Do you ever question your beliefs about Your religion? Do you question God’s word, the value of the commandments, the teachings of the forefathers, the meaning of the rituals and prayers?

They say the Jewish people are God wrestlers. We don’t always accept God’s word or anything to do with our religion without questions, without wanting to understand why, without pondering the value, the validity, the truth of what we are told or asked to do.

Yet, Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Hindu, or some other religion, sometimes we get stuck in fear—fear that if we don’t listen to God’s word, believe every single word we hear and do as those words command—something bad might happen. We might be struck down by lightning, fall from grace, not live another year, not receive God’s goodness. Then we stop wrestling with God.

It takes a lot to move out of that fear and to begin questioning again, wrestling again.

I was pleased this week to find a current example of someone who moved through that fear and began God wrestling—and did so in the public eye. I read in a JTA article that Chassidic reggae musician and singer Matisyahu publicly shaved off his beard and peyes and uploaded a picture of himself clean shaven on Twitter on December 13. Along with it, he posted this message:

“This morning I posted a photo of myself on Twitter.

“No more Chassidic reggae superstar.

“Sorry folks, all you get is me…no alias. When I started becoming religious 10 years ago it was a very natural and organic process. It was my choice. My journey to discover my roots and explore Jewish spirituality—not through books but through real life. At a certain point I felt the need to submit to a higher level of religiosity…to move away from my intuition and to accept an ultimate truth. I felt that in order to become a good person I needed rules—lots of them—or else I would somehow fall apart. I am reclaiming myself. Trusting my goodness and my divine mission.”

The next day, December 14, the JTA ran another story. In it he explained this decision in more detail during an interview WNYC’s Soundcheck. He began growing his beard when he became religious. The decision not to shave was based on a teaching from Kabbalah that the beard is a manifestation of the 13 divine attributes of mercy, he explained. (Learn about the 13 Attributes here.) He feared that if he were to shave the beard, he would no longer be privy to those blessings of mercy.

Recently, however, he asked himself, “How can [God’s mercy] possibly be connected to me shaving or not? And I began, over the last few weeks, I went through a pretty major transformation, probably bigger than any in my life, due to several things, but a lot of revelations and a lot of realizations started coming clear to me, and I realized just like these fears that I have, the idea that God’s mercy is connected to whether I shave or not is ludicrous. And I just need to trust myself, and that if I’m deserving of God’s mercy, I’ll get it regardless.”

That’s a big jump…to trust your own goodness and to trust God to be merciful whether you follow His commandments or not. Orthodox, or observant, Jews, live within the confines of God’s laws, God’s mitzvot. They offer structure. They offer a way of life. They offer a means by which to be a good Jew, a mensch.

Yet, here we see someone coming out of that world and saying, “I think I can be a mensch, I think I can be a good person, a spiritual and religious person deserving of God’s grace and mercy without observing every single mitzvah—every commandment.”

And haven’t those of us who are not that religious wondered what would happen—in the reverse—if I suddenly became more observant? Would God be more gracious, more merciful? Would my prayers be answered?

But maybe it’s simply about being a good person, about being deserving—beard or no beard.

What about you? Do you wrestle with God? Do you question your beliefs? And do you occasionally shave  (or have you ever shaved) your beard—metaphorical or real—to see what might happen?

I try not to become angry but sometimes I do. I used to feel angry quite often. Most of the time, that isn’t the case anymore.

I know some people close to me who are angry a lot. I don’t like to be around them much when they are. I’m sure they mirror my own tendency towards feeling angry. Usually the people who reflect things to us about ourselves cause us the most discomfort.

This weekend my daughter did something and I ended up feeling angry. (Notice I didn’t say she made me angry. I chose to feel angry because of her actions. We choose our emotions. I definitely chose to feel angry.) And I’ve felt angry for almost 24 hours.

When I think about it, actually a few other things preceded this burst of anger. I was actually angry about something else before but not enough to really feel the emotions strongly. My daughter’s actions then just brought these feelings to a head. I suppose you could say I was slow to anger. This makes me think about the Jewish teaching about anger.

In Exodus 30:11-34:35( Torah portion Ki Tisa), we are told that God is “slow to anger.”  And the sages said, “Those who are angry—it is the same as if they worshipped idols.” (Babylonian Talmud, Pesahim 66b) However, a story about one particular sage, Hillel, possibly teaches us more about the Jewish take on anger than anything else.

One man bet another that he could provoke Hillel to lose his temper. On Friday, as Hillel was inside washing his hair in preparation for the Sabbath, the man came to his home and called out to him, indicating he wanted to ask a question. Hillel went outside to see who was calling him. The man asked him a silly question: “Why do the Babylonians have round heads?”

Hillel replied, “You have asked a great question. Because they lack skillful midwives.”

He then went back to washing his hair, but the man again interrupted him to ask another silly question, which Hillel came out to answer. Then, a third time, the man waited just long enough for Hillel to get back in the bath before again calling out that he had another question. Each time, Hillel calmly and patiently dried off, got dressed, and came out to answer the silly question, until he finally sat down and encouraged the man to ask whatever he wanted.

At that point the man angrily told Hillel, “Your patience has caused me to lose a bet of 400 zuz.”

Hillel replied, “Be careful of your moods. Hillel is worth it that you should lose 400 zuz, and yet another 400 zuz through him, yet Hillel shall not lose his temper.” (Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 31a)

In other words, Hillel seems to be saying, “better to lose 400 zuz, or even twice that much money, than that he—or the other man—should become angry.”

So, Judaism teaches that we should develop a patient disposition so we don’t get irritated and angry. Sometimes that’s hard…especially as parents. However, we typically deal with situations more effectively when we don’t let our temper get the best of us.

Plus, the anger of emotion gives off tons of negative energy. That doesn’t help us get our message heard by anyone else—like my daughter—nor does it help us create what we want. Typically, we feel angry when we don’t like the circumstances in our lives. Anger just creates more of those circumstances, not less. That’s why it behooves us to choose other more positive emotions or, like Hillel, to cultivate patients or equanimity.

That’s a tough order, I know. It’s a worthy one to try and fill, though.

Yesterday many Jews observed Holocaust Memorial Day. Yom Hashoah Ve-Hagevurah, literally the “Day of (remembrance of) the Holocaust and the Heroism,” is celebrated on the 27th day in the month of Nisan, a week after  the seventh day of Passover, and a week before Yom Hazikaron (Memorial Day for Israel’s fallen soldiers). It marks the anniversary of the Warsaw Ghetto uprising as well.

For me, this day feels quite personal. My family is quite small because of the Holocaust. My mother, her sister and her parents escaped Czechoslovakia and went to Israel. One or two other relatives went to Peru. That’s it. (My father was already in Israel with his mother.) Everyone else was killed by the Nazis.

My mother’s grandmother gave her a ring just before the train left Prague for Trieste, Italy. She handed it to her through the window. My mother never saw her again. I now wear that ring.

My mother took me to the Holocaust Memorial in Jerusalem when it still had a room with six million black tiles and an eternal flame for every concentration camp. She told me who in her family died in each of the camps. I’m still moved to tears when I think about that day.

Since the Holocaust, my mother no longer believes in God. She, like many Jews, suffers from what I call the real Shoah. Shoah means catastrophe. Yes, it’s a catastrophe that so many people died during the Holocaust, but to me the greater catastrophe lies in the fact that so many Jews lost faith in God.

Some say many Jews had already lost faith in God. So, the fact that Jews were being killed in gas chambers and burned or shot and buried in mass graves simply confirmed what they already believed: God did not exist. If he did, he wouldn’t have let such a thing happen to his Chosen People.

Only the faithful…those observant Jews who retained a strong belief in God…remained faithful throughout and after the Holocaust. Their belief in God and their faith was sorely tested, but it kept them going. It gave them hope. It gave life meaning despite the meaningless death they saw around them.

Their faith allowed them to believe that God’s hand must be in their lives in some way, shape or form. They might not see it or understand the events around them, but they had faith that one day they might understand.

Today, like the less observant Jews during the and after the Holocaust, many people suffer from a shoah of faith. We saw this after 9/11, for example. Most American’s could not grasp why God would let this terrorist act happen.

However, everyday people suffer crisis of faith. I have seen it in those closest to me. Falling into debt, death of loved ones, loss of jobs, feeling burned out make them feel hopeless. Then they get angry at God. They think God is doing this “to them.”

After they are done feeling like the victim, they decide God doesn’t exist. “If there is a God,” they say, “why would he allow such things to happen. Why doesn’t he hear my prayers? Why doesn’t he see the good things I do and reward me?”

Like the Jews during the Holocaust, however, they don’t really believe any longer in Divine retribution.

They also can’t see beyond the moment. They don’t believe anything happens for a reason…at least not the terrible things happening to them. “What reason could there be for those things to happen?” they ask.

They can’t see that the loss of the job they hated allows them to find a new one they enjoy. They can’t see that their spending habits or choices about where to live allowed them to get into debt; they are not being victimized. They can’t see that their unresolved issues with their dead loved ones cause them to feel depressed.

They lose faith. And then they cycle downward. Things get worse. Their life, their work, has no meaning. They experience a shoah of faith.

As Rabbi Wayne Dosick says, “The way to faith is through faith. The way to faith is though doing faith.” We must, “Do faith,” he says.

How do we do faith? Just as the Jews swore, “Never Forget,” we never forget…God. We place God before us always. Shiviti Adonai l’negde tamid (I place God before me always). We pray ceaselessly, as Jesus taught. We look for the signs of God’s hand in our lives…both in the good and in what we judge as bad.

And we try to look backward with 20-20 vision. As a Jew, I can look back and say that possibly without the Holocaust my people might never have mustered the energy to create the state of Israel. They might never have changed their mentality…their nature…so that they would say, “Never again…never again will we let such a thing happen.”

Someone else might say, “If I hadn’t have lost that job, I wouldn’t have gotten out of the terrible situation I hated and changed careers….or found a new job…or moved.”

We must learn to do faith, to have faith, to see God’s hand in our lives, indeed, to see and feel God every day…no matter what happens in our lives and in the world. Without that, indeed, we are alone in a meaningless world.

And that is a shoah….a catastrophe.

It’s so easy to let the changes of modern day life eat away at tradition. Change happens, it seems, whether we like it or not. More often than not, however, we allow it to happen.

I had reason last night to consider this. My family went to see Fiddler on the Roof with Harvey Fierstein. I’ve seen the musical twice before, but this time I was struck by the symbolism the director gave to the fiddler. He became the embodiment of tradition.

Each time Tevye had to decide if he should break from tradition, he faced the fiddler. He would show up playing his instrument, and Tevye would either shoo him away or not. If he sent him away, his decision represented a break from tradition. When he refuses to accept his daughter’s decision to marry out of her faith, he allows the fiddler to stay. Also, at the end of the musical as the family leaves for America–for a new life in a new land, he motions for the fiddler to come along. I’d never realized before that this symbolized his desire to bring the old traditions with him into his new life and into the future.

As I look at my life, I see how many traditions I’ve left behind. While I didn’t grow up with many Jewish traditions, I took quite a few on as an adult. Yet, as my children got older and busier and as my other family members became less interested in religion, like Tevye, I allowed myself to be swayed away from tradition. Unlike Tevye, though, I have not put my foot down and said, “Enough. That far I won’t go. That much I won’t accept.” At some point I allowed the fiddler not only to leave my rooftop but my daily life as well.

I’ve written some articles in my Jewish Issues Examiner column criticizing those who have been unaccepting of the Women of the Wall in Israel, an organization of women who choose to wear tallitot and read Torah at the Western Wall on Rosh Chodesh. While I still wholeheartedly support this group of women and their freedom to worship at theKotel, I can understand to some extend the desire of the Orthodox Jews who harrass them to uphold tradition. They must fear that if they allow the Women of the Wall to worship at the Kotel–if they allow the fiddler to be sent away, the foundation of their lives and their religion might begin to disappear. They must fear that the traditions upon which so much of Judaism and Jewish life are based will start to crumble. And, of course, they need only look around to see that the rest of the Jewish world lives a life distant from the traditional life they lead. Thus, they have reason to believe that letting one tradition go will lead to all traditions disappearing. From their perspective, before long, this will cause the fiddler to fade into the distance.

I can understand. My life is much, much less Jewish without the small traditions I had, the ones I myself choose to uphold in my life since I did not come from any type of observantly Jewish home…and I didn’t uphold anywhere near the number of traditions of Orthodox Jews or those in the fictional Anatevka. I strain t hear the fiddler.

As I walk into the future, I’m not going to a new land or a new way of life. However, like Tevye I will invite the fiddler to come along.  Not only that, I think I’ll draw him close so he walks by my side and I can hear his music loud and clear.

Tonight begins the festival of Sukkot. This year, I find myself thinking very different thoughts about his holiday. Normally, I am focused on shaking the lulav and holding the etrog while praying with my whole body in all directions with a pure soul, cleansed during the High Holy Days…well, that is still there for me this year. I’m also focused on things like the impermanence of life and appreciation for nature and its bounty. Sometimes I’m focused on this being “the season of our joy,” although this year the world seems like a tough place to feel joy. So, instead I am thinking about water and being in the flow.

I just finished reading an email from Rabbi Arthur Waskow of The Shalom Center and Rabbi David Seidenberg, Eco-Judaism Fellow of the Shalom Center and creator of www.neohasid.org. In this email, Rabbi Seidenberg talks about Sukkot and the lulav, which is made up of a palm frond and a myrtle and a willow branch, in relationship to water:

“Sukkot is about water. Everyday in ancient Israel the priests poured water on the altar and prayers from the blessings of water were made. The four species of the lulav are all about water too. The lulav itself, the date palm, was the most water-loving plant of the desert; the myrtle (hadas) needs the most water of the mountain plants; the etrog fruit among agricultural trees requires the most rains to grow; and of course the “willow of the brooks” (arvei nachal) are synonymous with abundant water, growing often with their roots right in the streams.

 

“Each of these species represents one of the primary habitats of the land of Israel: the desert, the mountain, the lowland (sh’feilah in Hebrew), and the river or riparian habitats. Together they make a bioregional map of the land of Israel, and they hold in greatest abundance the rains of the year that has passed. That’s why the tips of each species, the pitom of the etrog, the unsplit central frond of the lulav, the end leaves of the myrtle and willow, cannot be dried out: it would be like praying for good health while eating junk food.

 

“Bringing these four together, we wave them in all directions around us, up and down, praying that the coming year will again bring enough water for each of these species to grow and thrive, and with them all the species of each habitat. All the other explanations you may have heard for the four lulav species are beautiful midrashim, but this is the ground-level reason for it all. We are praying, fundamentally, for the climate, for the stability and sufficiency of the rain and sun, on which every being living upon the land depends.” 

Just as every living being needs water, just as the four species we hold on Sukkot require and represent water, humans desire to be in the flow…the Divine flow. We want to feel as if we are being carried easily and effortless along through life like the water in a stream filled to the brim and moving in a direction that seems Divinely guided. The water moves over and around obstacles without hesitation, continuing on its path seamlessly. It seems to have direction, purpose, and to be unable to stop. Even a fallen log rarely stops it, rather it finds its way around or over, sometimes pooling momentarily before going on its way.

We all want to be in the flow. Much of our lives, however, we feel caught in a struggle to move forward. We fight ourselves and others and outside situations, sometimes not wanting to get going, sometimes wanting to get going but feeling blocked. We feel as if we live in a drought. The river bed is is dry; no water passes along it floor to help us along. No flow exists for us to access. We can’t find water; we have no connection to that life-giving Source.

We all need a rainy season from time to time – all the time – to help our lives move along, to get the river flowing again. Then we can put our boats it in the water and go with the flow. We can simply float along or ride the rapids, always, however, propelled by the energy beneath us, around us, guided by the Source.

Divine energy…it’s a river constantly flowing. Maybe Sukkot provides a reminder that even when everything around us seems parched and each step we take feels difficult and somehow blocked, underneath it all – in the invisible world that permeates everything, that drenches all that is this physical world in which we live and that we are – the river still flows swiftly and fills its banks to the brim. And as we pray with our whole body and soul, we can access that flow, we can place ourselves in the river once again.

At least that’s what I’m thinking – and praying for - this Sukkot.

Jews say the Shema and V’ahavta twice a day. The Shema, which actually includes theV’ahavta, represents the cornerstone of Jewish belief.  In the Jewish renewal world, and elsewhere, I’ve seen an interest in providing new translations for this prayer. The Reform Movement recently published a new prayer book, which provides a very nice translation of the V’ahvta, which I like very much. During Rosh Hashanah services at my renewal community, Chadeish Yameinu, in Santa Cruz, however, I was struck by the translation by Rabbi Zalman Schacter-Shalomi included in our prayer book, and I’d like to share it here.

Hear O Yisrael, Yah who is, is our God, Yah who is, is One.

Through time and space Your glory shines Majestic one.

Love Yah, who is your God,

in what your heart is in, in what you aspire to,

in what you have made your own.

May these values which I connect with your life

be implanted in your feelings.

 

May they become the norm for your children,

addressing them in the privacy of your home,

on the errands you run.

May they help you relax, and activate you to be productive.

Display them visibly on your arm.

Let them focus your attention.

See them at all transitions, at home and in your environment.

 

— Reb Zalman Schacter-Shalomi

Here’s what strikes me about his translation: It’s so simply and easy to understand and apply. Let’s skip past the first two lines, which don’t differ that much from traditional translations. Let’s look at the V’ahvta. Here we are told to love God in whatever we are doing, in the things we pare passionate about, and in our goals and aspirations, and in the things we claim for ourselves. In other words, we are told to love God in ever aspect of our life and daily living. And we are to feel these values…this love of God.

Of course, anyone who has been reading this blog for any length of time knows I believe that when we feel something, we help create it. So if we feel these values, we create them, if we feel love of God, we create love of God. If we feel God and love of God in all we do, the love of God surely will flow through all our actions and experiences. We will connect with God minute by minute all day long.

I love that Reb Zalman’s words instruct us to have these values, and this love of God, helps us both to relax and to be productive. They become part of what allows us to just be and what calls us to action.  And they are displayed visibly — causing us to look outward — as well as used to focus our attention — causing us to look inward. Lastly, they remain with us, or we keep them with us, at all transistions, no matter what happens to us, no matter where we are. Good or bad, we remember the values we have been taught and we approach what life sends our way with a feeling of connection to God and being loved and loving God. And we respond to life with that love and with the sense of right and wrong we have been taught.

I find this teaching profound and beautiful. I spent a lot of time thinking about this as the congregation moved on to other prayers. I brought the prayer book home with me, so I could write this translation down and use it each morning and evening. I find it resonates with me much more than the traditional translation.

As for the first line of the Shema, a while back I wrote my own translation in response to a list serve discussion about differences of opinion. I woke up one morning with the words floating in my head. Here they are:

Listen and hear, all of you who struggle to understand how we are all connected to the same God: The spark of God within you (and in others) and the flame of God that is all around you and in everything, it all comes from and returns to the same fire of God — the original Source, one and the same.

Ah…the shofar on Rosh Hashanah. It’s a lovely sound when well blown. It’s a call to action, a call to prayer, a call to attention, a call to go inward, a call to return – to God, to religious observance, to community, to self. And it’s a mitzvah, a commandment, to hear it blown on the the Jewish New Year.

And when that shofar is blown by your own son…well, what can I say? This is the third year in a row that my son has been the ba’al tekiah, or person who blows the shofar, or ram’s horn, for our Jewish renewal community. Two years ago and this year again he actually blew the shofar alone for the shofar service. (Last year it was done as a call and response.) Last night he also blew the shofar during the rabbi’s sermon to illustrate a story and a few points. Well, a mother couldn’t be more proud. I couldn’t be happier for him, either, since this is a role he has always wanted to play within the Jewish community.

And then when services were over, my heart began to ache for him. He suffered the same fate of so many Jewish kids: He discovered that because he had been in Rosh Hashanah services rather than somewhere else, he had suffered some negative consequences. He’d missed out on something that the other kids – the non-Jewish kids – had not had to miss out on. Specifically, because he wasn’t at dance class on Monday night, he wasn’t selected to dance in specific choreography. Not being able to audition possibly caused this to happen. And he was very upset.

His great honor and pleasure at being the ba’al tekiah was overshadowed by his great loss and disappointment. And his huge Jewish soul was put in jeopardy as his mind and heart lashed out calling the holiday stupid…something I know he doesn’t really believe.

Oh, how I remember feeling that way as a child. Oh, how I hated missing school and other activities because of the High Holy Days – and I never had as strong a Jewish soul or identity then as does he at the young age of 14. But I never missed out on anything as important.

This is not how we wanted to start the New Year. Joy turned to sadness and anger. And now, to use the energy of the next ten days, we must find a way to turn this into something positive.

But tonight, my heart aches for him. And the little girl within me, my Inner Child, she cries with him. She understands completely.

Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, is almost upon us. Depending upon where you live, it might be less than 24 hours before you find yourself sitting in a synagogue somewhere thinking about the last year, the new year, what you need to repent for, who you need to go to and ask for forgiveness, and what you need to do to improve your behavior, actions, performance over the next 12 months. Very soon you’ll be wondering if you will be forgiven if you repent, if your prayers will be answered.

Yesterday I attended a very interesting seminar with Greg Braden and Bruce Lipton, called “Awakening the Power of Consciousness,” which I feel was pertinent to creating change in the coming year and praying effectively during the High Holy Days.  Actually, I gained a ton of information – some of which I knew to and some of which was new to me that I hope to share in the next few blogs I write. I’ve been aware of Gregg’s work for some time now and have read a few of his books and listened to some of his tapes. I’ve been known to use a story of his related to affected prayer in a meditation and when teaching about how to pray. He knows a lot, has researched immensely and often draws on Judaism in his teachings.

Anyway, today, I just want to talk about prayer. I always teach that we have to fill our empty prayers with meaning and spirit, thereby making them meaning-full and spirit-full. (See my 7 Steps.) I also always stress that when we are trying to manifest our desires into physical form we have to combine our focused thought of what we want with a strong feeling of that desire already being manifest. (Well I stress some other steps, too, but we’ll stick with these two for the purposes of this blog.) Let’s combine these two concepts.

According to Braden, “Thought without the power of emotion is just a wish. Thought with feeling is a powerful prayer.” So, when we combine the same concept that we use with manifestation, or conscious creation, to prayer, we get a prayer packed with a lot of impact. When we pray not just with our thoughts but with our feelings as well, we send out a strong message to God. And if that feeling is one that comes out of a sense of our prayer already being answered, our prayer becomes stronger yet.

Braden asked Tibetan monks what all the incense and chants and other things they “do” had to do with their actual prayers, and they replied that all those things they “did” were just preparation. They were simply tools to help them get to a feeling place. The feeling itself represented the prayer they offered to their Creator.

The prayer wasn’t the words. It wasn’t the actions. It was the feeling.

The story I often relate is one Braden tells of a Native American Indian who doesn’t “pray for rain” but instead “prays rain” by remembering things related to rain. He then feels those things – being barefoot in the mud, running through a field of crops, the smell of rain on Adobe buildings.

Again, his prayer was the feeling.

And what is the feeling of prayer? Some might say reverence. Some might say a desire to cleave to God. Others says gratitude – gratitude for the prayer already answered. 

It isn’t in the place of lack and need, of asking for what we want and feeling that we don’t have it.

In fact, studies show that appreciation actually attunes our body.  It creates a state of “coherence.” States of high coherence can actually create real physical healing and peace in geographic areas. (For more information on how the heart and our emotions affect us and the world around us – there’s way too much for me to discuss here, check out The Institute of HeartMath.)

When we talk about prayers and answered prayers we have to ask ourselves about our level of belief – belief in God, belief that our prayers will, indeed, be answered. Do you believe?  Braden defines belief as “the certainty of what we think is true in our minds coupled with what we feel is true in our hearts.” So, we are back to our hearts. Belief includes a strong feeling, he says, a feeling we emit from our hearts that send out an energy that can be measured.

There seems to be evidence that in situations where healing occurs in a nontraditional manner – using the mind and the heart to heal – that while people can heal themselves, its easier to create a healing when they are surrounded by people who believe as they do. The joining of similar beliefs seems to empower the person who wants to be healed to healing. The other people trying to help with the healing definitely do something as well. (I saw pictures of what happens in their brains when they focus on healing – and I saw the resultant healing.) However, while Braden mentioned a quote from Jesus – “Wherever two or more are gathered together in my name, there I am in the midst of them,” (Matt. 18:20) I was struck by the fact that Jews have long believed it was most powerful to pray in a minyan. It was the firm belief of the Jewish sages that wherever ten are assembled, either for worship or for the study of the Law, the Divine Femine Presence, or Shechinah, joins them. Jesus, of course, was a Jew with a new way of thinking.

It seems to me that, in general, we are being told that something imporant happens when we pray in groups. When we are surrounded by people with similar beliefs, the feeling that we emit from our hearts extends outward.

This brings me back to Rosh Hashanah. While HeartMath says the energy of our hearts extends at least 8 feet, some say it extends miles. Imagine a synagogue full of people praying – all with similar beliefs, all with prayers filled with gratitude.

And the Jewish mystics, or Kabbalists, say “as above, so below.” And we can reverse this: as below, so above. When we pray with a strong feeling, and when we do this in a group, imagine the affect we have on the heavens. Might it not be possible then to actually have our prayers answered?

I’m going to try and keep this in mind this New Year. As I sit through services this Rosh Hashanah, I will focus my thoughts and my feelings on prayers of gratitude that radiate out through my heart. I’ll see them extending beyond the walls of the synagagogue out into the cosmos. And I’ll seem them being answered by a similar energy that travels back to me, like ripples in a pond. When I place my rock (prayer) into the water, the ripples go out to God, and when they reach God, an identical rock gets placed in the water and the ripples come back to me. A prayer sent, a prayer answered.

L’shanah tovah tikatevu. May you be inscribed for a good year.

It’s Shabbat, the Jewish Sabbath.  Technically, religiously, halachic-ly (by Jewish law), I shouldn’t be writing, since writing constitutes work, and work is forbidden on the Sabbath. But I’m not that observant. I’m a spiritually observant Jew…but these days, despite the fact that I write about Shabbat and how to make it meaningful and spiritual, I’m having a bit of trouble even observing this weekly holiday – the most important Jewish holiday – at all.

You see, I have two teenagers. And those teenagers have activities – dance and synchronized swimming. These activities require them to go to practices and rehearsals often on Friday nights. And now that they are in high school, often their social life takes precedence over their spiritual or religious life. And since I don’t want them to hate Judaism or being Jewish, I don’t force them to come home for Shabbat dinner or to go to services on Friday night. (Ah well…I can’t remember when we made it to a Friday night service, but we do have Shabbat dinner at home as often as possible.) And as for Saturday morning services, these are nonexistent, a thing of the past. Shabbat has become my son going to dance, my daughter going to swimming. They go at different time and to different places requiring two parents to drive.

Even when my husband can drive them and I am able to go to services by myself, I find myself not wanting to go these days. It feels too lonely. I used to go with my whole family every Friday night…well, almost every Friday night (3 out of 4). And we went on many a Saturday as well. And then Friday night Shabbat dinner was a bigger deal as well, with more time and energy spent on filling what I saw as empty rituals with meaning and spirit. But These days if I go, I go alone. And that feels terribly sad and lonely.

My husband also used to like to go with me – kids liked it, too, for the most part, but he’s taken a detour off the spiritual path in general, and that includes Judaism. That makes me even sadder, since he was my partner on that path. So, going to services alone feels just a bit lonelier still these days.

And tonight I’m home alone. It’s Shabbat. We had to be out driving kids. And now I’m waiting for everyone to get home. I made it home first. And it’s lonely. Shabbat shouldn’t be spent alone.

So, I’m writing on Shabbat, so that anyone else that is out there feeling lonely on Shabbat might feel less alone, might know that there are other people out there just like you (and me) wishing they were not alone on Shabbat. Wishing they could go to services with someone. Wishing their family members weren’t so busy or were more interested so they could share a meaningful and spiritual Shabbat candle lighting and dinner with them or go to services together or simply…well…not be alone on the Sabbath.

And I’m writing on the Sabbath to say, it’s okay if your life takes a turn and suddenly you can’t make it to Shabbat services or you can’t light candles or when you do you just don’t have the time or energy to fill that ritual with meaning or spirit. As long as you are aware of your desire to have things be different, that’s what really matters. If your intention is to get back to that place where you have the time and take the time and really get something out of Shabbat and its rituals and prayers, eventually you will. But sometime we just aren’t in that place. And it’s okay.

That said, it makes me sad to not be in that place now. I love Shabbat. I love lighting candles in a meaning-full and spirit-full way. I love taking time to “do Shabbat.” I love being at services with my family and my spiritual community.

But beating myself up over not being able to do that won’t help, and it won’t bring me Shabbat shalom – Sabbath peace. That comes from connection to God, and that come from loving myself as much as I love God and God loves me. Judging myself will never give me Shabbat shalom.

So, judge me, if you will, for writing on Shabbat. I wish you – and myself – only Shabbat shalom.

Have you ever wondered why certain things just keep coming back into your life, almost like ghosts haunting you? I think they are the spirits of your unfinished business showing up in new and varied forms to make you face them once again and finally complete what you started.

Complete. That term got used a lot in the days when I was part of a women’s spiritual support group that met every week. It also was thrown around often when I attended all those human potential and personal growth workshops and seminars I used to go to when I was younger and had more time and money. (I was telling someone the other day that all my disposable income and time go to my children now.) To complete means to finish your unfinished business, usually with someone in your life, although sometimes it’s with a situation or a place as well.

Today I had to decide if I would face some unfinished business with my agent. I was given the opportunity to work on a proposal with a client who shares this agent with me. Well, we have the same agent…or, I sometimes have this agent, but I’m currently looking for a different agent for a particular project, because he and I couldn’t see eye to eye on my proposal. Despite the fact that he wasn’t particularly happy with my proposal (It’s a damn good proposal; he’s a perfectionist — and I’m putting it nicely.), he sent me a client. He told this writer that I was his #1 recommendation for someone to help him get his proposal ready to be sent out to editors at publishing houses. And this after he said he wasn’t sure I could ever get mine to be that perfect.

Well, what the hell was this about? I suppose I could simply say that he can’t find another nonfiction book proposal editor and consultant who can do the job any better (because he probably doesn’t have anyone who has yet met his overly-high standards), and pat myself on the back that he sent me some work. I could send the guy packing, and say, “Forget it. It’s too much stress to work with this agent, which is why I’m not working with him.” Or I could say, “Ah….maybe I’m supposed to see that I can do this job for this agent. Maybe I am supposed to see that I am capable of turning out the work he requires. Maybe I’m supposed to heal our relationship by getting the job done…or simply see that I’ll never get the job done the way he wants it and move on without any second thoughts or regrets.” In other words, I can say, “This is a chance to complete.”

And that’s what I’ve done. If the client agrees to my terms and decides to use me, I’ll move forward and complete one way or another — either with a job done to the agent’s liking or not.

I had to wrinkle my brow and then laugh when I saw the email from this writer…and I even wrote the the agent and questioned his reasoning for sending the client to me. But now I see the opportunity for what it is: A chance to complete.

And what a perfect time to do that, just as we move into the High Holy Days of Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year) and Yom Kippur, the Day of Repentance, just as we are supposed to be taking time for introspection and righting wrongs and setting new goals for ourselves. It’s a perfect time to re-evaluate my relationship with this agent and to work through my issues around his requirements and my ability to meet them. It’s a perfect time to let go of my emotions and resentments and…well…to complete and move forward fresh and clean and clear about my intentions.

Is life presenting you with any opportunities to complete at the moment? I wouldn’t be surprised. God’s hand is in everything, and often we are pushed in the right direction at the right time. Now, during the month of Elul, represents the perfect time for completion of all sorts. So, take the time to think about what you need to complete…look and see what opportunities for completion are before you right now. And then…complete!