The Chuppah at Sinai

He stood in the doorway observing the commotion of our consonantal climbing.

It was the evening of Shavuot, the remembrance of the Torah revelation at Mt. Sinai. There the covenant was conceived and sealed between God and the myriad of recently freed Hebrew slaves.

Thirty men and women circled and chanted with each other for six hours at the Philadelphia home of our dear rabbinic friends, Phyllis Berman and Arthur Waskow. Our priestess, Rabbi Shefa Gold, devised a betrothal ritual with chuppah, sefer Torah and tallit. We chose a chant that signaled future intentions. Each person stood under the chuppah with our four chosen chuppah holders, singing out loud, in unison, again and again as we inscribed our new desires into our consciousness.

He stood in the doorway observing the final chant with respect and awe.

The chanting subsided at two in the morning and signaled a silence not unlike the silence that descended as Moses had alighted from the mountain carefully carrying the carved commandments. According to the Midrash, no birds chipped, no wind rustled, no sound was audible.

Still, he stood in the doorway, succumbed to the sacred scene.

My head turned, our eyes met and we both knew that we had met before at the foot of Mt. Sinai while awaiting and receiving words of Torah. Here we were again at the precipice of something revelatory. What would it be this time?

Pleasure as Priority

Daily priorities can interfere with our life’s passions and pleasures.

How often have I said “no” to an enjoyable meeting or concert because I told myself that I didn’t have time to “waste"?

Friends come in from out of town, and I hardly have a time slot open: I have booked my

calendar to a frenzy!

What is that all about?

The rushing around is an addiction that harms the spirit. Breathe between your activities and

carve out a holy timeslot for the passions and the pleasures of your life. Then there will be no more missing out on the pleasant priorities of life itself.

Unquenchable Questions

Whenever I have a problem that I need to solve, I give myself the freedom to be with the questions and to hold on to the ambiguities and the inconsistencies that surround my dilemma.  

I begin with questions and continue with more questions until I have exhausted my own curiosity.

Through the questions, an answer rises to my consciousness.

How can it be? How can it not be?

Living Into Your Synchro-Destiny

When we open ourselves up to the world of coincidences, which are really not coincidences, we can move towards a myriad of possibilities in our lives.

Coincidences are clues from the universe that may illuminate our true destiny.

They happen all the time, but are we aware of them or are we afraid of them?

Can we learn to be more in “sync” with our own destiny?

During the week, catch yourself watching the coincidences in your life pass you by.

The puzzle will be revealed as you open yourself to the questions.

Look for all the improbable meetings, encounters, situations, circumstances and ask yourself. Why did this happen? What is the meaning behind this “coincidence"?

Share them with me. I could be the conduit for your new found synchro-destiny. 

A Composition of Your Own Making

Writing a composition is an art.

Write neatly between the lines.
Remember to capitalize.
Punctuate using the elements of grammar.
Be concise. No redundancies.
Be clear and have a thesis.
Pick the proper prepositions.
Stop when you complete the thought.
Don’t linger. Move on to the next composition.

Composing your life is an art where you are both artist and masterpiece.

Life's Grateful Mistakes

When one of her students made a math mistake in the classroom, my friend, a former elementary school teacher would gently say to the embarrassed child:

Thank you for making the mistake so that others can learn from it.

She would then explain how to tackle the problem and correct it so that the next time her students would be able to solve the math puzzle on their own.

What a life lesson!

So often we need to be our own teachers and gently say to ourselves:

Thank you for making the mistake so that I may learn from it.

A Cemetery in Common

Three years ago, my college friend Rachel and I made a discovery! Our late beloved parents are buried in the Cedar Park/Beth El Cemetery in Paramus, New Jersey.

Rachel grew up in Washington Heights in Upper Manhattan, and I grew up in the Bronx. During their lifetimes, our parents resided in different neighborhoods, but they were cut from the same Jewish cloth. Both came from Poland. Both spoke mainly Yiddish. Both carried immigrant baggage. Both had two daughters. Both were humble and faithful to the Blessed One, Hakadosh Baruch Hu.

After a fifteen-minute car ride from Rachel’s house in Teaneck, New Jersey, we entered the gates of memory.

I stood next to Rachel and encouraged her to read aloud from the wooden-framed poem she had written many years before her father’s death. Her voice and tempo assured the sincerity of this premiere recitation at graveside.

The Cane by Rachel Schulman

It stands between us
cold scepter demanding attention
shining with flawless glow
old man's obdurate gavel

Erect as you bend before it
A testimony to time and change

Inexorable

We glance at it and look away
sheepish smile on both our faces
Knowing that something new has entered our relationship
the once infinite demanding to be addressed
and my love for you expressed
faster than I would have done before

as we both pay silent obeisance

Rachel and I bowed in silent obeisance before the passing images of our four parents. With this poem and in this setting, our friendship reached a higher rung. It appeared that we had more in common than we had just yesterday.