Sunday, October 28, 2007

Incisions

I've been devoting more time to mosaic-making. In particular I am attempting to master the art of cutting sheets of stained glass into the sizes and shapes that I want. If you've ever been in a glass shop, you might have seen an employee coat the glass with kerosene or paint thinner and score the glass (or mirror) with a special tool. The lubricant prevents the glass from "healing" after it has been scored, thereby allowing a very clean break.

Voila!

It looks so easy. And I'm sure it will be easy for me, too, after I've made dozens of tries, hopefully not all as bloody as they were today. I have two scoring tools - a wet one (requiring a lubricant) and a dry one. A mosaicist friend makes clean and efficient cuts with her dry scorer and watching her a few times it looked rather straightforward.

But the project I am working on now - a mirror - involves several different colors of stained glass, each with a different surface texture. And some sheets of glass have different textures on the front and back. Each type of glass requires a different amount of pressure to score it so that it will break cleanly, not shatter into pieces when I place it in the glass nipper and gently squeeze perpendicular to the scored line. And the glass somehow knows when I mean to score it or not ... it senses the purity of my intention, my ability to focus on it and only it. When I do give the glass 100% of my attention and my score is straight and on the correct side of the glass, it breaks easily.

But I must have been distracted this afternoon because many of my attempts yielded imprecise cuts, which sliced incisions into my finger tips as I tried to position the glass pieces on my mosaic. Three blood soaked bandaids later it was time to stop and go to yoga. Tomorrow I will try again.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Ignescent, Impermanence

Ignescent: bursting into flame.

I've been following the coverage of the California wildfires, a compelling reminder of the power and cycles of nature which demand our respect. The fires are also a reminder of the simple fact of impermanence. While I don't wish that everyone should live in constant fear of having their houses destroyed on any given day, and I don't wish to be glib about the enormous dislocation of so many people, it is useful to keep in mind that nothing lasts forever. I used to be someone who resisted most change and wanted the world around me to arrange itself in such a way that it would be easier for me to be happy in it. While I am not even close to eliminating that tendency, I am now much more aware of it and I increasingly find that I am not as anxious about impermanence. Sometimes I even embrace it, particularly when I am stuck or in a difficult situation. The fact that nothing last forever can be a tremendous blessing. Impermanence means that something can and will change or shift, if only I am willing to accept it or, in some cases, allow it to happen.

During the last week I've been obsessing about a particular person, my mind unable to let go of the story it had created around this person and my feelings. Even daily meditation, writing and vigorous yoga classes did not completely stop these racing and roaring thoughts; these spiritual practices only succeeded in briefly pausing them. During one of those much needed hiatuses I realized that I had a choice about whether to continue with or end the obsession, and a phone call with this person - during which I chose to ask a question I had avoided uttering before - helped me do the latter. Now that I have reached greater clarity around this situation, it is hard to believe that I had been so consumed by it just a few days before. Much like the wildfires have destroyed everything in their path, my obsession had obliterated my equanimity and concentration. Thank goodness, in this case, for impermanence. And may the thousands of people displaced by the wildfires find the strength to rebound and rebuild their lives.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

International, Identity

At my studio yesterday three of us had gathered in the hallway to chat about an event we are planning. There wa A., whose showroom is filled with colorful handmade crafts from his native Morocco, and L., a painter who just moved to the Boston area from France, and me, born here but with a lingering longing for other lands. Briefly, but briefly, our conversation veered into French, which I understand to some degree but barely speak. I managed to put together a complete sentence and ask a question, communicating with the others. Speaking a foreign language subtly but suddenly shifts my inner gears. Having access to other languages, but not being completely fluent in them, I can only express myself simply and directly, without resorting to cleverness, elaboration or obfuscation. I can no longer fool myself. When I shift into globetrotting mode, all that matters is that I am a human being, interacting with other human beings, transcending our particular place-based identities. My persona falls away and I become, simply, a person. It is such a blissful relief.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Idolatry, revisited

Earlier today I attended a meditation workshop at my synagogue called, "Letting Go of the Burning Coal: Anger and How to Heal It", led by Rabbi Alan Lew. The workshop was scheduled to run from 10am-4pm and, like many events held at my synagogue, for reasons that were not apparent it didn't start at the stated time. And because people know that events at my synagogue (even if organized by different groups) tend not to start on time, they have learned not to knock themselves out to arrive on time. And so it goes, creating awkwardness for the people who did arrive promptly and who need to leave (at the original) "on time", when the event might run quite late.

In fact, by the time lunch rolled around we were 30 minutes off schedule. I had intended to leave at 4pm to get to a yoga class and I started to wonder if I'd have to choose between completing the retreat and keeping my commitment to practice yoga three times a week. Poor planning and sliding schedules tend to push a few of my buttons: there is the button of respect - when people don't honor appointments or plans I start to feel that they are not respecting my time and, therefore, not respecting me; and there is the button of irritation - it gets ignited when I believe (rightly or wrongly) that I am in a situation that is being run less than competently. Needless to say, given the increasingly casual world we live in, I'd be better off if I could figure out a way to reprogram these buttons.

Being somewhat, but not completely, self-aware, I ruefully realized that I was in exactly the right place to become angry and annoyed.

Could I learn something about myself and how and why I get angry, I wondered, as I quietly steamed about the schedule during the silent vegetarian lunch. Why didn't the Rabbi shave a few minutes off of lunch (after all, we were not allowed to speak, just eat, so it wasn't social time) in order to make up for the time he lost in the beginning?

It wasn't until 3pm or so that Rabbi Lew actually gave us some instructions on how to work with anger in meditation. "Finally!" my huffy inner voice hissed.

And then he, too, mentioned anger as a form of idolatry, although not in the way that I had heard it described by a woman at Elat Chayyim, where I had spent Yom Kippur. Back in September, a fellow retreatant had mentioned that persistent anger is a way of keeping oneself at the center of things, raising oneself onto a pedestal. But Rabbi Lew had other explanations as to why anger is akin to idolatry. First, by being angry at another person, one gives that person tremendous power over one's life. And fixating on this person puts his or her image in the forefront of one's consciousness, whereas it is God who belongs at the forefront. Secondly, by treating anger as something in the body that must be expelled or gotten rid of, one gives anger a solid form (turning it into an idol) when in fact it is formless. It is energy which we can either suppress (rarely a good idea), express (often a bad idea) or - as we learned today - simply experience and inhabit it, watching it rise and fall. Since we can't exorcise it once and for all, we might as well learn to live with it.

The workshop, despite the 30 minute delay, ended on time, rendering my dilemma moot and making me realize that I had gotten steamed up over...NOTHING...my mind had chosen to chew on the delay much like a dog masticates a bone. My mind does this a lot, the content varying depending on the situation. As a meditator, my job is to figuratively remove the bone before my mind sinks its teeth into it and direct my mind's attention toward something else. Rabbi Lew suggested compassion - can we turn our feelings of anger to thoughts of compassion for the person who is pissing us off? After all, if they are showering us with harsh words and ill feelings, imagine how bad it must be for them.

His recommendation is not new or earth shattering, but it was worth hearing once again, something for my mind to chew on during yoga class while my body rested in downward facing dog.

Monday, October 15, 2007

Illegal immigrant

Today Juan (not his real name, as it turns out) returned to finish some repairs at my apartment. Remembering that I wrote that I would be kinder when he came back, I got up early enough to meditate for 30 minutes before the agreed arrival time of 7:30 a.m. Since the contractor and Juan had appeared promptly the week before, I even skipped a shower so that I'd be sure to hear them arrive (I have no doorbell...yet) and be able to let them in.

As 8:15 rolled around, my impatience and stinkiness growing, I called the contractor to find out when I might expect them.

"Oh, it's just Juan who is coming today," he told me. I was relieved.

"OK, but I'd like to take a shower, so could you find out when he'll show up?"

"Don't worry, he won't get there while you're showering," the contractor said. "He's at least a half hour away."

I was not reassured.

The phone rang again after I had finished bathing and dressing. It was the contractor letting me know that Juan probably wouldn't make it until 10 a.m. I started to get annoyed - I could have slept later, showered sooner....my mind could have generated a list a mile long about how things "could have" been.

"Well," I huffed. "I'm not sure I can stick around much longer than that."

"OK," he said. "I'll tell him to hurry."

Part of me was eager to get agitated and pissed and scream at this guy but I remembered kindness so I didn't bite his head off. I also realized that even though contractors have made me feel crazy in the past, I do have a choice about how I am going to react NOW. I didn't have to get angry all over again. I sighed and tried to figure out how to rearrange my plans so that I could get something accomplished while waiting.

The following e-mail shows up, one of a few daily inspirational quotes that I receive:

If someone cheats you, they cannot diminish your experience. They only diminish their experience. You cannot be diminished by someone cheating you unless you get all upset about being cheated and push against them.

I wasn't feeling cheated, per se, but it was a good reminder to not let other people's behavior determine how I feel. Getting upset is, actually, a choice (one that many people make).

At 11 a.m., engrossed in creating my jewelry newsletter, I hear a faint sound down below. I go to my hallway, open the window to peer out and see Juan standing patiently in his New England fall "uniform": blue jeans and a grey zipped hooded sweatshirt.

"Just a minute!" I say, scampering down the steep steps in my sockfeet.

"I owe you a big apology," he says in Spanish while handing me a bag of tostadas. "These are for you."

"Muchas gracias!" I say, trying to let him in. The hallway is so narrow I need to back up the stairs so that Juan, who's somewhere between "husky" and "a few extra pounds" can enter. It is hard to be too upset with a handyman who comes bearing authentic Mexican snacks, even if the guy is nearly half a day behind schedule.

He quickly fixes one of my kitchen lights, reinstalls the window pane in the bathroom and hangs up my coatrack. When he's finished we get to talking about his boss ("Esta un poco loco, no?" he says, almost smiling. I agree that the contractor is a bit crazy, but I'm grimacing). But Juan is not bothered by the man's kookineess. He's grateful to be working at all. His previous patrones, a couple who flew him to Boston from LA to live in their house while fixing it up, left the country without paying him for three months of his labor. They also sold the house, giving him little time to find another place to stay. All he got was $200 and a note that said, essentially, "Sorry! We're outta here".

Juan said he was glad to be in the US, even if illegally, as back home he found his job, as a member of the presidential secret service, demoralizing and degrading. Lacking connections, he had to pay a bribe to be considered for the job, which often entailed keeping an eye on presidential offspring who were drinking, drugging and vomiting. And he was on call nearly all the time, a life without structure or much sleep. Or respect.

"If you don't know the right people in Mexico, " Juan said. "Then you're nothing. People will treat you how they want. I have studied and have a few degrees but it made no difference. It's much better here."

Juan seemed to harbor no bitterness towards the couple who fleeced him. He embodied the message in my inbox, a walking example of how to let go and move on, to be happy regardless. He might be somewhat naive but he seems to be living in the moment, not living with a grudge.

I hope I can remember his example the next time I start to feel cheated. Certainly, I'll think of him for as long as I can make the tostadas - in this case they are round, flat and slightly sweet biscuits - last.

Saturday, October 13, 2007

Innovation

I'm taking a class at my synagogue called, "Prayer: A journey of the heart or a burden? Thinking, struggling and learning about Tfilah". One of the things that turned me off of organized and synagogue-basedJudaism for many years was my lack of connection to the sequences of words that populate the siddur (prayer book). In many synagogues, these prayers are recited in much the same manner, time after time, often with uninspiring melodies and with little explanation as to why the service was constructed in a certain way. Without passion or meaning, and devoid of transformative power, of course prayer - reciting certain Hebrew words in a particular order at prescribed times - can feel like a chore or, worse, a burden. Oy!

As I learned from my classmates during the first evening, many of us feel connected to God when we are doing anything but reciting traditional prayers. Singing, chanting, doing yoga, playing music and dancing are ways that a lot of my Jewish community experience a relationship with God, or a force that is greater than ourselves. Yet we still come to synagogue, wanting to feel a divine connection in a Jewish context and environment created for that very purpose. The medium is the siddur and our kavanah (intention/direction) to create such a connection.

So, how do we go about doing it?

Apparently this struggle with prayer is not unique to 21st century North American Judaism; what constitutes meaningful prayer has been debated and discussed in the Babylonian Talmud, which reached its final form in the year 700 A.C.E. One sage, Rabbi Eleazar, said that a person needs to take stock of themselves, to determine if they can focus their attention. If yes, they should pray, but otherwise not. Most of us agreed that prayer is more meaningful if we can become fully present and focus on it, but we also agreed that making prayer conditional on being fully in the present moment would mean that little in the way of traditional prayer would happen (what if the rabbis were distracted and decided, based on this advice, to cancel services?)

However, is there a way to approach prayer that would help us to become more present while doing it, to prevent our mouths and brains from running on autopilot? Here is where innovation comes in. Innovation, or improvisation, turns what could have been a rote prayer into an experience of the moment and, therefore, of the heart. At my synagogue, the rabbis frequently change tunes and melodies - sometimes even mid-prayer - keeping us on our toes and the service fresh and vibrant. At Elat Chayyim, the retreat center I frequent, we often davven (pray) by focusing on a single line from a longer text, chanting it again and again so that the words, sounds and meaning have a chance to penetrate into our bodies, past our brains. This innovative prayer style helps me personalize my own prayers. Sometimes I will just sing a line or two as a way to shift into a more present and connected state of being.

Monday, October 8, 2007

Ick! Incompetence

After posting under such esoteric words as isagogics and irritatory, I thought I'd simplify to a three letter word.

Ick! was my reaction to the "contractor" who showed up bright and early this rainy morning (yes, I had chosen the time - 7:30 a.m. - but had overslept), his fly unzipped and his pants sitting just a bit too low on his hips, his jacket and shoes dripping water into my apartment. Having just rolled out of bed, I was not in a good mood, nor had I meditated. My only preparation for this appointment (aside from putting on a pair of pants) was that I removed something from above the sink so that they could install a light.

What was this something? A sticky note that said KINDNESS, as a reminder to be more kind to myself and others.

I efficiently pointed out to him and his assistant what needed to be done (pipes to be insulated, lights to be fixed, replaced or installed) and proceeded to make myself a cup of tea.

"You know," he said, "I was at Home Depot at 8 o'clock last night getting things for your job."

Did the man want a medal for his heroic efforts? A pat on his unkempt head?

"OK," I said, starting to wish he'd just do the work and get the heck out of my space before he polluted it with his sulky attitude.

It quickly became apparent that this disheveled man had absolutely no clue about basic home repair.

I had told my landlord to install a heat lamp in the bathroom, and this fellow dutifully went to Home Depot and tried to find a heat lamp that ... get this ... wouldn't vent, because he figured the landlord wouldn't want to pay to have a vent put into the bathroom.

Well.

Mr. Disheveled had found the ugliest possible contraption for a heat lamp which, according to his assistant, a Mexican fellow, could not be properly hooked up without ventilation. Duh! And he didn't quite get that I wanted to keep my regular light fixture in the bathroom, not replace it with a heat lamp. Had he been a licensed contractor, he would have either asked about this or assumed that both a normal bulb and an infrared bulb were needed.

"You know," I practically spat, "they do sell combination heat lamps with regular bulbs that can operate on a single switch."

"Don't worry," he replied,"we'll solve the problem."

Unconvinced, I retreated with my tea to the living room.

He came in and said, "I'm here trying to help you. I've never done business with you before and you seem to have a bad attitude. I was getting stuff for you late last night!"

Poor fellow...had I ruined his weekend?

"You're working for my landlord, not me, and I've been waiting a month for you to show up. It was your choice to go to Home Depot last night." I retorted, as calmly as I could.

"Well, I'm trying to be helpful," he repeated, as if his good intention would be enough to accomplish the list of chores he came to perform. "Sounds like you are annoyed at the landlord."

One of the things my last therapist tried to convince me of is that, believe it or not, the Universe (even in the form of a disheveled, unzipped and incompetent contractor) is friendly helpful. If only I can learn to see things that way.

Remembering the sign I had taken off the kitchen wall just a few minutes before, I wondered if I could I show some...uh...KINDNESS to this, um, incompetent idiot?

I realized that I could sit there, sip my tea and stew in self-righteous anger and frustration, or I could try to do what I've been learning in yoga for the last few years - drop the fight and accept that these were the guys I'd have to deal with. After all, this was not my house and I couldn't send them away and call another tradesperson, even though I know several.

"So, are you happy here?" he asked, looking around my funky apartment.

"Yeah, it's a great place," I said, deciding to accept his idle presence. My apartment is small, and there wasn't a place for me to go and shut the door. His assistant, Juan, was doing all the work while he tried to make nice.

"Except it's not properly heated. That's why I wanted a heat lamp for the bathroom."

"Not heated?" he exclaimed. "No wonder why you're upset. Don't worry - we'll take care of that. Juan, guess what? She has no heat!"

Mr. Disheveled had sat down on my one chair, sort of reclining and running his hand through his hair, making himself a little too at home. Did he now think that he was my swank superhero, about to save me from a cold winter?

Ick! Ick! Ick!

"So, how is your jewelry business?" he asked, attempting friendliness. Somehow, I must have told him about it when we were scheduling the appointment.

"I'm probably going to wrap it up, " I said, but not wanting to talk about myself, quickly countered, "So, do you work with licensed contractors? What is it that you do?"

"Well, sometimes. It depends on the job," he said. "I'm in charge of customer relationships. Bad customer relationships," he chuckled. "Basically my business is about fixing up rentals and homes to get higher rents or sales prices. I don't usually do repairs," he confessed.

No kidding.

"But I try to make people happy," he added. "And I do some management consulting. Tomorrow I'm going to the Pentagon to see a client."

The Pentagon, eh? Assuming that is true, I wonder if he'll show up in Washington looking like he did this morning.

Mr. Disheveled became obsessed with my inadequate heating situation and insisted that Juan take a look to see what could be done. By this time, some of the repairs had been accomplished, I was in a better mood and Juan and I were chatting in Spanish. It turned out that when it came to home repairs Juan really did know what he was talking about, unlike his patron. He also recommended some Mexican restaurants in Chelsea and helped me install some storage racks on my walls.

I hope Juan learns enough English to start his own business and get away from this man. And I plan to be kinder when they come back.

Sunday, October 7, 2007

Irritatory

I've learned through books and seminars on personal growth that when we find another person particularly irritating or annoying, it's because this person embodies or displays a characteristic or trait that we also possess but that we haven't fully accepted in ourselves. It's also the case that we tend to admire people who embody traits that we believe we possess but that we haven't fully developed or realized. The rest of the world can thus be seen as a mirror, providing continuous reflections of all of our parts, even the shadowy bits that reside below our conscious awareness most of the time.

To be more specific, there is a woman I occasionally interact with who irritates me....a lot...probably because in some important ways we are very much alike, a situation that irritates me even more. She likes to be visible and an attention-getter in group settings (um...so do I sometimes), she likes to appoint herself in charge, and she has a tendency to make confident pronouncements to people about things they should do, books they should read, people they should talk to, as if she possesses great clarity about what each individual needs to do to make a quantum improvement in their life.

Um...I've been guilty of that, too.

And I also know, from the one real conversation I've had with her, that - like me - she struggles a bit with relating to her family and to feeling comfortable among them.

Today I attended a Simchat Bat ceremony (the female version of a bris) where the baby girl is officially named and welcomed into her family and Jewish community. Unlike a circumcision, this event does not involve any medical procedures, unless - God forbid! - one of the guests has a mishap while overindulging in bagels, lox and whitefish salad and needs the Heimlich maneuver or, worse, CPR.

After the baby was officially named and welcomed with song, poetry and wine, I enjoyed some delicious treats and pleasant conversation with some old and new acquaintances on the back patio. Coming inside the house to warm up and find a hot beverage, I noticed that this woman had arrived in the meantime, long after the ceremony was over. She behaved as if she had been there the entire time, welcoming those of us who were coming indoors after an hour of relaxed chatting as if we were late to the party.

While talking with someone else as I warmed up with a cup of coffee (I don't normally drink the stuff, but I was quite chilled), this woman made eye contact with me and said, "There's something I have to tell you," in a tone (with matching facial expression, including dramatically raised eyebrows) that suggested that her forthcoming revelation would change my life.

Hmmm. What could it be? I slowly sipped my coffee, unable to reciprocate her apparent intensity.

"There's a mosaic exhibit you should see," she insisted.

"Actually, I had work in the exhibit," I replied. "It was really a fantastic show."

"Oh!" she said. "Is it still on?"

"It closed yesterday," I informed her.

"Oh, well I'd love to see your work sometime!" she exclaimed.

"Sure," I told her. "Come by my studio!"

I have to assume she meant well and was trying to connect with me, but her style of delivery was, as the title of this posting indicates, irritating. Being on the receiving end of such a blast of advice didn't feel so great, it was as if she was bestowing something upon me, rather than trying to engage me in a conversation and assess my receptivity. A valuable experience for me to remember the next time I feel that irrepressible urge to give a friend or acquaintance a piece of life changing advice.

Isagogics

Flipping through my dictionary, I found this somewhat relevant "I" word which means:
Introductory study; especially, the study of the literary history of the Bible, considered as introductory to the study of Bible interpretation.

Yesterday at synagogue, we started a fresh round of Torah reading with the first part of the creation story. But before anyone uttered the first word, "B'reishit" (normally translated as "in the beginning"), our rabbi gave a brief overview of the different ways or levels in which the Torah can be read.

There is the peshat (surface) level, where each word is taken literally. Of course, even peshat isn't so simple, as certain words can have multiple meanings and there are some words that appear in the Torah only once, making it difficult to be completely sure what that meaning is. And plenty of the words in the Torah derive from even more ancient languages (how's your Ugaritic?) or refer to things, places or creatures that no longer exist. The next level is called remez, focusing on allusions or allegories in the text. The third level is called derash, where we look to the text in the Torah to answer a contemporary question, teasing out relevance with creative interpretations. In other words, we take the stories as written and make up new stories to breathe life into the text. And finally we can read Torah on the level of sod, the hidden and mystical.

Our Torah study session on Saturday mornings (before services start) is just a therapist's hour in length (we're lucky if we're at it for a full 50 minutes), and you could spend multiples of that time discussing just the first few verses of the Old Testament on all four levels, especially when you have a group of 30+ people, many of whom have something valuable to share.

In fact, one could spend a long time discussing just the third word of Genesis, "Elohim", which is in plural form even though it just refers to a singular God. Is it possibly a reference to the fact that at the time the Old Testament was written people believed that a whole group of gods had created the earth? Read in such a way, the Bible raises more questions than it answers. And our rabbi reminded us that even though the creation story is lovely and rather poetic (e.g. "God divided the light from the darkness" and "Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters"), in a few chapters God gets upset and destroys it all (you know, the flood!).

Sounds to me like God is an artist who, displeased with her first attempt at creating, wrecks it and tries, tries again. It is comforting to remember that even God didn't get things right the first time. The other piece that stuck with me is the idea that God created the world with words - not with a magic wand, not with esoteric gestures, not with a great wind.

Words.

And so we create our own worlds with our words. The words we use to describe the people and situations in our lives are like paints. Do we pick the ones that create a hopeful and inspiring picture or choose words that perpetuate negativity and confusion? Can we step back from our experience and look at it, much like a painter steps back to examine her canvas, and find words to describe it that are positive and encouraging?

I often feel like I need to (re)write my own story, starting once again with b'reishit, in the beginning, developing a plot from a much kinder and compassionate place than I've been able to access during previous drafts.

Friday, October 5, 2007

Imbibing

Last night was Simchat Torah (happiness of Torah), the holiday that celebrates the conclusion of a year's worth of Torah reading. Tomorrow morning we begin again with Genesis. At my synagogue, we complete the entire scroll on a three year cycle, reading only 1/3 of each week's parsha (portion) in each of the three years. Like serialized stories that used to appear in magazines and newspapers, this method of reading keeps people in suspense and coming back for more...at least that is the idea.

Simchat Torah is a joyous affair. At my synagogue we unfurl the entire scroll; many people are enlisted to carefully hold it up and, when it's their turn, they read a synopsis of the parsha they happen to be holding. The first time I saw this done (and participated in the doing of it) I thought it was cool if not a bit wild (the Torah seemed to be naked and vulnerable, all spread out like that), but this year I felt a bit bored listening to the rather straightforward summaries of the chapters. Why not do it in limerick or haiku form? I might have to make that suggestion and, if accepted, I might have to create the limericks. Could be a fun project.

Once we'd symbolically read the entire Torah, it was rolled back up and, with other scrolls, paraded around the synagogue. Each parade is called a hakafa, and each hakafa was in honor of a certain group of people - e.g. board members, people who regularly read Torah on Saturdays, new members, etc.. And at some point the hakafot made their way outside and people were dancing on the sidewalk, accompanied by a lively klezmer band.

Like last year, I wasn't able to get into the dancing, and I didn't make myself try. It was one of those moments - and I have many of them - where I feel a distance from exuberant ritual, or I feel a need to set myself apart from everyone else. I hung back at the top of the steps of our synagogue, watching the action below and munching on some m&m's. At times like this I seem to retreat into an anthropologist persona, someone who is curious about and appreciates what is going on, but who isn't going to shed their reserve and jump into the fray.

After the seventh hakafa, we returned to the sanctuary and the service became more structured and formal. The rabbi called up three aliyot (an aliya is when someone is asked to come to the front of the sanctuary and recite the blessings before/after reading the Torah), starting with people who are descendants of the Cohanim, or priestly class of Jews, followed by an aliya for the Levites and then Israelites. I am the daughter of a cohen, through my father's side. In more traditional Jewish communities female offspring of cohanim don't receive any special privileges or perks, a fact which used to enrage my ego and (unjustified) sense of superiority when I was growing up. So, there I was, feeling disconnected from the festivities yet being invited to bless the Torah as a bat-cohen (daugher of a cohen) in a community that doesn't particularly care about such distinctions anyway. I hesitated a few seconds before joining the others at the front of the room, for the recognition I had always wanted. A few people held up a tallis (prayer shawl) over our heads as we recited the blessing, reading it from a laminated card with large print. The tall fellow next to me said, "Cohanim don't need the card," implying that as descendants of priests we should have memorized the prayers a long time ago.

Oy.

Returning to my seat, a few people shook my hand and uttered, "Yasher Ko-ach" (may your strength be firm), which is what you say to people who have participated in the synagogue service. (here's an interesting explanation of why we say these words). I felt strange accepting their salutations and wishes. My reluctant participation had not required any effort or skill or preparation.

I was, however, quite eager to try a homemade etrog (citron) liqueur that was being passed around in opaque shot glasses. The creator had grated the rind of three etrogim and steeped them in a few cups of vodka for several days before adding yet more vodka and sugar. The result was refreshing and delicious. Perhaps it could become a new holiday tradition, or a new holiday: Simchat vodka, anyone?