No, it’s not the name of the macaroni and ground chuck dish I hope to make for my husband, again, today. (It is his favorite.) It means peace in the home. Here, I guess, my home. While I have seen people in popular culture, TV, radio, books and the like, agree that yelling and screaming is good for you- I’m not really clear about how. I’ve also heard TV personalities swear and say mean things at each other and agree on some level that THIS is acceptable behavior!
When we were first married, my feelings were easily hurt if I felt like my husband didn’t consider my feelings before he did something or if he forgot about ME. These transgressions could be subtle. So over the years he has tried not to forget about my feelings or me when he makes a decision. I have to admit he’s become better at it over the years. He includes me in his daily life by talking, by letting me participate with him in classes and lectures, and by just keeping me abreast of what’s going on even when I’m not directly involved.
He always calls: when he’s going to be late, when he’s at the store, when I’m late and he’s worried. (Men take note.) Also, he let it slip once that he doesn’t love having coffee cups left around the house, but to his credit he hadn’t mentioned it since. Not even when I accidentally tipped a full cup onto the living room carpet. I thought it smelled delicious. I have tried, but the one on the end table right now tells a different story.
One morning, I got out of the house early to go to the bank with the Rabbi. He had a tax check with both of our names on it and they wouldn’t cash it with out my signature, my presence, and my ID. And I can kind of see the point, as I know that some men and women are not honest with their spouse about money. I tried to explain this to him, as clearly he felt bad. He takes it as a personal affront; something is wrong with him is the message he hears: The way he is dressed; the way he talks; the balance in his account. (It is none of these.) He wondered aloud, to me, if he was a town big shot or not Jewish would they be more cooperative? I wondered to myself, would they remember that his wife was rather annoyed and spoke sharply to the teller last year? (In my defense she was incredibly rude to us, especially my husband. Also in my defense, I’ve only yelled at one other person in the last three years, and for a similar reason. I also had to work up a head of steam, on purpose, as I don’t yell easily and because I felt this person richly deserved it. I am sure he thinks I am a little crazy.) Would I want to be a person who made him feel this way, rather than defending him? The answer is a resounding “NO”.
I’ve decided as I sit writing that I have to go home early and “make supper” as my husband has requested this when he dropped me off after the bank. He made it in an off the cuff sort of way, like a parting comment. Did he mean he wanted hot lunch? I can’t remember if there is something already made for him or not. He’s not terribly demanding about, well, anything.
I take care of the menu and he likes to eat meat everyday, so I try to make that happen. I take care of the laundry, mostly his dress clothes as in the past he has resorted to too much dry-cleaning. I take care of the bills and so have a separate account from his ‘slush fund’. I am good at this and I feel more secure knowing everything is done on time: the car note, the insurance, co pays, loans and I have money put away for the meat order, every two or three weeks. (Did I mention we live in a town without a kosher meat shop?) Since I took over the bill paying we have stopped arguing about money and we don’t have more of it.
I know he won’t be upset if I don’t come home and cook, but I’ll want to do it anyway. I sometimes feel that if I tell people I am going home to cook lunch for my husband they are judging me- negatively. After all, even he reminds me, he can cook his own lunch. And I am bothered that I worry about people viewing me as “old fashioned” or somehow “unenlightened”. I am also annoyed at the idea of other people assuming they know what is good for me or that they understand what it is I am creating in my life. Especially, when I look out in the world and see divorce, unhappy marriages, and men and women who act in demanding and demeaning ways to their spouse.
The Rabbi and I made an agreement before we were married that we would follow his job. And the result of that is that I am a housewife. (In some views I am unemployed; which has likely crippled my career, as I knew it.) There are no opened professional jobs in our small town. But I have to admit that staying home is not so bad. When my daughter was young I fought to stay home a little longer, and a little longer. One of my few regrets is that I worked too much when she was young (I had to) and now she lives on her own and I have no job. How’s that for irony. On some level, I also feel in retrospect that my loyalty to my job was a little over blown if not, at times, entirely misplaced. If I didn’t work so much, would I have been able to show her more patience? More nurturing? But I digress.
Early in our marriage my husband would become so upset if I cried. He truly believes that G-d counts the tears of women. He showed himself to be such a kind and gentle and protective husband. And really who doesn’t want that? So…I’ll try to remember that next time his cat pees in the clean laundry, or he next time he drops meat sauce on the TV room carpet. And I’ve long since given up on the idea of watching the big TV. Apparently it only shows sports. Maybe it’s in need of repair? But in all seriousness, these are the times to remember that I have a choice. Would it be better to fight about the TV or better if I just ask him if he wants some ribs when for when the game comes on? It depends on what I’m trying to create in my home.
One can talk about what’s bothering them, but it is best to pick and choose. If you or your spouse are always correcting each other, it will make things prickly at home. Anger, resentment, sarcasm, and bickering will poison any atmosphere. How one expends their energy matters! What if you looked for ways to make each other’s day better, ways to make your home more comfortable and peaceful?
Least you think I am a shrinking violet-I don’t have any opinions my husband hasn’t heard, in many cases quite a few times. Do I think he would let me use the big TV if I insisted? Probably. Is it easier for me to let go because I’m not crazy about TV anyway? Probably. Do I have moments that are not as generous? You betcha. But I’m working on them. Love, like peace in your home, is a choice we have to make everyday.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Seriously????
It’s been my understanding that there is a social contract. The same mechanism that keeps one from asking inappropriate questions: Do you dye your hair? Did you lose a lot of money in the stock market? Are you and your husband separating? Also keeps people from making foolish, if not racist comments, even if they think them from time to time. This action is referred to in psychology as executive function. And we should all thank G-d for it everyday. It is the very same gift that keeps one from giving the wrong answer when your wife asks: Does this dress make me look fat? Having said that, it is also a measure, in its restrictions, of what is considered acceptable behavior.
Recently in the news, reporter Helen Thomas’ comments about sending the Jewish people in Israel back to Germany and Poland was shocking. You’ll remember Helen for her famed front row spot at White House press conferences. She was a longtime Hearst news columnist. Asked for a quote for video being shot at the White House at an event in celebration of Jewish American Month she said, among other things, “Tell them to get the hell out of Palestine.” (Imagine the outrage if someone said this about any one particular group in America.)
Also in the news, Facebook is being called to task by many of its members for not enforcing its own terms of use, specifically item 7 which states: “You will not post content that is hateful, threatening; or pornographic; or incites violence.” Yet there are many sites that are blatantly and violently anti-Jewish. (Some examples include: “Beware Zionist Monkeys”, “I hate Jews”, “I hate Israel”, “Kill the Zionists”, and so on. They are accompanied by often violent or otherwise disturbing visuals. CEO of Facebook, Mark Zuckerburg, said, “We are very careful about not allowing hate speech,” in an interview in 2008 with the London Observer. If so why haven’t these sites been taken down? The positive news is that there is in circulation a petition to remove these sites from Facebook: you can sign it on line at Aish.com-click on the article and a video will pop up with the petition below it.
Even in our own town (and possible in yours, as it was on the wire service) a recent editorial in his ‘isn’t it so sad about Helen Thomas’ article, in addition to the use of seemingly unrelated anti-Semitic quotes as references, suggested Israel’s prime minister could learn a thing or two from the flotilla. One suggestion was: that’s what he should have expected as a result of searching ships. Seriously? He should have expected to have soldiers attacked when they boarded a ship for a search that should have been routine? To put that in context of American culture: How would that play out in customs or even locally at an airport. “No, thanks very much, I will not be going through the metal detector or having my suitcase searched.” Perhaps, said journalist should give that a try and call me from prison to let me know how it went.
So back to executive function: I’m not suggesting that it is somehow better when people are disingenuous; I am saying that what people are willing to say out loud, or in these cases on camera, on line, and in the news media, respectively, are a reflection, a barometer if you will, of what people consider to be socially acceptable, and that’s a little scary. One might be tempted to think ‘not here’. And truly, I have some of the nicest neighbors, but these things ARE in our back yard, even if they are delivered there electronically.
I can’t help but stress the importance of speaking up whenever we see unjust acts and/or hate speech. (Even though I am sure many people do.) I feel like I have been catapulted back in time…I’m too tired of this, tired in my heart and in my soul. In light of these feelings, and in summation, a word often spoken by my young teen students in a moment of disbelief or incredulity comes to mind: Seriously?
Recently in the news, reporter Helen Thomas’ comments about sending the Jewish people in Israel back to Germany and Poland was shocking. You’ll remember Helen for her famed front row spot at White House press conferences. She was a longtime Hearst news columnist. Asked for a quote for video being shot at the White House at an event in celebration of Jewish American Month she said, among other things, “Tell them to get the hell out of Palestine.” (Imagine the outrage if someone said this about any one particular group in America.)
Also in the news, Facebook is being called to task by many of its members for not enforcing its own terms of use, specifically item 7 which states: “You will not post content that is hateful, threatening; or pornographic; or incites violence.” Yet there are many sites that are blatantly and violently anti-Jewish. (Some examples include: “Beware Zionist Monkeys”, “I hate Jews”, “I hate Israel”, “Kill the Zionists”, and so on. They are accompanied by often violent or otherwise disturbing visuals. CEO of Facebook, Mark Zuckerburg, said, “We are very careful about not allowing hate speech,” in an interview in 2008 with the London Observer. If so why haven’t these sites been taken down? The positive news is that there is in circulation a petition to remove these sites from Facebook: you can sign it on line at Aish.com-click on the article and a video will pop up with the petition below it.
Even in our own town (and possible in yours, as it was on the wire service) a recent editorial in his ‘isn’t it so sad about Helen Thomas’ article, in addition to the use of seemingly unrelated anti-Semitic quotes as references, suggested Israel’s prime minister could learn a thing or two from the flotilla. One suggestion was: that’s what he should have expected as a result of searching ships. Seriously? He should have expected to have soldiers attacked when they boarded a ship for a search that should have been routine? To put that in context of American culture: How would that play out in customs or even locally at an airport. “No, thanks very much, I will not be going through the metal detector or having my suitcase searched.” Perhaps, said journalist should give that a try and call me from prison to let me know how it went.
So back to executive function: I’m not suggesting that it is somehow better when people are disingenuous; I am saying that what people are willing to say out loud, or in these cases on camera, on line, and in the news media, respectively, are a reflection, a barometer if you will, of what people consider to be socially acceptable, and that’s a little scary. One might be tempted to think ‘not here’. And truly, I have some of the nicest neighbors, but these things ARE in our back yard, even if they are delivered there electronically.
I can’t help but stress the importance of speaking up whenever we see unjust acts and/or hate speech. (Even though I am sure many people do.) I feel like I have been catapulted back in time…I’m too tired of this, tired in my heart and in my soul. In light of these feelings, and in summation, a word often spoken by my young teen students in a moment of disbelief or incredulity comes to mind: Seriously?
Monday, May 17, 2010
THIS Shavuot
Until Shavuot people didn’t know how to slaughter and prepare the meat in a kosher way. In addition, they had to kosher their pans and utensils. If you have ever helped anyone kosher a kitchen you know it can be a weeklong event. So on Shavuot people turn to milk and milk products with don’t require this type of preparation.
In the “modern world” cheesecake and blintzes are some of the celebratory fare for the day. I love cheesecake, but it doesn’t love me. I am lactose intolerant. This seems like kind of a cosmic joke-one I’m not in on. Maybe G-d wants me to know that the world doesn’t revolve around me. (A little fact I’m already onto, thanks so much.) Maybe it just G-d’s sense of humor… I don’t know. When I think of all those giant glasses of milk my grandmother tried to coax down my throat…and her frustration when I wouldn’t or couldn’t finish them. Sometimes she would put extra cream or sweetened canned milk in them, thinking that would somehow make them more appealing. And although I know she meant well, I have to tell you that making milk milky-ier or more creamy is clearly not the way to go for someone who doesn’t like milk. Maybe she should have added some coffee. In fact, she did let me finish her coffee in her giant cup, lots of milk and sugar when I was a kid sitting in her lap. It was different time, I guess because people would look at me cross-eyed if I offered a child coffee in this day and age.
I saw this as an extreme kindness. Sitting on her aproned lap in her warm and cozy kitchen sipping cooling coffee from a mug that may have been a cereal bowl it was so large, and her coaxing me to see if I could see the flower. A rose was painted into the bottom of her cup. Hmmmmmmm.
The problem of being lactose intolerant, and I use the term “problem” for lack of another, won’t keep me from enjoying Shavuot, or cheesecake for that matter. (I have one in the freezer right now! I take a little pill, well two, and hope for the best. But I digress.) I am happy to have a service to go to and besides being happy to celebrate the giving of the Torah, I will also be able to participate in yizkor service and say the memorial prayers for my family members, including my grandmother.
I think my grandmother gave me something I couldn’t see except in retrospect. She used to take down my hems before the new school year, having me try on dresses in the afore mentioned kitchen; she would rub my frozen feet when I came in and me sit in a strategically placed chair my feet warming in the oven; she made me a farfel stuffing once when it seemed like I just would not survive the cooking smells of waiting for the turkey to be done, and I miss her. Most importantly, she gave me a place in my life that was completely safe. She also gave me clear rules and made her feelings known when she thought I (or anyone else) hadn’t behaved well.
Maybe receiving the Torah is a little like that. We can only really appreciate it in retrospect. I mean besides the fact that we weren’t there, we don’t dwell on who we would have been without it anymore than I had given a lot of thought to who I would have grown up to be without my grandmother’s care and direction. I love her and miss her, but most days I take it for granted. Maybe we fall into a false sense of feeling like it’s all us…especially in culture where we so value independence.
This Thursday we all have a chance to celebrate the giving of the Torah. I suggest that a little meditation on how it impacts our lives, who we have grown up to be, is well overdue. The Rabbi calls it the forgotten Jewish holiday, because people tend to gloss over it. Would you receive a gift without sending a thank you card? If so shame on you. If you can’t come to service, at least give it some thought. Also, call your grandma.
In the “modern world” cheesecake and blintzes are some of the celebratory fare for the day. I love cheesecake, but it doesn’t love me. I am lactose intolerant. This seems like kind of a cosmic joke-one I’m not in on. Maybe G-d wants me to know that the world doesn’t revolve around me. (A little fact I’m already onto, thanks so much.) Maybe it just G-d’s sense of humor… I don’t know. When I think of all those giant glasses of milk my grandmother tried to coax down my throat…and her frustration when I wouldn’t or couldn’t finish them. Sometimes she would put extra cream or sweetened canned milk in them, thinking that would somehow make them more appealing. And although I know she meant well, I have to tell you that making milk milky-ier or more creamy is clearly not the way to go for someone who doesn’t like milk. Maybe she should have added some coffee. In fact, she did let me finish her coffee in her giant cup, lots of milk and sugar when I was a kid sitting in her lap. It was different time, I guess because people would look at me cross-eyed if I offered a child coffee in this day and age.
I saw this as an extreme kindness. Sitting on her aproned lap in her warm and cozy kitchen sipping cooling coffee from a mug that may have been a cereal bowl it was so large, and her coaxing me to see if I could see the flower. A rose was painted into the bottom of her cup. Hmmmmmmm.
The problem of being lactose intolerant, and I use the term “problem” for lack of another, won’t keep me from enjoying Shavuot, or cheesecake for that matter. (I have one in the freezer right now! I take a little pill, well two, and hope for the best. But I digress.) I am happy to have a service to go to and besides being happy to celebrate the giving of the Torah, I will also be able to participate in yizkor service and say the memorial prayers for my family members, including my grandmother.
I think my grandmother gave me something I couldn’t see except in retrospect. She used to take down my hems before the new school year, having me try on dresses in the afore mentioned kitchen; she would rub my frozen feet when I came in and me sit in a strategically placed chair my feet warming in the oven; she made me a farfel stuffing once when it seemed like I just would not survive the cooking smells of waiting for the turkey to be done, and I miss her. Most importantly, she gave me a place in my life that was completely safe. She also gave me clear rules and made her feelings known when she thought I (or anyone else) hadn’t behaved well.
Maybe receiving the Torah is a little like that. We can only really appreciate it in retrospect. I mean besides the fact that we weren’t there, we don’t dwell on who we would have been without it anymore than I had given a lot of thought to who I would have grown up to be without my grandmother’s care and direction. I love her and miss her, but most days I take it for granted. Maybe we fall into a false sense of feeling like it’s all us…especially in culture where we so value independence.
This Thursday we all have a chance to celebrate the giving of the Torah. I suggest that a little meditation on how it impacts our lives, who we have grown up to be, is well overdue. The Rabbi calls it the forgotten Jewish holiday, because people tend to gloss over it. Would you receive a gift without sending a thank you card? If so shame on you. If you can’t come to service, at least give it some thought. Also, call your grandma.
Monday, May 10, 2010
To Kosher or Not To Kosher?
That is the question. Where it is nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of judgmental people from either camp…or to quit, to stay, or just to dream (of snappy comebacks). Literary allusions aside, the question is a loaded one. While some keep kosher and always have, some come to it later on their own terms or seem to just grow into it, with plenty of variations in between. In every variation people weight in, I am sure.
My experience when I moved to a new town, where unfortunately kosher kitchens are few and far between, and kosher stores are nonexistent, was one of questioning. People asked not only if I kept a kosher kitchen (a fair enough question if you’re the Rabbi’s wife) but also asked, “why?”
It took me a bit to realize that this was a rhetorical question at best. It was often followed by a litany of negative comments such as: “Why would someone keep kosher in this day and age?” Why indeed. Sometimes a question is not a question. Another, less eloquent comment was: “That’s just stupid.” If this were an isolated incident, I likely would have let it go. So, why all the hostility?
Why I keep kosher is not important. (Okay, it is but that’s another article.) But if you don’t, at least respect my choice and commitment. I have never said that people should do as I do. Maybe this should-ing and some shame was the expectation and my experience was one of a ‘get them before they get me’ mindset. I don’t know. I never asked. I was little bit of a chicken and didn’t want to listen to anymore ranting and rhetoric. Besides last time a rather embarrassed looking spouse had to step in and put an end to it.
After some meditation on this particular phenomenon, I have come up with questions of my own: Why should it be wedge between us?
I haven’t thought about this for sometime. Since moving here I have been occupied by things such as arranging and unpacking, making friends and services, holidays and helping people. In the mean time, I tried to get the local market chain to add a kosher meat section, to no avail. We can get most other items as they tend to be mixed in at the local grocery stores. So far we’ve coped by running out to a near city about an hour and twenty minutes away. I’m glad to say the owner has been really supportive about us phoning in orders-which makes pick up a matter of minutes. We drive over and there is a box, closed with packing tape and out name magic markered on the top waiting for us in the cooler. He also has let’s me put in more than one order at a time and we pick them up for the local people. Soon we might need a larger car, especially around the holidays. Also, one of the women had me over to help kosher her kitchen. Her two year old holds up products in the market now and declares whether they are kosher or not. She has also orchestrated “hechsher hunts” for children to help them identify food that they can eat.
While she did all these things on her own, she tells me that I was influential. (I am flattered.) But I am not sure of what, if anything I did. Maybe the mitzvah has a pull all it’s own. Maybe that’s what everyone is so afraid of.
My experience when I moved to a new town, where unfortunately kosher kitchens are few and far between, and kosher stores are nonexistent, was one of questioning. People asked not only if I kept a kosher kitchen (a fair enough question if you’re the Rabbi’s wife) but also asked, “why?”
It took me a bit to realize that this was a rhetorical question at best. It was often followed by a litany of negative comments such as: “Why would someone keep kosher in this day and age?” Why indeed. Sometimes a question is not a question. Another, less eloquent comment was: “That’s just stupid.” If this were an isolated incident, I likely would have let it go. So, why all the hostility?
Why I keep kosher is not important. (Okay, it is but that’s another article.) But if you don’t, at least respect my choice and commitment. I have never said that people should do as I do. Maybe this should-ing and some shame was the expectation and my experience was one of a ‘get them before they get me’ mindset. I don’t know. I never asked. I was little bit of a chicken and didn’t want to listen to anymore ranting and rhetoric. Besides last time a rather embarrassed looking spouse had to step in and put an end to it.
After some meditation on this particular phenomenon, I have come up with questions of my own: Why should it be wedge between us?
I haven’t thought about this for sometime. Since moving here I have been occupied by things such as arranging and unpacking, making friends and services, holidays and helping people. In the mean time, I tried to get the local market chain to add a kosher meat section, to no avail. We can get most other items as they tend to be mixed in at the local grocery stores. So far we’ve coped by running out to a near city about an hour and twenty minutes away. I’m glad to say the owner has been really supportive about us phoning in orders-which makes pick up a matter of minutes. We drive over and there is a box, closed with packing tape and out name magic markered on the top waiting for us in the cooler. He also has let’s me put in more than one order at a time and we pick them up for the local people. Soon we might need a larger car, especially around the holidays. Also, one of the women had me over to help kosher her kitchen. Her two year old holds up products in the market now and declares whether they are kosher or not. She has also orchestrated “hechsher hunts” for children to help them identify food that they can eat.
While she did all these things on her own, she tells me that I was influential. (I am flattered.) But I am not sure of what, if anything I did. Maybe the mitzvah has a pull all it’s own. Maybe that’s what everyone is so afraid of.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
When is a question is not a question?
When is a question is not a question?
We all do it. Further, and more incisively, we all hear it in conversation directed at us. The most universal of these is, “Are you wearing that?” a close cousin to the more cutting, “Is THAT what you’re wearing?” The over use of this has made it more recognizable, even comic, but what about the more subtle ‘question that is not a question.’
At a recent Chanukah party one of the children asked me, “Is this all we’re eating?” Which really means, I don’t want latkes; I want you to offer me something else. Since I was busy serving a room full of people, I did not. Also, I had some preparation as she asked me this same question last year, and possibly the year before. She also asks me at the Seder, only this version is, “What else are we having?” usually during the second course. I’m not sure, but I have taken this to mean-I don’t know if I should ask for more soup or if I should wait and see if I like the meat course. It’s subtle enough that her parents and grandparents don’t correct her. (Although they don’t correct her about much, so I don’t know if this is a good measurement or not.)
I had a friend in the brief space between high school and college whom I sometimes traveled with. “Are you ironing your clothes to go to the beach?” She wanted to know. Since I was standing in front of the TV next to a full sized ironing board, my dependable and often used Sunbeam steaming away as it rested, and an opened suitcase on the floor next to me, I am pretty sure she wasn’t just curious. “Yes,” I answered, taking a moment away from my folding to look around at these artifacts then back at her over my glasses in answer. “Duh,” I wanted to add.
“Why would you iron just to pack for the beach?” she asked. “I would never iron all my clothes just to go to the beach…” she explicated.
“I would never wear a blouse I found under the couch out to dinner.” She had preformed this a few nights previous, shaking the dust and dog hair off before donning said shirt and it was as good a comparison as any.
“It fell there!”
“Clearly,” I answered and raised my eyebrows.
“We could never live together, could we?” she sighed.
“No, we could not,” I answered and her face fell. The receiving end of that comment was clearly a different experience for her than making it, which hadn’t seemed to bother her at all. Besides, the thinking goes, if it is in the form of a question you haven’t really said anything, right?
My friend was a smart girl. Well, she still is smart, but not my friend anymore. Unfortunately, she also asks questions under the disguise of asking what you would prefer and then tries to argue you out of it. After telling her several times that I don’t like this, it makes me feel manipulated. She not only couldn’t stop, but also defended this habit.
“I’m Italian,” she said, as if this explained everything.
“I’m not,” I answered. Sometimes the problem with being told you are smart your whole life it that one tends to start thinking of others as not so smart. Not only not the case, but not a great relationship maker. In all honesty, sometimes I didn’t care how we did things, one way or another; it was more the feeling of having my opinion discounted or my own choice wrench away from me, after being asked for them, that made me feel manipulated and disrespected. “Why not just SAY what it is you want?” I asked once. Then we could either agree or disagree, I thought. It would save a lot of time, not to mention feelings and eventually a relationship.
More recently my husband asked me, “Are you going to take the GPS?” when we were setting off on a short trip to a nearby city. I was a little prickly anyway as we had had a disagreement the evening before.
“Do you want me to bring the GPS?” I asked. He was, after all, the one driving. He nodded. “Why not just say so?” I said under my breath.
“What’s that?” he wanted to know.
“Nothing.” I muttered………… Uh oh.
We all do it. Further, and more incisively, we all hear it in conversation directed at us. The most universal of these is, “Are you wearing that?” a close cousin to the more cutting, “Is THAT what you’re wearing?” The over use of this has made it more recognizable, even comic, but what about the more subtle ‘question that is not a question.’
At a recent Chanukah party one of the children asked me, “Is this all we’re eating?” Which really means, I don’t want latkes; I want you to offer me something else. Since I was busy serving a room full of people, I did not. Also, I had some preparation as she asked me this same question last year, and possibly the year before. She also asks me at the Seder, only this version is, “What else are we having?” usually during the second course. I’m not sure, but I have taken this to mean-I don’t know if I should ask for more soup or if I should wait and see if I like the meat course. It’s subtle enough that her parents and grandparents don’t correct her. (Although they don’t correct her about much, so I don’t know if this is a good measurement or not.)
I had a friend in the brief space between high school and college whom I sometimes traveled with. “Are you ironing your clothes to go to the beach?” She wanted to know. Since I was standing in front of the TV next to a full sized ironing board, my dependable and often used Sunbeam steaming away as it rested, and an opened suitcase on the floor next to me, I am pretty sure she wasn’t just curious. “Yes,” I answered, taking a moment away from my folding to look around at these artifacts then back at her over my glasses in answer. “Duh,” I wanted to add.
“Why would you iron just to pack for the beach?” she asked. “I would never iron all my clothes just to go to the beach…” she explicated.
“I would never wear a blouse I found under the couch out to dinner.” She had preformed this a few nights previous, shaking the dust and dog hair off before donning said shirt and it was as good a comparison as any.
“It fell there!”
“Clearly,” I answered and raised my eyebrows.
“We could never live together, could we?” she sighed.
“No, we could not,” I answered and her face fell. The receiving end of that comment was clearly a different experience for her than making it, which hadn’t seemed to bother her at all. Besides, the thinking goes, if it is in the form of a question you haven’t really said anything, right?
My friend was a smart girl. Well, she still is smart, but not my friend anymore. Unfortunately, she also asks questions under the disguise of asking what you would prefer and then tries to argue you out of it. After telling her several times that I don’t like this, it makes me feel manipulated. She not only couldn’t stop, but also defended this habit.
“I’m Italian,” she said, as if this explained everything.
“I’m not,” I answered. Sometimes the problem with being told you are smart your whole life it that one tends to start thinking of others as not so smart. Not only not the case, but not a great relationship maker. In all honesty, sometimes I didn’t care how we did things, one way or another; it was more the feeling of having my opinion discounted or my own choice wrench away from me, after being asked for them, that made me feel manipulated and disrespected. “Why not just SAY what it is you want?” I asked once. Then we could either agree or disagree, I thought. It would save a lot of time, not to mention feelings and eventually a relationship.
More recently my husband asked me, “Are you going to take the GPS?” when we were setting off on a short trip to a nearby city. I was a little prickly anyway as we had had a disagreement the evening before.
“Do you want me to bring the GPS?” I asked. He was, after all, the one driving. He nodded. “Why not just say so?” I said under my breath.
“What’s that?” he wanted to know.
“Nothing.” I muttered………… Uh oh.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Being Who We Are
Sounds simple doesn’t it. But it occurred to me during a recent conversation that while most of us are comfortable being who we are, we are not always as tolerant of who “others” are being, at the moment. Now, that’s not to say that if someone is bothering you, that you shouldn’t be bothered or that correcting children goes out the window. That would be silly.
We are constantly helping children become who they will be. We guide. And that’s fine, but we don’t create who they will be anymore than we can badger people into being who we want them to be. As importantly, I can’t help but notice that when we try the latter, most of the time the measuring stick we use is ourselves. You know what I mean: The little voice in ones head that says: “I lost weight –you should lose weight”; “I work 50 hours-you should work 50 hours”; “You know what she should have done is…”! Sometimes the measure is external. Consider the phrase voted least-wanted-to-be- heard-by-a-sibling, “Why can’t you be more like your brother/sister!”
I have been thinking about this a great deal lately as we have been discussing Aaron and Moses at length in the religious school as we study Exodus. One day someone asked, “Why, if Aaron came to speak for Moses, didn’t G-d just send Aaron?” Good question. After some discussion the best answer we came up with was that G-d wanted to send the great leader Moses. Why? Because Aaron is not Moses.
This also leads me to reflect that just because someone needs support and assistance, we may just want to assist as appropriate, rather then simply replacing them. Clearly, each of us brings our own set of talents and experiences to a situation; their place is likely just as important as yours. It depends on what we place importance on. I remember as young man proudly bring up the point that, “Men have the really important jobs, you know, like flying high speed jets,” during a lesson on avoiding sexism in writing. I explained to him that I could not remember how a person’s expertise in flying a high-speed jet had affected my life directly, but offered him the opportunity to tell me how it had affected his. Then I waited. It was kind of a long wait…. I asked him to tell me who had affected his life directly and the list was long, but predictable. Topped, of course, by his mother. I tried to explain that it had to do with what one values- or in this case what he thought he valued, as clearly there was a discrepancy. (I sent him away with a lot to think about and, as a side note, his mom seemed to really like me when we met on parent’s night.)
Our evaluations depend on what we value. (Shaded at times by what we come to take for granted.) A slight shift can change our perspective. The grass is always greener, somewhere else (or sometimes with someone else.) At least until we are standing on it, then it looks pretty much like grass.
In the Torah sometimes Moses’ name appears first and sometimes Aaron’s does. The Rabbis tells us that this is because they are both important. One is not more important than the other. Their cooperation is, in part, the vehicle of their success.
As someone joked in a very funny voice while we were studying, “I’ve met Moses and you’re no Moses!” We all had a long laugh. The type that make you feel a little winded at the end and refreshed. Good thing G-d doesn’t require me to be Moses, or anybody else for that matter, just a good version of myself.
No, I’m no Moses and neither are you.
We are constantly helping children become who they will be. We guide. And that’s fine, but we don’t create who they will be anymore than we can badger people into being who we want them to be. As importantly, I can’t help but notice that when we try the latter, most of the time the measuring stick we use is ourselves. You know what I mean: The little voice in ones head that says: “I lost weight –you should lose weight”; “I work 50 hours-you should work 50 hours”; “You know what she should have done is…”! Sometimes the measure is external. Consider the phrase voted least-wanted-to-be- heard-by-a-sibling, “Why can’t you be more like your brother/sister!”
I have been thinking about this a great deal lately as we have been discussing Aaron and Moses at length in the religious school as we study Exodus. One day someone asked, “Why, if Aaron came to speak for Moses, didn’t G-d just send Aaron?” Good question. After some discussion the best answer we came up with was that G-d wanted to send the great leader Moses. Why? Because Aaron is not Moses.
This also leads me to reflect that just because someone needs support and assistance, we may just want to assist as appropriate, rather then simply replacing them. Clearly, each of us brings our own set of talents and experiences to a situation; their place is likely just as important as yours. It depends on what we place importance on. I remember as young man proudly bring up the point that, “Men have the really important jobs, you know, like flying high speed jets,” during a lesson on avoiding sexism in writing. I explained to him that I could not remember how a person’s expertise in flying a high-speed jet had affected my life directly, but offered him the opportunity to tell me how it had affected his. Then I waited. It was kind of a long wait…. I asked him to tell me who had affected his life directly and the list was long, but predictable. Topped, of course, by his mother. I tried to explain that it had to do with what one values- or in this case what he thought he valued, as clearly there was a discrepancy. (I sent him away with a lot to think about and, as a side note, his mom seemed to really like me when we met on parent’s night.)
Our evaluations depend on what we value. (Shaded at times by what we come to take for granted.) A slight shift can change our perspective. The grass is always greener, somewhere else (or sometimes with someone else.) At least until we are standing on it, then it looks pretty much like grass.
In the Torah sometimes Moses’ name appears first and sometimes Aaron’s does. The Rabbis tells us that this is because they are both important. One is not more important than the other. Their cooperation is, in part, the vehicle of their success.
As someone joked in a very funny voice while we were studying, “I’ve met Moses and you’re no Moses!” We all had a long laugh. The type that make you feel a little winded at the end and refreshed. Good thing G-d doesn’t require me to be Moses, or anybody else for that matter, just a good version of myself.
No, I’m no Moses and neither are you.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Reflections After Passover
As we brought our things out of the basement and reassembled the kitchen, as we know it, I had to ask my husband: Why do we have all of this stuff? Of course I meant it in a rhetorical way. Clearly if anyone was responsible for the accumulation of stuff in the kitchen (okay, and pretty much anywhere else in the house), it would be me. In true ‘good husband’ form he didn’t say as much, but I did detect a slight rising of the eyebrows.
Even when I was younger, I saw clearly that too much stuff was somehow bad for me. While I wouldn’t wish on myself the life I had when I could pack pretty much everything I owned into a car trip or two, it made life simpler. In retrospect, I can’t believe that we used to leave the couch for the next tenant, sometimes in a negotiation, sometimes as a ‘surprise’. Anyone who has ever moved a couch, especially a pull out, up three flights of narrow stairs would be forgiving.
I’ve never been much of a gadget accumulator. I laugh every year at the new appliances by Ronco-Although I really did enjoy his commercials on some level. I can recall things like the omelet maker-I have one of those; it is called a frying pan. Or the egg scrambler-I also have one of those- mine is the first generation-it’s called a fork. If you are a collector of gadgets forgive me, I just enjoy joking about some of them that may not have caught on. I like cooking knives and antiques, especially carved wood, so I have my own guilty pleasures.
Influenced by my youth, I still clear out my closets at least once a year. Sometimes this has worked against me. I donated a perfectly good pair of Doc Martin shoes that were great in the snow, before I packed to move. I can’t remember why I thought this was good idea. Like anyone, I have some sorting regrets. But I don’t miss the two beds, the big Oriental rug, three bookcases, a lot baking stuff, the wine rack, the list goes on, but you get the idea.
Please don’t get me wrong. I like stuff as much as the next guy. I had my Converse All Stars from eighth grade well into my early twenties. (I never did grow into them-Thank G-d.) I like my bread maker and my waffle maker. In fact, I like them a lot. I even like the toaster, although I do wonder sometimes why we have it out given the cultural and I’d guess age changes in eating bread. I used to eat bread every morning.
Having minimized the household stuff reminded me of an earlier time-and if I can’t say life was simpler, my household surely was. I look at pictures and am amazed at the space I had in such a small apartment, but I don’t remember feeling like we were under furnished.
Maybe the drusha the Rabbi gives about the raising of bread being like our egos, flipped on its head, best expresses this experience. I wonder at how Abraham must have felt when G-d commanded him to leave Ur and how the Israelites felt when they left Egypt and all they knew behind (even though they were headed for something better.) Not that my experience is the same, but it makes me feel a little closer to understanding, and maybe that’s the idea. It’s not that I want to go without things; it’s that I remember that I can. Not in the “once Pluto was a planet and potatoes were a vegetable” days of gone, but maybe a little bit. More of a memory that once I slept on the floor because I didn’t have a bed or managed without a car or had a total of four plates, and we were still somehow happy. And okay, once you get a bit older a bed is not a luxury item, and certainly now I would prioritize owning one. But some things are a luxury and I find it easy to lose sight of that. As I moved everything back into its place, I was reminded.
Maybe I can keep this in mind until next Passover and by doing so, keep my ego in check. This doesn’t mean there is anything at all wrong with financial success and stability. Nor does it mean that we should decide how much is enough for other people. We cannot and should not take another’s personal inventory, but we can take our own.
Even when I was younger, I saw clearly that too much stuff was somehow bad for me. While I wouldn’t wish on myself the life I had when I could pack pretty much everything I owned into a car trip or two, it made life simpler. In retrospect, I can’t believe that we used to leave the couch for the next tenant, sometimes in a negotiation, sometimes as a ‘surprise’. Anyone who has ever moved a couch, especially a pull out, up three flights of narrow stairs would be forgiving.
I’ve never been much of a gadget accumulator. I laugh every year at the new appliances by Ronco-Although I really did enjoy his commercials on some level. I can recall things like the omelet maker-I have one of those; it is called a frying pan. Or the egg scrambler-I also have one of those- mine is the first generation-it’s called a fork. If you are a collector of gadgets forgive me, I just enjoy joking about some of them that may not have caught on. I like cooking knives and antiques, especially carved wood, so I have my own guilty pleasures.
Influenced by my youth, I still clear out my closets at least once a year. Sometimes this has worked against me. I donated a perfectly good pair of Doc Martin shoes that were great in the snow, before I packed to move. I can’t remember why I thought this was good idea. Like anyone, I have some sorting regrets. But I don’t miss the two beds, the big Oriental rug, three bookcases, a lot baking stuff, the wine rack, the list goes on, but you get the idea.
Please don’t get me wrong. I like stuff as much as the next guy. I had my Converse All Stars from eighth grade well into my early twenties. (I never did grow into them-Thank G-d.) I like my bread maker and my waffle maker. In fact, I like them a lot. I even like the toaster, although I do wonder sometimes why we have it out given the cultural and I’d guess age changes in eating bread. I used to eat bread every morning.
Having minimized the household stuff reminded me of an earlier time-and if I can’t say life was simpler, my household surely was. I look at pictures and am amazed at the space I had in such a small apartment, but I don’t remember feeling like we were under furnished.
Maybe the drusha the Rabbi gives about the raising of bread being like our egos, flipped on its head, best expresses this experience. I wonder at how Abraham must have felt when G-d commanded him to leave Ur and how the Israelites felt when they left Egypt and all they knew behind (even though they were headed for something better.) Not that my experience is the same, but it makes me feel a little closer to understanding, and maybe that’s the idea. It’s not that I want to go without things; it’s that I remember that I can. Not in the “once Pluto was a planet and potatoes were a vegetable” days of gone, but maybe a little bit. More of a memory that once I slept on the floor because I didn’t have a bed or managed without a car or had a total of four plates, and we were still somehow happy. And okay, once you get a bit older a bed is not a luxury item, and certainly now I would prioritize owning one. But some things are a luxury and I find it easy to lose sight of that. As I moved everything back into its place, I was reminded.
Maybe I can keep this in mind until next Passover and by doing so, keep my ego in check. This doesn’t mean there is anything at all wrong with financial success and stability. Nor does it mean that we should decide how much is enough for other people. We cannot and should not take another’s personal inventory, but we can take our own.
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