tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21283313542241774452023-11-16T07:47:44.811-08:00Random thoughtsChavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-53992587979470363172020-12-18T14:25:00.007-08:002020-12-18T14:25:48.343-08:00Saying Goodbye<p><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">All the Bronte sisters were writers, I think, though I’m much less
familiar with Anne’s work.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">It seems that
sometimes, things come to your view when you need to see them, and this came to
my view today.</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Farewell<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Anne Bronte<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Farewell to thee! but not farewell<br />
To all my fondest thoughts of thee:<br />
Within my heart they still shall dwell;<br />
And they shall cheer and comfort me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: baseline; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">O, beautiful, and full of grace!<br />
If thou hadst never met mine eye,<br />
I had not dreamed a living face<br />
Could fancied charms so far outvie.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: baseline; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">If I may ne’er behold again<br />
That form and face so dear to me,<br />
Nor hear thy voice, still would I fain<br />
Preserve, for aye, their memory.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: baseline; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">That voice, the magic of whose tone<br />
Can wake an echo in my breast,<br />
Creating feelings that, alone,<br />
Can make my tranced spirit blest.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: baseline; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">That laughing eye, whose sunny beam<br />
My memory would not cherish less; —<br />
And oh, that smile! whose joyous gleam<br />
Nor mortal language can express.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: baseline; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Adieu, but let me cherish, still,<br />
The hope with which I cannot part.<br />
Contempt may wound, and coldness chill,<br />
But still it lingers in my heart.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: baseline; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">And who can tell but Heaven, at last,<br />
May answer all my thousand prayers,<br />
And bid the future pay the past<br />
With joy for anguish, smiles for tears?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">And I did need to see it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yesterday, I learned that one of the dearest friends I’ve made since
moving to Nova Scotia what seems like a century ago has died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I met her and her husband in my first year of
undergraduate studies, back when I was a wide-eyed Political Science
major.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her husband was the campaign
manager for a candidate, and from the start, it was clear that they were a
team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were each other’s biggest
fans, greatest supporters, and after a marriage of more than 5 decades, they
were still in love with each other.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">She held much of my history – she knew when I planned to
get married (and threw a wedding shower for me).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She celebrated the birth of my daughter by
walking up 7 flights of stairs to meet her (she couldn’t wait for us to get
home but also couldn’t get on an elevator, because she was terrified of
them).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When my marriage ended, she stood
firmly in my corner, as good friends do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And now, the only thing left for me to do is to say goodbye to her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I remember (we both remembered) so many Wednesday evenings
sprawled on her bed drinking tea and watching night-time soaps, because that
was the night of council meetings, and we hung out while her husband was doing
his civic duty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had the biggest
laughs about things that really are unremarkable, but in the moment sparked
some pretty raucous snickers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">She might well have been the most honest person I have
known, but she was never a person who wielded honesty so as to cause pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was filled with faith, both in humans and
in God. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As she grew older, she became
more frail, as will happen to many of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And if her world became smaller for that, her heart never did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My life is richer for having known her, and I’m
grateful to have called her friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
heart is bruised today, and I feel a bit dizzy sometimes as memories flit in
and out of my mind unbidden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But for all
that, there’s not a single memory that doesn’t make me smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Since March, we’ve seen each other a grand total of 3 times
(thanks, Covid).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But every time we saw
each other, and in a few phone conversations, our last words were “Love you…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m gonna miss her so much.<br /><br />This was my friend: https://www.dartmouthfuneralhome.ca/guestbook/annunciata-nancy-withers<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p>Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-40053132199488747862020-08-22T18:59:00.002-07:002020-08-22T18:59:50.472-07:00Rosh Chodesh Elul<p> </p><br />
<p class="MsoNormal">In keeping with what I have decided must surely be worthy of
being a tradition, I had a hike today to mark Rosh Chodesh – the beginning of
the new Jewish month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was pretty warm
out, but I must say, it was more the warm of Autumn than of summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve decided not to be sad that Summer is
racing so quickly to Autumn, though, because there are still several more
months of hiking in good weather ahead of me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Elul is the month of preparation and shofar blowing (at
least, if you can <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">blow </b>a
shofar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a beautiful one from
Israel, but I’ve never been able to make a sound out of it, not even a sad
little bleat, much less the triumphant <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">LISTEN
TO ME </b>of a properly sounded ram’s horn!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Jews are meant to be more thoughtful, more mindful, in this month
leading to Rosh Hashannah, the Jewish New Year, and to Yom Kippur, the Day of
Atonement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Elul is about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">teshuvah</i>, or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">return</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To where are we
returning?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To ourselves – to our best,
sweetest selves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to those with whom
we have relationships – especially if they have become fractious, because now
is the time to work at making them better, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">return</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And repentance. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The name of the month has been understood to
be an acronym for the Hebrew verse “I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine;”
or straight from the text:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>אלול: אני לדודי ודודי
לי — ani l’dodi v’dodi li<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I am to my beloved as my beloved is to me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">These lines are from the Song of Solomon, and they’re often
used at weddings, but it’s at least as likely that its unknown author created a
beautiful allegory about our relationship with God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that’s the other point of return for this
month: we often don’t think too deeply about our relationship with God – it’s
just something that <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">is</b>, unless, of
course, something happens that causes us to look closely at it (honestly the ‘something’
is often a tragedy; we don’t always spend as much time acknowledging God in the
good that still surrounds us).<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today, I went to Crystal Crescent Trail, a place I visit
often – there are three beautiful white-sand beaches there, and a boardwalk
past them that leads to a trail up into the woods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The trail meanders in and out of the woods,
and when it is out, you are walking on huge rocks, older than any of us,
looking at the Atlantic Ocean in all her glory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What a place this is to sanctify the new month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stopped at the first rocky outcrop, past
all the beaches, past the sounds of people – just me and the sound of the
ocean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even the seagulls were happy to
just sit and enjoy the sun – it’s as if they, too, know that weekends of summer
are dwindling, and so these days are to enjoy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPqzQQgK1xtF65Zc9vTAHNKNO0CUTJKvkYlJx3S_OiIjJCJlXs3hUP7gwO-XjL7KhOyVVLjzDfmSy_fXXfmgUll_Q2SC0lleVbQd4ZIeKw_Qa-JXK3fmyNdqWCnS4rKSYgJz5w9j09uw4/s2048/IMG_20200822_132404.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPqzQQgK1xtF65Zc9vTAHNKNO0CUTJKvkYlJx3S_OiIjJCJlXs3hUP7gwO-XjL7KhOyVVLjzDfmSy_fXXfmgUll_Q2SC0lleVbQd4ZIeKw_Qa-JXK3fmyNdqWCnS4rKSYgJz5w9j09uw4/s640/IMG_20200822_132404.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<p class="MsoNormal">From my perch overlooking the ocean, I see the Sambro
light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And there was something big
swimming out there, but I cannot tell what it was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Enough to know that it was there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here, it still smells of the sweetness of
summer – the trail is perfumed with flowers whose names I don’t know, but whose
scent feels like a blessing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s so
good to be here, to be alive.<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCLlDHFQQhWRUMlmSTEIZaegyhTep-eiliKtg4tUpX1Y3SXscPLLWQmI1j2rlZNBwvcfoOtneV5i0P27rbxt-1aloNGFj_4mKw32WHZeDHFvRobSNhLTRhAQBeaCGTWo6k_fXabUspHY4/s2048/IMG_20200822_131119.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCLlDHFQQhWRUMlmSTEIZaegyhTep-eiliKtg4tUpX1Y3SXscPLLWQmI1j2rlZNBwvcfoOtneV5i0P27rbxt-1aloNGFj_4mKw32WHZeDHFvRobSNhLTRhAQBeaCGTWo6k_fXabUspHY4/s640/IMG_20200822_131119.jpg" /></a><br />
<p class="MsoNormal">When I’m by the ocean, a refrain of “Mayyim Hayyim” is the
accompaniment to my thoughts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Water and
life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One cannot exist without the
other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Indigenous people the world over
know this, and so do Jews.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Throughout
the diaspora, we spend months praying for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tal</i>
(dew, or rain) for Israel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What Israelis
have accomplished in a country built on a desert is remarkable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They knew – as far back as Miriam the
Prophetess and even before – that water is life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so they found water, deep underground,
and freed it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And they turned a sunbaked
country green.<o:p></o:p></p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal">Here in Canada, we tend to take water for granted – we just
turn on the tap, and there it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re
surrounded by it, and we have more fresh water than anywhere else on
earth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is the month of Elul, a
month of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">teshuvah</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I think that perhaps my first act of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">teshuvah </i>should be to raise my voice
again and question how it is that with this huge abundance of water, there can
still be communities in Canada whose water is unfit, unsafe for drinking, and
in some cases, unfit for bathing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Water
is life – and how do we value some lives if we don’t care whether they have access
to fresh water?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no answers to
this question, but I’m searching for them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And if you want to search, too, just consult your favourite search
engine and enter “Water Protectors Canada,” or “Water Protectors Nova Scotia,”
or even (sigh) “Alton Gas.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’ll be
worth your time.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Chodesh tov.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnZobKa__VNbSgxun-CgejkH-O0gCcCh8y7Ct2WutN0zgh18uIrHLbC7P9QwnByqc7CaJUY5wCpud_L7BYHBSZPnG4ExoIlYLD2VlQ2aqkFdGIjZ-J8D1w9Q2_QSXECsaNv_AcNkDRr5U/s2048/IMG_20200822_142148.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnZobKa__VNbSgxun-CgejkH-O0gCcCh8y7Ct2WutN0zgh18uIrHLbC7P9QwnByqc7CaJUY5wCpud_L7BYHBSZPnG4ExoIlYLD2VlQ2aqkFdGIjZ-J8D1w9Q2_QSXECsaNv_AcNkDRr5U/s640/IMG_20200822_142148.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-65434466007911991332020-05-03T09:25:00.000-07:002020-05-03T09:25:39.517-07:00Life in a Time of Isolation<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
With apologies to Gabriel García Márquez, whose <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Love in the Time of Cholera</i> turns 35
this year… García Márquez wrote, “He allowed himself to be swayed by his
conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their
mothers give birth to them, but that<i> life obliges them over and over again to
give birth to themselves</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Certainly, I’m
unlikely to be either as prolific or as profound as he, but notice that last
phrase: “<i><b>life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves</b></i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems to me that this is just what many of us have learned to do in these past two months, since Covid 19 took over the news
and so many people’s lives – I’m grateful that I’m able to work from home, and
I worry about those who must still go to a workplace, including my
daughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So if you’re practicing social
distancing, and washing your hands 8,000 times a day, thank you for helping to
keep my daughter safe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(And if you’re <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">not</b>, frankly, what the heck is wrong
with you?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s never going to hurt you
to wash your friggin’ hands! And it won't kill you to wear a mask, but it could help someone else!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkLVQZArHwcaxidw8qtktH6lUXnLsDIFWMnk_7iuZ_UoGUcaLQsYOuT1LuH_H7yO95KgC6Csp3rWY1zUp0qhEUp9MzmTQjZG4rygiIxsmjnm__l7qazkvlhjDmJTLNYzZZYAnYHSsqDEY/s1600/wash+your+hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkLVQZArHwcaxidw8qtktH6lUXnLsDIFWMnk_7iuZ_UoGUcaLQsYOuT1LuH_H7yO95KgC6Csp3rWY1zUp0qhEUp9MzmTQjZG4rygiIxsmjnm__l7qazkvlhjDmJTLNYzZZYAnYHSsqDEY/s320/wash+your+hands.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I digress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So,
how are we giving birth to ourselves over and over again?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I may wax Biblical for just a moment, it’s
kind of like reading the Torah: the way we understand certain passages today
may be very different from the way people understood those same passages 10,
20, 100 years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That doesn’t mean,
necessarily, that those older ways were entirely wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just means that we’ve found new ways to
understand them, to render ancient texts meaningful to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s in this way, I think, that we have
opportunities to remake ourselves, without ever running away from home and
changing our names.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s a gift
there, if we’re brave enough to open it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(Don’t worry, I’m not going to go discover the theory of relativity, or
calculus, as some previous geniuses have done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s not where my mind goes at all!)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am learning things about myself, some of which make utter
sense – I’d just never really thought much about them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For instance, I’ve always loved cooking and
baking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mum taught me to bake bread
when I was about 10 or 11, though I’d been watching her work kitchen magic all
my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mum was a stay-at-home mum
all my life, with the same responsibilities even when she became the first
woman elected to the local council in our town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My dad cooked occasionally, so I knew that men could and sometimes did
cook meals, but really, the kitchen was my mum’s domain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned a lot from watching her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
During this period of isolation, I am reminded that one of
the ways she expressed love was to feed us: she’d make a favourite meal not
just for a birthday, but because she knew you loved it, for instance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d come home from school to the smell of
freshly-baked bread.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After I’d gone off
to university, there were times that she still seemed to be cooking or baking a
lot, even though by then it was just Mum and Daddy at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t quite understand the volume, though
I have some ideas now – and this might not have been true of my mum, but I have
realized that now (and indeed, in the past), it has also been true of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For sure, I express love for family and
friends by cooking for them – and in this time of social distancing, I’m going
to drop by my daughter’s place today and deliver some of the fruits of this
weekend’s labour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because I love her,
because it’s good, healthy food, made –as my mum would say – entirely from
scratch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But also because this weekend, I
have found myself particularly restless, even a little anxious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Absolutely nothing in my life has changed
since Friday, but on Saturday, I woke up and just headed for the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I started with tiny cute chocolate cakes. I have this neat cake pan that makes 6 tiny cute bundt cakes. It was too adorable not to buy, and the end result here was not only adorable but also delicious...</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCMKkjGEL9V1gyKeZRwMxswnyYDfPGHG3JuWHadn8uMimzDME9QlezyrQutGBI3kvewtMY3eQmv8sbcQMG9dFdUjICrFDHFnBEF68pfP0Mo5EW_7gIva95eMy67C00fJ0wH6Q9jrrVHk/s1600/tiny+cute+cakes+in+the+oven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCMKkjGEL9V1gyKeZRwMxswnyYDfPGHG3JuWHadn8uMimzDME9QlezyrQutGBI3kvewtMY3eQmv8sbcQMG9dFdUjICrFDHFnBEF68pfP0Mo5EW_7gIva95eMy67C00fJ0wH6Q9jrrVHk/s200/tiny+cute+cakes+in+the+oven.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I mean... look at that tiny cute cake tin!</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRvTxFGVrivdj7skwGG8iGust7bcs9Hx-VxmpXnoYmjyb79bmL3EKbIn54-ZoakltZ-3KeAydM6IGnVyiOnx4YHVyhJJ71P_5K4HNz3JAo0W1TkWmdJvvPzyCNM7hS6JD_GmqK5nl5YmM/s1600/tiny+cute+cakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRvTxFGVrivdj7skwGG8iGust7bcs9Hx-VxmpXnoYmjyb79bmL3EKbIn54-ZoakltZ-3KeAydM6IGnVyiOnx4YHVyhJJ71P_5K4HNz3JAo0W1TkWmdJvvPzyCNM7hS6JD_GmqK5nl5YmM/s200/tiny+cute+cakes.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out of the oven, waiting for decoration.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ4L6b_WlbGhYjripB2M9NONvtoG-TnZ2t_HoICocL37iWUDjWyvyBYKnPEaDGIZPy95aOokItTiXzmNhPUdU3KJMlLWvphJgx9REvHewGx6JKSiRfY2tEyKj_F27VsBOhG0mXoxCm9EM/s1600/tiny+cute+cakes+ready+to+eat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ4L6b_WlbGhYjripB2M9NONvtoG-TnZ2t_HoICocL37iWUDjWyvyBYKnPEaDGIZPy95aOokItTiXzmNhPUdU3KJMlLWvphJgx9REvHewGx6JKSiRfY2tEyKj_F27VsBOhG0mXoxCm9EM/s200/tiny+cute+cakes+ready+to+eat.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frosted and sprinkled!</td></tr>
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Just as some people are emotional eaters, I am an emotional
cook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve joked about “rage baking,”
which is actually something I learned early on, when my mum told me that the
best time to bake bread was if you were in a bad mood, because you’d knead it
better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was right!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I’m busy in the kitchen, it takes my
mind off other things – even if those other things are in my subconscious and
are niggling thoughts, they are sufficient to disturb my enjoyment of the day,
so if I take myself to the kitchen and get creative, it will either dispel the
thoughts entirely, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">or </b>it will allow
them to crystallise so that I know what the heck it was that I was worrying
about!<o:p></o:p></div>
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I wonder whether my mum also cooked and baked when she was
stressed, sad, angry, or anxious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was
some of that food prep when I was at university because it was difficult after
so many years of a houseful of children to suddenly be alone with a husband and
figuring out how to cook just for two?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Did she look at her life and wonder whether its meaning was now changed
to something she didn’t recognise?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s
not here anymore, so I can’t ask her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe for her, it really was all utilitarian, but based on my own
experience, I suspect that this is a shared knowledge.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Next up was roasted orange pepper soup. I am particularly fond of recipes that are easy but impressive, that rely primarily on fresh ingredients (but can be made with things that are commonly in your cupboard and freezer and still be as delicious), and that accept all kinds of modification. The first version of this soup I made was a curried cream of broccoli, which was and is a family favourite. Also, bonus points, 'cause it's even healthy! Of course, the thing with soup is that you can't really make a single serving of the stuff. So I made my usual size batch, and my daughter will reap some of the benefits!</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw3zS67Gexp_rA579FKlw-bKEm90_xC3zBAWh0-xM8dcgnmmmNP_VSETCxfjB6CIeB-6klhZcLXrMM6ePJxPLfrG3oC81vfWRw9yCLV8jyQZkgiJUXlYCVHkhhM2oBwvpSI3URGKoPHmc/s1600/roasting+orange+peppers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw3zS67Gexp_rA579FKlw-bKEm90_xC3zBAWh0-xM8dcgnmmmNP_VSETCxfjB6CIeB-6klhZcLXrMM6ePJxPLfrG3oC81vfWRw9yCLV8jyQZkgiJUXlYCVHkhhM2oBwvpSI3URGKoPHmc/s200/roasting+orange+peppers.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I chopped up a bunch of orange peppers, <br />
sprinkled 'em with tarragon, and roasted 'em in a slow oven.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfQF2xGtdWucP5Z4BJQ90x5nYNhABKf5NklqlyvGY-jOUjhpCuFVPve6Hs3pDN_UMmjSjYo2TqfYG-Q1A5SZ10_sbxtW_MJmkC4e6L61mYUw7ou2KYbTztUqznfQzZgbn2o3mevj1hV0/s1600/making+roasted+red+pepper+soup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfQF2xGtdWucP5Z4BJQ90x5nYNhABKf5NklqlyvGY-jOUjhpCuFVPve6Hs3pDN_UMmjSjYo2TqfYG-Q1A5SZ10_sbxtW_MJmkC4e6L61mYUw7ou2KYbTztUqznfQzZgbn2o3mevj1hV0/s200/making+roasted+red+pepper+soup.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'd sauteed some garlic and onion and added a sweet potato. While the peppers roasted, these cooked.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqtwlrD_sCtKW5bIHawNn8DLVYPFrebLUevxX_v4WYSvpx0rgmbvOzjxGf-phodP2JjN1_B_ia-wX0vF5b_khaGddovP-j1V80X5oF5RQSJy8Yw4FFqek_pEykx8KtoyiBDSTszcKgUBM/s1600/roasted+red+pepper+soup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqtwlrD_sCtKW5bIHawNn8DLVYPFrebLUevxX_v4WYSvpx0rgmbvOzjxGf-phodP2JjN1_B_ia-wX0vF5b_khaGddovP-j1V80X5oF5RQSJy8Yw4FFqek_pEykx8KtoyiBDSTszcKgUBM/s200/roasted+red+pepper+soup.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The finished product involved some mushroom <br />
broth, coconut milk, and my blender.</td></tr>
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I was up super-late last night, despite all the cooking that happened yesterday (including the tea biscuits I made to go with the soup!), so even all that cooking - and the consequent cleaning up - didn't clear my mind. This morning when I got up, I tried a new recipe. It's called </div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>Skanus varškės apkepas</i><span style="font-weight: normal;">, and it's a traditional Lithuanian recipe. It's really quite simple and produces something that's just lovely to look at. The recipe calls for farmer's cheese, which I couldn't find at the grocery store, so I just used ricotta. And there are 3 eggs in it, which gives it a sort of custardy/quichey texture (Yes, I know those aren't real words - this is the poetic license of the kitchen!). I'm better at some Lithuanian recipes than others, that is certain. And this one is delicious.</span></span></h1>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTolsNEUHvNh8IupvX1rwy3j_WpnIRdsWuPn3hzMlcQJg8GrK8TDJKXF3xUk2_vo9TDnT_GnZ9uAN38y4A3tNqtfUz2Xfa6JJ27ruvxY6yquyR6iZOoopag5pagNPwgN1roFUPo-W5Ulo/s1600/Lithuanian+pie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTolsNEUHvNh8IupvX1rwy3j_WpnIRdsWuPn3hzMlcQJg8GrK8TDJKXF3xUk2_vo9TDnT_GnZ9uAN38y4A3tNqtfUz2Xfa6JJ27ruvxY6yquyR6iZOoopag5pagNPwgN1roFUPo-W5Ulo/s200/Lithuanian+pie.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The batter. I had no vanilla so used almond. <br />
And I added nutmeg, just because I like it!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggEy8PofOYDktl-KD-msgtS61FEz77vYgBEJTvKmdvjsHuW_bcZ1bafDA7KDiSD1EnhGoK4OVC4Z5UZNB3jQ8AirLz7W7ePJZc0_8u6u4leHymS0FmdybG4YjcMulVzvjgSe3mbtsHdZE/s1600/Lithuanian+pie+out+of+the+oven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggEy8PofOYDktl-KD-msgtS61FEz77vYgBEJTvKmdvjsHuW_bcZ1bafDA7KDiSD1EnhGoK4OVC4Z5UZNB3jQ8AirLz7W7ePJZc0_8u6u4leHymS0FmdybG4YjcMulVzvjgSe3mbtsHdZE/s200/Lithuanian+pie+out+of+the+oven.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The gorgeous (and tasty) end result.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">So I'm learning new things, for sure. And as far as isolation goes, there certainly are worse ways to spend my time. Today's lesson, though, causes me to think about my foremothers - my own mum, of course, but her mother, and hers before her. And my dad's mum, who I hardly knew but remember as a remarkable baker. There is so much about keeping house that is routine and tedious. We do some things because we must: we have to eat, after all. And sometimes we pull out all the stops, because we want to make something special for people we love. Sometimes, we want to learn something new ourselves and try something entirely different. And sometimes, perhaps, there's something else at work, and cooking is the magic that helps us sort it out.</span></span></div>
<br />Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-73495617729207453882020-04-22T08:58:00.000-07:002020-04-22T08:58:26.484-07:00The Cat of a Thousand Names<br />
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This wonderful thug of a cat joined our little family almost
16 years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In retrospect, he was too
young – about 6 weeks old – and that’s probably why he imprinted so well on my
daughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He practically glued himself
to her, and that never changed. He was handsome and sweet and had the best blue eyes...<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEmiMz4TH47FdFxm30htpA-SQaB9H4RVmDMFANg6_oczr6RISHUILlrO3ZLLyF8zzQ8BQjA9mhHL3uSqctsca0ZI0Liu3-uaBekYnUiZnrvWMjiGoVFA-oWd6J_Xhy5ekzX5sqx8Owv8/s1600/Sacha+2007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEmiMz4TH47FdFxm30htpA-SQaB9H4RVmDMFANg6_oczr6RISHUILlrO3ZLLyF8zzQ8BQjA9mhHL3uSqctsca0ZI0Liu3-uaBekYnUiZnrvWMjiGoVFA-oWd6J_Xhy5ekzX5sqx8Owv8/s320/Sacha+2007.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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For about the first half of his rather long life, he really
was a thug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A pirate cat, if you
will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He went through an interesting
phase during which he stole pizza crusts and stored them for later… in our
sneakers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We found out about this
peculiar predilection when I found him hunched over on the landing, looking
like a chubby, furry vulture… and growling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was really weird, and it seemed as if he was guarding something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My first thought was that he’d cornered a
mouse… ugh!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t want to deal with
that, but of course, if there was a mouse, we needed to know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I nudged him out of the way and grabbed
the sneaker he was guarding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was not
impressed, and watched me through slitted blue eyes… With great trepidation, I
shook the sneaker, and sure enough, something thudded softly onto the
ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh no!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a … um… a pizza crust?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What kind of cat hunts and traps pizza
crusts?! Well, as it turned out, this cat…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKR6ij1W360Z-VC4F2UqPOXdEOx32eUvQJJe-LqOx0t7Vlzhj9aAWztBTWXGzc_l21h7zUm29wcvkxZCdUYUUANcZ_iYOnP4WqgSPZIyTReh8RuSOv7W30BsATWgqBQQY7zmpVNMA18mU/s1600/Sacha+and+Dinah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="448" data-original-width="604" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKR6ij1W360Z-VC4F2UqPOXdEOx32eUvQJJe-LqOx0t7Vlzhj9aAWztBTWXGzc_l21h7zUm29wcvkxZCdUYUUANcZ_iYOnP4WqgSPZIyTReh8RuSOv7W30BsATWgqBQQY7zmpVNMA18mU/s320/Sacha+and+Dinah.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It might be that Sacha didn't consider himself a cat, which is why we found it interesting that he would occasionally not only tolerate but actually snuggle with another feline resident. In retrospect, he might just have appreciated the body heat, as he is wedged in above with Dinah. He was also a bit of an escape artist… once he got a first
taste of the outdoors, he decided it was worth investigating, with or without
his people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We discovered this when I
woke up one morning and heard him meowing but couldn’t find him anywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Loud though he was, he was nowhere to be
seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Until I looked out the
window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And saw him on the roof outside
the living room window. We lived in a great little flat then, in a funky little
place, so the roof on which he was standing there screaming for attention was
also the ceiling of our downstairs neighbor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In order to get him back inside, we had to take off the window screen
(thankfully, the windows had recently been replaced, so we could actually do
that… and then coax him in (because we weren’t about to go out on that roof
ourselves!) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What we couldn’t figure out
is how he got out there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Initially, we
thought he must’ve gotten out somehow while the door was open, so we resolved
to be extra-careful… but one day, it happened again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And AGAIN!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Did we live with a Houdini cat??<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Finally, we figured it out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
was hopping on the heater in the kitchen, and wedging his furry little body
between the screen and the window frame, much the way that a hamster will sometimes
escape between the bars of its cage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Having figured that out, it was easy enough to remedy, thankfully (but
if I’m honest, we only figured it out because my daughter caught him in the
act!)<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was in this same funky little flat that I blame him for
trying to kill me – picture it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
was a single step down from our living room to a tiny landing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then a single step up to the bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So there I am, one day, heading to the
bathroom, just as Sacha was heading downstairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Obviously, I didn’t want to step on him, so I tried to step over him –
just go into the bathroom without stepping on the landing at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s when he moved, and if I had kept doing
what I had started to do, I definitely would’ve stomped on him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I flailed around, trying not to kill the
cat, and wound up slamming into the door frame, which is how I broke my
ribs!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I took him out of the will at
that point.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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He would steal food from you – while you were actu.ally
eating it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was sitting at the table
one day, and I had a forkful of food paused in midair, as I was saying
something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, to my right, this
little grey paw reached up (he had been sitting on a chair at the end of the
table, hitherto unnoticed), wrapped around my hand, and veeeeeeeery gently
pulled my hand towards himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just
sat there I shock, and yet laughing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
chutzpah of this cat!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And he had medical issues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As many male cats do, he developed urinary tract crystals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They very nearly killed him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But in the end, thanks to good vet care, they
didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t much approve of other
cats and was often unkind to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
felt the same way about small dogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
managed quite well with big dogs, like Wylie & Ben, the Bernese Mountain
Dogs….as long as they understood that he was boss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a time, there were red flags – literally!
– on his file at the vet, because he did not care to go there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, it made him angry and very
aggressive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The vet techs would put on
gloves, and put a cone on his head just to bring him in to be examined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was somewhat embarrassing, but thankfully,
when he was around 8 or 9, he calmed down a bit.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh59oRpJmtfXgxL8rwRp6MJtpkH1y_nGRTQkqetrDcSH7XwPCvghL7aaio0pdPVRqMrmcoHKSUAm7_loL3myKzOccZ_0ifUPAB7ExOCIyNoqa9N3tD9BkMZAeIPPUomWAS2RLNTBs39hSo/s1600/Lennox+and+Sacha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh59oRpJmtfXgxL8rwRp6MJtpkH1y_nGRTQkqetrDcSH7XwPCvghL7aaio0pdPVRqMrmcoHKSUAm7_loL3myKzOccZ_0ifUPAB7ExOCIyNoqa9N3tD9BkMZAeIPPUomWAS2RLNTBs39hSo/s320/Lennox+and+Sacha.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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It seemed to take a while for him to warm up to Lennox - he certainly missed Wylie and Ben when they were gone, but when Lennox came home, he wasn't too sure of her. He did warm up to her, though, and they actually spent quite a lot of time snuggled together, frequently grooming one another. </div>
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He was most unlike what you may have heard about Siamese –
he really wasn’t aloof.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a furry
ball of love to his people – and if he counted you among his people, you felt
blessed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He purred so loudly that you
could hear him from across the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or
over a long-distance phone call, as I often did when I was in Quebec, and Sacha
(a Bluenoser through and through) stayed put with his girl. He had a special
song that everyone who knew him well could sing to him (and often did, though
none so often as Bronwyn).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He never met
a sunbeam that he didn’t love, and as he got older could be found sitting not
just near, but on heating vents, radiators, wherever he felt most warmth (and
he had the singed whiskers to prove it!).<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTSP3V46tomrBomwrsLA4jv7B_BnisqMMCcbfLJDI12kvWZA0Nu5AvX6iKwXQIUfM5u5UHTrhM488e4FwTqInWMOrcwrRMU1LQ6W7lKBNY0OfpGVzL4QtVc_D9WF0TpkaZuLtpMsJ8Yjw/s1600/Sacha+heat+source.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="604" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTSP3V46tomrBomwrsLA4jv7B_BnisqMMCcbfLJDI12kvWZA0Nu5AvX6iKwXQIUfM5u5UHTrhM488e4FwTqInWMOrcwrRMU1LQ6W7lKBNY0OfpGVzL4QtVc_D9WF0TpkaZuLtpMsJ8Yjw/s320/Sacha+heat+source.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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There are a thousand things I could tell you about Sacha,
but the most important thing is that he loved and was loved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He comforted and was himself a comfort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a funny, infuriating, absolutely
wonderful cat, and today, we had to say goodbye to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There wasn’t much time – just over a week
ago, we learned that he wasn’t just an old man with a questionable medical
history that had actually left him rather fragile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sacha had cancer, and in that last week, he
declined much more quickly than we ever anticipated he could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So today was the last trip to the vet, and I’m
so glad I could be there with Bronwyn – this isn’t something that a person
should do alone, for one thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
also, Sacha had long since lodged himself into my heart, and I am so very
grateful I got a chance to tell him one more time what a great cat he was, how
handsome he was, how much he was loved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Just one more look at a cat and his girl... a girl and her cat... It would have been impossible for him to have loved her more.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigGGtfvulcK-iQjx4t45FEd1uU_MUFvU6QhIYYSlcfNvaGJIKOYTnUPYdbOx3M5ruRRrQJc1XPmhQYfyp9Ea7nmlI-y2V0MT6jXrbuq9njCG8dmctIblq9HaxW79uQNexk-ded2jalizY/s1600/Bronwyn+and+Sacha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="448" data-original-width="462" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigGGtfvulcK-iQjx4t45FEd1uU_MUFvU6QhIYYSlcfNvaGJIKOYTnUPYdbOx3M5ruRRrQJc1XPmhQYfyp9Ea7nmlI-y2V0MT6jXrbuq9njCG8dmctIblq9HaxW79uQNexk-ded2jalizY/s320/Bronwyn+and+Sacha.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-41983002482607669652019-12-28T10:17:00.001-08:002019-12-28T10:17:20.286-08:00Newness... of months, of years, and of meIt's been far too long since I've updated this blog - heaven knows it's not that I've had nothing to say! But I have been feeling somewhat disconnected, and so very recently, I came up with an idea that I think might help me get back to the place I'd like to be. It started with a birthday gift given to me by my friend Catherine....<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNkgjZyC_lAz-9fvCfU4_iK0KCbJr_9arstQbJryxe0dfoGO2VWmDRLlX37auBgd9_4Npm33acbqlxZUCUK1fOU61IFQ25yFzZmH9_D9gHPC8_bOAlJS2-6kRZMN2jAoQxOE7b4Cv6zis/s1600/IMG_20191228_132952.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1186" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNkgjZyC_lAz-9fvCfU4_iK0KCbJr_9arstQbJryxe0dfoGO2VWmDRLlX37auBgd9_4Npm33acbqlxZUCUK1fOU61IFQ25yFzZmH9_D9gHPC8_bOAlJS2-6kRZMN2jAoQxOE7b4Cv6zis/s200/IMG_20191228_132952.jpg" width="148" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I could get into some fun trouble with this!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As soon as I opened the present, I had to open the book, of course, and right away my imagination got to work. It felt serendipitous - I had been thinking that I needed some way to reconnecting with my Judaism, to nurture my spirituality in a way that synagogue simply has not been doing. I had considered that at least I might do something to honour Rosh Chodesh - that's the beginning of the Jewish month. And it's traditionally held to be a women's holiday, for a number of reasons:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>from Torah, we learn that women were accorded this festival as our own, because it was women who didn't lose faith in God, and who refused to contribute to the building of the golden calf (which is first introduced in <b><i>Ki Tisa</i></b>, Exodus 32). You can read an interesting article about it here: <a href="https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/the-women-did-not-contribute-to-the-golden-calf/">https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/the-women-did-not-contribute-to-the-golden-calf/</a> And there's also this one: <a href="https://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/2879677/jewish/The-Golden-Calf.htm">https://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/2879677/jewish/The-Golden-Calf.htm</a></li>
<li>Tradition goes on to tell us that our reward (not that one was asked for or promised) for righteousness in the face of those who turned away from God was a festival of our own, on which we might refrain from much of our ordinary work. Now, that's an interesting idea - on the one hand, I kind of like it; on the other hand, sometimes Rosh Chodesh falls on Shabbat, which is wen many (many, many) women are busy ensuring that the home is ready, and preparing meals that will keep from Friday sunset to Saturday sunset. Shabbat and most other holidays tend to be pretty busy times for women.</li>
<li>A bit more recently, it's been proposed that Rosh Chodesh should be considered a festival for women because our bodies, like the Jewish calendar, follow a lunar cycle. I kind of like this one, because not only does it honour the new month, but it also honours creation, in which woman participate intimately.</li>
</ul>
So then, what I decided to do to mark Rosh Chodesh was to hike. I like hiking, anyhow, and although I much prefer to do it with friends, sometimes I am on my own. Catherine, who gave me the book, is not Jewish, but she loves the idea of doing a Rosh Chodesh hike with me. Right now, though, she's away, so I decided that I would have this hike anyhow, to see how it feels. My best friends in Quebec, Fabiana & Daniel, joined me - we hiked virtually this morning. They tromped through snow in a park, and I marched around the barrens at Polly's Cove. It doesn't look like winter here...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCc2_7lZf18jtQwYn-j1R6Uwpd4szcl3wUrxUfcOf16-WixLoJNI2KMC5VktIOSNRSkLaMm6ggbolRntPflAhl9FHB25sg4pGNC8kA6ndPrglbHeUDOVy8H9ncRZO0IaZLr0jJYGM1P7g/s1600/IMG_20191228_104812.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCc2_7lZf18jtQwYn-j1R6Uwpd4szcl3wUrxUfcOf16-WixLoJNI2KMC5VktIOSNRSkLaMm6ggbolRntPflAhl9FHB25sg4pGNC8kA6ndPrglbHeUDOVy8H9ncRZO0IaZLr0jJYGM1P7g/s320/IMG_20191228_104812.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking towards Peggy's Cove</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Look at that blue sky! It's glorious. And truly, although the weather told me that it was 2 C, with a wind chill meaning it felt more like -2 C, it wasn't cold. I was perfectly comfortable in a sweater that my mum had knit, with a very light hoodie. The ground isn't frozen yet at Polly's Cove, though there's some ice there - much of the ground is damp and marshy. The lichen and ground cover there are spongy and soft, all of which encourages you to step off the trail from time to time.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIF1mja_yBzsYaN4wMBsH7Im_7DW19Cwf4AzdSUyynKc34SKwIS-wPyKe2N-0dstN6wEib_bh3HYn0COYRgGLO2rtKk-hjrB-jK727gHZivAmRZT3EDcKWbNbmaprYYL7pb5S-yzjpVHU/s1600/IMG_20191228_104437.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIF1mja_yBzsYaN4wMBsH7Im_7DW19Cwf4AzdSUyynKc34SKwIS-wPyKe2N-0dstN6wEib_bh3HYn0COYRgGLO2rtKk-hjrB-jK727gHZivAmRZT3EDcKWbNbmaprYYL7pb5S-yzjpVHU/s200/IMG_20191228_104437.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fraternal twins</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkpkqbBaATym0cFiySh6Zf2YqPr2o9Z2vcMCJxKtm6uO-8eWCDGa0aBBfOBn4GXBKThg8C2cVvNYVCSsH9nzyMGMtdtOxJ9-7YmN1jjQVd_6QdUbCS9Wh7uP8E0jT48XgTd13poT5RpTE/s1600/IMG_20191228_104251.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkpkqbBaATym0cFiySh6Zf2YqPr2o9Z2vcMCJxKtm6uO-8eWCDGa0aBBfOBn4GXBKThg8C2cVvNYVCSsH9nzyMGMtdtOxJ9-7YmN1jjQVd_6QdUbCS9Wh7uP8E0jT48XgTd13poT5RpTE/s200/IMG_20191228_104251.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A sentry</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1imgqeNjCQD6L2FdqRJh51ZycXQ9C1iuDGX4Yd3zuOHDQtImBN3iZKu-cyRNgPBhwqXVYCzx27NYFoUC9EzsG44djI3y5_4wfoYs46DUfEOTXMIGSvoG2dWE_2qxbRmju5gylPgG3TEM/s1600/IMG_20191228_105306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1imgqeNjCQD6L2FdqRJh51ZycXQ9C1iuDGX4Yd3zuOHDQtImBN3iZKu-cyRNgPBhwqXVYCzx27NYFoUC9EzsG44djI3y5_4wfoYs46DUfEOTXMIGSvoG2dWE_2qxbRmju5gylPgG3TEM/s200/IMG_20191228_105306.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Path in the woods</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Mostly as I walked, I was alone, so I was paying closer attention to the sounds around me than I might have ordinarily - I heard my footsteps squelching over damp areas, crunching through undergrowth, padding along huge rocks as I sought a view from higher up, or whispering across tiny paths composed of tiny stones. There were birds - the tits were flying much too fast for me to do more than smile at their presence. They work harder than I do on Shabbat, for sure! There were some birds that reminded me of Australia's kookaburras. I didn't see them, so I cannot say what they were, but certainly, they were laughing - and on such a beautiful day, why not? The kingfisher is the official bird of Halifax, and also cousin to the kookaburra, so maybe they were kingfishers. They made for a nice soundtrack, though.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_lHKbinngmJF-sieNW2CZ8zqQ231kvBqY1PUeguCrjGxGnzUnW2g-8J7WWiiTh4_qMvtimlqLuHJQnaMNLFrKS1tGM7c58w_HIbY8Kc3-tKD-yoDZs7OJGXVAcmDHrmGSeBTrQp2v6yM/s1600/IMG_20191228_103916.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_lHKbinngmJF-sieNW2CZ8zqQ231kvBqY1PUeguCrjGxGnzUnW2g-8J7WWiiTh4_qMvtimlqLuHJQnaMNLFrKS1tGM7c58w_HIbY8Kc3-tKD-yoDZs7OJGXVAcmDHrmGSeBTrQp2v6yM/s320/IMG_20191228_103916.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New growth resting for spring?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There was hardly any ice there, just in a couple of spots that were on or very close to the trail. I wondered whether the tiny shoots poking up through the ice would stay the course during winter and grow into something beautiful in the spring.<br />
<br />
The image below, in which there are trees reflected in what is nothing more than a puddle, struck me in two ways: the obvious reflection, of course, got me to thinking how we reflect each other, how we might reflect God, and how we can reflect <i><b>upon </b></i>things. And realising that this puddle will be gone on the first dry spring day reminds me that we are just about as impermanent as a puddle - so it's important to be mindful about reflecting goodness, I think.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPQuxZTOO1o43_a0hnIOvs4Sd11gy8qjW_UopH1QOYNNkCK_jKoc94RPZNedaAwluTXyoWMZYnsqWlp46Ijzgz3_zrJ9wVUdlUSVmgAoZ0CV_i2aSYtAYv-Ilp5BDfPOqNyHA73rN9Rko/s1600/IMG_20191228_112532.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPQuxZTOO1o43_a0hnIOvs4Sd11gy8qjW_UopH1QOYNNkCK_jKoc94RPZNedaAwluTXyoWMZYnsqWlp46Ijzgz3_zrJ9wVUdlUSVmgAoZ0CV_i2aSYtAYv-Ilp5BDfPOqNyHA73rN9Rko/s320/IMG_20191228_112532.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reflections seem appropriate today.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
When I got as far as I would go today (it started to sprinkle, and I wasn't dressed for rain!), the view that met me was one so familiar to people in this part of Canada - or really, any people who live near any ocean. Here is where I stopped and said a blessing for the new month of Tevet, which starts today. Here is where I said a blessing over wine to sanctify the new month. It's perhaps not unusual that the act of doing these two simple things offers me hope of many good things: when we honour the month and all its potential, we remind ourselves that we have the power to realise potential.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOhTAMlTMcfvE9bD5t8kjbU5bMLxAlLhcUXs54ddf2KzFR9ckAT3iwJyQ71Kdg5WDhEK3wQV7xC3RlJ8Hwo58cy14CyyN0AgcvcqBQVCbCSrtrghIefbjyiVQFngeODsFLjYjrK3HAfQY/s1600/IMG_20191228_105644.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOhTAMlTMcfvE9bD5t8kjbU5bMLxAlLhcUXs54ddf2KzFR9ckAT3iwJyQ71Kdg5WDhEK3wQV7xC3RlJ8Hwo58cy14CyyN0AgcvcqBQVCbCSrtrghIefbjyiVQFngeODsFLjYjrK3HAfQY/s320/IMG_20191228_105644.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rosh Chodesh View</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It didn't translate so well to the photo, but there's a fishing boat out there, kind of between the bigger island on the left and the 2 rocky outcroppings that are on the right. Going out on a boat like this for a day when the sun is shining, and the day is pleasant, is lovely - you might even imagine that you could make your living at this. At least, that's how I've often thought. It's hard, hard work, though, and even though today was a beautiful and not very cold day, it's colder out there on the sea - so it's unlikely I'd ever seriously consider doing this. But today I also thought that further out on the ocean, where they cannot hear people or cars, perhaps they are closer to God than I am standing on the shore. It's not that God isn't to be found on the shore, of course - but if you have the opportunity to be out there, there are fewer things to distract you. And fishing, like much of life, involves waiting... so it might be a time on which one could focus with more intent on these deep thoughts.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf6lmXNpgJUa_tRMKdKC66grjFo3u8sxryWaYb0M9JyId99h64hsQZQ37x5jgBEOK62OwJLHrsU-KKo78ROmkWDDlqBnDJNRhCm_0zs56NAua6GSSl4OdozDBHAyNpXY2vYR6c6HNNLWY/s1600/IMG_20191228_111405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf6lmXNpgJUa_tRMKdKC66grjFo3u8sxryWaYb0M9JyId99h64hsQZQ37x5jgBEOK62OwJLHrsU-KKo78ROmkWDDlqBnDJNRhCm_0zs56NAua6GSSl4OdozDBHAyNpXY2vYR6c6HNNLWY/s320/IMG_20191228_111405.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and the sea</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Here is where I greeted the new month of Tevet. My prayer was<br />
<br />
"Y'hi ratzon sheyitchadesh aleynu chodesh Tevet: l'tova, v'livrakhah, l'sason ul'simchah, le shalom v'achavah, rey'ut v'ahavah, la'avodah vitzirah, parnasah vekhalkalah, l'shalvat hanefesh uvri'ut haguf, l'chayim shel derech eretz v'ahavat Torah, l'chayim sheyimal'u bam, mish'a lot libeynu l'tovah, keyn y'hi ratzon."<br />
<br />
And here's what it means<br />
<br />
"May the month of Tevet be a month of blessings: blessings of goodness, blessing of joy, peace, and kindness, friendship and love, creativity, strength, serenity, fulfilling work and dignity, satisfaction, success, and sustenance, physical health and radiance. May truth and justice guide our acts and compassion temper our lives that we may blossom as we age and become our sweetest selves."<br />
<br />
Can you imagine? Becoming your sweetest self. Now that's something to which I think I should aspire.<br />
<br />
Chodesh tov, reader - may all these blessings attend you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-56192625571211310602016-08-14T11:17:00.000-07:002016-08-14T11:17:59.913-07:00My First Egalitarian Minyan **<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i>(** Well, to clarify, not MY first, but certainly the first
held in this community.)</i></b><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have been attending the only synagogue in Québec City for
a year now – it is a tiny synagogue (there is a tiny Jewish community here),
and on paper the community has been Orthodox, or perhaps even Modern Orthodox
for decades. I am not an Orthodox Jew –
I am an egalitarian Conservative Jew, and if you who are reading this are not
Jewish, here is a very brief description of the difference (this is important
for what’s coming).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Orthodox Jews still observe the separation of men and women
at prayer – they do not sit together, nor do they pray together. In some communities, there is a <i>mechitzah</i>, a
barrier, to separate the men’s section from the women’s. Sometimes the <i>mechitzah</i> is as simple as
sitting in the same sanctuary with pews that are open only at one end, by the
aisle, so that there is a wooden barrier between men and women. In some synagogues, the <i>mechitzah</i> is a
barrier to vision – a dividing screen, or row of trees, or something that
prevents men and women from seeing each other in the sanctuary. And in some synagogues, there is a balcony,
so that women don’t actually enter the main sanctuary – they can see and hear
the rabbi, but neither they nor the men can see each other. Women in a traditional Orthodox community do
not read from Torah. They are not
invited to have an <i>Aliyah</i> (to make the blessing before and after a Torah
portion is read). Women are not invited
to the bimah (the place from which the Torah is chanted and from which the <i>D’Var
Torah</i>, the sermon, is given). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In my Conservative community in Halifax, there is absolutely
nothing that a man can do that a woman cannot also do. Women have <i>Aliyot</i> (the plural of <i>Aliyah</i>, the
blessing for the Torah reading). Women
chant from Torah, and they chant the <i>Haftorah</i> (a reading from one of the
prophetic books that follows the Torah reading). They deliver <i>Divrei Torah</i> (the plural of <i>D’var
Torah</i>, the sermon). They lead many
communities as rabbis. They are <i>mohels</i>,
responsible for ritual circumcision.
Both women and men who are not rabbis can and do lead services. And we don’t follow any physical separation at
prayer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Many of my friends were surprised to hear that I was
attending an Orthodox synagogue – that’s not my practice in Halifax, so why, they wondered, would it be so here in Québec?
The answer is actually quite simple: this is the only show in town. If I wanted to be a Jew in community with
other Jews, this was the only place in which to do it. Certainly, I can be a Jew all by myself – but
the community is tremendously important.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It is no secret to say that the Jewish community here has
struggled recently. It moved from a
Modern Orthodox sort of community to one that became increasingly more
Orthodox, right down to the installation of a <i>mechitzah</i> (the divider between
men and women). Women certainly were not
invited to the <i>bimah</i>, did not make <i>Aliyot</i>, did not deliver <i>Divrei Torah</i>. For some, it stopped feeling like a welcoming place, a place in which all Jews were seen as equal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It seems that I arrived in Québec in time for something like
a revolution. It started with a simple
question – “What does the community here do for <i>Tashlich</i>?” (<i>Tashlich</i> is a small
ceremony held near water, at which we throw bread on the water, symbolising the
sins we have committed, the harm we might have done, as we count the days
between <i>Rosh</i> <i>Hashanah</i> – the Jewish New Year – and <i>Yom Kippur </i>– the Day of
Atonement.) We’d always done <i>Tashlich</i> in
Halifax, so I presumed that every community did it and was pretty surprised to
discover that this wasn’t necessarily so.
I shrugged it off and said, “Well, OK, I will just go down by the St Lawrence
River and make <i>Tashlich</i> myself.” No
biggie. But it caught the attention of a
few people who wanted to know if they could also participate. So we made a <i>Tashlich</i> observance on a cool,
grey day on the St Lawrence, and it was profoundly beautiful. And it was a first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Then I asked another question – “Why don’t we do <i>Kabbalat</i>
<i>Shabbat</i> services?” <i>Kabbalat Shabbat </i>is
the Friday night service at which Jews welcome the Sabbath. It is a very clear separation of the mundane
from the holy, and again, it has always been part of my practice. That’s how I came to lead the first <i>Kabbalat
Shabbat</i> service of this community in at least 20 years – we combined it with a
community dinner, and because we were concerned about the kashrut (the kosher
status) of the kitchen in the synagogue, we held it at the Kirk Hall of St
Andrew’s Presbyterian Church in Old Québec. A little unorthodox, you think? Yeah... and it was great.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The community has gathered for communal Passover celebrations
in the past and did so again this year – at the Masonic Lodge in the Old
City. There were many more people
present there than we see on any given Saturday morning, which is no big
surprise. It seems true in every
tradition that the holidays cause people to become more observant than other
days!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Since the first Friday night service, we have held several
other <i>Kabbalat Shabbat</i> services, combined with community dinners. We have held those at the synagogue, being
very careful to do nothing that could be seen as interfering with the kitchen’s
kosher status. We even eat from
disposable plates, using disposable dinnerware.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And we have marked <i>Rosh Chodesh</i> (the beginning of the Jewish
month, done 13 times a year) together in community. Interestingly, <i>Rosh Chodesh</i> is considered a women's holiday - tradition has it that it was given to women as an honour from God for not having given their gold to the making of idols, as the men of the community had done. Our first observation of <i>Rosh Chodesh</i> as a
community was to mark the beginning of the month of <i>Av</i>, generally accepted to
be our saddest month, as it is the month in which we commemorate the loss of
two temples, amongst a host of other tragedies that have befallen the Jewish
people in this month, on or near its 9<sup>th</sup> day, which is known as <i>Tisha B'Av</i>. This month, <i>Av</i>, also marks a more joyous event
– <i>Tu B’Av</i>, which is a celebration of love.
And we will have a <i>Kabbalat Shabbat</i> service and community dinner at
which we talk about what this means as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We will mark <i>Rosh Chodesh</i> <i>Elul</i> at the beginning of
September, in much the same way. We will
talk about <i>Rosh Chodesh</i> and what it means, and we will talk especially about
why this month is meaningful for us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We have celebrated <i>Havdalah</i> together – a small, beautiful
ceremony to mark the end of the Sabbath.
And we will do it again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This weekend, during which falls the 9<sup>th</sup> day of
<i>Av</i>, that saddest of all days, marked another first for this community – for the
first time in anybody’s recent memory (for the first time in more than a
decade) – we held a Shabbaton. Think “scholar
in residence.” Rabbi Alan Bright, from
Shaare Tzedek in Montréal, accepted our invitation to come and spend a couple
of days with us. So we had a <i>Kabbalat</i>
<i>Shabbat</i> service on Friday evening led by a rabbi – it was beautiful. There was no men’s or women’s side to the synagogue,
because people simply sat where they wished.
We had dinner together and had some great discussion about Judaism –
what is authentic Judaism? Is there even
such a thing? (Hint: there is no single
right way to be a Jew.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ5ROGNISkN7XtGOp2Hhjusl6HCYsPPqnUcaBFHPh4BXzudgmRuE-rnjPIUBAxFahxEDSWVf4B0u2DlC2tqkYZyZQ7JE-6H_dtfs9gH86fVDISPNIWrfXTv4kuTbc7klpNLDKpua2hM8Y/s1600/Poster+for+Shabbaton+August+12+and+13+2016.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ5ROGNISkN7XtGOp2Hhjusl6HCYsPPqnUcaBFHPh4BXzudgmRuE-rnjPIUBAxFahxEDSWVf4B0u2DlC2tqkYZyZQ7JE-6H_dtfs9gH86fVDISPNIWrfXTv4kuTbc7klpNLDKpua2hM8Y/s320/Poster+for+Shabbaton+August+12+and+13+2016.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">On Saturday morning, we gathered for Shabbat services, and
it just kept getting better. This small
synagogue hasn’t had a Saturday morning <i>minyan</i> for at least 7 months. What that means is that we could not take the
Torah out of the Ark. We could not read
from it. Any prayers that required a
<i>minyan</i> (a gathering of 10 Jews – in an Orthodox synagogue, 10 Jewish men) could
not be said, or could not be said aloud.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The Shabbaton weekend was designed to have an egalitarian minyan. The women counted. And so on Saturday morning, we had a <i>minyan</i> –
for the first time in months, I was part of a congregation chanting the <i>Amidah</i>
together, and it’s one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Even more importantly, the President of the synagogue’s
Board was present with her family. She
had never had a <i>Bat</i> <i>Mitzvah</i> celebration, but on a recent trip to Israel, she
bought a <i>tallit</i> (a prayer shawl). And on
Saturday morning, her husband placed the <i>tallit</i> around her shoulders, and she
said the blessing for the first time.
Then he and their teenage daughter opened the Ark to remove a Torah
scroll, and my friend made the <i>Aliyah</i> over a Torah portion for the first time
ever. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Women are not obligated to do many things to which Judaism
obligates men. But some women choose
those things. Some women choose to wear
a <i>tallit</i>, or have a practice that includes the wearing of <i>tefillin</i> (ritual
prayer objects). Some women choose to
chant a <i>Haftorah</i> or to deliver a <i>D’Var Torah</i>.
And while tradition has meant that women did not generally do these
things, there are not laws prohibiting the assumption of these obligations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The question of “authentic Judiasm” was part of this weekend’s
Shabbaton. And here’s the thing: my
Judaism is every bit as authentic as any Ultra-Orthodox rabbi’s. My practice may not look like the practice of
women in that community, but it is no less authentic for that. I am no less a Jew for that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It may well be that the Jewish community here will change
dramatically over the next couple of years – and I hope that it does. Not simply because then it might have a
practice with which I am personally more comfortable. But rather, because if it does not change, I
am afraid it will die. And there have
been Jews in this city for hundreds of years – HUNDREDS of years. Jews helped build this city, and it’s
astonishing how many people don’t realise that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We are approaching <i>Rosh Hashanah</i>, the Jewish New Year,
which falls a little later than normal (in early October), and I hope with all
my heart that it marks the beginning of a great renewal not only of individuals
in their relationship with God and with each other, but also of this community.
I think it still has great things to do here, and it’s time for everyone who is
even peripherally part of the community to stand up and be counted.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-78660763394504008322016-07-18T08:26:00.001-07:002016-07-18T08:30:12.875-07:00Here We Go Again<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"Pinkwashing?" Let's lose the facile labels and try a real, civil conversation.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On July 14th,
2016, the Pride flag was raised at City Hall in Halifax, NS. For the first time in recent memory, I wasn’t
there for the flag-raising. I heard
about it, though, from members of the LGBTQ community, members of the Jewish
community, and allies who have no connection to either community other than
that they support both. And what I heard
angered me, saddened me, and left me feeling very, very tired. Since Thursday, I have responded to articles
posted to Facebook. I have shared my own
status updates with pictures I took at the Pride March in Jerusalem. Although I wanted to address the subject –
the very messy subject – in a more substantive way, it has taken me this long
not simply to gather my thoughts, but rather, to find the energy to once again
educate people who have often consciously chosen not to be educated. It is easier to accept a more dramatic
narrative, perhaps, especially when that is the one you hear first. It is easier to believe what you hear if the
Jewish community does not stand up and speak out – because if we do not speak
out, could it be that we have no defense against the charges constantly leveled
against us? (If you know your history,
you may recall that the last time Jews sat quietly and hoped simply to be left
alone to live their lives, 6 million were murdered. Saying nothing has not proven to work for us.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And what are
my credentials for opening my mouth about this?
I’m a Jew. I’m a Halifax Jew. I’ve
actually been to Israel, unlike many who protest against it. I have been an ally to the LGBTQ community my
entire life –before I was a mother, and certainly before I knew that my
daughter was gay. I have been called a
Nazi, and I have been spat upon and told that Hitler didn’t use enough gas, by
people who support the idea that Israel is oppressing Palestinians. That behaviour alone has nothing at all to do
with Israel’s domestic policies and its right to self-determination: it is Jew
hatred, plain and simple.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I know – as many
who disagree with Israel do not seem to understand – that no group is a
monolith – so you won’t hear me say “all” of any group. Not “all Jews,” not “all Christians,” not “all
Muslims,” not “all lesbians…” We could
go on there, but I think you get the drift.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Following
the flag raising, a petition was created by Queer Arabs Halifax (you can read it here: <a href="https://www.change.org/p/halifax-pride-there-s-no-pride-in-pinkwashing-petition-to-halifax-pride-to-ban-tel-aviv-tourism?recruiter=48993661&utm_source=share_for_starters&utm_medium=copyLink">https://www.change.org/p/halifax-pride-there-s-no-pride-in-pinkwashing-petition-to-halifax-pride-to-ban-tel-aviv-tourism?recruiter=48993661&utm_source=share_for_starters&utm_medium=copyLink</a>)
in which they assert that “Tel Aviv Tourism ostracizes and alienates Arabs and
people of colour;” and further, that “Tel Aviv Tourism participates directly in
pinkwashing for a state that engages in armed conflict where human rights and
international humanitarian laws are being violated.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So let’s
talk first about that. Pinkwashing, you
say? What’s that when it’s at home? Simply, it refers to the charge that a
country highlights its welcome to members of the LGBTQ community in an effort
to deflect attention from what those who make the charge term human rights
abuses. Oddly enough, that charge has
only ever been levelled at Israel.
Perhaps the Queer Arab group is unaware of Israel’s record on human
rights in general, but specifically regarding LGBTQ Israelis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoTableGrid" style="border-collapse: collapse; border: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-yfti-tbllook: 1184;">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td style="border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 62.1pt;" valign="top" width="83"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="color: #376092; font-size: 14.0pt;">When<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</td>
<td style="border-left: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 416.7pt;" valign="top" width="556"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">What<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 62.1pt;" valign="top" width="83"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="color: #376092; font-size: 14.0pt;">1998<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 416.7pt;" valign="top" width="556"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Decades-old policy prohibiting any
type of sodomy was repealed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 62.1pt;" valign="top" width="83"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="color: #376092; font-size: 14.0pt;">1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 416.7pt;" valign="top" width="556"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Workplace discrimination against LGBTQ
persons prohibited.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 62.1pt;" valign="top" width="83"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="color: #376092; font-size: 14.0pt;">1993<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 416.7pt;" valign="top" width="556"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Israeli Defense Force approved policy
that LGBTQ members could serve in any capacity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 62.1pt;" valign="top" width="83"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="color: #376092; font-size: 14.0pt;">1994<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 416.7pt;" valign="top" width="556"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Supreme Court ruled in favour of
spousal benefits for same-sex couples.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 62.1pt;" valign="top" width="83"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="color: #376092; font-size: 14.0pt;">1997<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 416.7pt;" valign="top" width="556"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Defense Minister announced that same-sex
partners would be recognised as family members.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 62.1pt;" valign="top" width="83"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="color: #376092; font-size: 14.0pt;">2000<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 416.7pt;" valign="top" width="556"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Legal age of consent for LGBTQ persons
lowered from 18 to 16.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Supreme Court ruled that lesbians
could become the legal adoptive parents of their partner’s children. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 62.1pt;" valign="top" width="83"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="color: #376092; font-size: 14.0pt;">2004<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 416.7pt;" valign="top" width="556"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">LGBTQ couples qualify for common-law
marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">LGBTQ couples qualify for full
inheritance rights.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 62.1pt;" valign="top" width="83"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="color: #376092; font-size: 14.0pt;">2005<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 416.7pt;" valign="top" width="556"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">LGBTQ couples granted full adoption rights.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 62.1pt;" valign="top" width="83"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="color: #376092; font-size: 14.0pt;">2006<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 416.7pt;" valign="top" width="556"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Israel recognised same-sex marriage
performed abroad<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It is
abundantly clear that Israel has a history of working towards not simply
tolerance or acceptance of its entire LGBTQ population, but rather, full
equality. If you check the records of
many other western nations, you will not see this steady progression. And if you check the records of other
countries in the Middle East, you simply will not see this at all. In fact, it is not “pinkwashing” to state
what is true.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Some Historical Context<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Jewish
people have been indigenous to the land of Israel for more than 3,000 years; in
fact, Jewish communities existed in the land more than 1,500 years before Islam
appeared there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">More than
150 years ago, many Jews began returning to Israel, and by 1860, Jerusalem had
once again become a majority-Jewish area.
In 1920, the international community recognised the indigenous rights of
the Jewish people and endorsed the restoration (<b>not </b>the creation!) of this Jewish homeland.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Jewish
people accepted that others also now lived on that land and supported the UN’s
1947 recommendation to partition the land so that Palestinian Arabs could
establish the first Palestinian state. That
didn’t go so well. Arab leaders – then,
as now – refused to accept any Jewish state and have historically dismissed any
compromise that allowed for a sovereign Jewish nation in the Middle East. Instead, they launched a war with disastrous
consequences for their own people and have continued a policy of violence and
aggression towards Israel. After the
1948 war, more than 850,000 Jews fled rising persecution or were expelled from
other Arab and Muslim countries. In
fact, between 1949 and 2000, as the Jewish population dropped dramatically
throughout the Middle East, the Palestinian population increased from about
180,000 to 1,215,000 (Note: fails the definition of genocide.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6yVUs-qEYhr4fVN07ENiPqew_Ic-_zg2Mj8zNAKr5gQECe4MGCFMAxgklVsd12Ym8Ni9VtPo_Jxt1ReEF91-fGup8YvD5Y6zAz-cKv-EDnfZ9xGUMGNiU2vi3KxfI9QCjyEbxBm0-5Ec/s1600/jewish+displacement.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6yVUs-qEYhr4fVN07ENiPqew_Ic-_zg2Mj8zNAKr5gQECe4MGCFMAxgklVsd12Ym8Ni9VtPo_Jxt1ReEF91-fGup8YvD5Y6zAz-cKv-EDnfZ9xGUMGNiU2vi3KxfI9QCjyEbxBm0-5Ec/s320/jewish+displacement.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What About the West Bank?</span></u></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The West
Bank figures strongly in any protests about Israel. Israel’s efforts to find peace have been
soundly rejected, in 1937, 1947, 2000, and 2008, largely because agreement
would mean accepting the right of Israel to exist as a nation. Israel has both the right and the obligation
to protect its citizens, and so it does maintain a West Bank presence – if terrorist
did not continue to endanger, assault, and murder Jews, there would be no need
for it. There is no evidence that the
Palestinian Authority wishes to prevent such terrorism – to the contrary, there
is incontrovertible proof that Palestinians celebrate the murder of Jews (http://www.jpost.com/Arab-Israeli-Conflict/Palestinians-celebrate-terror-attack-in-Tel-Aviv-Saudis-strongly-condemn-456344);
and further, that they teach hatred of Jews even to small children.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZrXgnMb-v_dQhk2p07eMqVLP0Kkoi3pwfIBvIGkiev4teyb97aX7t20lyLJ666B_IFdHe10y_LYXfwPGpnqHg0wbdNIY2bCgzZ2JsS3vMtaV6d6BTmuacwFYOMI7fMxZbcpXvGRhSWQ/s1600/blowing+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZrXgnMb-v_dQhk2p07eMqVLP0Kkoi3pwfIBvIGkiev4teyb97aX7t20lyLJ666B_IFdHe10y_LYXfwPGpnqHg0wbdNIY2bCgzZ2JsS3vMtaV6d6BTmuacwFYOMI7fMxZbcpXvGRhSWQ/s320/blowing+up.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If this is
Israel’s peace partner, how is it that Israel alone is held responsible for the
fact that there still is no peace?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Israel
entered the West Bank <b>after it was
attacked by Jordan in 1967. </b> It was
obligated by UN Resolution 242 (1947) to administer the area until peace (or at
least détente) was reached. While it
took more than a decade for much calming to occur in the area, by way of
agreement with Egypt in 1979 and with Jordan in 1994, the PLO still refuses
peace. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What about Gaza, though, and those
illegal settlements?</span></u></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In fact, the
settlements, which account for less than 1% of the total West Bank area, while
they are a hot topic, are legal and supported by Israel’s legal, historic, and
security interests in the area. The settlements
do not violate UN Resolution 242, nor any agreements made under the Oslo
Accords. Nonetheless, Israel hasn’t
authorised new settlements since 1993 and agreed to freeze building in <b>existing </b>settlements in 2010.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Remember
that there were no settlements when Palestinian leaders launched attacks
against Jews in 1920, or when Israel was attacked in 1948 and 1967. In a further effort to reach peace, Israel
pulled out of Gaza in 2005, evacuating all Gaza settlements. You need only pay slight attention to the
news to see that this did not bring peace.
Following the disengagement in 2005, terrorist attacks and hostility
actually increased, as Israel faced barely a day without being bombed by
Hamas. In fact, Hamas, whose charter is
explicit in its wishes for Israel and for Jews, has fired tens of thousands of
rockets and mortars at Israeli civilians since 2005. Children’s playgrounds in the Israeli city of
Sderot, which is at the border with Gaza, must have bomb shelters due to the
frequency of attacks. The Hebrew writing
on the structure tells children to enter as soon as they hear a red alert. This obscenity on a children’s playground
must exist because Hamas targets children and other civilians. They have launched attacks at kindergartens,
hospitals, and yes, playgrounds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57ZiYHzPUDp9_zEbBc92FxRrN61sZC4P41iScAPO1EagGxaSfAAYh9WR7Xfz7bcC5EafRwDgYtdHx9xwVcKqxJHUYDlWgZGov6lwk4evHdbHhKlIa9FKbM4wtq_H_SqDycRT7AXEnQ5M/s1600/bomb+shelter+sderot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57ZiYHzPUDp9_zEbBc92FxRrN61sZC4P41iScAPO1EagGxaSfAAYh9WR7Xfz7bcC5EafRwDgYtdHx9xwVcKqxJHUYDlWgZGov6lwk4evHdbHhKlIa9FKbM4wtq_H_SqDycRT7AXEnQ5M/s320/bomb+shelter+sderot.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Israel
inspects shipments to Gaza, which infuriates Palestinians and their supporters;
however the UN’s Palmer Report confirms that the weapons blockade is legal. Both the Red Cross and the World Health
Organisation have said repeatedly that there is no humanitarian crisis in Gaza
and acknowledge the weekly delivery of thousands of tons of aid – and yes, this
aid is inspected for weapons, because history has proven that there are
continual attempts to get weapons into the area to use against Israel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Gaza is
ruled solely by Palestinians and shares a border with Egypt, over which Israel
has no control. Israel does control its
own borders, of course, along with its airspace and coastline, to protect its
citizens.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, what about that awful
wall? The apartheid wall?</span></u></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The security
barrier was a direct response to campaigns of violence against Israel in 2000.
The 2<sup>nd</sup> Intifada killed more than 1,000 Israeli men, women, and
children. People of every tradition and ethnicity were targeted by the attacks,
and Palestinian leaders have since admitted that the barrier has obstructed
suicide bombing missions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">BDS: Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions</span></u></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The BDS
movement has hijacked social justice language to promote the elimination of
Israel and to question its right to exist as a sovereign nation. It promotes misinformation and outright lies
to isolate and delegitimise the nation.
Even its cofounder, Omar Barghouti (who received his university
education in Tel Aviv, Israel) states clearly, “We oppose a Jewish state in any
part of Palestine.” Because the BDS
movement insists that Israel itself and much of the land surrounding it are
part of a nation called Palestine, it denies the right of Israel to remain in
the land where Jews have lived for more than 3,000 years. You are encouraged to read the booklet “Explaining
BDS,” which you can find at <a href="http://www.standwithus.com/booklets/ExplainingBDS">www.standwithus.com/booklets/ExplainingBDS</a>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
unilateral Palestinian declaration of statehood was an effort to circumvent any
meaningful negotiations to peace, which would have had to occur with
Israel. The move violates <b>all </b>international treaties the PLO signed
with Israel, as well as UN Resolutions 242 and 338, which call for
negotiations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Does this
look like expansion to you?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMxxul2C1umMORT4PjxIzsQuJErKO3FKJ9spx6WtkHdbXq4l-Yv7GhIS97AWQeumYnF8XiaJ1IYL8_wuuEoKnllFS1OiwnG3E8ybPLssQ21aqWwXlKhzvWF8eNTORUVFFOXfNnmhc360c/s1600/expanding_israel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMxxul2C1umMORT4PjxIzsQuJErKO3FKJ9spx6WtkHdbXq4l-Yv7GhIS97AWQeumYnF8XiaJ1IYL8_wuuEoKnllFS1OiwnG3E8ybPLssQ21aqWwXlKhzvWF8eNTORUVFFOXfNnmhc360c/s320/expanding_israel.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A Few Words About the Hamas Charter</span></u></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It is worth
being very explicit about this. Make no
mistake about it: Israel’s “peace partner” does not want peace. The slogan shouted by Palestinians and their
supporters in the diaspora, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free”
means only one thing. The only thing
between the river and the sea is Israel.
For Hamas, only the utter destruction of Israel will help it meet its
goal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Hamas
Charter is easily available, and here are a few examples for you that may shed
some light on why this peace process has failed every time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">From the
preamble: “Israel will exist and will continue to exist until Islam will
obliterate it, just as it obliterated others before it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Article
7: “The Day of Judgement will not come
about until Moslems fight the Jews (killing the Jews), when the Jew will hide
behind stones and trees. The stones and
trees will say O Moslems, O Abdulla, there is a Jew behind me. Come and kill him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Article
13: “Initiatives and so-called peaceful
solutions and international conferences, are in contradiction to the principles
of the Islamic Resistance Movement.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What do you support if you support
the demands of Queer Arabs Halifax?</span></u></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Pride has
always been political. It has also
always been – or tried to be – inclusive.
And it has done so in a climate that was sometimes very hostile. The
demands of Queer Arabs Halifax to exclude one group are dangerous: they say
that the group ostracises them and other people of colour, when in fact, as has
been said, they would be safer in Tel Aviv than they would in any other Middle
Eastern country. And what about the
effects of such an exclusion on Queer Jews? Jews already face plenty of hostility,
even in beautiful Halifax. The message here
is that it’s ok to exclude Jews, and that flies in the face of the message of inclusion
of Halifax Pride.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For anybody
to align themselves with a group that supports the delegitimisation of a
sovereign nation, that supports the annihilation of Israel, and that also has a
long history of LGBTQ persecution is to align themselves with hate. This is not the Halifax I know. This is not the Pride I know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-23955974367030777492015-09-18T07:03:00.002-07:002015-09-20T20:48:36.957-07:00Love Letter for Wylie<div class="MsoNormal">
My daughter brought Wylie home in the autumn of 2008, a fat,
fluffy ball of fur who didn’t have to make any effort at all to worm his way
into our hearts. From the time she
brought him home, he was bonded – there is no question that they chose each
other. And I mean, really, just look at
this face. This is one of the first
pictures we saw of Wylie, and it’s one of the few times he was ever really
still. How could you not love this?!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn92rzI6T6zC_zEtYzCS6zs4vu4ErBupqgoRwOxCJ7FphDN8tEnm6dzTyGKCEPKeVzLn2rIxeCCPF0j6iltLnfXgs-lu2CA0NOWneJLaCQdfAS6bl6ZK2KY-DyKs-Go27L52zMwd45x-s/s1600/1+baby+picture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn92rzI6T6zC_zEtYzCS6zs4vu4ErBupqgoRwOxCJ7FphDN8tEnm6dzTyGKCEPKeVzLn2rIxeCCPF0j6iltLnfXgs-lu2CA0NOWneJLaCQdfAS6bl6ZK2KY-DyKs-Go27L52zMwd45x-s/s320/1+baby+picture.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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o:title="baby picture"/>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Not quite sure what’s going on here!<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyUxC3lXR58Tv-bHiHeeBZQwO_IErz673FIOCtrKnXtG1w8k2zwAkhBVHj7yQgZKCSgloIpl2HLQHN3xnBci8kbVOSjlrYhNjaUdbjphqJyme0re88deYVA8G-klmQ_PrO81rkrgkGtac/s1600/2+Wee%252C+blurry%252C+happy+Wylie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyUxC3lXR58Tv-bHiHeeBZQwO_IErz673FIOCtrKnXtG1w8k2zwAkhBVHj7yQgZKCSgloIpl2HLQHN3xnBci8kbVOSjlrYhNjaUdbjphqJyme0re88deYVA8G-klmQ_PrO81rkrgkGtac/s1600/2+Wee%252C+blurry%252C+happy+Wylie.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\ZahraB\AppData\Local\Temp\1\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image003.jpg"
o:title="Wee, blurry, happy Wylie"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Smiling Wylie</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My daughter drove to New Brunswick to get Wylie from the
breeder. He had grown considerably from that
first ball of fur into a clumsy, happy puppy.
He tripped over his own big feet.
He was a ball of energy, in between our feet when we were in the kitchen
(because, really, a boy could never be certain that food wouldn’t fall to the
floor for him to pick up!). He had
squeaky toys and played with them with the same abandon you’d see in a
3-year-old given a drum kit – which is to say that sometimes, I wondered what
evil genius invented squeaky toys for dogs.
Like most babies, though, when he slept, he slept hard, and often with a
favourite squeaky toy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOjRIu7tJYmeZiaJoIPwbuh4FzVOE3zEzckjdRJ2kt6l8CiOrUbDeVu9utzRqcj6C1K9c8d5wmHXN1yyxcKmHeMGwfjkm_b3ih7rFhFXVeQ46wYD44v7Lj65FQjr0cyBrDNKu8jc4Fu0Q/s1600/3+Wylie+with+Toast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOjRIu7tJYmeZiaJoIPwbuh4FzVOE3zEzckjdRJ2kt6l8CiOrUbDeVu9utzRqcj6C1K9c8d5wmHXN1yyxcKmHeMGwfjkm_b3ih7rFhFXVeQ46wYD44v7Lj65FQjr0cyBrDNKu8jc4Fu0Q/s320/3+Wylie+with+Toast.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Wylie and Toast</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By 2009, barely even a year old, Wy had lost all that baby
fluffiness. He had become a teenage thug
– in a good way, though, honestly. Oh,
sure, he’d stick his face into the garbage if we were silly enough to leave it
where he could get it (because: buffet!).
And yes, he’d drink out of the toilet bowl if the lid wasn’t down, but
all dogs did that. He wasn’t a
destructive dog – he chewed plenty, but only things that he owned. My shoes, for instance, were safe, and that
was a good thing!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcjRgF1AYjfEWlAE6plEgPVv4z1SQbX9juYRIRJ3igxvFNYEvs77WR0wRVm-X2_F5IUMenwNnAHZqTgflqMYWV8W-zCksh8c7a6A120fAFmDq1nSjaDPDcL0q6jZ8wPQhZEkb1PxU_Lk/s1600/thirsty+pup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcjRgF1AYjfEWlAE6plEgPVv4z1SQbX9juYRIRJ3igxvFNYEvs77WR0wRVm-X2_F5IUMenwNnAHZqTgflqMYWV8W-zCksh8c7a6A120fAFmDq1nSjaDPDcL0q6jZ8wPQhZEkb1PxU_Lk/s320/thirsty+pup.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The park, always a favourite haunt. And always a thirsty puppy.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were beginning to discover things about Wylie, and my
daughter was swiftly learning that as charming and wonderful as Wy was, he was
unique in some other ways. That
thirstiness of his, for instance, wasn’t always about thirst. Wylie drank <b>everywhere</b>, and he drank <b>everything.
</b> He didn’t care if the water came
from his bowl, the toilet, a stagnant pond, the ocean, or a puddle in the
driveway. He drank it. And when he drank it, he invariably
regurgitated it. Once you’ve swallowed
water and barf it back, though, it’s not quite like water anymore – it’s more
like trying to clean up egg whites. My
daughter, always a conscientious and responsible pet owner, brought him to the
vet numerous times to figure this out.
Turns out that Wy had Psychogenic polydipsia, a central nervous disorder
of dogs characterised by polydipsia (≥ 100 ml/kg/day). If you do the math, you’ll see that even as
an adolescent dog, weighing maybe 30 kg, that was a lot of water – at least 12
cups a day. Dogs with the condition, which
is inherited, often compulsively search for water, because their mouths <b>always </b>feel dry, and have clinically
measurable hyponatremia. Well, wow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was only the beginning of Wy’s medical journey. He was also diagnosed with Megaesophagus,
which means just what it sounds like. He
had an enlarged esophagus. The condition
gradually causes the esophagus to enlarge like a balloon and to essentially
become a storage organ. The process is
accompanied by regurgitation, loss of weight, and recurrent episodes of
aspiration pneumonia. Investigation showed that Wy had no physical blockage
causing the problem, which meant that it had to be congenital – a hereditary
disorder. We did get to learn about aspiration pneumonia firsthand - it left Wylie listless and miserable. The difference a good antibiotic made was amazing, and it never kept him down too long, though.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were all in love with Wy – we’d find a way to live with his
idiosyncrasies. He couldn’t help them,
after all. His water was restricted, so
that there was not a constantly filled bowl on the floor for him. We became very conscientious about the toilet
lid. My daughter tried a number of ways
to feed him designed to slow down his eating, including spreading his kibble on
a cookie sheet, because he simply couldn’t scoop up a mouthful then and was forced
to eat the kibble a few pieces at a time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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o:title="5 Wylie 2009"/>
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]-->Despite the medical issues,
despite the frustration, Wy was growing into a really gorgeous dog. He was friendly and happy, and he loved
people (though he never developed much of a fondness for children – we couldn’t
imagine he’d ever bite a child, but we tended to be very careful when he was
around children, which is probably a good idea anyhow).<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg55IDtujyAd3TdnNl2NNlNnmJ0FhoSn9Hfwlm39mFGIJOoOP7kv_V9Ze9WyQpUYTo1NNoLCbfFP2o9OQhDxUKK5T1EqpyLJlUKXLI8WQptCS-JQVbcGL8aMI33nlqennenT7bKvh54pRc/s1600/5+Wylie+2009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg55IDtujyAd3TdnNl2NNlNnmJ0FhoSn9Hfwlm39mFGIJOoOP7kv_V9Ze9WyQpUYTo1NNoLCbfFP2o9OQhDxUKK5T1EqpyLJlUKXLI8WQptCS-JQVbcGL8aMI33nlqennenT7bKvh54pRc/s320/5+Wylie+2009.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Handsome Wy</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And Wy loved my daughter.
“Well, sure,” you think. “Of course, because she was his owner.” But honestly, I’ve never seen a dog who loved
his person as thoroughly as Wy loved her.
He was a pretty sociable creature and was happy enough in my company,
for instance – a pretty easy fella to be with.
But when his girl came home? That
was something to behold. Wherever she
was, he wanted to be. Long past the time
when he’d passed the lapdog stage, he would still snuggle with her on the
couch, and there are some great pictures with this great lummox of a dog curled
up on her lap, to her bemusement.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Like many big dogs, Wylie loved winter. He was basically a heat engine, so the winter
weather that left us moaning and whining was no big deal to him. And hey, there was snow out there! A dog could play in the snow! He could scoop up the snow and run with
it! He could chase snowballs thrown for
him! Wy did all of those things and
loved them. In fact, he pretty much loved life with abandon - it was all just a big dog park to him, and if he got to spend it with his girl, when so much the better.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjln9ODDbkHfo83IFi0urGt0azeFJJwm0K9tl9BR5oQE4zyqRkg7HQdzPdgiTEWEexxl2AMj22laJul4bnQjp49SHYBfAR-IJ-MOMQOcT8hORb9CghfazTdnWWfuz6Y8jbC2BWhgEEbtww/s1600/9+Wylie+2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjln9ODDbkHfo83IFi0urGt0azeFJJwm0K9tl9BR5oQE4zyqRkg7HQdzPdgiTEWEexxl2AMj22laJul4bnQjp49SHYBfAR-IJ-MOMQOcT8hORb9CghfazTdnWWfuz6Y8jbC2BWhgEEbtww/s320/9+Wylie+2013.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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actually go outside during the winter (and of course you did, because he needed to be walked), at least he made it bearable.
Walks often became social events, as so many people stopped to admire
him. And he accepted their admiration
with grace and good humour. Children loved Wy, though he wasn’t so sure about
children. They loved the way he galumphed
around, and we often heard, “Oh, Mummy!
Look! That dog looks like a BEAR!” And he really kind of did – that’s a Bernese
for you.</div>
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During the summer, Wy enjoyed trips to the beach, not just
because my daughter would throw a ball into the ocean for him to retrieve, but
also because (if we’re honest) the North Atlantic makes for one heckuva water
dish. Sigh! If a summer day was just too hot, he’d lie on the bare floor, limbs splayed so that he looked just like a Bernerskin rug!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Wy also went to Pride Parades, where he received even more
attention. He loved being around people,
but truly, he would be happy doing anything at all, as long as his girl was
within eyesight. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It wasn't long before we learned firsthand about ‘bloat.’ My daughter knew of it – she’d done her
research before taking on pet ownership, and she’d researched about large dogs,
and Berners in particular. You can read
about bloat, and you will find, as we did, that it is the second leading killer
of dogs, after cancer. It is frequently
reported that deep-chested dogs – like a Berner, for instance – are particularly
at risk. Bloat can kill in less than an
hour, so knowing – I mean, <b>really
knowing</b> – your dog is important.
Sometimes, what seems like a dog just having an off day is a symptom of
something much more serious. My daughter
<b>knew </b>Wylie. She knew the very bones of him – she knew every
bone, every bump, every toe. She knew
how his fur felt when he was healthy, how his nose and eyes looked if he wasn’t
feeling his best. </div>
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The technical name for
bloat is Gastric Dilatation-Volvulus, and it’s often related to swallowed air
(although food and fluid can also be present).
It usually happens when there's an abnormal accumulation of air, fluid,
and/or foam in the stomach (gastric dilatation). Bloat can occur with or without the twisting,
and as the stomach swells, it may rotate 90° to 360°, twisting between its
fixed attachments at the esophagus (food tube) and at the duodenum (the upper
intestine). The twisting stomach traps
air, food, and water in the stomach. The
bloated stomach obstructs veins in the abdomen, leading to low blood pressure,
shock, and damage to internal organs.
The combined effect can quickly kill a dog. If you have a big dog, or if you’re
considering adding a big dog to your family, you’ll want to be aware of this. A dizzying trip to the emergency vet clinic,
a shockingly high bill, but he was cured. A couple of days later, he felt none
the worse for wear (but we felt kind of shattered).</div>
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Life continued, and Wy continued to charm, love, amuse, and
occasionally infuriate. Just like a kid!
My daughter thought that Wy might benefit from a companion – he had a Siamese
cat to play with, but honestly, the cat wasn’t nearly as impressed with Wylie
as Wylie was with the cat. My daughter,
having bought a dog from a breeder, thought that her next dog should be a
rescue, and so she kept her eyes open to see if she could find another Berner. She did, and that’s how Ben joined the
family. (You can read about life with
Ben here: <a href="http://www.chaviva-eliana.blogspot.ca/2015/07/a-dogs-life-if-youre-lucky.html">http://www.chaviva-eliana.blogspot.ca/2015/07/a-dogs-life-if-youre-lucky.html</a>)
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<b>Brothers from a Different Mother: Ben and Wylie</b></div>
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Turns out that two Berners, once they’re accustomed to each
other, really are not <b>so </b>much more work than one Berner – they are much more
fur, obviously, and I really do think we could’ve built a new dog with all they
shed! They got along, and they spent
time playing and romping. And so life
continued.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Wy kept drinking <b>everything
</b>in sight. He continued to be a bit
of a punk – it’s as if he knew that he’d probably get away with quite a bit,
just because he was such a cool dog. He’d
look at you when he’d done something he knew he shouldn’t have, and once he’d
been told off and presented the appropriate hangdog expression, you’d get this
look that said, “Come on, you <b>know </b>you
love me! Look at this <b>face!</b>”
And he was right. It is
impossible not to love such a great dog, problems and all.<br />
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Wy, a dog with other medical conditions, was even more likely
to fall ill again with bloat, and my daughter had done everything anybody could
do to mitigate his risk. When he was
neutered, his stomach was surgically tacked to the side of his abdomen – this wouldn’t
prevent bloat, but it could give more precious minutes to get him to a vet in
case it happened to him. And of course,
it did. <br />
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<br />
Wylie got bloat again a couple of years ago – this time, my
daughter was intimately familiar with the symptoms, and because of her
familiarity with Wylie, she was able to get him to the vet in time – not just
to save his life, but frankly, also to save her wallet a bit. There was no trip to the emergency vet after
hours this time (which is not to say that it was inexpensive, because it was
not, but you just deal with that stuff).
Again, Wy came home and was back to his usual self in just a couple of
days. We all heaved sighs of relief.</div>
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]-->On July 3, Wy
celebrated his 7<sup>th</sup> birthday, a rather venerable age for a Berner. Well, really, I guess my daughter celebrated
for him – all he knew was that there was gonna be a big cookie involved, and he
was pretty stoked for it! Here he is
with Ben, in what sadly was Ben’s last picture.
Ben died of cancer in early July. We were all heartbroken, because
although Ben, too, had had more than a few issues, we loved him. There was a big Berner-shaped hole in all our
hearts. Knowing that my daughter had
given this broken rescue she brought home from Quebec a life that he never
would have had if she had not discovered him provided very little balm for
aching hearts. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Happy birthday, Wylie! Ben and Wylie</b></div>
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Wylie knew how to dance (on his hind legs, no less). He could whisper. He gave hugs. He may have done these things on the hope of a treat (It's ridiculous how much this boy would do for the tiniest treat! Sacha the Siamese was embarrassed for him, I'm sure.) Wy was a smart dog, a loving dog. If my daughter's life needed saving, I have no doubt that he'd try to save it.<br />
<br />
Less than a week ago, my daughter called me to tell me that
Wy wasn’t feeling so great, a bit off his food.
Five days ago, she brought him to the vet, where they discovered that he
had aspiration pneumonia, which he’d had before. But this time it seemed worse – she couldn’t give
him medication, because he couldn’t keep anything down. The vet decided to give him a massive dose of
antibiotics, to jump start the process of getting better – he’d lost more than
4 kg, which is significant for a dog weighing in at Wy’s usual 32+ kg. Two days ago, she called to tell me that the
pneumonia wasn’t getting better, and that the vet suspected something else in
addition to it – that Wy might also have damaged his esophagus beyond repair
(the megaesophagus and constant regurgitation are desperately hard on a dog),
or that he might have a tumour that was affecting his ability to eat. Either way, Wylie was a 7-year-old Berner –
for his breed, he was kind of elderly.
The average Berner lives between 6 and 8 years. We had sort of hoped, despite his myriad
medical issues, that Wy would just die quietly of old age. Life had other plans.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Last night, my beautiful daughter said goodbye to Wy, and I
am not there with her. Her heart is
broken, as is mine. She brought him to
the vet one last time, knowing that she would not be bringing him home anymore.
Our lives were turned upside down and inside out with the addition of Wylie to
the family. He has been my daughter’s
constant companion (and occasionally a pain in the behind). He’s made us laugh and comforted us when we
were sad. He has loved, and he was
loved, from the minute she met him until his very last breath.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It feels almost too much to bear, to have lost two beautiful
boys in two months. It doesn’t help to
know that nothing could have saved them.
It doesn’t help to know that they <b>knew</b>
– they surely knew – how very well they were loved. There are toys to be picked up and put away,
because there is no dog to play with them.
Sweeping will take less time, because there’s no dog fur on the
floor. No big boy will lean on you when
you sit at the kitchen table, no big head pushing insistently into a hand to
remind you to scratch his head. This is gonna take some time. I sit at my desk, and look at the picture of
my daughter and her partner with Wy, and the knowledge that he will not be
there when I get back to Halifax is just awful.
Being away from my daughter right now is worse. Note to self: get
tissues. Wiping eyes with paper towel
just makes them worse.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Wylie: July 2008 – September 2015</b></div>
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Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-33735480060882876652015-08-03T17:03:00.004-07:002015-08-03T17:04:55.039-07:00Grasshoppers and Spiritual Growth? OK, Sure!<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">When I
undertook the task of cross-stitching 4 verses from the Book of Leviticus for
the Torah Stitch by Stitch project conceived by textile artist Temma Gentles, I
knew it might be a bit of a challenge to mine these particular 4 verses for
some deeper theological or even spiritual meaning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What profound message from the divine was
there in the short litany of insects that are ok to eat?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How did it nourish my soul in any way to know
that I could eat a grasshopper (especially as I have never had a wish to eat a
grasshopper, not even when they are presented in lollipops)?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-font-kerning: 18.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></b><b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-font-kerning: 18.0pt;">Leviticus
11:20-23<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">20 </span></sup></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">“‘All flying insects that walk on all fours are to be regarded as
unclean by you. <sup>21 </sup>There are, however, some flying insects that walk
on all fours that you may eat: those that have jointed legs for hopping on the
ground. <sup>22 </sup>Of these you may eat any kind of locust, katydid, cricket
or grasshopper. <sup>23 </sup>But all other flying insects that have four legs
you are to regard as unclean.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">I studied
what commentary I could find, to see if perhaps I was missing something that
would’ve been obvious to another theologian, and without exception,
commentators explained (in rather less detail than commentators often use) what
the text already said: here are the insects you may eat, and here are the
insects you may not eat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This couldn’t
be the point, surely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Leviticus
is a book full of laws – thou shalt and thou shalt not, verse after verse,
chapter after chapter. So what was the point of the laws, then?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well… they could have been intended as a test
of our obedience (though we didn’t prove ourselves so attentive with that apple…).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They might have been intended to teach
self-denial (you’ll note that escargot, even sautéed in butter and tucked into
mushroom caps, are not on the approved list!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Perhaps this list, like many such lists, was to ensure that the
Israelites remained a distinct nation – Jews have also been taught to make
distinctions between what we call the sacred and the profane, the holy and the
unholy, and it may well be that this list of insects was another exercise in
this differentiation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
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<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">And while
this makes some sense, it didn’t really lead me to the spiritual enlightenment
for which I had hoped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was I expecting
too much from this project?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Recalling
the work in embroidering my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tallit</i>, I
remember well the constant feeling that each stitch was, in a sense, a
prayer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember the surprising joy
that accompanied the tying of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tzitzit</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These things weren’t happening with my 4
Levitical verses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Would I
have felt different if I’d been cross-stitching a different verse?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if I’d been embroidering the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shema</i>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And if that could be the case, then did I mean to suggest that these
verses weren’t as important?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are
part of the canon – we’ve kept them for millennia, and so they must still
count.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">I wasn’t
coming up with any definitive answer, so I simply continued to work at my
verses, and in July, something began to happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was on vacation, needlework often in hand, and I discovered that
cross-stitching the Torah makes for an interesting conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, it makes for many interesting
conversations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Sitting
in the sun in the Public Gardens in Halifax, NS, sipping coffee, listening to
the hum of conversation around me, the laughter of children, the letters seemed
to be stitching themselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was kind
of in a cross-stitch zone and really enjoying the work. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Then one
day, I realised that someone was watching me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I glanced up, and a woman said, “That’s really beautiful!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is it you’re making?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I told her about the project, and about my
verses. I told her about the challenge I’d been experiencing in that I’d
thought that this might be a valuable spiritual exercise, as I got to work
intimately with the verses – kind of the way a Torah scribe might do. She had
done some needlepoint in the past but hadn’t done any for a while – still, she
knew the technique and the work involved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There are things you just don’t have to explain to someone who knows how
to do cross-stitch! Her husband was interested in the letters – “Hebrew,
obviously,” he observed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wasn’t
Jewish, but rather, Muslim, so it’s not such a great surprise that he’d
recognised the lettering. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What are your
verses about?” he asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who could have
imagined when I told him that he would find it quite as interesting as he
did?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, when you talk to an
entomologist about insects in the Torah, you will find that he is interested!
(I even wrote down the passage reference for him to look up at home!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Another
day, but still in the Gardens… a woman sitting across the patio from me came
over and excusing the interruption, asked what I was working on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, I explained the project, and again we
talked about why I was doing it, and whether it was having the effect I had
anticipated when I undertook the project.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She told me that her late mother had done a lot of cross-stitch – “Between
the 5 children, and my dad, and her projects,” she said, “her hands were always
flying.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew that feeling myself –
right down to being one of 5 children!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My own mother had been an embroiderer, a smocker, and a knitter, and
children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and friends all benefitted from
her talent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">The next
conversation was with a woman visiting from Australia, who’d also been watching
me work and finally came over to take a look and to talk stitchery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was equally fascinated by the project –
this seemed a universal response whenever I shared it with anybody – and told
me that she also enjoyed cross-stitching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(She is currently working on family trees – one for each of 5
grandchildren!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We talked about the
challenges of making round letters look round when cross-stitching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I explained to her about the challenge I
found in cross-stitching Hebrew – we read and write Hebrew from right to left,
precisely the opposite to writing English, and I found that if I were stitching
from left to right, as I did at the start of a new line in a new section, the
zen of my work was abrupted, because I knew I was doing it backwards!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I didn’t know any Hebrew, it probably
wouldn’t have mattered, because the characters would simply have been
characters that had no particular meaning to me as letters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">And now I
think I’ve got it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I know what
it’s about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The spiritual connection
here is perhaps not precisely with the text, but with the conversations that
the work has encouraged!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve gotten to
share my work, and Temma’s awesome project, with people from several
countries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And while it may be that not
one of them will decide to sign on for a passage themselves, the conversations
about the project have taken place with people who were genuinely interested
and who learned something new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
have been conversations with people who probably didn’t ever think of Torah
(and why should they, really, if they’re not Jewish themselves?), and with
people who didn’t necessarily believe in God at all. Despite the many
differences between us, there was space for common ground, for learning, and
for connection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And maybe <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">that </b>is the point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it’s a pretty good one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"></span> </div>
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</div>
Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-21780511886095995262015-07-08T08:36:00.001-07:002015-07-08T09:08:50.756-07:00A Dog's Life - If You're Lucky<div class="MsoNormal">
This is a story of a girl and a dog. In March of 2010, my daughter – who spent way more time than
she probably should’ve done on animal rescue sites – found a Bernese Mountain
Dog that had been surrendered to animal control authorities. We knew that he’d been found wandering at
large, and while there was no evidence that he’d been beaten, he certainly had
been neglected. He was between 3 and 5
years old at the time (we never did figure out just how old he is), and was
intact, which contributed to a certain amount of aggression on his part towards
other dogs. My daughter already had a
Bernese, one she’d raised from a pup, and while Wylie didn’t seem to be
suffering for the lack of another dog in the house, it made sense to think that
he’d enjoy some company. And that’s how
the rescue began.<br />
<o:p></o:p> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bentley (for that was his name) was in Quebec, at least a
10-hour drive from our home in Halifax, but that didn’t deter my daughter. Not
even in March. Fortunately, there were
no late winter storms to impede progress, and on March 14<sup>th</sup>, 2010,
Ben came home. Some things we discovered
almost immediately: he smelled
rancid. As if he’d never had a
bath. He was utterly filthy. His teeth were a mess, very likely a
combination of malnourishment and trying to chew his way through collar and
chain to freedom. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Ben’s first day in Nova
Scotia. Even here, you can see he looks thin through the body, at odds with
that big head and those huge paws.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Ben was introduced carefully to Wylie, and it went really
well. No posturing, no jockeying for
position. Wylie didn’t seem to have a
need to be the dominant dog, and Ben seemed content to just take it slow. They adjusted to one another rather quickly,
which was great.<br />
<o:p></o:p> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ben’s first big trip was to the dog wash. And here’s where we found out something else
about him: once he was in the tub, soaking wet and getting scrubbed, we
realised that this dog was not so big after all. In fact, he was much smaller than we had
realised – with that huge head, and those massive paws, the broad and long
body, he LOOKED like a BIG Berner. But
when he was wet, we realised that he was not much more than a stack of bones
held together inside a fur coat. At that
point, he probably weighed the same (or even less) than Wylie, who, though a
purebred Berner, was a smaller dog. It
made sense, then, that what Ben needed was love and food – in that order.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Ben tolerated the dog
wash – he seemed to know he was being cared for. But as he was rinsed, we could see just how
heartbreakingly thin he really was.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once he was clean and fresh-smelling, we were all much
happier. And this is when we learned
something else about Ben. He would stand
around the house staring intently at whomever happened to be home. REALLY intently. And panting while he stared. At times, I honestly wondered whether he was
going to attack someone, because the panting was sometimes close to a growl,
and the stare was more like a glare. We
really couldn’t figure that out, and it was very disconcerting.<br />
<o:p></o:p> </div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">A girl and her dogs.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My daughter worried that Ben was not too bright – he would
watch her give commands to Wylie: “Sit!” “Down!” “Stay!” but showed absolutely
no inclination to follow suit. Even when
spoken to directly, even when issued a command with his name attached to it,
Ben would just stand there and stare. We
couldn’t figure this out, either.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eventually, within a couple of weeks (it seemed like much
longer to us, and probably longer yet to poor Ben), we figured out part of the
puzzle. Firstly, Ben was rescued from
Quebec. La Belle Province. The place whose official language is FRENCH. Ohhhhhhh…. Ben didn’t comply with “Sit!” But he knew what “Assiez-toi!” meant. OK, he was French. We could teach him English! The second thing we figured out was the
panting and intense staring… he didn’t hate anybody. He didn’t want to eat anybody. He wanted to be TOUCHED. That was all.
Just to be touched. As soon as a
hand went on that big head , nails gently scratching, the panting and staring
stopped. How long had this lovely boy
been ignored, we wondered? Ben never did
lose the need for touch – if you were sitting there, with Ben leaning on you,
you were going to scratch him. And if
for some reason you stopped, he butted his massive head into your hand,
reminding you that your job was not done.
<br />
<br />
This need for touch also manifested as a desperate need to be with his
people – well, with his PERSON, really.
He was almost glued to my daughter – she was his rescuer, and he knew
it. And she loved him, even when she was
sometimes exasperated with him. And he
knew that, too. We learned very quickly
that if she went out, even if Wylie was with him, Ben didn’t do well without
her. And it was proven to be a very,
very bad idea to leave Ben altogether on his own, because he tried – literally
– to get through a window to get to her. <br />
<o:p></o:p> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ben had issues, all right.
This attachment disorder meant that he really couldn’t be left on his
own – it might have been possible to keep him physically safe, but emotionally,
he was going to be a wreck if he were on his own. And the house was going to be destroyed. Thus began 5 years of ensuring that Ben was
never utterly on his own. That changed
all of our lives, and it made for a huge balancing act. It was at times unbelievably frustrating –
but my daughter persevered. Ben was a
member of the family now. He was loved,
he was safe, and he and my daughter belonged to each other. Both Wylie and Ben looked to my daughter as
the leader of their pack, and they both wanted to please her. Ben might not ever have been quite as clever
as Wylie (personally, I always thought that he simply felt no need to do as
many tricks as Wylie did – I suspect he felt it beneath his doggy dignity!),
but he grew more secure and seemed to understand that where my daughter was
would always be his home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Happy Ben – is there
much better than letting the wind race past you while you sit in a
convertible?!<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<br />
We all fell into a pattern with the dogs. Even the Siamese cat, Sacha, accepted the
invasion of another giant dog into his world.
Occasionally (usually when it was cold, if I’m honest), you might find
both Berners and Sacha curled up napping together. Sacha took it upon himself to inspect the
boys’ food dishes, in case there was something there that he wanted. Both dogs, each of whom was easily 6 times
the cat’s size, stood by helplessly, imploring with desperate eyes any nearby
humans to get that cat out of their food.
They knew better than to nudge him out of the way themselves!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Ben and Wylie kept a
respectful distance from Sacha, though if it was very cold, you might find
Sacha tolerating their presence close enough to him to generate more body heat!<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
Ben loved to go out with Wylie and my daughter. They’d go to the beach, where he’d run in joy
– galumphing around the water’s edge, carefully selecting just the right bits
of seaweed for his snack, always with a huge smile on his face. They’d go to the park, where he was generally
ok on-leash but always happy to reach the off-leash section, so he could run
again. We learned here that Ben wasn’t
fond of other dogs – he seemed to consider Wylie his brother, and bore him no
ill will. But he did not want other
large dogs around. Smaller dogs didn’t
bother him so much – he’d look at them somewhat bemused, but with no ill
intent. Larger dogs, on the other hand,
seemed to incite him to attack. And so
we had to be careful about that as well!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Ben gets a new cushion!<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ben was a kid magnet, as most Bernese are. Children look at a Bernese and think (and
often say), “Oh, look! It’s a teddy
bear!” And Ben did kind of lumber around
bear-like, so it made sense. Children
often approached to say hello to both dogs, and my daughter would nudge Ben
forward, keeping Wylie a bit behind – Wylie isn’t too sure of children. They make him skittish, and rather than risk
that he might snap at a small, friendly hand, my daughter felt it would be
better all around if Wylie were in the background for these events. Ben, on the other hand, was built for
children: they wanted to hug him, pat
him, scratch him. He’d sit there forever
(or until a hapless parent dragged away a child who insisted s/he was not ready
to go yet), enjoying the attention.<br />
<o:p></o:p> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Within a year of bringing Ben home, he’d grown from about 70
lbs to 115 lbs. His coat grew thick and
glossy. He panted less and smiled more.
He ran with Wylie. It wasn’t all
perfect – he was terrified of thunder storms (but let’s face it, many dogs
share that fear), and he really did turn out to be a pretty needy dog. But I don’t know anybody who met Ben who
didn’t like him. He just brought out the
best in people.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">One of their favourite
places – a beach where they could run. Ben wasn’t crazy about the water, though
he’d paddle a bit if persuaded. He did
like to select choice bits of seaweed for snacks, though.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
We knew that Ben was older than Wylie. We knew it was likely that he would die
first. If we thought about that at all,
I suppose we thought that perhaps he’d just quietly die in his sleep, with no
pain, no fear. That’s probably the best
way for anybody to shuffle off the moral coil, whether they are canine or
human. But that’s not what happened.<br />
<o:p></o:p> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the past year or so, Ben began to slow down. He didn’t run as much. He wasn’t quite as interested in play (though
he still would play with Pig, a plush toy with a squeaker of which Ben was
inordinately fond). He began to have a
harder time getting around – we thought it might be because ceramic tile and
hardwood floors were difficult to navigate, often leaving him splay-legged and
somewhat helpless. He began to sleep
more, and we thought, “Well, it makes sense.
He’s getting older, he’s got arthritis, it makes sense.” We reminded ourselves that after all, he could
be as old as 10 or 11, which, for a large-breed dog, is significant.<br />
<o:p></o:p> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then, about 2 months ago, my daughter brought him to the
vet. Something wasn’t right, she
knew. It wasn’t just arthritis. It wasn’t just age. Something was wrong. My daughter knows her pets as well as any new
mother knows her baby. She knows every
inch of their bodies. She knows where
there are lumps, and where there aren’t.
She knows where there are patches of dry skin. She knows the spot where they love being
touched best of all. So when she said
that something was wrong, it was very easy to believe her. This was one of those instances, though, in
which we all wanted her to be wrong.<br />
<o:p></o:p> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ben had cancer. Were
there treatments? Some, for sure. But would they really extend his life? Give him a better quality of life? Ben was a senior dog, remember – it was
possible that the treatments themselves would be too much for him. And if they did keep the cancer at bay, how
long? And what would his quality of life
be like if he was treated. After
consultation with the vet, much research and deliberation, my daughter decided
that it would not be doing the best thing for Ben to provide treatment. She would continue to love him, to treat him
with care, and to spend time very deliberately doing with him the things he
loved to do. And when the time was
right, she would bring him for one last trip to the vet. Ben had a ‘bucket list,’ not one that he
created, obviously, but one created for him by his girl, the person who knew
him best. And last week, we crossed off
the last two things on the list – a trip to the beach, and some ice cream.<br />
<o:p></o:p> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Trips to the beach used to be extended adventures. This trip, with Ben alone, and no Wylie, was
not such an event. On June 30<sup>th</sup>,
we headed for the beach. Ben loved being there – you could see that. But he tired very quickly. After 15 minutes, he was lying down in the
sand, happy to be there with us, but not interested in prolonging the
running. We stayed another few minutes,
and headed back to the car, Ben loping happily along. We stopped on the way home for ice cream, and
my daughter snapped the bottom off her cone, filled the miniature cone it
created with a tiny bit of ice cream, and gave it to Ben to enjoy. Then we went home. When we got back to the city, she had to lift
Ben out of the car. He couldn’t manage
on his own. <br />
<o:p></o:p> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On July 1<sup>st</sup>, I visited with my daughter and
Ben-sat while she took Wylie for a short walk.
I was getting ready to go to Quebec myself, and she pointed out what I
hadn’t even realised: this would be the last time I would see Ben. I was leaving the next morning, and upon my
return, there would be no Ben. I sat
there in her dining room, hugging and scratching this big, happy dog. He had grown noticeably thinner over the past
6 weeks or so, hardly eating, and sleeping 20 hours a day. He felt more like the scarecrow dog she’d
brought home 5 years earlier. This Ben
loved, though, and was loved. As much as
I felt his bones, I could feel that. And
I cried. I cried in part because I knew
my daughter’s heart was sore, and there was nothing I could do to make it
better. But I cried for me, too. I had no idea how much I would miss this
dog.<br />
<o:p></o:p> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I left my daughter’s home that evening, I checked
myself. “Get a grip,” I said sternly to
myself. “This happens. You know it happens. And this is what’s best for Ben.” I knew that, all of it. But barely off her street, I saw a man
walking his dog… a Bernese Mountain Dog, as it happens. And I started to cry. Sobbed all the way downtown, chastising
myself as I went. How silly, really –
everyone knows that owners typically outlast their pets. This was no surprise. And it was especially no surprise, because
Ben had been sick. Oddly enough, that
made no difference at all. There would
be no Ben when I came home, and my heart was bruised just thinking of it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Wylie turned 7 on July
3. Ben was there to celebrate.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
I spoke with my daughter on Sunday, July 5<sup>th</sup>. That was the day of Ben’s last vet appointment. He had gone out for an early solo walk with
my daughter – no Wylie. My daughter
wrote:<br />
<o:p></o:p> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Our beautiful, sweet Benny crossed over the
rainbow bridge on Sunday afternoon.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">
<i>For those who don't know, Ben was diagnosed with Lymphoma in May and
has been steadily declining since then. In the last few weeks, he essentially
stopped eating and was rapidly losing weight. He did enjoy his daily PB
sandwiches though, and treats for the most part.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">
<i>His body was failing him, and his mind was tired. Our previously 120 lb
boy weighed 97 lbs in May and was down to 86 lbs on Sunday. As much as it
crushed us, we knew it was his time.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">
<i>We spent the last several weeks working through a bucket list with Ben,
and thankfully had the time to accomplish everything on the list, and were able
to make our last weeks with Ben as positive as we could.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">
<i>Saturday night we had a movie night, equipped with snacks and loads of
love. We also had a big brushing session (a Benny favourite). Sunday morning,
Ben gobbled up two PB sandwiches and handfuls of treats and went for a solo
walk with me. We went as far as his body would allow us, the majority of it was
off leash with him walking by my side. The walk only lasted 10-15 minutes or
so, but they were glorious minutes.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">
<i>I am honoured to have been able to welcome Ben into my family and to
have loved him unconditionally for the past five years.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;">
<i>I wish I could write more, but my heart isn't ready.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;">
<i>Rest in peace, my sweet boy.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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It’s going to be very strange to go back to Halifax with no
giant, gentle Ben to lean on me. There
will be no brick-shaped head to nudge my fingers into action if I lapse and
stop scratching him just the way he likes.
<br />
<o:p></o:p> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t think my daughter would change her life had she
known that Ben’s life would end this way.
Neither would I. We bring animals
into our world and care for them, love them, and in return get unbridled love
and joy. They leave muddy pawprints
around, they sometimes eat things they shouldn’t and barf all over the living
room. Sometimes they bark too loud, or
too long. Maybe they’re so afraid of
storms that even giants like Ben try to climb on top of you for
protection. But our hearts are better
for knowing them, even when their leaving hurts us.<br />
<o:p></o:p> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Ben is a prime example of how rescue works. If my daughter hadn’t found that smelly,
scrawny, attachment-addled Berner, our lives might have been a bit easier, but
they wouldn’t have been as much fun. She
loved him into the wonderful dog he became, and he was as bonded to her as any
puppy is to its mother. She was his
girl, and we all knew it. What I know is
this: if my daughter hadn’t found Ben
and brought him home, his life almost certainly would’ve been shorter. And it would not have been as good. She gave him all she could, and what she gave
him was good. I am glad for them both (and
yes, for me as well) that Ben came into her world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-59978895330268943602014-11-27T05:38:00.000-08:002014-11-27T09:12:07.418-08:00Fancy a grasshopper?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">No grasshopper?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What about a locust, then?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
cricket, perhaps? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Me, neither.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And why the heck am I even talking about
insects, anyhow?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I’m glad you’re
thinking about that!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not a
conversation I expected to take up before breakfast, that’s for sure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m participating in a most awesome project, in
which women and men, Jews and Gentiles, each commit to needlepoint 4 verses of
Torah onto a piece of fabric, which will be returned to the artist who conceived
it, Temma Gentles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She will have all
those individual pieces of work stitched into a <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">massive</b> Torah scroll, which will be exhibited publicly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can read lots more about that here:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="color: #333333;"><a href="http://torahstitchbystitch.temmagentles.com/"><span style="color: blue;">http://torahstitchbystitch.temmagentles.com/</span></a>
- and you can also sign up to participate.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">But I digress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s get back to the insects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The reason I’m thinking about them is that
this week, I received word of my 4 verses for the project.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Temma’s email said that they were from
Leviticus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh,” I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Leviticus is not one of my favourite books
of Torah – it’s very prescriptive and has rules upon rules upon rules.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And my verses are Lev. 11:20-23.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here they are, so you don’t have to look them
up:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><sup><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">20</span></sup></b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> All winged swarming things that walk
on fours shall be an abomination for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><sup>21</sup></b> But these you
may eat among all the winged swarming things that walk on fours: all that have,
above their feet, jointed legs to leap with on the ground – <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><sup>22</sup></b> of these you may eat the
following: locusts of every variety; all varieties of bald locust; crickets of
every variety; and all varieties of grasshopper. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><sup>23</sup></b> But all other winged warming things that have four
legs shall be an abomination for you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">To be honest, I was kind of hoping for
something more… beautiful, perhaps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or
profound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps something from the
Song of Songs – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Ani le dodi, ve dodi li…”
</i>(“I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.”).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe from Exodus, the Song of the Sea
(which my father used to sing, albeit <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">not
</b>the melody we use at synagogue), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oz
ya shir Moshe…</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just love that
one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But no, I get locusts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And grasshoppers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And crickets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And what am I going to do with this?!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, firstly, I am going to honour my
commitment, and do the best work I can do at stitching my verses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That goes without saying, really.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;">
</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Let me introduce you to some kosher
insects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Below, top to bottom, we have a
bald locust, a grasshopper, and a cricket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have never had any desire to eat any of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several years ago, I was given a gag gift
(and I did kind of gag at it, actually) – a lollipop with a cricket
inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t even lick the candy
to taste it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ewww factor was way too
high! (But if it had been prepared under rabbinic supervision, it would've been kosher!!)</span></div>
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</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqzEDEdIv0sxCWjCeKhWdDVhr3pQ5QFJXa7DH-WLFOsRtm8gd1b6ceMcFoVt3LBLbT6JYoxLq9zFtEuEamOW1BeRGgSaPVGJ9ZIM3Q59-4itI7hBrGPwJClWTya80RPw-RybjyjMr_prQ/s1600/bald+locust.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqzEDEdIv0sxCWjCeKhWdDVhr3pQ5QFJXa7DH-WLFOsRtm8gd1b6ceMcFoVt3LBLbT6JYoxLq9zFtEuEamOW1BeRGgSaPVGJ9ZIM3Q59-4itI7hBrGPwJClWTya80RPw-RybjyjMr_prQ/s1600/bald+locust.png" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Sum6RdDG_JVSitItWgnViVshTFRF1T1kYFXaNqpQODKigcHawCvtDnQPtX1xymnRvfADD1wBn9YrOroN6r8o59cSFv4bnJstp0yhd_liALYScf2UvI8r-ShKiuDFzbXiov3kb17KnHM/s1600/cricket.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Sum6RdDG_JVSitItWgnViVshTFRF1T1kYFXaNqpQODKigcHawCvtDnQPtX1xymnRvfADD1wBn9YrOroN6r8o59cSFv4bnJstp0yhd_liALYScf2UvI8r-ShKiuDFzbXiov3kb17KnHM/s1600/cricket.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="color: black; font-size: small;">
</span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">So here I am with Leviticus and the
laws of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">kashrut</i> (Jewish dietary rules).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m pretty much ok with them, even though one
or two of them cause me to roll my eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don’t eat pork or shellfish, and I don’t mix meat with dairy (that’s
an eye-roller for me, in case you wondered).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My friend Jen says, “Show me a chicken that can give milk, and I’ll stop
eating chicken Alfredo!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I completely
get what she’s saying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chickens can’t
give milk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the cheese you have on
your hamburger certainly doesn’t come from the same cow that gave you the
meat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My rabbi suggests that perhaps one
way to consider it is that by not mixing meat and dairy, we’re not mixing the
dead (the meat, obviously) with the living (a cow doesn’t have to die so that
we can have cheese).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That makes it a
little better, but only a little.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Fortunately, I have no great love of cheeseburgers and am happy with a
veggie cheeseburger, so it’s all good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Because I’m observant, I also don’t
eat pork or shellfish, and that’s fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Occasionally, I miss some dishes, but generally it’s ok, and I don’t
feel especially deprived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Observant Jews
also do not eat snails, though – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">escargots</i>
– not even when they are sautéed in butter, with a bit of garlic, tucked into
mushroom caps, and topped with just a soupçon of fine breadcrumbs and cheese
and broiled to the perfect moment of golden deliciousness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because, you see, I have eaten all these
things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t start out as an
observant Jew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not eating pork and
shellfish, not mixing meat and dairy – these are changes I have made, and commitments
I have made as a Jew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think it’s
quite the same for someone who has never eaten those things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I rather miss <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">escargots.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">What if I slip up?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What if cross-stitching 4 verses of Torah about the things I ought not
to eat reminds me <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">so</b> much of the
things I’ve given up that I go out and get some <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">escargots</i>? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not certain
that this could not happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
might.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope it won’t, but the
temptation pops up whenever I smell garlic in a restaurant!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if I <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">do
</b>go ahead and order some <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">escargots,</i>
does that invalidate all the work I’ve put into becoming an observant Jew?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or am I already looking for a loophole?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The commentary in my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Eitz Chayim </i>(the book containing Torah readings that we use at
synagogue) says, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What is important is to
be on the path of observance, to be, in the words of <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Emet ve-Emunah</b>, a ‘striving’ Jew.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></i>Well, I’m striving, all right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But then, I’m always striving. It occurs to me that I shouldn’t be
looking at this as a loophole… but… <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">escargots…</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I know from having made my own <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tallit </i>(ritual prayer shawl) that
creating a holy object can in itself be a kind of prayer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, embroidering a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tallit </i>turned out to be one of the most profound, most holy, most
prayerful things I’ve ever experienced – most particularly when I was tying the
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tzitzit</i> (the fringes at each of the
four corners, that remind us of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mitzvot</i>
– the commandments).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought that
perhaps I would recapture something of that – and maybe even a little
more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because while I will never be a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sofret </i>(a female Torah scribe), I thought that
perhaps the feeling of doing this work might be something close to that – it’s
certainly as close to writing a Torah as I will ever get.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I had hoped that participating in The
Torah Project would help bring me closer to God, and closer to Torah, and found
myself a little … disappointed … in the verses I was given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Disappointed?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">disappointed</b>
in <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Torah</b>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I’m rather bold, aren’t I?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every single verse, every single character of
Torah, is important.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are there some that
are more important than others?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s
entirely possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some verses make me
incredibly happy, and some of them make me really angry – but whether I am
happy or angry, the verses cause me to have a dialogue with God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Disappointed?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All verses of Torah are important – but it
occurs to me that my disappointment with those verses (not merely with my
assignment of those verses – with the verses themselves) is kind of
arrogant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I am disappointed, maybe I’m
missing something. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I don’t know immediately
upon reading these verses why they are important, then it’s high time I blew
the dust off my graduate school education and did some exegesis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">While I wait for my fabric and thread
to arrive from Toronto, I am going to start looking hard at Leviticus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The whole book, not just my 4 verses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will read it, and study it, and pray over
it and with it. I will mine it for meaning, as my professors taught me to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will do <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">midrash</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when I push the needle through the fabric
for the first time, perhaps I will say a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shehechiyanu
</i>(Jews have prayers for pretty much everything – including one for the very
first time of doing something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think
that fits here.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">This is a journey, and I’ve barely
taken the first step.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></div>
Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-9886983910964561012014-10-09T19:11:00.001-07:002014-10-09T19:24:35.115-07:00Write for yourselves this song, and teach it to the Children of Israel...<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s said that writing a Torah scroll is for Jews the 613<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>th</sup>
and greatest commandment. We believe that we are given the direction for this
from the book of Deuteronomy, chapter 31, verse 19: “<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">And now, write
for yourselves this song, and teach it to the Children of <span glossary_item="14030" onclick="Co.Tools.Content.Glossary.CompleteShow(this);" onmouseout="Co.Tools.Content.Glossary.Hide(this);" onmouseover="Co.Tools.Content.Glossary.Show(this);">Israel</span>. Place it into their mouths, in order that
this song will be for Me as a witness for the children of Israel.”</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, Torah scribes – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sofer (or sofret, </i>when we refer to the very small number of women
who have written Torah scrolls)<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>may
dedicate their entire lives to only this work. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sofrim
</i>are men, not because women are prohibited from becoming ritual scribes (as
some believe), but rather, because Maimonides explains that women are not <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">obligated</b> to fulfill this <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mitzvah</i>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is simply because through history, women
have been exempt from the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mitzvah</i> of
studying Torah simply for the sake of studying Torah. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Tradition has dictated that women as the keepers of the home ought to be concerned more with <em>mitzvot </em>that concerned living Jewishly at home - keeping Shabbat in the home, for instance, and lighting candles on Friday evening.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Writing a Torah is a religious act – very nearly a
prayer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The materials on which the
scroll is written and the implements used to do the writing are very specific,
so that the scroll will be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">kosher. </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The scribe is specially trained, and is
expected to approach each letter with great <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">kavanah
</i>– mindfulness, or intention – so that the integrity of the finished scroll
should be above reproach. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Each letter must be as perfect as the human hand, guided,
some say, by God, can make it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It takes
about a year to write one single Torah scroll, consisting of more than 300,000
Hebrew letters, painstakingly calligraphied by hand, and it may in some cases
take even longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My own Hebrew is poor
enough when <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">davening </i>(praying), and
so the very thought of ever writing a Torah scroll is not one that has ever
held great sway in my mind, as it is so far from the realm of what is possible
for me to be confident that it is simply impossible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Recently, though, I read an article in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Canadian Jewish News</i> (</span><a href="http://www.cjnews.com/arts/project-reveals-torah-%E2%80%94-stitch-stitch"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">http://www.cjnews.com/arts/project-reveals-torah-%E2%80%94-stitch-stitch</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">),
and suddenly the idea of being a part of creating a Torah scroll didn’t seem
quite so impossible anymore. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I
will never become a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sofret, </i>I could
perhaps be a part of something greater than I, and join this group of people committed
to a rather audacious act of art.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
designed and embroidered both my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tallitot
</i>(the prayer shawls which accompany me to synagogue, and which I use for
daily prayer), and every stich of each of them felt to me like a prayer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every stitch felt like a conversation with my
mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to know more about
this!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I checked out the website (</span><a href="http://torahstitchbystitch.temmagentles.com/"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">http://torahstitchbystitch.temmagentles.com/</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">)
and contacted them to ask whether it was still possible to join the hundreds of
volunteers already committed to the project.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Very promptly, I received an email message from Marilynne Casse, the
Executive Coordinator of the project, who explained how it works – and it’s
quite simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Volunteers complete a
short registration form and make a payment of $18 (probably not at all
coincidentally – 18 is numerically significant for Jews, as the letters which
form the word also make the Hebrew word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">chai,</i>
or life), which nets you a kit that includes the Aida cloth, embroidery floss,
and needles required for you to create a 14” x 14” square on which you will
cross-stich four verses of the Torah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
the end, more than 1,400 canvases will have been completed and stitched
together to create a Torah scroll that is nine-feet-tall and about
100-yards-long (approximately 3 M by 90 M).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When it is finally completed – probably in about 3 years – the scroll
will be the subject of a public exhibition – this in itself will be another
tremendous undertaking, as it will require quite a lot of fundraising to
accomplish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The project is the brainchild of textile artist Temma
Gentles, who conceived of it while on sabbatical in Israel as a way for people
to connect intimately with the words of the Torah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Volunteers are not required to be Jewish, nor
must they be women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are women and
men of many faith traditions participating, each of whom has particular reasons
for wanting to participate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For me, it
is about Torah, yes, but also because every time I embroider something, I feel
closer to my mother, who died in 2003, and who taught me to embroider when I
was a girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think that she would love
this project.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So the next step is to receive my kit, and to begin my part
of this project.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From time to time, I’ll
post updates – perhaps even with photos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Right now, I’m going to contact a friend in Israel, who is herself a
textile artist, to invite her to check out the website as well, because she
might also like to be a part of this. And perhaps you would, to - so you should go ahead and click that link, and get in touch with the project!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGiUsQ3MkIrGRMt5O7tjxiKBbVErJfhG-fGA7NJPiG4kvyCiQYA9vSGGnB9kuUJTiZ7FEusCi6GqFJ8uQRlc5amwu3U7AUvY9tMbsmYUCrRHnXjnVIqYF1ThYyZk4D2bS9Tv4ekQ9N1LM/s1600/torah+stitch+by+stitch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGiUsQ3MkIrGRMt5O7tjxiKBbVErJfhG-fGA7NJPiG4kvyCiQYA9vSGGnB9kuUJTiZ7FEusCi6GqFJ8uQRlc5amwu3U7AUvY9tMbsmYUCrRHnXjnVIqYF1ThYyZk4D2bS9Tv4ekQ9N1LM/s1600/torah+stitch+by+stitch.jpg" height="235" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-18381941929328261432014-10-01T08:38:00.000-07:002014-10-01T08:38:01.279-07:00Trying to be ready for Yom Kippur
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In Judaism, <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">confession</span> (Hebrew </span></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">וידוי</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Viddui</i>)
is a step in the process of atonement during which a Jew admits to committing a
sin before God. In sins between a Jew and God, our confession occurs without
others present (The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Talmud</i> teaches
that confession in front of another is a show of disrespect). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, confession pertaining to sins done TO
ANOTHER JEW is permitted publicly, and we make this confession on the morning
of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yom Kippur</i> (in fact, we make this
confession several times on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yom Kippur</i>
– and when we do so mindfully, it’s a profound experience. Stay with me, here!)</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">The confession of a sin marks
a point in time after which our demonstration of the recognition and avoidance
of similar FUTURE transgressions show whether we have truly recovered from the
sin and therefore whether we deserve forgiveness for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Forgiveness does not come with the immediate
acknowledgement of the sin.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We say the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Vidui</i>
in plural, confessing transgressions that we clearly know we have not committed
(see below!), a firm reminder that our moral responsibilities go beyond our
personal realms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Judaism teaches that if
we see a friend acting wrongly we are commanded by the Torah to privately and
politely rebuke him or her, and when we don't, it is considered as if we share
their wrongdoings.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yom
Kippur</i> confessional consists of two parts: a </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Confession_in_Judaism#Ashamnu.2C_the_short_confession" title="Confession in Judaism"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">short confession</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> beginning with the word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ashamnu</i> (אשמנו, "we have
sinned"), which is a series of words describing sin arranged according to
the aleph-bet, and a </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Confession_in_Judaism#Al_Cheyt.2C_the_long_confession" title="Confession in Judaism"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">long confession</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">, beginning with the words <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Al Cheyt</i> (על חטא, "for the
sin"), which is a set of 22 double </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acrostic" title="Acrostic"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">acrostics</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">,
also arranged according to the aleph-bet, enumerating a range of sins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The humbling thing about this is that even if
we can absolve ourselves of some of these wrongdoings, we have ALL fallen in
SOMETHING on this list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Darn it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just when I thought I was being a better Jew…
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yom Kippur</i> reminds me (as if I needed
it) that there is always room for improvement!)…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We say, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ashamnu, bagadnu, gazalnu, dibbarnu dofi; <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He-evinu, vhirshanu, zadnu, hamasnu, tafalnu
sheker;<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="FR" style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: FR; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ya-atznu ra; kizzavnu,
latznu, maradnu, ni-atznu;<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="FR" style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: FR; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sararnu, avinu, pashanu,
tzarnu, kishinu oref ;<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="FR" style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: FR; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Rashanu, shihatnu,
ti-avnu, ta-inu, titanu.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="FR" style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: FR; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We mean,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We abuse, we betray, we
are cruel, we destroy, we embitter, we falsify, we gossip, we hate, we insult,
we jeer, we kill, we like, we mock, we neglect, we oppress, we perfert ,we
quarrel, we rebel, we steal, we transgress, we are unkind, we are violent, we
are wicked, we are extremists, we yearn to do evil, we are zealous for bad
causes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And we say, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We have done wrong and
transgressed, and so we have not triumphed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Inspire our hearts to abandon the path of evil, and hasten our
redemption. And so Your prophet Isaiah declared: “Let the wicked forsake their
path, and the sinful their design.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let them
return to Adonai, who will show them compassion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let them return to our God, who will surely
forgive them.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The High Holidays are about return in both literal
and figurative ways – children return home from university to celebrate Rosh
Hashanah with their families; often, adult children return to their parents
with their own children in tow to mark this beginning of our new year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The biggest return, though, happens with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yom Kippur</i>, when we are enjoyed to
return to God.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Beginning with the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kol Nidre </i>service on the evening before (this year, that will be
this Friday, October 3<sup>rd</sup>), we work to prepare ourselves for a
spiritual and often emotional marathon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If you’ve never attended a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kol
Nidre </i>service, I recommend it – it’s beautiful, moving, powerful, and
profound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When sun sets on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kol Nidre</i>, we begin a fast from all food
and liquid until after the sun sets – and the shofar sounds for the last time –
on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yom Kippur.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We abstain from all food and liquid so that
we can concentrate only on what is important: relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Relationship with one another, and
relationship with God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is the time of year at which Jews – even those
who might not be so observant during the rest of the year – are conscious of
making amends with those they feel they’ve wronged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are mindful of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">t’shuvah</i>, or in English, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">return.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a time of reconciliation, return,
making things right if we can, because this is the time in which we are written
in the Book of Life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Be Rosh Hashanah, yika tevu, u’v’Yom Kippur
yika tehmu: On Rosh Hashanah, it is written; on Yom Kippur, it is sealed.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>May you be inscribed into the Book of Life
this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>May your new year be a time
of remembering the importance of the prayers we say on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yom Kippur</i>, and may you have the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">kavanah</i> – the mindful intention – of being the person you were
created to be. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-83203739777269619472014-01-14T09:47:00.003-08:002014-01-14T09:49:31.381-08:00Weathering your death<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Weathering your death<o:p></o:p></span></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I didn’t
think you’d really do it – <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Say goodbye
to everything like that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Even though
you’d flirted with death before,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I believed
you could get better.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know that
you wanted to get better – <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nobody could
have tried harder.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so now
I’m weathering your death.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last night,
when the wind was so high<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wondered
whether we might have a hurricane – <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Was that
you?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This
morning, wind and rain finally stopped,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Snow all but
gone,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sun shining
high in a sky that I think of as Israel-blue,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wondered –
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If the
weather had been like this, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">An
unseasonably mild January day,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With sun
shining,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Would you
still have wanted to go?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or would you
have taken a deep breath and said,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I can do
this?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No matter
what happens now, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It happens
without you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The sun
shines, the wind blows.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Rain will
fall today, they say (or it won’t) – <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And it
doesn’t seem possible<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That you
will feel none of it,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Know none of
it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No striding
down the road<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(on a good
day, when you could go out),<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hands shoved
in pockets, face down, out of the wind,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On a mission
to normal (whatever that is).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m
weathering your death,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Only I
didn’t think it would be so hard,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
knowledge that the sun will never kiss your skin again,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That you’ll
never rub hands briskly against the cold<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because you
forgot your gloves.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I remember
that sometimes,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Even on the
most beautiful summer’s day,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It wasn’t
always easy for you to come out anyhow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What cheered
me and made me hopeful, optimistic,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Often didn’t
reach you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You wore
your sickness not like a cape,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But more
like a second skin.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Try as you
might to shed it, it was going nowhere.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And now you
are nowhere – <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At least,
you said that you believed that <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Death was a
void, a nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I still
don’t think you were right,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">And I hope that now your soul is somewhere
beautiful.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span id="goog_425729897"></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br /></div>
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Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-35662709340333674902013-09-26T19:48:00.002-07:002013-09-26T19:48:34.632-07:00End of the Long Haul
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">If you’re Jewish, the last
while has been quite a journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much of
the world knows that we celebrated <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rosh
Hashannah</i>, the Jewish New Year, less than 2 weeks ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They might not know how much effort goes into
getting ready for that, though… it’s not just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rosh Hashannah</i>, you see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s High Holidays, and the period includes… 2 days for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rosh Hashannah</i>, a day for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kol Nidre</i>, a day for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yom Kippur</i>, 2 days for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sukkot</i>, a day for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shemini Atzeret, Yizkor</i>, and 2 days for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Simchat Torah</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And a fast
day or two.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And while it’s true that
ultimately, the High Holiday period is one of a certain amount of spiritual
fulfillment and even growth, it’s also true that some of it is tremendously
difficult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kol Nidre</i>, which refers to the annulling of vows made in the name
of God, prepares us for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yom Kippur</i>,
the Day of Atonement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yom Kippur</i> comes, we are meant to have
spoken with people we have hurt and to have asked for their forgiveness – “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Be Rosh Hashannah yika teivun, u v’Yom tzom Kippur
yeha teimun…”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rosh Hashannah</i>, it is written, and on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yom Kippur</i> it is sealed.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The “it” here is the Book of Life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is our chance to try to make right what
we have done wrong, to heal where we’ve caused hurt, and to prepare our lives
for a new year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yom Kippur</i> liturgy is a long one, and it’s difficult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s difficult not only because we’re fasting
(the fast begins at sunset, with the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kol
Nidre</i> service, the day before <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yom
Kippur</i>), not only because we spend so many hours in synagogue, not only
because so many of those hours are spent on our feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s also difficult because the litany on <i>Yom
Kippur</i> is hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In community, we
acknowledge our flaws – together, we say the words… “We have murdered (and I
know that I, personally did not murder, so I am ok with that), we have
committed adultery (nope, didn’t do that either, so I am ok with that one), we
have stolen (nope, not that, either, so this is not so difficult to say),” and
we go on… and then we get to “we have been unkind” (nope, I haven’t… oh, wait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, I have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And that’s when it gets really personal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And it’s really difficult, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At least I’m not in it alone.)<br />
<br />
After <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yom Kippur</i>, after the last
blast of the shofar, we shuffle off, exhausted, to break the fast, usually with
something quite simple, often with dairy (it’s tradition).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then we get some more joy, because we
have <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sukkot</i>, another harvest
festival.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shemini Atzeret</i>, a day for solemn assembly… our tradition explains
the holiday this way: our Creator is like a host, who invites us as visitors
for a limited time, but when the time comes for us to leave, the host has
enjoyed it so much that we are asked to stay another day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sukkot</i>
is a day to celebrate harvests for all the people of the world, then <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shemini Atzeret</i> is a bit like a special
note from God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But also on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shemini Atzeret</i> is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yizkor</i>, which is said following the Torah reading on the last day
of Passover, on the second day of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shavuot</i>,
on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shemini Atzeret,</i> and on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yom Kippur.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yizkor</i> is a memorial prayer, a time of remembrance, a time for us to
remember as a community those who have died this year, and for us as
individuals to remember our own personal losses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">If you’ve gotten this far,
you might be thinking that two of the recitations of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yizkor</i> have happened during High Holidays – once on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yom Kippur</i>, and a second time on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shemini Atzeret</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And you’d be right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not the <i>Yom Kippur</i> recitation that gets
to me most, though, because honestly, on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yom
Kippur</i>, I’m already fatigued, often hungry and thirsty, and sometimes <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yizkor</i> happens in a bit of a blur.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shemini
Atzeret</i>, though, we’ve moved past the most physically challenging part of
the High Holiday season – so why am I so moved by the recitation of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yizkor</i> on this day?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I’ve come to think that it’s
because I’m somehow lulled into a bit of a false sense of ease following the
‘big’ holidays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So at synagogue this
morning, I prayed with my community, I listened to the Torah reading, and to
the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Haftorah</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This morning, after the Torah reading, our
rabbi spoke about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yizkor</i>, about why
we say it, and how we might feel when we say it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He acknowledged that it can feel sad,
particularly if the death of a loved one has happened recently and is still a
fresh wound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is not only new loss
that hurts, though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both my parents are
dead – my father will have been dead for 23 years this November; my mother will
have been dead for 10 years, also this November.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still miss them both.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still have a tough time being in a card
store on Mother’s Day or Father’s Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
remember the first Mother’s Day after my mum died, realising as if it was a
brand new thing (which it was, I suppose) that I had no mother to whom to send
a card, no father to whom to send a card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But back to <i>Yizkor</i>… so, our rabbi read a short poem by Merle Feld, and
as I sat there quietly, listening and crying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Crying?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why was I crying?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here’s the poem:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">A new year beginning, and I can’t call you to say,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I’m bursting with wonderful news!”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Your arms won’t encircle me when I grieve, when I
mourn,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">You’ll never know now the unexpected achievements, the
abiding sorrows.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And yet, as I stand here with this candle, I allow
myself some quiet moments,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Until, once again, your face shines in my memory,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Until once again, I feel you blessing me.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And that’s why I was crying –
because I miss, I <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">still miss </b>– all
of those moments with my parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
when we stood for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yizkor</i> this
morning, it was really hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yet, it
felt absolutely right to remember my parents and to pray that my life might
exemplify any good they had taught me, that I might be a credit to their values
and ideals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Tomorrow morning, it’s back
to synagogue… it’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Simchat Torah</i>, and
we celebrate the Torah, we rejoice with it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We really do – we dance it around the synagogue and everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Very upbeat, kind of fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But for me, this year, I’m still holding my
parents so very close in my heart, and am grateful for a communal opportunity
to pay them private tribute. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-47378138623490122222013-09-23T09:52:00.001-07:002013-09-23T10:24:47.491-07:00Lights, Action, CAMERA!!<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Well, not
quite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, <strong>I</strong> set no lights, <strong>I</strong> organised
no action, and I certainly operated no camera!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But what I <strong>did </strong>do was see some films.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I mean, lots of films, in the past couple of weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>September is the season of the Atlantic Film
Festival, and this year, I got myself really well organised, so herewith, a few
reviews of AFF films (</span><a href="http://www.atlanticfilm.com/"><span style="font-size: large;">www.atlanticfilm.com</span></a><span style="font-size: large;"> - you can also see who won what awards now that it's over and done for another year).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of ‘em may be
available to view online (National Film Board productions, such as "Buying Sex," here: </span><a href="http://www.nfb.ca/search?q=buying+sex"><span style="font-size: large;">http://www.nfb.ca/search?q=buying+sex</span></a><span style="font-size: large;">), and others are (or
will be) in general theatrical release.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So here they are, in the order of viewing.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">AFTER TILLER:</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Synopsis</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>George Tiller was an
American physician, one of only a few left in the US able to provide late-term
abortions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was assassinated in Kansas
in 2009, after which only four doctors were left in the US who could provide
late-term abortions. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These doctors now
have the dubious distinction of being the number-one targets of the “pro-life”
movement and fight to keep these services available to women across the country.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This film follows them as they try to do
a job they believe in despite the danger to their lives.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">My thoughts:</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>OK, first I
will get out of the way a problem with semantics… I hate the use of the phrase “pro-life,”
as if to say that people who are “pro-choice” are not also “pro-life.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the record, I am resolutely pro-choice
and cannot imagine a single thing happening in my life that could change
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am also pro-life – I do not know
any woman who’s had an abortion who’s taken it lightly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know nobody for whom it’s been nonchalantly
used as birth control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the “pro-life”
side of this debate were more honest, they would describe themselves as “anti-choice,”
at least.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because they are anti-choice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">That out of
the way, I will say this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">After Tiller</b> is exceptionally
good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s kind of a quiet documentary
for such a heated subject.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only
zealotry – and I do not mean this in a complimentary sense – is that of the
anti-choice forces, who seem to see absolutely no irony in their murder of
doctors who perform abortion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are
doctors who do take very seriously their Hippocratic Oath… we all know the
line, “first, do no harm.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that is
what they do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Agree or disagree, it’s
worth watching this one just to see how very conscientiously and ethically they
approach their work, how compassionately they treat their patients.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Late-term
abortion” is a bit of a red herring, though – the anti-choice folks seem to be
taking the position that a woman can go to a doctor who provides abortion
practically up to her due date and get that abortion <strong>just because she wants
it.</strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not that simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing ever is. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Late-term abortion has great restrictions, not
the least of which is the physical difficulty just in accessing a doctor who
provides it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fewer than 1% of all
abortions performed in the US are ‘late-term’ procedures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The documentary follows a few people – some very
young, some not so much; some are single women, some are married couples – and tells
their stories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Late-term abortions are
not available “just because,” and all but 1 of the people whose stories were
told in this work were dealing with the knowledge that if they continued the
pregnancy, the baby would be born profoundly disabled, both mentally and
physically, and in most cases might expect to live only weeks after birth… and
those weeks would be spent in a hospital, with medical intervention at every
step that would, in the end, still have a dead baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The people whose stories are told here are
not people who didn’t want a baby – quite the opposite, in fact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that’s actually the case with most
abortions, even those done very early on in a pregnancy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another thing that the anti-choice folks
prefer not to dwell upon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">We see
post-abortion follow-up, and we see how lovingly that care is offered by the
physicians and their staffs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I
wonder anew just why it is that so many people are utterly convinced that the
greatest value of a woman who seeks abortion is that she should become an
incubator for a baby, whether she wants it or not; whether she’s able to care
for it or not.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">So overall, you’re saying?<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The verdict’s in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See
this film.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">BUYING SEX<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Synopsis</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Recent Canadian court
cases are used as a framing device to dig deep into the morality of selling
bodies for pleasure. Ranging far afield to New Zealand--where prostitution was
legalised--to Sweden (where the government clamped down), this NFB production considers
the true costs of the trade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nicely
photographed, with music by Asif Illyas (who is developing quite a reputation
for theatrical scores, and deservedly so! Check him out at <a href="http://www.theshire.ca/">www.theshire.ca</a> and <a href="http://www.asifillyas.com/">www.asifillyas.com</a> ).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">My Thoughts:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> The AFF blurb for this film says, “Buying
Sex is one of those films that promises to inspire a torrential discourse on an
enduring global social problem.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t
think that my expectations of the film were quite that great, but I did expect
rather more than was ultimately offered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Written by Teresa MacInnes and directed by MacInnes and Kent Nason, I
had high hopes that it might live up to its promise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It really didn’t, and it was in the Q&A
period after the film that I figured out why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Both MacInnes and Nason said more than once that they were careful not
to take sides in the debate… and <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">technically,</b>
they did not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nowhere in the film does
either of them say <strong><em>on camera, in words</em></strong>, that they don’t approve of buying
sex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, that’s the overwhelming sense
I got (as did the friend with whom I saw it).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">They
interviewed a number of sex workers, past and current.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One woman who had what is arguably the most constant presence in the film
was a sex worker, she said, for 15 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She is now vehemently against prostitution and has become an activist in
this field.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kudos to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s fairly articulate, and though I’d never
heard of her, she’s done quite a lot of writing on the subject as well,
apparently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two of the Canadian women
interviewed are currently sex workers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Both of them affirm that they chose the job, that they have no issue
with doing the job, and that it is… just a job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don’t know that I could be that blasé about it, but I also don’t think
that I could take the position of the activist (whose name I didn’t note) that
every person who becomes involved in the sex trade does so because she is
drug-addicted and/or was molested as a child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Again, it’s just not that simple.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">The picture
in New Zealand is very different – prostitution is legal there, and there are
brothels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One young woman observed that
after just a couple of years in the trade, she would be able to buy a house…
but her university degree had opened no doors for her in obtaining traditional
employment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anti-sex-trade activists
argue that this is proof that the world is more misogynistic than we believe,
because women should be able to buy homes based on traditional (non-sex-trade)
work.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">And in
Sweden, the clamp-down on the sex trade has been really serious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Swedish government would tell you that it
doesn’t exist – but really, you can hear the eye-rolling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It might have gone back underground, but it
certainly exists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As one of the Canadian
women pointed out, having been in the trade for more than 30 years, the only
way to get rid of prostitution is to get rid of sex AND get rid of money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suspect she’s right.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">So overall, you’re saying?<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You can see the film if you are so inclined on the website of
the National Film board of Canada.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
my money, I was really disappointed, and mostly <em>because </em>the writer and
directors said that they took no position either way, when it seems <em>very</em> clear
to me that they don’t approve of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
didn’t come away with any feeling, one way or another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nobody’s argument was persuasive enough to me
to convince me of its relative rightness or wrongness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t really <em>know</em> if it’s right or wrong,
though I am leaning more towards being ok with it than not, <em>provided </em>that it
truly is something freely chosen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t
think that I’d do it – but don’t think I could judge people who do, either.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">REACHING FOR THE MOON<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Synopsis:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">We are in 1950s<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b>Rio de Janeiro for this story of the passionate love
affair between Pulitzer prize-winning American poet, Elizabeth Bishop, and
Brazilian architect, Lota de Macedo Soares. Bishop was born in Worcester, MA,
in 1911 and died in 1979; she spent several years in Great Village, Nova
Scotia, a place which she loved greatly and where she experienced the greatest
rupture possible to a child – the hospitalization of her mother in a mental institution
in Dartmouth, NS, when Elizabeth was only 5 years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her mother, diagnosed as permanently insane,
never saw Elizabeth again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That alone
would be the stuff of which great film is made.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">But the film
is not about that and touches only very lightly on her childhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Reaching
for the Moon</b> is based on the best-selling Brazilian novel <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Rara Flores</b>, and follows Bishop
(Miranda Otto) to Rio, where she stays with her friend Mary and Mary’s partner,
Lota (Glória Pires). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As you might
expect, chemistry is involved, and Elizabeth and Lota engage in a passionate
affair. Although Mary is devastated, Lota is determined to have both women at
all costs. The ménage-a-trois is thrown off-balance when Lota starts work on
her biggest project to date, designing Parque do Flamengo in Rio. Eventually,
their relationship strained, Elizabeth moves back to New York in 1967 to take a
teaching post, and after Brazil's military coup Lota's life is never quite the
same. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">My Thoughts:<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span></span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It would be a spoiler to tell you what
happened to the three women involved in this story, so I won’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I will say is that I went to see this
film with no particular agenda other than to spend some time with friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am SO glad that I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a remarkable film about a rather
incredible story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Think about it – 1950s
Rio, where a Pulitzer Prize winning poet was the 2<sup>nd</sup> of two intimate
partners of a woman who was obviously doing very, very, very well as an
architect. There’s another film there, in Lota’s life!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The filmmakers do a great job drawing the
life of a poet – Bishop didn’t just sit at her desk and pen a few verses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every line was crafted to be a very specific
piece of art.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We see her striding back
and forth in her studio, smoking and sometimes drinking, muttering to herself
as she works out a poem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We sort of know
that writers of longer works do this – we expect it, for instance, of
novelists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The realisation that <strong>of course </strong>it’s just as much work for poets is in the end a bit of an eye-opener!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bishop is
never drawn as saintly, nor perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
is often <strong><em>very</em></strong> tightly-wound, more than a little selfish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is profoundly complicated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And of course, she’s a lesbian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was <strong>that </strong>like for her in the US in the
1950s?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are we surprised that she wound
up in Brazil for such a long time?!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Beautifully
wrought, beautifully filmed, an awesome story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m not sure there’s really anything about this film that I didn’t
like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The character of Lota, played by Glória
Pires, was at first somewhat offputting, I’ll admit – I found her brusque and
not altogether attractive as a human being.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But in the end, I realised that Pires had gotten it right.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">So overall, you’re saying?<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">You should
most definitely see this film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s kind
of long (118 minutes), but you will not notice the time pass, because you will
undoubtedly become engrossed in the film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And when you leave, I’d lay odds that like me, you’re gonna go to the
library and get some Bishop books out so that you can read more of her
work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the very least, you’re gonna
Google her!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">ADORE<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Synopsis:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Two women, their sons, a love story and
morality play, all in one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will
laugh, you will cringe, you will wonder why this movie wasn’t made before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I really can’t tell you much more about
it without spoiling the plot!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Naomi
Watts (Lil) and Robin Wright (Roz) have been BFFs since their idyllic childhood
in some unnamed Australian beach town. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their sons have a similarly deep bond, quickly
drawn in a few emotive scenes in the early part of the movie, when one of the
boys’ fathers dies unexpectedly. The story takes us through changing and intersecting lives.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">My Thoughts:<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span></span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">This film is really about the events
which begin to unfold in one particular summer. Time passes, as it generally
does, and in one pivotal summer, lots of things explode… Roz’s marriage, for
one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But lots of other things as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is love here, and loss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pathos and passion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right and wrong – or <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">is </b>it wrong?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s
definitely an “eww” factor with this film, which comes THISCLOSE to being about
incest but which ultimately is not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By
the time the “eww” occurs to you, you may find that you’re already invested in
the characters and willing to take the journey with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You probably won’t be sorry that you did.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">So overall, you’re saying?<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><em>Definitely </em>see this film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Besides the acting (excellent), besides the scenery (breathtaking), the
film pushes the limits as to what’s acceptable and what might not be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Probably even better if you see it with a
friend, so that you can dissect it afterwards!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(Presently in theatrical release in Halifax, so you can see it in
theatres for the time being.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go get your
tickets.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">PRISONERS<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Synopsis:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Hugh Jackman and Terrance Howard (in a
very understated performance) are facing every parent’s worst nightmare. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their young daughters disappear, and it seems
that the only lead is a dilapidated RV parked on their street earlier in the
day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jake Gyllenhaal’s Detective Loki
arrests its driver, Alex Jones (Paul Dano, in an incredible performace), but a
lack of evidence forces his release. Time passes, and the more time that passes,
the less chance there is of the children’s being found alive, or at all… what can worried
parents do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And what’s with Gyllenhaal’s
(literally) buttoned-up character? What’s
the deal on visible neck tattoos on a police officer? Very unlike his usual
roles.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">My Thoughts:<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span></span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Another rather long film (2 h, 26 m!)…
and I have rarely heard a full theatre so still.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Occasional gasps, even a couple of giggles,
but in general, silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a
gripping psychological thriller, not to be missed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How far would you go to find your missing
child?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What lines would you cross?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And how could you ever be ok in the end?</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">It’s not
giving away a plotline to tell you that the Alex in the story is himself a
victim, though no graphic detail is given – in fact, we’re not even certain of
that until almost the end of the film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In addition to the stellar performances of the male leads (you won’t
even care that neither Jackman nor Gyllenhaal never appear shirtless, I
promise), I want to pay some attention to the female leads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Granted, this is a story driven by the men,
most particularly by Jackman’s character.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But it felt a little odd that the mothers of these children seemed so
peripheral to the story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maria Bello’s
Grace Dover was pretty much sedated through the film, and far from feeling
sympathy for her, she really got on my nerves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was little credible or likeable about her even before her daughter
was kidnapped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Viola Davis’s ability was
kind of wasted on her small role as Howard’s onscreen wife, Nancy Birch. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">The work of
Melissa Leo, on the other hand, as Holly Jones, was simply incredible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Honestly, though she looked familiar to me,
she so inhabited the role that I didn’t realise who played the part until I
read the full cast & crew list on IMDB!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She’s had a pretty impressive career and struck my radar first in Will
Smith’s “21 Grams,” though I was pretty much unaware of her after that until Mark Wahlberg’s
“The Fighter.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m predisposed to like
Leo, but I had no idea she was in this film and didn’t twig to it until after I’d
actually seen it, so good was she in the role.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Oscar-worthy performance (not that they’ll ask me!)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">So overall, you’re saying?<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Go see this film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
story’s awesome, acting by the main characters is superb, and it will grip your
attention right until the end… It’s also, near as I can figure out, the first
really big-budget work from Canadian director (Denis Villeneuve, of “Incendies”
repute).</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #666666; font-family: CharisSILRegular; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
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Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-29987296632263535252013-09-16T17:15:00.002-07:002013-09-16T17:15:20.993-07:00The Funeral
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Funeral<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sat amidst a sea of black<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Punctuated by an occasional flash of red sweater<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And looked at the numb faces of 200 people<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gathered there to say goodbye to you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sign at the front of the synagogue<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(on display only for funerals)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
said “Silence would be appreciated,”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and so there was only a low hum of conversation<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
much quieter than it ever is on Shabbat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There were dozens of people I didn’t know<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because your reach into the community was just that great,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And it was easy to tell who wasn’t Jewish – <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The woman who picked up the <i>Mahzor</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(the High Holidays prayer book, because we’re<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
not done with that just yet) –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
first holding it upside down,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
then looking at it from left to right,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
looking perplexed as she realised that<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
these numbers seemed backwards.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are no hymns at a Jewish funeral,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and in fact, it can often seem perfunctory, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
almost businesslike, compared to <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
funerals in churches, where there is music<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
carefully chosen to reflect the dearly departed <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(or the wishes of the family).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes, there is incense there<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(but not in a synagogue).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your family came in together,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before the watchful eyes of a sanctuary full to overflowing,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Coffin covered in its blue velvet <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">miktze</i>,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Embroidered with the Hebrew words<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tzedakah tatzeel
mimavet</i>…"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Charity redeems from death…” (I’m not sure what that
means.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You were with us and not with us…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Washed and made ready for your shroud<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By women of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Chevra
Kadisha</i>,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
women who knew you <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and your husband and children.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before you could be wrapped in your shroud<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(no special funeral wardrobe, no jewellery),<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
you were washed, very gently,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
prayers said at each instance of washing<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
so that your spirit would not be offended<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
by the way you were made ready.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(<i>Tahara</i>)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so you, the guest of honour,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Arrived for this last of the Jewish<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Life cycle events.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your brother eulogized you beautifully<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and was very brave<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(you would’ve been so proud of him).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your friend and colleague spoke about<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
meeting you when you were both young doctors, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and about how very smart you were.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your niece, almost unbearably young<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(younger, even, than your children)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
spoke about how she loved you and<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
how special you made her feel.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your childhood friend, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
who got almost to her last couple of words<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
before she started to cry.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gulping air, eyes closed, she held up a finger<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Wait just a minute, and I can finish,” she said,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
without ever saying a word.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And she opened her eyes,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Smiled tremulously, and wished you goodbye.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your cousin, from half a world away,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
who surely would rather have been sitting somewhere<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
sipping Mai Tais with you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Life would never be the same for any of them, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
because you were the lynchpin.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We heard some Hebrew chanting – <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
not the usual Jewish funeral, in fact,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and went to the cemetery.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sun was shining, and it was warmer outside<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Than when I had left work to get to your funeral.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The cemetery was almost as full of people <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
as the synagogue had been.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a little more prayer here,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
but really, this was the final goodbye.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our tradition says that here, at the cemetery,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
is where we can do the greatest mitzvah of all,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the greatest good deed,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the most fulsome lovingkindness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so one at a time, we took the shovel.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
first, a little bit of dirt on its back,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
dropping onto your coffin, sounding like seeds on paper.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then, 2 more shovelfuls each.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thunk. Thunk.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Until your coffin had a layer of dirt covering its top
surface,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
every shovelful sounded like a gunshot.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nobody spoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
stood silently, watching, waiting<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(flinching)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
until it was our turn.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pick up the shovel. A tiny bit of dirt on the back.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And to the gash in the earth that is your last place in this
world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two more shovelfuls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hand the shovel to the next mourner.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is the last mitzvah<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because it is the one that can never be repaid.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is the one that hurts the giver.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is the one that makes your death<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even more real than its announcement on Shabbat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-52710941506382990122012-01-19T12:56:00.000-08:002012-01-19T12:56:17.126-08:00How 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.<br />
<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Happy, happy birthday, Moo!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP7zjxXLtZsgBh7D9KyADNA9mrOoL8Lm4qAPTKTNSSIGU_FxRXMXQgrsz4N2JdD3xfr7ghhyD9lPbE7YApeLvrHdzRY1UVAaK3KyACdLpd0-ZGUQYvAsI2RGguoFqQAPLlYdUbz7B01KQ/s1600/DSC_0003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" nfa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP7zjxXLtZsgBh7D9KyADNA9mrOoL8Lm4qAPTKTNSSIGU_FxRXMXQgrsz4N2JdD3xfr7ghhyD9lPbE7YApeLvrHdzRY1UVAaK3KyACdLpd0-ZGUQYvAsI2RGguoFqQAPLlYdUbz7B01KQ/s320/DSC_0003.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-69281657636699518092011-11-16T17:38:00.000-08:002011-11-16T17:38:20.573-08:00Zaftig 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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.Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-6305561922756623662011-11-09T17:27:00.000-08:002011-11-09T17:27:53.830-08:00Zaftig ZumbaIf you were to look up 'zaftig' in the dictionary, you'd find this:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq"><div style="text-align: left;"><em>zaf·tig /ˈzɑftɪk, -tɪg/ Show Spelled[zahf-tik, -tig] Show IPAadjective Slang. 1.(of a woman) having a pleasantly plump figure.</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em></em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em><br />
</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em>2.full-bodied; well-proportioned.</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em><br />
</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em>Also, zoftig.</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em><br />
</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em>Origin: 1935–40; < Yiddish zaftikliterally, juicy, succulent; compare Middle High German saftec,derivative of saf(t), Old High German saf(German Saft) sap, juice</em></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
I believe I prefer the original Yiddish meaning... 'juicy, succulent...' Yeah, that's me! </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">And if you went to <strong>another </strong>dictionary, where you could actually find 'zumba,' you'd see this:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><div style="text-align: left;"><em>Zumba: </em><em>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.</em></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;">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.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">But Susan caught me at the right time - I had been feeling a need to <strong>move </strong>(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...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">And tonight was the first class.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">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 <strong>that </strong>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 <strong>not </strong>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!)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">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 <strong>at all</strong>. 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.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">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.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Then there's the music. Generally speaking, I don't know the music. It is <strong>not </strong>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 <strong>my </strong>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...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">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, <strong>those </strong>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!)<br />
<br />
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 <strong>have </strong>a moveable upper body!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><strong>But...</strong> 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 <strong>do </strong>this (snicker!). Fourth, I know that I can do anything, <strong>anything</strong>, on a time-limited basis. I've already got one out of 6 classes complete!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">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 <strong>next </strong>Wednesday night!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">You will not be seeing this on Youtube. ;)</div>Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-24227989011019280782011-10-30T19:43:00.000-07:002011-10-30T19:57:34.848-07:00Prayer for a Lost BoyLast 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.' <br />
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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.<br />
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She spoke, full of pain and courage, and I typed. And in part, her homily says, <em>"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." </em><br />
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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 <strong>someone </strong>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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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.Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-1755798492896251422011-10-13T19:28:00.000-07:002011-10-13T19:28:12.719-07:00Kol Nidre in New YorkI 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.”<br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>And on Saturday, Yom Kippur, my prayers were private, because I just couldn't go back there.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnhrdVvVWOvRz6WZO4GXr70dFHQyJE5uqCeMFAyOUnTIr5pUaB8xB3WqYFA6YyCogYQ57I83Qy5FT7mZkneucca9WcTrXVCVlMzz_KCN-7meaXbayjZBGM3CxNTFm3p445nAvQWJfaiI/s1600/magen+david+with+hebrew+text.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnhrdVvVWOvRz6WZO4GXr70dFHQyJE5uqCeMFAyOUnTIr5pUaB8xB3WqYFA6YyCogYQ57I83Qy5FT7mZkneucca9WcTrXVCVlMzz_KCN-7meaXbayjZBGM3CxNTFm3p445nAvQWJfaiI/s1600/magen+david+with+hebrew+text.png" /></a></div>Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-8768886497621191392011-02-13T12:19:00.000-08:002011-02-13T12:19:58.381-08:00Tefillin or not tefillin... that is the question...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6YAuv3GjpNyZUOwLOMpwYA9rpfb8eER2I0eEs4oyyUeIBK-bAUdNRoTQLwoVfDBModcQNn2tes8XtdCC8wW3QEH1qXJb_KOegVeL91BaifZnkboAGlGAgJ8gysGewuCzqeRUqA-YKF5Y/s1600/Tefillin+borrowed+for+the+event.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6YAuv3GjpNyZUOwLOMpwYA9rpfb8eER2I0eEs4oyyUeIBK-bAUdNRoTQLwoVfDBModcQNn2tes8XtdCC8wW3QEH1qXJb_KOegVeL91BaifZnkboAGlGAgJ8gysGewuCzqeRUqA-YKF5Y/s200/Tefillin+borrowed+for+the+event.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tefillin</td></tr>
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<em>Tefillin</em>, or not <em>tefillin</em>, 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 <em>tefillin</em>. Here’s what I know.<br />
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<em>Tefillin</em> 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.<br />
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<em>Tefillin</em> are sometimes called <em>phylacteries</em>, a word derived from the ancient Greek <em>phylakterion</em>, which means a safeguard. It seems possible that the Greeks misunderstood <em>tefillin</em> 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 <em>tefillin</em> is related to the word <em>tefilah</em> (prayer) and the Greek term was not used in Jewish circles.<br />
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Like most things to do with prayer, men are obligated to wear <em>tefillin</em> (we call it 'laying <em>tefillin'</em> or 'wrapping <em>tefillin'</em>) from the time of their <em>Bar Mitzvah</em>, but women are not. There are some who argue that the lack of obligation incumbent on women in this <em>mitzvah</em> is actually a prohibition, and that women should not wear them. However, there are women who do take on the obligation and who lay <em>tefillin</em> regularly. Early Jewish <em>Halacha</em> (law) allowed women to take on the obligation of wearing <em>tefillin</em>, but this custom was generally discouraged, and eventually this discouragement became active exclusion, especially amongst Ashkenazi Jews.<br />
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Modern Orthodox Judaism holds that it is permissible for women to wear <em>tefillin</em>, though it is generally discouraged. Conservative Judaism and Reform Judaism allow women to wear <em>tefillin</em>, and in fact, many in Conservative Judaism encourage the practice.<br />
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The <em>hand-tefillin</em>, or <em>shel yad</em>, is placed on the upper arm, with the strap wrapped around the arm, hand, and fingers; the<em> head-tefillin</em>, or <em>shel rosh</em>, 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 <em>tefillin</em> should be worn to serve as a "sign" and "remembrance" that God brought the children of Israel out of Egypt. <em>Tefillin </em>are wrapped in a particular pattern, and one cannot just put them on without being taught to do so correctly.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMZzpKCf4HTq1edCMUfXwRI9_O8lIc7zfKc0WBVt7lK6GqbjPq1RZrERSQ3SJ22LkjlIMTv4xms9vW7E33UuQIhOA0ae3F9SYIFPepKKs8IHTsy_zg6Td_lHmf_TzV9Ob9Dld_yhjUFn0/s1600/Figuring+out+how+to+wrap+tefillin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMZzpKCf4HTq1edCMUfXwRI9_O8lIc7zfKc0WBVt7lK6GqbjPq1RZrERSQ3SJ22LkjlIMTv4xms9vW7E33UuQIhOA0ae3F9SYIFPepKKs8IHTsy_zg6Td_lHmf_TzV9Ob9Dld_yhjUFn0/s320/Figuring+out+how+to+wrap+tefillin.jpg" width="272" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bobbi & Greg learning how to wrap tefillin</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
The obligation of <em>tefillin</em> 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)<br />
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And it's mentioned twice in the <em>Shema</em> 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)<br />
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The <em>Shema</em>, in case you're wondering, is one of the most important prayers in all of Jewish tradition - <em>"Shema Israel, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Ehad,"</em> 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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I <strong>think</strong> that I can be engrossed in Torah without taking on another <em>mitzvah</em> – or to be more precise, I have thought this to be the case. After all, I’ve taken on <em>mitzvot</em> quite happily that I didn’t imagine would ever be important to me. I keep kosher… I wear a <em>tallis</em>… 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 <em>tefillin</em>? Do I even want them? I don’t know yet … but they are very much on my mind.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhdR2dmI1accLqOJXPk4JhGWXC8pxpf0Atas4xINtKCeT1FgaO6UoBmkhunbsrzE42mb1vCbZ_JCHb93QO8aZJu8U5xDGsy4WxyPlsa-TpbuWS1dEBUSg1kt4y1259JtepWe8Mz3BnSCA/s1600/My+arm+with+tefillin.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhdR2dmI1accLqOJXPk4JhGWXC8pxpf0Atas4xINtKCeT1FgaO6UoBmkhunbsrzE42mb1vCbZ_JCHb93QO8aZJu8U5xDGsy4WxyPlsa-TpbuWS1dEBUSg1kt4y1259JtepWe8Mz3BnSCA/s320/My+arm+with+tefillin.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My arm in tefillin...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-75910529313944133982011-01-19T05:04:00.000-08:002011-01-19T05:04:06.521-08:00<strong><em><span style="font-size: large;">For Leah, Who is One Today</span></em></strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2vDQhNsX_JI-6VHxJFgP0CKTU2o4nLulnNe6C3Hg2a9gGTlrFGFzCeC84AMW_MVd1nWD4S-2cxqkt2hto1YIIaDILWbLZRYzl60FhjgEmk_WxJI7gE5p9raYaIBz2ND-RMIfNKVdhXhg/s1600/17039_445319275108_863910108_10694899_697288_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2vDQhNsX_JI-6VHxJFgP0CKTU2o4nLulnNe6C3Hg2a9gGTlrFGFzCeC84AMW_MVd1nWD4S-2cxqkt2hto1YIIaDILWbLZRYzl60FhjgEmk_WxJI7gE5p9raYaIBz2ND-RMIfNKVdhXhg/s200/17039_445319275108_863910108_10694899_697288_n.jpg" width="148" /></a></div>On your birth day, snow was falling in early morning dark<br />
Today, it’s raining<br />
<br />
On your birth day, we who already loved you<br />
Finally got to meet you<br />
<br />
On your birth day, there were other birth days, too<br />
Your Eema, your Abba, and so many whose hearts are filled with you<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTLL8b3RANAVreeSbWhJ6XrabOBzAnQDDUkmjeEJyzou8Ok7uHPc_fZ4So7aUtS69_OayEVqy32qbERATHcgy6O_ZZaAdvrF65lJbrys_8tD8wC6zCG47iLEEaW7voRchlUWGqTtzTipg/s1600/bobbi.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTLL8b3RANAVreeSbWhJ6XrabOBzAnQDDUkmjeEJyzou8Ok7uHPc_fZ4So7aUtS69_OayEVqy32qbERATHcgy6O_ZZaAdvrF65lJbrys_8tD8wC6zCG47iLEEaW7voRchlUWGqTtzTipg/s200/bobbi.bmp" width="200" /></a></div>On your birth day, you were impossibly tiny in hands<br />
That felt clumsy just holding you<br />
<br />
Today, you show signs of the little girl <br />
Who soon will be running around the house<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaAcNlW6-xmkA8vtMMF0RlRMF2DfGrQYvciWA_qB6kSfcN0j6dQF6euosw5phCUVaUNodcirc9Ef3SW2VfTlTPjp5TkPK94eKGcYQ26jWydC4TR5XjjfjH5zDEySaAXNAi9nv3zNuwxbk/s1600/leah.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaAcNlW6-xmkA8vtMMF0RlRMF2DfGrQYvciWA_qB6kSfcN0j6dQF6euosw5phCUVaUNodcirc9Ef3SW2VfTlTPjp5TkPK94eKGcYQ26jWydC4TR5XjjfjH5zDEySaAXNAi9nv3zNuwxbk/s200/leah.bmp" width="200" /></a></div>On your birth day, you knew Eema’s and Abba’s voices<br />
Today, you beam and chatter to everyone you love<br />
<br />
On your birthday, you became your Eema’s world<br />
Today, we see that the world really is yours, <br />
And we’re discovering it anew right along with you<br />
<br />
On your birth day, we kissed you and cuddled you<br />
Today, you seek us out to offer your own sweet kisses<br />
<br />
On your birth day, our lives changed forever<br />
Today, we cannot imagine life without you<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmgfOOnE9usXjtU-pokdCSweuldvrbqF__k-j0KFVVQ7Vmx_jXzJcKS7fTN6KHV4FtH9tMjK1rqyIn9jBvFjglrUsMKN7cg2_VHYtld-QrhU7jzL8MBs5LHUEJN673SdXBRIXBS3KI828/s1600/leah+bath.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmgfOOnE9usXjtU-pokdCSweuldvrbqF__k-j0KFVVQ7Vmx_jXzJcKS7fTN6KHV4FtH9tMjK1rqyIn9jBvFjglrUsMKN7cg2_VHYtld-QrhU7jzL8MBs5LHUEJN673SdXBRIXBS3KI828/s200/leah+bath.bmp" width="200" /></a></div>Happy, happy birthday, beautiful Leah!Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128331354224177445.post-52893059212369274332011-01-17T07:19:00.000-08:002011-01-17T07:19:35.300-08:00Do Not Go Gentle...Dylan Thomas wrote<br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJcWz_OQl4rfvWJ9YFWRBbEwE9Sv95m5QejdDM_nbt_red-hd4eQ_WUU3eRvuyGZaLxSMQz5AbmMhGxMysrDslnGiIX8ChK8bevovZRFPqMthdxLKnFjKL2wvoik2z8zsRVg8lD5o-J8/s1600/Ceri+Richards+after+Dylan+Thomas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJcWz_OQl4rfvWJ9YFWRBbEwE9Sv95m5QejdDM_nbt_red-hd4eQ_WUU3eRvuyGZaLxSMQz5AbmMhGxMysrDslnGiIX8ChK8bevovZRFPqMthdxLKnFjKL2wvoik2z8zsRVg8lD5o-J8/s200/Ceri+Richards+after+Dylan+Thomas.jpg" width="146" /></a></div>Do not go gentle into that good night, <br />
Old age should burn and rage at close of day; <br />
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.<br />
<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">(“Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night,” 1951)</span></em><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>He wrote the verses for his father, a former military man who was growing weak and frail with old age, a condition familiar to many who have cared for aging parents – and one that will become uncomfortably familiar to many of us as our own years accumulate. Thomas meant to exhort his father to fight against the ravages of age, to try to become strong and vital once more; like many of us, it hurt and probably frightened him to see the father who’d been physically powerful and a commanding presence become someone who was now going blind and unable to care well for himself. The failing health of a parent is not only a distressing event for adult children – because, really, we’re never completely ready to be without our parents, no matter how much we understand that this is the way life works; it is also a sometimes unwanted reminder of our own frailty and finite worth.<br />
<br />
Today, I found an article in The Washington Post (http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/12/22/AR2009122202489.html) describing the last two decades of a pair of sisters - Clarice "Classie" Morant was 104 years old, and her younger sister, Rozzie Laney, was 92. Both women had been widowed for decades, and neither of them had had any children. For the past 20 years, the article explained, Classie, the older sister, had been caring for Rozzie, who had Alzheimer’s Disease. She had made a promise to her sister that she would never leave her, would always take care of her, and she kept that promise, up to the day that Rozzie died quietly, in her own bed, on New Year’s Eve 2008. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUdWjeiiqvu-qMXxkp8hzYV5bwyBexFmnLJ2AdLHrBO3TzUdthPdwCMUnhtlvViUaEbXHQWLgUN5JwrdVks_jlOkWBrp01e2FEs95TqvNKOb2HGopPa3y07nIWw5AP6WPJNLevZV-dhKI/s1600/oldies3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUdWjeiiqvu-qMXxkp8hzYV5bwyBexFmnLJ2AdLHrBO3TzUdthPdwCMUnhtlvViUaEbXHQWLgUN5JwrdVks_jlOkWBrp01e2FEs95TqvNKOb2HGopPa3y07nIWw5AP6WPJNLevZV-dhKI/s200/oldies3.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
The sisters had nieces and nephews, who helped them to stay in their own home and out of a long-term care facility, by bringing them to appointments as they were required, by checking in every day by phone, and by visiting regularly. The physical part of Rozzie’s day-to-day care was handled by a caregiver (who herself was near retirement age), and although Rozzie could no longer communicate in any intelligible way, Classie spent hours talking to her and just loving her. Except for the presence of a caregiver, and her sister’s bed in a downstairs sunroom converted to that purpose, the women lived together as many people do – quiet lives, domestically-centred, and relatively content.<br />
<br />
The article was accompanied by two photo essays, both of which are beautiful (http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/gallery/2009/12/31/GA2009123101687.html and http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/gallery/2009/05/08/GA2009050803459.html). Reading the article, looking at the photographs that accompanied it, listening to the audio tracks with the photo essays, I found myself wondering what my old age would be like. It’s not inconceivable, for instance, that I should live to a ripe old age – it’s not that longevity runs in my family. In fact, it does not. But neither are we prone to dying young. There have been people in my family who died much too young (an uncle on my father’s side, an aunt on my mother’s); but equally, there have been people who lived well into old age (an aunt on my father’s side who died at 92). I do come from a family of dubious genetic inheritance (heart disease, primarily, is of concern, as is hypertension), but I mitigate my risk factors: I don’t smoke, I drink in great moderation, I exercise (though not as much as I should), and I try to make healthy food choices. I have a spiritual and intellectual life that serve to keep soul and mind alert and that I believe will ultimately serve me well in my dotage, though that’s not the reason I engage these things. I engage them simply because I enjoy them – that scientists, behaviourists, and the medical community identify these two things as fundamental to a healthy old age is simply the proverbial icing on the cake.<br />
<br />
As I get older, though, I wonder more about what my old age will bring. Will I be healthy? Will I, like my parents, wind up unable to care for myself and dependent upon others to do even the most basic of tasks for me? I already know that I would hate that – not so much because of the idea of being a burden on anybody, to be honest; but like my mother, the loss of dignity involved when someone else (anyone else) has to help you to get dressed, or to bathe, or to go to the toilet, is terrifying to me. As well, I, like many people, tend to be a bit of a control freak about my own life, and my person. I like being autonomous. I like making my own decisions about what to wear, where to go, what to watch on TV, what music to listen to, when to go to bed… when to roll over in bed, for goodness’ sake! What will my life be like if I am no longer that person?<br />
<br />
There is a great tendency on the part of many to treat the elderly – particularly the disabled elderly – as if they’ve also suddenly lost their ability to think and to speak for themselves. I remember well being very angry when out shopping with my mother in the last year of her life, when she had to use a wheelchair because she could no longer walk following a stroke, because clerks in department stores would address me, when she was clearly the person making the purchase. I was always polite to them (my mother raised me well!) but always pointed out that it was, in fact, the woman in the wheelchair who had the disposable income and was making the purchase, and that they should address her. And when we left the store, purchase in hand, I invariably railed about it to my mother, because I was so insulted for her. I knew how much she felt she had lost with the stroke, and it angered me that suddenly she had also apparently become invisible.<br />
<br />
My mother eventually wound up in a long-term care facility herself. She was very angry about it and felt more than a little betrayed by her children, who had “put” her there. We were ourselves guilt-struck about the decision to make this arrangement for her, but honestly, there was no other way. There were 3 of her 5 adult children living here, all of whom had outside employment and could not be at home with her during the day. Two of us had partners who also worked outside the home, and as for me, I was a single parent, working full-time and also in grad school. We cobbled together care as well as we could, employing caregivers to come in to be with her initially for a couple of hours in the morning and a couple of hours in the evening (wake-up and bedtime, essentially). We would be with her for as many intervening hours as we could, and we tried to make sure that weekends were spent more with family than with caregivers (though we did, in effect, become her caregivers as well).<br />
<br />
Our mother’s physical care needs grew ever-greater, though, as her condition deteriorated, and the cost of caregivers, who were now needed almost 24/7, became prohibitive. Even had we been able to afford the many thousands of dollars each month which it would have cost to keep her in her little apartment, at this stage, it wasn’t the best choice because her medical needs were growing more pronounced as well. Simply, she had to be within easier reach of medical attention. She lived in the long-term care facility (I hate ‘nursing home’) for just about a full year before she died. Although she had been sick for several years, and we knew that she would not miraculously get better, her death, though ultimately peaceful, still felt sudden.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7-pmP87rl-LJDUOb0yQQMwzQ-POgbp821lYPGsOe04IKbrJJrzOCDK3ZRAwTG3aakAOcBv4wjLI9PR3BCQ0YTG74JZ_oRYNGP4jFNb82FFBEk9KTlOeffX-Il42JPVWqk6VNiXKOePDc/s1600/3411739497_43c8dbebff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7-pmP87rl-LJDUOb0yQQMwzQ-POgbp821lYPGsOe04IKbrJJrzOCDK3ZRAwTG3aakAOcBv4wjLI9PR3BCQ0YTG74JZ_oRYNGP4jFNb82FFBEk9KTlOeffX-Il42JPVWqk6VNiXKOePDc/s200/3411739497_43c8dbebff.jpg" width="124" /></a></div>And so now, at what we might diplomatically term the midpoint of my life, I find myself wondering what the end of it might look like. I have a wonderful daughter who says, to my protest, that she will never ‘put you in a nursing home.’ While I appreciate the sentiment, my daughter is 22 as I write this, and the last thing on earth that I want is for her to become my caregiver by the time she hits 40, and given genetics, it’s not inconceivable. I’ve told her for years (most especially those years during which we lived out my mother’s last years) that when I become unable to care for myself, the only reasonable choice to be made is not whether a long-term care facility, but rather, which one. I don’t want my daughter bathing me, or diapering me, and I know from experience what it feels like to be the daughter who does it. It breaks two hearts.<br />
<br />
And yes, I know that she would do that for me as I did it for my mother – with great care and greater love, protecting as much of my tattered dignity as she could. She would do for me, as I did for my mother, and care for me tenderly, remembering the hundred things that my hands had done for her as if they were on autopilot. <br />
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That’s only one aspect of old age, though, and that’s not even the frightening one. If it happens, then it happens, and while I will do as much as I can to take care of myself in a way to reduce my risk factors, doing that is no guarantor of success. The thing that frightens me is being old and alone, in a little apartment, seeing few people, and being poor. It’s difficult to make a retirement plan when more than half your working life is spent as a single parent, generally with not enough money for living, much less for saving. I’ll have a pension, I hope – unless the Canada Pension Plan goes bankrupt by the time I need it. But there is what they call superannuation from my workplace which, cobbled together to CPP, should allow me at least to live. The question of how well I will live is an interesting one. I make jokes about being able to afford only the no-name cat food (not for a cat, either), but they’re tinged with a wee bit of anxiety, because what if that is what my reality will be in my old age? I don’t anticipate a retirement full of travel, or a subscription to the symphony; I worry that it’s going to be a subsistence existence. Should I retire from the federal government at the end of my working life, then I will at least have retiree medical benefits, which will be a help should I need greater than average care.<br />
<br />
What I do know is that if I am well enough to keep out of a long-term care facility, it is almost certain that I will not live with any of my sisters, or with my brother. It’s not that I don’t love them, or that they don’t love me; rather, it’s that they have their lives, and I have mine. We don’t actually take care of each other now, so why would I expect that to change when I’m 75 or 80? What if the shoe were on the other foot – would I care for an elderly brother or sister to keep them out of a long-term care facility? Well, yes, I believe I would – on the other hand, my siblings also have spouses, so it’s unlikely that they will need me, even if I am the healthy one of the lot of us (that in itself might also be questionable, but I am the youngest!).<br />
<br />
My friend Andrea and I have talked about this, and we each agree that we can picture ourselves as little old ladies, living together in a small house, and taking care of each other in the way that friends do. Our children would come to visit us, and perhaps we would go to visit them as well, but our lives, we imagine, could be bound to one another through choice and not necessity. We each agree that barring the possibility of by that time having established a long-term romantic relationship with some as yet unknown man, the only way to have more than a subsistence existence when we are old is to live with someone else. Andrea and I have a lot in common and enjoy doing many of the same things, so in theory this could work… but I’m not really going to know until the time comes. Perhaps right now, it’s just a bit of a comfort to have this possibility as an option – though I’m not sure whether or not it’s truly realistic.<br />
<br />
Robert Browning wrote<br />
<br />
Grow old along with me!<br />
The best is yet to be,<br />
The last of life, for which the first was made:<br />
Our times are in His hand<br />
Who saith "A whole I planned,<br />
Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!"<br />
<em><span style="font-size: x-small;"> ("Rabbi Ben Ezra," 1864)</span></em><br />
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And so my question, then, is… what of those who have nobody with whom to grow old? Do they become invisible as they eke out a meagre existence, marking time until they die? And without some sort of financial security, how is anything else possible?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh328aqhlPfmoCTsk6Hqx5RzelqacfDVnZcaN5v0oSUthlXXg5rPcRsOvcdnyZqTNLBYu6FAB2UzoFFXQC5OtjEbW3Bl5YzfOzuXewLINk3HvdmX_G8Qqw77LhmxEv7-YVtv1N5dg61YU8/s1600/pity.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh328aqhlPfmoCTsk6Hqx5RzelqacfDVnZcaN5v0oSUthlXXg5rPcRsOvcdnyZqTNLBYu6FAB2UzoFFXQC5OtjEbW3Bl5YzfOzuXewLINk3HvdmX_G8Qqw77LhmxEv7-YVtv1N5dg61YU8/s320/pity.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Chavivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00021143885591592377noreply@blogger.com2