sometimes satiation isn’t a good thing

I absolutely can’t figure out how I found this yesterday. Link to link to link…

But this is such an important concept for so many areas.

So somehow I came across this term in something that I read online–semantic satiation.

Sounds interesting, you say? Here’s what Dr. Wiki says about it:

Semantic satiation (also semantic saturation) is a psychological phenomenon in which repetition causes a word or phrase to temporarily lose meaning for the listener, who can only process the speech as repeated meaningless sounds.

(You can find that here.)

Happens to me all the time, along with the inability to recall words. I’m sure they’re related.

But I’m sure that has to do with my parents trying desperately to make me right-handed, which caused major confusion in the part of my brain that deals with language.

Or so I tell myself, since I’m the only one who listens to such, um, a tale.

But [getting back to my subject] doesn’t it matter with everything that we do repeatedly?

Let’s suggest a list where this could play out:

1. giving advice/directions/feedback to children
2. to co-workers
3. to relatives of all levels
4. to spouses
5. to G-d.

Yes!

Oh you saw that coming, didn’t you?

It’s about anything repeated too often. It can lose its meaning. It’s like the mwaa-mwaa of Charlie Brown’s adults. (How would you spell that?) It becomes noise and signifying nothing.

Maybe full of fury but always full of sound.

Definitely told by idiots.

So the only answer is not to make it so meaningless, to figure out a way to invest it (whatever you’re saying–substitute any of the above, but certainly for prayer

Or for any conversation, really) with concentration.

On the other hand, sometimes as I pray I just get something I never thought of before and it is indeed meaningful. Since in Hebrew,להתפלל the verb for prayer is reflexive, it really is about how we are approaching and reflecting it back to ourselves.

So we shouldn’t be idiots.

But if the xkcd:Skynet is apt, then there is indeed a problem with becoming too self-reflexive, too caught up in yourself.

Yup, that works, too.

Remember your goal. It’s not about you.

Psalms Chapter 16 תְּהִלִּים
ח  שִׁוִּיתִי יְהוָה לְנֶגְדִּי תָמִיד:	8 I have set the LORD always before me.

what can i tell her i’m reading?

The woman who I only see (or at least rarely see except) at the mikveh was once again there last night when I was the shomeret.  I knew that she would expect me to say some kind of wise statement, if not more, since this has become a habit.

A nice one, I think.

But could I bring the book that I really wanted, or would I bend to meet social expectations?

So maybe sometimes, social expectations do help us, even if we weren’t ready for the help.

Now that I think of it, I wrote about my two current book choices a bit ago, with my previous algorithm challenge to Amazon.

Let’s Pretend This Never Happened: (A Mostly True Memoir) by Jenny Lawson

and

Mourning Under Glass: Reflections on a Son’s Murder by Dr. Naftali Moses PhD.

Now which one do you think I read there last night?

So when she asked me for my wisdom, I could tell her what I just had read, and I think it’s profound enough to pass on.

But, if I may (and I may, since I’m in charge of this and it is mostly mine), I will say that Jenny’s book is not exactly what you’d call light reading, either. Profound in its own bizarre way, and quite moving when you think about all the things she had to overcome and did with not much more than a sense of humor to guide her.

But I regress.

This is the background for what I told her that follows, from Mourning Under Glass: (p. 122)

In traditional discourse, the literal name of G0d features prominently.  God is often referred to euphemistically as “the Name,” since pronouncing the actual name of God is prohibited. The different names of God are held to be indicative of His various attributes, and a good portion of Jewish mysticism is devoted to studying the various names and their permutations. Some of the names of God are so ineffable that they were secretively passed down only to select individuals in each generation.

A name refers to something without actually being that thing. A name exists in the realm of language, in a community’s cultural connection to the real world. But words are are by definition only ephemeral ghosts of the reality to which they refer. The word “water,” no matter how brilliantly evoked in the most creative language, cannot compete iwth the direct apprehension you get of water when a bucketful is emptied onto your head. God the Creator is the most Real there can be, yet at the same time He is also the most intangible to His creations. Naming God or referring to God’s names is linguistically the closest one can get to God, while simultaneously serving as a reminder that this name-calling is not actually the Real thing. The names, so indicative as to be ineffable, is still just that–a name, and not God Himself. It is a marker of the presence of absence.

Here’s the section that I restated for her:

The call to sanctify God’s name by the mourner is an acknowledgment of this difficult state of absent presence. This is also the temporal framework of the kaddish. Its language points to the future. Together with his community, the mourner offers a prayer that recognizes the lack found in the present. G0d’s name will be magnified and sancitified–hopefully “speedily and soon”. Eventually, there “will be much peace from the heavens” and it will be God who “will make peace for us and all Israel.”

I will stop quoting here.

The absence is magnified.

I knew she would get that.

a representation of a flower

I had a conversation this morning about feminism and Orthodox Judaism and me. Someone wanted to know how I stand, or maybe where I stand, and why things do or do not happen here that may or may not happen other places.

How’s that for a convoluted sentence? I think she wanted to know why we do not push the envelope more completely, since we seem like we should be a group that does so.

So I told her that my venue is learning. I have zero interest in performance. I think that ritual is fine in and of itself, but it’s not what interests me in any way to make me motivated to get more involved.  So I can’t really relate.  And singing does matter to me, but not singing to prove something.  What is the motive for performance, I wonder? Is it to be like the boys or is it really Avodat Hashem, service to G-d ?

Yes, G-d gets left out of the equation too often.

She responded in the kindest of ways whether the issue was a matter of giving the benefit of the doubt.

I said I doubt it, but no, I’m already past that.

And then for whatever reason, I thought of flowers.

And being open and vulnerable and almost past their prime, but actually being completely that.

At their prime.

And so I thought about how I much prefer flowers these days when they are completely open. Completely done.

Before they’re done.

You know, sort of right before you need a haircut is when your hair looks the best.

Oh I do remember why I thought of flowers.

I told her that we had a Shabbat afternoon service for women years ago and it was lovely. Beautiful singing, no egos. It dissipated because the main leader moved away and I think I got busy with babies.

And it was nice, but I didn’t feel I needed it so much to recreate it.

So flowers?

Yes.

I said that my favorite prayer time throughout the week is this Shabbat Minchah afternoon service.

The day is almost done. I’m filled with a sense of completion, but also a sense of the future, of the promise of more Shabbatot to come.

And it’s short and so sweet.

Like a flower at its prime.

l’éternel étranger

I feel I must say something about Toulouse.

I don’t know what to say.

וַיִּדֹּם, אַהֲרֹן

Aharon was silent after the death of his two sons.

So what can I say?

I’m reading Herman Wouk’s book from 2000 called The Will to Live on: The Resurgence of Jewish Heritage. I have absolutely no recollection of why I found out about that book; I think the last book I read by him was Marjorie Morningstar back in high school. I’ve changed a lot since then.

So has the world.

He has a part about the end of European Jewry, with the understanding that it was shifting all to Israel.

He wrote that 12 years ago, actually referencing a book that he had planned 20 years before that.

I think that we could say we’ve reached the end of the line now. Look at this excruciatingly accurate article on CNN (of all places): Europe’s blind spot on anti-Semitism

A just-released survey in 10 European countries found that 24% of the French population holds anti-Jewish sentiment, up from 20% in 2009. In Hungary, Spain and Poland, anti-Semitic sentiment is “off the charts,” according to Abraham Foxman of the Anti-Defamation League. Surveys show that 15% of Americans hold anti-Jewish views.

Powerlessness is all about what we Jews were in Europe; court Jews at best, favors gathered here and there.

No wonder we developed such long and complicated prayers.

We could only turn to G-d. We didn’t really know if His answers were what we needed, but that’s all we could hope for.

I keep thinking about the line יְהִי חַסְדְּךָ ה’ עָלֵינוּ. כַּאֲשֶׁר יִחַלְנוּ לָךְ: in the Psukei D’zimra section of morning prayers. I think it translates as

“May your mercy be upon us, [just} like we have hoped.’

I think this gets it.

It also is (surprise!) what Pesach is about–our total dependence on G-d.

If He hadn’t taken us out our Egypt…dayenu!

Not by any means…

I saw this piece of art and I thought it was cool enough to link.

This is Ward Shelley’s representation of the Diaspora.

I would say it should be called “Where are we going?”

borrowing again, since it’s Friday

Prayer

by Marie Howe

Every day I want to speak with you. And every day something more important
calls for my attention—the drugstore, the beauty products, the luggage

I need to buy for the trip.
Even now I can hardly sit here

among the falling piles of paper and clothing, the garbage trucks outside
already screeching and banging.

The mystics say you are as close as my own breath.
Why do I flee from you?

My days and nights pour through me like complaints
and become a story I forgot to tell.

Help me. Even as I write these words I am planning
to rise from the chair as soon as I finish this sentence.

“Prayer” by Marie Howe, from The Kingdom of Ordinary Time. © W. W. Norton & Company, 2008.  (buy now)

counting blessings

I don’t always pay attention. I know that often I am on automatic. I know that’s how I work and I don’t fret about it. That’s one of the elements that draws me to the writings of Eliezer Berkovitz, that we can forgive ourselves for not always being “on”, as long as we are aware of that fact. Being aware, I think, is the first step to making the steps towards action.

Positive action.

So what brings this up?

The story of Purim, for one. This is a great account of action and inaction, and waiting for action. (No, I don’t have Iran on my mind. Much.) Think about it. Esther gets put into this queenship thing not of her doing. She then refuses to have the full treatment of beauty stuff, and yet is called beautiful by all, pleasing to the eye. She doesn’t act, doesn’t act, and is told to act. And her action is to wait and wait and then act.

It’s all timing, in other words.

So I’m going to talk about Shabbat now.

Last week, before I lit candles, I had an overwhelming emotional connection to what I was doing. This is unusual, to say the least, since right before Shabbat, I’m usually overwhelmed just getting to the finish line, as much time as there is beforehand. That’s just the nature of the beast, so to speak.

I am drawn to the prayer that I have been saying for so many years in addition to the blessing for candle lighting.

May it be Your will, Lord my God and God of my fathers, to be gracious to me (and to ISHI, my sons, my daughters, my father, and my mother) and to all my family; grant us and all Israel good and long life; remember us for good and blessing; consider us for salvation and compassion; bless us with great blessings; make our household complete, and may You cause Your Divine Presence to dwell among us. Make me worthy to raise learned children and grandchildren, who are wise and understanding, who love and fear God, people of truth, holy and attached to God, enlightening the world with Torah and goodness and service of our Creator. Please hear our prayers, in the merit of our matriarchs Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah, and ensure that the glow of our lives will never be dimmed. Shine Your face upon us and we will be redeemed. Amen.

I wrote about buying this plaque here a long time ago (wow–almost 3 years!). You can look at it, if you want.

I’m thinking that it’s not magical thinking to ask G-d to continue giving us the blessings that we’ve already received–it’s foolish to think that we automatically deserve them.

i wasn’t going to write about shlomo carlebach, but

I was going to write about bad grammar. There was a message on the phone machine from someone who should know better, but said”

“Blahblahblahblah  blahblah blah…

for you and I to get together.”

No. You lose all credibility with that one.

So that’s the theme here that I walked into (into which I walked?):

You should know better.

That’s my feeling about Shlomo Carlebach. I was reminded of him just now by the link provided by Jewish Ideas Daily from the Forward. I am wary in general of anything written in the Forward, since it’s going to have an anti-religious outlook, but this article is so blaaaand. It’s as if the person reviewing the musical had no idea of who this guy was. And I think that’s bad reviewing.

So I will review him without seeing the musical.

Which I will not do.

I will explain. Actually, I will refer you to what I wrote back on June 28, 2009 about my distrust of celebrity, charisma, etc., including my distaste for Shlomo Carlebach. I did not state it outright, but I’ll link you to an article from Lillith Magazine  that has been used as an example of Lashon Hara, since it was written after he died and so he couldn’t defend himself against such charges.

The fact is abuse basically by definition means the weak not being able to defend him/herself. So I have no use for this argument. The undisputed fact is that he took advantage of many women, and probably much of it (now this is definitely my opinion, for what it’s worth) could be called abuse.

So how does this figure into his music?

Last Friday evening, at shul, the person leading the services was a Carlebach devoté and he milked all the Carlebach tunes for all they’re worth.

Which, of course, in my book, is not very much.

Most of his tunes are quite simplistic, which most people think means that they’re easy to follow. It happens to be not true. There’s one in particular that people mess up, not able to handle the minor vs. major key that it dips into. But still, yes, I did use some of the tunes when I taught preschool. As I said, simplistic. Fit for that.

I will also link you to a wonderful article about music and prayer by Chief Rabbi Lord Sacks that I just received and I will include but a bit here (and you should definitely read the whole thing, if you haven’t already):

There is an inner connection between music and the spirit. When language aspires to the transcendent and the soul longs to break free of the gravitational pull of the earth, it modulates into song. Music, said Arnold Bennett is “a language which the soul alone understands but which the soul can never translate.” It is, in Richter’s words “the poetry of the air.” Tolstoy called it “the shorthand of emotion.” Goethe said, “Religious worship cannot do without music. It is one of the foremost means to work upon man with an effect of marvel.” Words are the language of the mind. Music is the language of the soul.

So if music is indeed the language of the soul, then it will inform what is in that soul. And I’m saying that just like I won’t listen to Wagner’s music because I know what an anti-Semite he was, (and I don’t like Renoir because I know what kind of anti-Semite he was), I will say that Carlebach’s lack of boundaries comes out in his music and we shouldn’t use it for holy purposes. And so the Forward can review the play, but that’s just what it is.

A play.

And he played with people’s lives, and we shouldn’t make music to sing to G-d without realizing where it’s been first.

We  should know better.

let’s start the new Gregorian year by borrowing, shall we?

Three resolutions for the new year–by Chief Rabbi Lord Sacks

An old Jewish story: Mendel meets David. He says, “Tell me, friend, how is life? I haven’t got much time, so tell me in one word.” David says, “In one word? Good.” Mendel says, “Give me a bit more detail. In two words, how is life?” David replies: “In two words? Not good.”That was 2011. It may be true for 2012. As a nation, we’re wealthier and healthier, but the economic outlook is uncertain and much of the world is troubled, if not in turmoil. What would be some Jewish advice for the coming year? First, thank God. Jews call this Barukh Hashem, “Blessed be the Lord.” In the shtetls, where Jews were poor and persecuted but deeply religious, if you asked: “How is business? the answer would come back: Barukh Hashem. How is the family? Barukh Hashem. Your health? Barukh Hashem. You might be ill, your children rebellious, your business terrible, but you thanked God. Jews knew how to rejoice in the midst of hardship. They laughed, they celebrated, they had the gift of simchah, the Jewish word for joy. They were not fools. They knew their fate was wretched. But they felt close to God. After all, he prayed in the same synagogue that they did. Second, love. Love your spouse and you will have a happy marriage. Love your children and you will have a happy family. Love your work and you will have a happy career. Love life and you will be blessed. “If only” is the opposite of love. If only my partner were more attractive, my children more appreciative, my colleagues more friendly, if only I earned more, achieved more. “If only” is toxic to happiness. It focuses on what we don’t have instead of what we do. The consumer culture invites us to an existence of “if only”. It’s the worst investment in life. True faith is all about love. Love God with all your heart, your soul, your might. Love your neighbour as yourself. Love the stranger because to others you are a stranger. You don’t have to be religious to love, but you have to love to be religious. Love is the space we make for that which is not me. By opening ourselves to something bigger than ourselves, we grow. Third, pray. Prayer is our dialogue with the infinite Other. It’s also hard, which is why we have prayer books. The finest collection of prayers is the book of Psalms. It embraces the spectrum of feeling from despair to jubilation. Prayer is to the soul what exercise is to the body, and without it we become emotionally flabby. Some people don’t pray because they try it and it does not work. They forget that prayer is done best in the company of others, in a holy place, in song, the language of the soul as it reaches out toward the unsayable. The most life-transforming prayers are choral not solo. Iris Murdoch has a lovely analogy for what prayer can achieve. She describes looking out of a window in an anxious and resentful state of mind, oblivious of her surroundings, brooding on some resentment, feeling sorry for herself. Then, suddenly, she sees a hovering kestrel. “In a moment,” she says, “everything is altered. The brooding self . . . has disappeared. There is nothing now but kestrel. And when I return to thinking of the other matter it seems less important.” She calls this “unselfing”, and that is what prayer achieves at its best. It opens our eyes to the wonder of the world. Three suggestions: more next month. But the principle is simple. When business is bad, invest in the spirit. If the economy stops growing, your happiness can still increase.

backing away from G-d

This isn’t about Matisyahu’s shaved face and proclamation. I don’t really care about his journey at the moment. Good luck to him and all that, but there are many larger things going on in the world.

It’s about a very painful situation that I observed. Again, grateful to be an observer and not an active participant. It’s about going to a shiva house where they are mourning for a child. This particular child is the oldest son of my oldest daughter’s best friends from high school, so it’s just too close to home. ISHI and I went yesterday afternoon, just before the time of afternoon prayers. There was just enough time to go sit down, express through our faces how we have no comprehension of how difficult this must be for them all, the grandparents, the parents. Everyone related by knowledge how this is not knowable.

The father is a doctor. You can’t learn this in medical school or experience of anyone else. He likes to smile and he was smiling, more out of discomfort, and was finishing talking to some doctors who had come to see him. They’re all playing dress-up, too young for any of this.

He said to us that G-d told the angels that this is why Man should be created, in order to be able to name all the creatures in the world, and that the angels couldn’t do that. They couldn’t identify the essence of each animal, but Man could. So Man is all about talking. And now he, this boy-man, is silent and silence feels like it’s the wrong response. But he doesn’t have anything to say.

But we responded that silence is the only proper response.

Vayidom Aharon וַיִּדֹּם אַהֲרֹן.  (Leviticus 10:3 וַיִּקְרָא)

You can read what Rabbi Riskin says about this in light of tragedies that people face, particularly in Israel, and I’ll quote just a bit here.

But if the Bible doesn’t present us with a satisfying explanation, it does provide us with a dignified response: “Vayidom Aharon” – and Aaron remained silent. This restrained and regal silence of Aaron in the face of inexplicable tragedy has reverberated throughout the generations as a signpost for parents silently weeping at the gravesites of their beloved children.

Not that we can understand at all. Ever. We just have to relearn how to live. Without.

The reason why the shiva period is so psychologically astute is that it allows time and structure to lead the mourner back from being on the ground, unable to rise. And so the prayers that are mandated are comfort food for the mourner, familiar speech patterns that help give words to the unknowable. And so this young man, still a kid, who has to mourn the loss of his kid, leads the afternoon prayers. What struck me so powerfully this afternoon was after he finished saying his Amidah, he stepped back his three steps, backing away from G-d. How do you back away? Why doesn’t he stay there?

Because he is still here with us.

And he has more to say.

from Rabbi Dr. Nathan Lopes Cardozo on Yom Kippur

Yom Kippur

Jealousy on Erev Yom Kippur – To Dream Harder (TTP-197)

Written by : Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardozo

In former times, no hours were more extraordinary in our forefathers’ lives than those just before the onset of the awesome day, Yom Kippur. These comprised moments of such  intense religious upheaval in the human soul, that it was as if the world had become a different planet, one in which all normal human needs and worries fell away. The solemnity of these awe-inspiring hours was hard to survive (1). Testimonies of these moments have reached us through the writings of our forefathers and by oral transmission (2).What was our forefathers’ secret to reaching this state of mind and heart?The venerable Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak Kook z”l, Chief Rabbi of Palestine before the Jewish State was established, mystic, and one of the most original thinkers ever, draws attention to a strange phrase at the end of the Al Chet confessional prayer, which is said on this awesome day: “My God, before I was formed I was of no worth, and now that I have been formed, it is as if I had not been formed.” Rabbi Kook explains that the first part of this confession is indeed easy to understand. Before I was formed I was obviously of no worth since I did not yet exist! The world was not yet in need of me.  But once created, why should man say that his existence is as if he had not been formed? Is not the fact that he now exists proof that his life is of great significance? What, then, is the meaning of this strange confession that his existence is as if he does not exist? Rabbi Kook goes on to explain the import of these words in a simple but penetrating way: When I was not yet formed, I was obviously of no worth, since the fact that I did not yet exist meant that there was no need for me to exist.  But now that I have been formed, it means there must be a reason for my being. There must be a mission that I am to fulfill, something which only I am able to accomplish.  Consequently, my existence is of crucial importance not just for myself but for all of mankind and the entire universe. Yet, what is it that I now confess at this solemn hour? That I have neither been living up to that mission nor succeeded in my attempts to accomplish it! If that is so, then my whole existence is called into question. As such, I have returned to a situation in which my existence is of no value, as in my prenatal condition. So, now that I have been formed, it is as if I had not been formed. (Olat Re’iyah, vol. 2, page 356.) This awesome thought is the focal point of Yom Kippur. Am I worthy to have a claim on life? Or have I been born but lost my right to live? This is by far the most important question for man to ask. The trembling of the earlier generations on Erev Yom Kippur was indeed that of great pachad (fear) – not fear of punishment or death, but of not rising to the challenge of living in God’s presence and fulfilling one’s destiny! Our forefathers understood these hours to be decisive. These were hours of great spiritual embarrassment. What if I have not lived up to my mission? A mission which only I can accomplish among all the billions of people? And only now, at this very moment in history! What if I fail? Then this mission will never come true! Neither now nor later!    For what purpose, then, have I been formed? It was this sense of inadequacy that was acutely felt during those hours in the lives of our forefathers. Yom Kippur is also a day on which we are prohibited to eat, but we need to understand the significance of this prohibition. Why is the denial of food so important? One of the great teachers of our people, Rabbi Avraham Yehoshua Heschel (1748-1825), the Rebbe of Apt, also known as the Ohev Yisrael (lover of all Jews), provided a significant answer to that question. On the fast of Tish’ah b’Av, the day commemorating the destruction of both temples, he would say, “How is it possible to eat on such a day?” Just thinking about the disasters that befell the Jewish people can cause a total loss of appetite. There is no way that one is able to eat on such a day! On Yom Kippur he would ask, “Who needs to eat?” This is a day when man surpasses himself; when he outdoes himself;  when man lives, at least for a few hours, on a plane where the question whether he is worthy to have been created must be answered with a dazzling YES. During these hours the Jew lives on the plane of angels, and angels do not eat (3). But perhaps there is still another meaning to the question “How is it possible to eat on such a day?”  Only once a year is a Jew granted just over 24 hours to contemplate these words: “And now that I have been formed, it is as if I had not been formed.” Who, then, has time to eat or even think about food at such an auspicious time? The great tragedy of our generation is that for many of us, even as we enter Yom Kippur and observe its laws, there is no longer a feeling of pachad (fear) or trembling before God. We have lost the art of grasping the greatness of the day. It becomes more and more difficult each year. Even when we fast and say the prayers, we are not haunted by the question of having been formed versus not having been formed. In secular society there is no longer a feeling of shame regarding what we do with our lives. Everything is fine. We have been deadened by daily needs, occupations and pleasures. We are “allrightniks” – neither contrite nor embarrassed. But with a little more thought, we Jews can realize that we are privileged to have one day in the year to be jealous of our forefathers’ religious authenticity. We should wish to give millions of dollars for the ability to participate in an hour of such genuine religious experience as they had on Erev Yom Kippur. Their great secret was trembling in awe of the Master of the World while fully cognizant that they could actually turn their lives around and say, “Yes, I have been formed and I am worthy.” Who would not dream of experiencing such hours? Just reminding ourselves of this dream makes Yom Kippur a day of great meaning. We should at least dream bold dreams, and we should dream harder. Gemar chatima tova. ***** (1) This may be the reason why we start saying the longer viduy (confession prayers) during the afternoon prayers even before Yom Kippur and before partaking of theseudah hamafseket, the last meal eaten prior to the fast. The upheaval in the soul at that time would be so great that one could indeed die from the experience before Yom Kippur has even started. (2) See for example: The Rav: The World of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik by Aaron Rakeffet-Rothkoff, vol 2, pp 169 and 170, Ktav, 1999, NY; also Moral Grandeur and Spiritual Audacity by Abraham Joshua Heschel, edited by Susannah Heschel, pp 146-147, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1996, NY. (The author is the grandson of theOhev Yisrael and bears his name.) (3) Heschel, ad loc.