On an Unclear Day

April 4, 2013

On an unclear day, you can hardly see tomorrow.  Today's that kind of day.  The kind that used to make me attack chocolate as though it were the armed forces of three enemy nations. (If  that were still my way of dealing with blurry days, I'd be air-mailing 72% bombs to North Korea, Putin's Russia....Can't think of a third target at the moment. That's how unlcear a day like this makes my head: can't even list all the dictatorships on my hit list.)

Now that I'm no longer in my 72% chocolate total warfare mode--war is delicious only to maniacs--
I plan to concentrate on more real-life strategies which don't melt in the mouth, but can sometimes sweeten a heart.

Prayer isn't a strategy in the more usual sense of strategy. Yet, sometimes, on "unclear days" such as today, it  IS how I get through the hours.

I will share two of my favorite prayers with you. Sometimes, I pray them to center myself, sometimes to signal God that I'm paying attention, sometimes as seat belts to keep me safe if day darkens.

First prayer: this is more advice than a prayer, but I rely on it daily. I used to be ignorant about what it's teaching, and am grateful to have found it, a couple of decades ago, in a Zen compendium. It's by Zen master Leonard Cohen: 

Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There's a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in.

The second prayer, said every night as I enter a drifting-off state--or repeatedly if drifting off quickly is plainly not in the cards:

The light of God surrounds me,
The love of God enfolds me,
The power of God protects me,
The presence of God watches over me.
Where I am,
God is.
And all is well.

I sometimes have trouble with the third line, but "enfolds" is a wonderful image. I didn't use that word; but, in November 1994, as I was moved into the chamber for my first MRI, I suddenly felt that the cold flat table was, instead, God's curved palm. I definitely felt "enfolded" by God's love.  The image of being safe in God's palm has made my many MRI's an utterly calm experience.

I do believe that "where I am, God is."  

Please, God, bless all who are, like me, having an unclear day.
And everyone else who wants a blessing, too.
Amen.
Amen.

Keeping Appointments

April 3, 2013

Yizkor is a prayer said only on the four Jewish "Pilgrimage" holidays. As I understand it,  a while back, the duty was to get oneself to Jerusalem to pray for one's dead on each of these four days. To pray that one would honor them by doing good works in remembrance of them. I did not have to get to Jerusalem--only to my synagogue, which is about nine blocks from my house. Still, yesterday, the last day of Passover, it was a little complicated for me to be at the Yizkor service.

Not because of some dramatic excuse like a donkey with two broken legs. No, I had a dental appointment. What's more, it was only for a cleaning. Still, the appointment was made weeks earlier.  And among my steely convictions is that it's mandatory to keep appointments unless there's a REAL emergency. Had I consulted my Jewish calendar  instead of my "regular" (larger) calendar when I made the appointment, I would not have made it for that day.

I cancelled the appointment.

Because I felt I had a prior appointment. With my parents. And with God.  Because the Yizkor prayers are to me a mnemonic: they remind me that when I act charitably toward others, I honor my parents. That's why I went and prayed Yizkor, because, most days, I do believe that my long-dead parents continue to live through me--so long as I act like their daughter.

What makes me doubly grateful that, this once, I broke an apppointment for a non-emergency, was that God, Who never had a mother or a father, and may have had an appointment with a dying child (or His own dentist) was also there in shul. Listening to my vow.

How close do you want to get to God?

Da  lifney mi atah omeid?  Know before Whom you stand. These words, about the "nobody's God" whom  I so love, are carved above the ark in my synagogue and in many others. When my mind wanders at services, often they pull my eyes toward them like a magnet and bring my attention back.

But when I consider my relation to God--which I often do--the words come closer than any others I know to being more than a statement. It seems to me they also pose a question. A question it isn't easy to answer. Even though no one but God and I will hear my inner debate or my answer. My answer for that day, or perhaps only that moment. Is there an optimum distance between me and God? And, if so, who decides? God or me?  

It isn't an easy question to ponder. Ha! now that's an understatement (not my most recognizable style).  Becuase, of course, there is something to be said in favor of working toward intimacy with God, and there is a good deal to be said for "keeping one's distance," so to speak.

There are sensible reasons not to work to make my relationship with God more intimate. To get closer to  the God who brought us out of Egypt--smack into the desert?  Who drew Moses up to Sinai--only to lay down the Law?  Who never seems to pull out all the stops for us the way He did for Joshua?  Or try this one on for size: all Abram did was say Hineni, Here I am, and wiz boom bam, he and all his possessions were on the road to...where?  Even IBM lets you know where they're transferring  you  to.  And that was only the beginning of what God asked of Abram.  The cruel decisions He placed before him.  O, Hagar, beloved Hagar.  Threat to Isaac, real or imagined. Does Abraham (his Ellis Island name) tell Sarah he loves both his sons, and she should go take a bath and relax her fears? And then, of course, there's Isaac and the BIG test. Who passed that one, tell me. (I suspect it may have been Sarah, who followed them, and talked back to God so cogently that He backed off. I wrote a midrash with this scenario--still strikes me as realistic.)

So much for intimacy with the Man in the corner office with more windows than all other corner offices combined.

But, then, intimacy has its attractions.  Think the sexiest movie star of your choice, with the savvy of Solomon, the voice of Sinatra, the insights of Abraham Joshua Heschel, the kindness of  Rabbi Herschel Matt, the humble courage of Pope John XXIII--and a smile like...God's.  Just think about the prospect of having an intimate relationship with that God.

But we cannot know if God's traits are a combination of what distinguished those remarkale human beings--or a set beyond our imagining. More spectacular? Simpler? Quieter? Generally at peace with his/her creation or furious at having given us free will? Don't waste your energy guessing. We have to decide without having the answers at the back of the book. They're not all even in the body of the Book.
Living with uncertainty is the price of belief.

So: how close DO you want to get to God?       

Oh my

August 11

Have I been busy! Of course I know that's no excuse for neglecting my blog. What's more, writing it may help me clarify any number of things. So here are my current four tasks, for which I have neither sufficient hands nor head.

1. I have been organizing an auction for my synagogue since February, to take place October 29th. There is still much to be done. I ran my fourth and "last" one in 2005. Retired, publically, and in my head. But I know how to do it, and others don't have the experience or know-how--such as that it takes eight months to do well. Others tried to get one going. No go. So this past winter, I volunteered to do it again. It's harder work than I remembered. (My mother used to say that it was a good thing women didn't remember how much childbirth hurt, or no woman would ever have more than one child.)

2. I have been looking to move for a while now, to rent another apartment where this NYC-raised non-driver can still walk to my usual haunts (such as the Y). The right place in the right building turned up at, well, not the best time. I move september 15th. Decades of files and drafts need to be culled, the rest packed. This, too, is hard work.

3. I have had several health issues, which, rest assured, will not be detailed here. Besides, I hate to dwell on them long enough to write at all clearly about them. Suffice it to say that I have an unpleasant knack for getting unusual health problems. Know how many meds there are to treat high blood pressure? Me neither, but there are many many many. Know how many there are to treat abnormally low blood pressure? I'm on IT. I pray that my doctors to learn to collaborate. My current observation is that each one--and they are good physicians--tends to forget that a patient has numerous organs which interact, more than a single orifice, and is sometimes prescribed meds which don't "play well" with others.

4. I have in recent weeks had several people about whom I care require serious surgeries. I pray for them, a lot, partly to cut my worry level down above sea level; partly in hopes of reminding God to keep watch over my friends and, especially, to take good care of the surgeons involved, without reminding Him/Her so often that I get on God's nerves.

5. Maybe simply writing these down as I just have will help me to manage my time and effort more productively. Maybe not. But it's worth a try.

God bless my friends, my therapist, and God Him/Herself for allowing me to trust that, when I pray, I'm not pissing in the wind.

Prayer Too

July 24

When the Answer to a Prayer Seems to be No

Last week, I was in the hospital for a few days. There, I had an interesting experience during a medical test. Some might say it was challenging.

I did not find it challenging. Frankly, it only occurred to me a couple of days afterward to think much about it. Right afterward , I was too pleased to be told I could go home.

The test was a tilt table test. I had no idea what it involved. I assumed there would be a table and, with me on it, it would be tilted. I imagined it would take a few moments.

My imagination was not up to par. When I was brought into the test area, there was indeed a table and I was instructed to lie down on it. Then I was--well, the word that comes to mind is “adhered”–I was adhered to the table by broad bands, which were then securely fixed. The broadness of the bands struck me as funny in a not-so-funny way. I inquired: Do you now administer a lethal injection? Look,. that’s how I react to anything that catches me off guard: I make a joke. But the fact is, the only time I had ever seen anyone held fast to a table with wide bands was on TV, when the next step was indeed lethal injection.

I was the only one who laughed–not a unique experience for me, but one which did not raise my comfort level.

I was told that the table (with me “adhered’ to it) would be tilted until I was upright. The test would take thirty minutes or a little longer, the technician said–a lot longer than I had imagined. Then the table was tilted to a standing position, and I set to praying. In front of me was a curtain with an unattractive print of regular, no-color circles. Time passed slowly. The technician and the cardiologist monitoring the test communicated with each other, but not with me. I said, It would be a good idea to paint smiley faces on the circles, to make them less boring to look at. I was told it would be good not to speak. I shut up.

And focused on my prayers, which no one but God would hear. I wanted God’s help to keep myself upright–which I’d figured out was the idea. The test. I repeated my favorite one-line prayer many times, and tried to visualize God behind me, holding me upright. As the minutes passed, my prayers seemed to be having some effect. .

Then, with only five minutes to go, a nitroglycerine tablet was put under my tongue. My mouth was dry–not from any degree of fear–by then I thought I had the test aced–but because I was thirsty. Being ridiculously honest, I reported that the tablet was not dissolving, and asked if I should suck it. Yes, they said. I sucked it. Whereupon I felt slightly lightheaded or maybe a little dizzy–am not good at telling them apart They asked how I felt, and I was trying to figure out which it was.

Next thing I knew I was un-tilted, supine again, and both the technician and cardiologist were very busy bringing me back. From pretty far.

When I was deemed well enough for him to leave, the cardiologist, who had not laughed at my two jokes, said, You may not think this is funny. But thanks for fainting, that’s the only time this test is interesting. Or unfunny words to that effect. He also said I could still go home as scheduled–the words I wanted to hear..

Not much more than half an hour later, I was back in my room. And two hours later, I was home.

Did God flunk the test, too? Just after I sucked the nitroglycerine tablet, did God get bored and take a break? ? First, of all, it never occurred to me to test God. I just don’t have other language to use right now. So: I don’t think God flunked the test–or failed me. I think the real purpose of my prayers was answered. God wasn’t there to fiddle with the test. God’s purpose was to stop me from feeling all alone during the test. When the technician and the cardiologist were doing their thing, God was doing that.

Being with me. That’s what God does.

Why I Believe God is Nobody's God.

July 11

I called my spiritual memoir Nobody’s God because it is an essential part of my personal faith that God doesn’t belong to any person or any religious denomination.

I’ve met many people who disagree with me about this. I think numerous denominations, especially those which are right of center theologically, teach that the path to God is narrow. It seems to me that the higher the toll on this road, the more invested its adherents are in its being the “right” path. They argue passionately for their position. I find their passion admirable if a bit frightening, but too. . well, narrow.

The road to God I see is wide. What’s more, it has not one but many divergences, some well-traveled, others less. But my experience of God (which is of course limited to my experience of God) tells me that most if not all those byways lead to God. Moreover, if we could venture even briefly from our own path to another, we might find the paths to be more similar than dissimilar.

Know why I think that? Because I believe this: God wants us to reach Him–and Her. To get to that marvelous place where love goes both ways.

What's in a Name?

Names are a big deal. In Genesis, as God creates things, He names them. Indeed, naming them is critical: it is the final step in bringing them to life. I don’t like my name. More accurately, I avidly dislike it. Toby Stein a clunky, chunky name. It just sits there. Plain, homely, useless.

Except that if it were truly useless, I’d be happier. For both “Toby” and “Stein” are both vessels from which one can drink beer. And I was stuck with both. ?

The fact is, my parents named me Tybele (three syllables), which is the Yiddish diminutive of “dove”–a name with wings. However, an English name was required for the birth certificate, and so, at only a few days old, I became Toby.

Over the years, I tried to edge away from Toby by spelling my first name in numerous ways: Tiby when I was past toddler age, because that would signify I wasn’t a baby any more. When I was first published (in my college’s literary magazine), I elected to spell it Tybie, which was fancified Tiby, I guess. Years later, because close friends tended to shorten Toby to Tob, with a long “o,” I took to spelling it Tobe because that didn’t require an explanation.

If Toby wasn’t–or shouldn’t have been–my first name, Stein shouldn’t have been my surname. My father’s name was originally Ochs. It wasn’t changed by some guy on Ellis Island. My father never passed through Ellis Island. He sneaked across the Canadian border to find an older brother in Detroit. When he joined that brother’s jewelry business, it would have raised too many questions for the brothers to have different names, and my uncle Sam had (for some reason not only unknown but unimaginable to me) already changed his name from interesting Ochs to heavy-handed Stein.

When I got married, I grabbed my husband’s name in a tight embrace. Not only was Kilfoyle a lovely, a musical name (accent on the last syllable, please), but Toby Stein Kilfoyle was more than a name. It was a conversational gambit and I got a kick out of that.

And yet, and yet, one day in 1977, in an American courtroom, I asked to have Stein back as my legal name.

It was the day of my divorce proceedings. My first novel was in production, and when I excitedly told my editor that my divorce was actually about to take place, she informed me that my book jacket was about to go to press and I had thirty-six hours to decide what name I wanted on it–and on any other book I might write from then on. I did the sensible thing. I called my two closest friends to ask their advice: keep the lilting Kilfoyle or go back to Toby Stein? I don’t remember their advice; it turned out not to matter. Not once I heard my question: “I have to decide whether or not to take my name back.” My name.

That was the day I stopped hating it. Toby Stein: my exodus name.