"Once"-or twice: Watching a movie through the lens of teshuvah

Last night, the lovely Irish movie Once was on television just when I was in the mood for something to watch. (I sorely miss Netflix streaming here, but haven't yet figured out if there is a local alternative.) I decided to watch it for a second time, and in the process realized that both this and the last movie I watched ("Trust," with Clive Owen and Catherine Keener) offer wonderful examples of teshuva: the work of repentance/forgiveness/self-forgiveness that this season requires of us.

Spoiler alert: If you haven't seen Once, and want to see it and be surprised, you might want to skip down to the final paragraph.

At the start, this movie looks like any other "girl meets boy" type of story. Two attractive, working class people meet on the streets of Dublin, where he sings for a living after working at his father's vacuum cleaner repair shop and she roams the high street selling flowers and magazines. Immediately they begin to share their passion for writing and performing music. Sparks fly between them, but at the same time they discuss the sorrow they feel over failed relationships. 

His ex-girlfriend has moved to London; nearly all of his songs are about his longing for her, and his anger at how she betrayed him. Her estranged husband, the father of their toddler daughter, still lives back in the Czech Republic; she came to Dublin with her mother and the baby.  Even as the nameless duo becomes increasingly drawn to each other, they push each other about whether it's possible to repair their broken connections. They do this by sharing music, and by talking, and by meeting each other's families, and by writing songs together, and by not acting on the physical attraction between them.

In the end, they create art. With her encouragement and gumption, they secure a bank load to make a professional recording.  They also prod each other to attempt to rebuild their past relationships. One senses that he goes forward because he loves his ex, and is willing to forgive her having cheated on him. She on the other hand, is perhaps ambivalent about the man she married because of an unplanned pregnancy---but she is certain that she wants to try to make it work for the sake of Ivonka, the baby girl who is the only one of them whose name is mentioned. (The other two are just listed as "girl" and "guy" even in the credits.)

True teshuva, teaches the RamBam (Moses Maimonides) is when we find ourselves in a challenging place in which we've stood before and erred, only this time we correct our past mistakes and do the right thing.  Once offers a picture of such sweet possibilities of that. Too often movies that highlight the sexual attention between young, attractive people result in some sort of love-triangle that is trite and boring in its complexity. This movie is about simple strength derived from friendship, and how such a relationship between artists can result in beautiful music.

 

Though my parents have abandoned me....

In Psalm 27, which tradition teaches us to recite every day during the month of Elul, we read:

 כִּי-אָבִי וְאִמִּי עֲזָבוּנִי;    וַיהוָה יַאַסְפֵנִי.  

Even as my father and my mother have abandoned me, the Holy One shall gather me in.

Today is Labor Day in the USA.  On Labor Day, 1982, my father died suddenly at the age of 54. I knew that he was young, but back then I had no idea just how young it was---for him, for my mother, and for my siblings and me. My mother only lived for 9 more years after that, so by 1991 I was already living with that feeling of parental abandonment that Virginia Spatz discusses in her blog, A Song Every Day:

http://songeveryday.wordpress.com/2010/09/14/you-will-gather-me-in/

How does the Holy One gather us in, we adult orphans who have been abandoned by our parents, either literally or figuratively? What does it mean to sing out to the Divine: "You gather me in?" Me, and not us---yet isn't gathering something that happens to a collective of people or things? Can an individual anything be "gathered?"

I suppose that we can be gathered up. That is to say, we can be taken in, as individuals, but when we arrive at the place of comfort, that must be others there, right? Perhaps that is how the Holy One gathers us when we feel abandoned by our parents. 

This is the way I have always understand the importance of saying Kaddish. It is also why I've never resonated with the minhag (custom) of an entire congregation rising for Kaddish. Of course, if an individual feels the need to say Kaddish for the 6 Million, or for people who have died in a recent catastrophe, or other very valid reasons, that is an individual's choice to be gathered into the community of mourners. But when every single person rises, the rest of us don't know who is feeling the particular grief of mourning, or the sadness unique to the anniversary of a loved one's death...and cannot feel the comforting wreath of being gathered for that brief moment by the community and therefore, by the Divine Presence.

Now, I understand the Yizkor (Memorial Service) that we say on Yom Kippur in a new way. For 40 days prior to it, we recite Psalm 27. We feel a bit lost, wandering in the wilderness, wondering how even at the age of 40 or 50 or 60 we can find our way without our parents to guide us. But we also remember that the Holy One does not simply rescue us or comfort us or save us or any of the other verbs attributed to God in Pslams or liturgy.  We are, specifically during this period, gathered in. We are not doing the difficult spiritual work of these Days of Awe alone.  And whether our parents are alive and well and we have good relationships with them, or whether they live, but we are estranged from them, or whether they have passed on.....we are all gathered in. And when we recite that Yom Kippur Yizkor (and I always invite everyone of all ages to attend that service), we become one community: the living, the souls of the departed, and our individual memories of them. 

It is Labor Day in the USA, and I hope that my father, Jerome J Lillian, is resting in peace. Likewise I hope that his brother, my uncle Dr. Marvin Lillian--who died at a similar time, in 1991--is resting in peace.

 כּ

Spiritual and Religious

Today I visited the new location of the Lund Jewish Center (JCL) twice. 

The first time, I went to help unpack books and put the rooms in order. The JCL has recently relocated to a new space, and it must be put in reasonable order prior to the house-warming and mezuzah-hanging gathering on Sunday. I have met several JCL members, but had never before met G., the woman with whom I was volunteering. We spent a productive couple of hours together, putting the JCL library back onto shelves and learning a bit about each other's stories. She also gave me several useful bits advice regarding life in Lund.

A few hours later, I returned to the JCL to attend a meeting of their Board. Among other topics, we discussed the up-coming Days of Awe; what sort of services they'd like to have, and how I can serve them as rabbi. People also provided all types of help and advice for how to acclimate to our new home. Considering that I've only been here two weeks, I felt very comfortable with this small group of Jews who offer leadership to the relatively tiny Jewish community of Lund. And I know that part of my comfort had something to do with the combination of unpacking books one on one with G., and then talking with the group in a meeting, surrounded by the library.

When I got home, and logged onto Facebook (the only place where I truly understand that pointless phrase, "international community,") I discovered that over 50 of my friends and colleagues had either recommended and/or posted the below article by Lillian Daniel. I find it so spot-on that I had one of those moments of envy, wishing I'd written something like it. In the same amount of time it took to unpack the books, have coffee with a new friend, and return to the JCL for the Board meeting, I could have indeed gone down to the water and watched the sunset. Or, I could have taken a walk in the woods and listened to birdsong.  And it would have been soothing and delightful and, yes, spiritual. But not in the same way that connecting with these individuals, and being welcomed by them to join in their nitty-gritty work of buidling a kehillah kedosha, a sacred community.

I am copying the Rev. Lillian Daniel's article in full. I substitute "community" for church, and for an opening quote, in my mind's eye I see the passage from the Talmud (Brachot 63b) that the National Havurah Institite uses as its motto:  Torah cannot be acquired except in community.

May our collective work during Elul help us to build stronger communities, and allow us to figure one another and ourselves when we don't always achieve that.

Spiritual but Not Religious? Please Stop Boring Me.

August 31, 2011
Matthew 16:18

"And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it."

Reflection by Lillian Daniel

On airplanes, I dread the conversation with the person who finds out I am a minister and wants to use the flight time to explain to me that he is "spiritual but not religious." Such a person will always share this as if it is some kind of daring insight, unique to him, bold in its rebellion against the religious status quo.

Next thing you know, he's telling me that he finds God in the sunsets. These people always find God in the sunsets. And in walks on the beach. Sometimes I think these people never leave the beach or the mountains, what with all the communing with God they do on hilltops, hiking trails and . . . did I mention the beach at sunset yet?

Like people who go to church don't see God in the sunset! Like we are these monastic little hermits who never leave the church building. How lucky we are to have these geniuses inform us that God is in nature. As if we don’t hear that in the psalms, the creation stories and throughout our deep tradition.

Being privately spiritual but not religious just doesn't interest me. There is nothing challenging about having deep thoughts all by oneself. What is interesting is doing this work in community, where other people might call you on stuff, or heaven forbid, disagree with you. Where life with God gets rich and provocative is when you dig deeply into a tradition that you did not invent all for yourself.


Thank you for sharing, spiritual but not religious sunset person. You are now comfortably in the norm for self-centered American culture, right smack in the bland majority of people who find ancient religions dull but find themselves uniquely fascinating. Can I switch seats now and sit next to someone who has been shaped by a mighty cloud of witnesses instead? Can I spend my time talking to someone brave enough to encounter God in a real human community?  Because when this flight gets choppy, that's who I want by my side, holding my hand, saying a prayer and simply putting up with me, just like we try to do in church.

Prayer

Dear God, thank you for creating us in your image and not the other way around. Amen.

 

Light

1 Elul 5771

It's still the first day of Elul, now around 11 a.m. It is traditional to read Psalm 27 daily during this month. With my first glance at the text, it struck me in a whole knew way. YHVH! Yah! Creator! Infinite One! Holy One! The One! However I choose to name the One who is beyond the beyond...that Divine Presence is "ori." My light.

Since deciding to relocate to Sweden, I've been afraid of the(potential) dark. I've visited this latitude many times in the winter, but never spent more than 2 weeks at a time. I know that people here have ways of making space cozy and warm and bright during the dark months, with creative uses of "living light." There are candle-light breakfasts, and lovely candelabras  illuminating displays of bread and cake in bakery windows. But still, there is a  lump in my stomach at the thought of getting up and out every morning when the sky is still dark. I worry about my mood sinking with the light.

So, to be reminded that the Divine Presence is my light; that  I need not dread the shortening of the days...that is a gift. After reading the Psalm in Hebrew, I found a wonderful array of meditative translations into English.  Below is from my teacher, Rabbi Zalman Schacter-Shalomi. 

During the month of Elul it is still light, but the days are growing shorter. It offers me the opportunity to meditate on the meaning of light, and how to find it--literally and metaphorically--in my new location, as the season changes.

Do you have a favorite meditation on or translation of Psalm 27? Perhaps just the thoughts that come up when you read this? I'd love to hear from you.

Psalm 27, as translated by Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi

Yah! You are my light.
You are my savior.
Whom need I dread?
Yah, with you as my strong protector who can make me panic?
When hateful bullies gang up on me, wanting to harass me, to oppress and terrorize me
They are the ones who stumble and fall.
Even if a gang surrounds me my heart is not weakened.
If a battle is joined around me my trust in You is firm.
Only one thing do I ask of You, Yah:
Just this alone do I seek, I want to be at home with you, Yah,
All the days of my life.
I want to delight in seeing You.

You hide me in your sukkah on a foul day.
You conceal me unseen in Your tent.
You also raise me beyond anyone's reach
And now, as You have held my head high despite the presence of my powerful foes
I prepare to celebrate and thrill, singing and making music to You, Yah!
Listen, Yah, to the sound of my cry
And, being kind, answer me!
My heart has said, I turn to seek you.
Your presence is what I beg for
Don't hide Your face from me.
Don't just put me down, You who have been my helper.
Don't abandon me, don't forsake me, God my support.
Though my father and my mother have left me
You, Yah, will hold me securely.
Please teach me Your way.
Teach me Your way and guide me on the straight path.
Discourage those who defame me
Because false witnesses stood up against me belching out violence.
Don't let me become the victim of my foes.
I wouldn't have survived
If I hadn't hoped that I would see, yet,
Your goodness, God, fully alive on earth.
So I tell you, my friends: you too hope to Yah! Be sturdy!
And make strong your heart. And most of all, keep hoping to Yah.
Seeing You when I come to visit You in Your temple.

To learn more about Reb Zalman, visit the Reb Zalman Legacy Project:

http://www.rzlp.org/wordpress/?m=201108

Hodesh Elul Tov: May the month of Elul be a good one

The Jewish month of Elul begins tonight. It is the month that precedes the Yamim Noraim, the Days of Awe, a/k/a the "High Holidays," the High Holy Days, and (although I've always disliked this) the Hi Hos.

So many Jews forget, or likely never really learned, that the Days of Awe don't just show up out of nowhere, expecting us to look deeply into our innermost thoughts and feelings and take stock of who we are and who we wish to be. We have the entire month of Elul to prepare for the spiritual work of Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur, and the 10 Days of Teshuvah between them. 

This year, I've decided to take advantage of social media by blogging my way through Elul. I've never blogged before, but I am an avid Facebooker. Counting the Omer* on Facebook is the only way I've managed to count every single day without forgetting. So, perhaps blogging during Elul will spur me to create a heshbon hanefesh, an inventory of my soul---the kind of soul level work that is necessary to delve deeply into the Days of Awe. 

The tools I'm using for this are varied. There is musar, the practice of refining one's sense of ethics by focusing on particular middot, or characteristics, such as patience, humilty, or orderliness. There is Mindfulness, a type of meditation I've been practicing but without discipline for some time. There is writing practice, a type of meditation I learned from the books of Natalie Goldberg---I used to practice this with great diligence, but I have let it go.

I've left out prayer. Call it that, or call it tefilla (Hebrew) or davening (Yiddish)---I need to reassess what it means. Perhaps that is part of my Heshbon Hanefesh?

Elul tov!

*There are 49 days between the holidays of Pesach and Shavuot. From Biblical times to the present, there have been various reasons for creating a spiritual practice out of counting each and every day.