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Hat tip to the awesome Ananda for this. This is good for Elul, right? Just think about it.

It's Art, It's Renewal: Jewels of Elul

This post is part of Jewels of Elul, which celebrates the Jewish tradition to dedicate the 29 days of the month of Elul to growth and discovery in preparation for the coming high holy days. This year the program is benefiting Beit T'shuvah, a residential addiction treatment center in Los Angeles. You can subscribe on Jewels of Elul to receive inspirational reflections from public figures each day of the month. You don’t have to be on the blog tour to write a blog post on “The Art of Beginning... Again.” We invite everyone to post this month (August 11th - September 8th) with Jewels of Elul to grow and learn.


It's Day 3 of Elul, Do You Know Where Your Apples & Honey Are?

The inspiration for this post, "The Art of Beginning ... Again," gives me a very literalist punch, and I hate being a literalist (don't tell the rabbis), but I can't help it; art has always been the gas in the automobile of life for me (nice, eh?). When I think about art, it's a frenzied, frenetic examination of emotions and thoughts splattered together onto one ginormous canvas. The canvas, for some, is literally a canvas. For others its a wall or a newsprint page or a spiral-bound notebook. When I was a kid, I dreamed of being an artist, the traditional kind with pencils and charcoal and clean white sheets of paper filled with images of people and plants and animals and life. I figured out in high school that that dream wasn't necessarily realistic because my emotions had started to plant their feet in the written word. In college, still, I found words the most beautiful art out there, and I began, again, in the form of spoken word -- slam poetry. I discovered a power in words I'd never known before, and then slowly they seeped back onto the page in the form of this blog. My new canvas. The art, then, is life, and the canvas, is this blog. Every time I sit to write a new blog post, it's as if I'm planning the next great masterpiece, the work that will catch every reader's heart and pull. My thoughts, frenzied and frenetic still, find their way onto new avenues each day, with each post, in the form of Judaism. Jewish thought. Israel. Judaism in academia. Jewish food, observance, quirks. The art is ... beautiful.

I've discovered that this art of mine allows me to begin again each and every day, or sometimes twice a week, or sometimes less often -- life, you know, gets in the way of art. But I consider myself blessed. I don't have to wait until Elul each year to reflect and learn from my every-step in life. Like many bloggers in this series, I went back and looked at all of my past Elul posts over the four years of this blog, and the funny thing is that I really get into Elul. Although, shouldn't I? I've had more beginnings and start-agains in my life than I can count. More schools and homes and addresses and cities and friends and religious awakenings than can easily be enumerated here. And, of course, there's the two conversions I pushed myself through, which are ultimate steps in teshuvah (repentance, or returning) that only begin when steps are taken out of the mikvah. I look at every day as a chance for renewal, reevaluation, a reconsideration of who I am and where I'm going, based largely on where I've been, who I've touched, and how I've moved others to move myself.

This blog, for me, makes that happen. You, the readers, who constantly push and question and -- yes, sometimes -- infuriate me, make considering me possible. And, of course, there's always the text in my banner (שמע יי קולי אקרא וחנני וענני) that comes from Psalm 27, which Jews the world-over read every morning of Elul, that translates very roughly (and colloquially) as "Hey, G-d, I'm calling out, so be gracious to me, hear me, answer me!" Elul, then, is like one big, ginormous (man I love that word) experience of renewal and questioning, turning toward G-d and G-d turning toward us. It's like the last chance to ask yourself where you're going and who you are and what you want to be in the new year.

But if there's one thing I've learned about renewal and fresh starts, about beginning again, it's that it isn't a once-a-year occurrence. At least, it shouldn't be. Jews are blessed with the big holiday- and reflection-filled months of Elul and Tishrei where we ask for forgiveness, reflect on ourselves and our pasts and future, and ultimately get written into that big book of life or death that G-d keeps tugged away (surely) in his jeans pocket. And it's important to artfully and carefully extend ourselves, especially during Elul. But every day, every word that escapes our mouths, every step we take, every conversation we have, they're all chances for renewal and fresh starts. It's never not a good time to consider who you are, where you've been, and how you're going to move forward.

Happy renewal, folks. Use your own art as a form of exploration and expression, and let me know how it turns out in 5771.

Also: If you're interested in reading a few of my Elul blog posts, click on the year and you'll be transported to Chaviva of Years Gone By! 2009 AND 2006

When I Call, Will You Answer?

Every day (or almost) I log on to my blog, sit down and write something. I pour my soul out onto the pages of this blog, and for the past three-and-a-half years, and for every day of these past several years I've seen the words written there, below the title of my blog: Sh'ma HaShem, qoli eqra v'chaneni v'aneni. It's funny because I was thinking about it tonight, sitting here, trying to make myself go to sleep, and I realized I'd forgotten what the phrase meant or why I put it there. Let's deconstruct.

Sh'ma HaShem: Hear, G-d

Qoli eqra: My voice cries,

V'chaneni:  Be gracious to me,

V'aneni: Answer me.

Source? Psalms 27:7. We read from this Psalm every day during the month of Elul. I can't believe I'd gotten so lost in the constant of seeing it there that I forgot what it was, where it was from, how important the phrasing and words are.

Now, I went back in the annals of this blog and found a really fascinating post (am I tooting my own horn here?) that I'd written in late August 2006. I was four months out of a Reform conversion, and almost three years into studying Judaism seriously. Even then, at that point, I knew that I wasn't content with a religion of do-do-do without feel-feel-feel. I'm not saying that Reform Judaism was that, but what I was seeing and experiencing was that. I was never that kind of Jew.

A morsel of that post:

I read an article in Tikkun about a guy who was at a bookstore in Tennessee when he ran into a college-age kid who was browsing the small Judaica section in a Border's books. He observed that the kid would pick up a book, flip through it and put it back as if he wasn't really looking. The guy walked over to the collegian and they got to talking about what this kid was looking for -- G-d. The collegian said that G-d was missing from so many books. That G-d is almost devoid of meaning in modern Judaism -- in nearly all followings therein. It got me thinking. The one thing I always detested about "religion" was that it lacked rhyme or reason. Things were done because "that's just what we do." You go to church on Sunday because that's what a good Christian does. You daven three times a day, because that's what a good Jew does. You go to confession, becuase, well, that's what a good Catholic does. The WHY gets lost in translation. That's also what drew me so much to Judaism ... the idea of rabbis across centuries arguing things down to the accidental ink blot on a specific Talmudic trachtate. It is, enlightening and brilliant the amount of discussion and argument that goes into Jewish thought. But it feels like we're missing something. G-d?

When rabbinic and Talmudic Judaism was born, G-d almost disappeared from the Jewish map. It makes you wonder of Adonai is sitting idly by, waiting for Jews everywhere to realize that when they left for Summer Vacation, they left good ole' Adonai sitting on the front porch stoop. Many, many years later, there Adonai sits. Waiting. And what are we doing? Well, I'm not sure.

I know what I'm doing. I'm making a concerted effort to "rekindle the flame" as a popular phrase within the Jewish literary circles quips. I carry G-d with me more than I ever did when I was wrestling with organized religion or my fear of life after death. It's almost an unconcious hum in my head, always keeping me at ease. It's the moments when I'm ill at ease that I seem to cry out, truly and deeply, for strength, reciting the words in the Siddur (page 75) that my rabbi and I discussed so often (cannot rebuild a bridge, but can mend a broken heart). I don't want to be a Jew-by-habit, I'm a Jew-by-Choice, who chooses to create a holy bubble where G-d is more than just four letters in the holy books.

-------

So each morning when I rise, I'll rebuild the figure near the bimah and the shofar, the sound it makes calling us to repentence, to focus on heshbon ha'nefesh -- taking stock of oneself, the soul, reflecting and asking for Divine forgiveness. I'll recite the Psalm, calling Adonai to hear my cries, and I will think of Moshe, ascending the mount for the third time on this day in 2448. I will find my kavannah, and I will keep my beloved close, as my beloved keeps me close.

I think I knew where I was going back then. I knew what I needed, and that hasn't changed. Finding that place, that "holy bubble" that I mention is a constant pursuit of mine. Especially this time of year, when I think about calling out to G-d, asking G-d to hear my voice, to really, truly hear me. To be gracious to me.

And most importantly? To answer.

Cosmic Connection? Happenstance? Or HaShem?

Well, I didn't land the free trip to Israel with Nefesh b'Nefesh, but I have to say mazal tov to BadForShidduchim for landing the spot, as well as SoccerDad for almost landing the spot. (Oddly enough, I'm listed as an entrant both as Kvetching Editor and Chaviva Edwards -- combined would I have won? Who knows.) Now I just have to pray that Tuvia and I can make it to Israel for the chatuna of his cousin, Tzippi. I don't know about you guys, but I NEED to be in Israel. Eretz Yisrael is calling my name. It has an invisible string attached to my neshama and it's tugging quite intensely right now.

A quick update on the mezuzah situation: Unfortunately I still haven't found my beautiful mezuzah. I ate dinner on Wednesday by the Chabad rabbi on campus, and he graciously granted me a nifty mezuzah for my door on campus. After we left and headed back to campus to move ALL of my things from one first-floor, horribly stinky mold-filled room to a much smaller, second-floor but non-mold-filled room, Tuvia presented me with a beautiful gift -- a new mezuzah! It's a small pewter mezuzah with dark blue gemstones at each end (which, interestingly, is reminiscent of my birthstone, Sapphire), and it says: Baruch atah b'voecha v'baruch atah b'tzetecha, which means "You shall be blessed when you come, and you shall be blessed when you depart." But there's more!

Last night Tuvia and I went to the shul for mincha/ma'ariv and to have a quick sicha with our rav. Over the course of the conversation, we came to find out that this phrase on my mezuzah is actually found in THIS WEEK'S PARSHAH, Ki Tavo!

*Cue eerie music* 

Now, after the mezuzah situation, you all are going to think I'm really supersticious. But every now and again there are these little moments of "clicks" in my Judaism. I'm thinking about something and instantly/subsequently something happens to answer my question. Like that time I couldn't figure out if it was kosher to use bathroom spray (like Glade) on Shabbat, and when I returned to my book on the forbidden activities for Shabbat, the next page detailed how you can use the spray bottle. I don't want to think that every little thing happens for a reason, or that I need to attribute every little thing to some greater cosmic connection (in the larger sense -- I realize that in truth all is connected!). But when things like this just happen, I have to wonder.

And, okay, I promise this is the last thing I'll say, but I was sitting in my Midrashic Narratives course yesterday and the professor was discussing the Midrash on Abraham (Abram) destroying his father's idols. The midrash serves to explain the meaning of a specific phrase in Genesis, and the professor was detailing a few other spots in Tanakh where the same phrase appears (it's not important to know which, just go with it). I was expecting him to give us the Book, Chapter, and Verse, but he didn't. He simply said "In Exodus ..." and I'm waiting for the chapter and verse, and nothing, so I pick up my Tanakh and open it and land on Exodus 50:1. And there, right there, staring back at me, at this random page that I opened, was the exact verse he was discussing.

So, is it luck? Is it happenstance? Is it some gigantic ball of cosmic thread connecting me from one thing to the other? Is it some secret part of my brain working overtime without me knowing it, providing insight into things I can't even begin to imagine? Is it HaShem reaching down, poking my brain and making it happen?

I don't know, but it has me spiritually enlivened, and just in time to really throw myself into this month of Elul. To really think about the past year, how far I've come in the past year, and where I'm going in 5770. Do you know where you're going?

Some key words in this post: mezuzah (the little item fixed on the doorposts of Jews with a special prayer in it); chatuna (wedding); mazal tov (congratulations); neshama (soul/spirit); Midrash (an written exposition on the underlying meaning of Biblical texts); Tanakh (the five books of Moses); sicha (conversation); mincha/ma'ariv (the afternoon and evening prayers); Shabbat (the Jewish Sabbath); HaShem (the way I write G-d when I don't want to write the name!).

The new year cometh.

Tomorrow at sundown begins Rosh HaShanah, one of four Jewish new years, also THE Jewish New Year by practical terms. The year and reading of the Torah ends and begins. We feat this weekend and then, on Oct 1-2, we consider the trespasses of the past year; how we turned our backs in the field to a G-d so presently standing before us with openness.

I want to share a bit from my "A little joy a little oy" desk calendar. Every now and again it has something fruitful and funny. I always put my calendar a day ahead so I don't get behind or confused when editing for tomorrow's paper. In reality, I work a day ahead. But I was poking far ahead to see what the calendar had to offer, because I won't be here this weekend because of the holiday. For Sept. 23, the calendar quotes Rabbi Neil Comess-Daniels in his 2000 Rosh HaShanah sermon.

"... it's time to put your hand in the hand of someone you love ... and recognize that we only have a very short opportunity to be the humans upon the sand and not the pebbles. ... It's time to recognize that the real value of our lives is ... experiencing the ... seemingly insignificant things. It's time to recognize that things don't need to be the slickest ... to be great ... and appreciated. It's time to repent but not wallow in repentance. ... It's time to take a stand for ... what we believe. ... It's time to realize that we are as small and as very large as the pebble upon the sand, no matter how we count the years. Amen."

I think it's incredibly well written and speaks to the essence of the High Holy Days. I look back on the month of Elul at this point and think about a rebirth and renewal I wasn't expecting. I've met someone who makes me feel alive and happy -- someone who speaks to my heart without wanting to change me (Ani L'Dodi V'Dodi Li). As the new year approaches, I'm thinking about how life has handed me something precious, something to be truly thankful for as the new year approaches. Yom Kippur will give me a chance to consider the past year and some of the horrible, insane things that went on and that made me turn my eyes downward and away, into the dirt at my feet instead of the figure in the field. It's funny how long and changing a year is and yet how we can catalogue its events like a shopping list. I intend to mark things off of the list and leave it in the dirt near my feet as I walk away from 5766 and into 5767.

In this week's parshah, Moses sings to Am Yisrael, saying "Remember the days of old / Consider the years of many generations / Ask your father, and he will recount it to you / Your elders, and they will tell you" how G-d "found them in a desert land." Moses tells them how G-d made them a people, chose them as His own and gave them a bountiful land. So I remember and give thanks for my people, past and present, not to mention the future of the Jewish nation.

Also something to consider: Ramadan begins on the second day of Rosh HaShanah. Two religions and nations in strife must share a day that happens to be holy in both spheres. I only hope that, with this in mind, perhaps the Middle East will sit still for a day, relishing in the gifts they've been given -- the Jews for their Torah and Israel and the breath of life and the Muslims for the giving of the Koran to Muhammad. Neither religion or nation is blemish free. I'm not going to argue politics or history, for both peoples have committed crimes and acts that G-d would sooner mark us off than have to watch. But let us hope, and pray, that on Sept. 24 both groups -- and all of those who live near -- can calm their minds and hands to reach not for triggers but apples and honey.