Scarlett Letters

Tonight is Kol Nidre, the holiest night in the Jewish calendar, the night that begins Yom Kippur--the Day of Atonement. I am not at synagogue tonight and won't be tomorrow because I didn't plan properly. I had dinner around sunset; technically my fast has begun. And so I'm thinking hard about trespasses and forgiveness. And other stuff.

I recently had a devastating falling out with someone I love. The trespass was his; it's been hard for me to get over it, more so as I learned of its magnitude. I'm mourning what we had, what I lost. He keeps apologizing. I've been thinking hard about those apologies and what I've come to is that there's apologizing, and there's asking for forgiveness, and they're two very different things.

An apology is an expression of regret: I'm sorry I did thing X. I have acknowledged the apologies. I understand that he regrets what he did.

There has been no request for forgiveness. I looked up the word in the dictionary to be sure I understood its technical meaning. Merriam-Webster's says that to forgive means:

to stop feeling anger toward (someone who has done something wrong) : to stop blaming (someone) : to stop feeling anger about (something) : to forgive someone for (something wrong) : to stop requiring payment of (money that is owed).

I'm still angry. I still feel betrayed. I still hurt so much. Mostly what I am, though, is sad. Disappointed. Bewildered. Exhausted. Every time I think about the trespasses committed, I get upset all over again. He hasn't asked for forgiveness; perhaps he believes that my response is justified. I certainly do. I don't know how to let it go, perhaps because I know that some of the circumstances that precipitated the trespasses haven't changed and most likely won't. I don't know what to trust anymore. I miss him terribly. But I know that I'll never be comfortable with the new state of affairs he has created. I don't need another source of pain.

On Yom Kippur, we are supposed to admit our trespasses and ask for forgiveness: of G-d, of ourselves, and of others. We are supposed to make a clean start to the new year. Make a clean slate.

I have been vain. I have been selfish and inconsiderate. I have been covetous and jealous. I've been impatient and unkind. I have been angry and hostile. I admit all these things and I do regret them. I ask G-d and the people I love to forgive me of those things.

Am I worthy of forgiveness if I can't find it in my heart to forgive someone else? I don't know. I'm not perfect; I don't expect others to be. I suspect that G-d doesn't expect me to be perfect either. But there are some things I do know: I deserve to be treated with kindness and respect. I hope that those I love will give what they've received in turn. I deserve to be a priority -- someday, I hope, someone's first priority, though I know that such particular prayers sometimes just never get answered. Sometimes the answer is "no."

When I was a little girl, a Hebrew school teacher told me that she'd seen her father cry in synagogue every year on Yom Kippur. She said that he stood in fear of G-d as he asked forgiveness. As an adult, I've stood in synagogue on Yom Kippur and wept, mostly in regret for things I've done. The first time it happened, it surprised the hell out of me, but I couldn't stop, and didn't, for more than an hour. I asked for forgiveness. I promised to strive to do better. At the time, I didn't know if I was promising G-d or myself. In retrospect, I think I was promising myself by way of G-d. One way or another, it was cathartic, and I suspect that Yom Kippur, in part, is intended to be a catharsis. It's sacred time set aside for reflection and resolution.

So tonight I reflect. Perhaps resolution will come tomorrow. Maybe forgiveness will come. For myself, I hope. But if I am to hope for forgiveness for myself, it's only just to try to find my way to forgiveness for him. I don't know when or how that will happen. Or even if it will. If nothing else, I need to find my way there for myself, because carrying all this anger and resentment can only be self-destructive. Maybe it's just too soon. I'm still so raw; I feel like I'm just one big gaping wound. Forgiveness doesn't just happen and it can't be forced. So if I ask tonight for forgiveness for myself, then perhaps I'm also asking for the time and strength and healing to find it for another. Some day.

I've been reading the web site Religion Dispatches (RD) for years. It describes itself as an "independent, non-profit, Webby-nominated source for the best writing on critical and timely issues at the intersection of religion, politics and culture." What I know is that their material--ecumenical (they cover everyone: Jews, Catholics, Mormons, Muslims, Buddhists, feminists, LGBT people--everyone), insightful, and never dull--always intrigues me. I visit the site a couple of of times a week, piqued by their daily dispatch, and I enjoy the thoughtful, provocative content.

Today's thoughtful, provocative content involves the Vatican's Council on Women--an event discussing women and women's issues without a single woman present or in active discussion or debate, and the central document around which their debate is being built. RD has run two pieces on this event, one that took a preliminary look at that central report, with its astonishingly tone-deaf cover image, and one that did a deeper analysis of the document, its authors, its content, and its underlying philosophy and implications. And then there's the Vatican's awkward effort at appealing to women to participate in their conversation via YouTube ("Hello privileged women of the world, we want to hear ::deep, breathy sigh:: from you"--see the video at that second link.)

There's fascinating and, truth to tell, disheartening stuff here. For all of the respect that Pope Francis has earned from me with his positions on the environment, poverty and--superficially, at least--LGTB issues (where the message is muddied up and tromped upon by the rest of the church and even, occasionally, the Pope himself--talk about conflicted!), these articles reveal a myopia that has not been mitigated in the least despite social evolution, progress on issues around social justice, the women's movement, nothing.

If you have any interest in religion, social issues and social justice, the church specifically, and culture in general, these articles (and the site as a whole) is excellent reading.

Woke up at a ridiculously early hour for a Saturday (6:30 AM), and have mostly been catching up online. Both here and on Facebook, people are talking about what a cold morning it is. I just opened the blinds to discover that what I thought for a moment was frost on my balcony railing is actually ice. The neighbor's roof is all frosted over as well, and it's gray and foggy outside. I had this idea I might take a walk this morning but perhaps I'll skip it for staying inside and warm.

I know it's really winter when I start using the snowflake icon.

In feline news, Sophie has stopped treating Spanky as a spooky stranger, and they're friends again. She's expressed some curiosity about his poor ear, but I'm watching to make sure she stays away from it. She is otherwise up to her old tricks, straddling his back and cleaning his neck and shoulders. He is indulgent...until he's not.

Night before last, I finished reading Thirteen and a Day: The Bar and Bat Mitzvah Across America by Mark Oppenheimer, a survey of Jewish rite-of-passage culture in America. Oppenheimer's got a congenial narrative voice that carries the reader through the book at a pleasantly informative pace. He travels the country, attending b'nai mitzvah in search of the essence and the state of the phenomenon, from Connecticut to Alaska to the Deep South, discovering children, adults, converts and gentiles participating in ritual and reflecting on what it means to be Jewish and b'nai mitzvah today. The author is thoughtful and insightful on the subject, at his best, I think, when he dives deep into what he's observed and how it translates to a larger American and religious experience. I quite enjoyed this book and recommend it.

I want to post about my emotional and intellectual reaction to the book a little more later, in light of a) my own bat mitzvah, b) recent personal experience and c) in light of mcjulie's recent series on her religious evolution, but I want to process my ideas a little more.

And now, on with the day. A hot shower and a toasted bagel await me.

These are the stories I've taken notice of today. Wanted to share:

The US military is implementing a mental stress management program for soldiers. I think it's a great idea. Will it work? Time will tell, I guess.

More on the story about the Vatican investigating American nuns, written by Catholic theologian Mary E. Hunt. I don't know why this business interests me so much. Maybe because it's about women operating in a male heirarchy? The comments thread--predictably--gets volatile very quickly, though there are some intersting points sprinkled throughout. I'm bearing in mind the notes a commenter left here when I first posted about the subject, and just sitting back to watch all this unfold. It's fascinating. (Story includes a wonderful portrait of a nun from the early 20th century.)

Microsoft is discontinuing Encarta, its online encyclopedia. In part, they say, "People today seek and consume information in considerably different ways than in years past. As part of Microsoft’s goal to deliver the most effective and engaging resources for today’s consumer, it has made the decision to exit the Encarta business." Hard as hell to compete with Wikipedia and the entire World Wide Web.

Receiving chemo in the closet: "Earlier this year, state budget cuts in Nevada resulted in the slashing of the outpatient cancer center at the University Medical Center's oncology clinic, forcing patients to find treatment on their own....Oncologist Nick Spirtos found a solution. He persuaded his partners to take on the patients pro bono, converted a storage area in his office into a chemotherapy room and got Clark County to pay for the expensive chemo drugs. One treatment can cost upwards of $10,000.... He's also sought more primitive ways to cover costs. He holds up a clear plastic box bearing the label 'Cash for Chemotherapy.' Dollar bills and loose change jingle. There are 380 boxes placed throughout the county." Welcome to American healthcare in the 21st century. Who says we don't need reform?

Giant Magellan Telescope "will be able to show what the universe was like when it was just a few hundred million years old and emerging from a period of total darkness after the Big Bang." We don't need to turn back time, we just need to look a little farther afield. How cool is this?

And lastly, because alarmist journalism always gets clicks, The Today Show and MSNBC ask: Can your flip-flops kill you? Not being a wearer of flip-flops, I'm not concerned for myself, but I admit horror and dismay on behalf of flip-flop wearing friends.

If Google does turn over its records to Viacom as a result of a New York judge's order, it occurs to me that what Viacom will discover about me is that I watch none of its TV shows online or off. If they dig into my profile, they'll find me watching Doctor Who fan vids, Star Trek fan vids, the occasional Keith Olbermann special comment and silly Hellboy promos. Much good may the data do them.

The discovery of an ancient Hebrew tablet that may shed light on Jewish and early Christian ideas about the messiah presents some interesting questions about the evolution of proto-Christian theology and what Jews--or a small sect thereof--really thought about the role and signs of a savior. The story put me in mind of the reaction of the Lubuvitchers when Rabbi Schneerson died. Fascinating stuff.

I don't know why this delighted me as much as it did, but because it did, I offer it to you, my readers: io9.com's The Fake Intelligence Organizations and Spy Networks of Science Fiction.

And while you're over at io9.com, take a look at their analysis of Stephen Moffat's work on Doctor Who, and how he may not be the genius we've all been taking him for. It's an interesting perspective. Curious to hear your thoughts on the subject.

Thomas M. Disch has committed suicide. It's a loss for the field. I'm saddened by his decision that a final exit was his only solution.

Lastly, I've been reworking my resume today, with enormous help from e_bourne. And now, as I draw toward the finish line, I feel the avoidance, anxiety and uncertainty that has been attendant to this entire process rearing its head again. It's why I just spent the last 90 minutes writing this entry. It's why I spent the prior 15 minutes pacing the living room and talking to the cats. I promised myself I'd finish my resume rewrite tonight and get it into the mail to the two people who asked for it before I go to bed. I've got to keep that promise. But my head is full of all the ways I might avoid that result because I find myself so worked up about all this. I keep hoping for compelling e-mail or a telephone call to distract me, but I've got to finish this. I've got to push through it. I hate how this makes me feel.

ETA 10:11 PM: Resume completed and sent. Now a different sort of anxiety kicks in. I should go to bed. ::sigh::

Slate is running an interesting article on Christian pop culture and its inherent contradictions. Generally speaking, I think it's pretty respectful to both sides of the discussion. Curious to hear what folks think.

Spent tonight with shellyinseattle. She's very involved with the calligraphy community in Seattle (there's a community for everything!). Tonight a group of her acquaintances got together to watch a DVD about the ongoing creation of a 21st century illuminated bible—hand calligraphed and illuminated—sponsored by St. John's Abbey and University outside of Minneapolis. She invited me to join them, and I'm so glad I did.

The DVD discussed the prime artist and calligrapher behind the project, talked about how the project was being funded and, most important and interesting to me, the actual process of creation. The whole book is being lettered by hand with goose-feather quills on vellum with handmade inks, handground pigments and gold and silver leaf. Though it's being created by monks, the book is filled with Hebrew and Jewish symbolism. And though the techniques are traditional, much of the creation and production are quite modern. The layout of each page is being planned using a computer. The art is quite beautiful, incorporating modern imagery and references (the family tree of Jesus is in the shape of a menorah picked out with Hebrew and DNA strands as a motif; the World Trade Center is referenced in another image; throughout the bible, flora and fauna native to Minnesota adorn the pages in technically accurate detail). It's stunning, and will ultimately be a literally priceless piece of art. Breathtaking stuff.

You can learn more about the project at its Web site. The coolest feature of the site offers users the ability to page through the books already completed. The flash tool to do this was created specifically so you could look at each page with the intention of purchasing a print of same. You can zoom in on each page and illustration. Wonderful stuff.

The coolest news of all is that pages from The Saint John's Bible are coming to the Tacoma Art Museum this summer. I very much want to see the exhibit. You just can't appreciate the true brilliance of a work of art via a reproduction (and compete reproductions of the Saint John's Bible are available--the parts that are completed anyway); you have to see the originals. Can't wait to see these.

ETA: shellyinseattle's post on the subject includes exhibit dates and information about related demonstrations.

wanton_heat_jet teaches church school (read "Sunday school") at a local Unitarian church of which he's a member. He's a staunch atheist, but has a deep interest in history and spiritual traditions and is very well read on the subject. He recently asked me to come to his class and speak about Passover; today was the class. The whole experience has been interesting, and has gotten me thinking. (The following includes subheads in bold and italics so you can skip the stuff that might not interest you.)

( Very long account of how I prepped, what we did, and what I think afterwards )

Conclusions? I'm not sure I've come to any beyond the above, except that it's important for me to keep challenging my own assumptions, to keep exploring how other people live and what they believe. I know that sometimes my own beliefs will be confirmed by such exploration and sometimes they may evolve as a result. One way or another, the exercise is always worth it.

Last night was the first night of Passover. I've always loved Passover, the ritual, the storytelling, the communal experience. I've talked here before about the nature of my faith, that it's a continuum—I will often go from being an atheist to an agnostic to a believer and back in a very short amount of time. I am, I think, more often than not an agnostic (which, in its way, is a very authentic way to be Jewish). My dialog with God is regularly pretty stormy (and has been so especially lately). On Passover, though, it seems I'm pretty consistently a believer.

dochyel used to say that Passover was a guided meditation on the journey to freedom, the idea being that it could be a much more mystical experience than simply a storytelling exercise. I've always loved that idea, especially as it relates to what I want to discuss here now. A couple of years back, I griped about the story of the four sons that is told on these nights, and I took it apart a bit. This year, rather than griping, I want to talk about one of my favorite parts of the Seder.

After the meal is over, the second part of the Seder includes a moment when we open the door to allow the spirit of the prophet Elijah to come into the home.* Elijah's return, it is believed, will herald the return of the Messiah. As part of the Seder, this act of opening the door is intended to remind us that there is always hope for peace, freedom, and goodness in humanity. We hope that the spirit of Elijah will enter us all with the goal of helping to heal the world. We are reminded that we should welcome those less fortunate than ourselves to the table, and we should offer them whatever we may have.

For me, this is always a moment of magic, specifically the moment before we open the door. I've done it; I've been the one to stand by the door, hand hovering above the door knob, wondering if someone will literally be there when I open it. In that one moment, it's possible: maybe, just maybe, Elijah will be there. In that moment, anything is possible. The anticipation is thrilling. And if you're of a spiritual bent, the opening of the door does create a change in the atmosphere of the room (more than just the chilly breeze that invariably blows in during April). Opening the door reminds us that there's a world beyond our own walls of which we're a part, regardless of whatever our struggles or troubles may be. There's the possibility that God is really out there, that God's sent Elijah at last. In that moment, right before the door opens, a leap of faith is possible. I always feel like Indiana Jones standing at the edge of the abyss, hand on his chest, suddenly believing that, despite the evidence of his eyes, he can walk across the void to find the Holy Grail.

And that, my friends, is pretty cool.

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* Historically, this door-opening ritual has a much darker origin. Some say it originated during the Middle Ages to assuage Christian fears that Jews weren't doing anything unseemly behind closed doors, like sacrificing Christian children. Others say it was a way to ensure Christian neighbors weren't eavesdropping on the Seder. One way or another, it was a ritual about safety and protection. I prefer our more modern interpretation. It is still, after all, a sort of protection ritual, a ritual aimed toward protecting the world.

...researchers have declared that they think they've found evidence of, as The New York Times describes it, the latrines of the Essenes. I suppose even aesetics have to relieve themselves somewhere.