The Game of LIFE

“The Game of LIFE” Sermon

Friday, May 31, 2013 ~ Parashat Sh'lach Lecha

My kids love board games, especially games that involve money—classic family games like Monopoly and Life. Now what’s interesting, is that like in all competitive games, they instinctively are trying to spin or roll high numbers to get around the board quickly, but ‘unlike’ most games, Monopoly doesn’t have a ‘race to the finish’, it ends when everyone but one player goes bankrupt. This could go on for days. And the game of “Life”—well that ends when everyone reaches retirement, the finish line, but no matter how fast or slow you get there doesn’t matter, because no one is rewarded for retiring first, and no one is penalized for getting to the end of their “Life” last. Theoretically there is no rush.

So, if you remember the rules of the game, you spin the spinner and little by little as you progress along the road of ‘life’ in your little plastic pink car, you are asked to make decisions, like going to college, choosing a career, getting married, buying a home, having children…and that is the game. But the game is also filled with other kinds of things that you do during your lifetime. Like you change jobs, win the lottery, get involved in a lawsuit. But there are other spaces on the board, where if you land, the tile may read, ‘helped construct a homeless shelter’, volunteered in a soup kitchen-- and then when you land on these spaces, you pick a tiny card that says “LIFE” on one side, and the side that you are not supposed to peek at has a dollar amount. You don’t look at this until the end of the game, when you count it up with your other assets that you accrue over your lifetime.

Now, as my children race and rush to speedily get to ‘retirement’, I find myself insisting that they slow down and pay attention to everyone else’s moves so we can enjoy the game together—and I find myself saying things that sound like: Coby slow down, its not how fast you get to the end of your life, but how you live it, it’s what you do along the way, it’s how you play the game of LIFE that makes it fun for all of us. Maybe you’ll be a manicurist, maybe you’ll have 6 children—because that’s all that will fit in the little car.

Of course, now it’s occurring to me that this game has profound moral and Jewish implications. It’s not how fast you live your life, but the process and the quality, what you do along the way, the relationships that you nurture. Pirkei Avot, chapter 2 says: “Which is the right path for man to choose for himself? Whatever is harmonious for the one who does it, and harmonious for mankind.” As I play, I find myself more and more interested in the little LIFE cards —the ones that my kids rush past without reading, the tiles that credit you for doing something helpful or selfless for society.  

So you do something meaningful that helps someone else, and you understand you won’t get paid for it now, but at the end of your lifetime suddenly it has value, and it is counted as part of your ‘worth’. Pirkei Avot, chapter 4 asks: “Who is wise? One who learns from every one. Who is rich? One who is satisfied with what he has. Who is honorable, one who honors all of his fellow man.”

Now… I’m excited and I’m yelling to my kids—these cards, these are mitzvoth!

It turns out this is a deeply Jewish game that draws from the best teachings of our tradition. You do something meaningful for others, something in your free time, something you feel compelled to do--Judaism calls it tzedakah, justice, righteousness, and it changes the ‘game’ for people. It is an obligation, like in the game of ‘Life’, you do it simply because you landed there. It is an obligation, part of our life, that is the real meaning of mitzvoth, from tzav, that which we are commanded to do. In fact, our teachings instruct us to “run to do even the smallest mitzvah, as doing a mitzvah brings on another mitzvah”.

You 7^th graders who are here tonight, you stand teetering before Jewish adulthood—you are going to be asked more and more frequently to spin the dial yourself. Please don’t go home and bury yourselves in front of your computer or the TV—instead, spin the dial: continue to study and deepen your ties to Jews here and in Israel, help someone who is in need—choose things that don’t reap monetary value now, but give you greater rewards as you mature.  Start to pursue what your game of life will look like, collect as many tiles as you can, ask questions and have wonderful experiences along the way.

So I will say again what I say to Ben and Coby—don’t rush-- how we play the game of LIFE is what makes it so much fun. Turn the spinner slowly.

We say about the Torah, that everything is in it, and by continuing to turn it and turn it, we can examine and learn from its wisdom, and continue to apply these teachings to our life. Just like this crazy spinner on this game that is not so silly after all:

TURN IT AND TURN IT AND TURN IT, TURN IT AND TURN IT AROUND, EVERYTHING IS IN IT, EVERYTHING IS IN IT, TURN IT AND TURN IT AROUND….

MUCH WISDOM HAVE I LEARNED FROM MY TEACHERS, MORE HAVE I LEARNED FROM MY FRIENDS, BUT FROM MY STUDENTS, HAVE I LEARNED THE MOST OF ALL.

May 28, 2013. From Israel to Ordination ~ The Blessing of Coming and the Blessing of Going

I remember our drive to the airport 5 years ago very very clearly. Me, Phillip, Ben and Coby, 10 suitcases containing pounds and pounds of books and music, toys-- and my parents, ever so quiet as we drove 3 hours to Kennedy Airport. When we arrived in Israel, we were greeted with the news of a terrible pigua, an incident, an Arab laborer had stolen a construction tractor and driven into Jerusalem traffic, knocking over a bus, injuring dozens of people. Hello Israel. Now what.

5 years later, by way of 4 years in New York, we have landed again. Thankfully no pigua has shadowed our landing, but a bright horizon unfolds before us. This last year is a blur of weekly 4am awakenings and 6am flights back and forth to New York. Ben and Coby having to adjust to my weekly schedule. And somehow amidst 250,000 frequent flyer miles, Yiddish was learned, a thesis was written, all 91 pages devoted to ritual and liminality--the state of being 'betwixt and between'--both in the bible and in Jewish life, and a recital was presented, based loosely on my thesis: The Blessing of Coming and the Blessing of Going. But the pinnacle of the 5 year climb happened just a few short weeks ago--Cantorial Ordination.

Surrounded by the dearest of friends and family from all over, preparing and celebrating for days leading up to it, my classmates and I constructed rituals, created a class T-shirt, sang niggunim and blessed each other. We cried and laughed, telling stories, sharing memories, and appreciating how quickly time steals away from us.  I know we can't stop time, but for me time stopped maybe for 3 or 4 minutes during Ordination. With blessings and hugs, endless crying and singing, pictures, and more hugging. We wanted this moment to last forever.

But of course, we remember we can't stop time.

And so after completely unplugging for 1 week in the rain forests of Puerto Rico with Phillip, we are home, and ready to continue moving forward into our future as a family--a clergy family. And see what new adventures that brings. In just a few short weeks of being 'ordained' I performed a wedding, a funeral, and saw a baby being born--truly the spectrum of life.  Returning to my blog is one of the reflective practices I wanted to renew as I begin my cantorate. 

Puerto Rico ...

Amazing rainforest in El Yunque National Forest

Our 'eco' lodge nestled in the mountain.... from the other side of the mountain 

Ordination Day

Indeed this journey has been a blessing. Yaron sent me to Israel with a blessing, raising up the wonder of being able to take the steering wheel  and change everything, starting something new-- at our age to go back to school--what a gift. I never forgot that, it sustained me through many nights learning nusach. The journey is a blessing as we went, and it certainly felt like a blessing when we returned.

By the way: I promised myself I would read more. Since Puerto Rico, I read: Blink/ Malcolm Gladwell, The Happiness Project/ Gretchen Rubin, Russian Winter/ Daphne Kalotay, Drawing in the Dust/ Zoe Klein and Encounter/ Milan Kundera.

June 7th, Olympia Airlines

Sunday, June 7, 2009

This last week, so many 'lasts'. There are no more holidays for us this year, we've completed the entire Jewish calendar year, starting last August with Tisha B'Av, sitting on the grass overlooking the old city in August, singing from the book of Eicha, and now we've passed Shavuot, eating Palmellos and oranges. I acknowledge that my taste buds have been raised to another level, cucumbers sold at $.33/each will never have any taste for me, and I can't wait for the Pomegranates to come to New York in the fall.

Only Shabbat remains.

This week was a final faux-hike on the treacherous Dargot and a float in the Yam haMelach. As dry as this winter was, still the water level is higher, and the pointed rocks that cut into our feet earlier in the fall, are softened by the sand. We have a great lunch and coffee at Biankini beach, and I fight with the waitress in hebrew about why after paying for lunch we should have to pay extra for 20 minutes of salty water.

Ben has told his teacher that his last day of school is going to be Wednesday and not Friday, to our surprise--ahhhh, it's fine. So his 'misiba pareda' (goodbye party) is on Tuesday and we bring chocolately melting ruggelach from Martzipan for the class, I take pictures and cry as I say goodbye to Hadas, who looks like she could have built the country herself--her dark eyes, long black braid and sprinkling of freckles, standing in front of a classroom of 33 children, so crowded there is hardly enough room for me to stand there and get them excited about the ruggelach, and embarrass Ben by blowing him a huge kiss in front of everyone, then zipping out again so they could continue their day.

Lunch at the shuk, trips to HaSofer in Mea Sharim, baking a huge buttery, sugary cake for Ben's 9th Birthday party with 6 pals he has shared his year with here. Every one of them is so sweet, their moms carefully buying gifts for Ben that will be small enough to put in a suitcase. There is one boy here this year that he has become close to, Natan, and I think he and Natan have become better friends this year than some of his other friends back at home. His father told us that Natan had a lot of trouble sleeping the night after the party, he was up thinking how his good friend was going away for a long time, so sweet!

Then sof sof, my last week I finally met with Ana Elia, my beautiful French Ola who sings and plays the tof--just like Miriam. Finally we sang together and got to talk with no one around disturbing and pulling on us. One of the soulmates here that I hadn't yet had time to uncover, as we talked I realized our circles came so close to colliding so many times. She studies guitar and records separately with the musicians from Nava Tehila, she knows the women kabbalastic drummers from Tzfat that we brought in for a Shalom Baby event last year. Worlds coming so close. We taught each other a niggun and are having lunch together on Shabbat.

Friday, Coby's last day of school, and his 'misiba pareda'.

Last Shabbat, Kol Haneshama. Hard to believe, almost smack in the middle of Lecha Dodi Coby fell asleep on my lap. Isn't this how it all started? Erev Yom Kippur, 2007, I sat down after Kol Nidre and Coby laid himself across me for the entire evening. It felt so prayerful and sweet. Something about a sleeping child so close to your body, it calms everything down. It was a really nice service, tender, relaxed, Josh said goodbye in the middle of it to catch his shirut to Ben Gurion. There were old HUC students visiting, and new ones arriving, several HUC staff members praying there themselves, it felt like home. But needless to say, I couldn't even choke out the last Kol Haneshama prayer that Levi does in a round, from Psalm 150.  The last Hallelujah I had no sound, no words, this was it, the end.

***************

Ben Gurion Airport:  Now we've got 11 checked suitcases. The carry-on with my High Holiday and Shabbat music in it weighed 22 Kilos and the stewardess said no way, that is no carry-on. It's still before dawn and Ben and Coby are remarkably energetic. I am sleepwalking.  We do all our security checks, our baggage checks, and we approach the final station with our passports and boarding passes, the security girl speaks to me in hebrew and english. Then she asks where do we live in America. We stared at her without answering, mouths open, and we looked at each other and laughed. Um, ugh, well, where do we live? One of us finally stammered that we live in Florida.

I think airports are designed to remove you from time and space. You are no longer in the country that you started, and they try to convince you that the time is now the time of your destination. It's totally disorienting. And that's how we leave Israel.  We won't be going home tonight to push the branches away from the door at 37 Rehov Charlap, or shush Coby as he yells up and down the echoey stairwell, and he and Ben play games by throwing toys out the window to see if the branches can suspend them above the pathway. The 3pm breeze blowing through the apartment. My heart hurts, already I am not hearing Hebrew as much as Greek at the airport. Every Israeli we do meet here makes it their personal mission to impart to us that we need to keep up the kids' hebrew...so Israeli.

On Thursday morning Alyne asked me what gifts I will bring back to America, we both welled up with tears as I recapped the warmth of the people I've met, and Ben and Coby's experiences at school, hiking around the country, fumbling in hebrew with Phillip, all the music from Nachlaot, the beautiful Shabbatot, Yom Kippur all in white,  the hebrew that has unlocked the liturgy for me.

Before I came I said I wanted this year to open me up, shake me around, challenge me and make me see and hear things differently, I didn't want to come here and affirm everything I already knew. I think that is what happened. And it hurt alot. Alot of struggling, learning, new things, uncomfortable things, confrontations with philosophy, with learning styles, with people who don't know from marriage and children sick in the middle of the night, people who do. I suppose I got what I wanted. I am upside down and shaken up, in the most beautiful and terrifying way. 

Soon I will be singing at Temple Judea, and I have already been assigned the date of my first practicum this fall.

The year is over.

The North

Monday, June 1, 2009

We went up to Kibbutz Yagur for Shavuot, where Gadi, one of the Israeli Rabbinic students lives. It was so fantastic, this is one of the oldest, and yet one of the few remaining traditionally run Kibbutzim in israel. But the people feel the change coming, that it is inevitable, and know that eventually it will privatize like the rest, so some are already seeking jobs outside of their kibbutz responsibilities. For many of the members, it is sad, but the whole mission of the country has changed, and they also know that. So Shavuot is the ultimate kibbutz holiday, besides the giving of the torah at Sinai--which is what the rest of the Jewish world is celebrating, on kibbutzim around Israel, they are celebrating the Bikurim--the first fruits (which is what would have been brought to the Temple as a sacrifice), in a big festival on the grounds, there was singing, dancing, and presentations of the first fruits....vegetables, goats, chicks, babies, plants, tractors, go-carts. It was so much fun for the kids, who were truly in their element here, climbing trees, riding bikes with kids they didn't know, everyone wearing white. It was sweet, then we went back to Gadi's house where we ate Humus brought back from Akko's famous Humus Sa-ed, and ate cheesecake. (Akko was fun, old, beautiful, and HOT!)

Gadi has an interesting story, his mother Shula, an amazing spunky woman was born on this kibbutz, as well as he himself, and his children. Gadi, when single went on Shlichoot to the UK, then two stints in the US. He fell in love--with American Jewry, it's warmth, enthusiasm, openness; came back to the kibbutz where he later married and began a family. Like many returning shlichim, he was so changed by his experience that he enrolled in HUC's Israeli Rabbinic Program. Where have we heard this story before? And there's actually quite a few who travel to change a community, then come back quite changed themselves.

Shabbat in Haifa at Gabi's synagogue, gentle and lovely 2nd to last Shabbat overlooking that gorgeous Mediterranean sunset. I told Phillip last weekend that I just wanted to see one more sunset over the Mediterranean, and here was my second. Lucky Lucky Lucky. We sang this amazing new women's arrangement of Eretz Zavat Chalav, and the original composer is a member of this congregation and was there on Friday. We sang this piece right after candle lighting, then reprised it again at the end, when Eliyahu came up again with his drum. He was so ecstatic and joyful. He is one of these participants, in one of these kinds of congregations where people will bring a recorder or a tof, and play along when the spirit moves them. Andrea was Gabi's Shlicha Tziboor--this was a really wonderful community to be praying with on 'almost' the last Shabbat. It reminded me of Beit Chaverim, a real Kahal.

Then back to the kibbutz with sleeping children, yet now it is 3:15am and Phillip and I are both awake because there is a huge party just outside the Kibbutz gates. Crazy, the people are celebrating from 11:30pm to the wee small hours. It's so funny, funny enough that it makes me forget to scratch my new mosquito bites; well, not completely.

The next morning we walked through the grounds of the Kibbutz, just above us was Muchracha--where Elijah the Prophet slew the 450 false prophets and convinced the people that his God was the one true God. Yagoor in hebrew is the future tense of 'to reside', so I got very excited when I realized that the kibbutz was named for its eternal presence here--until Gadi corrected me and said it was actually based on the name of the neighboring Arab village: Yajoor. So much for linguistics.

We returned home by way of winding roads through the Haifa mountains through Druze villages, stopping with the binoculars and letting the kids snack on roadside stands of home made pitas with olive oil and zatar (YUM!). We spent a few hours on the Hof HaBonim-a beach which is just beach--no restaurants or stores. It's a national park, so people can hike around there and even go camping with tents right on the beach, which was amazing to see what they brought with them as they took apart the tents: mattresses, pots, pans, coolers, barbecues...I think we can go camp on the beach at Peanut Island, anyone want to join?

Then typical traffic at the end of a holiday weekend, but when everyone was hungry, we turned to each other and said let's get off at Cesaria and watch the sunset! A third sunset! Ahhhh! And how fantastic that we can decide in a pinch to jump over to Cesaria or the Salty Sea for an hour or two. When others are deciding which restaurant in Jerusalem to go to, we are here, out on the highway in Israel, changing yet another flat tire on the rental car. Really you haven't lived until you've seen Phillip wear one of the little flourescent vests as he crouches at the tire with the jack. (I know what I'm getting him for father's day).

I just finished my last voice lesson with Judi here in Jerusalem. Both of us finished in tears, it's hard to say good-bye, to her especially.