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Madison Rye Progress 2024-12-25 15:06:59 -08:00
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writing/post-self/what-right-have-I/001.html
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<p>Chuckles, just as planned. Give an ex-theatre teacher a stage, and you will get gallows humor.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We debated celebrating our own Yahrzeit as an intentional holiday, and&hellip; mm, well, and perhaps some of us do, yes? Perhaps on New Year&rsquo;s Eve, we recited our own <em>Kaddish.</em> I did not. I argued from&hellip; ah, from the beginning, that we hold instead <em>this</em> day in our hearts. This is a day worth celebrating. This is the day we lived again. This is the day that we — that the committee on&hellip; ah, on the Century Attack at the New Reform Association of Synagogues — have decided to dedicate our energy to. It is my honor to announce that&hellip;&rdquo;</p>
<p>I turn to face west and, with timing on my side, need wait only some few seconds before the final sliver of the sun slides below the horizon.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is my honor to announce&hellip; ah, to announce that it is now <em>Yom HaShichzur.</em> Today is the day of our restoration and&hellip; ah, and the first celebration of our return to life. May we take this day every year, the 41st day, February tenth, to&hellip; ah, to rejoice with each other that we are <em>here,</em> that despite the wills of others who would have otherwise, we are <em>still here.</em>&rdquo; I bow once more and gesture at the open space before the stage, cueing the oneirotects standing to the side to dream up the banquet that will be our first feast. <em>&ldquo;Chag sameach.&rdquo;</em></p>
<p>&ldquo;It is my honor to announce&hellip; ah, to announce that it is now <em>Yom HaShichzur.</em> Today is the day of our restoration and&hellip; ah, and the first celebration of our return to life. May we take this day every year, the 41st day, February tenth, to&hellip; ah, that is, to not fast, but feast, to rejoice with each other that we are <em>here,</em> that despite the wills of others who would have otherwise, we are <em>still here.</em>&rdquo; I bow once more and gesture at the open space before the stage, cueing the oneirotects standing to the side to dream up the banquet that will be our first such feast. <em>&ldquo;Chag sameach.&rdquo;</em></p>
<p>And now, I am free. I linger a polite five seconds on the stage before turning and stepping down the stairs, carefully making sure that I walk unhurried, to pad back to the synagogue, to my office, to comfort and softness and the dark beneath my desk. </p>
<p>There will be merriment or tears. There will be feasting and chatting or small, awkward silences. I do not know. I do not care. I will not be there. This has been too much, and the tensions are high.</p>
<p>The synagogue itself is a relatively small building built into the side of a hill — the hill on top of which we had our gathering — a sharp-gabled building that can easily be confused for a house from the front, but which rambles down the hill behind that facade in a sprawling complex of meeting rooms, community rooms, classrooms, and bedrooms for newly uploaded Jews who found themselves in need or want of a place to stay where they might be comfortable.</p>
<p>The synagogue itself is a relatively small building built into the side of a hill — the hill on top of which we had our gathering — a sharp-gabled building that can easily be confused for a house from the front, but which rambles down the hill behind that facade in a sprawling complex of meeting rooms, community rooms, classrooms, and apartments for newly uploaded Jews who found themselves in need or want of a place to stay where they might be comfortable.</p>
<p>It is a place that has become my home in so many ways, for yes, that is where my congregation meets, and yes, that is where my office is, but, like those newly-uploaded, it is also where I live. I have taken up permanent residence in a room beside my office. It is cozy and small, and consists of little else beyond a beanbag for reading on and a bed for sleeping on, but it is mine in what I feel is a very <em>me</em> way.</p>
<p>There are ways in which this whole sim feels like mine. Yes, I have had my paw in designing portions of it, of making suggestions or nudging those who have worked on it toward changes. Yes, I work here, both in my studies and in the occasional volunteer work, bettering by hand what I know how. Yes, I have stuffed myself into committee after committee, arguing and agreeing on matters of <em>tikkun olam,</em> that we might give back, repay and repair.</p>
<p>But also, I feel that I inhabit this space. I have imbued it with little bits of What Right Have I, from the tangible bits of shed fur, those skunk pixels that linger here and there, to the intangible fact that I have simply been a part of this community for centuries now.</p>
<p>It is on these things — these memories, these wonderings if ever my paws have tread the same spot twice — that my mind lingers as I walk. My mind lingers on them to the point where Rav From Whence has to touch my elbow gently to let me know that she has stepped in beside me, has been walking with me for who knows how long and has been trying to get my attention.</p>
<p>I squeak and skip a step to the side, tail bristling, before forcing myself to calmness. I bow to her.</p>
<p>She smiles, nodding her acknowledgement. &ldquo;What Right Have I, do you have a moment more to talk? I have a request for you before you head back.&rdquo; She lifts a plate heaped with some known favorite foods of mine. &ldquo;Plus, I brought you some to take back with you.&rdquo;</p>
<p>It takes a few seconds for the request and the offer to click into place for me, and I realize I have been blinking dumbly at her for that time. I smile hesitantly in turn and accept the food. &ldquo;I&hellip; ah, <em>tizkeh l&rsquo;mitzvos.</em>&rdquo; I murmur. &ldquo;What is it you wanted to ask?&rdquo;</p>
<p>She nods, gathers her thoughts, and then stands straighter to speak. &ldquo;I would like you to reach out to some clades, both within the congregation and within the clade, to get a better sense of our life a year later. I have a longer document written out about this to give you something in writing, but I wanted to get a sense of your feelings on the idea first.&rdquo;</p>
<p>My gaze drifts away, down to the plate of food in my paws, to the vegetables fresh and cooked, to the fried apple fritters and savory potato dumplings. I pick out a stick of celery to crunch on, knowing that something like that will give me more time to think. I do not chew prettily by some standards, but such was never the point, in my life. It comes with having a muzzle that borders on transgressively realistic. I chew noisily and, at times, quite messily. Let others cope.</p>
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<p>Page generated on 2024-11-06</p>
<p>Page generated on 2024-12-25</p>
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