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Where am I this week?

rwb_logo196I’m at the Rabbis Without Borders blog on MyJewishLearning this week. Please join me there to share your thoughts on prayer, spirituality, Doctor Who—whatever moves you—and to read words of wisdom posted by my RWB colleagues. Thanks!

Taking the TARDIS to God: For those not immersed in the British television phenomenon that is Doctor Who, TARDIS (an acronym for Time and Relative Dimension in Space) is the Doctor’s mode of transportation. Because I am not a Whovian, I asked my daughter about it and…Read more →

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Here are some of my latest mixed-media pieces:

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Title: Tefilah TARDIS, inscribed with verse from poetry of Yehudah HaLevi

(Lucite box, chalkboard paint, paint, paper, glue, found objects)

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Title: Peace Prayer TARDIS, inscribed with phrase from morning liturgy

(Lucite box, chalkboard paint, paint, paper, oil pastels, glue, polymer clay, found object)

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There’s an App for That

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I know this sounds corny, or Pollyannaish, but I’m going to say it anyway:

I play the Compassion Games because I believe that playing makes me act with intentional compassion toward others. I believe that engaging in play helps us learn. I believe that my participating in this game makes a difference, bringing a small portion of peace to my tiny piece of the world.

At first, when I played last year, I was less enthusiastic about one aspect of the game: submitting reports to the Compassion Map. I felt uncomfortable boasting about Random Acts of Kindness that I performed. I felt strange writing about how my playing the game made an impact on me.  I wondered if reporting about my good deeds somehow devalued them.

This year, the timing of the games is right in the middle of the month of Elul, which begins a season of repentance in the Jewish calendar. This is a time for reviewing our actions of the previous year, and making amends with others prior to the High Holidays, RoshHaShanah and Yom Kippur. Rosh HaShanah , the Jewish New Year, is also called Yom HaDin, the Day of Judgement, when God reviews our actions of the previous year and inscribes us in the Book of Life. On Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, often considered the holiest day of the year, we stand before God and pray to be cleansed of our past sins and allowed to begin anew. Mapping my actions during these first two days of the Compassion Games has already helped me with my spiritual preparation for the coming holy days. Writing about acts of compassion makes them less random and more tangible.

I recommend the Compassion Games as a tool for personal growth and as a means for making positive change in the world and promoting peace. I invite you to play with me—if you want to play on my team, please submit your reports using the hashtag CompassionateAtlanta—or to join your city’s team, or to play as an individual.

compassion appLet’s play to seek peace, to pursue it, to help God bring peace to all the world’s inhabitants. The goal sounds lofty, but less daunting and possible to achieve through playing a game.

By the way, it’s easy to submit your reports: there’s an app for that, of course.

 

 

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The Strangest Dream

Last night I had the strangest dream. It woke me at 1:00 a.m. and left me unable to fall back asleep before 5:00 a.m. The more I examine this dream in the light of day, the more I am mystified by the workings of the subconscious mind.

I can point to a conversation, a few days ago, that may have triggered this dream. My two younger children were discussing the interpretation of dreams while packing their lunches for school. My son informed his older sister, “When you dream about losing your tooth, it means you’re anxious about dying.”

Where did he learn that? Is he repeating something I said to him? I didn’t interrupt their dialogue, as I was relishing the role of eavesdropper, but I guess my subconscious mind decided to join the conversation last night. My dream began, as it usually does, with my realization that I had a loose tooth. I wiggled it with my tongue and it popped out. I tasted the blood pooling in my mouth. As I packed the hole with gauze, I discovered a second loose tooth.

Last night’s dream followed the typical pattern of my recurring anxiety dream about losing my teeth, with one notable exception. I did not wake up at the moment I discovered the second tooth was loose. Instead, it popped out, too. Only then was I released from the dark corner of my anxious, subconscious mind. I sat upright and checked the clock while simultaneously checking for signs I had been clenching my jaw while asleep. Mercifully, there were none. I grabbed my notebook and Sunday’s crossword puzzle from my nightstand, and headed downstairs. Lying on the couch, trying to get tired enough to return to bed, I thought about the Nutella incident.

Last night, I was emotionally exhausted from the events of the day—from maintaining an awareness of the violence erupting on six continents while keeping despair from overwhelming my ability to function. Around 9:30 p.m., I announced to my spouse, “I’m finished. I’m going to have a spoonful of Nutella and then I’m going to bed.” He followed me into the kitchen, watched me dip into the Nutella, offered soothing words while I shamelessly double-dipped, and then noted without judgment, “That was two spoonfuls of Nutella, you know.”

He always knows just the right thing to say to dissolve my anxiety in laughter. He returned to the couch to watch the baseball game and I went to bed with the expectation of sweet dreams. Instead, I awoke after three hours to ponder the variation on my recurring anxiety dream’s theme. What does it mean if you dream about losing two teeth? I wanted to wake my son to ask him.

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In the morning, I sit down at the computer to collect my thoughts and remember studying a segment of the Talmud that deals with the interpretation of dreams. I easily locate—with the help of Google—the pages that record the rabbis’ discussions about dreams, including Bar Kappara’s report that he dreamed his nose fell off and Rabbi’s reassurance that a fierce anger had been removed from him. I scroll down, searching for something specific about lost teeth, until I come upon this: “Rabbi Hanina said: One who sees a well in a dream will see peace, as it is said (Genesis 26:19), ‘Isaac’s servants, digging in the valley, found there a well of living water.’”  [Talmud Bavli, Berakhot 56b]

Maybe dreaming about lost teeth isn’t related to anxiety about my own death. I know that I am angry about the deaths of so many children this summer. I know that I am heartbroken after hearing Steven Sotloff’s mother plead for his release. Maybe my teeth can be compared to Bar Kappara’s nose: losing them is a way of freeing my mind from anxiety about death and making room for dreams about wells of water in the desert.

Reading these pages of Talmud triggers a memory of another text I learned years ago. I type into the Google search bar, “last night I had the strangest dream.” I click the link to YouTube and let Simon & Garfunkel fill my mind with daydreams of peace.

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