New Mexico's "Flag"-Ship University?

I have not posted anything political in a very long time. However, this is something that happened here at home. I have strong opinions about it and I cannot let this one pass in silence.

The University of New Mexico bills itself as "New Mexico's Flagship University."

It is my guess that the powers that be that reside in Scholes Hall--which is the administration building--consider that to mean that it is the first among equals in the state university system. Because if New Mexicans thought it meant something to actually do with the actual flag--you know, the one we lovingly call 'Old Glory'--we'd all ROTFL.

Here are the facts: On September 17, 2007--the 220th anniversary of the adoption of the United States Constitution--students arrived on campus to find the Mexican national flag flying alone in front of Scholes Hall. Evidently, the Mexican Student's Union had put the flag up next to Old Glory on Friday to mark Mexican independence day but did not take it down. The ROTC squad that took the American flag down left the Mexican flag flying alone because they thought that the Mexican Student's Union would take it down later. (The ROTC squad should be doing extra push-ups for this lack of knowledge of flag ettiquette. You don't ever lower the US flag on American territory before another national flag. It makes it look like you've surrendered to a foreign power). Some students might have thought that maybe the powers that be in Scholes Hall had surrendered UNM to Mexico--after all, when it comes to the university administration's actions, students tend to think nothing is too far fetched to be true. But most students probably didn't notice anything at all except that the shuttles were running late and crowded, and hurried off to class. That is, except Peter Ryan Lynch, a decorated US war veteran and a student. And he called up the powers that be at Scholes Hall to inform them of the surrender...er, I mean mistake.

This is what transpired in his own words:

"Throughout history, flying a nation's banner is a claim of ownership. To do this on U.S. Constitution Day is an insult to all Americans. I am outraged that the UNM administration allowed this to happen. I thought the administration would address the issue before my class was over. I left class, and the foreign banner was still unaccompanied. I went to the dean's office pleading for action. I also notified the Army ROTC, which has the honor of raising and lowering the U.S. flag on campus this month. I waited one to 1 1/2 hours after these notifications to take action myself. I made a profound statement and tore down this foreign banner. My actions, although overzealous, were warranted."
(From the Daily Lobo, Opinion, 9/25/07).

Mr. Lynch delivered the torn Mexican flag to the ROTC commander. And then the hullaballoo started. He was charged with destruction of property. El Centro de La Raza cried "racism" and charged that this was a "hate crime." The President of the UNM Schmidley decried the tearing down of the Mexican flag, but said nothing about his responsibility as the 'admiral' of New Mexico's "flagship' for the violation of US law and the insult to American citizens caused by the Mexican flag flying three days alone over sovereign US territory.

It is interesting that the president of the university does not get it that the buck for whatever happens on UNM campus should stop on his desk. We have too many public officials who do not take the responsibility that goes with the powers of an office. Schmidley may not be personally responsible for insulting American sensibilities in this case, but he leads the institution that is responsible. A leader ought to take corporate responsibility instead of spouting nonsense about how New Mexico was once part of Mexico. That history has not bearing on the breach of patriotic duty we witnessed on September 17.

It is interesting that the Army ROTC did not know how to handle the ceremonial responsibilities that go with the honor of posting and striking the colors. It would have been better to have taken the Mexican flag down first and returned it to La Raza or left 'Old Glory' flying, than to do what they did. The ROTC leadership needs to apologize to the UNM community and the citizens of US for the insult tendered by this lack of knowledge. And maybe they ought to impose extra laps or pushups on the color guard members who "forgot" their responsibility to post the US flag on Constitution day.

El Centro de la Raza had better take the advice handed to everyone who dwells in glass palaces. An organization with a name that means 'the Center for the Race' should not be the first to cry racism. And they should further note that hate crimes are, by definition, crimes against people, not flags. It is neither racism nor hatred that motived Mr. Lynch's actions. It was a passionate commitment to the honor of his country. A commitment for which Mr. Lynch has demonstrated his willingness to shed blood and die, if necessary.

As for Mr. Lynch, I think he was overzealous. As a mother nearing fifty years of age, I would probably have taken down the Mexican flag and turned it over, intact, to La Raza. Age and experience has cooled my zealousness a little bit. But Mr. Lynch is a young man. And young men and women tend to be zealous for their causes, and passionate about their beliefs. Would that those who would like to lead this country would demonstrate as much passion for American sensibilities as does Mr. Lynch. It is not racist to defend the honor of the United States and the Constitution. It is not hatred to be passionate about the ideals that this nation espouses. As Mr. Lynch puts it:

"Americans have one of the most diverse cultures on the planet. We embrace our differences, and unless you are a foreign visitor or illegal immigrant, your nationality is American. We are all equals under the Constitution and the Stars and Stripes that protect us. Americans should fly their nation's banner with pride." (Daily Lobo, Opinions, 9/25/07)

We need more young men and women like this.

Fall is Here...;And So is COH 92!

The 92nd Edition of the Carnival of Homeschooling is up over at Tami's Blog.
FYI this is on the Homeschoolblogger for those to whom this is important.

There are quite a few articles from numerous perspectives up this week.
It's fortunate that I use blog reading as a form of procrastination from studying. I have plenty of material there to keep me busy!

Last week I submitted an article but it did not get transfered. I was on time in my time zone. However, I may have been...ah, late on the east coast. So I did not get an e-mail to remind me to check out the carnival. So I didn't get to it. See what I mean about procrastination? Anyway, this means I have two carnivals to catch up with.

I think I'd better study first and read one or two articles during every study break.
Sounds like a plan.

Chol ha-Moed: Facing Fear and Fragility in the Debris Hut

It seems that our lives and time has been taken over by the need to observe Holy Days and Festivals this month. And that is true.

But we are now deep into the Chol ha-Moed of Sukkot--the "ordinary days of the festival" during which we can engage in more ordinary activites, because after all, eight days of holy day, even of such a joyous one as Sukkot can become somewhat wearing.

Fall has truly arrived on our doorstep, here in the East Mountains. The sunflowers have dropped their petals and gone to seed, although the yellow daisy flowers are in full bloom. For the most part, the weather has been vintage autumn--sunny, warm days and chilly, clear evenings.
We did get some rain on Saturday afternoon--quite a downpour, as a matter of fact--and just when we were setting up for having holy guests for dinner and havdalah (separation from the Shabbat time) in the sukkah. So we set up the dining room for eating, but we were lucky in that a short lull between rain and wind allowed us to make the motzi--the blessing over bread--in the sukkah. However, after dinner, when havdalah time rolled around, the wind had come up and the ears of corn were dancing in the sukkah, so prudence required that the ceremony be done inside. It does involve a lighted candle. That would be difficult and possibly dangerous in a windy, wooden booth!

On the first day of Sukkot, we change the weather blessing said in the daily Amidah prayer from tal--"who causes the dew to fall" --to ruach v'geshem --"who causes the wind to blow and the rain to fall." Although we begin to pray for rain during Sukkot, in the land of Israel, rain during Sukkot is deemed to be premature and bad luck. The winter rains are supposed to come after Sukkot. However, here in the southwestern US, after ten years of drought and wildfires, we welcome rain whenever it comes.



During the Chol ha-Moed, we have been learning more about Sukkot, telling stories and baking bread together, as part of our homeschooling, but N. has turned to some other activities as well. As part of his Kamana studies, he has been reading about edible plants in the southwest, and studying the art of shelter. Shelter in the wilderness is a theme for Sukkot, so this ties our religious and educational lives together seamlessly. But it was not planned or directed by me. Although I have been getting anxious about math, I have curbed my need to control and have been watching what N. is actually doing.

When we were getting the branches together to make the schkak for the sukkah, N. cut more branches than necessary. I curbed my desire to question his motives in cutting more branches than necessary, but before you congratulate me on my self-control, I must tell you that it was mostly because we needed a number of trees trimmed for fire safety alone!


After he got some branches together, N. cut a pole that was as tall as he, plus an armlength. Then he used that as the ridgepole of a lean-to-like structure covered with branches and stuffed with leaves. Pine boughs made up the floor as well. This is what he calls a "debris hut" which he says is modeled after what squirrels do to make their nests warm and cozy.

It looks like a mound of branches on the ground, scarcely noticible to someone who is not looking for it. The middle of the debris hut is hollowed by the simple act of crawling inside and snuggling. All around him, N. has the thickness of an arm length of branches and leaves, that keep him warm and cozy even on a cold night.





Although N. successfully spent the night in a debris hut during his Coyote Tracks camp experience, he is currently working on conquering his fear and uncertainty of the night at home. At Coyote tracks, he and a partner spent the night together in the debris hut. Also, there were others doing the same all around.

Here, though, we were not spending the night outside. We left the back door open and made sure that the inside night lights were working and went to bed. During the first night, N. came in about two hours after we retired to bed. Over breakfast next morning, N reported that the dogs next door had begun growling at something and he heard something moving very near to him. Now the dogs were probably growling at N. and it was probably N.'s movements that caused it. We talked about fear and uncertainty and then N. said he would try again. The next night, he actually fell asleep and stayed out until two-thirty am. But then the wind came up, very strong and woke him. He couldn't hear anything but the wind, and that made him nervous, so he came inside.


We have talked much about the fragility of life that is honored during Sukkot, and about the need for a person to face and deal with fear and uncertainty. N. has planned to try again. However, on the third night it rained and on the fouth night he stayed over with a friend who does not have a debris hut--yet. So maybe he will make it through the night tonight. We'll see what he and the weather decide to do!

For me, this is a letting-go learning as much as it is for N. I get nervous at the thought of him alone outside of our secure house. At the same time, I know it is important for him to venture beyond the apron-strings and face and conquer his fear. I have not nagged him about his fear nor have I kept him tied to me with mine. I am trying to walk the middle path. I talk to him about his plans, make a few suggestions about facing fear, and accept what he decides. I know that when he accomplishes his goal, he will have more confidence than before, just as he did after his Bar Mitzvah ceremony.

I am beginning to understand that education is more about setting and accomplishing hard tasks for oneself than it is about content of lessons. Yes, he is learning a good deal of content as he studies Kamana. But more importantly, he is developing a sense of confidence in his own ability to learn and grow and make things happen for himself. In this way, he is learning how to learn whatever he might find needful to know. And he is becoming a self-disciplined human being; a person who is not easily deceived by dazzling technique or propaganda. This kind of learning makes for a person capable of the self-determination that is the hallmark of an adult who is capable of coming up in the world. Even more importantly, he is developing a sense of being at home on this planet, a kind of rootedness on this earth, and a physical, intellectual and spiritual connectedness with all of life on it. This sense of place and time is necessary for a person to resist getting lost in addictions and the wasteland of pop-culture that eat away at the heart and mind and destroy the soul.

And these are the lessons of Sukkot as well.

Sukkot: Season of Our Joy

After the solemnity of the High Holy Days, comes Sukkot, which is the Jewish Thanksgiving. It is the Festival of the Ingathering Harvest, the last harvest before winter.
Sukkot is one of the shaloshim regalim--the three pilgrimage festivals--seasons in which Israelites were commanded to bring offerings to the temple in Jerusalem. It is commanded in Torah thus:

"On the fifteenth day of the seventh month is the feast of Sukkot (Booths) to Adonai, to last seven days...when you have gathered the produce of your land, you shall observe a festival to Adonai...You shall dwell in sukkot seven days...in that future generations may know that I made the Israelite people dwell in sukkot when I brought them out of the land of Egypt, I, Adonai your G-d." (Leviticus 23: 34, 39, 42-43).

Sukkot started at sunset on Wednesday. So on Wednesday afternoon, N. and I decorated the Sukkah so that we could observe the festival. I strung the chile lights up while N. cut branches from trees that needed trimming on our land. We figure it will take several years of Sukkot building to actually trim down the trees as much as they need it.


A sukkah is essentially a harvest booth. In the days of old Israel, people would build booths near their fields and orchards in order to sleep near where they were working the harvest. The booth should have branches across the roof, called schkach, to shade the interior, but it should be thin enough that one can sit in the sukkah at night and count the stars, as our father Abraham did of old, reminding us that the offspring of Israel will number as the stars.

We beautify the mitzvah (commandment) of the sukkah by decorating it with vegetables and fruits of the harvest. Ours has Indian corn and peppers tied to the roof, and pumpkins and squash to decorate the table. We take our meals in the sukkah throughout the seven days, which is enough to satisfy the commandment to dwell in the sukkah.


Since the first night and day are days of festival, we light candles (or lamps--since we are outside) and make a blessing over a cup of wine (called Kiddush) to usher in the Holy Time. Being that we are the spiritual descendents of wanderers (Ivri--Hebrew--means boundary crosser), we do not, as a rule, sanctify spaces; rather we sanctify time. For example, the synagogue sanctuary is not a sanctified space. But the times we celebrate there are holy, as is the holy kahal--congregation--that prays there.

There is another commandment we observe at Sukkot. It is the commandment of the four species. In Leviticus we are also told:

"...you shall take the product of goodly trees (citron), together with the branches of palm trees, boughs of leafy trees (myrtle), and willows of the brook, and you shall rejoice before Adonai your G-d seven days." (Leviticus 23:40)

Lulav and Etrog

by N.

During Sukkot we wave the lulav and etrog, in six directions while we are dwelling in the sukkah. The lulav is a bundle that has the palm branch in the middle, two willow branches on one side, and three myrtle branches on the other. The etrog is a citron, which smells really, really good! It looks like a lemon, but it is larger and jucier and smells sweeter. We hold the lulav in the right hand, and the etrog in the left hand, and we face east. We shake the lulav three times east, three times south, three times west, three times north, three times up and three times down. This shows that G-d is everywhere! While we do the shaking, we sing "Hodu l'Adonai ki tov!" That means "Give thanks to Adonai for G-d is good."

There is a story about what the lulav and etrog mean. The willow branches have no smell and no taste, like the Jew who does not study Torah and does not do good deeds. The myrtle branches have a sweet smell, but no taste, like the Jew who studies Torah, but does not do good deeds. The palm branch is from the date palm, and it has no smell, but the dates are sweet to taste, like the Jew who does not study Torah but does good deeds. And the etrog--the citron--has both a good smell and tastes good, like the Jew who both studies Torah and does good deeds. We bring them all together when we thank G-d on Sukkot because the it takes all kinds of Jews to make our people Israel.

Back to you, Mom!

Here is Bruce demonstrating the waving of the Lulav and Etrog in our Sukkah.

Sukkot brings together so many things! All of the senses are involved. We sit in the beautiful Sukkah and feast our eyes on the colors of autumn and the full harvest moon. We wave the lulav, smelling the myrtle leaves and the citron. We taste the sweet wine and eat good food there. We hear the swish of the lulav and the melody of Hodu l'Adonai. We feel the warmth of the sun, the cool breeze of sunset, and the night air on our skin and in our breathing. All of the senses are involved in making a memory. The memory of wandering in the wilderness, fed by manna from the desert. The memory of all of our ancestors, who also sat in their sukkot the same way that we are now.


As we sit in our Sukkot--booths that shake a little in the wind, we also look at our houses with thankfulness, and remind ourselves of the fragility of our lives. Everything we have could be gone in an instant. It is essentially dust in the wind. We are commanded to rejoice in the bounty of earth, given to us freely. We are reminded that life is fragile and fleeting, a gift from the Eternal. And we remember that we are one with our ancestors, who wandered in the wilderness, becoming a people through shared hardship and emunah--reliance on the Eternal.



In the Birkat ha-Mazon--the blessing after food, we sing:
"Poteach et yadecha..."--You open your Hand and satisfy the needs of every living thing.

Essentially, everything we have comes from the Eternal. We did not make it. We do not own it. Our existance is predicated on the gift of life and the gifts of the earth. And therefore we have the obligation to care for and nurture life and the earth that sustains it. It is not ours to destroy. We must be good stewards of creation so that we and our children may live.

During Sukkot we read Kohelet the Preacher, who said:

"What profit it a man of all his labor that he works under the sun? One generation passes and another comes, but earth abides forever...For what has a man from all his labor, all his striving under the sun. For all his days are pains, and occupation a vexation...this also is vanity. There is nothing better than that he should eat and drink, and make his soul enjoy pleasure for his labor. This also I saw, that it is from the hand of G-d...All the days of his life which G-d has given; for that is his portion...Let him remember that the days of his life are not many; for G-d answers him in the joy of his heart." (Ecclesiastes 1:3-4; 2:22-24; 5:17-19).

It is good to take the time to rejoice in the fruits of our labor, for our lives are fragile and fleeting and what remains is memory.

Chag Sameach--Happy Holiday--during the Season of Our Rejoicing!

Preparing for the Harvest Moon

Tonight is the full moon. This moon is called the 'Harvest Moon' by many. The full moon tends to rise very large and very yellow at this time of the year because of it's position in the sky. As the sun appears to move south now, due to the earth's tilt, the moon and the plane of the ecliptic appear to move north.

In the Jewish calendar this is the full moon of the month of Tishrei, which has significance, as we shall see.

This full moon is also coming hard on the heels of the autumnal equinox, which happened overnight between Saturday and Sunday just past. In this part of the world, it happened in the early morning hours of September 23.


Here is the sunrise on Monday morning. I try to take the position of the sunrise on the solstices, exquinoxes and cross-quarter days, but Sunday morning we woke up to much needed rain. So I took the picture on Monday. I also took it from a different position than the front porch. I have the whole apparent movement of the sun through the seasons documented from the front porch now, so I moved to the corner of the house in the side garden.





And here is the sunset on the equinox, taken from the back door. I thought I would add sunsets this year. It has moved a fair distance south, and now setting south of Tijeras canyon. At the summer solstice, it sets above the Sandia mountain front. Maybe next year, I will get really ambitious and capture the annalema!
Now there's a project...



This year, the Jewish festivals have been very close to the solar year quarters and cross-quarters. And we are in the month of Tishrei, the month that has more holidays than any other month. In fact, counting the two days of Rosh Hashanah (Tishrei 1-2), as well as 7 more days of repentance, and then Yom Kippur (Tishrei 10), we have already had 10 days of holiday this month. But we are not done yet. Tomorrow night, on Tishrei 15, we begin the seven day festival of Sukkot, the Ingathering Harvest festival. And then we have one more day to linger--Shemini Atzeret/Simchat Torah, bringing the grand total of holiday days in Tishrei up to 18! So although the days of awe ended at sunset on Yom Kippur, we still have Holy Days to prepare for!


It is the custom to arrive home from synagogue at the end of Yom Kippur and immediately begin to build the Sukkah--Booth--that we will eat in and dwell in during the Ingathering Harvest Festival. The purpose of this is the link the Holy Days and to express confidence that the repentance of Yom Kippur was effective. We are turning from awe to joy.

In our family, we never seem to be able to do that. We could, I suppose, bring out two boards and put them together, but we are tired and very full after the break-the-fast meal, which is a combination that leads us to fall into bed rapidly upon arriving home after a full day at synagogue. So on Sunday morning, after a good breakfast of eggs, bagels and creamed herring (the last left over from breaking the fast), Bruce pulled out the parts of the Sukkah.

Now, being that he is an engineer, there is no sloppy nailing involved. He has the braces already bolted to the uprights so that all he has to do is put the boards in place and bolt them in. I watch with some trepidation as he and N. go about putting up the frame and then they tie on the walls and roof, made of trellis, with pre-cut lengths of rope, that Bruce prepared the first year we were married. Well, actually, Bruce cut them. N., our resident pyromaniac, burned the ends to keep them from fraying. (N., who can start a fire in rain with a bow drill, is also responsible for burning the chametz every year just before Passover starts).

Why do I watch with trepidation? Because the Sukkah--the harvest booth--is a symbol of the transience of all material goods in life, and therefore is supposed to shake in the wind. Being an Engineer and a card-carrying Geek, First Class, my husband has great difficulty with this concept. Nothing he builds should be anything but solid. This year, I fluttered around, as usual, reading aloud the rules for Sukkah building as recorded in the Talmud out of Seasons of Our Joy by Yitz Greenberg, in order to remind Bruce that this is not just some Yiddishe Mama whim, it's THE LAW!

Finally, Bruce stopped, and with an exasperated sigh, announced, "This Sukkah is going to shake in the wind! I put only one carriage bolt in each brace, whereas last year it was two. And I told N. not to tighten it as tight as he did last year!"

"Yeah, Mom," N. agreed. "Just try it! It shakes."

To paraphrase the Mayor Daley of my childhood:
Dey tell me its gonna shake in the wind. I dunno. Looks pretty solid to me.

But then, Bruce insists that there are the legally prescribed two and a half walls there, too. I count only two. Seems like we need another half-wall on the north. When I pointed this out, Bruce rolled his eyes and invoked a legal fiction. Then he put the tools away, humming the tune to Leave a Little Bit Undone all the while. I should have never purchased that CD!

Tomorrow I will put on the strings of Chile lights. This is a New Mexican Sukkah. And we will hang the vegetables and put on the schkach (branches on top). And we will invite in the Ushpizin--the Holy Guests. And we will proceed to dwell in the Sukkah for seven days. Thank goodness "dwelling" can be defined as eating in the Sukkah, because the nights have become frosty here on our mountain ridge.

But tonight, I need to set dough for Challah. Another Holy Day starts tomorrow morning.

The Rabbi's Sermon and Blessing OR The Most Beautiful Yom Kippur Ever

Our Yom Kippur was a beautiful day. It was a warm and sunny fall day. The leaves are just beginning to turn in Albuquerque, although the Bosque is still green, but we can sense the season to come in the turning of the first leaves.

One of the highlights of the day for me, is the morning service. There are so many memories bound up in that service for me. We sing "Shachar Avacheshka," which is "Early will I seek You..." and it is one the few congregational hymns still done in the old Reform, Germanic style. Even the English words reflect the heritage of Classical Reform:

"Early will I seek You, G-d, my refuge strong.
Late prepare to meet You, with my evening song.
Though unto Your greatness, I with trembling soar,
Yet in my inmost thinking, lies Your eyes before.

What this frail heart's dreaming, and my tongue's poor speech,
Can they even distant to Your greatness reach?
Being great in mercy, You will not despise,
Praises which 'til death's hour, from my soul shall rise."

The theme of the morning service is that of the Day of Decision. Yom Kippur is the day when the metaphorical gates of heaven are open to all who seek to enter with a humble heart. The normal morning prayers, the Shema (Hear, O Israel!) and her blessings, the Amidah (standing prayer) and the K'dusha (G-d's Holiness), are supplemented with reminders that the House of Israel is called to holiness, and that we are unable to do this awesome work alone. We read the Viddui--the confession--silently and then together, as a congregation. We ask earnestly for G-d's great help in our desire to come nearer to holiness. The Torah reading for Yom Kippur morning is Nitzavim--You Stand--taken from D'varim (Deuteronomy):

"You stand this day, all of you, before Adonai, your G-d--the heads of your tribes, your elders and officers, every one in Israel, men, women, and children, and the strangers in your your camp, from the one who chops your wood to the one who draws your water--to enter into the sworn covenant which Adonai your G-d makes with you this day...And it is not with you alone that I make this covenant: I make it with those who are standing here with us today before Adonai your G-d, and with all who are not here with us this day...For this commandment which I command you this day is not too hard for you, nor far away. It is not in heaven that you should say: 'Who will go up for us to heaven and bring it down for us, that we may do it?'...No, it is very near to you, in your mouth and on your heart, that you may do it...I call upon heaven and earth to witness against you this day that I have set before you life or death, blessing or curse..."

The emphasis of the Torah reading is the idea that we are standing before the Eternal, but that whether we will have life or death, blessing or curse, is our own choice.
After the Torah, reading, I had the honor of chanting the Haftarah (Prophetic Reading) in Hebrew for the 11th year. The Haftarah for Yom Kippur morning is taken from Isaiah: K'rah b' Garon--Cry Aloud:

Cry aloud, lift up your voice like a shofar and declare to my people their transgression, to the House of Jacob, their sin...Is this the fast I look for? A day of self-affliction? Bowing like a reed and covering yourself with sackcloth and ashes?...Is not this the fast I look for: to unlock the shackles of injustice, to undo the fetters of bondage, to let the oppressed go free, to break every cruel chain? Is it not to share your bread with hungry and to bring the homeless poor into your house?...Then shall your light blaze forth like the dawn...You shall renew your body's strength,; you shall be like a watered gardern, like an unfailing stream. Your people shall rebuild the ancient ruins and lay the foundation for ages to come..."

All of this ritual and beautiful and moving. It was made even more beautiful this year, because the congregation has gotten a sound system for the choir. When we designed the sanctuary, we did not make allowance for the accoustics from where the choir stands, and the sound went up into the nichos in the ceiling. I know the music of the High Holy Days, and I know it is beautiful. I know what it should sound like. But since N. has been too old for babysitting and children's services, I have been sitting out in the congregation in order to help him manage his prayers, and have not been with the choir. Therefore, I have been unable to really hear the harmonies and counterpoint, and I had forgotten how beautiful the music really is.

And when I think about it, my vow to be there and to be one with the prayer instead of standing outside the service with my perfectionist hat on and with the critical voice in my head, also made the beauty of the service far more apparent than it has been in many years. I don't know what it was, exactly, perhaps all of it--the sound system, staying in the "good reality," hearing the words as if they were addressed to me and not some "they" out there--but not only did the service appear beautiful to me, but the holy congregation that I stood among glowed with love and beauty. I was getting it: This is what it means to choose life and blessing. It is to be life and blessing, love and beauty, and thus see it in everything.

I have no doubt that I will still wrestle with this all of my life. This is, perhaps, one of the challenges that I was born with; a challenge that the One will use to draw me closer to holiness. But the high vistas are nice to reach occasionally, if only to remind us of what is possible.

There was much then, that was high and holy, that I experienced on Yom Kippur. However, it was the rabbi's sermon at the morning service that really spoke to me. I cannot reproduce it here. There were too many insights and impressions to ponder, to do it justice. I will, rather, give my understanding of the theme and then post the link when it is available.

The sermon was about two meanings of fear. There are two different words for "fear" in Hebrew, one that has the sense of the fear we have that causes us to avoid danger, and one that expresses the existential fear/awe that we have when we encounter that which is much bigger than ourselves. It is that second fear that we deal with in our encounters with Holiness. On Yom Kippur, we fast and deny ourselves bodily pleasures. We dress in white, the color of the shrouds we will be wrapped in by the Chevrah Kaddishah (Burial Society) when we die. The rabbi pointed out than on Yom Kippur, when we do all of these actions, when we contemplate the emphemeral nature of our lives, we are practicing for our deaths, so that we do not live in fear of it. So far, so good. I could nod in understanding and appreciation of what he was saying. Yes. Yes. That makes sense.

Then came the kicker. The rabbis said something to the effect of this: But what we really live in fear of is life. We hide from ourselves those things about ourselves that scare us, and by doing so, we do not live our lives. We distract ourselves with the foilables and tragedies of the rich and famous, and delight in their sins, in order to avoid living fully. We are not choosing life. We are afraid to know it. We go to our graves not having lived. And the rituals of Yom Kippur are meant to turn us around, to cause us to face those things that we most fear, and enable us to choose life. If we so choose.

And for me, that was the missing piece. What is perfectionism, really, but the attempt avoid failure? And the avoidance of failure comes from this fear the rabbi was talking about. As I said last week about perfectionism: "A perfect heart is non-living. It is a fantasy, an idol we pursue because we are so alien to where we actually live." And where does perfectionism come from? It comes from fear. Fear of failure, fear of loss, fear of not being acceptable as one is. And the need to control comes from that same root. Perfectionism and the need to control both come from fear.

The rabbi completed his sermon by telling this story of the Baal Shem Tov (the Master of the Good Name, who was the founder of the Hassidic mystical tradition):

The Baal Shem Tov was found to be wise enough to be shown the world as it really is, so the angels commanded that he look upon it. He looked upon it and saw a great pit, full of fire. And suspended over the fire was a tightrope. And upon the tightrope was a man walking. He walked unaware of the tightrope he walked upon or of the fiery pit he was suspended over. And then, suddenly, the man walking was made aware of his predicament. And he began to cower, and lose his balance, teetering from side to side, nearly falling into the fiery pit. And the Baal Shem Tov called out to him: "Do not fear! Do not fear at all! You can fly! You can fly!"

This is my rendering of the story. It creates in me a visceral reaction of great joy. I do not wish to deconstruct it. There is a song that comes from this story. It is based on a saying of Rebbe Nachman of Bratislava, he of the empty chair. The choir sang a rendition of it after the sermon. But I am more familiar with the NIFTY campfire version of it:

Chol Ha-Olam Kulo

(The World is Just a Narrow Bridge)

All of the world is just a narrow bridge,

Just a narrow bridge, just a narrow bridge.

All of the world is just a narrow bridge,

Just a narrow bridge.

And the main thing is not to fear,

And the main thing is not to fear at all.

And the main thing is not to fear,

Not to fear at all!

It is really quite extraordinary what being there does for one's soul. I want to be there more often.

The Rest of the Day

The rest of the day went beautifully but not perfectly. In the afternoon service, we remembered the history of our people and the faith of the ten martyrs. We passed around a lemon studded with cloves, sniffing it to help with the faintness of lack of water and food. We listened to the afternoon Torah--"You Shall Be Holy" --from the holiness code in Leviticus, and the Haftarah of Jonah, reminding us that the Eternal does care for "Ninevah, that great city, in which there are more than one hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know their right hand from their left, and many beasts as well!" We sang Ani Ma-Amin--our hope for the making of the messianic age. We remembered our dead and cried for them through the singing of El Malei Rachamim--G-d, Full of Compassion, during Yizkor, the memorial service. And all the while, as we grew more haggard and hungry, the tear-stained faces of the holy congregation, joined by those no longer with us and those yet to be, grew in beauty and goodness and light.

And then the sun got to be low in sky and the Sandias glowed orange the reflected light in the east. And we began the great service of Neilah--the Gates. Our voices sounded thin and raw in the vastness of this service, "as the gates begin to close." Our last pleas brought with great longing and reliance, as the congregation leaned into the last prayers.

"This is the house of G-d, this is the gates of heaven.

Open for me the gates of righteousness, that I may enter and thank Adonai!...

Remember us unto life, O, King who delights in life...

Oh, Source of Blessing, you are with us in death as in life..."

And the mighty El Norah Ahleela--G-d of Awesome Deeds:

"G-d of awesome deeds, G-d of awesome deeds,

Grant us pardon as the gates begin to close!

We who are few in number look up to You, with trembling,

we praise You, as the gates begin to close...

Proclaim a year of favor, return the remnant of Your people to honor and glory,

as the gates begin to close..."

The cantor and choir surprised our rabbi, using a setting he had written, adapted from the Sephardic tradition.

Once more, we stood before the open ark and sang:

"Avinu Malkeinu--Our Father, our King, let the gates of heaven be open to our plea...

Avinu Malkeinu--do not turn us away empty-handed from your presence..."

And, as the sun set, we leaned into the last prayers as the gates began to close. All of us, standing together. And the congregation fairly glowed with beauty:

"Turn back, turn back...for why should you choose to die, O House of Israel?...

Now send forth your hidden light and open to Your servants the gates of help...Open the gates, open them wide! Open the gates, Adonai, and show us the way to enter...

Seu sha'arim...Lift up your heads, O gates! Lift yourselves up, O ancient doors! Let the King of Glory enter. Who is the King of Glory? Adonai of Hosts--G-d is the King of Glory!...

And as the sun set, the final Kaddish:

"We sanctify Your name on earth, as we pray for the coming of Your Kingdom, in our own day, our own lives, and the life of all Israel..."

"Shema, Yisrael..Hear, O Israel, Adonai is G-d, Adonai is One!"

And three times: "Blessed is G-d's glorious kingdom, throughout space and time!"

And seven times: "The Eternal is G-d!"

And then, the long, triumphant blasts of the shofarot, the rams horns, for many in Congregation rose to to the Tekiah (including N., who had practiced for this moment).

And we made Havdalah--the separation between the Holy Day just passed and the work day to come.

And then the second really extraordinary moment of the day for all of us--the rabbi's blessing.

He always gives us a blessing at the end of a service. After Havdalah, he said, "Let's all join hands..." and at that moment he looked up and saw the congregation standing, utterly spent with the day's prayer before him. Did he see the same glow of beauty that I had noticed growing throughout the afternoon? I don't know. But I think he must have.

He faltered, and said, "...but you are already holding hands..." And then he bowed his head, and was overcome with...what?...but, whatever else it was, he cried. I have never seen this before. He gave the blessing from one of the Songs of Ascent: "Blessed are you in coming in and going out..." in a broken voice. Tears of joy. Awesome.

What an incredible day. The most moving, amazing Yom Kippur I have ever experienced.

What a great thing 'being there' does for the soul.

We broke our fast quietly this year, all of us together, and yet it was quiet. Small conversations. Talk turning to the ordinary things of life as we ate bagels and lox, creamed herring and crackers. Lemonade stinging our raw throats. "Yes, this is Sam's last year of college"..."Marilyn is interviewing for jobs"..."It was good, very good this year"...This was a hard year for her, but we had such intimacy. I miss her terribly"..."What are you doing for Sukkot?"...

It is time for life to creep in as we turn to the festival of Sukkot. The season of our joy. The celebration of the Ingathering Harvest.

Kol Nidre