I am posting the mermaid story in small parts:
http://ping.fm/4oK1o

We are told in Exodus that “Six days shall you work, and on the seventh shall you desist.” So we are supposed to work 80% of the time, and rest 20%. How funny that we don’t argue with G-d about this equation. 80% of my time spent working? Why don’t we demand more time to stop? Maybe it is because, according to the sages, we are 80% body and 20% soul. Maybe it is because our brains and bodies evolved as we walked 10 – 15 miles a day across savannahs. Maybe because stopping was dangerous and put us at risk.

We had to stop at night when the moon illuminated the sky, giving us a sense that we were safe in the darkness. Maybe this is the real message of stopping on Shabbat; that we are safe in the darkness of the world that we inhabit on the other 6 days. If we stop we can be illuminated, or perhaps be a light that illuminates and warms other people. After all, lighthouses don’t walk around much.

What if the world stopped for 25 hours every week? No pollution, no war, no competition. Would that 20% be what makes the 80% sustainable? Is this another message of Shabbat? Sustainability comes from stopping.

How funny that I resist stopping on Shabbat, when I beg for it on other days. You know, those times that we wish would last forever, wishing that time would stop and let us hold our memories still in a moment of time. And yet when commanded to stop…I rush on. Maybe if I had to pay for stopping that was disguised as another religion it would be easier to embrace….like a meditative yoga retreat.

My doctor, a traditional Jew, dared me to stop. My orthodox girl friend invited me to stop, saying it would be good for my soul. So what am I afraid of? Self discovery, like that which comes while reciting the Al chets? That I might have to re-define my value in the world? That I might find G-d…..or that G-d might find my hiding place?

Jewish mystics explain that as the sun goes down before Rosh Hashana, the universe goes into a comatose state, it stops. A slumber descends on all existence; everything comes to a standstill in cosmic silence, in apprehension of our contract being renewed. So perhaps I am afraid that stopping might mean G-d will rewrite my contract…that I will need to find a new way of being in the world.

So I tried to stop, but the world moved on. The phone rang, friends invited me out for lunch, my email filled up, the slopes beckoned, and the mall opened early. Wow…this is harder than I thought. I am out of step and out of time with the world around me….but in step and in time with Shabbat and that 20% of me that wishes to illuminate the world for good. Oh cool….in some ways stopping makes me rebellious. OK, I can do that

My goal then this year is to increase the time I stop on Shabbat, second by second. To become Shomer al z’man, a guard of time. Rather than building a fence around Shabbat, I am going to use Shabbat as my fence around stopping.

Shana Tova.

The sequel starts

The voices were back whispering in my ears along with the early morning breeze blowing in the window. Not demanding, not suggesting, but perhaps inviting me to a half-forgotten event I had agreed to attend. I wasn’t sure which was scarier, that fact that the voices had left, or the fact that. They were back

The morning light was just creeping through the slats of the shutters on my bedroom window, laying a loving diffuse light on the bed, which unfortunately I was the soul occupant of, except for about 10 pounds of cat.. My fiancé Joshua was on assignment somewhere near Mesa Verde and would not be back in Denver for another week. He was cutting it close since our wedding date was only two weeks away and there still seemed to be so many details to attend to. Of course, that might be why he had decided to take a bit of work so far from home.

Being a strong Minority
We are told over and over again to be a holy/righteous people. Mishpatim (משפטים — Hebrew for “laws”) Exodus Chapter 23: 1 – 3 gives us some clear instructions to accomplish this. We are given a set of laws that sound like they apply to judges in court cases, but in so many ways speak to the difficulty we all face in our daily lives. The text tells us: You shall not accept a false report; do not place you hand with a wicked person to be a false witness. You shall not follow the majority for evil, and you shall not respond concerning a lawsuit to follow the many to pervert justice. Neither shall you glorify a poor man in his lawsuit
I tend to think of these versus as a “gestalt” a whole picture that set a pattern for behaviors in many situations. They tell us to pursue justice without leaning towards the rich or the poor, or being swayed by the mighty or the many. We are also instructed to stand up and speak the truth when we believe the majority is following evil, even if our words will not change the actions of the minority.
The instructions are deceptively simple, pursue justice without bias or fear, but there are deeper levels to these lessons that might be more complex. For example, Rashi tells us that we are not to accept slander, nor should we hear the plea of one litigant until his opponent arrives. That means that we cannot listen to one side of the story and make a decision. Sounds easy, but it seems that I often hear a tale of woe from a friend about another person, or from a student about a teacher (or visa-versa) without the other person present. How often do I forward an email without checking the information or asking for another opinion? Rahsi suggests that it is my obligation to seek out the entire story, told from both (or many) side before I make any judgments. It is my obligation to bring these people together and have them tell their stories in front of each other.
Rashi also interprets these verses to mean that because it is difficult, perhaps rude, to differ with the master of the court, the smallest, or least esteemed should be the first to express an opinion. This way we are not biased by the might of the most esteemed judge and can give our opinion freely. Sounds easy. I can do this. Then I remember the times that I voiced an opinion before engaging my students or someone who reports to me. This mitzvot takes on a different meaning now. It is my obligation to ask for the opinion and views of the “smallest” before expressing my own. I must guarantee that the minority is heard and listened to first.
The most challenging elements in these verses might be the part about not following the majority. It is not easy to say no to the group; in fact it can be a very uncomfortable process. The Rashbam tells us that even if others will follow the majority, we are obligate to speak up. The Bekor Shor states that our voice might change the opinion of others and will help others see the situation in a different light. We are obligated to speak up, against the majority, which takes courage.
We know that it is psychologically very easy for a group to sway an individual. There is a great deal of research on this that demonstrates that even our visual perception can be changed by a large group disagreeing with us. A group can actually change what we believe we are seeing. It is even easier for a group to sway our understanding of a situation. We even have a psychological term for this: group think. Clearly our brains are wired to find ways to think like the group around us
The Torah clearly recognizes this human element. It is human to feel safer when we blend into the group and are seen as “agreeable” or “easy to get along with.” It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to a group, even those we perceive as doing evil, and especially if they happen to be our friends. Sometimes we have to choose to leave that group, that seemingly safe haven, in order to speak the truth.

These themes run through our Torah: Abraham leaves the comfort of the known world to be a minority in the world of Pantheonic majority. Rebecca stands up to her family and chooses to go into an unknown world and then stands up to tradition and helps Jacob receive the birthright blessing before Essau. Jacob leaves his family and heads to his Uncle Labin’s, and lives as a good man in a dishonest world. Joseph stays true to HaShem while outnumbered by strangers in Egypt and stands up to authority. The stories go on and on about our Matriarchs and Patriarchs who voiced the minority opinion in the face of the majority and changed history.
We also hear the stories about the power of a minority to influence the majority. In the story of Sodom we learn that even ten good people would change the nature of the town. We see that ten spies influenced a nation and kept the Israelites from entering the land. We remind ourselves of this power when we join a minyan in prayer. Our act of joining a small minority to pray affects the opinions and actions of the majority around us.

But we are often distracted from these obligations. It is easier to have someone else make big decisions, sit on the jury, decide right from wrong. It is more “collaborative” to give in to a poor compromise. The team is going to make that decision anyway, so what good does it do to speak up? Perhaps we are the ones that hush a minority opinion because we are in a hurry to get a task done.

Or perhaps we are afraid. It can be frightening to speak up against the majority. I remember many occasions in which I was worried about voicing my opinion and disagreeing with those in positions of authority. It was the rare leader who will listen first and consider decide later.
But what if I speak up against the majority, my friend included? How will I be treated by the majority? Where are we told how to treat the person who is the fish out of water? How are we to treat this “upstart” minority among us? How will we be treated by the mighty, if we to choose to fulfill our role as the minority opinion? How will we be treated by our community? Where are those instructions about how we are supposed to treat those among us speaking for the minority?

I believe we find the answer in one of the most repeated commandments in Torah: “You shall not oppress the stranger, for you know the feelings of the stranger, having yourselves been strangers in the land of Egypt”. (Ex. 23:9). Over and over we are told that we were once the minority in a narrow place, constrained by the will of the majority. In that narrow place we had the courage to speak the truth, to be the minority opinion. It is now our obligation to honor others in that role.

I have been a whistle blower three times, each time at some professional or personal risk. It takes courage. I knew it was the right thing to do, but I also knew that the action would “out me” as a minority. I would have to face the majority, the mighty, and speak the truth, even if I was not believed. What supported me in this was the knowledge that “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing." (Edmund Burke)
These whistle blowing experiences also taught me the importance of how we present our minority opinion. We are told in these verses not to focus on the poverty or wealth, the weak or the mighty. We are in essence being told to give an opinion, majority or minority, with respect to assure no one will be embarrassed. This reflects yet another mitzvah, to not embarrass others (Leviticus 19:17)

I believe these verses tell us why Jews, against all odds, are still on the planet against all odds. We are a tiny (.02%) minority that speaks truth to the majority. Hashem counts on the minority to keep the majority from evil, and in the process we help others awaken to their own divine spark.

thoughts on Omer

Counting the Omer teaches that the journey is at least as important as the destination. We focus on counting for forty-nine days without rushing towards Sinai and Torah. This slow quiet process builds a sense of inner faith. As a people we remember that even slaves can stand up, shake off shackles and walk towards Torah. It is not only the heroes of the story that matter; Moses, Aaron and Miriam might lead us, but we freely choose to follow.

This past year I counted the Omer during a difficult personal time. My mother was ill, I was flying between Denver and Los Angeles while teaching, working, helping my husband graduate, helping my brother manage his fears, hosting an Israeli cousin and raising a puppy. Often the only quite time I had was either on an airplane (unless I was grading papers) or before bed as I counted the Omer.

My big concerns were calmed by a small action. My large looming fears and frustrations were comforted by a simple process. I realized I did not need to have the answer and solutions. I just needed to show up and do the work presented to me. Interestingly, during this time I received a bracelet I had ordered from the Cardo in Jerusalem engraved with the biblical sayings associated with my Hebrew names: Chava Rachel. Chava is associated with Proverb 31: “She sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her task.” Rachel is associated with Deuteronomy 32: “See now that I myself am He! There is no G-d besides me. I put to death and I bring to life, I have wounded and I will heal, and on one can deliver out of my hand.”
The message coincided with the message of the Omer. It is my job to show up, but I am not in charge of the process. I am an important musician, but not the conductor of the orchestra. The questions that haunt me have answers in quiet practice, in Torah and in mitzvoth.

The counting of the Omer reminded me that what I do, what all of us do matters more than the title we wear. Small everyday quiet actions matter. The choices I make daily can lead me toward holiness. My individual actions count within a nation of people walking from slavery to choice, narrowness to open mindedness, from sin to Torah. The task is to open to receiving through simple counting, study and learning, all of which brings me closer to G-d.
A frightened exhausted people left Egypt, just as I found myself frightened and exhausted over the tasks before me. The Omer taught me to start with the fear inside me, to leave Egypt, and that the courage will come. We can start with doubt, reach the sea that blocks our way, step into the waters and as the waters part the faith will come. We can start with counting and Torah will come.

The powerful message of counting the Omer is buried in a story about the Baal Shem Tov, who on a voyage to save the Jewish people forgot every prayer and every bit of Torah. The story takes place in the time frame of the first day of Pesach to the seventh day, when the Baal Shem Tov is returned home (interestingly, it is on this seventh day that the Israelites crossed the Reed Sea). His scribe (or daughter depending on the version of the story) who was traveling with him could only remember the aleph- bet. In Hebrew the aleph- bet represent a form of counting since numbers are represented by letters. The letters inspired the Baal Shev Tov,

“As soon as R. Israel Baal Shem Tov heard that R. Hersh still remembered the alphabet, he told him, "Good, say the letters for me!" R. Hersh began to recite, "Alef, beis, gimel, daled, hei...." And the Baal Shem Tov repeated every word with great fire. R. Israel Baal Shem Tov said, "Ribono shel Olam, Master of the world: Do You need the prayers of a simple person who is called Israel? If so, I am reciting the letters before You, and You, merciful Father in heaven, braid them Yourself into a wreathe of prayers!" (Shulman, Y.D, 2001)

And with this the Baal Shem Tov and his scribe were saved. Clearly a small act with great intentions can shift the world, which is why this story is told on the last (8th) day of Passover following afternoon prayers during the Baal Shem Tov’s feast. This is the end of the first week of the counting of the Omer, and hence marks the end of the first cycle of sevens.
It is through counting that the Baal Shem is saved. It is through counting that we are returned to our union with G-d and holiness. It is through the simple act of counting that we find our way when we are lost. It is through the simple act of counting the Omer that we find Refuah and T’shuva.

Rosh Hashanah

I would like to build on a thought I heard about literacy…that the more we learn the more we are encouraged to put learning into practice. That Knowledge breeds a thirst for knowledge. I have had exactly that experience my entire life, but especially in the area of Jewish study

Four years ago I realized that my vast pools of unconnected knowledge about Judaism might be getting deeper, in that I had more information, but I still had only a surface level of understanding. So, I committed to a year of study with the Florence Melton adult mini school…and then another… and then another… and just year, yet another. At the same time I started weekly study with my friend Rabbi Sandra Cohen, reading books whose titles I could not even have pronounced a few years ago.

I actually started to study because I was tired of knowing more about sweat lodges than mikvahs, more about astrologic charts than the Jewish calendar, more about academic evaluation than prayer. I was tired of knowing that someone was mis-portraying Judaism, but not having the strength of understanding, (koach b’da’at), to respond articulately. I had read volumes of Hassidic stories, and could experience the expansiveness or chesed of the stories, but I couldn't bind them together with meaning, give them definition, or bring them into myself. There was no gevurah.

So I started to study, and an interesting thing happened. The more I learned the more I wanted to know. I always tell my graduate students that if they leave my class with more questions than when they walked in the door, the class was successful. Learning is not about answers, it is about exploring at a deeper level.

So there I was diving deep into those now connected pools of knowledge, asking more questions and searching for more answers…. having a wildly good time doing it…..when I realized that some answers can only be found in the practice. Jewish thought does not exist in a vacuum. Rather it exists, unfolds and expands in the world of doing. There are things that we can never learn from a book, things we can only learn from experience.

Let me give you an example. I love to sail and could read books all day about handling the helm, adjusting the sheets, how to tack, or how to sail on a close reach, and so on. But until I am in the boat dealing with capricious winds and rhythmic waves, all of that is abstract information. More importantly there is a point-of-view that I have from the middle of Lake Dillon, or off the California coast that I can never have except from the deck of a ship. There are sounds I will never hear, rhythms I will never feel and stories I will never understand, unless I put my learning into practice.

The same is true of Jewish study. Without lighting Shabbat candles I can never really know the peace of Shabbat. Until I engage in the discipline of regular davaning, I will never understand the meaning of the prayers or build an intimate relationship with G-d. Building and deepening my practice, whatever that means on an individual level, is a pathway to chochma, deeper wisdom and learning.

I wanted to end with a Hassidic story, but in the interest of time decided to use a short quote from the Baal Shem Tov instead.

“Everyone is unique. Compare not yourself with anyone else lest you spoil God's curriculum.”

Which means what? It means that G-d has a plan for our learning, and it does not include grades or certificates or degrees. It is about our own path, our own choices. If I may paraphrase another of the Baal Shem’s quotes, learning is an opportunity to “let a spark of the holy fire burn within you, so that you may fan it into a flame.”

L’Shana Tova

Wisdom from our elders

Great thoughts from interviews with our elders:

The simple things matter most.
Humor and time cure most pains.
There's more satisfaction in giving than getting. Service to others is the most satisfying activity.
Choose your spouse carefully. It will be your most important decision.
Work hard and in a field or role that you enjoy.