New Year's Erev

For those of my friends who are equinoctically inclined, I wish you a peaceful, sweet and joyful equinox. Wouldn't it be a lovely thing if the earth and the universe, and light and darkness could always achieve such perfect balance?

But speaking of light and darkness, that time of year approaches again, all sneaky and stealthlike and freaking out my friends in the clergy and even people like me, without official clerical responsibilities but a whole hell of a lot of cantorial soloist duties. As Tom Robbins once described it, the moon is currently rising like a bloated Elvis about to tip over from a surfeit of amphetamines and deep fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches. That can only mean one thing: Rosh HaShanah is soon. Very soon. Some would almost say: too soon.

My dear friend and teacher Sandy says that no matter when they arrive, the Jewish holidays always take us by surprise. Even though I put in for my days off more than six months out, I'm always shocked when I look at the calendar and realize how much I have to do before I get out of here so I can leave with a clean slate, with the certainty that it'll be handled while I'm gone. And that hopefully, no one will call me from the office. But I do agree with Sandy: they're either too early (panic) or too late (total delusional oblivion, followed by panic) but never do they arrive like Goldilocks, at a time that's just right.

I spent a good two hours last week with Sandy, kibbitzing over turkey and pastrami sandwiches and going through the four services I will assist her with - erev Rosh HaShanah, Day 1, erev Yom Kippur and the Day Itself. She is an amazing and inspiring leader, one who knows her congregation and their needs. I'm always knocked out watching her, hoping that someday I can be as good at this job as she is. And I'm always touched, as we go through the melodies and responsive readings and liturgical cues, that she shares many of her memories of growing up in a liberal congregation: her family, the music, the recipes, the celebrations. Because I don't have those memories, it's always a learning experience for me. Generally, I don't know what happens in families on these holidays. Christmas and Easter I can help with, but the high holidays, not so much.

This is a year of transition for me - again. It seems like that's been the theme of the past several years. There has always been a major change on the horizon, whether it was going from mourner to a participant in life again, from sick to sicker and then, finally, to becoming healthier, from the Satanic boss in the not for profit dream job to the unexpected decency and humanity of my corporate colleagues. Even this year, there is still transition: from fighting against the limitations of illness to actually trying to do something about them.

I don't actually love New Year's. Not in the religious sense nor in the secular. The secular new year makes me nuts - I hate the false sense of celebrations, the ridiculous enforced sense of expectations, the stupidity of resolutions. The religious New Year is a little easier to swallow: at least no one is getting crap-sloppy drunk and acting like an ass for Dick Clark's rockin' cameras. Any new year freaks me out a bit, but I'm not as opposed to the reflection and introspection of the religious New Year, even though the notion of celebrating it without a family does make me feel a little alienated and excluded. But what can you do? Spend as much time as you can in your congregational community, seek out others who go it alone, and make the best of what you can. At least, that's the plan right now.

This past Shabbat my rabbi talked about how the New Year, how about bringing one's "first fruits" as an offering, wasn't merely about considering the past and how to make a better future, but also about acknowledging the importance of now. Not in a guilty or regretful way, but accepting where you are, and the beauty and sanctity you offer to the world on a daily basis.

That's my New Year's resolution for 5769. To hopefully offer beauty and sanctity every day - whether it's through teaching or working on a client project that may seem worthless on the surface, but might end up really helping someone. And also to accept that good change sometimes makes for difficult moments: like the fact that my 34 pound weight loss so adversely caused the steroid panic of last week (lower doses from now on, says my doctor). And vice versa: sometimes the worst change in the world can bring about good. Like if I can't get to school for whatever reason: economic, health insurance, crap Hebrew skills, whatever - if I don't go, it will be for a good reason. And it doesn't mean I can't do good without the title.

Like so many people looking inward for these last ten days, I'm trying to make a good end and a better beginning. Of course, as the joke goes, the best way to make the Holy One laugh is to tell Her your plans. Then again, I have wonderful, joyful, happy faith in my loony, imperfect, Law & Order-watching, moody diva beatlefan novelist, methotrexate-injecting, treif-consuming G-d. After all, it's all about being created b'tzelem Elohim, and if so, She's struggling to get better, too.