Visit from my mother

Two nights ago I dreamed of my mother.  She was ill with cancer but looked good.  She'd come to pay me a visit in New York.   I was in an unfamiliar home.  I was transferring some spices into spice bottles.  That was something she did.  My mother had a system for every aspect of life.  Regarding spices, she had small bottles each of which she labeled and kept in alphabetical order in a drawer.  On my last visit to my parents' home, their housekeeper of 25 years, who was totally devoted to my mother, showed me the method my mother used to transfer spices from store bought bottles into the smaller bottles using a small funnel.  Back to the dream, my mother told me she'd come to New York because she wanted to see my new home.  I was so touched she'd come despite her condition.

Death upends our relationships.  When our loved one is alive, we interact in our awaken hours.  After they die, we interact in visions and dreams.  Can it still be called a relationship? I can't answer that question.  I can only say that I am thankful for her visit and wish she would come more often.

Just when you think there are no more tears . . .

Friday morning brought a sparkling sky.  I must have slept well as I was feeling more energetic than usual.  Perhaps the anti-depressants have kicked in.  As I got to the Amud (prayer stand), I noticed a ray of light entering the shul through the window.  Thoughts of my mother came flooding in.  She loved nature.  As a child, my parents took me to the forests of Canada, the mountains of the Sierras, the Redwood Coast and the Death Valley desert.  After I left home, they became world travelers. One of my favorite pictures of them is on top of a mountain in New Zealand.  They took my kids to the Rockies, Niagara Falls, and the Mohave Desert.  That morning, every kaddish I said brought tears, the light of her presence pressing close to me.

One thing I've learned about the mourning process: its path is neither linear nor predictable.  Most days you go about your business as if nothing much in your life has changed.  Then comes a day, sometimes just a few moments, when you again feel broken.  You never know when, or why.

Watch my speed

About a week ago, an elderly, distinguished gentleman at the morning minyan approached me just as I was about to take my place as prayer leader.  He told me I was going too fast and would I mind slowing down.  I was taken aback. I wasn't sure whether or not he was being facetious.  Once before I'd been accused of davening too slowly.  I've prided myself on davening at a moderate pace, not too fast or slow.  About a month ago, a friend had given me this strange complement: "I'm sorry your mother died, but I like your davening.  I can really follow along."

The next day I told a friend about the conversation with the gentleman.  He timed me. Lo and behold, I had indeed sped up.  I wasn't even conscious of it.  I guess familiarity breeds speed. The more you lead prayers, the greater the tendency to zoom through it.

Since then, I've made an effort to slow down.  Two days ago I approached the gentleman after the prayer service and asked him about my pace.  He expressed his appreciation that I'd slowed down.  We introduced ourselves to each other.  He mentioned his wife had fallen and broken her hip during Pesach.  I mentioned my father's broken hip.  He said he'd pray for my father.  I said I'd pray for his wife.  The true meaning of communal prayer revealed.

Yom Ha'atzmuat davening

This past Thursday was Yom Ha'atmaut (Israel Independence Day).  The founding of the state revolutionized the Jewish world, injecting a nationalist element that was lacking for two millennium. The services, usually so fixed and predictable, attempted, with some strain, to account for the new reality.  Even the Rabbi was caught off guard.

At the evening service, the prayer leader began singing Hatikvah (the Israel National Anthem) toward the end of davening, then was instructed that it should come at the very end of the service.  Morning services began at the unusual time of 6:30. Usually they begin either at 6:55 or 6:45, depending on whether it's a Torah reading day or, on Rosh Chodesh (the new month), at 6:35.  The service then took the form of a Yom Tov/Shabbat davening with the addition of Mizmor L'todah and the omission of Nishmat (as on Hoshana Rabba).  Then there was Hallel with the Cantor leading.  There was singing, an unheard of occurrence at morning minyan.  (If I were to break into song at any point on a regular day, people would think I'd lost my mind.)  The Rabbi then announced we'd move to the special Haftarah (prophetic reading) for Yom Ha'atzmaut, forgetting there was a Torah reading, as it was a Thursday.  (I believe this is the only time of the year (excepting holidays, fast days and Shabbat) when there is a Haftarah during the morning services.)  At the Mincha service, there was a question whether an avel (mourner) should daven (he did, a decision I didn't agree with, since it is a day of joy and mourners don't lead prayers on holidays).

I enjoyed that everything seemed to be mixed up and uncertain. Israel shook up the Jewish world which is still trying to figure out how to integrate the existence of a Jewish state into its consciousness and ritual.

Getting bored; playing with iPhone

Lately I have to admit I'm been getting pretty bored at davening. My prayers and kaddishes are flat.  When I'm leading prayers, which I still do most mornings, I have to be somewhat engaged.  But for the afternoon and evening prayers, there are about four mourners at minyan these days, so I'm only called to daven about once every couple of days.  When I'm seated among the other congregants, it's difficult to engage when the Amidah (silent prayer) is being repeated during Mincha by the prayer leader or during the Rabbi's short d'var torah (words of Torah) between Mincha and Ma'ariv.  Often I resort to pulling out my iphone and checking my email, making changes to my Things To Do list, or even going on Facebook.  Believe me, I'm not the only one playing with their smart phone during the prayer service.  A few months ago I was at a minyan where a gentleman seemed to be praying quite fervently.  As soon as he finished his prayer, the smart phone came out and he was tapping away. While I try to make sure that sounds are turned off, phones are not infrequently chiming or ringing during the service.

Tonight I was so spaced out that I couldn't even remember what the Rabbi said when he recited Sephirat Ha'omer (the count of days between Passover and Shavuot).  I was pretty sure he said that tonight was the 20th day, but just to make sure, I asked the person next to me what he said.  That person said that yesterday was the 19th day, indicating that tonight is the 20th day.  He said he couldn't tell me which day it was tonight because he doesn't count until after nightfall, but fortunately I can still add 19 and 1. I can honestly say I haven't missed a prayer service in a while, but that statement is true only about my physical presence.