#BlogExodus: Honor

I'll be honest, I am struggling with how I want to talk about this word. You'd think that I could come up with something about the Julio Claudian dynasty or about honoring Shabbat and keeping it holy, but I struggle with the idea of honor. The word honor implies an obligation to the person or thing to which the honor is directed and I don't know how I feel about that. I understand the idea of respect both in the sense that you respect those with authority and respect that we have for one another, but I think that honor has a slightly different connotation than that.

You Are Not Alone: Parshat Tazria

This portion is quite off-putting to the modern reader. It first lays out the rules for purifying one’s body after childbirth and after a woman’s period which are a little odd, and to honest with you, quite sexist. And then this parsha addresses the idea of sickness, often translated as leprosy in the text. The Israelites are instructed to isolate those with the ailment from the rest of the camp. This whole parsha uses the words tumah and taharah, impure and pure over and over again. It puts people into boxes. In the parsha, the idea of “sickness” can be used to describe any “not normal” physical condition, any box that is out of the ordinary. Any box that we put people in.

Two thoughts on this: Firstly, this reminds me of the isolation that people who suffer from mental illness often end up in. Because people see us as sick, or more likely a burden, they leave us alone. But that’s not the way out. That’s not the way of healing in any scenario. One cannot save themselves from their own mind by themselves. Believe me, I speak from experience. We would hope that our views on the inflicted have changed since the time of the Torah. Unfortunately, we are not much better than the Israelites. There may not be a certain period of time prescribed in which we don’t text our friend with anxiety back like there is for the isolation of a person with leprosy, but at the end of the day, those who suffer end up alone all too often. I’ll admit, I’m guilty of this too even though I’m often on the other side of it.

We also have a really hard time understanding disease when it has no cure. To start with, we as humans, are terrible at talking about pain. We don’t have the language needed to express it.  The only way to understand one’s pain is to be inside of their consciousness which is simply not possible. Think of it this way, when your friend gets sick, you go to the “get well soon” section at Walgreens to buy them a card. There is no get well soon for so many chronic illnesses, so there is no card. There is no prescribed way to treat them, so instead, they are isolated. There is nothing you can except help them mitigate the symptoms and support us during the good days and the bad days. And this is not easy.

So what can we learn from this parsha? There needs to be a change in the way that we look at those with chronic illness, both mental and physical. We need to accept that it isn’t easy to help in a world with no cure, but that doesn’t make it any less necessary. As we sang the Mi Shebeirach and as we sing it tomorrow, we need to seriously think of what actions of healing we will take along with our prayer. How will you reach out? A card, a call, even a facebook message. Isolation is one of the most painful things that humans can experience. Noone should have to go it alone. And if you are suffering, you are not alone. I am not alone. We are a community committed to one another and to learning from the text that guides our tradition and holding one another up because of it. Shabbat Shalom.

#BlogExodus:Start

This week was the start of something. Not of a semester or of any new activity, and maybe this started ages ago and I just wasn't paying attention, but I have started being exactly who I want to be. Let me explain: This week, I spent a large part of Saturday, Sunday and Monday worrying about how I was going to logistically make tomorrow's Torah service happen. Happens that that issue was resolved by a quick conversation with our Jewish Chaplain, who I am thankful for. On Wednesday, I helped to roll one Torah. On Thursday, I helped to roll two.  Rolling Sifrei Torah is a skill that I have pretended to have for months now, however, I only actually learned how to do it this week. Thursday night, I sat with a few friends and our Hillel Associate Director and talked about life with like-minded people. And at some point this morning when I was cleaning my room for Shabbat,  I realized that everything that I am currently doing is somehow helping me to be the person I want to be. I'm never going to be completely free of my anxiety, but I am no longer a slave to it. I'm planning to write more about that as we get closer to passover. And I realized that college is the start of the rest of my life. And there's a certain freedom to that.


If you're confused by the title of this blogpost or want to join in on Blog Exodus, you should go read about the project here.

Dear Heather: Three Years Later

Dear Heather,
Three years ago, I was sitting in my Finance class, or whatever it's called, I can't remember at the moment, and I opened my iPad (I was obviously paying a whole lot of attention that day), and I found out that you had died. It was told to me by a two sentence post in a Facebook group for the Relay for Life team that you had created. It took everything in me not to cry at that moment.

As I sit here, at my desk, in college, wasting away by Shabbos afternoon, and trying not to cry so i won't have to redo my makeup, I look for words to express both what you gave to me and what I wish you could be here to see. I could write a hundred of these letters, and it would never be enough to make it okay that you won't walk around the track at Relay with your team or get to see me as a counselor. It isn't okay that cancer took you away from us when you were only 26. Nobody deserves to die, but you especially didn't.

The last time that I said the Mourner's Kaddish, I was taken back to the first night of JYG Kallah all those years ago, after you had essentially found me friends and started my life in NFTY with such an amazing, powerful few hours.  Then, I thought about my first year at camp. This summer I was a counselor in the very same cabin that you were my counselor in. I thought of you every day.

I am forever reminded of that line from the meditation before the Mourner's Kaddish, "And if you cannot give me away, at least let me live in your eyes and not on your mind." And I try my best to do this. I work hard and take care of people just as I think you'd want me to, but as we approach the day, your Yarzheit, I can't help but keep you in my mind. The Mourner's Kaddish isn't about death, it's about the beauty of life. And there is no person I know who encapsulated that life than you. To the last weeks, you were caring and selfless and forever an inspiration to me.

Selfishly, I wish you had gotten to see me get to be a counselor, and I have to say, I do tell my campers about you when they ask me where I learned to make friendship bracelets. I wish that you could have seen me thrive in college; I was still so unhappy the last time that we talked, and I hope you know, I'd like to think you know, that now, I am happier than I have ever been. And that you will live on forever in me and in every single person who you loved and who loved you. Your inspiration and desire to make the world better is something that I will carry with me whereever I go.

Great, now, I'm crying. At the end of the day, it comes down to this: I try to hold your optimism against my cynicism in my heart as go about my day, and I will miss you no matter how many years go by.

I miss you. Zichronam Livracha.

Love always,
Emily

But They Didn't: How the Purim Story Inspires Me To Be Resilient

This week, we celebrate Purim, a holiday celebrating the fact that we didn't die... again. As a brief summary of the Purim story, there's a king of Persia who needs a wife, he has a competition that is won by a Jewish woman named Esther. Haman, the king's advisor makes a plan to kill the Jews because Mordecai, Esther's uncle, won't bow down to him. Esther ends up saving the day by telling the king that she is Jewish and Haman and his family die on the day that was chosen to kill the Jews.

I have some issues with the fact that we are told that we have to be joyous on Purim. I will be joyous when I want to be joyous, thank you very much. I also think it's important to be okay not being joyous on Purim. The obligations put on us by our religion do not need to regulate our emotions.  At the same time, we are forced to remember the bad every time that we celebrate the good which is the downside of being a part of a community of people who have been threatened by many nations. That being said, Purim has been my favorite holiday for as long as I can remember.

 At the end of the day, the main point that I take away from this story is the fact that we survived. We survived when they tried to kill us. This sentence applies to so much of the history of the Jews, and as I push through stressful weeks and wade through my own issues, I have to remind myself that I too will survive. And you will survive. We will survive by holding one another up and cheering one another on. There will be good waiting just past the bad. And if it seems like there is only bad, just know that you will survive.

A Puzzle of People and Places: Thinking about Influence

I've been thinking a lot about influence lately. Partly because of this vlogbrothers video in which John describes the fact that he has been emulating this commentator who he and Hank used to listen to when they were kids. This got me thinking about the people who influence me, not in the huge ways like my whole personality, which has obviously been strongly influenced by my parents and everyone else in my life, but the smaller things. Another reason I was thinking about this was due to something that I did at services last night. My rabbi makes a certain gesture when she says "please rise" for various prayers, and about halfway through the service last night, I realized that I do this too. That got me thinking about all of the other little things that I have picked up from people around me.

The fact that I hate talking about the Second Great Awakening and am as politically liberal as I am is due to my AP US History teacher in High School. The way that I give relationship advice is strongly influenced by John Green's Question Tuesday videos. The way I say "well" and "know" as well as the way I do my Latin homework today are due to my Latin teacher in high school. The way I comfort people is shaped by all of my camp counselors. The fact that I know how to explain why I believe in God is because of my senior year Philosophy teacher who challenged me on every point that I made. The way I lead services, both in the planning and the execution is strongly influenced by the cantor who was at my synagogue from when I was in 7th grade to my senior year of high school.

Nobody is one sole individual, and I think that we have to come to terms with that. We are combinations of the people and places that make us who we are. I know how to dress for the rain because I went to camp for ten years. Too often, we don't think to thank those who influenced us in the small ways, but we should. So thank you to all of these people. And thank you to all of you who are influencing your friends, students, mentors, and peers every single day.

The Blessing of Shabbat: How I Learned to Relax

"As much as the Jewish people have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jewish people."

I am not someone who relaxes. Any of my friends can tell you that I am always moving. But I want to relax. And that's where Shabbat comes in. I always loved Shabbat at camp as a kid. We would spend hours getting ready and then go to services and dinner as a community. But when i was home, Shabbat was never a huge part of my life. Sure, we went to Saturday morning services occasionally, and once and a while I would be participating in a Friday night service, so I would go, but it was not a weekly part of my life.

Since coming to school, Shabbat has become a huge part of my life. Shabbat has become a social time to pray, sing, and spend time with friends.  Some weeks, I spend hours planning Friday night services in preparation. I clean my room every Friday morning, and I spend time putting makeup on. I turn off my notifications on my phone and block all social media on my computer. I make a conscious decision to transition into Shabbat mode.

And my Shabbats have become fun as well. My minyan is a family. We support each other during hard weeks, and we celebrate each other during good ones. We laugh, we sing, and most importantly, we are unconditionally there for one another, no matter what. At the end of the day, I could not be more thankful for them. Three of my other best friends lead a different minyan and walking into Shabbat dinner and knowing that they will be waiting to hug me makes me feel like I belong in a way that I haven't felt before. We talk, we joke, and we celebrate the fact that we made it through another week. My Saturdays have changed too. instead of sitting in my room watching TV all day, I eat lunch with my friends, either during our Mishnah class or not. We have inside jokes and predictable seats at the table. We have intellectual conversations and ridiculous ones. We end Shabbat together as well, sitting in a circle, telling everyone what our high and low points of the week are. It's truly the best way to end a week.

Together is the only way I can describe the feeling that I gain from Shabbat at school. You would think that disconnecting from social media and my phone would isolate me, but in reality, the opposite has happened. I have better conversations because nobody is staring down at their phone. I fell surrounded by love. And finally, I get to relax. For one scheduled day every week, I give myself permission to relax. And for the gift of Shabbat, I could not be more grateful.