And And And

I finished 40 plus college recommendations for eleventh graders (although I was told of two more that I didn't get forms from and two kids just asked me today, and requests also keep coming in for summer programs, scholarships, etc).

On Monday I mentioned to one of my classes that I'd finished the recommendations. Questions ensued about writing so many recs and what to do if a kid is "bad," etc. I mentioned that I see good in every student. They asked if I saw good in all of them and the answer was yes.

Then (with my eyes closed) I said a brief positive description of each individual in the class.

Also on Monday a student told me that something that he did, which I called him on, wasn't really him, but was another student. This brought to my mind the brilliant story Charles, by Shirley Jackson, which I later shared with the class that student is in. (If you know how to have it appear without the highlights, please help me out).

Yesterday I sent a nice note home to a student , whom (I don't teach but) I noticed puts all the siddurim away and straightens the shelves by her own choice, every day, after davening. Notes now go home via email and I got an appreciative response from parents almost immediately.

I often think of Yaakov Avinu and what a good, kind person he was and how he had to learn how to not be taken advantage of. Man's inhumanity against man, the trickle down effects, often these are on my mind.

Recently I shared the story of the Rebbe who took the only charity a miserly rich man was willing to give him, an old black penny. But then the man gave more and more and more. The rabbi's colleagues who witnessed the scene in disbelief. The rabbi explained that this man wanted to give what he was able to give, and generally no one wanted to accept that. Once this rabbi warmly accepted all that the man could give he was encouraged and able to give more.
When a shared the story, a wise student commented that there's a thin line. How do you know when someone is giving their best? How do you know they're not taking advantage of your willingness to let them give you much less than they're able to give? That's a wow and a sigh.

Many years ago I memorized Steven Wright lines when he was at his prime (I've been talking to myself a lot lately and people complain - because I use a megaphone, etc.) These lines are well known, but I recently discovered some of his new lines: I have a cousin with HDADD - he usually can't focus but when he does it's unbelievable, it's a good thing there are a lot of people who speak foreign languages - otherwise those people would have no-one to talk to, the universe is expanding - that should help ease the traffic).

A friend recently pointed out an insight to me (which I recalled when I spoke to him again tonight) about the death of Aharon's son's. The other sons are never referred to as nish'arim, remaining, but always as notarim - left over, extra, which seems to be the less appropriate word. Rav S.R. Hirsch writes (Vayikra 10:12) : "We believe that notar designates that which is left over and not destroyed although it was intended to be consumed... Hence Torat Kohanim finds in the expression "banav hanotarim" an indication that hey had the temptation to act similarly to their brothers but were saved from yielding to it by admonition. There's a lot in that - particularly the idea that sometimes it's a hair's breadth that separates a fate of life from a fate of death. It reminds me of other Torah thoughts (se'ir la'azazeil, Yehoshua and Kalev vs. the other meraglim, Yaakov vs. Eisav, and and and).

Last Sunday I heard Rabbi Meir Goldvicht speak about Ruth. He said the fascinating idea that Dovid had to originate from another nation because the Jewish People are all one unit and no-one from inside can rule over anyone else. This brought to my mind the Ibn Ezra who says that Moshe had to come via Egypt because the Jewish People would not have accepted a leader from inside. This reminds me of the sharp observation of Rav Hirsch: The Jewish People were enslaved and took it, never standing up to their oppressors. However, when Moshe tries to break up a fight between two Jews they stand up to him and decry - who made you the boss over us...

Can poetry matter? That's the name of a book by Dana Gioia (whose powerful Unsaid, I've posted in the past) (I also mention Gioia, who until recently was head of the National Endowment For The Arts, in this post, about inscriptions I've been blessed to receive from authors) also the name of the title essay, which is available, in full, here. In my public speaking class I gave a sample persuasive speech on the topic of Why You Should Read And Write Poetry. I cited this piece from Gioia and also spoke about how our prayers and Torah are all poetry all the time. I asked if anyone could name a living poet. No-one could. (after an awkward silence one student finally came up with me, and it's true I am - thank G-d - living and a poet. And yet. Sigh.)

I posted this on parshapost, but have since re-edited it (for my school's Torah weekly). I like the latest edit, and so I am including it here:

Numbers: A Love Story

Rashi explains the lists and numbers that Bamidbar starts with as reflective of G-d's love for the Jewish People. When you cherish something you repeatedly count it. Hashem counted us three times in one year as an expression of His love of the Jewish People.

This concept of counting that which is beloved relates to our lives. We repeatedly look over our treasures, assessing the value of each piece. As kids we count our baseball cards or dolls, and as we count our change and balance our check books. On the holiest level parents gaze endlessly at each of their sleeping children.

It's not the literal counting that shows love, but the attention paid. This is what Rashi means by saying that counting reflects love. Rashi gives three examples of G-d counting the Jewish People, and though at first this appears redundant, a deeper look reveals three distinct expressions of love.

When Hashem took us out of Egypt He carried us, cherished us, and counted us. Shortly after the expression of love that was the Exodus From Egypt the Jewish People strayed and our Father disciplined us with love and then counted us. When He rested His Presence upon us in the Mishkan He lovingly counted us.

These 3 times that G-d counted us can be applied to 3 relationships of love in life. A primary rule of love is giving. We may use G-d's carrying us out of Egypt as a lesson of care and concern for others. Just like G-d did after the cheit ha’eigel, we must also show our love through setting of boundaries as well. As G-d expressed when He rested His presence upon us, sometimes when you love someone there is value in spending time, not to give in a specific way and not to discipline, but just to be together, in love.

The fostering of these 3 ingredients, care, discipline, and attention, leads to balanced relationships. May G-d in his love for us, bless us in the art of love, as we each, in our way, do our best to emulate G-d and communicate love with all the right elements.
pk
Jack just sent out a question, in preparation for an upcoming post of his. The question is, "Why are you Jewish?" here's what I sent him back:

;

I was born to a Jewish mother. They tell me that that makes me Jewish. Recently this issue has been bothering a student I've been working with in school. It comes down to trust in the oral tradition, to the idea that the written Torah is shorthand.

I was once a witness for a friend before he got married in Jerusalem. A large, tough looking rabbi asked me if my friend was Jewish. i said yes. Then he surprised me by asking, "Eich atah yodeah?" My basic answer was "homina, homina, homina," but included some details like the fact that my friend went to day schools/yeshivot his whole life, his father was a rabbi, and (my favorite) everyone assumed he was Jewish. The big man bought my story.

As far as I know I am Jewish. My understanding is that this can not easily be undone, and maybe it can't be undone even with great effort (G-d forbid). We are called G-d's children, and there's no divorce for children. The question asked was why am I Jewish, so I guess that answers that.

One could wonder why am I or my compatriots actively Jewish. What compels me to be a Jewy Jew? To me, that's a more interesting question than why I am technically Jewish and a much more difficult question to answer. I think so much in life that we present in life as ideology is actually largely sociology. Why we hold the opinions and beliefs that we do is very much about what we've experienced in life. Pursuant to that point I feel that I can never thank my parents enough for having sent me, from Kindergarten on, to Jewish Day Schools.

I could go on and on with this question, expanding it, branching it out into related question upon question: why am I Orthodox (and what does Orthodox mean?), why am I the kind of Orthodox Jew that I am (and what kind is that?), why am I a rabbi? , why do I teach Jewish Studies, what do I believe are the important actions, elements, beliefs of a Jew?, and on and on and on.

k
I'm going to close this answer up now. I'm not sure if it fits so much as I'd like it to, but I'll end with an analogy.

In Gadi Pollack's Once Upon A Tale (translated by Devorah GoldshmiedtI the following moshol is presented in the introduction. A man was staying with a close friend of his, in an inn, in a foreign land. He was dependent on his pal, because he did not know the language of the country they were visiting. One day, during a rare moment our protagonist found himself alone in his room. The innkeeper stormed into the room and began shouting in a his language. The star of our story didn't understand a word. The other gentleman started screaming more frantically, pointing at the clock on the wall, motioning to the door. All the guest could think of was that he was about to be thrown out if he didn't pay up. He offered the owner money to no avail.

The scene replayed itself in a perpetual loop until the other guest returned. He immediately understood that the proprietor was warning them that there was a fire at the other end of the hotel and that it could spread and that they'd best get outside right away. A lesson from this story that we can glean is that often in life messages are being sent our way from G-d. This I believe. We sometimes misinterpret messages based on our own biases and lack of knowledge of the language of G-d. The messages I've been sent in my life, and continue to receive have made clear to me that a traditional Jewish life is the path of truth.

Jack posted about Starry Night, his son, and provided a great link to a Van Gogh slide show to the tune of Vincent. (You need to scroll down a bit - I don't know how to open to one post on Jack's blog).

I could go on and on but will pause for now.