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What You Can Learn When You Don’t Know Your Learning

Here’s one of my secret passions. I love America’s Got Talent. I’m not as faithful a fan as I could be. I usually watch it on Facebook. Someone posts a contestant’s presentation and I click the enlarge button and turn on my sound. After email and the newspaper (along with the mini crossword) FB is my third activity of the day. Not counting coffee.

This morning a woman who goes by the name “Nightbirde” inspired me. She sang a song she wrote called “Its OK”. It is touching and soft and gentle and affirming. Especially when you know the back story of her ongoing struggle with Cancer. While talking with Simon (you gotta know who Simon is) she just throws out this simple, profound and challenging line. “You can’t wait until life isn’t hard anymore to decide to be happy.”

“Wow”, Simon says on AGT. Wow I echo from behind my screen. I don’t know how she (Jane) knows this or heard this but there is so much to unpack in these amazing words that it doesn’t matter what their origin. I am tempted to parse it phrase by phrase, like Rashi does Torah. But you get it. There is less in our control than we like; there is more in our control than we can imagine.

Maybe it isn’t true in all stages of life, but it is now. Don’t wait until life isn’t hard. Just living is hard; just staying healthy is hard. Just accepting that this is what’s real and this is what I have right now is hard. And I can lift it up or let it pull me down but sometimes, too many times, I can’t change it.

Don’t wait to decide to be happy. To decide to be happy. Whether it’s a struggle or comes easily and naturally happiness is a decision. Not always a simple one and sometimes we need help to make that decision. Help like love. Help like people we care about and who care about us. Help that comes in the form of chemicals. Help that comes in dreams or prayers or words like God, family, friends, tomorrow, sunshine. Even golf and garden.

It’s been a long time since I posted anything on this blog.I often think about why. And sometimes I start to write but a voice inside says it isn’t quite good enough. I guess Nightbirde spoke to me in ways that transcended the RAM and CPU that make up the guts of this machine on my lap. Don’t wait. So It’s not perfect.

It Is Fragile

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My tears started falling around 11:00 this morning. I was surprised at how touched I was by the pomp and ceremony surrounding the transition of political power in our country. The visuals were stunning. As soon as the clouds parted the Capitol Dome could not have been whiter against the blue sky. The flags unfurling and fluttering were pervasive. It was a proud moment for an American patriot.

Actually, the tears began last night when at sundown 400 lights illuminated the Reflecting Pool between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. Each light represented 1000 American deaths to Covid-19 as of that moment. President Biden and Vice-President Harris both spoke simply and directly. More Americans have died from the Pandemic than American soldiers died in WW II. No one was being blamed; no truth was being withheld. It was simply and profoundly a moment to allow us to do what we should be doing – recognize the great sadness our nation has been suppressing – pay tribute to the lives that are no more.

I am so filled with hope. I am not naïve. I am sure there will be more political wrangling and machinations. It will not be easy (in the word of Joe Biden’s speech) “to end this uncivil war that pits red against blue, rural vs. urban, conservative vs. liberal.” But I believe “we can do this if we open our souls instead of hardening our hearts If we show a little tolerance and humility …”.

Those words are key for me. Tolerance implies that I am willing to consider other points of view. Humility is more complicated. For me it is about accepting both intellectually and emotionally that I am not the center of the universe. That there is a place for all of us in this wide wide land we call home.

But as the day ends and the smoke of the fireworks settles this I know. It is fragile. It is beautiful and it is hopeful, but it is tenuous. Quoting the Psalmist, President Biden reminded us: “Weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning.”  Today was a time for joy. We have set our tears aside for the moment. Tomorrow for sure will not have the magic of today. But this I hold on to. It is a faith statement. We can be decent again. We can solve problems again. We can be the dream we call America and wipe the tears of a country climbing out of mourning.

And Then There Was Darkness

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(I wrote this yesterday as a meditation before lighting the lights of Shabbat and I read it at Temple Israel last night. Eileen said I should post it on my blog. It is always good to listen to Eileen.)

And then there was darkness. Banners waving; Flags burnished; T-shirts announcing they came to destroy our democracy.

They came on foot and they came with the urging of a man we are ashamed to call President. They came marching and chanting and they mounted the steps and they climbed the walls and they breached the fence. The barricades of decency destroyed.

And then there was darkness. The domed sanctuary to our freedom defiled by their anger, their hate, their venom poisoning the electoral process. Their truth the lies of a political expediency.

They came marching and chanting. And they broke the police lines and they shattered the sacred halls of liberty and they leered into their cameras calling themselves Patriots.

And then there was darkness.. And slowly reinforcements arrived. And belatedly the National Guard was called up. And step by step and bit by bit they were gently

Too gently

Pushed back and the mob dissipated into the night where they find a comfortable refuge. And the darkness became light. And the House of the People went back to do its work. The darkness became light when in the earliest of hours a glimmer of hope as a new President and Vice President were certified, announced, anointed.

Liberty was proclaimed throughout this broken land and we began to breathe again. Slowly and filled with worry but breathing. Astonished and full of questions and concerns, but breathing, heartbroken and might I say: angry.

But the darkness became light.

With this as our prayer, with this as our hope this glimmer, this spark, this turn toward the moon and the sun let us say these familiar words finding in them comfort and strength.

Let us kindle these holy flames and with them let us welcome Shabbat.

May its radiance illumine our hearts.

Make A Right At The Soldier

/ howardshapiro / 9 Comments

They said to make a right at the soldier. We were in line to get Covid tests at the Ballpark in West Palm Beach. We weren’t symptomatic or anything. We were there because our family is all testing so we can hang out together at our home in NC. It was a good thing.

The process was very impressive. We got to the testing site before they opened and joined a line of cars parked on the side of the road waiting for the gates to let us in. It was still dark and all I could see were the red of the  tail lights in front of me. After an hour or less the cars began to inch forward. The sky was brightening and it was then that I saw military personnel in camouflage fatigues making order out of what could have been chaos.

There were hundreds of cars and a multitude of lanes that snaked you around till you got to the tent of swabbing. You showed them your barcode you received when you registered on line and waited for the shielded and gowned technician to collect a sample.

Eileen was the first one to say it. “Can you imagine if this were a food line and we were dependent on the box at the other end? Can you imagine if you weren’t feeling well and fearful of the results?” I felt profoundly that we are both lucky and we are blessed. You can read about the pandemic; you can watch on TV; you can listen to news radio and hear all day about the extent of this national tragedy and shame. But the experience of the line moved me immensely.

How sad that we have come to this and it isn’t even over. I know whom I think history will judge as responsible and I only hope that our President elect can move the needle and respond to the people and listen to the silent falling of their tears.

Meanwhile- thank you to those who put their lives at risk to keep us safe. As for me: FYI –  our rapid test was negative.

The Grass Needs Cutting

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This is a story I am not sure I should tell. I have such mixed emotions about it. But it happened and is true and is probably a sense of our country right now and it happened to me this week.

We have a vacation home in Western North Carolina. Along with its beauty and respite comes responsibility and burden. (Burden is probably too heavy a word, but I liked the symmetry of the words.) Background information: Our place is basically in the woods: lots of trees and underbrush and mountain laurel and wild rhododendrons. Not a lot of grass or flower beds or garden but enough that we need someone to care for it especially when we aren’t here. The gardener stopped coming – no formal “quitting” – just doesn’t show up anymore and phone calls do not change the outcome.

We need a new landscape company. This is the story of the search. The Landscaper who came was on time and on the right day and I was immediately impressed. More came after I opened the door to go out and talk with him when he greeted me with “Baruch HaShem” (Blessed be God’s Name) in Hebrew. I figured it was the mezuzah on the doorpost. I said: “You’re kidding me.” To which he responded, “Shalom and ‘Elohim’”. I let that sit and started to talk about bushes and weeds. He asked me if I accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. I then figured it out and said: “Absolutely not! And we should probably agree to continue with how often does the grass need cutting.” (He belongs to a Messianic Congregation.)

A week later he was back to present me with the details of his proposal. I asked him if he would please put on his mask since we were outside, but kind of getting too close together. He echoed my words from the week before: “Absolutely not. I don’t believe in them. I believe the virus is real, but the media is exaggerating how contagious it is.” I was stunned into silence. Finally, I said – “You need to give me a moment.” My mind went racing. Do I impose my beliefs on him? Is the fact that he has a different (false and dangerous) view of reality my issue? Can’t I just let him cut the ***** grass and call it a day?  I don’t know how long it took me to say the words: “I’m sorry this is a deal breaker and we can’t work together.”

As he left, I noticed the two big Trump bumper stickers on his car. To this moment, I don’t know if I was right. I know the incident plays like a serial in my mind. I know that it is symptomatic of how polarized we are. I know that we need to make this better. I know as a country and community of Americans we need to begin the process of healing. Vote!

And God Wept

/ howardshapiro / 15 Comments

The first Presidential Debate is now over, and I hope it is the last. If I were Joe Biden, I would have seriously considered walking off the stage. But that of course has its own dangers and people would spin it as cowardice or lack of gumption. The whole thing was a disgrace and an embarrassment to this country. I wanted someone in the audio booth to shut off their mikes every time they went over their two minutes or every time, they interrupted each other. I especially wanted one mike shut off more than the other.

This morning on one of my list serves, I was recommended to a sermon by Rabbi Ammi Hirsch of the Stephen S Wise Free Synagogue in New York. It was called, “And God Weeps.” He taught a lesson of the dangers inherent in our democracy right now from a Talmudic source which describes God weeping, every day, because people who can do not learn from each other, because people who can’t try and succeed in making Torah (Wisdom) a part of their lives and because of a domineering leader. It is worth watching Rabbi Hirsch though spoiler alert it is 40 plus minutes long. (Even a little bit long for me.)

Because people do not learn: I am saddened that we as a nation has succumbed to this level of baseness. Our current President has no regard for the truth or for the Torah of science.  A domineering leader: Our current President cares only for himself and will do/say anything to push his own agenda of self-aggrandizement. And that includes catering to the racists and anti-Semites on the far right and don’t be so smug to think that there are no racists on the left. They just use different language: The language of BDS and anti-Zionism.

On Yom Kippur morning, Rabbi Salkin reminded me and and all of us that In Jewish tradition, the Talmud records that after a heated debate between two different Rabbis, God came down and declared: Elu V’Elu – both these opinions are the words of the Living God. I am not sure God would have said that after last night. But this is what Elu V’Elu means to me: Maybe God lives in our willingness to listen to each other. Maybe God lives in our willingness to consider the truths we consider inviolate from a different point of view. Maybe God lives in our ability to see the Divine presence even in those with whom we disagree. God did not live in last night’s debate.

Last night God wept.

Memories & A Little Light

/ howardshapiro / 15 Comments

The Yahrzeit candle is burning on the kitchen counter. It is the only light in the room on this pre-dawn morning. I remember when these candles of memory were taller and wider, and my Aunt Molly used to save them for drinking glasses. Aunt Molly was the queen of candles. She experienced many losses in her life and on Yom Kippur there was a tray full of these flickering lights, each one lit with a tear and a sigh. Her greatest loss was her daughter Barbara, who according to family legend, died on the operating table having an appendectomy when the hospital lost power during the 1938 Hurricane. (Hurricanes weren’t named until 1950).

We don’t grieve like Aunt Molly anymore. (Although in the Australian series, “A Place To Call Home”, that Eileen and I are addicted to Sarah lies down on her husband’s grave to talk and connect with him.) As a kid, visiting my grandparents’ graves with Aunt Molly I remember how they used to have to hold her up as she went to throw herself down wailing, “my Barbara”.

Morning has broken (I know: “like the first morning…”). The candle on the counter still flickers and the memory of my mother-in-law hovers to be inscribed and internalized in our goings and comings. Bea wasn’t a great sleeper, and neither was I. After we met at the refrigerator door in the middle of the night, she learned to wear a bathrobe as she came from her bedroom. We got to know each other there: she with her cornflakes, me with whatever I could scrounge. She was her Hebrew name: B’rachah – meaning blessing.

I am not sure what I think these compact candles do. The author of Proverbs said that “the human soul is the light (Hebrew: candle) of God.” I don’t know what that meant back then. I am not sure I know what it means now. I do know that last night when we lit the candle, Eileen brought her mother up to date with the goings and comings of the family.  She told her “I wish you could have lived longer to see the beauty and the joy of the last 30 years.” There is nothing terribly rational about that but there is everything that is true on so many levels. Life is about memories and we strive to make them sweet and meaningful. It’s been a tough few months to do that. And so my candle whispers:

To making new and better memories in the New Year: Shana Tovah

“Morning has broken

Like the first morning;

Blackbird has spoken

Like the first bird.

Praise for the singing

Praise for the morning

Praise for them springing fresh from the word.”

(Cat Stevens)

To making new memories in the New Year: Shana Tovah

Lessons from a Waning Moon

/ howardshapiro / 17 Comments

I woke early this morning, technically it was morning but my body and the world outside my windows said it was still the middle of the night. I did everything I knew how to fall back asleep, but nothing worked and here I am in the office reading the newest Dan Silva book, “The Order”. It is too good to help me fall back asleep as Gabriel Allon eats in wonderful cafes and hunts down those who would destroy the world we know.

And then it was dawn. I didn’t even know it till I looked up and saw what you see. There is the tiniest sliver of an ancient moon peeking through the night sky. I said, OMG, it must be Elul – the month of preparation before the New Year. But I was wrong. It wasn’t the beginning of a new month, but the end of an old. The Hebrew month of Av was waning, and the moon was kissing it goodbye.

I know that reads like poor poetry and I apologize. But I need to somehow make sense of what is happening to us all. When Elul comes in just a few days, I know that nothing will change. We will still be social distancing; we will still be counting our afflicted and our dead. The pandemic of 2020 will still be with us. We will still be struggling with how we stay safe; how we keep our family safe. And too many of us: how can I pay the rent; buy food; get a paycheck.

And our elected representatives play Nero’s violin. And Rome burns. And we are victims of an almost criminal neglect for our county’s safety and well-being. And I despair. Then I remember Elul is coming. There will be a new moon. There will be a glimmer of hope. It’s not just the turning of the earth and night becoming day. I am genuinely psyched by the addition of Harris to the Biden ticket. Naïve? Perhaps. But my Judaism teaches change can happen. We are obligated to make it happen and we need to know it begins with us.

The silver of the moon is gone, caught by the rising sun. But it will return along with sanity at least I hope it so; I pray it so.

The Fourth Isn’t Even on the Fourth

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Patriotism Flagging

I just read David Brook’s column in the NYT reflecting on the state of our union on this fourth weekend. He calls it the “National Humiliation We Need”. It resonated with me in ways that are deeply troubling.

We have failed. Not maybe you and not maybe me but collectively we have shown the world and ourselves how meager our collective spirit is. In the face of a global health crisis we could not find the will to unite in common purpose with the goal of saving lives. I am not going to assign individual blame, but history certainly will. I am just sad that no one could galvanize us and offer a vision of hope and faith and a way out of this pit we are falling deeper and deeper into, uniting us with their words and their deeds. I am just sad that no voice could lift us up to see above the narrow horizon of political expediency. What I would have given for an “Ask not what your country can do for you …”. Where were our national dreamers who believed that as Americans “we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope”?

I don’t know where the Kennedys and Kings among us are. I am embarrassed (I’ll come to anger – don’t worry). I always thought we were a nation who believed in science and reason. Whose taglines were “Imagination at Work”, or “Better Living Through Chemistry”? It was GE and Dupont. There was a time when at least looking backwards that our country believed in science. There was a time at least looking backward that the promise of America seemed to soar and inspire and motivate. There was a time when we thought we could solve our problems by working together, arguing together, standing together. We believed in each other.

What do we believe in now? Do we believe that we have the national will to get this disease under control? Do we believe that we have the political mechanism and spiritual fortitude to resolve this virus of endemic racism that lives beneath the surface of our reality and can’t be sprayed away with a 60% solution of alcohol? We can’t let this American Dream slip away. We can’t let Netflix or Hulu or Amazon Prime lull us into believing that if we sit back and watch Hamilton on Disney Plus we will have celebrated the fourth.

The only celebration worthy of the “rockets red glare” is one that motivates us to action. This fourth we know we can’t rely on Washington. This fourth we know the power belongs to the people. This fourth we know it has to begin again with us. Vote. Donate. Sign Petitions. Protest. Call your Representatives. Wear a Mask of course. This fourth we know we only have each other.

It is On Us

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I am so saddened by what is happening to our country. I am so afraid of the maniac in the White House who is capable of doing anything to guarantee his re-election. OMG that photo op at the Episcopal Church while Americans are being tear gassed on the other side of the park. And the Bible? Really folks: What was he trying to say? And to whom? It just adds to my fears about his loyal followers and what could come next.

I watch the videos of George Floyd’s murder. What were the other officers standing around thinking? Why didn’t they stop it? I am feeling paralyzed as to what to do. I know where I should be – out on the street, offering my body as a vote in the national campaign for racial justice and reform. I am feeling old and vulnerable. I am impressed by how young the protestors are and like the grandfather that I am, I am happy to see that many of them are wearing masks. At least on TV, there are many ethnicities and races represented in the marches and protest and that gives me hope and faith.

Because this is not a black fight. This is not just the concern of communities of color. This is all of our struggle if we are going to transmit an America worthy of its name and promise to the next generation. This is on all of us no matter what shade of brown, beige, black, tan, white we are.

But I know I really can’t feel their anger. I can emotionally empathize, and I can intellectually understand but my gut doesn’t have the fear and the suspicion built into it because of the color of my skin. I don’t have the eyes on me suspicious of the way I walk or the sweatshirt I wear or the physicality of my body or the crime of being black by driving or black in the wrong neighborhood or black in the park. I am so keenly aware of my white privilege.

If this is on me then the question is what can I do to live my words and my values. Not everyone can do everything. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschels’ famous words: “Some are guilty, all are responsible” are kind of my personal contemporary commandment. I guess I am saying – don’t just sit and watch all this unfold on TV making judgements and weighing who is right and who is wrong. Don’t just focus on the small minority who are looting and turning to violence. Those who are protesting peacefully are fulfilling America’s promise. And especially because we are not on the street, it is time to find an action that will support a just and free tomorrow for all the colors of the rainbow.

Want to read more? Rabbi Judith Schindler wrote a great piece on what you and I can do. It is my next go to:  https://www.judyschindler.com/if-you-are-white-and-asking-what-can-i-do/

It is on us.

There is a Painting

/ howardshapiro / 18 Comments

There’s a painting in our office in the new apartment we are still finishing in the high rise building near the mall in the city where we rented our first apartment when we came here what now feels like a long time ago and it was. It is a gaggle of men studying. I started to say a group of Rabbis but why do I assume only Rabbis study. I guess you could ask why only men but that’s a different discussion. They sit pretty close to each other, breathing disagreements and questions on each other’s faces. Things we notice now.

I replaced the glass and the matt after the glass cracked in our move. It’s been with us ever since I was a student Rabbi in Vicksburg, Mississippi in 1965-66, a gift from the congregation after my one-year internship with them. They were incredibly warm, gracious and proud Jews of the South and put up with this naïve and inexperienced young Yankee from Boston. The congregation had been founded officially in 1865. But Jews have been living in Vicksburg for almost 200 years.

 It is a Zvi Raphaeli Litho. (Whatever that adds to this story. But in Jewish tradition it is imperative to quote your sources and name your teachers.) And they teach, these lines of color, strokes from a paint brush of the artist’s creativity. They teach about time and Torah; they teach about nostalgia and memory; they teach about an eternal quest to make sense of this life we have been gifted. One man is sleeping, maybe just a quick nap. Or maybe it is the Rabbi and they learn more from his silence than his words. I know about silence. Sometimes it is distant and cold, angry and bitter. Sometimes it is reflective and soft, harmonized compassion. Sometimes it is wise. I try to remember that simply refraining from speech opens up the moment to unforeseen potential. Speech is populated with words I already knew; silence celebrates that there is more to learn from each other.

My men are not silent. They are arguing about tomorrow. What will be its shape and how will we rise from this table piled with ancient tomes?  I would recommend to them The NYTimes article “No One Knows What’s Going To Happen” (Mark Lilla) as a worthwhile antidote to the hints they scour in the texts before them. In a way it is an echo of what happens when you are willing to live with the silence. Everything we say about tomorrow is a guess. Some guesses are more educated than others, but our predictions depend on so many variables including will my scholars in the portrait wear a mask when they leave the House of Study. Including will my scholars pray with their deeds and not just their words.

There is a very hard lesson to be internalized here. “Human beings want to feel they are on a power walk into the future, when in fact we are always just tapping our canes on the pavement in the fog. A dose of humility would do us good in the present moment. It might also help reconcile us to the radical uncertainty in which we are always living.” (NYT: Lilla. 5/24)

Scary this uncertainty. But if we are honest, we were never in control. We just lived as if we were. It was way more comfortable and settling. This stuff is tough but you all know that and didn’t have to read this far to hear me say it. But back to my scholars. I think what got them through is they had each other. If nothing else that was a constant worthy of emulating.

My Dark Side

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This is my dark side speaking. I am not even sure that I want to give it voice. Better it should live in my imagination or nightmares; better it should live in my silent fear. I come to this naturally. We say in Hebrew: Al Tiftach Peh LiSatan – Do not open your mouth to Satan. Or put a little less esoterically. If you don’t verbalize it won’t become real. (Or something like that.)

But it has or it is becoming. We are ready to accept three thousand people dying a day from the virus in the US alone. We are ready to accept that this social distancing is the new norm. We are ready to accept that the more we open our society without enough testing, without a viable treatment, without a vaccine or immunity, we will push the death rate higher and higher. And our vulnerable will die; our seniors will die; our disenfranchised will be at higher risks; our care givers and first responders, our doctors and nurses will be put in more and more danger. It’s a mess.

If I were writing science fiction, I would give the virus “intention”. The earth would have a sense of consciousness, and this would be a warning/punishment/cleansing/teaching that we have gone too far and this beautiful blue globe will not keep spinning if we do not start to take care of it. In shutting us down; the virus has brought clear waters to the canals of Venice. A lesson.

Or if I were writing theology of a reward and punishment style, I would give the virus a Creator. And there would be prophets running around preaching and prophesying of an Apocalypse. Everyone is saying: It is the end of the world as we know it.  Where is Jonah when we need him?

If I were writing alternative history, I would tell my readers that the virus has purpose. It will make our society leaner and younger. The burden of a growing, aging, infirm population will be eradicated. And we will breathe again – we the immune; we with the antibodies; we with the new identity cards that have a CF embedded in gold. CF for Covid Free. We will go out again and the new ID with CF will get you into bars and arenas, theaters and malls, restaurants and house of worship and study.

Or we will just descend into sporadic and seasonal chaos. Ever read “The Road” by Cormac McCarthy? It is a post-apocalyptic novel of a father and son navigating the new reality some unknown disaster created. I actually gave a sermon based on it, seeing the father as Abraham and the son as Isaac and the road they navigated as a test of faith, love and ingenuity.

I told you my dark side was speaking. “WASHINGTON, D.C. – Toilet paper isn’t the only commodity in short supply during the COVID-19 pandemic. Personal safety concerns triggered by the pandemic have made nationwide gun sales explode. Many gun dealers in Northeast Ohio say business is so busy they’ve had trouble maintaining inventory.” (Cleveland.com) And today Palm Beach County opens in Phase One. Restaurants and Retail at 25%. No nails done – a big topic in my house and no haircuts yet.

Progress but so much unknown. Progress but so much yet to be determined. Progress but so many lessons yet to be learned. Certainly, we will be a masked society. Certainly at least for a while we will keep our distance from each other. Certainly, we will think twice about things that used to be routine. Like touching a door handle or shaking hands – although I sort of like the Namaste fold – it is respectful and humbling which in these times is a good thing. I am getting used to some of the restrictions but that’s a different post. This one is staying dark.