Was Aaron doing Reiki?

Esther Goldenberg

This year one of my goals is to become a reiki master. An approximate translation of the word reiki is universal healing energy. If you practice reiki or have been to a reiki healing session, then you know first hand the powerful feeling of this energy being used for healing.

I’m not a reiki practitioner or a reiki master. But I’m well on my way, having already taken the classes for level 1 and level 2 and gotten my attunements at both those levels – twice.

The first time I took the course, I read half a book, watched a lesson on YouTube, and met with the teacher via a video chat while nodding off on my sofa at 10pm. (She was on live video, I was only there in audio.) That was lesson one.

For lesson two I read the second half of the book and met with the teacher on line while nodding off on my sofa at 9:30pm. There was also some journaling involved so that I record my experiences.

The second time I took the class, it was a two-day immersive experience in a castle. The teacher smudged each of us with sage before beginning anything. We had deep, guided meditations. When it was time for her to attune us, we sat in a line, each holding a crystal we’d chosen for the occasion, and she moved her hands and said blessings over us individually. When she stopped, we knew we’d received our attunement.

The first teacher had us sit comfortably in our own homes and meditate if we wanted to while she attuned us. She said we could open our eyes when we were ready. She said we’d know when we were finished.

The second teacher had us take turns practicing on each other, talking us through different things we might look for. And she’d also taught us symbols to “write” in the air with our hands or fingers when getting started and when finishing up.

The second class cost twice as much as the first one.

You can probably guess where I got more bang for my buck. But before I reveal the answer, I want to ask you:

HAVE YOU EVER DONE SOMETHING WITH HALF YOUR ATTENTION? HAVE YOU EVER DONE THAT SAME THING WHILE PAYING CLOSER ATTENTION?

I’m going to go out on a limb here and say: yes, you have. Do you own a cell phone? Have you ever looked at it or answered it when in a meeting, eating with someone, walking outside, or as one more thing before going to sleep?

But what about when you do pay attention? We all know that the best ingredient in food is love, right? Food made with love tastes better. Even a sandwich made especially for you by someone else tastes better than one you make for yourself. Because someone intentionally put their love in there.

And that concept is a lot of the central theme of learning reiki: intention matters. Intention makes a difference. A big difference. This was taught to me by both reiki teachers. The first teacher said that it’s all about intention, and so we don’t need special symbols or hand movements or words. The second teacher said it’s all about intention, and here are the special symbols and hand movements and words.

Where I got more bang for my buck was: from both of them. The first one taught me absolutely everything I needed. The second one reminded me that sometimes having a ritual can help me be more intentional in my actions.

Which is why as we start reading the book of Leviticus this week, I’m grateful to read about ritual. This week’s Torah portion talks about the priests splattering cow blood in the four directions. As a vegan for over 20 years, the thought of putting my hand in a bucket of cow blood is beyond repulsive.

This week’s Torah portion talks about cow kidneys and putting salt in meal offerings and burning the fat and… here’s the thing: I’m sure this was a very smelly, slimy experience. When the priests were in this experience, they were in it. I know they didn’t have cell phones, but I don’t think even a Justin Bieber ringtone would distract them from what they were doing.

Now we have all kinds of ringtones and no alter for sacrifices. I consider this progress. On one condition. As long as we can still remember to muster up the intention that Aaron and the other priests were accessing when in this holy space of communication with God.

It’s fine to have assistance. We can use reiki symbols to help us, prayers in any language, and even a deliberate deep breath is always a connection with universal energy, with God. We don’t need the cow blood. Let’s just be careful not to throw the intention out with the entrails.

Three Ways Adults Can Help after Parkland

Esther Goldenberg1 Comment

In the aftermath of the school shooting last week in Parkland, Florida, I’ve been thinking about the students, faculty, and families directly effected by this tragedy. The loss of life is deeply sad, and so is the fact that those who survived will forever be scarred.

No child should go to school wondering whether a shooter will prevent them from coming home. No teacher should leave for work wondering whether that will be the day they teach biology or use their body as a shield. No parent should wonder if their morning goodbye was their final goodbye.

Impressively, it is the students of Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School and other teenagers across the country who are leading the way to change. These brave teenagers need the adults in their lives to help them make this progress, as well as to heal and feel safe. Here are three things that adults can do for the children in their lives following this crisis:

Know your audience.

A tragedy like this is jarring and scarring for everyone who hears about it. But not everyone hears about it, and not everyone needs to. As frightened as you are for the safety of children and the general public, remember that little children will understand even less and be afraid even more. Be careful not to discuss this or look at images around kids who are still lucky enough to be having an unadulterated childhood.

For older children, or younger children who have already heard, it’s important to say something, and you don’t need to have all the answers. Acknowledging the situation and being available to listen goes a long way. Validate their feelings, and let them steer how long or short the conversation will be. And if you’re not their parent or teacher, put them in the same category as the younger children mentioned above, and don’t raise the issue with them. There are still ways you can help.

Model compassion.

One mass shooting is one too many, especially in a school. And rather than one, we have had dozens. This one seems to be the tipping point for change. The teenagers are stepping up where adults have failed them. But they still need adults. They need adults to make the changes, to stand by them, and to model compassion and action on this issue, and across the board.

In this week’s Torah portion, we read about the garments that the priests wore when performing ritual. When the community saw the priests dressed in their ceremonial garb, they had certain expectations. Adults are wearing virtual ceremonial garb all the time. We are being watched by our children all the time – whether our own offspring or children in the community. And in that position, we need to make sure that our actions are sending the message of compassion.

Praying with your feet: On March 14th, students will stop everything at 10am for 17 minutes in a #NationalSchoolWalkout in memory of the 17 victims of the Parkland shooting. You don’t need to be a teenager or in a school to participate and show your solidarity. On March 24th there is #MarchforourLives in Washington. 

Putting your money where your mouth is: Whether you choose to support Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America or give to the official GoFundMe campaign for Parkland families (watch out for other fundraisers that are not official), or donate to a political candidate* who is going to vote for safer gun laws, there are plenty of opportunities to make contributions of any size. If your kids are old enough, let them help you decide where to donate.

Being nice: Keep with – or step up – your practice of kindness. An act as simple as holding the door for someone, letting someone pass you in traffic, verbally acknowledging someone asking for money, or donating your old clothes to someone in need lets kids see that there are millions of acts of kindness every day. It is a subtle reminder of the consistent goodness in the world.

Teach and live The Blessing of Both

The day after the shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School I was a guest in a kindergarten class. I got to be there during a birthday celebration and I was there when Zero the Hero came to the room in honor of the 100th day of school. The five- and six-year-olds were chatting and enjoying their birthday popsicles when a “superhero” with the number 100 boldly on her cape came skipping in. They were in awe.

The children proudly showed off their 100 Day Museum in which they had large Ziploc baggies filled with 100 of several items – Scrabble letters, paper clips, pennies, Legos… They celebrated this special holiday by counting to 100, doing 100 exercises in groups of 10, and getting a prized 100th Day of School pencil from the masked mathematician who only appears on this special day. The kids had a wonderful day – and so did I.

While my mind was definitely on the tragedy in Florida, it wasn’t the only thing on my mind. We truly had a joyful and safe day. My heart aches for those who didn’t. I worry about the safety of my children and all children. But that wasn’t the only thing I was doing. The joy and celebration are just as real as sadness. The good doesn’t replace the bad, but neither does the awful replace the good. They are both there. The Blessing of Both.

 

Esther Goldenberg is the founder of Out-of-the-Box Judaism. She helps families and individuals incorporate Judaism into their lives in a way that’s meaningful to them. Follow Out-of-the-Box Judaism here and listen to the podcast.

* A candidate for the House of Delegates in Maryland had a bingo fundraiser in which an AK-15 was a raffle prize for the winner. Allison Berkowitz is running against him. This is information, not an endorsement.

Facebook, IKEA, baseball, and this week’s Torah portion

Esther Goldenberg

I saw this post on Facebook earlier this week:

Little did she know that it was the perfect week for such a post. It basically summarizes this week’s Torah portion.

This week’s Torah portion is Terumah, and it contains the instructions for building the mishkan – the tabernacle. The instructions are so detailed that all you need is the right materials and a couple of people to help you out, and then you could make it. In fact, that’s what some people in Pennsylvania did. I’ve been there. It’s very cool.

I once worked with a student who had this week’s Torah portion for his bar mitzvah, and let me tell you, as cool as that model in Pennsylvania is, not all 12-year-olds find it relevant to their lives today.

However, if the instructions weren’t for how to build a tabernacle, but instead were for how to build a baseball stadium… well… I speak from experience when I say: the interest level rises. This student felt strongly that in order to build a baseball stadium that would really be conducive to playing the sport according to all the rules and regulations of baseball, there would need to be some pretty detailed instructions.

Think about it. The bases need to be a certain distance apart. The bats are required to be made of specific materials. You can’t have sink holes or tree stumps in the middle of the field. Night games require lighting. The list goes on.

And it’s not just about the players, either. There are other considerations at play. Fans, concessions, media, parking, permits, weather, sun…. And all these things take money. So who pays for this? I’m not a big baseball fan, and I go to less than one game a year, but maybe I pay for part of it with taxes. I don’t know. The bulk of it is paid for by team owners and fans who buy tickets. They are the ones who are moved to contribute their money to this project.

25:1The Lord said to Moses, 2 “Tell the Israelites to bring me an offering. You are to receive the offering for me from everyone whose heart prompts them to give. 3 These are the offerings you are to receive from them: gold, silver and bronze; 4 blue, purple and scarlet yarn and fine linen; goat hair; 5 ram skins dyed red and another type of durable leather; acacia wood; 6 olive oil for the light; spices for the anointing oil and for the fragrant incense; 7 and onyx stones and other gems to be mounted on the ephod and breastpiece. 8 “Then have them make a sanctuary for me, and I will dwell among them. 9 Make this tabernacle and all its furnishings exactly like the pattern I will show you.”

If you build it, they will come. Right? Those who felt moved to donate created for themselves a connection with this tabernacle that was being built. All who witnessed it and were there experienced the presence of God dwelling among them, as surely as the fans feel the presence of the Spirit of Baseball in the bleachers.

We don’t have the mishkan any more, or the Temple, but we always have God dwelling among us. You may feel that at a baseball game, in nature, or when viewing Mary Poppins with a child for the first time. You may feel that when you paint, or run, or sing. You may feel God’s presence when you show up with an allen wrench to help a friend build some IKEA furniture.

Where do you feel the presence of God? Take a moment to email me at Esther@OutoftheBoxJudaism.com. I’d love to know.

And… if you don’t feel the presence of God, but you’d like to, then definitely email me. I can help with that.

The stories on this website are a selection of the stories compiled into A Story Every Week (Three Gems Publishing, Sept. 2019). Sign up here to get notification when the book is released. It will be free for the first few days of publication.

Who are you?

Esther Goldenberg

 

Who are you?

Sometimes we define ourselves in relation to other people.

I’m a mom.
Single mother.
Daughter.
Sister.
Friend.

Sometimes we define ourselves by our work.

I’m a teacher.
Jewish educator.
Writer.
Podcaster.
Spirituality coach.

Sometimes we define ourselves with character traits and values and actions.

I am Jewish.
I am Vegan.
I am a nurturer.
A listener.
I keep my commitments.
I build bridges between spirituality and modern life.

Sometimes we define ourselves by what we believe in.

I believe in Love.
Kindness.
Connection.
I believe we all rise together.
I believe in Oneness.

And sometimes we define ourselves by who or what we’re not.

I am not a tiger.
I am not lazy.
I am not Christain.
I am no longer a Chicagoan.
I am not a part of the Jets or the Sharks (or any other gang, real or musical).

But….

What if I started going to church every Sunday? That wouldn’t make me Christian, but… it would separate me from Jews.

What if I traded going to the gym for taking a nap? That wouldn’t necessarily define me as lazy, but… it would separate me from people who keep their commitments to themselves to go to the gym (a commitment I’ve made to myself).

What if I sang in the shower, in the car, in the kitchen, and while walking the dog, but never with a group of people? Would all that singing make me a part of a choir?

Being separate isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

In this week’s Torah portion, God tells the Children of Israel to keep the Passover holiday for every generation, to celebrate and remember being freed from Egypt. How? By eating unleavened bread for seven days. And the Torah goes on to tell us that anyone who eats leavened bread during Passover will be karet — cut off — from the people. Separate.

This is often interpreted as punishment, but I see it merely as cause and effect.

This group of people are eating unleavened bread this week. If you’re not doing that, you’re separate, doing something different, cut off from the group.

Are you still Jewish?

Once a Jew, always a Jew.

But you’re not part of the group. Just like if I stop going to the gym, I’m not part of the group of people who commit to exercising. If I let my Costco membership expire, I’m not part of the group of people who shop at Costco. If I eat a chicken, I’m not one of the vegans. And if I eat leavened bread during Passover, I am not a part of the group of people who avoid it. I am cut off – because I cut myself off.

It’s not a punishment, it’s a choice.

To be a part of a group, you have to be a part of the group. I’m not suggesting anyone go jump off a cliff because their friends are doing it. This is not about drinking the kool-aid. It’s about choices. It’s about matching your actions with your values and your visions of yourself.

What groups do you choose to be a part of? What values, relationships, and beliefs do you use to define yourself? Do you stick with it, or are you karet, cut off from where you want to be?

Who are you?

The stories on this website are a selection of the stories compiled into A Story Every Week (Three Gems Publishing, Sept. 2018). Sign up here to get notification when the book is released. It will be free for the first few days of publication.

Parting words to 2017

Esther Goldenberg

Dear 2017,

I saw you trying to kick my ass. 

  • ​three flat tires
  • middle of the night trips to the ER
  • and I saw you squeezing in a broken heater on the last day of the year
  • miles and miles and miles of carpooling (seems small compared to the other things, but you and I both know the toll this takes on my day)

You also provided a lot of room for growth.

  • ​​I wrote not one bestselling book, but two.
  • I founded Out-of-the-Box Judaism
  • I met some incredibly fabulous, terrific, love-filled people
  • I got support in a lot of areas that helped me get through the list above

And there were many joy-filled moments and days.

  • ​​A long anticipated family trip to Niagara Falls
  • A summit with angels in Toronto
  • A weekend in a castle
  • Laughter with my family

You’re leaving now, but I’m not. Here are some of the things I will take with me from our time together:

  • ​​Trust that God/The Universe always provides.
  • Life is hard, there’s no escaping that, and that’s okay
  • Laughter is the best medicine
  • Stories are a healing art

And always:

  • ​I am who I am.
  • Deep breaths.

Thank you, 2017, and goodbye. Here’s to 2018… to life!​

Love,
Esther

The hole was empty, but there were birds in there

Esther Goldenberg

Two years ago I was in Israel, standing at the mouth of this hole. See that ladder? Nobody descends that ladder. There is ZERO temptation to enter the hole

It’s hard to hear in the video, but that eerie sound in the background is birds. Many, many, many birds. There is a teeny tiny temptation to toss a pebble in there, but the desire to not live a scene from a horror movie outweighs the temptation.

The ladder is there not to provide entry access, but to provide an exit. Not for the birds, of course. They have their own methods.

The desert is pockmarked with holes that you wouldn’t want to stay in if you suddenly found yourself at the bottom. At least two of these holes are quite well-known.

There’s the hole in Qumran where a sheep fell in. A young shepherd who went in to help his sheep discovered the Dead Sea scrolls preserved in that hole. Everyone made it out: sheep, shepherd, and scrolls.

There’s another hole whose exact location we don’t know that Joseph was thrown into by his older brothers. We read that story in this week’s Torah portion. The brothers were tired of Joseph flaunting his beautiful coat, dreams, and status as favorite son, so they threw him into a hole like this one to die.

“The hole was empty; there was no water in it.”

Whenever I read that line in the Torah, I was perplexed about the redundancy. If it was empty, of course there was no water in it. It was empty. Rashi explained that second phrase by saying although there was no water, there WERE snakes.

That explanation never spoke to me. Until I stood at the top of this empty hole. Which was clearly empty, except that there were birds in it.

So, when I say it was empty, what was it empty of? Well… water. We think of the desert as a dry place, but in truth it does rain there sometimes during the rainy season, and that water can accumulate in holes.

Now I think when the Torah tells us the hole was empty, maybe there were birds in it. Maybe there were snakes in it. It was empty of water. Which is relevant because the brothers threw Joseph in there to die, but without drowning in water, it would be quite a while before he died in there.

Reuben, the oldest brother was counting on that. He was planning to come back later and take Joesph out of the hole. He could only do that if there was no water in the hole. Otherwise coming back later… he’d be too late.

It turned out he was too late, anyway, because the other brothers had an opportunity to sell Joseph into slavery, so they took him out of the hole to do that. They could only do that if there was no water.

Have you ever noticed that you can understand the words of a story – whether an old story or just a friend’s recounting of an event – but not fully, completely understand the meaning until you experience it yourself?

Or maybe you’ve been on the other side of that story, trying to explain it the best you can, but maybe ending with, “You had to be there.”

Standing at the top of that hole, I was there. And when I was there, it was completely clear to me how a hole could have something in it (birds, in this case), and yet still be considered empty. The emptiness refers to the water. Standing there I understood perfectly why the text says, “The hole is empty; there is no water in it.”

At the end of this video, I pan to the side where there is a sign with that quote on it. This hole is in a place in Israel called Neot Kedumim, which strives to bring the bible to life. It’s a cool place to visit. You can see a replica of Abraham’s tent, olive presses, and so much more – including holes that are empty, but there are birds in there.

The stories on this website are a selection of the stories compiled into A Story Every Week (Three Gems Publishing, Sept. 2018). Sign up here to get notification when the book is released. It will be free for the first few days of publication.

 

Unexpected Gifts

Esther Goldenberg

In this week’s Torah portion, Toldot, Jacob poses as Esau and comes in to get the blessing from their father, Isaac. This all happens when Isaac is admittedly old, has dim sight, and doesn’t know how soon he’ll die. It is hard to tell whether he’s convinced that the son in front of him is really Esau or not.

How do we relate to our elders as their faculties diminish? This was something I used to fear, but now I don’t.

How I Overcame My Fear Of Alzheimer’s Disease

This article first appeared in Huffington Post on 09/10/2016

I used to be afraid of Alzheimer’s. Petrified, actually.

A First Meeting With Alzheimer’s

My first exposure to the disease was when I was about 7 or 8 years old. My mom, sister and I were visiting my grandparents in Florida and we went to visit my grandmother’s cousin Selma. Selma lived in a nursing home a short drive from my grandparents’ house. The first thing that stood out about this visit was my grandfather waiting outside. With no cell phone for entertainment, distraction, or communication, without even a book or newspaper to read, he couldn’t go in, even though it would be a long wait. I don’t remember whether I was told that he found it too upsetting, or if I later figured that out on my own.

Inside, Selma was in her bed in her sparse room. My sister, maybe four or five at the time, climbed right up into the bed and held her hand. They both smiled. My mom and grandmother stood on one side of the bed, and I stood on the other. My mom and grandmother attempted conversation with Selma. She was responsive, but it was clear to me that she didn’t really grasp what was going on. My grandmother explained the family ties, and Selma smiled at us children, though she couldn’t put the pieces together of exactly who we were. She called my mom by the wrong name. She called my grandmother by the wrong name. She never learned my or my sister’s name.

Sometimes when she spoke she was confused about the present. Sometimes she was speaking from within the past. There was no “conversation” that lasted more than a few seconds. She didn’t get out of bed, never even sat up while we were there. While all of this non-action unfolded, I froze. This is what happens? This is how people are when they’re really old? (She was a generation older than my grandmother.) Someone must have explained to me that Selma wasn’t just old, she had Alzheimer’s, because I definitely knew the word and definitely always associated that word with Selma – and my nightmares of what could happen to me.

Getting To Know Alzheimer’s In Person

Many years later – three decades later – my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. My grandparents had a loving marriage for over 60 years. My grandfather died of kidney failure before my grandmother was diagnosed. I was and am grateful that he didn’t have to watch her deterioration – though I have no question that he would have still loved her and cared for her to the best of his abilities.

My grandmother was a very smart woman. Even when she didn’t understand everything in a conversation, she could hold her own very well. She knew how to fake it. There was a time when visiting her meant having the same conversation every couple of minutes because she didn’t remember that she’d just asked me the same question and I’d already answered. But she had that conversation well every time.

The progression of the disease was slow and drawn out, but always moving downward. Even in the last two years of her life, when my grandmother would hold onto a thought for little more than a second or two, the grandmother I knew was still there. And I learned something with her that I couldn’t have learned from Selma: a loved one with Alzheimer’s is still a loved one. I still had a connection with my grandmother, and she with me, even if she couldn’t remember what it was. When I brought my children to see her, she probably didn’t remember they were her great-grandchildren. She certainly didn’t remember their names, or even mine, but it was clear that she understood that we were important to her.

Finding The Unexpected Gifts

My experience with my grandmother helped ease my fear of Alzheimer’s, but it was two years after her death when I read Unexpected Gifts: My Journey with My Father’s Dementia by Eve Soldinger and became no longer afraid of the disease. My biggest fear around it had been completely losing myself (or completely losing a loved one). The regression is so awful; it seemed to me that the person with Alzheimer’s all but disappears.

Soldinger showcases in her narrative about her parents’ experiences with dementia that decline isn’t the only story. As one example, she tells of her mother singing in her nursing home. As a young woman she had been a talented singer, though never a professional. As an elderly woman in a nursing home, with Alzheimer’s and a breathing tube, she could still belt out songs! And while she did so, she was under the impression that all the other people in the nursing home were there to listen to her sing in concert. Though her understanding didn’t match reality, it fulfilled a life-long dream that otherwise would have never come true.

Dementia in any form is not something I would wish on anyone, but I am thankful for the new perspective I’ve gained. It is hard. So, so hard. It is a terrible disease. But the person with Alzheimer’s does not disappear and does not only deteriorate. This stage in life is still contains growth and value and joys. This is something I could not have seen as a young child at Selma’s bedside when my impressions and fears were being formed. As my own parents age, being aware of the unexpected gifts allows all of us to have a more meaningful experience.

How to Be a Blessing

Esther Goldenberg

Earlier this week I had an assignment in a class I’m taking to list 100 things I’m grateful for. This was easy for me. When it comes to counting my blessings, I can outlast the Energizer Bunny.

This particular list ranged from clean air, fresh water, and a safe home, to dancing in the car, matching socks, and peanut butter and pickle sandwiches. (Don’t yuck somebody else’s yum. If you try it, you’ll thank me.)

I count my blessings early and often, and I highly recommend it.

Today I want to look at the question:

How can a person BE a blessing?

This week’s Torah portion begins with God telling Avram (later named Abraham) to leave his land, his birthplace, and his father’s house and go to a land that God will show him. God continues by telling Avram:

“I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you. Those who curse you, I will curse, and you (will) be a blessing”

After that, Avram packs up all his possessions, tangible and intangible, takes his wife and his nephew, and they’re off. Thus begins an epic journey that lasts for decades and includes things like…

Avram pimping his wife out to a pharaoh and agreeing to banish a woman pregnant with his child into the wilderness. And let’s not forget that time he took his son to the top of a mountain, bound him to an alter, and raised his knife to kill him.

This guy is a blessing?

To be fair, I only listed his transgressions. He also was known for his hospitality, his fairness in battle, and persuading God not to destroy innocent people along with guilty. And monotheism. But still. I mean, really. Still.

So I’ve been looking at this question: What does it mean to be a blessing? And how do we go about doing it? I’ve come up with two steps, but I’d love to hear your thoughts.

1. Be

2. Be

I know those look the same, but let me break it down.

Let’s start at an easy place. If you’re a parent, you likely feel that your child is a blessing. Though you might be biased here, you’re probably not wrong. At the very least, they’re a blessing to you, right? I mean, vomit and carpool and heartache and all… still a blessing.

I think using a child as an example, whether you’re a parent or not, helps illustrate that the first part of being a blessing is just to be. That’s all. Exist. Each one of us is a miracle, and if a miracle isn’t a blessing, I don’t know what is. By our mere presence we all contribute something unique to the whole.

So, thing one: Be.

Now, let’s assume you’re doing the best you can, because that is all we’re ever doing, really: the best we can in each moment under each set of circumstances. And let’s assume that we’re falling short of perfection, because perfection is an unattainable and inappropriate goal. So let’s assume we’re making “mistakes” as we go along. Hopefully not as egregious as some of Avram’s bigger ones, though the truth is, there are many people in the world doing worse right now.

I don’t excuse or condone dangerous, harmful, hurtful, acts. Of course not. But I do think that it’s possible to be a blessing, even under such circumstances – just as Avram was. And that brings me to the second Be.

I think the second Be is to let others see you being. A different way to say it might be: don’t hide. Be an example. Live loud and proud. Let others see you. The good, the bad, and even the ugly. You never know how someone else might grow from it.

The Torah is filled with stories of real humanity: triumphs and failures. Both. Untold generations have learned from the examples that Avram set. Learned what to do, and what not to do.

In my opinion, that is a blessing.

So, how to be a blessing in two simple steps?

1. Be

2. Be

The first one is easy, the second one… not as easy. Not all dirty laundry needs to be aired all the time. But letting others see us Be is a blessing. When I count the blessings in my life, I count clean air and water and a safe home, but I also count many people; I bet you do, too. And not a single one of those people is perfect. I count them even though their actions have sometimes been less than stellar – sometimes because of that.

I’m going to go make myself a peanut butter and pickle sandwich and thank some of those people for being blessings in my life. Now that you know about this delicious snack, you can, too. Let me know how it goes.

The stories on this website are a selection of the stories compiled into A Story Every Week (Three Gems Publishing, Sept. 2018). Sign up here to get notification when the book is released. It will be free for the first few days of publication.

How long can you wait to become great?

Esther Goldenberg

Did you hear the story about the dog and the elephant who became pregnant on the same day? Three months later, the dog gave birth to six adorable puppies. When those puppies were three months old, the dog became pregnant for a second time, and three months after that, she gave birth again.

Nine months after the day that the dog and the elephant both became pregnant, the dog was the mother of twelve adorable puppies. Some were older and full of energy and learning to play and work together. Some were brand new, needing her all the time, with eyes still closed. When those brand new puppies were three months old, the mother became pregnant again.

This pattern continued for eighteen months. By that time, the dog had two dozen furry, friendly offspring. She was happy and proud and surrounded by loved ones. She felt good. And also a bit unsure about what was going on with the elephant who had conceived on the same day.

So the dog approached the elephant and said, “Are you sure you’re pregnant? We conceived on the same day. I’ve given birth to two dozen beautiful, wonderful, warm and loving puppies, many of whom have grown to become dogs already. And you are still pregnant. What is going on?”

Before I tell you what happened next, I want to ask you:

DO YOU THINK A DOG AND AN ELEPHANT WERE REALLY TALKING TO EACH OTHER? HAVE YOU EVER HAD TO WAIT A REALLY LONG TIME FOR SOMETHING?

In this week’s Torah portion, we read about Noah and the Ark. Remember that song, Rise and Shine?

The Lord said to Noah, there’s gonna be a floody, floody…

Anyway, God told Noah there was going to be a flood to destroy everything. God was fed up with people and animals. They all had to go. Except for Noah, who was a righteous and pure man in his generation (so, like, compared to everyone else…). Noah and his wife and their three sons and daughters-in-law would survive on the ark, and so would representatives of all the animals.

The animals they came on, they came on by two-sies, two-sies…

And when all were aboard who were going aboard, the flood began. “All the fountains of the great deep burst apart, and the floodgates of the sky broke open. It rained on the earth for forty days and forty nights.”

Or if you prefer:

It rained and poured for forty days-ies, days-ies…

Forty days after the rain began to fall, it stopped.

Do you know what else happened for forty days? When Moses went up on Mount Sinai, he was there for forty days and forty nights. Remember Jonah who got swallowed by the whale? After the whale spit him out, Jonah spent 40 days warning the people of Ninveh that they needed to change their ways so their city would be saved. And of course the Children of Israel were in the desert for 40 years after leaving Egypt.

It’s possible that in the Bible, the number forty means forty. But it’s also possible that it means a

REALLY

LONG

TIME.

At the end of each of these really long periods of time, something really big happened. The city of Ninveh was spared. Moses got the Ten Commandments (both times). The Israelites finally arrived at the promised land. And with Noah: the flood destroying the world stopped and he could begin anew.

And as for that elephant who was still pregnant a really long time after she conceived, this is what she told the dog: “What I have in here is not a puppy, it is an elephant. It takes nearly two years for it to grow. When my baby hits the ground, the earth feels it. When my baby stands in the road, people stop and watch in admiration. What I am carrying is mighty and great and draws attention.”

Did an elephant really say that to a dog? Did the animals really board the ark two by two?

Either way, both these stories are a reminder, at least to me, that big changes are preceded by a period of discomfort that can feel like it lasts for a

REALLY
LONG
TIME.

Sometimes we really want to move things along. Get those puppies out into the world already. But it’s not always puppies. That time is necessary in order to arrive at the post-flood, received-the-commandments, saved-the-city, arrived-at-the-promised-land, birthed-a-creation-that-shook-the-earth new version of you. And that is always worth waiting for.

 

The stories on this website are a selection of the stories compiled into A Story Every Week (Three Gems Publishing, Sept. 2018). Sign up here to get notification when the book is released. It will be free for the first few days of publication.

I don’t get it

Esther Goldenberg

The day I learned how to make cow’s udder kosher was the day that I quit my Talmud class. I understand the challenge: can’t mix milk and meat, there’s both in the udder…. But I couldn’t take it. I just couldn’t spend time on such a question.

My attitude was: I don’t get it and I don’t like it.

What does this have to do with me? What does this have to do with life now? Why should I learn this? Where’s the connection?

But then I took this Torah class. And you might think that I’d find less connection with something even older and seemingly more removed. But I found more connection there. A lot more.

That semester we spent several months just studying the very first Torah portion: B’rayshit. That’s this week’s portion. There is SO much in there! The creation of…. everything! Adam and Eve, Cain and Abel, the snake! There’s so much to explore. We studied it for much more than a week.

It was in that class that I first learned what *really* happened with the forbidden fruit: Adam had been there while Eve was being talked into the fruit. I had never pictured him right there for that. I mean, after the fact he blames Eve — actually, he blames God and Eve — for his eating of the fruit. I thought he’d been tricked. No, he was there. It says so right in the Torah text, plain as day.

This opens up so many real-world, contemporary issues. Like accountability for your own actions. Like a tendency to blame others for your choices. (Okay… that’s kind of the same thing, but not completely.) Like how stories get told and remembered and passed on. By that I mean the not-exactly-what-God-said story that Adam presumably told Eve about the eating/not eating of the fruit, in addition to the story that we perpetuate about him having been duped, as well as the stories we tell about ourselves and others these days.

The first time I learned the Hebrew word ah-room (and ah-roomim, which is the plural) was when I was studying B’rayshit. It was another eye opener for me. The word comes up a few times in a row:

Just after Eve is created from Adam’s side: “And the two of them were ah-roomim, the man and his woman, and they weren’t ashamed.”

Very next verse: “Now the snake was the most ah-room of all the animals of the field that God had created…”

Right after they ate the fruit: “Their eyes were opened and they realized that they were ah-roomim….”

There are two more instances of ah-room/ah-roomim while still in the garden.

So why is this word translated as conniving when referring to the snake, but as naked when referring to Adam and Eve? It’s the same word. And by the way, next week we’ll read that Noah’s son uncovered his father’s nakedness after he (Noah) got drunk. The word there isn’t ah-room, it’s ervah. So…

What does this mean?

It’s too much to contain within just a few paragraphs. Not to mention the accountability question and all the other happenings in B’rayshit: creation of the world, of humans…. being banished from the Garden of Eden. Cain and Abel and Seth (remember Seth? Adam and Eve’s third son?)…. This Torah portion has so many things to explore!

I would love to explore those things with you!

If you’re interested in learning more about what’s in B’rayshit, I invite you to study it with me on line for one month. We’ll be examining the ah-room question and lots of other intriguing bits up close and in depth. Lots of conversation, lots of learning, lots of discovery.

Email me for details. I can’t wait to dive into this Torah portion together!