In just over a week we will arrive at the holiday of Shavu’ot – most likely the least known about, let alone observed – festival on our calendar.  We traditionally hold Confirmation services during this holiday, as Shavu’ot recalls the moment in which God revealed the Torah to us and we accepted the yoke of its commandments.  By holding Confirmation at Shavu’ot, we give our youth the opportunity to re-enact that moment by reaffirming their acceptance of the yoke of Jewish belief and practice.  

On Shavu’ot, we read the Ten Commandments, the definitive account of our acceptance of God’s law. This code of ethical behavior is a core part of the teaching we impart to our young people during their Confirmation studies.  We are also mandated by tradition to read the Book of Ruth. Though our Confirmands will read this in English, most Reform synagogues forego the chanting or reading of the Book of Ruth altogether for the sake of time, substituting other readings or Confirmation rituals. I find that in addition to the Ten Commandments, the Book of Ruth is the model text for teaching Jewish ethical conduct to today’s students: the ideals of conviction, generosity, and loving-kindness, commitment, loyalty and love.

The TaNaKh’s shortest book, the Book of Ruth, is a beautiful story set during the period of the Judges, known to be a time of lawlessness and depravity. The narrative opens as Naomi, her husband Elimelech and their two sons are leaving famine-stricken Israel for the Land of Moav, whose people have long been considered enemies of Israel. The sons take Moabite women as their wives, and within ten years, Elimelech and his sons have all died, leaving Naomi and her two daughters-in-law, Ruth and Orpah, widowed. The famine in Israel ends, so Naomi decides to return to her homeland. She insists that Ruth and Orpah remain in Mo’av, most likely understanding that in Israel the two Moabite women would be subject to rebuke and discrimination. Elderly Naomi, bitter and grieving, needs support and help as never before; yet her overwhelming generosity and chesed (loving-kindness) dictate that she put the welfare of her daughters-in-law ahead of her own.  Naomi is a strong model of selflessness for our children who live in a “me, me, me” society.

Ruth, (whose name means “companion”) pledges deep loyalty to her mother-in-law, unlike Orpah who stays in Mo’av. Ruth boldly asserts:

"Do not urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Wherever you go, I will go, and wherever you lodge there I will lodge. Your people shall be my people and your God my God. Where you die there I will die, and there I will be buried. May Adonai deal with me, be it ever so severely, if anything but death separates you and me."

What a valuable teaching this is for our Confirmands!  Ruth demonstrates what true devotion really is. She accepts Judaism wholeheartedly - its laws, values, and people - and is willing to do whatever is necessary to follow God’s commandments. 

The story continues as Ruth and Naomi arrive back in Israel at the time of the barley harvest. Ruth, though exhausted from traveling, goes to work right away to glean what she can from the barley fields as the grain is harvested.  She ends up in the fields belonging to Boaz, who is from the family of her deceased father-in-law.  Rather than pursue a younger man to marry, Ruth offers herself to Boaz so to “redeem” the land belonging to her deceased husband and his family.  It is also obvious that Ruth voluntarily chooses Boaz over a younger man because of his kind and generous nature.

Boaz is, indeed, an exemplar of kindness and respect.  When he arrives at the field, he greets his workers, “May the Lord be with you.”  When Boaz meets Ruth, he shows her where she may gather grain, insures her safety, and gives her water and food, even though he knows she is of Moabite descent.  Boaz also goes above and beyond the law and duty to marry Ruth and provide a home for both Ruth and Naomi, thus insuring that the family name of Elimelech will be perpetuated. Ruth and Boaz have a child who becomes the grandfather of King David and the progenitor of the messiah to come.

In addition to providing lessons about deeds of loving-kindness, loyalty, and love, The Book of Ruth also reminds our Confirmands to always be mindful of the needs of the poor, “the orphan, the stranger, and the widow.”  This is demonstrated in Boaz’s observance of the laws of pe’ah, where we are instructed to leave the edges of a field unharvested, and leket, where we are to leave behind individual stalks that fall from the sheaves so the poor may collect them. 

The Book of Ruth teaches us one final lesson about redemption and hope. The story shows us that God can bring redemption even after the greatest times of despair and loss, and that one act of kindness can transform the world. 

Though we may no longer literally plant seeds and reap a harvest, we can “sow” the seeds of kindness and friendship and reap a bountiful harvest of love, respect, gentleness and humanity. On this Shavu’ot, may our offering to God be the “first fruits” of our kind hearts and helping hands.

Summertime... and the Living is Easy...Except for the Jews

Ahhhh... Summertime... Fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high... It’s the time for carefree vacations, going away to camp, and making memories with our families. In traditional Jewish consciousness, however, a large part of summer is not for the making of new memories, but rather for commemorating events of the past – the tragedies that have befallen our people over the millennia. The Hebrew months of Tammuz and Av that coincide with summer are replete with days of mourning and fast days that were instituted to mark the destruction of both of our sacred Temples, and later came to also memorialize other calamities. 

destruction of the Temple by the Romans in 70 CE

The Fast of Tammuz commemorates the breach of the walls of Jerusalem by the Babylonians on the ninth of Tammuz in 586 BCE and the same act by the Romans on the 17^th of Tammuz in 70 CE.  Tisha B’Av (the Ninth of Av) commemorates the destruction of both the First and Second Temples. Considering all of the fast days in our calendar, Tisha B’Av ranks just behind Yom Kippur in importance. 

Even the period between Pesach and Shavu’ot is considered a time of sadness, for which there are several reasons. We grieve because we are no longer afforded the opportunity to bring our grain offerings to the Temple, and we mourn to also commemorate tragic events known to occur during this time – the deaths of over 1,200 disciples of Rabbi Akiva in one year, and the massacres of thousands of German Jews by the Crusaders. There are to be no weddings or other joyous occasions scheduled during this period.  

As Jews who affiliate with a Reform congregation, however, we live our lives as modern, busy Americans. Save for Ha-Shoah – the Holocaust, our collective memories of the destruction of our Temples in Jerusalem and the other horrible acts that have been perpetrated against us have, for the most part, dimmed and faded away.  After all, we live in America – the Land of the Free, “Die Goldene Medina.” We are safe and prosperous here with no fear of being expelled or locked in a ghetto. And we have our land of redemption and promise – Medinat Yisrael, the State of Israel. Why continue to mourn and lament?  We cannot change the horrors that have befallen the Jewish people. Should we not move on towards a brighter outlook? How can these days of mourning be of significance for us as liberal, contemporary, American Jews?

I struggle with the summer calendar and its observances every year. Sometimes I fast, sometimes I do not.  When I don't, I feel guilty.  When I do fast I most often cannot feel any kind of spiritual connection, and again I find myself wracked with guilt. This year I have decided to set about finding a way to observe these days in an authentic and meaningful way. In my research of this topic, I found every observance along the gamut as one would imagine – from the early Zionist youth movements who designated Tisha b’Av as a day of recreation and sports, to the view of Professor Ismar Schorsch, the former Chancellor of the Jewish Theological Seminary (of the Conservative movement) who wrote that whereas the fast day of Yom Kippur is designed for self-reflection, “Tisha B'av is dedicated to pondering the nation's destiny.”  For those with this view, It is important for us to maintain a balance between our individual paths and our collective destiny.  There are also those who are angered that control of the Temple Mount was surrendered in the name of peace in 1967; for that reason alone we should mourn and wail louder than ever before.

Because none of these observances or justifications seem to resonate with me, I have decided to create a Tisha b’Av seder, an ordered progression of ritual observances thematically connected to traditional practice, yet relevant to my time and place.  Modeled after the Pesach seder, my seder will mark a similar kind of journey, leading from the hopelessness and despair of destruction, exile, and slaughter, to the hope, promise and redemption that we seek to bring to the world. The beginning of the seder will include such texts as Psalm 137:1, “By the waters of Babylon we sat and wept for Zion,” as well as the chanting of some selections from Aicha, the Book of Lamentations. The table will be set with empty gray plates to represent the fasting with which our people have afflicted themselves for hundreds of years.

As the seder progresses, it will transition with readings and musical selections containing words of comfort from the Prophets and Psalms. Poetry and prose from other traditions may also be included.
 
Round bowls will then be placed on top of the empty plates, further symbolizing our journey from mourning to hope. Then the seder participants will be served certain foods ritually designated as symbols of wholeness and renewal, such as eggs, olives, grapes, and other round foods from Israel and our own land of plenty.

Would you like to help me craft such a seder? 

I’d love to hear your ideas and suggestions! 

Field of Honor, Day of Change

  This past Sunday I was afforded the opportunity to speak at the Northbrook, Illinois, "Field of Honor" event. Envisioned by Judy Hughes, president of the Northbrook Historical Society, the Field of Honor contained 1,901 American flags to commemorate the incorporation of Northbrook (then Shermerville) in the year 1901. There were also 43 other flags symbolizing the 43 men and women from Northbrook who gave their lives in service to their country. Each evening during the week of Memorial Day a sunset ceremony was held with members of the American Legion and clergy participating, as well as a cannon salute and the playing of "Taps."  This posting below is the speech that I gave. (For security purposes I have omitted references to certain locations.)

   Good evening, everyone! I want to begin by thanking Judy Hughes for orchestrating this Field of Honor event which has brought such purpose and meaning to this Memorial Day weekend.  And thank you for asking me to participate. I am honored and greatly humbled to be here. 

   What makes the honor even greater (and a bit ironic) for me is that, like Judy [Hughes], I was born and raised on the OTHER side of the Mason–Dixon line, outside of Columbia, South Carolina – a place where the Civil War is STILL being fought to this very day.  There it was incumbent upon every parent to take their children to visit our State House – though not to marvel at its 22 monolithic Corinthian columns (among the largest in the world) nor to see where the government of South Carolina does its work nor to stroll its beautiful grounds nor to visit the various monuments. The main objective of one’s trip to the State House was to see the 6 bronze stars marking the 6 places where the cannonballs of the Union Army struck the Winnsboro Blue Granite walls of our state’s capitol building. I was taught all about the wickedness and treachery of General William Tecumseh Sherman, the heartless enemy who burned my hometown and whose men had the nerve to throw bricks at the statue of George Washington on our State House grounds, breaking off the bottom of Washington’s cane. There was no way, therefore, that we would ever consider observing the official Memorial Day, being that it was initially established to honor the fallen Union soldiers.  On that day, we all went to school as usual. 
   It was not until I lived in New York as a cantorial student that I witnessed my first Memorial Day parade. I was 38 years old. You can see therefore, why having the honor to speak to you this evening is so special and transformative for me. When I moved here some nine years ago, my family was invited for Memorial Day “barbeques.”  (I had to get used to that word “barbeque,” too. In South Carolina, “barbeque” is a FOOD – a meat delicacy drenched in yellow, mustard-based sauce. You EAT barbeque at a cookout or a weinie roast.) At the barbeques I’ve attended here, some folks wore red, white, and blue, but there was no talk of memorializing the fallen members of the armed forces – only how awesome the gelatin mold in the shape of an American flag was and how it always rained on Memorial Day.  It was pretty nice to have a day off from work, though, even if it did rain every year.

   All of that changed Memorial Day of 2008. In late May of 2008, my son Nathan had been in Afghanistan for about 10 weeks – his first deployment. Nathan is a Special Operations Marine. He had been in the Marine Corps since graduating from high school in 2004. His intense training regimen to become a Recon Marine had kept him from going to Iraq, unlike many of his boot camp friends. But now the training was complete, and ten weeks earlier, my husband, my daughter, and I, joined by Nathan's girlfriend (who is now his wife), had sobbed uncontrollably as we watched Nathan board a bus... a bus that would take him and some 60 of his fellow Marines to an air field... to a huge C5 cargo plane... the plane that would carry Humvee’s and trucks and weapons... the plane that would take my little Nate- the-Great wearing his Weeboks and Osh-Kosh overalls to Afghanistan, straight into harm’s way, without passing GO and without collecting $200 dollars. I was SO proud of him.  But I wanted nothing more than to grab him up by the straps of those little Osh-Kosh overalls and carry him back home.

   So on that Memorial Day, May 26 of 2008, I learned what Memorial Day is really about. It’s not about barbeques, or rainy weather, or red, white, and blue gelatin molds. It’s about honor and valor and bravery. It’s about blood and tears and sand and oceans and meadows and fields. It’s about love and passion, dedication and sacrifice. And it’s about paying tribute to those brave men and women who embodied all of that and who gave up THEIR lives so that we can live our lives – our comfortable, entitled, carefree lives – in the Land of the Free.  
   I have not been to a Memorial Day barbeque since the one BEFORE my son was deployed, and I probably never will. My family has a new tradition for Memorial Day.  We drive or walk over to downtown Deerfield, where a banner hangs bearing the names of Deerfield residents who are currently serving in the Armed Forces. I beam with pride as I look up at that name on the banner: Nathan Harris, United States Marine Corps. And I pray with all my might that he will come back to us – in one piece and mentally sound. And then I take a picture of the banner. 

   Looking out upon this Field of Honor, I remember learning about the symbolism of the colors of the flag in school: Red for bravery and to symbolize the blood shed by those who protect our country. White for purity and innocence.  Blue for loyalty and justice.  I know it is these ideals that my son Nathan is fighting to maintain, just as you folks here who fought in World War II, Korea, Viet-Nam, Desert Storm, Iraq, Afghanistan, and all points in between. I am honored and proud that my son is willing to die for his country. It’s quite an elite group.

   It is my hope that those of us who have benefited from the loyalty, the shed blood, and the pure of heart of our fallen service men and women will do all we can to work along side those brave men and women who have stepped up to take their places. We may not have weapons like guns or missiles, but we do have a voice. We can speak out. We can vote, we can advocate, we can donate, we can defend the weak, we can write and e-mail, we can picket, we can protest. We can serve our communities. And in doing so, we can honor the memory of those who did so before us.

   To close I would like to offer a prayer written by the Reverend D.A. Graham while she was a chaplain in Okinawa.

In the quiet sanctuaries of our own hearts,
let each of us name and call on the One whose power over us
is great and gentle, firm and forgiving, holy and healing ...

You who created us,
who sustain us,
who call us to live in peace,
hear our prayer this day.

Hear our prayer for all who have died,
whose hearts and hopes are known to you alone ...

Hear our prayer for those who put the welfare of others
ahead of their own
and give us hearts as generous as theirs ...

Hear our prayer for those who gave their lives
in the service of others,
and accept the gift of their sacrifice ...

Help us to shape and make a world
where we will lay down the arms of war
and turn our swords into ploughshares
for a harvest of justice and peace ...

Comfort those who grieve the loss of their loved ones
and let your healing be the hope in our hearts...

Hear our prayer this day
and in your mercy answer us
in the name of all that is holy.
Amen.

Heshvan: The New Elul?

It is October.  The contemplation and reawakening of the month of Elul is over, the introspection and self-assessment of the Ten Days of Repentance have passed, and God’s Sefer Chayim, the Book of Life, has been sealed for another year. We have dwelt in booths and waved our lulav and etrog, and we have rejoiced and danced with our beloved Torah on Simchat Torah. The leftover brisket has been put away, the sukkah has been taken down, and the children are settled back into their school routines. Now what?

Now we have arrived once again at the very beginning of the Torah: Bereisheet barah Elohim et ha-shamayim v’et ha-aretz... The Earth is brand new again. The heavenly waters and the earthly waters are once again primal and pure.  The ground is lush, fertile, and green.  Creatures of infinite variety inhabit the land, the sea, and the sky. How new and wondrous it all is! Then man and woman are born, shaped by God’s own hands into two separate beings, each different from the other, yet created in the image of God.  The air that fills their lungs is God’s own divine breath.

And we, too, have been reborn.  Do you still remember?  Is the shofar still echoing in your ears – its shrill call shuddering through your entire being?  Did you make things right with yourself, with your family, with your friends and coworkers, and with God? Do you recall beating your chest with angst as you confessed your sins before God? 

Now that all the holy days are over...now that the rush of back-to-school is over...now that all the apples and honey and challah have been eaten, all the white tablecloths have been put away, and you’ve made up the time you missed from work, you can take the time to remember.  You see, the Hebrew calendar gives us a wonderful gift this time of year.  It is the Hebrew month of Heshvan, which will begin at sundown on October 7 this year.  Heshvan is often called “Mar Heshvan” (Bitter Heshvan) because in this month there are NO holy days.  I see this lull in observance and celebration, not as a time of despondence, but as an opportunity to take the time to really reflect upon the High Holy Days that have just ended.

We have all been given the gift of a new beginning, a new soul.  We can now contemplate all the promises we made and all the woulda’s, coulda’s, and shoulda’s that we regret from last year and put them behind us. They are gone. We are new, just as the Torah is new and the world is new.  We are created in the image of God just as the first man and the first woman.  We have a brand new slate with its own clean, white piece of chalk.  What shall we write on our slates?  Now we have the time to really think about it. Will we fill our slate with words and deeds that we can be proud to bring before God next year or will we fill it with things that we will want to erase later? 

Why not put your thoughts into a Heshvan journal and revisit it at the High Holy Days next year?

May we all embrace and enjoy this time of new beginnings!! 

Pursuing Justice

In this week's Torah portion,
Moses continues to give the Israelites God's instructions for their settlement of the Promised Land. The name of this parashah, Shoftim, meaning "judges," comes from the portion's opening verse, Deuteronomy 16:18: "Judges and officials you shall provide for yourselves, within all your gates that יהוה your God is giving you, for your tribal-districts. They are to judge the people (with) equitable justice." All are commanded to be impartial when judging others, to listen well in regards to a dispute, and to act only upon the word of several witnesses. We are to not "specially recognize any one person's face," hence the depiction of justice as a woman blindfolded, holding scales that are perfectly balanced.

"Justice, justice you shall pursue...," God commands us. To me this is only a more emphatic way of saying, "Treat others as you wish to be treated." I have found myself feeling of late that these words to much of our American citizenry are entirely irrelevant. I am dismayed at the avarice, backstabbing, cheating, buy-my-way-out, step-on-anyone-I-can-to-make-it mentality that I feel is consuming our nation. The "certain unalienable rights" as envisioned by Thomas Jefferson have become entitlements. We will have "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness" no matter what it takes or whom we may hurt in the process. I will never forget the tearful lament of Linda Lay, wife of Enron chief Kenneth Lay, that they were being forced to sell some of their 15 homes. How many homes are enough? There are folks right here under our noses with not even one home. They sleep in cardboard boxes. There are thousands upon thousands of Americans who may have a home, but they scrape by month after month in order to keep it. Their benefits are continuously cut, their work hours are reduced, or they are losing their jobs altogether. Why is it often the poor or lower middle class workers who must sacrifice for the welfare of a company? Are these cuts in jobs and benefits made to save the company or to preserve the lifestyles of those at the top?

In July, a cantorial colleague, Michael Davis, made me aware of the practice being implemented by the Hyatt hotel chain of firing their current employees and replacing them with temp workers who receive lower pay and no benefits. The hotel is also proposing recession contracts that allow for little to no health benefits and keep employee wages flat. As these changes occur, the chief stockholders of the hotel continue to amass millions and millions of dollars. As a result of these policies, hotel workers are being forced to work longer hours for less pay, which has caused injury and illness rates to soar. I was appalled, so I resolved to join Cantor Davis in the pursuit of justice for these workers.

On July 22, I traveled into the city of Chicago to join hundreds and hundreds of protesters, workers and other clergy in front of Hyatt's corporate center. I was inspired by the passion I heard as I met and spoke with various protesters, young and old.



I became friends instantly with Beth Galbreath, an ordained Methodist deacon who not only serves as a chaplain at a women's correctional facility, but is also an expert in Biblical storytelling.

More and more folks gathered, collecting signs to carry and staking out their positions on the curb. The heavy, wet air became punctuated with the lifting of signs and the chants of "Justice now!" In an attempt to dampen our efforts, the Hyatt posted banners declaring their loyalty to all employees and sent out a worker to continuously run a leaf blower.


After about an hour and a half, some 200 workers and clergy marched onto the street single file chanting, "We are human beings! Enough is enough!" We supporters lined both sides of Wacker Drive in front of the hotel and cheered them on. The group, including my colleague Cantor Michael Davis and Rabbi Brant Rosen of whose blog I am a fan, then sat down in rows, arms linked in solidarity, right in the street..

I felt great pride well up inside me as I saw the two of them and other Jewish protesters wearing their kipot (headcoverings) and talitot (prayer shawls) as they marched in. I thought about how Jews have always tried to lift up the fallen and stand up for what is right, such as Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel who marched with Dr. Martin Luther King, and Louis Brandeis who labored tirelessly for the rights of the poor and working class. It felt good to walk in their footsteps. In performing this act, literally standing up for what I believe to be a righteous cause, I feel that I truly followed God's mitzvah, the commandment to pursue justice. I hope you'll join me as we continue the pursuit together!

Window Seat Wonders or God as Design Star

I have always loved nature. I find everything about it miraculous, mysterious, holy, and beautiful. Animals, rocks, leaves, snowflakes, flowers, mountains, the ocean --- all hold my eye and my mind captive! I could watch a tiny ant struggle to carry a crumb twice its size indefinitely, pick up little pebbles in a stream for hours, and watch clouds drift by until dark. I marvel at the craftsmanship of a bird's nest and the perfect hexagons of honeycombs. How do deciduous trees know that the time has come for their sap to retreat into their roots, and why is the death of their leaves so exquisitely beautiful? How can it be possible for every single snowflake to be different? My family will often get annoyed with me during walks or on a drive because I stop to look at the most insignificant objects (at least to them) and make frequent remarks about the scenery. "Oh, look at the cows on that hill." "Isn't this little pine cone so cute?" "Oh, wait, I want to take a picture of this pretty leaf." "Wouldn't Aunt Jackie have loved to see all those wildflowers?"

Last weekend my family and I attended our third family wedding of the summer --- this one in Rock Hill, South Carolina. Our return flight from Charlotte to Chicago departed right on time at 8:15 p.m., just as the sun was beginning to set. All three of us were together in row 22 on the left side of the plane, but I was the fortunate one to be sitting in the window seat. Because we were traveling northward, the view of the sunset stayed with us until we neared Chicago. Now I LOVE the window seat. Most folks request the aisle, but I enjoy looking out the window and watching the tapestry below unroll before me.

When it was safe to use approved portable electronic devices, our plane had risen above a thick white blanket of clouds; and the sunset in all its brilliant colors was in full view. There were also huge pillars of darker clouds --- most likely the "weather" that the pilot mentioned we would be going around. After my gasp of pure amazement, a few exclamations of "Oh, my goodness!" "Look, y'all!" and "Oh, cool!" I had the wherewithal to reach for my phone. This sight was too amazing, and I desperately wanted to record it so that I could see it again. I would take a few pictures, making sure to aim at an angle to avoid the glare off the window.
Just when I thought I would go ahead and put away the phone, the sky would morph into even more fantastic shapes and colors. Lightning flashed and danced within the huge bastion of clouds, while the sunset continued its show. The moon was even shining.

The display was like nothing I'd ever beheld. I found myself almost in tears at the wonder of it, and words of prayer and psalms flowed in and out of my consciousness. "Ha-shamayim m'saprim k'vod El, uma'aseh yadav magid ha-raki'a." The heavens declare God's glory, and the sky tells of God's works. " "Adonai, Adoneinu, ma adir shimcha b'chol ha-aretz, asher t'nah hod'cha al ha-shamayim." O God, our Lord, how majestic is Your name in all the earth, You who have covered the heavens with Your splendor!" "Modah ani l'fanecha..." I am thankful before You, O God."
I wanted to declare to my fellow passengers, "Is God awesome, or what??!!" No human being, though created with God's breath of life and possessing a tiny spark of the divine intellect, could ever create with such color, creativity and majesty. Certainly no random mix of cosmic dust, matter, atoms, or elements could, either. "When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, the moon and stars that You set in place, what are we that You are mindful of us, what are mortals that You have taken note of us, for You have made us little less than divine, and adorned us with glory and majesty...O God, our Lord, how majestic is Your name in all the earth!"

Learning to Blog and Blogging to Learn

After laboring for what seems like forever, I finally have http'ed and url'ed, uploaded and coded my way into the world of blogging. I devoted much time to creating a blog that will not only allow me to express myself through the written word, but will also allow me to create something that speaks for me visually as well. This is the tough part. I have a picture in my mind of what I would like, but I am still struggling with the technique for achieving it; for this is the area in which one requires at least a bit of understanding of techno-speak. The problem with seeking instruction in this area is that those folks who are writing the "easy steps" or "for dummies" directions in how to apply a template or change the background, etc. have difficulty writing the information in such a way that those of us who came to adulthood with only the knowledge of a typewriter and white-out can comprehend. Performing these steps comes so easy to them, that they cannot relate to those of us who need everything spelled out in "substeps." "Just click on 'link' and you're done!" doesn't work for me. Looking at all that code jargon is like looking at gobbledy-gook. At times my brain would just spin in circles, and the frustration of not understanding what to do almost made me give up.

This experience has led me to think more critically about my teaching of Hebrew and Torah / Haftarah chanting to b'nei mitzvah students and adults. I do always try to put myself in the student's chair and to teach with their vantage point and background in mind, but am I teaching at a level that is congruent with my students' abilities? To them, trope marks (and often Hebrew) can be as confusing and frustrating as those computer codes are to me. To be able to show my students how to see past the gobbledy-gook and give them the keys and "cheats" to the code that is Torah and Haftarah chanting, Hebrew, prayer, and Judaic knowledge is an honor and a joy for me. I want to make sure that I continue to make the journey to find the key rewarding, meaningful, logical and fun, and that the key will turn easily in the lock when we get there.