Q. Rabbi, is fasting on Yom Kippur a good weight-loss plan?
A. No. Well, maybe, but only if there is no kugel at the break-fast.
Q. How does Yom Kippur fit in with your exercise plan?
A. Well, there is a lot of standing, and relatively little sitting (at least for me.) Also, a fair amount of swaying, some of it back and forth, but mainly side-to-side. Plus, there were four occasions when I prostrated myself and then (thank you, God!) managed to get back up again. Does singing count as exercise? What about gesticulating while preaching?
Q. How did you feel at the end of the day?
A. I had a touch of bronchitis going in, but made some chicken soup on Sunday morning and was able to swig enough of it down before Kol Nidrei to cure myself.
Q. Really?
A. I do make a great soup. It was definitely that. Plus, the drugs.
Q. Rabbi, how did you actually survive, given that you were so sick?
A. The support of my congregation, the skills of the others on the bimah, the love of my family and... adrenaline! The human body is an amazing creation. A person who's in a stressful enough situation is able to perform incredible feats of strength. Like lifting up a car. Or being a rabbi on Yom Kippur.
Q. Adrenaline sounds great. Any down sides?
A. Um, well, it's almost 2:00am and I'm still up.
Q. Is that a problem? Haven't you been going to bed at about this time for the past couple of weeks?
A. True. But I'm actually exhausted.
Q. So what are your plans for tomorrow? Going back to the WiiFit?
A. Maybe in the afternoon. I have a migraine pencilled in for the morning.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
There's tzuris ("trouble.")
And then there's gebrutteneh tzuris (literally "roasted trouble.")
My father, Louis Cantor, of blessed memory, grew up in a Yiddish-speaking household, and he taught me the difference between the two. Tzuris, of course, is a general term, which can be - and is! - applied to everything from a traffic ticket to trouble with kids to taxes. But gebrutteneh tzuris - well, that's the really serious stuff. The latter makes the former pale in comparison, puts it into perspective. I offer this linguistic tidbit as a away of explaining why the Ravenous Rabbi has been absent for nearly two weeks. There was lots of tzuris around home and shul, and that was followed by the roasted sort. And all of this in the week and a half before Rosh Hashanah! Of course, this is life as usual, isn't it? As I wrote in my sermon for the First Day of the New Year (luckily, I had written it before all hell broke loose):
"Our lives don’t follow a straight and unswerving path. Of course, most of us grow up thinking otherwise. We expect that our lives will unfold according to plan – our plan. But as the Yiddish saying goes: Men tracht und Gott lacht. “Man plans and God laughs,” or in the current vernacular: Life happens."
Later on I noted:
"In teaching about the Jewish life cycle, there’s a particular exercise which I’ve often done with adults. I ask people to take pencil and paper and draw a picture of their own life’s journey. They can use words. They can use shapes or lines or figures. Or not.
The results are as varied as the lives of the participants. But, believe me, there are very few straight lines. Symbols and spirals and scribbles, yes. But very few straight lines. Our lives are filled with detours, with stops and starts and surprises along the way. Men tracht und Gott lacht. We make plans, but God has other ideas. "
Yup, life happens. The challenge is to take it with some equanimity, to realize that the power to fix everything is mostly not in our hands and to just learn, grow and do some mitzvahs (good deeds) along the way. We're only human, after all.
Actually, that's the main message of Rosh Hashanah: that God is in charge and we are not. I confess that I have a problem with this idea. Not intellectually, but deep down, in my heart of hearts. I'm a fixer, after all. I don't like to throw in the towel. I don't like to give up control. I don't accept anything with equanimity! Still, I preach this line all the time. Mostly to myself.
Now the question is: what lesson do I need to hear on Yom Kippur?
And then there's gebrutteneh tzuris (literally "roasted trouble.")
My father, Louis Cantor, of blessed memory, grew up in a Yiddish-speaking household, and he taught me the difference between the two. Tzuris, of course, is a general term, which can be - and is! - applied to everything from a traffic ticket to trouble with kids to taxes. But gebrutteneh tzuris - well, that's the really serious stuff. The latter makes the former pale in comparison, puts it into perspective. I offer this linguistic tidbit as a away of explaining why the Ravenous Rabbi has been absent for nearly two weeks. There was lots of tzuris around home and shul, and that was followed by the roasted sort. And all of this in the week and a half before Rosh Hashanah! Of course, this is life as usual, isn't it? As I wrote in my sermon for the First Day of the New Year (luckily, I had written it before all hell broke loose):
"Our lives don’t follow a straight and unswerving path. Of course, most of us grow up thinking otherwise. We expect that our lives will unfold according to plan – our plan. But as the Yiddish saying goes: Men tracht und Gott lacht. “Man plans and God laughs,” or in the current vernacular: Life happens."
Later on I noted:
"In teaching about the Jewish life cycle, there’s a particular exercise which I’ve often done with adults. I ask people to take pencil and paper and draw a picture of their own life’s journey. They can use words. They can use shapes or lines or figures. Or not.
The results are as varied as the lives of the participants. But, believe me, there are very few straight lines. Symbols and spirals and scribbles, yes. But very few straight lines. Our lives are filled with detours, with stops and starts and surprises along the way. Men tracht und Gott lacht. We make plans, but God has other ideas. "
Yup, life happens. The challenge is to take it with some equanimity, to realize that the power to fix everything is mostly not in our hands and to just learn, grow and do some mitzvahs (good deeds) along the way. We're only human, after all.
Actually, that's the main message of Rosh Hashanah: that God is in charge and we are not. I confess that I have a problem with this idea. Not intellectually, but deep down, in my heart of hearts. I'm a fixer, after all. I don't like to throw in the towel. I don't like to give up control. I don't accept anything with equanimity! Still, I preach this line all the time. Mostly to myself.
Now the question is: what lesson do I need to hear on Yom Kippur?
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
My dear friend and colleague, Rabbi Barbara Penzner, sent me a gift today: a wonderful column she wrote for her shul's website about why we need to look after our souls AND our bodies at this season, and how these two are so intimately intertwined. Toward the end of the piece she writes:
I find special joy in the words of the Shaharit (morning) service: "The limbs you gave us, the spirit you breathed into our nostrils, and the tongue you placed in our mouths-surely they shall acknowledge and bless, praise and glorify, exalt, venerate, sanctify and crown your Name....." As Rabbi Art Green explains, "It is the whole self that calls out the praises of God, not just the lips or the mind. The act of prayer is one that calls upon the entire person." To pray is to dance; to exercise is to pray.
Like so many people, I live largely in my head. There's a lot of sitting in my line of work. Exercise opportunities need to be planned; they aren't automatically built into my daily life. But this time of year, the physical demands increase for rabbis (and cantors).
There is the stress as we prepare (often involving too little sleep or unhealthful food.) And this pressure takes its toll physically. Then there are the High Holidays themselves. We stand for hours on end during services (or stand and sit, stand and sit); we prostrate ourselves; we orchestrate the experience for the congregation even as our back muscles tighten and our feet start to ache. On Yom Kippur, we fast along with the congregation, but we also sing and stand and speak all during Kol Nidrei night and throughout the long day which follows.
I'm not complaining, mind you. In many ways, I look forward to these Days of Awe, and to the joyous holiday of Sukkot which follows. And I know that my Muslim friends, who are even now observing the holy month of Ramadan, fast each day this month from sunup to sundown, and are accustomed to falling on their faces in prayer five times a day, all year round. My own High Holiday physical challenges no doubt pale in comparison.
But challenges they are. Many of my colleagues describe both Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur as "marathons." Often, that's exactly what they feel like. I usually survive just fine. But I will admit that, when I touch my forehead to the floor at certain dramatic moments in the High Holiday liturgy, I do sometimes pray I'll be able to get up again (without too much help). And, at those moments, I vow that I'll be in better shape the following year.
Not simply in order to avoid publicly embarrassing myself (though the threat of humiliation is a great motivator for me), and not just so it will be easier for me to make it through the "marathon." But mainly because, as my friend Barbara points out: "Our bodies are are a gift and we are meant to use them."
All I can say is: Amen.
I find special joy in the words of the Shaharit (morning) service: "The limbs you gave us, the spirit you breathed into our nostrils, and the tongue you placed in our mouths-surely they shall acknowledge and bless, praise and glorify, exalt, venerate, sanctify and crown your Name....." As Rabbi Art Green explains, "It is the whole self that calls out the praises of God, not just the lips or the mind. The act of prayer is one that calls upon the entire person." To pray is to dance; to exercise is to pray.
Like so many people, I live largely in my head. There's a lot of sitting in my line of work. Exercise opportunities need to be planned; they aren't automatically built into my daily life. But this time of year, the physical demands increase for rabbis (and cantors).
There is the stress as we prepare (often involving too little sleep or unhealthful food.) And this pressure takes its toll physically. Then there are the High Holidays themselves. We stand for hours on end during services (or stand and sit, stand and sit); we prostrate ourselves; we orchestrate the experience for the congregation even as our back muscles tighten and our feet start to ache. On Yom Kippur, we fast along with the congregation, but we also sing and stand and speak all during Kol Nidrei night and throughout the long day which follows.
I'm not complaining, mind you. In many ways, I look forward to these Days of Awe, and to the joyous holiday of Sukkot which follows. And I know that my Muslim friends, who are even now observing the holy month of Ramadan, fast each day this month from sunup to sundown, and are accustomed to falling on their faces in prayer five times a day, all year round. My own High Holiday physical challenges no doubt pale in comparison.
But challenges they are. Many of my colleagues describe both Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur as "marathons." Often, that's exactly what they feel like. I usually survive just fine. But I will admit that, when I touch my forehead to the floor at certain dramatic moments in the High Holiday liturgy, I do sometimes pray I'll be able to get up again (without too much help). And, at those moments, I vow that I'll be in better shape the following year.
Not simply in order to avoid publicly embarrassing myself (though the threat of humiliation is a great motivator for me), and not just so it will be easier for me to make it through the "marathon." But mainly because, as my friend Barbara points out: "Our bodies are are a gift and we are meant to use them."
All I can say is: Amen.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
My day in haiku
Another nightmare
I awaken, drenched in sweat
Reality looms.
A huge list of calls
Pray for answering machine
to pick up the phone.
Should I go shower
or fry up a cheese omelelet
with buttery toast?
Late for appointment
Does worry burn calories?
Alas, it does not.
At the computer
Staring, transfixed by the screen
No time for WiiFit.
My son starts to wail,
"Hey Mom, when will you finish
using your laptop?"
I give in at last
For it's way past my bedtime.
No late night snacking!
Another nightmare
I awaken, drenched in sweat
Reality looms.
A huge list of calls
Pray for answering machine
to pick up the phone.
Should I go shower
or fry up a cheese omelelet
with buttery toast?
Late for appointment
Does worry burn calories?
Alas, it does not.
At the computer
Staring, transfixed by the screen
No time for WiiFit.
My son starts to wail,
"Hey Mom, when will you finish
using your laptop?"
I give in at last
For it's way past my bedtime.
No late night snacking!
Sunday, September 6, 2009
So where are you going with this, Deb?" my sister asked me last night.
"Huh? What are you talking about?" (I was distracted and only half-listening.)
"With your blog," she said. "Where are you going with your blog?"
"Um...well, I started it and I'm working on the goal of getting healthier. You should see how quickly I walked home from services today!" (The quicker to take my Shabbos nap, as she well knows.)
"Okay, but you still need a more specific goal," she insisted. "Exactly where are you headed in, say, the coming year?"
My God, I thought, that's a sermon! Indeed, where exactly am I - are we all - headed? This is not simply a question about the direction of a blog, folks. The challenge of orienting ourselves and choosing a destination - why that's the task of this season! To think that my sister never went to rabbinical school, yet is still filled with so many homiletical insights!
Then my husband walked into the room. "Where's the key to the car?" he asked me. "I can't leave until I find the key." Another sermon! We need to search for the key, for the ikkar, for what is most essential, in order to move forward!
My daughter shouted from the kitchen: "Mom, I forgot to tell you that Bubbie called. You left your cell phone at her house." Hmmm, I thought, my mother had found what I had been searching for all along. What was lost can be located again. Another sermon!
"Huh? What are you talking about?" (I was distracted and only half-listening.)
"With your blog," she said. "Where are you going with your blog?"
"Um...well, I started it and I'm working on the goal of getting healthier. You should see how quickly I walked home from services today!" (The quicker to take my Shabbos nap, as she well knows.)
"Okay, but you still need a more specific goal," she insisted. "Exactly where are you headed in, say, the coming year?"
My God, I thought, that's a sermon! Indeed, where exactly am I - are we all - headed? This is not simply a question about the direction of a blog, folks. The challenge of orienting ourselves and choosing a destination - why that's the task of this season! To think that my sister never went to rabbinical school, yet is still filled with so many homiletical insights!
Then my husband walked into the room. "Where's the key to the car?" he asked me. "I can't leave until I find the key." Another sermon! We need to search for the key, for the ikkar, for what is most essential, in order to move forward!
My daughter shouted from the kitchen: "Mom, I forgot to tell you that Bubbie called. You left your cell phone at her house." Hmmm, I thought, my mother had found what I had been searching for all along. What was lost can be located again. Another sermon!
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Thin thighs may pose a risk to heart health. Really. I just heard it on the BBC, when I was washing dishes. At first, I couldn't believe my ears. Then, they repeated it. I ran to the computer to check it out. Indeed, there it was:
"Large thighs 'may protect heart'
Men and women with thighs over 60cm (23.6in) in circumference have a lower risk of heart disease and early death, a study of 3,000 people suggests... Those with narrow thighs may not have enough muscle mass to deal with insulin properly, raising the risk of diabetes and, in turn, heart disease, they say."
The BBC based its report on 10-year Danish study published in the British Medical Journal. The article continued with some caveats: "Experts cautioned that the research needed corroborating" and warned that it was "too early to change current advice on eating and exercise for heart health."
Still.
This is great news for so many of us.
Thin thighs may pose a risk.
Suddenly all things are possible.
Have a Shabbat Shalom!
"Large thighs 'may protect heart'
Men and women with thighs over 60cm (23.6in) in circumference have a lower risk of heart disease and early death, a study of 3,000 people suggests... Those with narrow thighs may not have enough muscle mass to deal with insulin properly, raising the risk of diabetes and, in turn, heart disease, they say."
The BBC based its report on 10-year Danish study published in the British Medical Journal. The article continued with some caveats: "Experts cautioned that the research needed corroborating" and warned that it was "too early to change current advice on eating and exercise for heart health."
Still.
This is great news for so many of us.
Thin thighs may pose a risk.
Suddenly all things are possible.
Have a Shabbat Shalom!
Have you looked up lately? Tonight, by any chance? Then you've seen the full moon, shining in the night sky. For my Muslim friends, the full moon marks the halfway point through the holy month of Ramadan. For Jews, it's the the halfway point of Elul. For rabbis, it's the beginning of panic time.
Tonight, at around 10:30pm, I found myself "picking up a few things for Shabbat." (This is what I told my daughter, who was waiting in the car. Just a few things, honest!) In the supermarket, I ran into several rabbinic colleagues. We all greeted each another the same way. Not with an early "Shabbat Shalom" or an even earlier "Shanah Tovah." No, our greeting was: "Please don't tell me you're all set for the holidays!" Evidently, panic loves company.
Of course, it's not serious panic (or not yet, at least.) But halfway through Elul, there is a sense of increased urgency. Halfway through Elul, it's time to get serious. Time to make some decisions (beyond brisket or turkey); time to get some words on paper (or onto a hard drive); time to make those calls (the hard ones you've been avoiding); time to make each day count.
For rabbis, for all of us, it's a challenge to balance the outer obligations with the essential, inner work of this season. Yet, the two are not entirely unconnected. Actions can and should be interwoven with intentions; reflection can and should fill our deeds, however, prosaic, with meaning. So yes, making your Bubbie's honey cake can be a "spiritual" Elul experience. And your resolve to become a kinder person in the coming year can be concretized with a visit, a donation, a phone call, a hug. Teshuvah/repentance/renewal can't take place entirely in one's head.
So what will I do with my next two weeks? Well, I have a long list. (Starting with the WiiFit tomorrow morning, because sitting at the computer for hours on end isn't the healthiest thing.) I'm not too panicked. Just please don't tell me you're set for the holidays already!
Tonight, at around 10:30pm, I found myself "picking up a few things for Shabbat." (This is what I told my daughter, who was waiting in the car. Just a few things, honest!) In the supermarket, I ran into several rabbinic colleagues. We all greeted each another the same way. Not with an early "Shabbat Shalom" or an even earlier "Shanah Tovah." No, our greeting was: "Please don't tell me you're all set for the holidays!" Evidently, panic loves company.
Of course, it's not serious panic (or not yet, at least.) But halfway through Elul, there is a sense of increased urgency. Halfway through Elul, it's time to get serious. Time to make some decisions (beyond brisket or turkey); time to get some words on paper (or onto a hard drive); time to make those calls (the hard ones you've been avoiding); time to make each day count.
For rabbis, for all of us, it's a challenge to balance the outer obligations with the essential, inner work of this season. Yet, the two are not entirely unconnected. Actions can and should be interwoven with intentions; reflection can and should fill our deeds, however, prosaic, with meaning. So yes, making your Bubbie's honey cake can be a "spiritual" Elul experience. And your resolve to become a kinder person in the coming year can be concretized with a visit, a donation, a phone call, a hug. Teshuvah/repentance/renewal can't take place entirely in one's head.
So what will I do with my next two weeks? Well, I have a long list. (Starting with the WiiFit tomorrow morning, because sitting at the computer for hours on end isn't the healthiest thing.) I'm not too panicked. Just please don't tell me you're set for the holidays already!
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