur, and was feeling fine as I went up to the bimah. I have done aliyot before at a few cousins' Bar Mitzvahs, so I wasn't exactly going in blind.

And yet, as soon as I was up there, I became a stumbling boob. It was as though I'd never read transliterated Hebrew before (granted, it was written old-school Ashkenazi style, but still-- I've seen that before). I think it might have been a little stage fright (which also never happens to me, but go figure). I stumbled through the blessing, stood around awkwardly during the reading, and then tried to run away as soon as I could (the cantor ordered me back up for the rest of the reading, go team!) When they finally let me slink away, everyone on the bimah shook my hand and the shammes said, "See, you got through it!" Technically, I suppose.

Telling the rabbi about it the next weekend at Young Guard Havdalah, I said, "You know that part in Judges where 'the spirit of the Lord entered into Samson'? It was like the opposite of that."

Still, I think this was healthy. For a long time I've had low-to-mid-level anxiety about wanting to appear like I know what I'm doing. For better or worse, when people see my beard, my hat, and Mrs. Yid's scarves (and lack of pants), they make some assumptions about our knowledge or observance level, and sometimes I feel a little embarrassed to admit how little I know. It's important to me to not only be Jewishly literate and competent, but also to not feel like I'm somehow putting people on by wearing a frumish costume or something when I can't even read Hebrew. While I know eventually I really just need to get over the embarrassment/anxiety factor, I think part of what's going on here is also that it's hard to do things out of your comfort zone. It's hard to admit you don't know as much as other people. It's hard to acknowledge your own shortcomings. But that's also how you grow. So, while we may not go every week, I think I'll be sticking with Saturday services. I'll even go up for another aliyah when they ask.

Which I hope will not be for a while.

Putting in the Work

Since last we spoke, there have been quite a few developments in our relationship with Beth Elderly. First of all, this Young Guard Havdalah thing has been a modest but regular success, which is a big deal for us, given that we usually fail to stick with things, and particularly given that the demographics of Beth Elderly are strongly against a YGH having a sizable enough turnout to regularly perpetuate itself. Yes, numbers have trickled off following the inaugural Havdalah night, but the smaller group has allowed Mrs. Yid and I (ok, I'll be honest, it's mostly me) to get over a lot of our initial shyness. Hanging out with Abraham, Sarah and Batsheva the President's Daughter (TM) has helped a lot. It's also been nice because now we have some friendly faces (and the names to go with them) we can seek out at shul if there's a lull in social interaction.

Some good/fun news first:

• As mentioned before, YGH has been going well. Your humble correspondent even played host to the gang this last time around-- and did it solo, to boot, since Mrs. Yid's store is starting to make her work crazy hours again. Fun times were had by all (particularly when I added the shot of Bacadri 151 to the Havdalah wine after pouring it out so that the candle made a pretty flame).

• We have started going to Beth Elderly's Kabbalat Shabbat services and monthly potlucks again. Davening quality continues to vary; the rabbi keeps trying livelier Carlebach tunes, and while his heart is in the right place, his voice really isn't. Still, despite the Friar's better/critical nature, I have started to steel myself against griping about it every time and instead am doing my best to carry the room with what my wife says is a halfway decent voice.

• I went to a Lag B'Omer BBQ at the rabbi's house solo and didn't turn into a pillar of salt.

• I took a month-long Tanakh class (also solo) taught by the rabbi's wife and had a lot of fun and even learned a few new insights into the text (biggest take away for the book of Ruth: how pure are Naomi's intentions when she sends her daughters-in-law away? The rabbi's wife, for one, not so sure). Again, despite being a little nervous to do this alone, it worked out just fine, and now I have a few new names for my mental rolodex (sorry, that's dated, isn't it? I meant my mental contacts list).

And now for (a little) griping! Just because it wouldn't be TCfS without it.

• Figure out this singing thing, please!

This may be unfair since rabbis and cantors are two separate professions, but I really wish the rabbi would either go to a few Carlebach services/listen to some tunes online as a refresher, or ask someone in the congregation to help him out with this. Because, honestly, it's hard enough to get the kavannah going with the old dirgey stuff without having not very good Carlebach on top of it.

• Random people have nothing better to do but come talk to me, apparently.

There is one lady in her late 50s who I'll name Masha the Meshuggener who is always rambling about something. The first time we met her, it was that there was nowhere for her to shop that she liked. We offered various suggestions and she shot each of them down. "That one mistreats its workers. That one doesn't have a union. That one isn't organic. I'd die before I shopped there!" Luckily we had other people at our table to talk to, so we did. I wasn't as lucky at Lag B'Omer, however. Masha came up to my table and started complaining at me. Apparently her day canvassing the neighborhood for petition signatures was tiring. I reached deep into my soul and resisted the urge to either run away or make small talk. I just wasn't going to engage. I had a beer, I could just tune her out. I managed to keep that up for about a good 15 minutes, while she ranted about city council this and local opposition that and some political opponent of hers who wasn't as good as her and about how there should be a law about pre-requisite political experience, though apparently that wasn't an issue when the President got elected so why should it matter now...

That's right, people. Even in San Francisco, even among the crunchiest of the crunchy, you can find old Jewish ladies with an Obama axe to grind. Viva diversity, I guess?

It was at that point that Masha became interested in my drink. She wanted to know what it was. As it happened, it was a nice ale produced by one of my favorite Canadian-influenced breweries. She wanted to mix a shot of it with her organic apple juice. Since I had only brought so many bottles, my first instinct was to be annoyed, but then I remembered that Unibroue's beers are about 9% ABV, more than twice that of a standard beer like Guinness or Newcastle. So I figured, if I can't make Masha stop talking, at least I can make her entertaining. I poured her a good solid shot and she liked it so much she had me save her another one for later. Unfortunately she didn't become any more entertaining, and even after I left the table and sat by the bonfire to make room for lots of young families she insisted on following me, helpfully recalling all her bitter and tragic memories relating to fireplaces and the contents therein (I am not making this up; I heard about this lady's inheritance and how it connected with fireplaces).

Also at Lag B'Omer, a 90-year-old Russian guy came up to me with a photocopied pamphlet he had written extolling the virtues of veganism. At a meat BBQ. Oh-kay. When he ran out of pamphlets, the older gentleman stood in the middle of the rabbi's backyard singing O Solo Mio, followed by a few old Yiddish songs. Since he was surrounded by mommies and grand-mommies who have long since lost any critical thinking abilities, every time a song ended their response was to manically clap and yell, "Yay, yay!" as if they had just seen a two-year-old blow out a birthday cake. Which is funny, because after Old Man Veganism finished, a mother dragged her 7-year-old up, brought out his music stand, violin and songbook (which they had just happened to bring?) and he performed an impromptu concert. Again, the "Yaying" crowd wouldn't stop, so the kid just kept going, probably for close to half an hour. The whole time his mom was sitting a foot away from him in a folding chair, taping the whole thing on her iPhone. I'm not saying the kid wasn't talented, I just don't know that I really needed to know the jazzy version of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."

• Something is personally inconvenient to me!

Your shul is in the middle of nowhere and when I get there early for Tanakh class there is nowhere to sit or hang out that doesn't result in me being blown around by gale force winds like a rag doll. Not really Beth Elderly's fault, but still, yesterday I wound up spending an hour and a half reading my book under a bush like a hobo just to get out of the wind. And then I had to shlep home after. It was lame. Worth it, but still lame.

Despite all this, though, it's become quite clear to me that Beth Elderly is the only shul that's ever really felt welcoming to us, and even though things there aren't perfect (as the grass-stains on my pants can attest), we feel pretty sure that our next big step will be to formally join the shul. Which, as no one in my family (besides Uncle Milt) has been official members of anything Jewish in over 40 years, is kind of a big deal. Even though there are things I'd like to change there, and even though we may be leaving the city in a few years, I've finally realized what everyone has been saying to me: if you want a community, you have to work at it. If you want things to be better, you have to participate. That's what a community is. So, fine. I'm game. Let's keep the momentum going.

This weekend: Shavuot!

Building Bridges

Our adventures with the Not-So-Elderly from Beth Elderly continue! This month we had Young Adult (defined as under 40) Havdalah at another couple's home. The rabbi and his wife brought their two kids, which was fun for a while, but got pretty chaotic pretty fast (one and three years old are not ideal ages for hanging out multiple hours after sun-down). Aside from that, there were a handful of young folks we had met last time. We did Havdalah, chatted about the shul, and just generally spent time getting to know each other. Mrs. Yid and I wound up staying past midnight talking with the host couple Abraham and Sarah about their practice and journeys with Judaism. As a fellow young couple of eclectic religious background and practices it was a lot of fun to trade stories and experiences without feeling that we were weirding each other out. (Abraham was raised Episcopalian, eventually found out he was halachically Jewish through his maternal grandmother, and spent time at college Hillel, Reform Judaism, Chabad and Evil Minion before finding Beth Elderly; Sarah is a practicing Catholic and the two of them are active in both communities-- very busy weekends!) Compared to them, Mrs. Yid and my religious affiliation and practice are almost uncomplicated, something we haven't felt in... ever?

There have been a few times over the past ten or fifteen years when I made a close friendship that wound up having a big impact on my Jewish education and practice. The first was in high school, when I found my first Jewish friend that was religious enough that he could at least take me to High Holiday services at his shul. The second was in college, when my best friend and roommate was a rabbi's kid and really knew what she was doing, and gave me the anchoring I needed to take the things I had been learning from books and putting them into practice. With these new friends, I feel like there's the potential to have some fellow travelers who understand the challenges of wanting to take a tradition seriously (or at least more seriously than not at all) while not being judged for the choices you ultimately make or don't make.

Here's hoping that our new acquaintance with Abraham and Sarah will turn into a long friendship-- and maybe encourage us to take our path(s) as seriously as they do theirs.

And also that next time, the rabbi and his wife will get a baby-sitter.

Darkness and Light

In Parsha Bo we hear about the plague of darkness. The Etz Hayim has an interesting commentary. If the darkness was only a lack of physical light, it says, couldn't people have just used candles? This question, while kind of bizarre, leads to an intriguing suggestion: the darkness could also have had psychological, emotional or spiritual dimensions. While I'm not sure I buy that reading in the context of the text, I think lots of people can relate to emotional darkness-- whether feeling like you've fallen into an abyss, or just struggling with general dissatisfaction.

I've been feeling some of the latter lately, and though it may sound overdramatic, I absolutely agree with designating it as a "plague." If life is supposed to be about joy and satisfaction, not having those things can definitely feel like a curse or affliction. It sucks when things suck, not just because bad things are happening, but also because they have a way of creeping in and nullifying, or at least diminishing, the good stuff. Etz Hayim quotes the Midrash connecting the Darkness/Light metaphors with Heaven and Hell: "Just as the light of Shabbat is a foretaste of the world to come... the darkness of the ninth plague is a foretaste of Gehinnom..." Powerful imagery for people engaged in an intellectual examination of depression, though I don't think I'd use it to cheer someone up.

The hardest part of our practice these days is how inconsistent things are, and that mostly has to do with us still not having found a community we really connect with. Mrs. Yid's schedule continues to be pretty crazy, and I spend most Shabbats alone. It's hard to be consistent when I'm missing my partner in crime (and Yiddishkeit). Most of the time we're too busy to really notice it, but it still pops up from time to time-- for me, particularly when I have to spend Shabbat alone, but also on the rare occasion where we wind up doing a lot of Jewish social stuff.


This week is a great example. This week my cousin came from Israel on a speaking tour and invited us to come hear her talk. We met her beforehand, had dinner, and then went to the event. Despite the fact that initially I was rather anxious about meeting new people, things actually turned out totally fine. I even had a chance to talk Israeli politics/anthropology with a few folks.

At the end of the night, my cousin mentioned she was going to be spending Shabbat speaking at a synagogue in the East Bay, Beth Funny Name to be Determined. Mrs. Yid and I have been interested in checking out BFNtbD for a while now but haven't made it across the bay, and I mentioned I would try to check it out.

But then I remembered that Mrs. Yid was working that day. As soon as I realized that I would have to go alone, I got a sick feeling in my stomach. It festered over the next few days, and I realized that even though I wanted to go there and see her speak... I was also kind of terrified of going by myself. And that feeling didn't go away, even after talking about it multiple times. I kept waffling back and forth about "maybe I could go," and then retreating. And every time, I was also beating up on myself for this even being an issue in the first place. I didn't wind up going, and I was pretty irritated with myself.

The week didn't end too badly, though. My cousin was chatting with some of her rabbinical colleagues and remembered that we had spent some time at Beth Elderly a few years ago. It turned out that the new-ish rabbi there was organizing a young adult Havdalah. Would we like to come?

Going to services alone at a shul where I've never been before is tough. Trying to chat up random strangers in a super crowded room after services at Evil Minion is tough. But a few young adults at the rabbi's house? This, I can do. So I said yes, and we went, and things actually were really, really nice. It turns out that since we stopped going the new rabbi has been working hard to encourage more young people, and they're now experimenting with more Carlebach stuff in their services, as well as trying to make more opportunities for the young folks to meet and hang out outside of shul, too.

This was like music to my ears. One young married couple-- who had also gone to Evil Minion many times and found it really hard to meet anyone-- had even joined the board!

As with anything involving Jews, there were things that weren't perfect. Mrs. Yid had several wardrobe malfunctions and had to battle the city's various inept transportation systems and wound up coming late. There wasn't much for me to eat because no one knew my food allergies. There were people there who I wouldn't choose as my best friends (did you know Canada has bad weather? Now I do, too. In excruciating detail.) But all those things actually had a bright side. I had to go in and schmooze for an hour with strangers by myself, something I had all but convinced myself I was incapable of doing. I got to see that there are plenty of other young-ish people out there with worse social skills than me. (I'm only moderately awkward! Go team!) And the fact that I didn't get much food gave us an excuse to go out for dinner afterwards to celebrate.

On the way home, I told Mrs. Yid that I had just had an epiphany.

"It's terrible!"

"What?"

"I think... your Dad may be right."

"About what?"

"About that stupid Gandhi quote he likes so much. 'Be the change you want to see in the world.'"

"How?"

"I think it means... we can't spend all our time banging our heads into the wall trying to shoehorn ourselves into someone else's community... if there's a place that's welcoming to us, and they're trying to grow their young members... maybe what we need to do is get involved, and build it into the kind of community we want to have."

"Funny, I feel like I've only been saying this for the last five years."

I love my wife.

Mrs. Yid and I have talked a lot about anxiety this week, and we've concluded that my anxiousness about talking to people may be a bit beyond the norm-- and that it may be something worth looking into with a therapist. Plenty of people in both our families take anti-anxiety and anti-depression meds, so it's not out of the question that I might have some funky brain chemistry going on, too.

But maybe it's also that, given the choice, I'd rather meet people in small doses. Maybe it's about needing to not bite off more than I can chew.

Even though this has been a really tough week, I'm starting to feel hopeful. There's a little more light in the tunnel.

It's nice to know we have options. It's important to remember that there is a community that has continually welcomed us, without pressure and without preconditions. And it's fantastic that there seems to be the seeds of a change happening there where all the pressure won't be on us to save the shul.

So who knows, maybe by this time next year, I'll have a new name for Beth Elderly. Maybe Beth Median (math joke!) Maybe Beth Boardwalk (it's by the beach).

Or maybe, Home.

Coming soon: TCFS tours?

A few weeks ago, I was hanging out with an old friend of mine who has been living in New York for the past several years and is now back in town for grad school. The guy's mother is Protestant, his father is Catholic, and he was confirmed in the Church, though AFAIK has not attended services or received sacraments in quite a few years.

Lapsed-Catholic Friend: Hey, we should check out some of the synagogues in town!
Me, a bit confused: Um, ok, but... why?
LCF (who has a substantial architecture background and is getting a degree in urban planning): I really want to see what some of those places look like on the inside!
Me: Hey, anytime you want to go, just let us know. We're happy to show you around.

Apparently the first place he wants to see is Beth Halfpipe.

This should be fun.

Hey, we're trying

I doubt that Mrs. Yid or I will ever be nominated to be Chief Sephardic Rabbi of anything. Granted, there are plenty of legitimate reasons for that. But one definite strike against us is that while traditionally it's considered very important to engage in hiddur mitzvah, or "pretty up the mitzvah," around here we apply our shabby-cheap aesthetic to pretty much anything.

Case in point: our first sukkah, courtesy of Mrs. Yid, bless her heart, who, upon being kicked out of jury duty last week and having some time to kill (and knowing what day it was), decided to surprise yours truly with this in our backyard.

On Sukkot, we remember what it was like living in the desert as we sit on folding chairs of old.

It may not be much to look at, and if we're being sticklers about that whole s'chach thing then only that one teeny corner of it with the weeds on it was kosher, but darn it, it reminded me of why I love my wife. These aren't her traditions (heck, they're barely mine), but she's trying. It was also very sweet that she had used the chuppah poles from our wedding that her brother carved himself and lugged across several states. I look forward to getting many uses from those over the years.

After Mrs. Yid finished the sukkah, I went out for Thai food and we sat in the sukkah and ate a lovely, if slightly cramped, dinner. Then we cracked out some chumashim and studied the parsha for Sukkot (I found them incredibly dull; Mrs. Yid was entertained that they all seem to involve God demanding tons of food like a pregnant Queen Bee), and then we both giggled at the crazy prophecies of the Hatfarah portion in Zechariah (my favorite part is when he talks about the mountain splitting open; I couldn't help but think of this).

Anyway, yes, it's only the third Jewish holiday of 5772 and already the gravitas around here has dropped way down. But something's better than nothing. And besides, ours is a highly understanding God. We hope.

High Holidays Debrief

Mrs. Yid and I went to Temple GLBT for High Holidays for the second time-- the only time since college where we've gone back somewhere. A few minor issues aside, I enjoyed myself quite a bit. These last few years I've been unable for fast for health reasons, so this was the first time in a while that I fasted, and I have to say, this may have been the easiest time I've ever had of it.

One issue I've had over and over again at High Holiday services has been liturgy and transliteration-- while I prefer Hebrew to English, most place's machzorim tend to lack adequate transliteration, which means that people like me get stuck out in the cold. This has probably been one of the biggest problems I've had in trying to have engaging High Holiday experiences.

So, in keeping with the spirit of diving into things a little more, I bought my own transliterated machzor, courtesy of Joe Rosenstein at newsiddur.org. It didn't come until after Rosh Hashanah, but I marked it up ahead of time with sticky flags so that by the time Yom Kippur rolled around, I was set and ready to go.

I started the day by putting on Zayde's tefillin. I've been feeling slightly guilty about having them and not using them, but frequently the only days I actually get around to davening are Saturdays, when you're not supposed to use the darn things. Oh, irony. And it turns out you're not supposed to wear them on major holidays, either. So, a double-no-no-whammy for me. Oh well.

Because I was in a spiritual mood I put on Zayde's tefillin anyway, but I didn't say the brachot-- A because I knew I wasn't supposed to be davening with them on Shabbat or Yom Tov, and also because I hadn't remembered to write them down and I was trying not to use the computer. So instead I used them as a sort of mental focus for a short prayer asking for the joy and faith of my grandfather to be in my heart and mind for the day and to help center me during the fast. Halachic, perhaps not, but it felt good to have a physical connection to Zayde.

Once we were at shul, I found that being able to follow the service made a huge difference in my experience, and it was nice to be able to proceed more at my own pace as opposed to taking all my cues from the service leaders. Temple GLBT's machzor was made before I was born, so its transliteration is quite minimal (and my impression is that some pieces of the amidah are significantly abridged), so I wasn't always able to get through everything, but it was nice to have the option to continue if I wanted to. It was also fascinating to observe that for the most part, Temple GLBT was following a pretty traditional prayer structure. Not everything was in there, but people who would expect crazy liberal gay-friendly Reformies to have replaced everything with one long drum circle would have been pretty surprised.

Ever the critic, I have a few gripes. But in keeping with my resolution to try to be less of a bastard, I'm keeping it brief:

- There was no mincha service. It was entirely replaced by break-out sessions. There was a little bit of text study offered but for the most part it was meditation, arts & crafts, or social activism discussion group (the day's topic was "Racism: Bad?") It wound up being ok because we took the opportunity to take a much needed break and dose of sunlight. On the one hand, I kind of like having a break, but it was also a bit of a bummer that with all the alternative options being offered, no one thought to just offer a traditional-ish prayer service for the afternoon. Given how most of the rest of the day more or less stuck to the usual script, it seemed odd to me.

- No Leviticus 18. I was particularly miffed about this because Mrs. Yid and I had studied the parsha the night before and found a lot to debate in it, and I had been particularly interested in how a GLBT-focused shul would tackle it. Apparently, they tackle it by avoiding it entirely and switching it with the Holiness Code in Leviticus 19. I suppose I get it but it felt a little disappointing. Also, the Holiness Code is, IMO, fairly uninteresting. At least Lev 18 has some meaty things people can dig into and discuss.

- Teeny, teeny yizkor service. Lots of niggunim and build-up about how this is "one of the most meaningful services of the year," juxtaposed with very little time letting us actually pray the darn thing. This was particularly irksome to me as I am unfamiliar with the structure of yizkor and was trying to modify the blessings for my three grandparents.

- On a related note, I really wanted to say Mishiberach for my increasingly-ill grandmother, and am rather perturbed that none of her kids have the slightest idea of what her Hebrew name is. (I asked my great-aunt but all she could give was a wild guess.) I guess we're the only ones spending anytime in shuls that call people up for aliyot using both their parents' names.

All in all, I had a very good time. I may still be working on this community thing, but at least I'm feeling comfortable and "competent" when it comes with the actual prayers for the holiday.

Quotes:

Me: I got a new siddur and a new machzor, which is great, because it made it a lot easier to follow along in shul.

Abbot Yid: Um... all I caught out of that was "shul."

Our clothes Out-Jew us again

Mrs. Yid and I have been trying to stick to some sort of shul schedule now that I'm back from Europe, so we went to Evil Minion on Friday. As usual, davening went fine-- I really look forward to the sensation of everything falling away for a little bit when we get into the Carlebachian niggun singing, and it's just a very lovely experience.

However, as usual, things take a turn for the awkward when it's time for kiddush. Nothing super terrible happened this time, but there was this amusing interchange:

New Guy: Hi there, I'm Ari.
Mrs. Yid (straining to hear over the loud room conversation): What? Ori?
Ari: Nice to meet you, Ori!
Me: (Shaking my head that my life has turned into a Best of Abbot and Costello special) Hi, Ari.

Two minutes later:

Nice lady: Hello, where are you guys from?
Mrs. Yid: Down the block, actually.
NL: Really? With that nice tichel on, I would have guessed Israel!

Whoops. Apparently between my snazzy fedoras and trimmed beards and Mrs. Yid's new-ish practice of wearing headscarves and skirts, we are sending some interesting signals.

We talked about this afterwards at the very traditional post-davening sushi fest:

Me: Do we give off frumy vibes?
Mrs. Yid: I mean, under a very technical definition, I guess so... but the details are all wrong! This dress is totally not tznius! If someone who knew what they were looking for saw me, they'd think I was totally whoring it up.
Me: And I don't know of any tish that accepts gray straw stetsons as part of the dress code. (Pause) Maybe Breslov, I suppose.

This is not the first time this has happened. To a degree I think it just reflects our aesthetics and the way they intersect with our values/personalities (somewhat old-fashioned and low-key as compared to say, the uber avant-gard hipsters we have to step over to get to shul). I think there's something about the traditional/religious aesthetic that we actually find rather charming, classic, if you will. I know I personally just think hats, beards, and tall yarmulkes look cool. Mrs. Yid, to a degree, seems to be leaning a similar way in favoring skirts and dresses and snazzy headscarves. (That appears to be where the line ends, though; she says she has no interest in wearing a wig or shaving her head. Darn, I thought that could be a bonding thing!)

Though these incidents are extremely minor, I also worry that the way we dress, may, in Jewish settings, create assumptions about our observance level that not only aren't accurate, but are waaaaay far from accurate. You probably don't expect the couple who look like they just graduated from "Hip Chabad House" bootcamp to like bacon and intermarriage. We just don't want people to feel like we're being dishonest.

The best part of all of this, of course, is that when I told my parents this story last night, they couldn't get past the word "tickle."

Reflection

Cross-posted to the home blog.

It's been almost a whole year since my shul-angst post. In that time the job situation has mostly stayed the same, Shiksa Girlfriend has become Mrs. Yid, and we probably haven't been to shul more than a handful of times.

So what to make of this?

For starters, I think we've been very busy with the wedding and family stuff and so shul took a backseat. The other thing is that we spent a lot of time thinking about, and talking about, explicitly Jewish things we wanted to include in our marriage and present/future household and so I think neither of us were necessarily feeling particularly Jewishly deprived.

We also have been trying to be slightly more machmir about doing Shabbat regularly, which is nice.

Still, I think we are going to try to pick up the shul-reins some more and keep plugging away. This last Shabbat we went to Evil Minion again and it was perfectly nice. We haven't decided where to go for High Holidays this year, though we're leaning towards Temple GLBT (particularly since the rabbi that married us is a quasi-regular participant there). At some point we will finally bite the bullet and either try very hard to make some friends, or take a class or, heaven forbid, actually join a shul and see what it's like. Just because we feel like a super awkward special case doesn't mean we actually are.

And anyway, at least now that she has a ring on her finger, Mrs. Yid won't have to worry about people thinking she's only at shul for the (kosher) meat-market.

...Strangely enough, I never have this problem.

A Wake-Up Call

Shiksa Girlfriend and I had a talk recently where she said she was bummed out that we had let our synagogue attendance drop so dramatically. There were lots of reasons for this: she had been unemployed for eight months (yay new employment!), both of us had been stretched kind of thin emotionally and psychologically, and, to be honest, neither of us is all that social (me especially). She said she understood all that, but that she needs to feel like we're a little more part of a community, and that I'm frankly not helping. Specifically, she thinks my shul standards are too high.

I said that it was hard for me; that my parents weren't really joiners and that we weren't raised to be joiners, and that social/group dynamics have never really been my thing, partially because I never really needed to work at it. If I didn't want to be a part of something, I didn't have to. Which meant that I didn't bother.

She said that was all well and good but that if we go around expecting perfection out of every social interaction, especially in a Jewish context, that we'll never get a chance to find people that we do click with. I said that it felt like we had seen what our options were, and none felt quite right-- Evil Minion had great enthusiasm, but felt cliquey and awkward as soon as services were over. Beth Elderly had the exact opposite problem; they had so few new (or young) members that we felt like people were incapable of A- giving us some space to settle in, or B- not projecting various images of Young Adult Leadership TM on us. At this point I would feel guilty going back there simply because they gave us a trial membership for High Holidays and then we never went back after. They're probably still scratching their heads over it.

In a really interesting development, she also said that if this thing isn't resolved by the time we have kids, she will basically look for another community identity to raise them in (probably Unitarian Universalism, but maybe super-low-key cultural Christianity).

Whoah.

At first I was a little shocked at what felt like a trump card or low blow, but I realized that I should really have been thankful of how honest and direct she was being. She wants to share this Jewish thing with me, but I can't really expect her to be the leader when she isn't even Jewish. And unfortunately I'm not really knowledgeable (or comfortable) enough to stand alone or go trailblazing ahead, foraging into the tall grasslands of Jewish community.

So we compromised. We will be doing more shul visits this year. When SG's schedule gets ironed out, we will try to include more Saturday visits into the mix (which will also be a good way to get a fresh look at the different shuls in town). We've already made arrangements for High Holidays at Temple GLBT. This will be our first holidays with them.

Four years of High Holidays in four different shuls. I wonder if it's us? Or them? Or both.

What's in Your Haggadah?

Upon graduating from college, Shiksa Girlfriend and I found ourselves with some extra time on our hands. She being the industrious one quickly became gainfully employed. I being a tad more distractable, took longer. Luckily, some of this free time happened to coincide with the weeks leading up to Passover season, and so I decided to take it upon myself to write my own Haggadah for Passover.

That was three years ago. Every year we've done a seder (last year we did two), and it's always been tons of fun. We also keep Passover for the whole eight days, though, to be perfectly honest, we don't keep the restrictions on kitniyot, on the grounds of it being dumb as hell. (Incidentally, I'd like to give a simultaneous thank you and apology to Rabbi David Bar-Hayim, whose ruling that Ashkenazim in Israel should be exempt from the anti-kitniyot minhag have inspired me to misquote him three years running as abolishing the whole stupid process altogether)

Obviously, ignoring kitniyot and only avoiding grains gives us quite a bit more flexibility in our practice. For instance, in addition to old standards like roast chicken and fish, our first night menu will also include Vietnamese Salad Rolls. (Second night will be a bit more traditional-- to give Mama Yid a feeling of home, we're even making chopped chicken liver. Yes, Shiksa Girlfriend says it tastes like cat food, but what the hell, it's once a year.)

As people might guess, my flexible approach to Passover impacts more than just the menu. My first Haggadah was fairly traditional, if only because I wanted to have a chance to see what it was like with "everything" in there. I even transliterated the complete (short version) of Birkat HaMazon from the B'Kol Echad. But we also tried to keep things punchy and fun-- since I'm one of the only Jews there, I don't really need to show off. And I'd rather not have our guests feel like they're going to a theology lecture/ sociology in religion workshop. I see Passover as Jewish Thanksgiving with some highly specific traditions and stories. I'm cool with that.

Continuing the theme of the evolving Haggadah, the new version has a few changes, mostly designed to make things a little shorter. I took out "Pour Out Our Wrath/Love" section (too long and just generally odd) and cut Birkat down to a third, since the post-food stuff has tended to be where people get lost. SG wanted to cut Miriam's Well, but I lobbied to keep it in (I think the Elijah/Miriam contrast is kind of cool). We've also played a little bit with our Exodus story. Oh, and at SG's insistence, I cut Adir Hu down to only five verses, rather than the whole eight. I'm sure if God is as mighty as the song says, he won't mind.

Anyway, here is the Maggid section of our Smart Ass Haggadah Version 2.0. Enjoy and have a great Passover.

The Story of the Exodus

Once there was a famine in the land of Canaan. The Hebrews’ cattle had no grass to eat.

Cow #1: I’m starving. Moo.

Cow #2: I’m so hungry I could eat a horse. Moo.

Cow #1: I should eat you for that. Moo.

The Hebrews weren’t doing too well, either.

Asher: Hey, Dad, I’m hungry!

Naftali: Daaaad! We’re out of dates…and oil…and grain… and everything else!

Jacob: Kids, stop whining! Your brother Joseph is a big shot in Egypt. And, I hear they have food. Let’s go visit him for a while.

Jacob’s Kids: Yay!

Jacob: It’s a long way there, so use the bathroom first. I’m not stopping every five minutes.

In Egypt:

Joseph: Estranged family? What a surprise! Of course I’ll be glad to help out…Who wants dinner?

Generations passed and the Hebrews remained in Egypt. A new king came to power who mistrusted the strangers in his country.

Pharaoh: These Hebrews are a threat to our way of life. Let’s enslave them and use them to build things.

Hebrew #1: I wish this new pharaoh would just die!

Hebrew #2: Wouldn’t that just create more work for us?

Egyptian laborers: Hey, they’re taking our jobs!

Despite the harsh conditions of slavery, the Hebrews continued to grow in numbers. Fearing a slave rebellion, the Pharaoh ordered that the royal midwives to kill any male Hebrew infants at birth.

Pharaoh: Look here midwives, you get to be the front line for population control. I’m counting on you to keep the numbers down.

Shifrah and Puah: We hear and obey, oh great Pharaoh.
But they did not.

Pharaoh: Hey, why are there so many baby boys? I told you to take care of that.

Shifrah: By the time we get there…

Puah: They’ve squirted the little guys out.

Shifrah: And then it’s back to work at the pyramids. They’re really a remarkable people, sir.

The Pharaoh was annoyed.

Pharaoh: All Hebrew boys get dumped in the river from now on, got it?

One couple, named Amram and Yocheved, followed the decree to the letter.

Yocheved: I’m done waterproofing the basket. Let’s go drop the kid off.

Amram: God willing, the crocodiles have already eaten someone today.

Yocheved: Farewell, baby! Don’t rock the boat...basket!

The baby’s sister Miriam kept an eye on the basket as it drifted downstream.

Pharaoh’s daughter: Hey! What’s in that thing? It could be valuable. A baby! Aww, you’re so cute and pathetic.

Miriam: Hey Princess!

Pharaoh’s daughter: Yes?

Miriam: You won’t be able to nurse that kid; it’ll ruin your figure. Besides, he’s a Hebrew. They need special food, like goldfish. I’ll go find you a Hebrew nurse. Here, how about my Mom? She’s even nursing.

Pharaoh's daughter: Wow, that’s just plain convenient!

Miriam: Hmm, these Egyptians aren’t too bright.

Yocheved: Yeah, we should remember this.

The Pharaoh's daughter raised the baby as her own son, naming him Moshe, or Moses, because she “drew him from water.”

Pharaoh’s daughter: My first choice was Stinky, but Miriam said that was dumb!

Moses grew up as a member of the royal family. One day Moses saw an overseer abusing a slave.

Overseer: Lazy swine. Taste my whip.

Slave: Ow.

Moses: Not cool.

Moses killed the Egyptian and buried him in the sand.

Moses: Enjoy your sand-wich! Ha-Ha-Ha!

Slave: Ow.

The next day, Moses saw two Hebrews fighting. One of them hit the other.

Moses: Hey, quit it.

Slave: Who are you to judge us? Will you kill me like you did the Egyptian?

Moses: Crap.

With the slaves talking about Moses’ homicidal freak-out, word eventually got back to Pharaoh.

Pharaoh: Die, killer.

Moses: I think a strategic retreat is in order.

Moses ran away to the land of Midian.

Moses: I’m tired and thirsty and hungry and bored. Hey, a well. Hooray! One of my many problems is solved!

While Moses was enjoying the well’s cool water, some girls approached.

Girls: Get away from our well, weirdo.

Moses: Sorry.

Suddenly some shepherds tried to chase them away.

Shepherd: No girls allowed. This water is reserved for important creatures, like goats.

Moses: Back off!

Girls: Our hero!

Moses: You’re well-come.

Girls: Ow.

The girls told their father Jethro all about the mysterious stranger.

Jethro: And he didn’t even ask for anything in return?

Girls: No, he was a perfect gentleman.

Jethro: Sounds suspicious.

Jethro offered Moses his daughter Tzipporah.

Moses (happy): Thanks, Dad!

Tzipporah (less happy): …Thanks… Dad.

While tending his flock, Moses saw a cool pyrotechnic show in the form of a bush.

Moses: Cool, it doesn’t burn up.

Bush: But that’s not all! If you act right now you’ll get the chance to REDEEM YOUR PEOPLE!

Moses: Doesn’t burn up and talks, eh? This is one heck of a bush.

Bush: Actually, I’m God manifested in a bush.

Moses: Whatever you say, O mighty Bush.

Bush: Look, Moe, you really need to help your people.

Moses: But I have things really good here. I have a kid now, and Tzipporah’s got the tent set up just the way I like it.

Bush: I have heard my people’s cries, and have come to deliver them from the Egyptians. And you’re going to help. You need to go talk to the Pharaoh.

Moses: Why me? The Hebrews won’t follow me.

Bush: Tell them the God of their fathers sent you, and that He said He’s going to get them out of this. And if the Pharaoh does not release you, I will deal with him, and then he will let you go.

Moses: Why don’t you just go ahead and do that right now and leave me out of it?

Bush: What’s that in your hand?

Moses: My walking-stick.

Bush: Really? Put it on the ground.

The stick turned into a serpent.

Moses: Holy crap! A talking wizard-demon bush!

Bush: Pick it up, stupid.

Moses picked it up, and the stick changed back.

Bush: Tell them of this sign, and they will believe.

Moses: First, don’t do ever that again. Second, I’m a really bad public speaker. I’m not the one you want to lead a popular liberation movement.

Bush: You’re starting to annoy me. Your brother Aaron was head of the local Hebrew Slave Debating Society. Use him

Moses: Brother? Since when?

Aaron: Since five seconds ago. Hi there.

Bush: Put your words in his mouth and he’ll do the rest.

Moses: That doesn’t seem very honest.

Bush: Welcome to politics.

Moses: What about the people that wanted to kill me?

Bush: Don’t worry, they’re all dead. There’s a new Pharaoh in charge now.

Moses: Right, because we all remember how good things got the last time that happened.

Moses returned to Egypt, where he and Aaron spoke to the elders of the people.

Aaron: Um… Moses says… sorry, God says… that we’re getting out of here. Spread the word, guys.

Moses: And you’re the good speaker?

Aaron: It’s a charisma thing.

The brothers went to the new Pharaoh to explain why he should let the Hebrews go.

Aaron: And if you look at chart F, you can see that if you’d divert your workforce from building huge triangles back to farming, your economy actually wouldn’t suffer that much.

Moses: So what do you think?

Pharaoh: Um… how about… no?

Moses: But, look, we’ve got a creepy staff-snake thing! Show him, Aaron!

Pharaoh: Not impressed. My court magicians can do that.

Aaron: But my staff-snake just ate theirs.

Pharaoh: That just makes your snake a bully.

Moses: You’ll be sorry.

There followed Ten Plagues:

The river turned into blood.

Pharaoh: Red is my favorite color.

The land was overrun by frogs.

Pharaoh: I find the ribbit sound soothing.

Everyone got lice.

Pharaoh: I’m already bald.

A swarm of flies and wild beasts attacked the Egyptians.

Pharaoh: No two ways about it, this one sucks. But still, no.

A disease exterminated the Egyptians’ livestock.

Pharaoh: Yum… grain.

Boils appeared on everyone’s skin.

Pharaoh: Hold my appointments for a while.

Fiery hail flew down from the sky.

Pharaoh: Eep. I hope that’s a comet.

Locusts ate the Egyptians’ crops.

Pharaoh: I sense my options are becoming limited.

Darkness covered the land.

Pharaoh: At least no one can see how miserable we are.

Several times the Pharaoh agreed to let the Hebrews go so Moses would stop the plagues, but then he always broke his word.

Moses: What kind of maniac thinks it’s a good idea to jerk around people that can whip up fiery hail?

The last plague was the death of the firstborn, which would affect both men and beast.

The Hebrews spread lamb’s blood over their homes so the Angel of Death would pass by their homes and leave their kids alone.

Moses: He’s got to give in now.

God: Oh, he’d like to, but I’m hardening his heart.

Moses: What? Why? I thought the point was for us to get out of here.

God: I like to show off. This way everyone will get to see all the cool ideas I planned.

Moses: You’re kind of nuts.

The Pharaoh, yet again, said no.

Pharaoh: Joke’s on you, stupid! All of our livestock are already dead.

Moses: I hope your son thinks it’s funny.

The Pharaoh finally gave in, and let the Hebrews go.

Pharaoh: Your God sucks, and so do you. I never want to see any of you people again. Get out of my sight.

Moses: Consider us gone.

The Hebrews packed in a hurry. They were so worried the Pharaoh would change his mind again that they didn’t leave time for their bread to rise. That is why we eat matzah on Passover.

All future Jews: Thanks a lot.

The Hebrews were not the only ones to leave Egypt. A “mixed multitude” went with them.

Moses: Plenty of room on the freedom train!

Mixed multitude: This cracker is awful. I thought Jews made tasty bread. What gives?

Hebrews: Quiet, goyim.

Even the Pharaoh’s daughter came with them, changing her title (bat-Pharaoh), for the name Batya (daughter of God).

Batya: My little Moses, all grown up!

Yocheved: Hey!

Sure enough, the Pharaoh changed his mind and chased after the Hebrews with his army of six hundred chariots, catching up with them at the Sea of Reeds.

Hebrew #1: Thanks a lot, Moses.

Hebrew #2: Why take us out of Egypt just to get us killed?

Hebrew #3: First Matzah, now this!

Moses: Don’t worry. God will fight for us. This is the last you will see of any of these Egyptians. Hey, God! Little help?

God: No problem, I’ve got this.

Moses: You’ll part the sea?

God: Even better. I’ll part the sea, then harden Pharaoh’s heart again so they chase after you and all die.

Moses: What? No, I mean, we don’t need you to do that. Just help us escape.

God: I told you, I’ll take care of this. The Egyptians will know that I…AM…GOD.

God told Moses to lift his staff. He did, and the sea parted.

Moses: If you turn into a snake right now, I’m quitting.

The Hebrews raced across the sea-bed and made it to the other side. Then the Egyptians came after them.

Pharaoh: Let’s go after them for some reason! Charge!

Then God told Moses to lift his staff again. He did, and the waters returned. The Egyptians were gone.

Moses: …

The Hebrews celebrated their freedom and danced and sang.

Miriam: God is my strength and song, and He is become my salvation…God is a man of war, God is His name. Pharaoh's chariots and his host has He cast into the sea, and his chosen captains are sunk in the Red Sea… You did blow with Your wind, the sea covered them; they sank as lead in the mighty waters. Who is like You, O God, among the mighty? Who is like You, glorious in holiness, fearful in praises, doing wonders? ...You in Your love have led the people that You have redeemed; You have guided them in Your strength to Your holy place… God shall reign for ever and ever! (Exodus 15:11-18)

While the Hebrews danced, the angels in Heaven wished to join them. But God denied their request.

God: These, too, are my creatures drowning in the sea! And you would celebrate this? What’s wrong with you?

* * *
The Rabbis taught that it is wrong to celebrate the death of anyone, even your enemy. “Rejoice not when your enemy falls, and let not your heart be glad when he stumbles.” (Proverbs 24:17) That is why we are commanded to remove one drop of wine for each plague. We cannot celebrate “with a full cup” when our freedom came through the suffering of others. There is a fast the day before Passover known as the Fast of the Firstborn. A tradition says the firstborn Hebrews fasted before the Exodus because they were still not convinced they were holy enough to merit saving. Perhaps the fast also serves to remind us of the various things we still, and may always, need to atone for.