The Yom Kippur Flood of 2013: Are You OK?

It's Yom Kippur, and on my laptop I have two windows open. On one, I am streaming the final service of the day, Nei'lah from Lab/Shul, a project of Storahtelling's Amichai Lau Lavie. It's passionate, musical, innovative, and moving.

In the other window is live video from 9News.com from the Boulder Airport, where National Guard helicopters are taking off and landing in a constant stream. They are looking for and looking after victims of the devastating Colorado floods.

When the bay doors of one of the helicopters opened, it revealed a large cardboard sign with this handwritten message:

ARE
YOU
OK?

I can picture the helicopters hovering above the floodwaters, a Guardsman or woman spotting a person and holing up the sign, then waiting for a sign.

Yes, we're fine.
No, we're not fine. We need help!

At its best, Yom Kippur asks the same question.

My daughter loves to tell the story of the man who was caught in a shipwreck. A rescuer in a small row boat came and offered assistance. The man refused, saying confidently, "No thanks. God will save me." The woman in the row boat shook her head in dismay and went on her way. Then a larger ship happened by, and the captain shouted down to the man, who was clinging to what was left of his own ship. Again, he refused help. "No thanks! God will save me!" Finally, a rescue helicopter comes by and tries once again to offer the man help. Maybe they even held up a sign. Again, he refuses. "No thanks! God will save me!"

The man dies, and when he gets to heaven, he meets God. "God. What the heck? Why didn't you save me?"

God says, "What else did you want me to do? I sent a boat, a ship and a helicopter! You fool."

At Nei'lah, we come face to face with the big questions.

ARE
YOU
OK?

We are tired. We are hungry. We stand for the entire service, the ark open the Torahs revealed and standing witness to our final pleas. Dressed in white, a reminder of the burial shrouds we will all eventually wear, we confess our wrongdoings for a final time and try to squeeze in some last minutes of soul searching before the gates of heaven close to us.

We stand up, say what we need to, and voice our needs. Not in shouts, but in whispers.

Our religion is a smart one. We have specific rituals to deal with grief; we build sukkahs to house our joy; we have prayers and traditions and rituals for every stage of life and, seemingly, every human emotion. We have Yom Kippur, which is a time set aside for asking the big questions. What have I done in the past year that I regret? How have I fallen short? The picture we paint of ourselves is not always a fun one to look at. But in the end, when the light of Yom Kippur fades, we are really left with one question:

AM
I
OK?

We all have to be careful not to ignore the row boats, ships and helicopters in our lives. Today, when the total number of people unaccounted for in this terrible flood stands at over 200, we must also remember that sometimes there is nothing that can be done against the forces in our lives -- the forces of nature, the forces of the needs of the others; the forces of all those things that are bigger than ourselves. This is part of Yom Kippur, too.

Sometimes you are not OK.

Tonight I will turn some of my prayers to those who are not OK.

Families who have lost everything to the water.
Families who are still stranded on the mountain, waiting for their rescue.
Those who are missing, and those who are looking for them.
Children in Syria who have lost their parents, grandparents and siblings to war.
Parents in Syria who have lost their children.
Those around the world who are truly hungry.
To all who carry their own pain.

The gates of Nei'lah are closing.
But so many gates are opening.

And as your friend, I ask you sincerely...

ARE
YOU
OK?

Beautiful Fotos 10: The View from There

4 out of 5 of these photos were taken from a place other than Earth. How cool is that?

Teach Your Own Children?

If you truly wish your children to study Torah, study it yourself in their presence. They will follow your example. Otherwise, they will not themselves study Torah, but will simply instruct their children to do so. -- Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk

To tutor or not to tutor? That is the question.

In our synagogue, the normal process for preparing a child for bar mitzvah is a team event. The kids attend Religious School on Wednesday and Sundays, as they have for years, but they also have private lessons with both the rabbi and a bar/bat mitzvah tutor. The rabbi studies the meaning of the Torah portion (and perhaps the meaning of life) with the student; the tutor goes over the mechanics of the service and chanting Torah. In the past, I've played both parts for other children's ceremonies.

When we didn't have rabbis on staff, I took on the role for several students. I loved those sessions of sharing and teaching and learning. The moment when something from Torah clicks and becomes relevant for a young student is precious and sweet. I've also served as the tutor, leading boys with cracking voices through the ups and downs of Torah cantillation, and though the material is prescribed, there are the same moments of discovery. Remembering how to start Hatzi Kaddish without prompting, or the first time successfully chanting without vowels and trope marks.

Now I'm the parent of that kid with the cracking voice, and I'm wondering where I fit in.

On the one hand, it's my job as a Jewish parent to educate my kids, and unlike a lot of other parents in this position, I have the knowledge to do so. That's a privilege.

On the other hand, it's good for kids to study with a variety of adults in the community. It connects them, builds relationships beyond the family, and exposes them to different perspectives on Torah and the service.

But on the other hand, would it be good for my relationship with my kids to study and prepare with them?

On the other hand, teaching your own kids often involves those interpersonal conflicts that don't exist with another teacher. It might be an easier road with someone else.

But on the other hand, isn't it worth overcoming and working out those conflicts for the sake of the bigger purpose? I used to be a much stronger hand in my own children's Jewish education, and those conversations about Torah, God and Judaism were holy. Why hand that off for one of the biggest conversations of them all?

On the other hand, it's not about me, and being his tutor feels like it's about me, not him.

On the other hand, this time to study together might be a once-in-a-lifetime gift.

On the other hand, lots of other parents in our community, including those who work as tutors for the community, do not tutor their own kids. What do they know that I don't?

On the other hand....

I'm getting nowhere with this back and forth. What do you think?

Countdown to Manhood. Bar Mitzvah Blog 1

My son turned 12 this week, so approximately one year from now we will be celebrating his becoming a bar mitzvah, a literal "son of the commandment(s)," a Jewish coming-of-age celebration. For the next year I plan to blog about our experiences as a family going through this process.

As a jumping off point, I'm sharing two articles about b'nai mitzvah that have appeared recently. I'll probably blog about them in more detail later, when Rosh Hashanah isn't bearing down on me and I've had some time to gather my thoughts. But together the illustrate the kind of trepidation with which I approach this process.

First, from the New York Times, an article about how how Jewish families are "... living in the religious school industrial complex..." which creates cookie cutter ceremonies and produces largely disinterested cookie cutter kids. Take the time to read the comments; it's a fabulous conversation. As a former member and driver of that system, I find the comments encouraging and depressing. (Click here to read the article.)

The second proposes turning the entire b'nei mitzvah process on its head by changing the age from 13 to 17. If more than 50% of kids drop out of synagogue life after their b'nei mitzvah  because they see it as the culmination, the graduation, move the goal post. (Click here to read the article.)  

In some ways, I've been planing my son's bar mitzvah since the day he was born, perhaps even before, and each one I've attended over the years has shaped and influenced what I envision as what to do and what not to do. 

But these articles are tempting me to blow the entire process wide open, kick tradition to the curb and see what we build. 

370-ish days and counting.