burning like matchsticks in the face of the darkness

JustSayXtian

hahah just as I finish my thread about Rosh Hashanah being about having compassion for God, JustSayXtian comes out with a brilliant thread from a slightly different angle

This year I just thought - this period of atonement isn't just about asking God to forgive us. It's about us seeking to forgive God.

The past several years I've spent the last bit of Elul getting frustrated and stuck, and then right before Rosh Hashanah something shifts and I think about the whole thing in a way I hadn't before.

This year I just thought - this period of atonement isn't just about asking God to forgive us. It's about us seeking to forgive God.

And maybe we don't deserve to be forgiven. Maybe God doesn't either. But we try to do it anyway, because that's what you do when you love someone and you don't want to be mad at them anymore.

I've gone off before about how being mad at God is an act of faith, trusting that out relationship is strong enough to survive a fight. Maybe part of that faith is forgiving God, even though we have no reason to think God will do teshuvah to us

embedded quote Tweet, itself part of a thread worth reading, from Jun 22, 2020:

What does it mean to be in a relationship with God where arguing with God, being angry with God, even outright contradicting God is an expected part of things? What does faith mean in that context? The Hebrew word translated as faith is Emunah (אמונה).

I'm thinking about this, probably, because my father's yahrzeit is during the yamim noraim, and every year I say kaddish, and then I say the other part of the liturgy, added by William Goldman and Mandy Patinkin. I want my father back, you son of a bitch [link]

The whole section is a lesson in how we approach faith. It isn't that we have faith in God so we don't ask for water when we're thirsty, trusting against reason that things will be okay. We have faith in God, so we aren't afraid to complain, or to argue, or even to be angry.

Faith isn't believing that you can hold your arms up forever no matter how tired you are, even when your physical body isn't up to the task, against all evidence and reason. Faith is trusting that your brother will hold your arms up when you can't do it anymore.

What we have faith in is the covenant. We have faith in the *relationships*, including our relationship with God. And because we have faith in that relationship, we don't have to tiptoe around and be careful not to offend God.

We have faith that we can go to God and say "You idiot, what were you thinking putting us in a camp without water, do you want our children to die???" and our relationship is strong enough that God will say "I see your point, let me fix this."

Being angry with God is an act of faith. Questioning whether the way we've understood the commandments is correct is an act of faith. Telling God "no, I won't do this, it's wrong" is an act of faith. Telling God "fuck you, where were you when we needed you?" is an act of faith.

It's putting trust in the idea that the love and commitment between us and God is strong enough that we can challenge and argue and rage and God will still be our God, and we will still be God's people. It's trust that even if God doesn't exist, we are still pursuing justice.

Faith, in this understanding, very much does not mean assuming that God is always right, taking everything without question, being 100% sure that God has definitely never made a mistake or done something unjust, or been in the wrong. It's not certitude in God's infallibility.

Faith is being sure that we can call God on God's bullshit and come out on the other side with a stronger relationship, where both we and God are better for having wrestled with the issue and confronted it instead of ignoring it and leaving it unchallenged.

And I appreciate how the liturgy gives space to anger at God, and when it moves us on, it's not to "you're wrong to be angry, and actually God is right."

It's to having compassion *for God*, which sometimes feels like a radical concept.

It starts from a place of anger at what God has done or let happen to the world and its creatures and goes to a cry that some years sounds furious to me, some years smug, some years despairing--"fine, DON'T do anything! WE'll fix it, then!"

"Fine, praise US, then, the ones who clean up after You!" (a recurrent theme in the Torah is Jews protecting people FROM God)

And it moves from goading us into that defiant commitment--to step in where God has failed--to a push not just to survive, but to truly *live*.

Life is what is left of it.

And that's the point here. Not repentance because we need to apologize to God, but repentance because we need to decide what we want to make of what is left of our lives, because we need to move forward.

Yom Kippur is not about self-flagellation. It's about forcing blood back into the parts our soul that we've clenched so tight that they've gone numb.

And what happens then? Not necessarily being forgiven, but forgiving:

embedded quote Tweet, from a thread which has lots of great poetry, from Sept 28, 2020

And following all that, the words of Rabbi Rami Shapiro:

"The clenched fist of your heart will open
and you will forgive."

And the underlayment to all of this is a shift in perspective. We go from anger at God to tenderness and compassion for God.

( Read more... )

As Jews approach the High Holy Days and do the self-reflection work on who they might have harmed, chances to do better they might have missed and might be confronted with memories of their own past hurts, I repeat my annual post on the concept of forgiveness.

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO FORGIVE YOUR ABUSER.

You don't need to offer forgiveness to those who have scarred you, abandoned you, poisoned you. You are not required to do it by some "good person" algorithm, it does not make you more ready for the opening of the gates or the Messianic Age or the life to come.

"For sins between a person and God, Yom Kippur provides atonement. However, for sins between two people, Yom Kippur does not provide atonement, until the sinner appeases the offended.”

“Until the sinner appeases the offended”.

There is no automatic forgiveness required in Judaism. No matter how much a person apologizes, what amends or change they undergo, or whether they are "truly repentant in their heart" or for any social reason.

IF a feeling of forgiveness comes to you in time, and gives you peace, that's fantastic. If you never forgive but come to a place of healing, that's glorious.

But it is never your responsibility to both bear the pain AND to hear that you will be incomplete or broken or wounded or burdened because you don't want to forgive what may be, for the rest of your life, completely unforgivable.

The onus is upon the *transgressor* in this season of reflection and repentance. And the scholars say, even when someone comes to you asking for forgiveness, still you are not obliged to forgive them. AND they are expected to stop bothering you about it after three times and simply depart from you lest they make things worse.

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO FORGIVE YOUR ABUSER.

If someone else does "forgive" a person who hurt you deeply for whatever reason, and they demand you accept their willingness to normalize relationships with the transgressor, you are not the one in the wrong by protecting yourself.

You do whatever you need to need yourself strong, sane, protected, clear. To reduce harm to yourself in body or mind so you can be free to nurture the relationships in your life that have not left you wounded past forgiveness.

I think some people confuse forgiveness with detachment. Judaism (for better and worse) tends to put a premium on creative engagement (tikkun) when sometimes the best thing is detachment. Some examples of detachment practice in Judaism are havdalah, and shmittah (the practice of letting the land be fallow every fiftieth year). This year is a shmittah year. Some things are better left alone.

so 5782 is a shmita year - the end of a 7-year cycle, literally Shabbat for the land. it's a year of agricultural rest, but also traditionally it's a year when all debts are forgiven, land & wealth is redistributed to a certain degree - it's a societal soft reset

a lot of folks in my Jewish circles are talking about how we individually (& some of the organizations we're part of) are participating in this, but i'm finding it painful to think about for very long. it just makes me ache for a broader-scale application

i'm also finding it hard to think about in terms of things like disability (my relationship to rest doesn't always feel positive) & class (who can rest & for how long? who rests at whose expense?). in my intersection of these two things, i mostly feel guilty about rest!

at the same time, i know that rest is a fundamental need & i have to think about how i can meet it while living in a culture that allows some people more rest than others. the other part of shmita is what it literally means - "release" - & i think it has to be about both

it doesn't feel right for me to focus on rest this year without an equal (or possibly greater, for me) focus on release - redistributing resources & otherwise supporting access to rest for others. i'm not yet sure what i want to do differently! but i'm thinking about it

Bless things. Find sparks of hope. Find flickers of joy. Find gratitude wherever you can.

We will need each and every one of our collective blessings to do another year of this.

One of the big pieces of the ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is that you reflect over the past year, and you attempt to (A) accept and forgive anything that has been done to you, and (B) apologize and ask forgiveness for anything you have done to others.

[...]

Anonymous is enabled, and all comments are screened. If I've done anything to hurt you this year, let me know. If there's anything you think I might still be upset over, let me know that too. I won't unscreen unless you specifically request I do [...] The goal isn't to start fresh- that's often not possible- but to acknowledge what has happened over this year (or any previous time, if you so choose) as an attempt to not have it happen again.

I promise to treat anything you say seriously and respectfully, and I will seriously be considering it over the next ten days.

One of the big pieces of the ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is that you reflect over the past year, and you attempt to (A) accept and forgive anything that has been done to you, and (B) apologize and ask forgiveness for anything you have done to others.

[...]

Anonymous is enabled, and all comments are screened. If I've done anything to hurt you this year, let me know. If there's anything you think I might still be upset over, let me know that too. I won't unscreen unless you specifically request I do [...] The goal isn't to start fresh- that's often not possible- but to acknowledge what has happened over this year (or any previous time, if you so choose) as an attempt to not have it happen again.

I promise to treat anything you say seriously and respectfully, and I will seriously be considering it over the next ten days.

TheRaDR

• Talia and the Rude Vegetables written by Linda Elovitz Marshall & illustrated by Francesca Assirelli
  
• One Good Deed written by Terri Fields & illustrated by Deborah Melmon
  
• Rosie Saves the World written by Debbie Herman & illustrated by Tammie Lyons

One of the big pieces of the ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is that you reflect over the past year, and you attempt to (A) accept and forgive anything that has been done to you, and (B) apologize and ask forgiveness for anything you have done to others.

[...]

Anonymous is enabled, and all comments are screened. If I've done anything to hurt you this year, let me know. If there's anything you think I might still be upset over, let me know that too. I won't unscreen unless you specifically request I do [...] The goal isn't to start fresh- that's often not possible- but to acknowledge what has happened over this year (or any previous time, if you so choose) as an attempt to not have it happen again.

I promise to treat anything you say seriously and respectfully, and I will seriously be considering it over the next ten days.

May your 5777 be as sweet as it is Hyperfibonacci* -- and may you have a truly golden year!**

QED,
Scott

*See https://cs.uwaterloo.ca/journals/JIS/VOL19/Urbiha/urbiha4.html .

**Note that 5777 = Floor[Phi^Chai], where Floor[x] is the greatest integer less than or equal to x, Phi is the golden ratio (1+Sqrt[5])/2, and Chai is 18.

~ And note also that 5777 divides the 5778th Fibonacci number -- so next year should be pretty excellent, too.

One of the big pieces of the ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is that you reflect over the past year, and you attempt to (A) accept and forgive anything that has been done to you, and (B) apologize and ask forgiveness for anything you have done to others.

[...]

Anonymous is enabled, and all comments are screened. If I've done anything to hurt you this year, let me know. If there's anything you think I might still be upset over, let me know that too. I won't unscreen unless you specifically request I do [...] The goal isn't to start fresh- that's often not possible- but to acknowledge what has happened over this year (or any previous time, if you so choose) as an attempt to not have it happen again.

I promise to treat anything you say seriously and respectfully, and I will seriously be considering it over the next ten days.

One of the big pieces of the ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is that you reflect over the past year, and you attempt to (A) accept and forgive anything that has been done to you, and (B) apologize and ask forgiveness for anything you have done to others.

[...]

Anonymous is enabled, and all comments are screened. If I've done anything to hurt you this year, let me know. If there's anything you think I might still be upset over, let me know that too. I won't unscreen unless you specifically request I do [...] The goal isn't to start fresh- that's often not possible- but to acknowledge what has happened over this year (or any previous time, if you so choose) as an attempt to not have it happen again.

I promise to treat anything you say seriously and respectfully, and I will seriously be considering it over the next ten days.

elul: psalm 27

we are told to say the following
every day for a month
in preparation for the days of awe:

you are my light my help
when I'm with you I'm not afraid
I want to live in your house

the enemies that chew my heart
the enemies that break my spine
I'm not afraid of them when I’m with you

all my life I have truly trusted you
save me from the liars
let me live in your house

-- Alicia Ostriker (from her three-part poem Days of Awe.)

2. Jewish tradition holds that today is the birthday of the world. Stick a candle in a cupcake if you're so inclined; go outdoors if you're so inclined; wish the world happy birthday, and take some time to be grateful for the corner of the world in which you live, wherever that may be.

One of the big pieces of the ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is that you reflect over the past year, and you attempt to (A) accept and forgive anything that has been done to you, and (B) apologize and ask forgiveness for anything you have done to others.

[...]

Anonymous is enabled, and all comments are screened. If I've done anything to hurt you this year, let me know. If there's anything you think I might still be upset over, let me know that too. I won't unscreen unless you specifically request I do [...] The goal isn't to start fresh- that's often not possible- but to acknowledge what has happened over this year (or any previous time, if you so choose) as an attempt to not have it happen again.

I promise to treat anything you say seriously and respectfully, and I will seriously be considering it over the next ten days.

I ran into one woman outside of the sanctuary on Yom Kippur. She was sitting on the floor playing with her young son. She had lost her mother earlier that year. “I am furious at God,” she told me. “Ever since my mother died I have been furious at God. I have no intention of going in there and praying or saying anything to God.”

But she had come to shul anyway. It was Yom Kippur. She and her partner were raising a child. She was angry at God that her mother had not lived to know the grandson who would surely have brought her so much joy. But this woman and her partner were creating a family, continuing the chain of their Jewish families. They wanted their son to be a part of their Jewish community.

She didn’t go into the sanctuary that year. She may not have gone in the next year either. But she kept coming to shul, with her partner and their son. Even as she raged with God she knew that for her Jewish family, marking the holidays and coming to shul was essential. She wasn’t asking God for forgiveness. She wanted God to ask her for forgiveness, for taking her mother away before her son had a chance to know his grandmother. And it seemed like Yom Kippur was the right time for that.

Each year as the fullness of summer begins to wane and the moon of the month of Elul swells and subsides, the season of teshuvah returns. Teshuvah is a gift and a challenge. It is slow work. There is no magic formula that will suddenly heal all that has shattered in our lives. We build community; we explore and reconcile with Judaism; we search for God. Every year as we return to this season we are painfully aware of what is still broken.

But each year doing teshuvah reminds us that we may begin to repair what is broken. We may recover that which has been lost. Teshuvah reminds us that wholeness is possible.