Last week's blog about the Torah Tumble prompted many of you to confess to similar sins. It sounds like a lot of people have been harboring guilt. Thank you all for sharing your religious boo boos--while I don't feel any better about dropping the Torah, at least I know I'm in good company.
I heard two even worse stories than mine about the Torah falling:
A friend of mine and her husband were given the honor of opening the ark on Rosh Hashanah. As you can imagine, the synagogue was packed for the High Holidays, and the Rabbi and the Cantor were up on the bimah with them. When my friends slid the doors to the ark open and the congregation rose, the Torah fell right out onto the floor.
Another friend sent me an article from the Forward about a congregation in Asheville, North Carolina, where they opened the ark on Yom Kippur and TWO Torahs fell to the floor! The silver crown was dented on one, and the wooden handle was broken on the second.
And I heard about two faith based blunders that were not Torah-related. One man was the chair of a luncheon for a rabbinical conference. When the hotel waitstaff brought out the lunch and served it to rabbis of all denominations from around the country, the salad was covered with shrimp.
And finally, the Sisterhood hospitality chair ordered cakes and cookies for the Oneg Shabbat at the Temple for the Friday night during Passover. One of the congregants called her to find out where she had ordered such delicious baked goods, as she had never enjoyed such tasty kosher-for-Passover treats. They discovered that all the baked goods served at the Temple during Passover were made with flour.
Boy, do I feel better!
In addition to your confessions, many of you also suggested remedies for me. The folks in Asheville are considering community service and charitable donations. A lot of you told me that the 40 day fast is the accepted norm, but is shared (one day at a time) by the entire congregation. My girlfriend suggested that a reasonable alternative to 40 days of fasting for me would be 40 days of Jenny Craig. (I can see the ad copy now: Drop the Torah and Drop 10 pounds!)
I received many messages of forgiveness from my friends, my mother, and even my old Hebrew school teacher. One friend said, "You didn't throw the Torah; it's not like you spiked the football." Well, yes, thank you, I appreciate the distinction.
Maybe this has been a good thing. I can't say that I've fasted or even cut out dessert, but I have been making a sincere effort to be more charitable and perform more mitzvot (good deeds.) Maybe it's not a bad thing to drop the proverbial Torah every now and then, and make a renewed effort to step up our charitable games.
But if some of you are about to call and ask me to pick you up from the airport at midnight, or help you pack and move, I'd love to but I'm busy that day.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Thursday, September 19, 2013
The Act of Falling
I was hoping not to tell you this, but I think that my confession might give me some relief:
I dropped the Torah.
For Jews of my generation and background, this is very bad. Very, very bad. We learned that when we dropped our yarmulke (skullcap) on the floor, we were supposed to kiss it. Same goes for our prayer book.
What's a Jew to do when she drops the Torah?
The Torah fell when I was preparing for our Rosh Hashanah service at Friedman Place. I took the Torah out of the ark to practice and find my place. Our Torah is old, and the roller is broken, and it wasn't rotating very easily. I also had my book on the bimah (lectern) to help me find my place, and before I knew it, the fatter scroll quietly unrolled onto the floor.
I was mortified. I checked for damage. Luckily, the parchment did not tear. I carefully lifted the Torah back onto the bimah and kept telling it I was sorry.
I didn't know what I was supposed to do. I wanted to show the Torah my respect, so I started thinking of the Torah as a person. What would I do if I dropped a person?
It just so happens I've dropped a person. In fact, I've dropped two. When I first brought Jesse home from the hospital after a month in intensive care, I put him in Robby's fancy Aprica stroller, which had been idle for a year or more, and took him for a stroll around Meadow Drive. Halfway around the block, the stroller collapsed, the way strollers are supposed to collapse, except not when there are babies in them.
Jesse fell to the ground and started screaming. I could not miss the irony: he had survived heart surgery and a month in the hospital, but that was a cakewalk compared to a summer stroll down our suburban street with me.
The Robby thing was more of a face plant. Don't ask.
Of course when I dropped the boys, they cried and were plenty mad. I checked them for damage, did a lot of apologizing, and kissed them--just like I did with the Torah.
I know that I am not the first person to ever drop a Torah. Every Saturday morning at synagogues all over the world, 13-year-olds take the Torah out of the ark, and they are not trained professionals. I'm sure that sometimes the Torah takes a tumble.
Please don't think I am minimizing this offense. I have been feeling very, very guilty about it, and it's been the subject of a lot of High Holiday silent prayer. I googled "dropping the Torah" and learned the wide range of remedies. I wanted to find a punishment that fit the crime. The most severe is a 40 day fast.
That seems pretty severe.
The least severe is checking to see if anyone else saw, and then whistling as if nothing happened.
I think that ship has sailed.
As I sat in Temple on Yom Kippur, recounting my shortcomings, I asked God to inscribe me in The Book of Life for the coming year. In this season of confession and atonement, where does the sin of dropping the Torah rank?
I guess I'll find out.
I dropped the Torah.
For Jews of my generation and background, this is very bad. Very, very bad. We learned that when we dropped our yarmulke (skullcap) on the floor, we were supposed to kiss it. Same goes for our prayer book.
What's a Jew to do when she drops the Torah?
The Torah fell when I was preparing for our Rosh Hashanah service at Friedman Place. I took the Torah out of the ark to practice and find my place. Our Torah is old, and the roller is broken, and it wasn't rotating very easily. I also had my book on the bimah (lectern) to help me find my place, and before I knew it, the fatter scroll quietly unrolled onto the floor.
I was mortified. I checked for damage. Luckily, the parchment did not tear. I carefully lifted the Torah back onto the bimah and kept telling it I was sorry.
I didn't know what I was supposed to do. I wanted to show the Torah my respect, so I started thinking of the Torah as a person. What would I do if I dropped a person?
It just so happens I've dropped a person. In fact, I've dropped two. When I first brought Jesse home from the hospital after a month in intensive care, I put him in Robby's fancy Aprica stroller, which had been idle for a year or more, and took him for a stroll around Meadow Drive. Halfway around the block, the stroller collapsed, the way strollers are supposed to collapse, except not when there are babies in them.
Jesse fell to the ground and started screaming. I could not miss the irony: he had survived heart surgery and a month in the hospital, but that was a cakewalk compared to a summer stroll down our suburban street with me.
The Robby thing was more of a face plant. Don't ask.
Of course when I dropped the boys, they cried and were plenty mad. I checked them for damage, did a lot of apologizing, and kissed them--just like I did with the Torah.
I know that I am not the first person to ever drop a Torah. Every Saturday morning at synagogues all over the world, 13-year-olds take the Torah out of the ark, and they are not trained professionals. I'm sure that sometimes the Torah takes a tumble.
Please don't think I am minimizing this offense. I have been feeling very, very guilty about it, and it's been the subject of a lot of High Holiday silent prayer. I googled "dropping the Torah" and learned the wide range of remedies. I wanted to find a punishment that fit the crime. The most severe is a 40 day fast.
That seems pretty severe.
The least severe is checking to see if anyone else saw, and then whistling as if nothing happened.
I think that ship has sailed.
As I sat in Temple on Yom Kippur, recounting my shortcomings, I asked God to inscribe me in The Book of Life for the coming year. In this season of confession and atonement, where does the sin of dropping the Torah rank?
I guess I'll find out.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
My Holiday Visitor
It's been a quiet week in Solomonland, and I did not have anything to tell you. I thought I might have to skip a week of blogging. But then, without warning, a stranger walked into my life and brought the excitement I'd been missing!
I've got a skunk.
A big, fat, bold skunk. He trots out from under my backyard deck and scurries across my yard at dusk. He appears to know his way around.
This is not my first skunk rodeo.
I call ABC Humane Wildlife to come set up a trap, as recommended by the Village of Wilmette. ABC promises not to kill the trapped animals. Instead, they take them to the enchanted forest where Snow White lives, and together they will sing songs and frolic in the woods.
Actually, I do not expect to catch this skunk or any others in the trap. My hope is that the skunks will see the trap and move next door to live in my neighbor's yard.
The first day of trap watching is uneventful. I suspect the skunks are checking out the trap and laughing at me.
On the second day, my suspicion is confirmed. The bait is eaten, but no animal is in the trap. My husband and I watch the video on the ABC web site to learn how to re-bait the trap. Skunks like sweet food, so I smear some Sara Lee Honey Turkey with some raspberry jam. My husband looks at my offering and tells me this is one of my top three dinners. (Read here to find out more about smart aleck husband.)
The third day I wake up to a note from my husband telling me that there is an animal in the trap. I go outside and see that the trap has sprung, but because the trap is covered in in brown cardboard I cannot see who is in there. I move the trap with my foot, but it doesn't feel heavy, and I suspect that the skunks came, dined on the turkey and jam, and walked off. I pick up the trap and see something with gray matted fur that doesn't move and I drop it like a hot potato and scream. I call ABC and describe my trauma, and learn that I've probably caught a possum who was, alas, playing possum.
Chris from ABC comes to my house and takes the possum for counseling and rehabilitation. I ask him what he uses to bait the trap, and he says that he usually uses liverwurst and grape jelly, but today he's going to use a little something special to see if he can attract the skunk. I wonder why he didn't use it the first time, and am reminded that I pay $65 every time he comes to the house.
I don't know what Chris' "something special" could be, but tonight the skunks are in for a special High Holiday meal. It's Rosh Hashanah, and there are leftovers. I imagine that in the enchanted forest tomorrow, they'll all be talking about my brisket.
I've got a skunk.
A big, fat, bold skunk. He trots out from under my backyard deck and scurries across my yard at dusk. He appears to know his way around.
This is not my first skunk rodeo.
I call ABC Humane Wildlife to come set up a trap, as recommended by the Village of Wilmette. ABC promises not to kill the trapped animals. Instead, they take them to the enchanted forest where Snow White lives, and together they will sing songs and frolic in the woods.
Actually, I do not expect to catch this skunk or any others in the trap. My hope is that the skunks will see the trap and move next door to live in my neighbor's yard.
The first day of trap watching is uneventful. I suspect the skunks are checking out the trap and laughing at me.
On the second day, my suspicion is confirmed. The bait is eaten, but no animal is in the trap. My husband and I watch the video on the ABC web site to learn how to re-bait the trap. Skunks like sweet food, so I smear some Sara Lee Honey Turkey with some raspberry jam. My husband looks at my offering and tells me this is one of my top three dinners. (Read here to find out more about smart aleck husband.)
The third day I wake up to a note from my husband telling me that there is an animal in the trap. I go outside and see that the trap has sprung, but because the trap is covered in in brown cardboard I cannot see who is in there. I move the trap with my foot, but it doesn't feel heavy, and I suspect that the skunks came, dined on the turkey and jam, and walked off. I pick up the trap and see something with gray matted fur that doesn't move and I drop it like a hot potato and scream. I call ABC and describe my trauma, and learn that I've probably caught a possum who was, alas, playing possum.
Chris from ABC comes to my house and takes the possum for counseling and rehabilitation. I ask him what he uses to bait the trap, and he says that he usually uses liverwurst and grape jelly, but today he's going to use a little something special to see if he can attract the skunk. I wonder why he didn't use it the first time, and am reminded that I pay $65 every time he comes to the house.
I don't know what Chris' "something special" could be, but tonight the skunks are in for a special High Holiday meal. It's Rosh Hashanah, and there are leftovers. I imagine that in the enchanted forest tomorrow, they'll all be talking about my brisket.
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