I admit to being a Mah Jongg Solitaire addict. Well, maybe not an addict. It hasn't taken over my life, I don't feel powerless over it, and I don't play it over and over expecting a different result.
Okay, that last one might not be quite true.
I do keep track of my high scores, and I do expect to beat them. But what I really use Mah Jongg Solitaire for is to get to sleep. See, I used to read books at night before falling asleep. A chapter or two, then turn off the light. Too many nights of refusing to turn out the light because I simply had to know what happened next, however, and the book-reading quickly got banned from the bedroom or my daytime sanity would suffer.
So now it's Mah Jongg Solitaire. A game or two played on my PDA and my eyes simply won't stay open any longer. I'm not sure if it's falling asleep out of boredom or if it's a way to quiet my brain after a day of dealing with small children, husband, house, volunteer jobs, work, writing, and those pesky characters in my head that won't leave me alone until I tell their stories. I'm leaning toward the latter.
I've come to the conclusion that we fiction writers actually do perform a great service to the world. We provide an escape. We do more than entertain; we give you a chance to spend a few hours with our characters, so that when you return to your real life, you maybe have a different perspective. This can be good, such as gaining insight into a relationship or realizing that a problem previously thought insurmountable is actually quite solvable. Or not so good, like developing irrational fears of psychotic serial killers around every corner, conspiracies among anyone in power, or dogs named Cujo.
So how do the designers of escape find their own escape? I find that when I'm reading others' books, I'm still "on." I'm enjoying the story, but I'm also analyzing pacing, noting effective description, mapping the narrative, and exploring character motivations and interactions. To truly turn that part of my brain off, to quiet the constant rush of ideas and what-ifs and fixes for that problematic scene, I have to do something completely unrelated to books and words. I have to keep my brain busy, but not in a create something out of nothing way. I have to do something routine yet not repetetive.
Enter Mah Jongg Solitaire. And now I'm off to play my 716th game.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Tefillin: the ties that bind
I laid tefillin for the first time on Sunday. It’s taken me this long to find the words to write about it.
Now, before anyone starts with the “Women can’t lay tefillin!” argument, others have addressed this issue far better than I, most notably Danya in her blog about time-bound mitzvot. I’ve talked to my rabbi about this, and he has remained steadfast that since I have assumed the obligation of time-bound mitzvot, I should begin to lay tefillin as soon as I resolved my other issues around it.
I’m not going to bore you with all my other issues around it. They were obstacles and they were overcome. My current obstacles have more to do with finding time to lay tefillin and daven in the morning while also getting my children ready to start the day, getting everyone stuffed into our only car, and taking my husband to work. The easy answer is simply to get up earlier. But I have a love-hate relationship with morning. I feel better when I get up earlier, but I dread it when I’m going to sleep the night before.
I guess I’m a morning person masquerading as a night owl.
Only two weeks ago, I was writing a scene in my upcoming novel about my protagonist, David, laying tefillin. I had to imagine what it would be like in order to describe it. How would he feel? What would he think? Would it be just a habit or would it be meaningful to him, even after years of daily practice?
Fortunately, my characters – and David in particular – have a way of taking over and writing themselves, and by the time I was finished with the scene, I had a good idea of how he felt. But how would I feel?
I was delighted to discover that in this case, life imitated art.
Tefillin always seemed a little strange to me. Like practicing some sort of ancient bondage ritual with religious overtones. But then I realized that we do this sort of physical act to represent something greater all the time. My wedding ring binds me to my husband, as his does to me. A piece of jewelry or some item of clothing might be worn to help us remember a person, time, or event.
In this way, I was able to look at laying tefillin as a way of binding myself to G-d. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. Intentionally. There was a timelessness about it. The physical feeling forced me to focus my thoughts both inward and outward at the same time, as if my entire being traveled the length of the bond between my body and my Creator.
And the tingling! I thought at first it was an interesting reaction to all of my lofty ponderings, but as it gradually turned to numbness, it became clear that I was simply losing feeling in my fingers because I’d wrapped the strap around my arm too tight!
I know some women who have laid tefillin once and were glad they did, but didn’t care to repeat the experience. I will not be counting myself among these women. The experience I had laying tefillin was intriguing and powerful. I didn’t break down and have a spiritual experience the way I did when I hung a mezuzah on my first apartment doorpost. But it was meaningful on a far deeper level.
Will I lay tefillin again? Absolutely. As soon as I can convince myself that I really am a morning person.
Now, before anyone starts with the “Women can’t lay tefillin!” argument, others have addressed this issue far better than I, most notably Danya in her blog about time-bound mitzvot. I’ve talked to my rabbi about this, and he has remained steadfast that since I have assumed the obligation of time-bound mitzvot, I should begin to lay tefillin as soon as I resolved my other issues around it.
I’m not going to bore you with all my other issues around it. They were obstacles and they were overcome. My current obstacles have more to do with finding time to lay tefillin and daven in the morning while also getting my children ready to start the day, getting everyone stuffed into our only car, and taking my husband to work. The easy answer is simply to get up earlier. But I have a love-hate relationship with morning. I feel better when I get up earlier, but I dread it when I’m going to sleep the night before.
I guess I’m a morning person masquerading as a night owl.
Only two weeks ago, I was writing a scene in my upcoming novel about my protagonist, David, laying tefillin. I had to imagine what it would be like in order to describe it. How would he feel? What would he think? Would it be just a habit or would it be meaningful to him, even after years of daily practice?
Fortunately, my characters – and David in particular – have a way of taking over and writing themselves, and by the time I was finished with the scene, I had a good idea of how he felt. But how would I feel?
I was delighted to discover that in this case, life imitated art.
Tefillin always seemed a little strange to me. Like practicing some sort of ancient bondage ritual with religious overtones. But then I realized that we do this sort of physical act to represent something greater all the time. My wedding ring binds me to my husband, as his does to me. A piece of jewelry or some item of clothing might be worn to help us remember a person, time, or event.
In this way, I was able to look at laying tefillin as a way of binding myself to G-d. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. Intentionally. There was a timelessness about it. The physical feeling forced me to focus my thoughts both inward and outward at the same time, as if my entire being traveled the length of the bond between my body and my Creator.
And the tingling! I thought at first it was an interesting reaction to all of my lofty ponderings, but as it gradually turned to numbness, it became clear that I was simply losing feeling in my fingers because I’d wrapped the strap around my arm too tight!
I know some women who have laid tefillin once and were glad they did, but didn’t care to repeat the experience. I will not be counting myself among these women. The experience I had laying tefillin was intriguing and powerful. I didn’t break down and have a spiritual experience the way I did when I hung a mezuzah on my first apartment doorpost. But it was meaningful on a far deeper level.
Will I lay tefillin again? Absolutely. As soon as I can convince myself that I really am a morning person.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Tisha b'Av: Where Sadness Meets Sport
Saint Paul, Minnesota is one of the locations hosting the 2005 JCC Maccabi Games, a kind of “Jewish Olympics” for Jewish teenagers. It’s a wonderful opportunity to engage in athletics and competitive sport, within a supportive Jewish atmosphere. It eliminates the Friday night practices and Saturday games that so many other sports opportunities require. Kashrut is observed, so those who keep kosher don’t have to worry about a post-game pepperoni pizza.
So long as the emphasis is on Jewish community and not solely on physical achievement and competition for its own sake (thanks to Marc J. for this reminder), it’s an event I would find much easier to support.
But there's one major thing.
The games this year just happen to take place on the week preceding Tisha b’Av, a day of mourning commemorating multiple tragedies. The three weeks prior to Tisha b’Av, known in Hebrew as bein ha-metzarim (between the straits) are considered the saddest time in the Jewish calendar, with increasing practices of mourning during the nine days just before Tisha b’Av.
An excerpt from my book, Destined to Choose (p. 181-2):
What does it mean, what does it say about us, that such a positive event is scheduled during a time that Jews are traditionally supposed to have more somber thoughts?
One thing it says to me is that the commemoration of Tisha b’Av in America – or at least in the Twin Cities – has been reduced to the day itself, if even that.
Are American Jews finding Tisha b’Av less and less relevant to today’s world? I could draw some interesting parallels between Tisha b’Av and 9/11. Would that make it any more relevant?
Another thing it says to me is that inclusion is subjective. Supposedly, the JCC Maccabi games are open to all Jewish teenagers, age 13-16. Over 1,000 Jewish athletes are expected to participate. But those athletes who observe not only Tisha b’Av but also bein ha-metzarim – The Three Weeks – will be prohibited by their own religious observance from participating. At a Jewish event!
I don’t want to make this a statement about Orthodox versus Conservative versus Reform. I know plenty of Conservative and Reform Jews who take Tisha b’Av seriously. I know plenty of serious Jews who otherwise take Tisha b’Av seriously but this year are fully in support – and participating in the fun – of the games.
I do want to make this a statement about how decisions get made, how events are planned, and whether or not those making the decisions and planning the events know who they’re excluding and why.
I’ve requested an official statement from the JCC hosting the games. Hopefully, I’ll get a response. Stay posted!
So long as the emphasis is on Jewish community and not solely on physical achievement and competition for its own sake (thanks to Marc J. for this reminder), it’s an event I would find much easier to support.
But there's one major thing.
The games this year just happen to take place on the week preceding Tisha b’Av, a day of mourning commemorating multiple tragedies. The three weeks prior to Tisha b’Av, known in Hebrew as bein ha-metzarim (between the straits) are considered the saddest time in the Jewish calendar, with increasing practices of mourning during the nine days just before Tisha b’Av.
An excerpt from my book, Destined to Choose (p. 181-2):
“During these three weeks preceding Tisha b’Av, we highlight its importance by refraining from activities that bring us great happiness. We don’t schedule weddings or dances, or even camping trips. We postpone haircuts and manicures. We give to charity, and try to think about others who are less fortunate more often than we think of ourselves.
“So the next time any of us are at the lake, or planning a picnic, or enjoying a warm summer’s night, we can think about the freedom we have and the blessings in our lives. What would it mean to be in exile from our homes, our families, everything that was familiar and meaningful? What would it mean to have the center of our religious world destroyed by people who would not only burn it down but desecrate it first? We can allow ourselves to feel sad, even angry, for those to whom these events were a reality.”
What does it mean, what does it say about us, that such a positive event is scheduled during a time that Jews are traditionally supposed to have more somber thoughts?
One thing it says to me is that the commemoration of Tisha b’Av in America – or at least in the Twin Cities – has been reduced to the day itself, if even that.
Are American Jews finding Tisha b’Av less and less relevant to today’s world? I could draw some interesting parallels between Tisha b’Av and 9/11. Would that make it any more relevant?
Another thing it says to me is that inclusion is subjective. Supposedly, the JCC Maccabi games are open to all Jewish teenagers, age 13-16. Over 1,000 Jewish athletes are expected to participate. But those athletes who observe not only Tisha b’Av but also bein ha-metzarim – The Three Weeks – will be prohibited by their own religious observance from participating. At a Jewish event!
I don’t want to make this a statement about Orthodox versus Conservative versus Reform. I know plenty of Conservative and Reform Jews who take Tisha b’Av seriously. I know plenty of serious Jews who otherwise take Tisha b’Av seriously but this year are fully in support – and participating in the fun – of the games.
I do want to make this a statement about how decisions get made, how events are planned, and whether or not those making the decisions and planning the events know who they’re excluding and why.
I’ve requested an official statement from the JCC hosting the games. Hopefully, I’ll get a response. Stay posted!
Monday, August 01, 2005
How do you learn?
Apparently, I learn by the sink-or-swim method.
I was talking with two other women in shul last Shabbat about the fact that I’d be layning (chanting) Torah for the first time this coming October. The prospect left me excited but very nervous. I’ve chanted Haftarah before, but you get the trope notes and vowels and everything with Haftara. With Torah, there are no vowels, no notes, and all the text is hand-scribed in fancy calligraphy. It seemed daunting at first.
One woman suggested that I start small. Pick a very short reading, read on a Monday or Thursday during morning minyan when there’s only a couple dozen friendly faces. Wait until I’m more comfortable before tackling a longer reading in front of some 300 people. We joked about this being the test-the-waters approach to learning. Dip your toe in the pool, then immerse a foot, and gradually get in.
I said that my history of taking on tasks has typically been to jump in with everything I’ve got. If I jump in the deep end, I will learn to swim! My life will depend on it! Of course, sometimes I stand at the edge, telling myself, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...” And sometimes I need that helpful hand to push me in.
The other woman in our conversation offered another alternative: she said she doesn’t even stand at the edge, thinking about it. She just runs full speed at the deep end, jumps in, and as her body sinks to the bottom, wonders, “What have I done?!"
I was talking with two other women in shul last Shabbat about the fact that I’d be layning (chanting) Torah for the first time this coming October. The prospect left me excited but very nervous. I’ve chanted Haftarah before, but you get the trope notes and vowels and everything with Haftara. With Torah, there are no vowels, no notes, and all the text is hand-scribed in fancy calligraphy. It seemed daunting at first.
One woman suggested that I start small. Pick a very short reading, read on a Monday or Thursday during morning minyan when there’s only a couple dozen friendly faces. Wait until I’m more comfortable before tackling a longer reading in front of some 300 people. We joked about this being the test-the-waters approach to learning. Dip your toe in the pool, then immerse a foot, and gradually get in.
I said that my history of taking on tasks has typically been to jump in with everything I’ve got. If I jump in the deep end, I will learn to swim! My life will depend on it! Of course, sometimes I stand at the edge, telling myself, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...” And sometimes I need that helpful hand to push me in.
The other woman in our conversation offered another alternative: she said she doesn’t even stand at the edge, thinking about it. She just runs full speed at the deep end, jumps in, and as her body sinks to the bottom, wonders, “What have I done?!"
Monday, July 25, 2005
The Three Children: A Multi-Covenantal Story
Copyright © 1997 by Sheyna Galyan
This is a story about a Mother with many Children. The Mother, like all mothers that came after, had difficulty getting Her Children to behave. Sometimes they would disobey and get hurt; other times they would hurt each other. Distraught by the pain, which they so unnecessarily endured, the Mother decided to make a contract with Her Children.
Like all mothers that came after, She began by explaining, "I love you, and I don't want to see you get hurt; besides, we are running out of Band-Aids. You are old enough now to take on some responsibility around the House, so..." and She outlined the contract. The Mother would protect them against harm, make sure that their needs were met, and provide a special dessert after supper every Friday. In return, the Children would respect one another, treat new kids on the block with kindness, keep themselves clean, and wash their hands before supper without being reminded.
All the Children protested and wanted to know why things must change. But the Mother knew the Children were not yet old enough to understand why, and so, like all mothers that came after, explained with "Because I'm your Mother."
A few of the oldest Children, led by Her First-born, accepted the terms of the contract. They had experienced enough of the Mother's punishments and stern lectures that they knew when to stop arguing and do as they were told. Not that this was easy for these Children, for to this day one can hear the occasional "But Mo-om!" echoing throughout the House.
The younger Children, however, had a harder time with this contract, and the Mother realized that She had not made this contract accessible to all Her Children. After thinking about it for a while, the Mother came up with another idea. And so She gathered her younger Children around Her and said, "I love you and I don't want to see you get hurt. I know that the contract I made with my oldest Children doesn't allow for some of your needs and the differences in how you learn. So I am going to create a second contract just for you and ask one of my oldest Children to teach you by example."
The Mother then went to Her oldest Children, where a handful of them were in the middle of a game of Monopoly. A few of those Children were arguing over the payment of a Community Chest card when another knocked the board over and said "Come on, you guys, this isn't about money; we're supposed to be having fun and playing by the rules. Mom wouldn't like it if she saw us fighting." The rest of the oldest Children were reading books to each other in a corner. They looked up briefly at the interchange and cautioned the outspoken one, "Shhh! You'll get us in trouble."
The Mother watched all this with a mixture of concern and amusement. Then She pretended to have just arrived and said, "I need a volunteer to teach the younger Children how to behave and what I expect from them."
The Oldest Children looked at each other and back at the Mother. "Can't we teach them as a group?" some asked. But the Mother knew the younger Children would learn best from an individual, and explained that. "Well, how about him?" the Children who were reading books in the corner said, indicating the outspoken one at the Monopoly game. "He likes talking to us about the rules."
The Mother looked at the outspoken one, who said, "Okay, I'll do it." And so, the Mother explained that there would be a second contract and She would use the input of this one Child to write new terms specific to the needs of the younger Children. She also cautioned him to be careful, because his new status could bring about both great praise and great pain from those around him. The outspoken one nodded and said, "Whatever it takes."
The younger Children learned well from him, and the contract was adapted to their specific needs. But the youngest Children still had a hard time, and the Mother realized that their needs had not been met by either contract. And so She thought for a while and came up with another idea. She gathered her youngest Children around Her and said, "I love you and I don't want to see you get hurt. I know that the other two contracts I made don't allow for all of your needs, and while you have learned some from the outspoken one who taught some of my other Children, I think you need a contract just for you. I will find someone else to teach you, to whom you can relate better."
The Mother then went to one of several of her oldest Children who had never accepted the first contract. They were busy playing around the sand box, building elaborate castles and then enacting a variation of Capture the Flag. She called the one Child aside, and said, "I want you to teach my youngest Children how to behave and what I expect from them. I have watched you playing with your Brothers and Sisters, writing your stories, dreaming your dreams. I believe my youngest Children will relate best to you. I will teach you anything you don't already know, particular to my youngest Children's needs."
And so, the one Child taught the youngest Children, and they learned well from him.
Are there Children who accepted none of the three contracts? Of course. Some insist on being rebellious, some have only recently been born and are too young to be accepting such responsibility, and many others – like the Children who were often seen camping and taking nature walks – have made other contracts. But that is for another story, another day.
***
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Hi all,
I hope you'll join me in an exploration of writing and Judaism, and how each affects the larger communities in which we live. It is my plan to post here some of my essays, short stories, and other musings that I've chosen not to publish in book form.
For those who want more, or who do want a book, you can preview or buy my debut novel, Destined to Choose, at http://www.yaldahpublishing.com.
Don't worry folks - the second book is on its way, too. Estimated public release date is late summer/early fall 2006.
b'shalom,
Sheyna Galyan
I hope you'll join me in an exploration of writing and Judaism, and how each affects the larger communities in which we live. It is my plan to post here some of my essays, short stories, and other musings that I've chosen not to publish in book form.
For those who want more, or who do want a book, you can preview or buy my debut novel, Destined to Choose, at http://www.yaldahpublishing.com.
Don't worry folks - the second book is on its way, too. Estimated public release date is late summer/early fall 2006.
b'shalom,
Sheyna Galyan
Monday, February 23, 2004
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