Who Was That Girl?

I was terrified to watch the video. I cringed when I saw myself on the screen—but it wasn’t me. It was some young woman, a confidant, young woman. Who was she?

I am not sure what she was talking about in her d’var Torah. It sounded vaguely Buddhist, but I don’t think she’d read much about Buddhism back them. And I remember she was so proud that what she said was all her, that she could identify and express what was inside herself.

What she said was smarter than she knew. If I'd watched that video three years later, would it have helped me get through that difficult time?

mizrachi.org

The day after my conversion, a friend called me and asked, “So what happened?”

I surprised myself by saying, “It was like a wedding.” My answer surprised me because I don’t know anything about weddings and I’ve often wondered why people get married.

After that, I began to notice how frequently the analogy of marriage occurs in Jewish thought. God is married to the Torah, the Sabbath is married to the people of Israel, Shechinah is the partner of God, and even we are partners with God in perfecting the world.

There’s one midrash that I particularly like, probably because it’s a little racy.

The rabbis compared Mt. Sinai to a chuppah, the canopy under which a bride and groom are married. When the Israelites worshipped the golden calf at the foot of the mountain where they were about to enter the covenant with God, it was tantamount to a bride committing the act of adultery under the very chuppah where she is to be married.

So when I learned that my Torah portion included the story of the golden calf, I immediately thought of this midrash. However, as I studied the portion, I became confused. Why do the Rabbis compare idolatry and adultery? And what is wrong with worshipping a molten calf? God is everywhere, but since we can’t truly comprehend that, why can’t we have a symbol to help us focus our attention?

Why is it that the idol we made lead us away from God, while the Torah’s stories about God can lead us toward God? How is an idol different from a story? Either one can only approximate what God truly is.

In most of the Torah, God is not immense or perfect or beyond human comprehension, and yet we know that God must be all those things and more. But, if these stories are all right, why was worshipping the golden calf wrong?

Perhaps it is because we made the calf after we had asked Moses to keep God far from us. We chose to worship a molten calf because we didn’t want to experience God.

But after Moses left, we became afraid, we felt abandoned and we wanted something to cling to. We were afraid because it felt as if God was not with us. It felt as if God’s heart had turned away. Despite everything God had done for us, we still did not trust God.

Recollections of the Sea of Reeds and the thunder at Mt. Sinai were not enough for us and in our fear, our hearts turned away from God. We sought something else to cling to but what we chose to cling to would not have helped us deal with the reality of our fear.

When we are experiencing a powerful emotion, such as fear or pain, we immediately look for something to erase the feeling: more television, more hours at the office, socializing, reading, anything to avoid facing the feeling and the cause of that feeling. But if we can’t face our own suffering, how can we face the suffering of other people and take action to alleviate it? The diversions we seek are merely idols, like the golden calf, they cannot wash away our pain or even bring us a little comfort. They cannot substitute for our souls’ marriage with God.

Unlike the golden calf, the stories in the Torah are like a good marriage because we tend to struggle with them. When God instructs us to commit an act we find reprehensible, we try to find out what God was really trying to tell us. When the story is of God, walking like a person, in Gan Eden, we assume it is an analogy for intimacy with God. God is described in anthropomorphic terms partly because that is the easiest way for humans to understand God. The stories use familiar images to describe mystical things. So I can distinguish a difference between stories God in the Torah and this idol.

The idol was our own creation. It could not have guided us through the wilderness and it could not have taught us how to live well.

The familiar imagery of the Torah, which often describes God as a person, also teaches us how to behave ethically toward other human beings. Relationship is essential to Judaism. And there is one relationship that Judaism seems to especially emphasize. Perhaps it is the hardest one of all: marriage.

The first commandment God pronounces in the Torah is “Be fruitful and multiply.” Tradition has it that marriage is so important that God braided Eve’s hair before her wedding.

Tamar Frankiel wrote, in The Voice of Sarah, “more than in any other tradition, marriage is the essence of Jewish work in the world. Only in the union between man and woman can we touch with our own natures the process that the whole world is about: to come together, to overcome our separation, to be at one.”

Our relationship with God should mirror our relationships with other people. But what are we supposed to do when our souls’ marriage to God turns rocky, when we feel abandoned by God, when our hearts have turned away from God, and when we are certain that God’s heart has turned away from us?

It may be human nature to run from difficult feelings and to seek distractions, but eventually, it sinks in that idols can’t help us. At that point, all we can do is sit with what we are feeling, experience it fully and get familiar, even comfortable, with it. Then suddenly our perception of reality becomes a little bit clearer. But it takes a very long time to reach that point of increased clarity. And during that time, there is nothing to hold on to.

Luckily, we are always being held. I imagine that the thing holding us is an ark, an ark that is made of the Jewish community, the rituals and the theology of Judaism. Judaism is not something we can cling to. It will not erase our pain, it will not make everything better, but it will hold us, as it has held our people for thousands of years. While we are being held we can get to know our pain or sadness or fear, become comfortable with our feelings and begin to see reality. In time, our hearts will turn back to God and God’s heart will turn back to us.

The Torah is saying that the Israelites should have waited quietly, they should have sat with their fear, they should have let themselves be held by their community and by their new religion. Better still, they could have done what Moses does later in this Torah portion, or as Elijah does in this Haftarah portion: wrestle with God, argue with God. The Israelites could have shouted to God to come back.

When our relationship to God seems to wane, we must make an effort to be reunited with God because we are partners in the covenant. The reality may be that God is always near, but that is not our experience. We can feel abandoned by God, just as we might feel abandoned by a person. Sometimes we draw strength from the depth of a relationship, at other times, we feel disconnected from that same relationship.

For three years, Judaism opened a new universe for me. One day I realized that I would not be alive in any meaningful sense unless I made a commitment to become a Jew. My conversion was the best thing that ever happened to me. I changed, the entire world changed. For more than a year, it seemed that God couldn’t shower enough blessings on me, but this past year was very difficult. And during this crisis my connection to Judaism seemed to be fading. It seemed so unfair that a faith that had meant so much to me, a faith I had sworn to uphold always might become meaningless.

I began to look everywhere for comfort, but nothing helped. Then one Sabbath, after Torah study, someone asked me, “Why did you become a Jew?” I said that I’d never been able to answer that question. I also told her that even though Judaism had brought me so much joy, I was losing my connection to it.

She said to me, “So, the honeymoon is over.” Her comment was like a bolt of lightning. It reminded me of the comparison I had made the day after my conversion. And I realized that if the honeymoon is over, there must still be a marriage. The relationship still existed and I could fight to renew it.

So I yelled at God. Later, I regretted the language I used, but the point is I did turn to God. I trusted that God would hear and care and respond.

Elijah’s words to God in this week’s Haftarah portion are “Anaini Adonai, anaini. Answer me, O Lord, answer me. That this people may know that thou, Lord, art God.”

And God responded, for God is also bound by the covenant between us. God has been gracious to us. Each of us stood at the foot of Mt. Sinai; each of us was invited to enter into that marriage with God. So even if the honeymoon is over, the marriage endures. Sometimes, it’s all joy and, other times, it’s all work, but it is our covenant. So today, I renew my commitment to rely on God for the strength to struggle against idols and to enter more fully into a relationship with God.

Talking to Idols

A few days after my conversion, I came across a statue of Ganesha in a bookstore that I frequented. A wave of bliss washed over me, leaving me overwhelmed. I hastily left the store, unsure of what had just happened.

The same blissfull sensation filled me on my next visit to the bookstore. Unaware of any irony, I whispered to the statue of Ganesh, "I can't stay. I just swore to have no other gods." And so, I stayed away from that store for a very long time.

A decade later, still bearing the scars of rejection from two Jewish communities and feeling utterly lost, I found myself once again in that same bookstore, gazing at a different image of Ganesha. "You wanted to talk before," I whispered desperately, "I'm here now. Please, talk to me." He remained silent, projecting no feeling of connection except a sense of his goodwill.

Many more years have passed, and Ganesha's benevolent feelings toward me remain palpable each time I see an image of him. Yet, I've come to realize that he will never speak to me again. He respects my choice. He saw me at my best self then, and he wants me to be my best self, my Jewish self, again.

By my bed, stands a tiny statue of Ganesha with enormous ears. Each night, I look at it, feeling his enduring goodwill, and I promise that I will strive to be my best self.

And if it seems that I talk to idols, so be it.

Hidden One

Although I feel certain that I want to become a kohenet, I have trouble visualizing what that would mean.

I also have an amorphous awareness of Shekhinah. I feel ecstasy when the Torah is processed around the shul and, during the singing of Lecha Dodi, I see a glorious woman approaching. Shabbat and community gave me a sense of the Divine Presence, but I do not know Shekhinah in the way that I know Hestia.

So I pulled some cards, asking how I can meet Shekhinah.

What was immediately notable in these two cards were the containers. In one, vessels have been overturned; when I first turned this card over, I momentarily saw the man's smiling face reflected in the water that had spilled from his nine cups. In the other card, a stern, emaciated woman perches awkwardly in a crescent throne; when I turned that card over I was repelled.

In the Fountain Tarot, the Nine of Cups is called Shared Happiness and The High Priestess is called Veiled Wisdom. Reversed, the Nine of Cups suggests giving up material things in favor of a spiritual quest. The High Priestess asks that we pause at the beginning of a spiritual quest to reflect on our paths.

The first card feels very feminine despite the male figure. His waters have broken and he has birthed something new. The woman in the second card is rigid and controlled. She holds a scroll but does not invite us to look at it. Is she a door guardian and if so, why is the full moon inside the shrine?

I wouldn't expect my desire to meet Shekhinah to be represented by a bearded man giving birth. Nor would I expect Shekhinah, or her priestess, to be cold and unapproachable. (Could I be reading them backwards? Am I a rigid seeker, while Shekhina is the laughter in every person I meet?)

Contemporary Goddess imagery is usually exuberant, showing abundance, compassion, strength, love, comfort. Even fearsome goddesses are appealing.

http://blog.onlineprasad.com

Surely Shekhina has those same traits and yet, I found, many years ago, that my experiences in a goddess circle weren't replicated in Rosh Chodesh groups. I had to travel through Judaism for years before the idea of Shekhinah spoke to me. Just as a Jewish perspective changed me and how I saw the world, it changed how I experience the Divine Feminine—she seems harder to find. 

A friend pointed out that contemporary goddess followers are generally rejecting traditional religion, but that doesn't seem to be the case for Jewish women exploring the feminine divine. He's right. Shekhinah is woven into the fabric of Judaism and those who seek her aren't rejecting our culture, although we are looking to the more remote roots of our culture.

I am constrained in my experience of her because she has been hidden in our texts and, for the most part, I am looking for Her there. (The experience of being in nature... I can't give that a face or a name.) Contemporary goddess worshipers are free to pick and choose other goddesses, to find what they want, to understand their stories in light of our own stories. But where can Jewish women find Shekhinah's stories?

Jews are commanded to care for the widow and orphan, but a solitary woman's place in Jewish society is precarious; she is invisible. Shekhinah has been invisible, a neglected widow, hungry, restricted by convention. She is a bound woman, a kind of agunah.

I am not free to choose a favorite image of Shekhina because our images of her are few and incomplete, and because she is not a goddess, she is a presence. I must search for her in our tradition and in my Jewish experience (in my reflection, as indicated by the Nine of Cups). Am I willing to approach (reach out to her, as indicated by The High Priestess) and wait patiently until she reveals a smiling face-- or some other face-- to me? Will I look into her eyes and see that she has been everything always? Will I learn her stories or will I simply sense her as a presence in our Land?

T'tzaveh - Priestly Vestments

skyehohmann.photoshelter.com

I was pleasantly surprised when I realized that this week's parasha is T'tzaveh, as it got me thinking about what a Hebrew priestess could wear to embody her sacred role. I envisioned something other than "dignity and adornment," but instead a garment that would constantly remind her of her purpose—to draw near to the divine presence not only in holy spaces but also in caring for the vulnerable, the grieving, and those in need.

The inspiration struck me while I was reading about Shinto and came across the shimenawa, a rope used to demarcate a sacred area. It occurred to me that a simple rope could be a fitting symbol for a priestess to wear. A loose belt, reminiscent of tzitzit, could serve as a tangible reminder of her aspiration to seek and connect with the divine.

Interestingly, ancient Egyptian goddesses were sometimes depicted wearing a belt that doubled as the hieroglyph for "rope." Symbolically, the rope could bind us to the sacred, acting as a tether between us and the divine.

On the Kohenet website, Jill Hammer wrote an enlightening article about a lost letter of the Hebrew alphabet—a letter that resembled a rope. She describes the ghayin as a symbol of what we have missed in our inherited spiritual traditions. Its twisted cord-like shape represents the umbilicus, the concealed truths of our maternal lineage, and the vital connection to the sacred that we must rediscover in every time and place.

In my quest to understand the symbolism of serpents as a representation of the goddess, I eventually made a fascinating connection: the serpent's resemblance to an umbilical cord. Looking at an image of a fetus connected by an umbilical cord, we can visualize ourselves floating in the vast expanse of space, oblivious to our origin. The cord would serve as a gentle prompt to remember our source. It's worth noting that the conflation of two words ('crafty' and 'naked') occurred because we lost the letter ghayin.

oddstuffmagazine.com

Unlike the ornate vestments of ancient priests described in the text, our cord would not need to be elaborate. The parasha mentions pomegranates and bells adorning the hem of the priest's robe, but our role as contemporary kohanot differs from that of ancient kohanim. Today, priestesses can hail from any of the twelve tribes, or in the case of converts, from the Tribe of Sarah.

While the idea of incorporating a bell is intriguing—drawing inspiration from the ringing of bells or clapping at a Shinto shrine to capture the attention of the shrine's kami, or even the High Priest wearing a bell upon entering the Holy of Holies—I believe that the priestess's belt should not attract the gaze of others. Instead, it should serve as a personal reminder of her sacred duty and connection to the divine.

Women Weaving in the Temple Complex (templeinstitute.org)

My Aliyah Has Been Approved!

The email arrived Friday afternoon, thirty-five weeks after my interview. I stared at it blankly for probably two minutes, wondering if I was reading it correctly, if it really said that my aliyah application had been approved.

When I convinced myself it did, I pictured myself back in Israel-- and then, finally, I reacted. My hands shot up to the sky and I gasped, "Yes!"

I contacted all my friends and even acquaintances to share the good news. While I was wandering around the cactus and succulent gardens at the Tucson Botanical Gardens, I daydreamed about being in the Negev. Then I wrote out my to do list. (It is much shorter than it was at this time last year!)

find a good home for my cat
just donate everything
sell my car
pack my suitcases
get on the aliyah flight

So which aliyah flight? How soon could this be accomplished? A friend pointed out, "You will need to make sure you're healthy and strong for your move so the stress doesn't knock the stuffing out of you." She has a point, but how much more time do I need to get well? It has been very troubling (ok, frightening) that I can't seem to overcome whatever it is I've caught.

I paused amid the excitement and looked inside. I realized that I did not have the energy to re-pack my things even just well enough to donate them.

The aliyah approval is good for a year and the visa will be good for six months. (I wonder: does it really take just two weeks to get the visa? It was supposed to take no more than eight weeks to get the approval, but it took more than four times that long.)

An Asherah Tree in Tucson

Since the absorption center doesn't accept "old" folks like me, I'll have to find a rental. I'll be looking for a room rather than an apartment because shipping my household goods no longer seems justifiable financially. I spent a lot keeping myself in cheap hotel rooms from after I sold my house in May until I moved into this apartment in November, and it will cost quite a bit to break my lease here.

There's no need to bring a lot of household goods, but there are many things it will be hard to part with. I notice a part of me resisting the idea of uprooting myself again. I'd been "homeless" for six months before I rented this apartment. I needed a home and now I hesitate to give it up.

I've used my time in Tucson well, despite getting sick just after I moved in: I attend Torah study regularly, I found a wonderful chevruta and we've been studying Leviticus, I've met quite a few very nice people, and I've gone to the botanical gardens a few times. But I feel some regret about the things I have not crossed off my to do list. And the Federation's tour of Jewish Tucson today made me feel that this could be a good place to live.

How foolish to feel any hesitation now that I can make aliyah! I'm more myself in Israel.  I belong to the Land and I won't thrive anywhere else. 

I've spoken with a woman who lives in Karmiel, Sylvia, and it sounds like the perfect Israeli town for me. My chevruta is willing to continue studying with me via Skype. Israel is my destination; why stop now?

Nesting in a saguaro

Jon suggested that I plan to go in April, which would give me adequate time to get healthy and to make living arrangements, but Sylvia pointed out that government offices are closed that month for Pesach. So I will have to go after April. (Will I want to fly right back to the States for Kohenet in August? I certainly can't wait until August to make aliyah! But I also can't interrupt ulpan for a trip to the States.)

This doesn't have to be complicated. The only significant hurdle is finding a home for Nutmeg. (I don't dare think about what it will be like to part with her.) I created a flyer and I took her to the vet for a check up. She has a slight infection. The first antibiotic made her nauseous, so we're trying a different one.

Israel awaits! Of course I do need to regain my health and strength before I go. My doctor's appointment is on the 29th. If I'm not better by then, surely he can fix me up quickly.

A few months ago, I wrote that my greatest fear was that I might never make aliyah. It bothers me that I'm not rushing out the door now.