The Sportula and Tzedakah: On Paying it Forward

I spend a lot of time expressing my gratitude to people (even when they refuse to take my thanks), but they often insist that I must "pay it forward." I must take the gifts that they have given to me, and the gifts that have been given to me by the universe or God or whatever you want to call circumstance, and pay them forward to those younger than me and those who are struggling with the things that I have been through in the past (that's sort of why this blog exists in the first place). I had two experiences in the last few days that have sparked this particular post:

First, I had a close friend diagnosed with a chronic illness two days ago. She was confused, upset, and overwhelmed, all justifiable emotions to have on what I call D-Day, diagnosis day (there may be a blogpost coming on the process of diagnosis). And she called me. She called me because she knew that I would sit and listen and empathize. Because I've been where she is, and I was fortunate enough to have people to pull me out of the hole and to say, "I know that this is going to be hard, " but I will be right there beside you. I was able to pay it forward, and in many ways, while I hope I helped her, being able to help (and asked to help) was one of the biggest gifts I could have been given. I suppose I know what my mentor in Israel was talking about when she told me to "pay it forward" every time I tried to thank her.

Second, over the last couple of weeks, there has been a fundraiser going on on Twitter for an organization called the Sportula. The Sportula provides microgrants to students in the Classics and related fields to pay for their books or other supplies for their education. This is an absolutely amazing organization that helps to fight some of the inherent barriers to the field that can come from coming from a lower or middle-class background. I have been lucky enough to have no problem paying for my education or textbooks in the last 16 years of my education, but I am certainly the exception and not the rule. Unfortunately, due to my chronic illness, I am unable to do as much in-person activism or direct service as I would like, but this is something I can do. The Classics field, especially in college, has given me a home, mentors, and friends, and for that I am incredibly grateful. Donating to this fundraiser is a way in which I can pay it forward (if you'd like to check it out too, here's their GoFundMe and their Patreon).

But then I clicked on Sententia Antiquae's post about the fundraiser, and came across this quote:

"Remember to tell the tale of another's kindness many times
But whatever kind deed you do for others, keep quiet." --Dicta Catonis

This immediately reminded me of the levels of Tzedakah (because of course it did): Tzedakah, which can be roughly translated as "giving" is a concept in Judaism. We are instructed to give as much Tzedakah as we can. Maimonides, a prominent Jewish philosopher from the 12th century established the idea of the eight levels of tzedakah. Most relevant to the above Dicta Catonis quote, however, are two of the top levels. The most obvious connection (and how I ended up writing this blog post), is to the third level of tzedakah, where the donor knows to whom they are giving, but the receiver is unaware of who has given the tzedakah. The top level of tzedakah is essentially what we would refer to as "teach a man to fish": give tzedakah to sustain one or help them to establish themselves. It is very important that this is done in a dignified manner. These last two seem quite relevant to the Sportula, and I wish there was someone doing the same thing in the Jewish world. People who are privileged enough to have money to spare give to the Sportula which then dishes the money out in small amounts to those students who ask them for it. Tzedakah (and the Sportula) or not "charity." They are not charity, they are generosity and solidarity, and this is an important thing to remember.

Even if you don't give a damn about Classics, I encourage you to take stock of the gifts that you have been given and look at how you can pay them forward. Stay up a little later with your friend when they need you, donate a couple of dollars to a cause that helped you, give some advice to a younger member of your community. Don't ask for anything in return. Give what you can where you are, and perhaps all of us together can create a better world.

V'ahavta Lvrarecha Kamocha: Loving Your Neighbor As Yourself Even When It's Hard

I pride myself on loving everyone in my life unconditionally. But I wasn't always this way. So today, I'd like to talk a little bit about loving one another even when it's hard. This past week, in the portions Acharei-Mot-Kedoshim, we read the words "v'ahavta lvrarecha kamocha"--I apologize for the terrible transliteration. You shall love your neighbor as yourself. Okay, this seems easy, but I don't think it's supposed to be easy. I think that loving your neighbor as yourself is supposed to be hard:

The first challenge is with loving people who seem to have irreconcilable differences with you. This is difficult. How can I love and respect someone if they are hurting me or if they have beliefs that pain me to think about? And once again, this is not easy, but I think we need to recognize the humanity in each person. You can love a person for who they are even if you don't want to spend a lot of time with them. You can respect someone's beliefs and argue with them instead of cutting them out of your life. You can embrace difference and see it as an asset as opposed to as a problem. This leads me into my second point: Loving people who it's hard to look at.

I know we've all done it. Crossed the street so we wouldn't have to walk past a homeless person, awkwardly avoided the person in the wheelchair at the movies, judged someone for their clothes. Believe me, I have a little sister in a wheelchair. I know what kind of looks we get when we walk down the aisle at the grocery store. We like to throw around buzzwords: inclusivity, diversity, celebrating differences. But how do we actually celebrate differences? In order to do that, we need to stop avoiding difference and start just loving other human beings while confronting difference head on. You can ask me what my sister's name is or just simply wave to her, acknowledging that she is human and your neighbor just like the cashier who you tell to have a nice day. You can spend a little more time listening than you do talking, and maybe, you can realize that all anyone wants is to live a meaningful life and be respected by other human beings.

The last point I want to make is about loving when it's hard in terms of people who are already a part of your life. Sometimes, I'm a hard person to love. I isolate myself, scared that the symptoms of my various preexisting conditions will make me an outcast. I complain of pain, sometimes leaving very little space for other people. It's easy to love someone in the good times. That's not a difficult task, but it is so much more meaningful to love someone in the bad. And at this point, I'd like to thank all of the people who have sat down with me, asked me how I was and wanted a real answer, given me rides places, listened to me talk for hours or just hugged me and told me that I was okay and that I was doing the best I could. These people are the people who love unconditionally. I strive to be one of these people as well: I never turn my phone off, so if someone calls me and tells me that they need me, I will be there in a second. It's just who I am.

We need to strive for love, no matter how much hate and disdain and discomfort there is out there. We need to take this commandment to heart. Love your neighbor as yourself. I'd like to add: even when it's hard.

Blog Elul: Hope

Hope is the light at the end of a tunnel.
Hope is the smile in a sea of frowns.
Hope is the music that floats in my window in hour four of my homework.
Hope is the thing with feathers.
Hope is what was left in the bottom of Pandora's box.
Hope never leaves.
We may forget about it. Make ourselves believe that it isn't there.
It there it will stay. Just hanging around, under all of the guilt, discord, and doubt.
Ready to come out and fly away.

Blog Elul: Begin

Rosh Hashanah is the beginning of the year. I've always liked it better than the Gregorian new year because Rosh Hashanah is actually at the beginning of my year. Sure, i've been at school for a bit, but it still feels like the dust hasn't settled so much on the year to come yet. But really any time can be a beginning if you decide to define it as one. The beginning of each day is a new start and one can make a conscious decision to live one's life anyway they please.

Beginnings, while exciting, also contain a lot of uncertainty, and there is very little I dislike more than uncertainty. But I am confident that this next year will bring happiness and sadness and love and trust and a myriad of other things that I cannot even imagine. And I'm looking forward to it.

Blog Elul: End

I really hate endings. I hated leaving camp--I basically cried for the last 48 hours. I hated leaving school in the spring. But the end of this year feels a whole lot more like a beginning that it does an ending. The ending of this year allows me to think back to the beginnings of so many important relationships and to think about how I will strengthen them and myself in the coming year. The ending of this year means that at some point I will be able to stop worrying about High Holiday logistics. The ending of this year means the beginning of the next. And I get to bring in the next year with my best friends. The people who I feel like I can avoid endings with. With whom it will always be see you later instead of good-bye. And that's a blessing. With endings come beginnings. And both require the same blessing.

Blog Elul: Fulfill

One of the greatest mitzvot(commandments) that Jews are to fulfill is "laasok b'divrei torah," which is defined as "to engage with the words of Torah." Now, many rabbis and people much smarter than me have different interpretations of how one goes about fulfilling this commandment, and I honestly think that I forgot how to fulfill this mitzvah until the other night.

Yesterday, at my rabbi's suggestion, I began studying Jewish text on my own, specifically Psalms because she thought they would bring me comfort. Directly after spending a bit of time studying by myself, I joined some friends in our house of study (Beit Midrash) to learn about the Torah portion for the week. Walking out of that building, late at night, I felt different than I had in a long time. I felt alive and filled with the words of my tradition, and the world, my stress about everything going on in my life had melted away if only for a short moment. And I was reminded of why I love being Jewish and why I want to grow up and be a professional Jew.

Missing Home: The Shabbat In Between

It feels weird to say that I'm missing home tonight because I should consider myself home, and sure, I do. I am sitting on my couch in my childhood house, a place where I have watched full TV shows(as in multiple seasons), had conversations with my best friends, and written hurried essays. But there is some sort of weird nostalgia feeling that I can't quite place. Perhaps it's because it's currently Friday night, Shabbat, and I am sitting here, writing this blog post instead of going to services. Perhaps it's because the longest period of time that I have spent in the last year in this house is less than a month. Sure, much of my stuff and my immediate family are still here, but my friends, my memories, and all of my winter clothing reside in different places.

Last week, I was at camp, emotionally bringing in our last Shabbat of the summer. We sang the songs that had become traditions; we danced like it was our last moment as a community, because in a way it was; we laughed together; we talked late into the night, sitting on the floor eating instant macaroni and cheese. I don't have the proper words to capture my experience this summer. It was religious, but not just that. I learned about myself and about community and about art and so much more that I don't know how to type out. And I miss my campers, my friends, and my mentors so much that I have a hard time not crying when I think about them.

On the flip side, next week, I will be at school for the first Shabbat of the year. I remember my last Shabbat at school in the spring, I was just as emotional as I was at last week's service, so I'm very much looking forward to next week. I'm looking forward to hugging my boyfriend and all of my friends, and leading services with my boyfriend. I'm looking forward to Shabbat dinner as one Brandeis Jewish community. I feel like I'm going back home (something I would have never said a year ago). I guess what I'm saying is that I don't know what home means anymore, and I think I have to be okay with the fact that the word home means ore than one place in my life right now.

Rebellion and Gratitude: My Bat Mitzvah Portion Six Years Later

Six years ago, I read from Korach at my Bat Mitzvah. This portion is not a pleasant one and I did and do not enjoy re-reading it. It involves a bunch of people, led by Korach, starting a rebellion against Moses and it all results in a bunch of people getting swallowed into the earth because God wants to teach them a lesson. I'm not going to say that Korach, nor God was right in this situation; I know better than to wrap myself up in that debate, but I think the idea of challenging what is happening in the world and challenging leadership(to a certain extent) is an important thing to do.  We need to, at least occasionally, question what we are told by the ones who lead us, and to do this, we may have to risk ourselves for the rebellion--  I'm not expecting anyone to get swallowed up into the earth anytime soon, but you know what I mean.

On a more encouraging note, I have evolved a lot in terms of Judaism over the last six years. I improved my Hebrew through  seven weeks of immersion at camp. and then more so through a year of college hebrew. I planned four Youth Group services, and led countless others alongside my former cantor. I attended over 20 regional youth group events and even more temple youth group ones. I spent six more summers at camp(if you count the one that we are in the middle of).Judaism has saved my life over and over, from the singing of Od Yavo at my Israel Trip orientation in 8th grade after months of devastating friend drama to the arrival at every NFTY event.

When I planned to write this post, I had no idea that it would be so hard to express how thankful I am for the Jewish experiences that I have had since my Bat Mitzvah. I would like to extend my thanks to every single advisor in NFTY who hugged me when I was crying or taught me to play a song on guitar, and to my regional advisor who I hadn't met at the point of my Bat Mitzvah, but would change my life for the better in so many ways. To all of the clergypeople who have taught me tidbits of knowledge and served as sounding boards, thank you especially to Rabbi London who has been there for me since before my Bat Mitzvah, Cantor Luck who taught me  for my Bat Mitzvah and became my role model and teacher for the six years between my preparation for my Bat Mitzvah and my Confirmation year,  and thank you to Rabbi Winick who has been so incredibly supportive this past year. Thank you, BESSY, for becoming my forever home and teaching me that acceptance and social justice are two of the most important things in the world. Thank you to Hillel at Brandeis (I already have a whole post on this). Thank you to all of the random people who have made me smile and taught me that kindness is truly the most important thing. Faith is wonderful, but in my personal opinion, faith is nothing without community, and Judaism has given me that and all of the people and organizations I just mentioned have as well.

DBT and Judaism(Part 3): B'Tzelem Elohim and Radical Acceptance

Radical acceptance is the idea of taking what you have(in your life and in your brain) for what it is and accepting it without judgement. By no means is this easy to do, I counsel people to do it all the time while I myself am very, very guilty of judging my own feelings and judging people in my life.However, when it is possible, it can be an incredibly freeing thing. So now you are thinking, Emily, you said this had to do with Judaism, how in the world does this have to do with Judaism?

B'tzelem Elohim literally means "in the image of God." Humans, according to Genesis, were made in the image of God. This one of my favorite Jewish ideas in general, but I think it can be especially helpful in the use of Radical Acceptance(see, I told you that they would connect). We need to remember that all of us, even the anxious parts and the parts that we like to pretend don't exist, are in the image of God. Accepting ourselves is a lifelong pursuit, but I think remembering that you are made in the image of God can help quite a bit.

Remembering that every other person in the world, even the ones who we think that we hate, are also made in the image of God is also an important takeaway from these two concepts. No person is less than a person, not even the ones who do things that are absolutely terrible. And every person, even the ones who seem like purely terrible people "contain multitudes," and are more complicated than they seem. We need to keep this in mind with our friends, our enemies, our mentors, and anyone who are in danger of seeing from a one-sided perspective regardless of whether or not we believe in God.

DBT and Judaism(Part 2): Mindful Eating and Keeping Kosher

Disclaimer: This blog post is not meant to shame anyone who doesn't keep strict Kosher(go ahead and argue with me about whether there are degrees of Kashrut), rather it is to show how it made my mindful eating process a healthy one.

I never really made an effort to keep Kosher until my senior year of high school. We never ate pork or shellfish, but I would eat non-kosher meat all the time and mix milk and meat. Since coming to Brandeis, I still don't keep strict Kosher, but I certainly think about it more and that intentionality in food choice is what I want to connect to mindfulness (if you haven't read last week's blog post, go read that first).

A few weeks ago, my mother offered me a piece of turkey with my lunch. I was having ravioli. I pointed it out to her that it wasn't Kosher, and I tried to make clear to her that it wasn't a big deal; I just wanted to make her aware that it was present. I am now aware of what is kosher and what isn't, and when I break the rules of Kashrut(usually when the dining hall would not have provided me with a sufficient meal if I did not mix milk and meat), I am keenly aware that I am doing it.

Being mindful about food is something that I did in a very unhealthy way in the past. Another principle that they teach you about in Dialectical Behavioral Therapy is called walking the middle path(essentially, nothing is black and white), and that's how I used to treat food. i used to treat certain foods as "good" and certain ones as "bad," and I would feel guilty and make myself absolutely miserable if I ate those foods, so eating mindfully can be done in a bad way. However now, since it is connected to Judaism, something that I very obviously adore, I can eat mindfully in a healthy way and be a bigger part of my community in general.

DBT and Judaism(Part 1): Blessing Your Food Mindfully

The intersection of Dialectical Behavioral Therapy and Judaism has been on my mind for quite a bit of time. In this particular post, I will examine the relationship of mindfulness  with regards to food in connection to saying a blessing before one eats. The next post will be on mindfulness and Kashrutand the one following it will be about the connection between B'Tzelem Elohim (being made in the image of God) and Radical Acceptance.

Mindfulness, according to wikipedia is the practice of bringing one's attention to the internal and external experiences of the present moment. Take this scenario (which is one that our Jewish chaplain has mentioned many times, so it is not mine): You are running into the house after a long day; you haven't eaten in hours and there's mail on the counter next to a bowl of fruit. What is the difference between grabbing on apple with one hand and the top piece of mail with the other and taking a bite out of it while you read said mail and picking up the apple, saying the appropriate blessing and then taking a bite out of it and grabbing the mail? The end result is basically the same. You have to wait an extra, maybe ten seconds before eating the apple, depending on how fast you can say the blessing. So what does this have to do with mindful eating? In DBT, one of the exercises is a mindful eating exercises. I've seen this done with a grape, a hershey's kiss, even a piece of chicken, but we are going to work with an apple because that will make the comparison easier. Basically, what you do is you eat, in this case the apple very slowly, trying to use all five of your senses to take in the food. While you do this, you think about where the food came from and truly appreciate all of the properties of the food. This serves the same purpose as the blessing does, making them extremely related.

The most important part of this connection, in my opinion, is the idea that you are thinking about what you are doing instead of just operating on your "default setting"(moving through the motions without any focus on the intentions behind your actions). Perhaps if saying the blessing is natural to you because you have done it your whole life, this concept would not apply, but for someone like me who has become more observant more recently, I know that it takes a lot of thought. This involves actually figuring out which blessing is appropriate for the food that you are about to eat or admiring it properties with mindful eating. Regardless, the experience is strengthened by the act that you do before.

My Intense Love of Reform Judaism Both On Campus and Off

I've been involved in my temple since I was about three years old so I am no newbie to the world of Reform Judaism. I went to Sunday School for many years until I became an aide in a Sunday School classroom and then to the cantor (I helped him lead services). If you want to read more about how much my synagogue means to me, you should read this blogpost. The URJ (Union for Reform Judaism) sponsored my camp where I grew from an awkward, quiet fourth grader into a confident counselor. The URJ brought me my youth group (NFTY-CAR) which helped me make it through my high school years. It gave me the resources to help a friend create a three-day camp and year long partnership program with a school in Waukegan, IL (more on that here). My community has given me so much, and that's the reason that I want to give back to them (More on that in a second).

This weekend is the URJ Biennial which I am not at because of travel craziness and the next biennial being in the city I live in, but I have been watching the lifestream every second that I have not been in classes the last few days. Last night, the incredible Alan Goodis opened with his song Esah Einai, a song that I listened to thousands of times as I fought my way through my freshman year of High school. I couldn't help but tear up as I attempted to write an essay at the same time. This morning, the URJ passed a resolution to make our communities more trans-inclusive, and I was once again on the verge of tears(geez, I'm emotional). I could't be prouder to be a part of this community.

Two days ago, the board of the Reform Organization here on campus attempted to take a yearbook photo. I say attempted because we are perhaps the most dysfunctional family possible. But we are family. I was welcomed into services on the first week of school, and I immediately relaxed after a crazy week of new experiences. Reform Judaism feels like coming home.

So many amazing clergy, educators and friends have contributed to my life, and there is too many to list here. Perhaps I'll write a longer blogpost about just them at some point. It is because of all these amazing people who made Reform Judaism my home that I am on the path to becoming a Rabbi.

In conclusion, there are not enough words that I can write to describe how blessed I am to be a part of the Reform Jewish community. Or at least not words that I can write without crying in the middle of the dining hall. All I can do is thank God and hope that this family will welcome me and allow me to welcome them for now and forever more.