How Does Two Happen So Fast?!

Well, in the midst of days and nights of busy-ness, laughter and tears, anger and joy, another year has passed, and you are two! Two years old. That seems very small still, in so many ways, and yet, if I look at the baby girl who was just one last year, it’s as if eons have passed.


In the past year, you have gone from uncertain steps, always reaching out for support, to running. You have learned to go up and down stairs (much more rapidly than grownups are comfortable with!). You don’t say so much yet – but we know that even though the words sound very similar, you are talking about Abba (Daddy), Bobbi, Dahab, or bottle, whenever you say something that sounds like ‘baba.’ You use a calculator like a cellphone and say “lallo?” into it, having wonderful conversations with people at the other end.

You don’t say so much, but your understanding is pretty awesome… it’s so funny when your Abba says to you in Hebrew to put something into the garbage, and you know exactly what to do! And of course, you know the same thing in English. It must be hard for you to figure out how to make the words you need to communicate when you’re absorbing two languages, but once you make the connection, the world should just watch out!

You come to synagogue almost every Saturday morning, and although you spend most of that time with other children and not in the sanctuary (it’s a very long service for a small person!), you know that this is a different place. I love that last week, you came running to me, pointing to your head. “Do you want a kippa?” I asked. You nodded eagerly, and ran back to where all the kippot are kept. We picked one out, and pinned it to your curls with 2 bobby pins, and you kept it on all morning. When Michele tried to adjust it while you were upstairs, she said that you wouldn’t let her take it off to fix it!

You know about giving kisses and hugs, and you will probably get tired of hearing that your kisses and hugs are just about the best in the world… but it’s true! They are sweet and true, and everyone who receives them feels honoured by them.

When you were a bit younger, maybe only 6 months ago, you didn’t like it at all when anyone you considered yours left the room. Most of the time, you still don’t, and you let us know that with your angry tears. But more and more, if someone has to leave the room, you follow, waving at them, offering a sweet “Buh-bye!” When I leave the house, and you’re staying behind, you blow kisses through the glass door, which causes me to walk out of the door with a smile every time.

You love singing – your own songs, and being sung to. It doesn’t matter to you if it’s an English song or Hebrew; it doesn’t matter if it’s a nursery rhyme or a prayer. You just like the music. I wonder if, when you’re older, you’ll play a musical instrument?

You like stories, but it’s hard sometimes for you to sit and let a story happen. We read page 1, maybe page 2, and then you’re turning the pages as quickly as you can to get us to the end of the book. But you always bring another book.

Lately, you’ve been playing with crayons in the bathtub, which makes it interesting for the person who follows you in the bathroom! The tub often looks like modern art! And like almost every toddler, you’ve occasionally eatan a crayon or two as well.

You’ve also developed a real liking for the many pillows on my bed… there probably are too many, but that makes it fun for a small person to flop around (supervised!). On rare occasions, if you’ve wakened very late at night when I am also awake, and you’re not able to snuggle yourself back into lseep, I slip into your room and pick you up for a snuggle and a few minutes in your rocking chair. If that doesn’t work, on even more rare occasions, I just bring you into bed with me. All those pillows make a nice barrier between you and the edge of the bed, and you invariably go right back to sleep. You also wake before I do, and it’s very sweet to wake up to your little voice instead of an alarm clock!

You’ve had visitors this year – your Nanny and Grandpa have been to visit, and they are so much in love with you – it’s easy to see that, when we see how they smile just to see you. You dispense your sweetness to them just as generously as you do to people you see every day. I’m sure that Skype has helped that!

When you were one, you were best at receiving love, and we loved loving you. Now that you are two, we still love loving you – but what a wonderful experience it is to be on the receiving end of your own love extended to others!

My wish for you this year, Leah, is that the love that surrounds you this year continues to wrap around you throughout your life. I wish you laughter and joy, and I wish you a life that is as full of wonder every day as your days are wondrous to you today.

Happy, happy birthday, Moo!

Zaftig Zumba, Part the Second...

Following the first zumba class, I had planned to go to the gym the next Monday for a bodypump class with my favourite instructor.  Instead, I was home with a miserable cold.  It's mostly gone now, but I was pretty sick for a few days.  So tonight was the second zumba class, and I was feeling much better, so I figured I was up for it.

Off we went - the room where we have the class is nice - not too big, hardwood floors, decent sound for the music from the instructor's boombox.   And the instructor, Stephanie, continues to work hard to encourage our energy.

Some of the rhythms were a bit easier this week - they're becoming more familiar even now.  There are a couple of movements that are easy, even for me - one of them is kind of like a 60s go-go dance.  We're kind of marching, and scissoring our hands above our heads at a fairly brisk pace.  That one's particularly fun.  Well, heck, any that I can complete successfully are fun!

I didn't really notice the hour pass - at a previous zumba class, I was just counting time for the class to be over, because I really didn't enjoy it.  So far, I'm enjoying this one, and I will happily continue.  I may not become a zumba master (mistress?!), but barring catastrophe, I'll likely finish the class.

Zaftig Zumba

If you were to look up 'zaftig' in the dictionary, you'd find this:

zaf·tig   /ˈzɑftɪk, -tɪg/ Show Spelled[zahf-tik, -tig] Show IPAadjective Slang. 1.(of a woman) having a pleasantly plump figure.

2.full-bodied; well-proportioned.

Also, zoftig.

Origin: 1935–40; < Yiddish zaftikliterally, juicy, succulent; compare Middle High German saftec,derivative of saf(t), Old High German saf(German Saft) sap, juice

I believe I prefer the original Yiddish meaning... 'juicy, succulent...'  Yeah, that's me! 

And if you went to another dictionary, where you could actually find 'zumba,' you'd see this:

Zumba: A dance exercise where you dance for about an hour straight. Zumba incorporates all different types of dances such as salsa, marimba, belly dancing, cha-cha, and more.

Neither of these things would be particularly noteworthy to me, had I not agreed to sign up for a 6-week zumba class with my friend Susan.  I'd tried zumba before and gave up after 2 classes.  Just didn't like it.  For one thing, my sense of rhythm is... off.  I'm doubtful that I even have one, to be honest.  Plus, the instructor was clearly teaching to the people in the class who'd been there before - those of us who were new pretty much just tried to keep up.

But Susan caught me at the right time - I had been feeling a need to move (which zumba will do for you!), and I thought it would be a good idea to get into doing something physical before winter sets in and my usual desire for hibernation kicks in.  I thought that if I developed some sort of habit of movement, I might keep it up during the winter.  So when she asked, I said ok...

And tonight was the first class.

Stephanie is the instructor, a nice woman in her 30s.  It must be part of zumba instructor training that they have to smile a lot... kind of like synchronised swimmers.  It's hard to believe that anybody is having that much fun working up a sweat!  (At least, not in that environment - I mean, I have worked up sweats while wreathed in smiles, but not in a gym!)  And she was not teaching for the 3 skinny-hipped girls who are usually in the first row, all frenetic energy and hooting.  (Thank God, those women were not there tonight!)

It's not that I have anything against skinny-hipped girls, really.  It's just that zaftig girls don't tend to keep up with 'em in exercise classes.  We don't move the same way at all.  Tonight, for instance, there was a move in which we walked forward a couple of steps and then, with feet together, hopped backwards three steps.  Well, I can't do that!  I just cannot make my body make that movement.  Maybe in time, but not tonight.

And zaftig girls of a certain age (ahem)... well, we have other issues as well.  My knees haven't been the same since I fell a couple of years ago.  They still bend and all, but any kind of jouncy movement is gonna have limited application, because generally, I can't do it more than twice before it begins to hurt.

Then there's the music.  Generally speaking, I don't know the music.  It is not on the radio stations to which I listen!  Classic rock and the CBC (NPR, if you're reading from across the border) rarely play the sort of music upon which zumba classes are founded.  It's catchy enough, but when I'm trying to move to music, it helps me if I know the music, because then I'm not trying to predict the note or change in rhythm that comes next.  I already know it, and so I can concentrate on my movement.  Somehow, I don't think I'm ever gonna find a zumba class with Springsteen... or Pearl Jam... or Grieg.... though they've all turned out some very sprightly tunes!  Familiarity will help, which means going to more than one class, of course...

I did discover one interesting thing.  A number of the routines we did had movements which could almost be described as burlesque - you know, that upward thrust of a hip... or the rolling movement of your lower body, arms above your head... the occasional pelvic tilt.  You know the moves.  Well, those I can do.  Go figure.  I have a theory on that, too (but if you're a minor, you probably should stop reading now).  And my theory is that I learned those movements in a horizontal position.  My body knows, remembers, and appreciates those movements.  (Who knows... I might get to feel the same way about those other movements that almost - but not quite - trip me up!)

Still, though, I wonder if I shouldn't have found an Irish dance class.  Yes, it's faster, I know.  But Irish dance requires you to keep your upper body still.  I think I could do that.  I can move my lower body.  I can move my upper body.  But something very peculiar happens when I try to coordinate movement of upper and lower body.  It's almost as if I forget that I even have a moveable upper body!

But... I went to the class.  I sprinted around in the class.  And I will go back to the class... for a few reasons.  First, I made a commitment to my friend.  Second, I think I'm gonna like the instructor.  Third, I'm friggin' stubborn - I can't truly believe that I can't do this (snicker!).  Fourth, I know that I can do anything, anything, on a time-limited basis.  I've already got one out of 6 classes complete!

And next week... well, next week, I'm back at my Monday evening gym class.  We'll see how committed I sound to this whole 'movement' thing next Wednesday night!

You will not be seeing this on Youtube.  ;)

Prayer for a Lost Boy

Last night, I spent some time on the phone with a dear and sweet friend, a woman I first met in grad school. It wasn't a conversation I ever expected to have with her (or really, with anybody), and with her permission, and an aching heart of my own, I'm sharing some of her story.

You see, the reason we were on the phone is that she knows I can type insanely fast, and she needed someone who could do that so that she could tell me the prayers and the homily (sermon) she's going to deliver at a memorial service for her 13-year-old nephew on Sunday evening. That's sad enough - that a 13-year-old boy should die. But this boy - his name is Jonathan - died because of a game. A GAME.

It's called the "choking game." And there are all kinds of videos available that talk about the consequences of playing this game. Jonathan's parents discovered some time ago that he'd learned about this game, and as you might expect, they read him the riot act and explained why it was not a game at all. If you're not familiar with it, another name for it is 'suffocation roulette.'

His parents removed anything they could from their home that might entice him to try this game again, but that wasn't enough. Jonathan played the choking game last week. His mother found him, too late, and this week, his parents are burying their beautiful boy.

She spoke, full of pain and courage, and I typed.  And in part, her homily says, "It is not so bad when death comes naturally and at the end of a long and full life, but when it comes at the age of 13, when a little boy’s story is scarcely halfway through, and brings what could have been a good and bright light to a sudden blowing-out, when it takes away a mother and father’s promises and hopes for their beloved son, bringing all their dreams to an abrupt, painful, and tragic end, when brothers and sisters realize that tomorrow holds no play, no laughter, no joy, the day a person dies, we begin to tell that person’s story.... It’s been laid out before us, with its ups and downs, its joys and sorrows, its successes and its failures. It’s like a book, not yet closed, and yet it’s finished. Suddenly, it’s been thrown open now for all to read, a story that his mother and father have chosen to share with all of you, a story of many parents who tell our children, ‘Stay away from this. Don’t go here. Don’t do that.” Not because they’re being restrictive, but because they’re being careful for you, for all of you. Words of caution are sometimes heard by our children as words of prohibition. We just hunger for you to be safe. You may not listen to us hundreds of times, and you’ll be just fine, but it’s that one time, that tragic time, that brings us here today."

We might think, we whose children have grown up, that we're beyond such worries now.  But we're not.  Not because our grown-up children might think to try such a game, but because we all know someone who falls into the age group that seems to find the siren call of the choking game so very irresistible.  Oh, we might not know that person well... but we know him.  Or her.  The day after Jonathan died, a 14-year-old girl from the same area tried the same thing - she's in hospital now, and I have no idea of her condition.  But as a parent, I can imagine her parents' condition... they are probably wondering what they could have done to prevent this.  And they probably had absolutely no idea that their daughter was even trying this game.

Please, please, talk about this.  Please know, and tell people that you know, that there is a very dangerous game out there, that our children ARE playing that game, and that we need to find the words to talk to them about it before it's too late. It's important for our children to understand that even if they don't play this game themselves, if they know someone who DOES, they HAVE TO TELL SOMEONE. We have to make it safe for them to tell someone.

And please take a few minutes when you've read this to say a prayer for Jonathan and for his family.  Jonathan's friends will be at his memorial service, and at his funeral, together with their own parents. They will mourn, together with Jonathan's family, a life that ended much too soon. The death of one more child from this game, even ONE SINGLE CHILD, is a death too many. We must make ourselves aware of the things that frighten us, and find the words to talk about them.Tonight, my words are inchoate prayers, because honestly, I really don't have words that make any sense of this for me, and I cannot even begin to imagine how his parents feel. I know how my friend feels - I hear the pain in her voice but can do nothing for her except to tell you about this.Please pray for Jonathan. Pray for his parents and siblings, his grandparents, aunts, uncles, and even his own nieces and nephews, who will never know this uncle of theirs who loved science and drumming.



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Kol Nidre in New York

I was visiting New York City in the latter part of the High Holidays from my home in Nova Scotia and found myself there for Kol Nidre and Yom Kippur. I contacted several synagogues, and did a little internet research to see whether I could find one in which I might feel at home for these holiest days of our year and was delighted to receive a kind message advising that I would be most welcome to share Kol Nidre and Yom Kippur with a Manhattan congregation.


On Friday evening, Kol Nidre, I took the subway from my hotel to the hall where services were being held, the synagogue itself being rather small for High Holiday attendance. I was warmly welcomed by two women from the congregation and felt quite at home.  The Chazzan’s chanting was utterly sublime, a great gift to any congregation. Her great prayerfulness and passion added much to the words.

I was pleased to see what seemed a substantial number of people attending, including young families, whose Judaism was obviously important enough to them to make the effort to share Kol Nidre with even small children.  The rabbi's sermon was about our desire to be well-remembered, which resonated particularly with me, as the very subject had been much on my mind in recent weeks.  He was a good speaker, and I found myself often in agreement with what he said.

During the sermon, though, a small boy in the congregation became a little fussy, as small boys sometimes do. His mother took him outside, soothed him, and came back in some minutes later. Unfortunately, he still wasn’t tremendously content, and at a particular point in the sermon (timed almost exactly to the moment when the rabbi spoke about what made people remember us), he was fussy again. The congregation, for the most part, seemed amused by this, and in sympathy with the parents. I didn’t notice that anybody was bothered – except for the rabbi.

Even from where I sat, I could see the looks he’d been darting at this young family (parents and 2 small sons). Apparently, the little boy’s fuss was an affront to the rabbi, and he left the pulpit to walk across the stage, and waggled his fingers at the family as if they were unwelcome guests at a party. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable if…?” he said. There was no reply. Then, after an incredulous moment, the young mother said, disbelieving, “Are you… asking us to leave?” “Well,” said the rabbi. “I think we’d all be more comfortable if you took the children out.”

The hall was still. The young couple, mortified, humiliated, and certainly hurt by this stunningly inappropriate behaviour from a rabbi (of all people) on Kol Nidre (of all days) gathered their children and left. I sat in my seat, shocked. The rabbi returned to the pulpit and simply picked up his sermon where he’d left off. That was enough to shake me out of my inaction. I got up and left.

When I went outside the hall, the couple were there with their sons, both visibly upset. I approached them and said that although this wasn’t my synagogue – I was a visitor, after all – I felt that someone should apologise for their ill-treatment, and on this most holy day, of all days. I told them – truthfully – that this would not have happened in my synagogue. Children sometimes make noise. We all know this. In fact, I'm generally tremendously bothered by disruptive children in a synagogue, yet even I was not in the least annoyed by these children.

Far from feeling like the welcoming place I had expected, the rabbi’s action suddenly made it feel as if I had entered an exclusive enclave, meant for only a certain few, of a certain type. And clearly, not my type – because in that rabbi’s shoes, I would have applauded the efforts of this young family to inculcate some love of Judaism in their children, to teach them how very important it is for all Jews to come on these days. Everybody has a need to atone, and every Jew ought to be welcome at any synagogue to express prayers of atonement. That any rabbi would make this couple feel so unwelcome was wrong – I wonder if his own expressions on Yom Kippur addressed the events of Kol Nidre.

When I left the service on Friday night, I headed back for the subway, where I cried all the way back to West 40th Street.  I got to the hotel room I was sharing with friends, and when I began to tell them what had happened, I got upset all over again.  I'm still upset.  And I'm angry.  I feel powerless, because there's so little I could do on that night, and there is so little I can do now (I have written to the Board of Directors of the synagogue and to the rabbi as well, though I don't know if  either of them will grace me with a response.)

And on Saturday, Yom Kippur, my prayers were private, because I just couldn't go back there.

Tefillin or not tefillin... that is the question...

Tefillin

Tefillin, or not tefillin, that (with apologies to Mr. Shakespeare), is the question. That it should even be a question for me surprises me, but there it is, and it won’t go away. So I do what I usually do with something that’s puzzling or disconcerting me in some way. I puzzle on it some more, toss it around in my mind, question it, and even challenge it. I try to approach these things with some sort of logic, and so my first step is to just find out about tefillin. Here’s what I know.

Tefillin are a set of small leather boxes, with leather straps so that one of them can be wrapped around your arm (most often the left, because that is for most people their weaker arm), and the other can be wrapped around your head. They contain scrolls of parchment inscribed with verses from the Torah, to remind us to observe God's commandments, and are worn by observant Jews during weekday morning prayers.

Tefillin are sometimes called phylacteries, a word derived from the ancient Greek phylakterion, which means a safeguard. It seems possible that the Greeks misunderstood tefillin to be some sort of amulet or charm, which they are not. Rather, they represent for observant Jews a physical connection to God. The Hebrew word tefillin is related to the word tefilah (prayer) and the Greek term was not used in Jewish circles.

Like most things to do with prayer, men are obligated to wear tefillin (we call it 'laying tefillin' or 'wrapping tefillin') from the time of their Bar Mitzvah, but women are not. There are some who argue that the lack of obligation incumbent on women in this mitzvah is actually a prohibition, and that women should not wear them. However, there are women who do take on the obligation and who lay tefillin regularly. Early Jewish Halacha (law) allowed women to take on the obligation of wearing tefillin, but this custom was generally discouraged, and eventually this discouragement became active exclusion, especially amongst Ashkenazi Jews.

Modern Orthodox Judaism holds that it is permissible for women to wear tefillin, though it is generally discouraged. Conservative Judaism and Reform Judaism allow women to wear tefillin, and in fact, many in Conservative Judaism encourage the practice.

The hand-tefillin, or shel yad, is placed on the upper arm, with the strap wrapped around the arm, hand, and fingers; the head-tefillin, or shel rosh, is placed above the forehead, where your hairline would begin, with the strap going around the head and over the shoulders. The Torah commands that tefillin should be worn to serve as a "sign" and "remembrance" that God brought the children of Israel out of Egypt.  Tefillin are wrapped in a particular pattern, and one cannot just put them on without being taught to do so correctly.

Bobbi & Greg learning how to wrap tefillin

The obligation of tefillin is Biblically ordained and is mentioned four times in Torah: twice when recalling the Exodus from Egypt - "And this shall serve you as a sign on your hand, and as a reminder on your forehead, in order that the Teaching of the Lord may be in your mouth - that with a mighty hand the Lord freed you from Egypt." (Exodus 13:9); and "And so it shall be as a sign upon your hand, and as a symbol on your forehead that with a mighty hand the Lord freed us from Egypt." (Exodus 13:16)

And it's mentioned twice in the Shema passages: "Bind them as a sign on your hand and let them serve as a symbol on your forehead" (Deuteronomy 6:8) and "Therefore, impress these My words upon your very heart: bind them as a sign upon your hand and let them serve as a symbol on your forehead..." (Deuteronomy 11:18)

The Shema, in case you're wondering, is one of the most important prayers in all of Jewish tradition - "Shema Israel, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Ehad," is its beginning. That means "Hear Israel, the Lord your God, the Lord is One." The entire prayer is much longer, but it talks about the unity of the one God, and how Jews, as the people of the Covenant, are obligated to remember God and God's blessings upon us and care of us.

The idea, of course, is that we are meant to be engrossed in Torah – in thinking about it, living our lives according to its mitzvot, learning from it, sharing it with our children. And while the original scribes may have understood these verses to be more metaphorical in nature, the rabbis determined that the best way to be mindful constantly of God’s covenant with the Jewish people and our obligations to that covenant would be this tangible, physical reminder.

I think that I can be engrossed in Torah without taking on another mitzvah – or to be more precise, I have thought this to be the case. After all, I’ve taken on mitzvot quite happily that I didn’t imagine would ever be important to me. I keep kosher… I wear a tallis… if I miss synagogue, it’s because I’m sick, or I’m not in town (and if I’m not in town, but am in a place where there’s a synagogue, then I am there!)… I observe and celebrate the holidays and mark them all as special. So do I need tefillin? Do I even want them? I don’t know yet … but they are very much on my mind.

My arm in tefillin...

For Leah, Who is One Today

On your birth day, snow was falling in early morning dark
Today, it’s raining

On your birth day, we who already loved you
Finally got to meet you

On your birth day, there were other birth days, too
Your Eema, your Abba, and so many whose hearts are filled with you

On your birth day, you were impossibly tiny in hands
That felt clumsy just holding you

Today, you show signs of the little girl
Who soon will be running around the house

On your birth day, you knew Eema’s and Abba’s voices
Today, you beam and chatter to everyone you love

On your birthday, you became your Eema’s world
Today, we see that the world really is yours,
And we’re discovering it anew right along with you

On your birth day, we kissed you and cuddled you
Today, you seek us out to offer your own sweet kisses

On your birth day, our lives changed forever
Today, we cannot imagine life without you

Happy, happy birthday, beautiful Leah!