Friday, March 8, 2019.  I was unable to be out at the lake this month, but I was there in spirit. Here are some thoughts and photographs from Stephen:

Adar II brings us to the end of Exodus and thus the end of the grand narrative of the Jewish people from Abram in Iraq to Moses in the Sinai desert. It is with some wistfulness that we leave the vivid personalities of our forefathers and encounter the legalisms and 631 mitzvot of Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy. As much as the grand narrative, such structures have provided the framework for millennia of Jewish life and with Adar II we begin the process.

The other aspect of Adar II is Purim and two aspects of it can be pointed out. The first is the agency of Vashti and Esther in asserting themselves. As we read the Megillah, these women should be kept in mind in light of International Women’s Day on Rosh Chodesh Adar II as well as the Equal Rights Amendment –ERA- that is closer than ever to passing.  The other aspect of Esther is the hiding of her Jewishness until the last moment at which she reveals the treachery of Haman. Our Jewishness, perhaps hidden on the social level in the 50s or 60s, is now proudly public and Adar II and Purim provides a moment to reflect on such a positive condition.   ––Stephen

I also want to add a supplement to last month’s entry on finding joy in Adar.  From time to time I check in at the Chabad web site – I am not in agreement with many of their authors on many topics, but there are some aspects of Judaism at which the Chabadniks excel – and one of them is finding reason to celebrate with joy on a daily basis.  This month I have been following Rabbi Tzvi Freeman (see link in resources), who writes “Daily Dose of Wisdom”, brief inspirations condensed from the writings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Menachem M. Schneerson (z”l).  As we are in Adar, every day has been another thought, another part of the recipe, for joy and happiness.  I’ll leave you with this Daily Dose, from Rabbi Freeman:

“Happiness is not just contagious. It’s explosive.

Something enters a person’s life for which he could never be prepared, and his previously tidy self erupts in song, dance and joy.

Approach the divine with a calculated mind, and there is no window for joy. Embrace the infinite beyond mind, and let joy surprise you.”

—Kirby

Wednesday, February 6, 2019.   What a paradox, that we should start the joyful month of Adar on a gloomy day.  It was dark this morning, if a little warmer than the last week. Tree branches were silhouetted against the ice on the lake.  We stood under an umbrella in the rain to say the blessings for the New Moon.

Entering Adar is always a challenge for me – I’m not much of a joker.  I try to conjure my usual New Moon spiritual feeling, and all I can think is “I’m supposed to be happy, laugh and be silly for a whole month?” And in this leap year, it’s even worse – sixty days!  Whether due to circumstances or inherent traits, I’m too sincere to be able to tell a joke well – when I do attempt such a thing, no one laughs.   It’s hopeless. I’m reminded of the famous line from Once, the musical:  “I’m always serious.  I’m Czech”.  Just substitute my name for the “Czech” part.

So I was intrigued with our source Mindy Ribner’s take on the essence of Adar.  In her words:  “There is a heavenly flow of joy this month, but we must also do our part to claim it as well as increase it.”  Then she goes on to give us a very specific prescription, even a recipe, for how to fulfill this mitzvah:

• Commit to increasing joy in your life.
• Eliminate or reduce what does not generate joy in your life and open to what does.
• Serve G-d with joy.
• Wipe out your personal Amalek (whatever is robbing you of joy)
• See G-d’s hand in your life – remember that G-d does have a sense of humor
• Give charity – which brings joy to you and to the recipient
• Dress up in a costume for Purim
• Try to be as happy as you can
• Tell jokes (or at least try)
• Give gifts to friends and those less fortunate

Well if that isn’t a step-by-step for those of us who could use some practice!  I’ll be back in a month – may we all have a happy and joyful one! —-Kirby

Monday, January 7, 2019.  It was cold and bitter out at the lake again, icy on the sidewalks – it must be winter in Cleveland!  If you look up the word “Shevat” online, you will find several interpretations, all invoking the Akkadian origin “sabatu”, variously translated as “conquest”, “destruction”, “strike”.  I prefer Chabad’s translation, “lashing”, as in the lashing of the rain on the land as winter comes to a close in the Middle East.

Shevat is a water month, its sign Aquarius, the water bearer.  I was in Arizona last week in a driving, cold rainstorm, one of many this winter, and all the naturalists in my circle were rejoicing at the likely spectacular desert bloom to come.  So much rain brings so much growth in a month or two, especially in arid lands.  So, too, in biblical Israel, the month of Shevat was a month of lashing cold rain, a blessing to be celebrated nonetheless, for it soaked tree roots and soil and established the foundation for a summer of growth, a good harvest.

How many cold rains have each of us endured in our lifetimes?  How many of us can say we celebrated them as necessary foundations for growth? How many of those rains have nourished our gardens, our families, our relationships? — May we grow into the coming month, as we celebrate Tu B’Shvat and honor the trees, and the rain that sustains them. — Kirby

Sunday, December 9, 2018.  It was so cold overnight that the lake has finally frozen over.  Arriving early, before sunrise, I could make out the form of a dog (perhaps coyote?) wandering across the ice, following a scent in the darkness.  Standing lakeside in 16-degree air, it is difficult to imagine that this was the month for sowing in ancient Israel – wheat, barley, oats, peas, lentils, vetch and flax were all planted, and the growing season began.

Or maybe not so difficult.  Wherever we are in the world, Tevet holds the equinox, winter or summer, a twice-yearly reminder of the cyclical nature of the universe.  Here in the Great Lakes, winter’s darkest day begins the cycle of light returning – it is only a short leap to imagine the spring and new growth to come.

Our sages teach that Tevet contains energy for the healing of anger.  This morning our little group talked of the cyclical nature of anger, of its return again and again, like all of our emotions. Anger is useful, spurring us to take action for change, to be aware of our imperfect humanness, to reconcile with those with whom we are in conflict.  But this is only possible if we are able to transform it from darkness into light, from ego-driven aggression to selfless concern for a better world, and for more human connections within our family and community. This month, may we each find ways recognize anger and transform it, growing it into good as the light grows on us. — Kirby

Friday, November 9, 2018.  It is fitting that the first day of Kislev, the “darkest month”, should also be the day of our first snow of the season.  Out at the lake at 7:30 am, it was blustery and cold, sleet turning to snow, and the water was dark and opaque, geese and migrating stragglers honking and splashing in the dimness.  We talked of the sleepiness and introspection of the month Cheshvan we are leaving behind, and the coming of Hanukah when introspection is turned into a vision for action.

Our source Jill Hammer tells of the bonfires set in the hills of Jerusalem in rabbinic times, to announce the new month of Kislev and the approach of the Hanukah holiday.  Far-flung villages would light their own upon seeing the Jerusalem fires, and even farther villages then light theirs, and so a chain of communication by fire would reach across the countryside.  Kislev is also the month of dreams, when we remember Joseph and Jacob, our ancestral dreamers and dream interpreters, who dealt in visions of the future.

After the events of the last two weeks, we sense the dark intensely.  We are calling from the numb dimness of mourning, despairing that we cannot ever effect any change in the circumstances that lead to tragedy.  And yet, the cycle of the year continues.  The light will come again, we are told, and we are not permitted to give up.  We are reminded that even though the universe returns the light to us, we must also light our own bonfires, and envision and create, together, our dreams of a better world.  May the Hanukah candles remind us of this, and be the renewal of light for our families and our community.  —Kirby

Wednesday, October 10, 2018. It was balmy, breezy and warm out on the lake this morning. We were well aware that the fall migration is underway – geese leaving the lake in gaggles, low overhead – and loons, herons both green and gray, and an egret were taking shelter for a little while on the lake and shore.

In ancient Israel, this was the month without holidays, when the agricultural cycle takes on a momentary quiet. The harvest is over, and the seeds not yet sown – we prepare the soil, carry water, pray for rain, and begin the work of the year. We talked about the water theme of Cheshvan on two levels – first, the universal flood: The flood at the time of Noah – and the parallels to recent and impending hurricanes and the increased flooding of our planet as the climate changes. On the more personal scale, our source Shimona Tzukernik draws the parallels between preparing the soil and beginning our spiritual work. We, and the rain, water the earth day in and day out, and the water “glistens” on our mundane daily existence – even as daily prayer waters our souls. Chodesh tov! — Kirby

Monday, September 10, 2018.  We began the New Year on a warm, cloudy morning, acknowledging that some projects of transformation are continuous.  We continue the hard work of the past year into the new one – glad to have the chance to renew our commitment.  Chodesh tov, L’Shanah Tovah!  Wishing everyone a sweet and happy new month and new year.

September 4, 2018.  It has been a whirlwind this month, and while we did not miss Rosh Chodesh at the Lake, I did miss getting a blog update posted.  Thanks to Stephen for being there while Linda and I were out of town.  Stephen took some photos of the marsh, and I went by when I returned for some of the lake itself.

There was no time to put together a meditation for the month – and yet the fullness of Elul is with me.  Forgiveness has been a theme – as a prerequisite for prayer, and as a principle for living. We are encouraged to ask for it from those we have harmed through our confusion; to give it to those who have harmed us, through their confusion.  And  to live it ourselves, for harm we have done to our own being.  With these thoughts we enter the Days of Awe.  L’shana tovah um’tuka – wishing everyone a sweet and good New Year. — Kirby

July 13, 2018. Av is the month of “Deconstruction” – and it is fitting that this was our first meeting at an alternative location on Horseshoe Lake (see sidebar), with the City beginning a two-year reconstruction project on the 150-year-old dam. In preparation, the water level has been drawn down, and our lake is not quite the same. But the future is bright: the reconstruction work should leave the lake and dam restored, beautiful and safe for another century.

In Av, we are in the midst of the heat and light of summer – some call it the beginning of the “dog days”, when even in the Great Lakes, the grass and trees and soil dry out, and soon cicadas will begin to buzz. We are just past the summer solstice, and so daylight begins to shorten toward autumn. In biblical Israel, the harvest began this month, with the ingathering of sesame, flax , millet, grapes and pomegranates.

In Jewish tradition, Av is best known for its commemoration of calamity. The first of Av comes halfway into the mournful 3 weeks, which began with a fast on the 17^th of Tammuz. We open the month with the beginning of the “Nine Days”, leading up to the ninth of Av, or Tisha B’Av, the saddest day of the Jewish year. The 17^th of Tammuz commemorates the breach of the walls of Jerusalem by our enemies; our stories tell us that the 9th of Av clinches the catastrophe, with the fall of both the First and Second Temples in biblical times. Since then, an accumulation of disasters have been associated with this day, from expulsions of Jews from Britain and Spain in the Middle Ages, to massacres during the Crusades, to events leading up to World Wars I and II.

Our source Alan Lew z”l sees the 9^th of Av as the beginning of the long annual process leading to the High Holy Days’ redemption: “There are two ways of looking at the way our tradition has collapsed history on this day… We can regard the ninth of Av and the weeks surrounding it as a cursed time … or we can regard the ninth of Av as a time when we are reminded that catastrophes will keep recurring in our lives until we get things right, until we learn what we need to learn from them.” (p. 41) In order to prepare ourselves for T’Shuvah, or return, we have no choice but to break everything down, and ready ourselves to start anew, with the hope of getting it right this time.

Like the walls that fell in Jerusalem, and many catastrophes thereafter, the Ninth of Av, and the Jewish cycles of the year, remind us of the resilience of humans: we fall down, and we pick ourselves up and reinvent ourselves, again and again. For every terrible event we read about in the news, there are stories of people who overcame adversity and redeemed us all with their actions. The cycle turns, and we turn with it — if we allow ourselves, in the midst of catastrophe, to listen for, and follow, and work to restore, the good that flows through the world. –Kirby

Thursday, June 14, 2018.  The Jewish lunar month of Tammuz is named after the Babylonian god Tammuz, or Dumuzid, who descended to the underworld for half of every year.   His absence brought about heat and drought, and parched the earth; water sources dried up, and plant growth ceased. Throughout the ancient Middle East, people spent the summer mourning the death of Tammuz as part of the cycle of the seasons. Our source Jill Hammer notes that in the heat of the Middle East summer, natural devastation by drought, locust, or terrible rainstorm can threaten crops and life itself. In Biblical times, the 17^th of Tammuz marked the breaching of the walls of Jerusalem by our enemies, leading to the destruction of the Temple three weeks later on the 9th of Av. These Three Weeks are a time of mourning to this day, starting with a fast on the 17^th of Tammuz.

So, we are reminded of the heavy and oppressive heat of summer, and the challenges that are before us. Here in the Great Lakes, we’re having a coolish week, but the summer light still penetrates. Our source Mindy Ribner reminds us that in the searing, bright light of the summer sun, we see the truth and the reality of every aspect of our lives. The light and the heat of the month are intense, physically, emotionally and spiritually. It is up to us to use that intensity well, to see with clear vision what is, and find opportunity for growth in the truth, especially when it is not what we would like it to be.

Seeing the truth is the first step in changing the world: only upon accepting the reality of a situation can we see it objectively enough to work on it. David Brooks, in an article in the New York Times last week (June 8, 2018), noted “The confrontation with …any sin is not just a protest but a struggle. Generalship in … any struggle is seeing where the forces of progress are swelling and where the forces of reaction are marching. It is seeing opportunities as well as threats. It is being dispassionate in one’s perception of the situation and then passionate in one’s assault on it.”

Whether that truth is the challenge of a difficult relationship — the suffering of our brothers and sisters who are hungry, lonely, oppressed, or ill — or conflict between our leaders — may seeing it clearly inspire us all to action, passion and compassion, for ourselves and for our fellow beings. — Kirby