One of the greatest joys I am realizing and embracing about Judaism is the number of holidays. This past month has just been so lively and engaging, contemplative and joyous. Today I will just speak to Yom Kippur, and I will try to keep it brief!
Rosh Hashanah was my first joy, of course, but my (cranky, hungry) Yom Kippur had an unexpectedly beautiful ending. I was thinking throughout the day how frustrating it was that the physical effects of the fast were doing the opposite of what is probably intended - I was unfocused and irritable. It wasn't even so much about hunger, because I got used to that. It was about my body just not feeling right. My head was hurting and I was exhausted and snippy and could barely keep my eyes open during services. How is that supposed to help me atone? I asked myself crankily.
Initially I struggled with this because I felt like the fast is pointless if I'm feeling this way about it rather than being super pious and penitent and graciously self-denying. But as the sun set and the community slipped into a state of relief and triumph ("we did it!! we survived! now let's go eat!"), I realized how much holiness there is in devotion even when you don't want to do something. I don't have to be HAPPY about fasting. What's important is that I did it anyway. I spent the day in prayer even when it was hard to stay focused because I felt physically unwell. Sometimes you do things for people you love even if it makes you grouchy, and you try to do it without complaint, but what matters is that you're doing it.
Yom Kippur was on Shabbat this year, and I was disappointed that I would miss our normal Shabbat joy and Torah Study. However, the upside of this is that the end of Yom Kippur coincided with the end of Shabbat so Rabbi slipped right into a Havdalah service. Havdalah services mark the transition from Shabbat back into the normal week. More traditional Jews have these services every week, but Reforms generally don't. However, our synagogue offers them two or three times a year so that people can still get the experience and so that we don't forget what it's about. I have only been to one, because the other one this summer was while I was in Chicago.
The one I went to was with the Cantor, as our Rabbi was out of town. It was in the auditorium where summer services are held, not in our sanctuary, and he did it sort of with commentary. A "learner's Havdalah" if you will. This was great for learning, since I had never been to a Havdalah service before, but the service didn't just "happen" since it was all being explained so I didn't get the feel of it. As Yom Kippur ended, taking Shabbat with it, Rabbi just started doing the Havdalah service and I got to feel it. She just went through the motions so naturally, with no explanation, as everyone was singing joyously with relief and a sense of accomplishment. And it was a FULL room because of Yom Kippur. It was so unexpected and so emotionally overwhelming that I was sobbing as I watched Rabbi and listened to the unfamiliar songs that I couldn't sing along with. Beautiful, beautiful few moments.
wedding
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Monday, September 16, 2013
Opening Our Home
After much deliberation, we decided to take in international students through a program at the college where my mother-in-law works (Nicole's own alma mater). My mother-in-law took in international students through this program for about two years, and has been on hiatus for about the last year. We held off on this conversation for the few months that we were renting out a room to Nicole's friend's girlfriend, and we started talking about it again soon after she moved out in June.
We have two spare bedrooms. One is set up with a twin cot, desk, and chest of drawers, and the other is a guest room with a full bed and a dresser. We figured we could have a student in the room with the desk, and still have a guest room for ourselves. However, after the homestudy when the reviewer saw our setup and the space we have, she gently pushed us to consider taking a second student because they don't have enough homes for male students. She promised it would just be for a month (on average, they stay anywhere from one to three months) because he hoped to find a longer-term living situation and stay in the area for school after he passes the English proficiency exam. We reluctantly agreed, figuring what was feeding four mouths instead of three, for twice the pay? So we gave up our guest room "just for a month" and set up a little folding chair and table for his laptop.
The students arrived yesterday, both from China, and it was at once completely awkwardly uncomfortable and so much FUN. The student who is only slated to stay a month is more comfortable with English than the other student, and it ends up they speak the same language so he helps the other. Having two students was the best thing we could do - they have each other to do things with and talk to outside of family dinner time. And Nicole and I are enjoying the challenge of forced parenthood to young 20-somethings: setting explicit rules, putting up a shower schedule on the bathroom door, planning meals in advance and making sure they're taken care of if we're ever out. It's kind of fun! (It's also fun watching them get used to new and unfamiliar American things, like zucchini! And to hear the one less comfortable in English coo "Hi, Jackieeee" to our cat as he goes upstairs, like he always hears us do. Adorable.)
At the same time, we happen to have two Australian friends of Nicole's staying with us for about five weeks (three more to go). They were only supposed to stay with us for a week or less while they adventure in the Northeast before going to an October wedding in Ohio. However, they had an enormous financial setback right before their trip but already had their airfare and didn't want to cancel the entire trip. So they asked if they could stay with us the entire time since they wouldn't have money to stay in hotels in other cities.
I admit that we did not have a warm, gracious, open welcome in our hearts immediately. We made sure to in our actions, but we struggled with adapting to having two other people in the home all the time, especially since their styles of living are not the same as ours. We let ourselves feel frustrated and impatient and irritable, though we kept smiles on, and we felt guilty about it. But it's a classic concept in psychology that, contrary to common belief in the opposite, changing behavior changes attitude. "Fake it til you make it" is very real and backed by science. And soon we were enjoying having them around and it was suddenly very fulfilling that we were helping them out.
So our quiet little family of two is, for the moment, a house of six. As we watch the boys scarf down our home cooking with great expressions of gratitude, as the Australians offer to cook chili con carne one night and one of the boys asks if he can cook us a Chinese meal another night, as we ask them about their day and speak clearly and slowly using simple words to help them practice their English, I feel a fullness and happiness in my heart. Right now, today, this is our family, and the fullness of our house brings me such joy.
This hospitality, our open door and open arms and open hearts and full table, makes me feel more Jewish even than any of my beloved Shabbat services ever could.
We have two spare bedrooms. One is set up with a twin cot, desk, and chest of drawers, and the other is a guest room with a full bed and a dresser. We figured we could have a student in the room with the desk, and still have a guest room for ourselves. However, after the homestudy when the reviewer saw our setup and the space we have, she gently pushed us to consider taking a second student because they don't have enough homes for male students. She promised it would just be for a month (on average, they stay anywhere from one to three months) because he hoped to find a longer-term living situation and stay in the area for school after he passes the English proficiency exam. We reluctantly agreed, figuring what was feeding four mouths instead of three, for twice the pay? So we gave up our guest room "just for a month" and set up a little folding chair and table for his laptop.
The students arrived yesterday, both from China, and it was at once completely awkwardly uncomfortable and so much FUN. The student who is only slated to stay a month is more comfortable with English than the other student, and it ends up they speak the same language so he helps the other. Having two students was the best thing we could do - they have each other to do things with and talk to outside of family dinner time. And Nicole and I are enjoying the challenge of forced parenthood to young 20-somethings: setting explicit rules, putting up a shower schedule on the bathroom door, planning meals in advance and making sure they're taken care of if we're ever out. It's kind of fun! (It's also fun watching them get used to new and unfamiliar American things, like zucchini! And to hear the one less comfortable in English coo "Hi, Jackieeee" to our cat as he goes upstairs, like he always hears us do. Adorable.)
At the same time, we happen to have two Australian friends of Nicole's staying with us for about five weeks (three more to go). They were only supposed to stay with us for a week or less while they adventure in the Northeast before going to an October wedding in Ohio. However, they had an enormous financial setback right before their trip but already had their airfare and didn't want to cancel the entire trip. So they asked if they could stay with us the entire time since they wouldn't have money to stay in hotels in other cities.
I admit that we did not have a warm, gracious, open welcome in our hearts immediately. We made sure to in our actions, but we struggled with adapting to having two other people in the home all the time, especially since their styles of living are not the same as ours. We let ourselves feel frustrated and impatient and irritable, though we kept smiles on, and we felt guilty about it. But it's a classic concept in psychology that, contrary to common belief in the opposite, changing behavior changes attitude. "Fake it til you make it" is very real and backed by science. And soon we were enjoying having them around and it was suddenly very fulfilling that we were helping them out.
So our quiet little family of two is, for the moment, a house of six. As we watch the boys scarf down our home cooking with great expressions of gratitude, as the Australians offer to cook chili con carne one night and one of the boys asks if he can cook us a Chinese meal another night, as we ask them about their day and speak clearly and slowly using simple words to help them practice their English, I feel a fullness and happiness in my heart. Right now, today, this is our family, and the fullness of our house brings me such joy.
This hospitality, our open door and open arms and open hearts and full table, makes me feel more Jewish even than any of my beloved Shabbat services ever could.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Rosh Hashana
I feel like I've been a Jew for years rather than four and a half months, so it's strange to realize that this time last year, I had not even begun my Intro to Judaism course. I was meeting monthly with my rabbi, and we had taken a break for the High Holy Days since she would be so busy preparing for them. So Rosh Hashana did not have quite the same meaning to me then that it does this year. I knew it was the New Year, and I knew it was followed closely by Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement) which was connected, but I didn't fully understand it all. I enjoyed my first Rosh Hashana service, but almost more as a curious outsider since I was experiencing it for the first time and without much context.
This year was obviously quite different, and experiencing this "first" - another first holiday as a Jew - reminded me that I AM a new Jew. It shook me out of the comfortable routine that I so quickly settled into the past several months. It made me feel new all over again.
If I wrote about everything I wanted to, this would be absurdly long - the evening Erev Rosh Hashana service, the full-on morning service, the more casual but equally involved second-day service outside in a park with gorgeous weather and surroundings, feeling the Shofar down to my bones, rushing home after the first-day morning service to prepare a dinner for eleven people, getting to hear FOUR beautiful sermons in three days...there is so much that happened that involved a LOT of thoughts and emotions that I wish I could get into. But I'm going to focus on one so that I don't meander and overwhelm myself. Okay, maybe two.
1. Rabbi's First Sermon
Have I mentioned before how I adore and revere my rabbi? Not only is she absolutely brilliant, but she balances that with a sweet and gentle compassion, and is accessible and "one of us" in a way that I am not used to with clergy. I feel soooo lucky to have her.
Her Rosh Hashana sermons were yet another reminder of this. I read an article recently on Tablet that suggested clergy respond to modern American Jews' needs by thinking outside of the box and not being afraid to challenge us in the High Holy Days services. The article suggested that these services may be the only chance to reach and engage many agnostic or minimally observant Jews who disappear the rest of the year. It said that instead of providing a generic experience which can easily blend into one another year after year, clergy should not be afraid to throw a curve ball, make people think, mix it up a bit, make people uncomfortable in a way that gets them thinking. Jews love wrestling with their religion, so give them that opportunity. Even as I read this, I felt proud thinking back to my rabbi's sermon last year on abortion and euthanasia, which apparently was quite controversial as I learned later.
And this year, she did it again. She talked about Torah, and how it is the one thing that all Jews have in common. Orthodox Jews may not recognize her ability to officiate a wedding or serve on a beit din for a conversion, but when she opens her mouth to talk about Torah, they listen. Liberal Jews may have services that look dramatically different from Orthodox services and more closely mimic Protestant Christian services, but in every synagogue all around the world, Jews are reading the same Torah portion. She then talked about why Torah is so important to us, no matter what each individual person believes about it, and admitted herself that she does not believe it literally word for word and that it does not stand up against science as historical fact. She was able to look at Torah in a pragmatic way while not loving or honoring it any less. She talked about why there is still so much value to Torah, that the stories teach values that we live by and that engaging with Torah and studying it and wrestling with it together is how we work toward being better people and knowing God better, no matter what we believe about it factually or about who wrote it. She said that it's easy for people to enjoy and pass down the cultural traditions of Judaism, but that without also passing down the importance and relevance of Torah, we are only passing down an empty shell which will only last for so long. The shell is important and gives us shape, but there needs to be substance as well in order for it to stay relevant and strong for future generations, and Torah is the way to do that.
I'm sure this sermon will be considered controversial as well - and I think that's amazing. Rabbi kept Torah relevant to every single person sitting in that room, no matter what their personal beliefs, in a way that would make them feel validated. If I was a skeptical Jew, a Jew who identified strongly with my cultural traditions enough to want to go to High Holy Day services but unsure of my belief in God and/or feeling disconnected because of how I doubted the validity of much of what is in the Torah, I think hearing that would make me feel relieved, accepted, and curious in a new way about Judaism. It could suddenly be "mine" again, instead of something I WANT to be mine but feel disingenuine about claiming because of my conflicting feelings.
I tried to tell Rabbi this in just a few sentences when she greeted us after the service, but as always, stumbled pitifully over my words and couldn't quite convey it in the moment. But I'm sure she knows, as I'm sure it was her intention in writing this sermon, to have this impact on people.
2. My New Year's Resolution
In the words of Rabbi Nachum Braverman, "On Rosh Hashana we make an accounting of our year and we pray repeatedly for life. How do we justify another year of life? What did we do with the last year? Has it been a time of growth, of insight and caring for others? Did we make use of our time? Has it truly been a year of life, or merely one of mindless activity? This is the time for evaluation and re-dedication. The Jewish process is called 'teshuva,' coming home -- recognizing our mistakes between ourselves and God as well as between ourselves and our fellow man and then correcting them."
I love making New Year's a religious and spiritual holiday that is about refining our souls, assessing our past actions (or inaction), and working toward self-improvement. Instead of a "the past is the past, you can only move forward" approach which is quite in vogue, Judaism challenges us to be painfully honest with ourselves about where we have erred so that we can make an active plan of how to do better.
At the service in the park, Rabbi introduced the private moment for prayer and meditation by suggesting we think/pray about what we want to do differently in the coming year. I hadn't thought about it yet (er, I was supposed to be doing that during the month of Elul but didn't do a great job at that) but it immediately came into my mind. And it came with such force that I feel like intentional thought would not have led to it. As soon as I closed my eyes, it popped into my head - "I want to let God in more."
Maybe that isn't so conventional in that it isn't about working on my character flaws, but I feel like it is indirectly related, and equally important regardless. Isn't feeling God a huge part of what drives us to work on ourselves? To be more considerate, more patient, more outspoken against injustice?
After the high of my conversion, which I rode for almost a month (til about mid-May), settling into Jewish life ironically led to me connecting less with God. I connected with a more abstract version of the Divine through my intense love and appreciation for Shabbat services, our rabbi and her always-inspiring sermons, our cantor and his always-emotionally-moving music, our warm and loving community, weekly Torah study, Jewish news and current events, and any and every opportunity for intellectual stimulation in this sphere. All of that for sure has connected me to the Divine and to Judaism.
But somehow, in a way I'm finding extremely difficult to put into words, I was losing my grip on my personal relationship with God. It was always very external, through the things happening around me and my engagement with others. Don't get me wrong - all that is also a hugely powerful way to connect with God. But, for me at least, it's not sufficient on its own. I can talk to God, but I want to FEEL God, and that means shutting up once in a while, or stopping my eager and racing thoughts long enough to just allow myself emotion. In the ten years between Catholicism and Judaism, I was actually quite expert at this because it was all I had. I had no organized religion, I had no structure and ritual, I had no community. All I had was feeling God. I could just lay in the woods and soak God up without a word. I could pour out my heart in a moment of intense emotion about anything going on in life - anguish, elation, gratitude - and feel that emotion go straight to God. I prayed through feelings more than through words, and in fact, that's how I answered the question at my beit din when Rabbi E asked me to talk about my relationship with God.
But in the past few months, I've actually allowed myself to be distracted by my religion instead of allowing it to enhance that connection. This happened for a while during my class because I was doing so much reading and discussing and studying, but then as I began meeting with my rabbi more frequently, her questions and conversations provoked my emotions again, took me back outside my head where I'm far too comfortable staying. At the mikvah and then again at Shavuot a couple weeks later, I was as emotionally engaged as someone could be. But then I drifted for a bit, and didn't even realize it because I was so happy and fulfilled overall.
As soon as I closed my eyes during the private prayer in the park, after being encouraged to meditate on our resolutions, this came to me with shocking clarity. I didn't know how I would let God in more, what that would entail, but I somehow didn't worry about that too much. I just felt content that I was so secure in the major change I wanted to bring about. (Next year I hope to spend more time in Elul truly assessing my past behavior and where I can change it, but I think I was exactly where I needed to be this year - in fact, it was exactly what I needed in that I based a resolution on pure in-the-moment emotion rather than on something I've been overthinking, a key part of what I was hoping to regain.)
At sundown, Rosh Hashana slipped right into Shabbat, and I went to that service feeling relaxed and fulfilled after two refreshing days off work, beautiful and moving services, and a loving family meal. I don't know if it was this, or the fact that the tunes chosen for the songs that evening all happened to be my favorite and most emotional tunes, or if it was just a natural effect of Rosh Hashana that maybe everyone feels. I suspect it was a combination of the above, but I feel also that it was a direct result of my having put out there to God what I wanted - to let God in more. I didn't even have to TRY. I didn't have to work at it. (Yet.) I just had to voice it, feel that desire unexpectedly in my heart. I just had to want it, spontaneously and deeply and sincerely, and that was enough to make it happen. I spoke (felt?) it into being.
I closed my eyes during most of the Shabbat music and just let it wash over me without any visual distractions, and this literally brought tears to my eyes a minimum of four different times, once full-on streaming down my face. I could just feel it all in a different way, felt God in it all - and it was just a matter of taking it in differently, with my eyes shut.
I wrote in my conversion statement, as one of the reasons I was choosing Judaism, that the Sh'ma moves me every single time. Well, it didn't start moving me so much until I understood what it was and that it was to be said with your eyes closed and with a loud voice so that you can truly HEAR it as you say the words "O hear Israel..." That made all the difference and it immediately became my favorite part of every service, what I look forward to all week. And now not only did I feel that to the point of tears, I felt similarly at several different points (including one prayer that is chanted, not sung, so it wasn't just about the power of the music).
I am realistic in that I know that feeling strongly about any resolution does not just guarantee that you will be able to uphold it for life. I know that this will likely be an ongoing challenge, to let myself just be in the moment and FEEL, which is all it takes for me to feel connected to God. I also know that the last few days have been emotionally intense and that I am at another "spiritual high" which will naturally not be maintained at this level forever. But I do feel that something has irrevocably changed in me for the better.
What more could I ask for in my first Rosh Hashana as a Jew?
This year was obviously quite different, and experiencing this "first" - another first holiday as a Jew - reminded me that I AM a new Jew. It shook me out of the comfortable routine that I so quickly settled into the past several months. It made me feel new all over again.
If I wrote about everything I wanted to, this would be absurdly long - the evening Erev Rosh Hashana service, the full-on morning service, the more casual but equally involved second-day service outside in a park with gorgeous weather and surroundings, feeling the Shofar down to my bones, rushing home after the first-day morning service to prepare a dinner for eleven people, getting to hear FOUR beautiful sermons in three days...there is so much that happened that involved a LOT of thoughts and emotions that I wish I could get into. But I'm going to focus on one so that I don't meander and overwhelm myself. Okay, maybe two.
1. Rabbi's First Sermon
Have I mentioned before how I adore and revere my rabbi? Not only is she absolutely brilliant, but she balances that with a sweet and gentle compassion, and is accessible and "one of us" in a way that I am not used to with clergy. I feel soooo lucky to have her.
Her Rosh Hashana sermons were yet another reminder of this. I read an article recently on Tablet that suggested clergy respond to modern American Jews' needs by thinking outside of the box and not being afraid to challenge us in the High Holy Days services. The article suggested that these services may be the only chance to reach and engage many agnostic or minimally observant Jews who disappear the rest of the year. It said that instead of providing a generic experience which can easily blend into one another year after year, clergy should not be afraid to throw a curve ball, make people think, mix it up a bit, make people uncomfortable in a way that gets them thinking. Jews love wrestling with their religion, so give them that opportunity. Even as I read this, I felt proud thinking back to my rabbi's sermon last year on abortion and euthanasia, which apparently was quite controversial as I learned later.
And this year, she did it again. She talked about Torah, and how it is the one thing that all Jews have in common. Orthodox Jews may not recognize her ability to officiate a wedding or serve on a beit din for a conversion, but when she opens her mouth to talk about Torah, they listen. Liberal Jews may have services that look dramatically different from Orthodox services and more closely mimic Protestant Christian services, but in every synagogue all around the world, Jews are reading the same Torah portion. She then talked about why Torah is so important to us, no matter what each individual person believes about it, and admitted herself that she does not believe it literally word for word and that it does not stand up against science as historical fact. She was able to look at Torah in a pragmatic way while not loving or honoring it any less. She talked about why there is still so much value to Torah, that the stories teach values that we live by and that engaging with Torah and studying it and wrestling with it together is how we work toward being better people and knowing God better, no matter what we believe about it factually or about who wrote it. She said that it's easy for people to enjoy and pass down the cultural traditions of Judaism, but that without also passing down the importance and relevance of Torah, we are only passing down an empty shell which will only last for so long. The shell is important and gives us shape, but there needs to be substance as well in order for it to stay relevant and strong for future generations, and Torah is the way to do that.
I'm sure this sermon will be considered controversial as well - and I think that's amazing. Rabbi kept Torah relevant to every single person sitting in that room, no matter what their personal beliefs, in a way that would make them feel validated. If I was a skeptical Jew, a Jew who identified strongly with my cultural traditions enough to want to go to High Holy Day services but unsure of my belief in God and/or feeling disconnected because of how I doubted the validity of much of what is in the Torah, I think hearing that would make me feel relieved, accepted, and curious in a new way about Judaism. It could suddenly be "mine" again, instead of something I WANT to be mine but feel disingenuine about claiming because of my conflicting feelings.
I tried to tell Rabbi this in just a few sentences when she greeted us after the service, but as always, stumbled pitifully over my words and couldn't quite convey it in the moment. But I'm sure she knows, as I'm sure it was her intention in writing this sermon, to have this impact on people.
2. My New Year's Resolution
In the words of Rabbi Nachum Braverman, "On Rosh Hashana we make an accounting of our year and we pray repeatedly for life. How do we justify another year of life? What did we do with the last year? Has it been a time of growth, of insight and caring for others? Did we make use of our time? Has it truly been a year of life, or merely one of mindless activity? This is the time for evaluation and re-dedication. The Jewish process is called 'teshuva,' coming home -- recognizing our mistakes between ourselves and God as well as between ourselves and our fellow man and then correcting them."
I love making New Year's a religious and spiritual holiday that is about refining our souls, assessing our past actions (or inaction), and working toward self-improvement. Instead of a "the past is the past, you can only move forward" approach which is quite in vogue, Judaism challenges us to be painfully honest with ourselves about where we have erred so that we can make an active plan of how to do better.
At the service in the park, Rabbi introduced the private moment for prayer and meditation by suggesting we think/pray about what we want to do differently in the coming year. I hadn't thought about it yet (er, I was supposed to be doing that during the month of Elul but didn't do a great job at that) but it immediately came into my mind. And it came with such force that I feel like intentional thought would not have led to it. As soon as I closed my eyes, it popped into my head - "I want to let God in more."
Maybe that isn't so conventional in that it isn't about working on my character flaws, but I feel like it is indirectly related, and equally important regardless. Isn't feeling God a huge part of what drives us to work on ourselves? To be more considerate, more patient, more outspoken against injustice?
After the high of my conversion, which I rode for almost a month (til about mid-May), settling into Jewish life ironically led to me connecting less with God. I connected with a more abstract version of the Divine through my intense love and appreciation for Shabbat services, our rabbi and her always-inspiring sermons, our cantor and his always-emotionally-moving music, our warm and loving community, weekly Torah study, Jewish news and current events, and any and every opportunity for intellectual stimulation in this sphere. All of that for sure has connected me to the Divine and to Judaism.
But somehow, in a way I'm finding extremely difficult to put into words, I was losing my grip on my personal relationship with God. It was always very external, through the things happening around me and my engagement with others. Don't get me wrong - all that is also a hugely powerful way to connect with God. But, for me at least, it's not sufficient on its own. I can talk to God, but I want to FEEL God, and that means shutting up once in a while, or stopping my eager and racing thoughts long enough to just allow myself emotion. In the ten years between Catholicism and Judaism, I was actually quite expert at this because it was all I had. I had no organized religion, I had no structure and ritual, I had no community. All I had was feeling God. I could just lay in the woods and soak God up without a word. I could pour out my heart in a moment of intense emotion about anything going on in life - anguish, elation, gratitude - and feel that emotion go straight to God. I prayed through feelings more than through words, and in fact, that's how I answered the question at my beit din when Rabbi E asked me to talk about my relationship with God.
But in the past few months, I've actually allowed myself to be distracted by my religion instead of allowing it to enhance that connection. This happened for a while during my class because I was doing so much reading and discussing and studying, but then as I began meeting with my rabbi more frequently, her questions and conversations provoked my emotions again, took me back outside my head where I'm far too comfortable staying. At the mikvah and then again at Shavuot a couple weeks later, I was as emotionally engaged as someone could be. But then I drifted for a bit, and didn't even realize it because I was so happy and fulfilled overall.
As soon as I closed my eyes during the private prayer in the park, after being encouraged to meditate on our resolutions, this came to me with shocking clarity. I didn't know how I would let God in more, what that would entail, but I somehow didn't worry about that too much. I just felt content that I was so secure in the major change I wanted to bring about. (Next year I hope to spend more time in Elul truly assessing my past behavior and where I can change it, but I think I was exactly where I needed to be this year - in fact, it was exactly what I needed in that I based a resolution on pure in-the-moment emotion rather than on something I've been overthinking, a key part of what I was hoping to regain.)
At sundown, Rosh Hashana slipped right into Shabbat, and I went to that service feeling relaxed and fulfilled after two refreshing days off work, beautiful and moving services, and a loving family meal. I don't know if it was this, or the fact that the tunes chosen for the songs that evening all happened to be my favorite and most emotional tunes, or if it was just a natural effect of Rosh Hashana that maybe everyone feels. I suspect it was a combination of the above, but I feel also that it was a direct result of my having put out there to God what I wanted - to let God in more. I didn't even have to TRY. I didn't have to work at it. (Yet.) I just had to voice it, feel that desire unexpectedly in my heart. I just had to want it, spontaneously and deeply and sincerely, and that was enough to make it happen. I spoke (felt?) it into being.
I closed my eyes during most of the Shabbat music and just let it wash over me without any visual distractions, and this literally brought tears to my eyes a minimum of four different times, once full-on streaming down my face. I could just feel it all in a different way, felt God in it all - and it was just a matter of taking it in differently, with my eyes shut.
I wrote in my conversion statement, as one of the reasons I was choosing Judaism, that the Sh'ma moves me every single time. Well, it didn't start moving me so much until I understood what it was and that it was to be said with your eyes closed and with a loud voice so that you can truly HEAR it as you say the words "O hear Israel..." That made all the difference and it immediately became my favorite part of every service, what I look forward to all week. And now not only did I feel that to the point of tears, I felt similarly at several different points (including one prayer that is chanted, not sung, so it wasn't just about the power of the music).
I am realistic in that I know that feeling strongly about any resolution does not just guarantee that you will be able to uphold it for life. I know that this will likely be an ongoing challenge, to let myself just be in the moment and FEEL, which is all it takes for me to feel connected to God. I also know that the last few days have been emotionally intense and that I am at another "spiritual high" which will naturally not be maintained at this level forever. But I do feel that something has irrevocably changed in me for the better.
What more could I ask for in my first Rosh Hashana as a Jew?
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