Last week an extremely significant event happened. It was ELECTION DAY. November 8th, to be exact. As a Bad Jew devoted to saving the world, this day was of the utmost importance to me. One might say to me, "Uh, I don't get it. Election days happen all the time in this country." Let me explain to you why voting is such a big deal to me by taking you back to my childhood.
I'm not sure she knows this, but my mother was one of the most...no, wait...she was actually THE most influential factor in the development of my passion for voting. I remember being a little kid and going with my mom to our polling place, which I'm pretty sure was in an elementary school gym. I remember following her across the basketball court to the row of little huts with curtains that were opened and closed by pulling down a big, heavy lever. And I remember my mom letting me close the curtain, which I had to do with both hands, once we both stepped into the booth, sealing us into a cone of voter silence. And I remember holding my breath in anticipation once the curtains swooshed shut; waiting to see which of the teeny metal levers my mom would click down on the crazy metal voting machine that somehow tallied her votes. Once she was done she would let me pull the heavy lever again and the curtains would part, letting us out of the voting booth and back into the world. And I would follow on her heals out of the polling place, glancing back to watch other grown-ups step in and close the curtains to take their turn. This ritual always filled me with excitement and wonder. And my mom always told me that some day it would be my turn to go in all by myself so that I could make a difference in important issues that I didn't quite understand at the time.
Reflecting on this experience from my childhood, I feel like voting is sort of a Bad Jewry Rite of Passage. It's like the Bat Mitzvah of Bad Judaism. And how fitting that the legal voting age in this country is 18? The two Hebrew letters that make up the number 18, chet and yud, create the Hebrew word, "chai," which means "life." As an American Bad Jew, I can honestly say that I felt my life really kick in once I had the privilege and the power to vote.
Rabbi Moses ben Maimon (aka the Rambam, aka Maimonides) was a Bad Jew who is renown for being an incredible theologian and teacher of the famous Maimonides' Ladder: a code of giving to those less fortunate. This code is broken into 8 levels, with the lowest level being to give begrudgingly and the highest level being to give an anonymous gift that enables a person to become self-sufficient (http://www.myjewishlearning.com/practices/Ethics/Tzedakah_Charity/History/Jewish_Tradition/Maimonides_Ladder.shtml).
A dear friend and colleague (and fellow Bad Jew) who works in Early Childhood Education taught me a fantastic activity for teaching kids about Bad Jewry using Maimonides' Ladder. She created a paper ladder and taped it to the wall. She then asked us to rank various service activities, from volunteering at a soup kitchen to cleaning up a beach, according to what we felt was their level of importance. For me, voting was on the top rung.
I suppose this is where this post's dirty confession comes in: direct service is my least favorite form of service. I am drawn to service activities that are indirect, giving me some anonymity while also enabling me to create a ripple effect that I hope will result in an impact that will make positive changes our community. To me, voting is the ultimate service activity where I get to use my voice to create the community I want and need. And sure, I guess this is a bit idealistic, but I also think that sometimes we Bad Jews forget that there are so many different ways and levels of healing the world, so why not reach for the ideal every chance we get? And these chances can occur with every Election Day.
What my mom taught me, and what I still believe today, is that I have the power to make a difference with this one simple act. I'm honored to have this privilege and this is why I never vote absentee unless I'm out of town. I love the smell and feel of my polling place. And wearing my "I Voted" sticker for the day is like wearing my Bad Jew Badge for all the world to see.
So for today's consideration, my fellow Bad Jews, ask yourselves this: What's on each of the rungs of your ladder?
Friday, November 18, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Footprints
As I sit here, reflecting on the length of time it's been since I wrote my last blog post, I'm struck by the realization that I haven't made much time for reflection at all lately. I've filled my time with work and with bacon and with more work. I've managed to squeeze in some time with out-of-town visitors and I've celebrated a birthday or two. Yet, I have not taken time to think reflectively about...well...anything. This is antithetical to my Bad Jew Practice and I'm blown away at how far off my own track I've gotten. I suppose there's no better time than the present to return to my core and get down to business. It's been almost a month since Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, so let me back up in order to move forward.
You may already know that Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, honoring the memory of Dr. King, has become a National Day of Service where American citizens are called to action to serve in their local communities. Basically, it's a pretty excellent opportunity to practice Bad Judaism. Now, sharing my feelings about this holiday's transformation into a "day of service" is not the purpose of this particular blog post. What I'd like to take this opportunity to reflect upon is something each of us may do every month, every week, or even every day. Something we may not even notice we're doing. But wait, let's back up even further. Let's go back to 1965.
In 1965, during the famous march for Black voting rights from Selma to Montgomery, AL, Dr. King was joined by his good friend and fellow civil rights advocate, Dr. Abraham Joshua Heschel. Talk about BAD JEW. Dr. Heschel was one of the greatest Jewish thinkers and teachers of the 20th century, not to mention a Bad Ass Jewish Activist. So here he is in Selma, this rabbi and master scholar, marching with Dr. King, doing his Bad Jew Thing, rather than staying in New York where he worked and studied at the Jewish Theological Seminary. Heschel's own reflection on this experience?
“When I marched in Selma, I felt my feet were praying.”
Now, coincidentally, if we keep our reflection focused on the weekend of MLK Day, we can easily find out that the Torah portion for that particular Shabbat was Beshalach, in which Moses gets some serious instructions on how to part the Red Sea and the Israelites use their feet to march themselves to freedom from Egypt. I mean, lots of other things happen in the parsha, but let's focus on the fancy footwork.
So here we have two distinct ways of looking at using our feet: 1) marching for freedom (freedom to vote, freedom from slavery) and, 2) praying. The first way is pretty literal. We were in Selma, and now we're in Montgomery. We were in Egypt, and now we're not. But how do we PRAY with our feet? What did Heschel mean?
My own interpretation is that action IS prayer. And if we define prayer as the space in which we talk to God, then for some of us, that space is created through civic engagement; through service, in whatever form speaks most clearly to us. Moreover, if we forget to take time to reflect and listen to what's calling us to pray, we may lose sight of our Bad Jew purpose.
Now, think about your past month, your past week, the past 24 hours and ask yourself this: How do YOU pray with your feet? And if that's not enough, if you need to go deeper, ask yourself this: How do you bring yourself back to your core and reflect when you're out of practice?
Me? I'm still asking myself both.
You may already know that Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, honoring the memory of Dr. King, has become a National Day of Service where American citizens are called to action to serve in their local communities. Basically, it's a pretty excellent opportunity to practice Bad Judaism. Now, sharing my feelings about this holiday's transformation into a "day of service" is not the purpose of this particular blog post. What I'd like to take this opportunity to reflect upon is something each of us may do every month, every week, or even every day. Something we may not even notice we're doing. But wait, let's back up even further. Let's go back to 1965.
In 1965, during the famous march for Black voting rights from Selma to Montgomery, AL, Dr. King was joined by his good friend and fellow civil rights advocate, Dr. Abraham Joshua Heschel. Talk about BAD JEW. Dr. Heschel was one of the greatest Jewish thinkers and teachers of the 20th century, not to mention a Bad Ass Jewish Activist. So here he is in Selma, this rabbi and master scholar, marching with Dr. King, doing his Bad Jew Thing, rather than staying in New York where he worked and studied at the Jewish Theological Seminary. Heschel's own reflection on this experience?
“When I marched in Selma, I felt my feet were praying.”
Now, coincidentally, if we keep our reflection focused on the weekend of MLK Day, we can easily find out that the Torah portion for that particular Shabbat was Beshalach, in which Moses gets some serious instructions on how to part the Red Sea and the Israelites use their feet to march themselves to freedom from Egypt. I mean, lots of other things happen in the parsha, but let's focus on the fancy footwork.
So here we have two distinct ways of looking at using our feet: 1) marching for freedom (freedom to vote, freedom from slavery) and, 2) praying. The first way is pretty literal. We were in Selma, and now we're in Montgomery. We were in Egypt, and now we're not. But how do we PRAY with our feet? What did Heschel mean?
My own interpretation is that action IS prayer. And if we define prayer as the space in which we talk to God, then for some of us, that space is created through civic engagement; through service, in whatever form speaks most clearly to us. Moreover, if we forget to take time to reflect and listen to what's calling us to pray, we may lose sight of our Bad Jew purpose.
Now, think about your past month, your past week, the past 24 hours and ask yourself this: How do YOU pray with your feet? And if that's not enough, if you need to go deeper, ask yourself this: How do you bring yourself back to your core and reflect when you're out of practice?
Me? I'm still asking myself both.
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