Honor Thy Father and Mother

We are a people in whom the past endures,
in whom the present in inconceivable without moments gone by.
The Exodus lasted a moment, a moment enduring forever.
What happened once upon a time happens all the time.
-- Mishkan T’filah

At tonight’s Shavuot learning program at Temple Shaaray Tefila, the 10 Commandments were taught by 10 different teachers, each of whom had 10 minutes to make a presentation about one of the commandments. Cantor Todd Kipnis, in teaching about the fourth commandment – Honor thy father and mother – shared an essay his mother wrote about honoring her mother at a time in their lives when their roles largely were reversed. The daughter became the mother; the mother became the daughter.

His mother’s essay provoked in me a flood of tears, not only because of what she wrote and how she wrote it, but also because of the memories it evoked of how our family honored my mother eight years ago on this exact date, May 19, 2010.

It was on that date that I wrote two entries on my mother’s CaringBridge site. First, this one:

As many of you already know, the last few weeks have been difficult for my mother. During this last week in particular, her condition has deteriorated significantly, and she has, despite medication, been in considerable pain. Yesterday, acting upon recommendations from both her oncologist and her long-time internist, my father, my sister, and I agreed that it is now time to follow her wishes and make arrangements for her to enter a hospice facility. Accordingly, we met at length with a hospice nurse, and within the next few days, we expect that my mom will be moved to Haven Hospice at JFK Hospital in Edison (right across the street from her beloved Temple Emanu-El). In the meantime, she is resting comfortably in the hospital, and we, too, are comfortable knowing that we are abiding by my mother’s wishes.

Many of you know, too, that the Festival of Shavuot, which began last night, is my mom’s favorite Jewish holiday. As Rabbi Bravo wrote to a few of her own colleagues yesterday, “Diana would have wanted us to celebrate this holiday, just as she loved Torah and let it be her guide through life. Ironically, she went into the hospital on Pesach, and here we are on Shavuot. Her family and I decided that just as she lived her life by the Jewish calendar, so is she planning her end of days in a similar way.”

Later that same day, having accompanied her (thanks to two kind, young women paramedics) on the ride from the hospital in New Brunswick to the hospice facility in Edison, I wrote this penultimate journal entry:

This afternoon my mother was transferred from Robert Wood Johnson to the hospice facility at JFK Hospital in Edison. When we left her, she was (as she has been for the last few days) unresponsive, but resting comfortably and in no pain. The speed of her deterioration on all fronts during the last several days has been notable and somewhat startling, even to a longtime family friend who has been together with us frequently during the last seven weeks. Having said that, we have reassessed our earlier thoughts regarding visitors, and would prefer that only family, clergy, and close friends visit. We want your memories of my mother to be filled with laughter, happy times, and much goodness. We are, of course, grateful for your outpouring of care and love on this site and invite you to continue to share your thoughts with us.

I know that we honored my mother well on that day. I like to think, too, that excepting for a few teenage temper tantrums, I honored her well throughout all her days, and that for the rest of my own days, I will continue to honor her memory and her well-lived life.

Strength

After my Shabbos nap yesterday, I unintentionally cleaned a closet because I needed to get to a suitcase that was buried within it. In the process, I came across my wedding’s “old” and “blue” in the form of a pair of my grandmother’s garters – on the erev of what would have been my 28^th wedding anniversary.

Many would call this coincidence; my friend, Rebecca, would call it #bashert. So, I snapped a photo of the garters and texted it to her with a message that began, “Here’s #bashert for you…”

She replied with this: “28 = כח = strength.” (Every Hebrew letter has a numerical value and it happens that the two letters that equal 28 –  kaf, which equals 20 and chet, which equals 8 – spell the Hebrew word koach, which means strength.)

Indeed, I am grateful that 15 years ago, I mustered enough emotional strength to see (finally) where I was, to change course, and to steer my life in the direction I wanted it to go. Yasher koach to me -- and to everyone since then who's helped me get (and keep) my life on track.

No Good Tweet Goes Unpunished

Today’s  Shavuot. As I have done every year for the past few, I’m participating in a collective social media effort to post enough tweets that include “#Torah” – pronounced “hashtag Torah” – that we “ tweet #Torah to the top ,” meaning it appears on the Twitter home page as a trending topic.

As far as I know, we have not ever achieved the goal. And this year, I’ve encountered a few stumbling blocks of my own…

Everything started out smoothly. Using  Hootsuite, a social media tool, I scheduled 80-some tweets to go live between 9 p.m. last night and midnight tonight. Because they appear as both tweets on Twitter and posts on my Facebook feed, I put this message on Facebook last night after two or three tweets had appeared:

It appears that all my #Torah tweets scheduled for the next 27 hours or so are going to show up in my FB feed.

For my FB friends who aren't familiar with Shavuot, it's a Jewish festival (The Festival of Weeks) that occurs seven weeks -- 49 days -- after the first day of Passover and commemorates the giving of the #Torah atop Mt. Sinai. According to legend, every Jewish person from every generation was there to witness the pivotal event in the life of the Jewish people. Today, the holiday is celebrated with late-into-the-night #Torah study sessions and dairy foods -- cheesecake and blitzes, most notably -- which serve as reminders of the Promised Land, which flows with milk and honey. It's also the season for confirmation, when young Jews (generally 16- and 17-year olds) who have continued their studies for several years after b'nai mitzvah commit to lead a Jewish life and help ensure a bright Jewish future.

OK, rabbi, cantor, and educator friends, did I leave anything out?

And then I went to sleep.

I awoke to this message from my sister, which she’d sent at 7:09 a.m.: “Why a million Torah posts?” It was followed quickly by this: “I just saw your explanation. You need to delete them. They filled everyone’s feed…message after message after message…”

Um, yes, that’s precisely the point.

Two hours later, when I hadn’t responded (because I slept in and then went to services), she sent another, less contemptuous message: “You look like a Jewish scholar who drank too much slivovitz and pressed ‘Post.’”

Meanwhile, in response to a tweet that appeared in my feed at about 1 a.m., a friend, who thought I was live-tweeting, commented with this: “Jane, I love you. I’m awake with you for at least an hour…” (I set her straight in the morning, sending a link to Hootsuite by way of explanation.)

When I returned from temple, I spoke to my sister and, concerned that I might indeed be looking like a schicker (Yiddish for drunkard), I reposted the explanatory message from last night.

Convinced all was then well, I was dismayed to receive another message late this afternoon – this one from a friend who, although not Jewish, is well-versed in Jewish holidays and traditions. She wrote: “I think you have been hacked… Twitter keeps giving the same status update over and over again…”

Yes, at that point, all the scheduled tweets had the same beginning – Blessed are You, Adonai, Sovereign of the universe who has… -- but ended differently. I responded to her with this: “LOL! They’re different. It’s Shavuot and I’m one of the people who is posting things with the #Torah hashtag to see if we can get Torah to trend in Twitter. Hope all’s well and you’re enjoying Ramadan.”

Thank goodness for Caroline, a high school friend, whose gracious response to one of my many tweets today made it all worthwhile: “I have enjoyed reading these posts.”

Connecting Torah to Today's World: How Cool Is That?!

I disagree with the assertion made by many people that the stories in the Torah are not relevant to us today. Even tales that at first blush seem to have absolutely no bearing on our 21st-century lives can be unpacked and examined in ways that offer connections, lessons, applicability, or even just wonderful “aha moments.”

Two examples come immediately to mind.

On Saturday, September 11, 2010, the Torah portion was Haazinu. I know that because I remember when, during hagbah (lifting the open scroll so the congregation can see the text), the cantor who was leading the service pointed to the text. I was stunned by how the ancient portion’s two columns reflected the shape of the Twin Towers. How cool is that?!

And then last week this happened: In Philadelphia on Thursday evening, Hillary Rodham Clinton accepted her party's nomination as the candidate for president of the United States – the first time a major party has nominated a woman for the highest office in the land. An historic moment for sure. 

Two days later, we read from Parashah Pinchas about Zelophechad’s five daughters – Mahlah, Noa, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah – who, having no brothers or other male heirs, asked Moses and the community to grant them a share of their father’s land as an inheritance. Unsure about an appropriate response, Moses asked God, who tells him that the women’s request is just, and so they are granted the inheritance they deserve, an historic moment that defies eons of patriarchal dominance. In this election year, these two events converged in precisely the same week. How cool is that?!

When we study these and other stories, often we can associate events in the ancient adventures of our people with the ongoing happenings in our own world – drawing out timely connections, lessons, and messages that bring new meaning, insights, and “aha moments” to our lives each week.

Nine Great Things to Celebrate About Shabbat Sh’lach L’cha

The Jewish calendar traditionally includes four new year celebrations: Rosh HaShanah (1 Tishri),  Tu BiSh’vat (15 Sh’vat), Passover (15 Nisan), and the fiscal new year (1 Elul). 

In Reform congregations, there often is a fifth new year: July 1, the inaugural day for clergy in their new pulpits, otherwise known as Yom Hadash HaRav (and if I didn’t get the order or syntax of these Hebrew words quite right, I’m sure one of my rabbi and/or Hebrew-speaking friends will let me know -- and I'll fix them).

Welcoming the newest member of the clergy team, Rabbi Joel Mosbacher, and his wife, Elyssa, last night and this morning, coupled with the long Independence Day holiday weekend, made my own Shabbat feel infused with more than the usual joy and celebration. Here are nine things I enjoyed this Shabbat:

1. Watching the reenactment of conversations among the 12 spies, which was provided by 12 volunteers from last night’s congregation. 


2. Hearing the beautiful arrangement of Shehecheyanu, offered by the congregation's cantors at this special moment in the life of the Shaaray Tefila community.


3. Learning from my newest teacher, Rabbi Mosbacher, that, except for requests for peace, we don’t offer petitionary prayers on Shabbat – for the simple reason that God is resting, and so should we. 


4. Meeting Elyssa Mosbacher, only to have her say, “Jane Herman – I read your pieces all the time…and I recognize you from your photo.”


5. Singing “America the Beautiful” – much better than “The Star-Spangled Banner” -- as the service’s closing song.


6. Meeting Lori Greenberg at the oneg Shabbat and giving her a dollar bill to ensure her safe travel to Israel for her first visit there!


7. Wondering how some Jews can reconcile this despicable behavior – executed with yarmulke and tzitzit in place? – with the commandment from this week’s portion: to

“look at it [the fringe] and recall all the commandments of the Eternal and observe them, so you do not follow your heart and eyes in your lustful urge. Thus you shall be reminded to observe all My commandments and to be holy to your God.”

I didn’t have the chutzpah to ask the question in Torah study, but would like to know...


8. Basking in the glorious weather – and some rosé on the roof deck of my sister’s apartment building. Yes, sure, it rained last night (OK, it poured), but today dawned sunny, clear, and bright, with wonderfully low humidity and a perfect breeze.


9. Reading, writing, and resting. (’Rithmatic isn’t my forte, and I generally don’t enjoy it, least of all on Shabbat!) 

What did you enjoy doing this Shabbat?

That Time When Uncle Irv Came to Torah Study

I think it might have been the ripe, red strawberries on Cantor Dubinsky's milestone birthday cake that brought Uncle Irv to Torah study last Shabbat.

During minyan, she'd chanted from Kedoshim, beginning with verse 23:

When you enter the land and plant any tree for food, you shall regard its fruit as forbidden. Three years it shall be forbidden for you, not to be eaten. In the fourth year all its fruit shall be set aside for jubilation before the Eternal; and only in the fifth  year may you use its fruit -- that its yield to you may be increased. I the Eternal am your God.

After we'd all enjoyed the cake and the celebration, our Torah study conversation started with a discussion of trees and fruit -- and the difference between letting ripe fruit drop to the ground versus not letting it grow in the first place. All of a sudden, it was as though Uncle Irv was sitting next to me in that already crowded classroom. I remembered the bed of strawberries Amy and I planted and watered under his firm tutelage -- with a row of alternating marigolds and bachelor buttons in front, one way organic gardeners keep the bunnies away.

How excited we were when green shoots, followed by vines and then small white flowers finally appeared. And, oh how disappointed when he instructed us to nip off every last one of the delicate, yellow-centered flowers.

"Why??" we whined, less than thrilled by the whole gardening thing he was trying to teach us. According to Uncle Irv, it would ensure a bountiful crop of sweet berries in a few years.

Who knew we were learning Torah right there in the backyard?

#BlogExodus 2: Honor

Studying at a long-ago UAHC Kallah at Brandeis University 

One of the selections preceding the Mourner’s Kaddish in the Reform Movement’s prayer book says, in part, this:

We do best homage to our dead when we live our lives more fully,
even in the shadow of our loss.
For each of our lives is worth the life of the whole world;
in each one is the breath of the Ultimate One.
In affirming the One, we affirm the worth of each one
whose life, now ended, brought us closer to the Source of life,
in whose unity no one is alone and every life finds purpose

Whether I have lived it more fully or not, I definitely have lived each of the last nearly six years in the shadow of the loss of my mother. I best honor her memory (and feel closest to her) when I:

1. Work to raise awareness about BRCA mutations and hereditary cancer.
2. Study Torah, especially Lech L’cha (her favorite) and Pinchas, which includes the story of the daughters of Zelophehad.
3. Speak my mind, which I don’t do often enough, but I’m getting better…
4. Vote.
5. Use the library.
6. Nix a Marriott for a different hotel chain.
7. Drink Dunkin’s coconut iced coffee (with a French cruller on the side, annually on Bastille Day, July 14).
8. Root for the Yankees, even though I don’t follow baseball.
9. Assuage irritability with a hefty “Feh,” or “A pox on her house!”
10. Encourage friends to “Go with the right foot” to interviews, new jobs, and adventures of all kinds
11. Gaze out on the Statue of Liberty and remember how lucky she and the rest of us are that her parents and my other grandfather, too, had the foresight, vision, courage, and moxie to leave eastern Europe in a timely way for the goldene medina.

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this post is one in a series marking the days of the Jewish month of Nisan leading up to Passover, which begins at sundown on Friday, April 22, corresponding to 15 Nisan. If you want to play along, check out this year's  #BlogExodus and #ExodusGram prompts. Once again, this series of posts also is priming my heart, mind, and spirit to participate in Beyond Walls: Spiritual Writing at Kenyon, a six-day summer writing seminar that is an initiative of the Kenyon Institute at Kenyon College in Gambier, OH.

T’rumah: The Give and Take of Giving

This morning, I was honored to give this d'var Torah on Parashat T'rumah, which was my bat mitzvah portion four decades ago.

This week’s portion opens with these words:

The Eternal spoke to Moses, saying: Tell the Israelite people to bring Me gifts; you shall accept gifts for Me from every person whose heart so moves him. (Exodus 25:1-2)

Although this translation in the Plaut-Bamberger commentary is an accurate representation of the Hebrew, several people have suggested this more literal translation of the passage:

The Eternal spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the Israelites and take for Me gifts from everyone who is offering of his heart; [from him] take My gifts.

This more literal wording, which is perhaps more accurate, tells us something important about gift-giving, whether the gift is a present to a friend or an offering to God. It reminds us that when we give, and give freely and willingly, we are always blessed to receive something in return, even when the receiving is not our intention at all.

Let me illustrate this dynamic of giving and taking with two instances of gift-giving in my own life:

In the first, 40-some-odd years ago, I was the giver. The gift was a set of bed linens covered in an all-over pattern of Ziggy, the bald, big-nosed, and pant-less 1970s cartoon character, and his small white dog Fuzz. Although I’d found the sheets quite by accident and long before her birthday, they would, I knew, be perfect for my sister, with whom, at the time, I followed the daily antics of Ziggy and Fuzz on the comics’ page of our local newspaper.

When her birthday finally arrived, it was I who was eager and excited – perhaps more than she was – for her to unwrap my package. Although I was the giver, I took from the experience as well – an understanding of the pure delight of giving and what it means to bring joy to another.

The second experience was much more recent, and came in the form of a friend’s holiday card that said this:

Sometimes, an idea is worth continuing. The needs of our world are great! Our giving continues to help alleviate strife and improve life in small but cumulative ways.

I hope you will once again join me in giving by designating and forwarding the enclosed check to the charity of your choice. I wish you very happy holidays and a new year full of health, happiness, and the delights of giving.

The check, with its blank payee line and my friend’s signature, was made out for $50, but the amount is irrelevant.

This time, even though it was I who was blessed with the gift, as the recipient, I took from the experience as well – the exact same understanding of the delight of giving (and in this case, the means to do so, too) as when I gave my sister those Ziggy sheets more than four decades ago.

I imagine my friend, too, took great satisfaction from his ability to give and, through the checks returned to him, from the many acts of tikkun olam his generosity made possible. Indeed, it is my hope that his gift to me and to others will, as he so rightly noted, “continue to help alleviate strife and improve life in small but cumulative ways.”

No matter what our gifts – whether cartoon character linens or making giving possible for others – may our giving always come from a willing heart, and may we always take to heart the lessons borne from the giving itself.

Getting My Garnet Fix

For as long as I can remember, I've loved the connection between garnets and pomegranates.

I was reminded of this association this past Shabbat during a visit to the American Museum of Natural History. (The details of why I was there amidst the endless swarm of families and tourists on perhaps the busiest day of the year is a story for another time.) Nonetheless, I enjoyed the hour or so I spent in the Morgan Memorial Hall of Gems oogling the colorful gemstones from bright pink rubies and green emeralds to citrine, quartz, sapphire, and my favorite, the deep red garnet.

Confirming what I knew to be true, the didactic text accompanying the displays indicated that the word "garnet" derives from the Latin word "granatus," which means seed like appearance or containing many seeds. Early biblical writings, the text continued, often associated garnets with faith, constancy, and truth.

Is it any wonder then, that Noah, according to tradition, used a garnet lamp to help steer the ark safely through the flood?

Why Jews Should Care About the National Cathedral’s Stained Glass Windows

Last month I spent six wonderful days at Kenyon College in Gambier, OH, where I participated in the Kenyon Institute's Beyond Walls writing seminar, the inaugural session of an interfaith initiative for clergy, seminarians, and people who write in religious organizations.

Thanks to terrific faculty, a supportive community of similarly minded writers, Wiggin Street Coffee, and -- perhaps most important -- daily solo writing time, I have this op-ed to show for my efforts.

Charleston’s historic “Mother Emanuel” A.M.E. Church was their sanctuary. Midweek they studied bible under its roof; on Sundays they prayed from its pews. Their spiritual lives were centered there. Their racially motivated murders sparked the current debate over the Confederate flag – the same flag their     murderer, Dylann Roof, holds in a photo on his website.

Seven Things to Love About Kenyon College

1. The Kenyon Writing Institute
2. Wiggin Street Coffee 
3. Solo writing time
4. Schmooze time with leaders from many faith traditions
5. A new list of writers and poets to explore
6. Last night's spontaneous kumzitz at the Hillel House
7. There's still a day-and-a-half of wonderfulness left in this adventure!

ICYMI: Ten Minutes of Torah

Photo by Flickr user @Sam Felder/CC

In case you missed it, I penned last Friday's Ten Minutes of Torah, which is produced and distributed by the URJ.

The emails, texts, and messages I've received in response have been incredible, and I'm planning to compile them into a round-up post in the coming weeks.

Stay tuned...

ICYMI: I'm Blogging at ReformJudaism.org Today

In case you're not a regular reader of the blog on ReformJudaism.org, you may have missed my most recent post.

#BlogExodus: A Roundup of Beginnings

Although it may seem odd to begin with a roundup, today, 1 Nisan, presents a confluence of beginnings.

Not only is it the first of the month of Nisan and the first full day of spring, it also is Shabbat Ha-Chodesh, which marks the beginning of one of the four new years on the Hebrew calendar. This day begins the liturgical year as was referenced in the Rosh Chodesh parashah we read this morning:  “God spoke to Moses and Aaron when they were in Egypt and said, ‘This month shall mark for you the beginning of the months; it shall be the first of the months of the year for you’” (Exodus 12:1-2).  The liturgical year ties all Jewish festivals to the Exodus from Egypt so its beginning now -- less than two weeks before Passover -- is most apt. 

Missing Nehama

Dear Nehama,

I miss you.

Two weeks ago was Chemo #11, last week was Chemo #12, and even though Chemo #13 for my sister was yesterday, I just didn't have the get-up-and-go this morning to make it to minyan.  I figured I'd make it uptown to see you at noon, but when I looked at the clock again, it was 11:04, and I knew that neither seeing you nor enjoying a "Shabbos bagel" during Torah study this week was meant to be.

Where's JanetheWriter?

Today I'm over at ReformJudaism.org, where I wrote this week's Ten Minutes of Torah essay on Jewish arts and culture. If you're looking to "do Jewish" in New York City, check out the post.

Two Rabbis, a Book, and Lots of Names

During yesterday's "hallway kiddish" following Shabbat services, Marlene, a longtime member and regular at the minyan, handed me this article that she'd clipped from The Jewish Week after reading my recent Ten Minutes of Torah essay.  I had not seen Rabbi Wolpe's short piece, and appreciated that she had saved it for me.

Later, toward the end of Torah study, Rabbi Stein told the group that he's in the process of giving away the books in his library--he'll be retiring at the end of June--and that we were welcome to stop in to see what might be of interest.  Needless to say, many of us followed him down to his office, which is overflowing with shelves of neatly arranged and well organized volumes.

After a few minutes of browsing, I asked the rabbi about a book I've seen referenced many times that always sounds interesting, although I didn't know its exact title.

"It's about names," I said, which was enough of a clue for him to pull this well-worn red volume from the shelf:  Complete Dictionary of English and Hebrew First Names by Alfred J. Kolatch.

"I've been using it for 40 years," he told me.

Indeed, the binding is broken in a few spots, and a whole section of pages containing feminine names from Billie, a feminine pet form of William, to Elya, from the Syriac and Hebrew, meaning "dirge, elegy" is full detached from the rest of the book.

Nonetheless, after just a few minutes of flipping through the book's 400-plus pages (and a second, more scholarly work, also about names), I told him I'd take the former and thanked him for this unexpected gift.  I'm grateful not only to add this particular volume to my own collection, but glad to have it as a keepsake from a rabbi who has been exceedingly kind and caring to me, and from whom I have learned much during the last four years.

Only after I left the synagogue did I read Rabbi Wolpe's column as I waited for the bus.  Entitled "A Name, A Soul," it begins with this sentence:

The Book of Exodus, in Hebrew, is called "Sh'mot," or names.

Rabbi Wolpe goes on to talk about the value and importance of names, before closing with this paragraph:

The crown of a good name, teaches Pirke Avot, is the greatest of all crowns.  In a graveyard, whatever other inscription a stone bears, it invariably records the deceased's name.  Tyranny seeks to erase names.  Memory and love restore and preserve them.

I am honored to be the keeper of Rabbi Stein's copy of "Kolatch," into whose worn red cover I have slipped the clipping of Rabbi Wolpe's short essay.  I believe it's the perfect spot in which to keep it.

Torah and the Law (Firm)

Cataloged by the Nazis 

Last week, Neil Yerman, a well-known sofer, was in the URJ's New York office to assess the condition of several of the organization's Torah scrolls, including one from pre-war Czechoslovakia that now is on permanent loan from the Memorial Scrolls Trust based in London's Westminster Synagogue.

When two colleagues and I entered the room where Neil and an assistant--whom he is training as a soferet--were working, there were introductions and handshakes all around: He introduced himself as Neil Yerman and his colleague as Nomi Lerman.  When I introduced myself, he invited me to join them in their work, quipping that the new firm would, of course, be known as Yerman, Lerman and Herman.

My colleagues and I chatted with him about his work, watching as he "erased" dirt and oil from the parchment of an open scroll, taking along with the debris some of the ink of the beautifully written words that tell our people's story.

Without correspondence to write or blog posts to edit, I could have watched and listened all day, but alas, it was not meant to be.  Taking my leave after 20 minutes or so, I thanked him for his time and the interesting conversation. On the way out, I quipped that I'd definitely be in touch when I'm ready to join his firm.

Hmmm...that exchange gives a whole new meaning to JanetheWriter, wouldn't you say?!

Football Tutor Wanted

Although it's nearly a year away, my college roommate and I already are talking about getting tickets for the 2014 Lafayette-Lehigh game, which will be the 150th meeting of the two teams, and is the most played college rivalry in the country.  The game is slated for Yankee Stadium, which is, compared to either Lafayette or Lehigh, right in my backyard, and, best of all, easily accessible by public transportation.

Yesterday when I checked the Lafayette Leopards' official athletic site, however, I found this message:

The initial allotment of tickets for the 150th Lafayette-Lehigh football game, hosted by Lafayette at Yankee Stadium on Saturday, Nov. 22, 2014 at 3:30pm, have been exhausted.  Additional tickets have been requested from the Yankees.

Class of 2014 will be considered students for the 150th -You will be able to purchase when the student allotment goes on sale in April.

Aside from the fact that we can't yet get tickets (never mind that there's a grammatical error in the text of the message), I have another problem:  despite possessing a fine liberal arts education from one of the aforementioned schools, I don't understand the first thing about how football is played.

When I attended football games in high school--generally only on Thanksgiving, when Franklin played Piscataway, its arch rival, in a homecoming match-up--friends repeatedly would attempt to explain the basics to me, but as I told them each year after the game, "By the time I figured out which way Franklin was supposed to be running, they were supposed to be running the other way."  Despite my best efforts and exceedingly competent tutoring, I just never seemed to catch on.

Sadly, I'm not overly optimistic that the NFL's Beginner's Guide to Football, Football Rules and Basics for Dummies, or Football 101 - The Basics of Football will be of much help.

My best hope when it comes to learning about football between now and next November is that a few friends and acquaintances who are fans of this crazy, confusing game, and also happen to hold the title "rav," (which, in its purest sense, means "teacher"), might be willing to step up to the plate (I know, I know, that's baseball terminology) to teach me the basics of football as though it was the aleph bet.

What do you say, rabbinic football fans?  Are you up for the challenge?

A Teachable Moment

I don't fancy myself a Jewish educator, but earlier today, I had a great opportunity to participate in a teachable moment

It started last night when Richard, a friend from way back in middle school, left me a voice mail message seeking my thoughts on an appropriate gift for a bat mitzvah.  He noted that he most often "defaults" to money, but thought I might have a better handle on the topic.

This coming Saturday, he and his wife will pick me up at the Metuchen train station so I can ride with them to Temple Har Shalom, where the eldest daughter of a third friend will become bat mitzvah.

By the time I listened to his message, it was too late to call back, so I responded with a text, and the conversation took off from there:

My Jewish educator friends need not worry.  I'm not giving up my day job!