What Comes First, The Answer or the Question?

In synagogue last week, we read a passage from Samuel that left us stunned by the unfairness it recounted. Uzzah and his brother Ahio were charged with transporting the Holy Ark of the Covenant from one place to another. When the ox pulling the cart in which the Ark was being transported stumbled, Uzzah reached out and touched the ark to steady it. Touching the Ark, to which was affixed the Divine Name, was a no-no of Leviathan proportions. Immediately, God struck Uzzah down “on the spot.”.

What? Why? How unjust! How unfair! Would it have been better to let the Ark fall? To wait a beat or two to see if the ox would steady itself thus putting the cart before the Ark? The more my friend and I kept at it, I realized that perhaps the finding of an answer was less important than the actual search for an answer.

How could God do that? has kept students and scholars discussing this and other impenetrable questions for millennia. Arrive at an answer and you move on, putting the question aside once and for all. But if you are returned to the struggle time and again, different insights can arise. A conversation with a different friend can shed new light and/or perspectives. Pat answers close a door; the search for answers props doors, and minds, open for as long as it takes. Sometimes it takes forever.

Then again, some questions are simply unanswerable. I no longer grapple with, Why the Shoah?* God is either all knowing and powerless or powerful and indifferent. Neither option invites relationship. My answer to that question is this: my puny human spirit-mind is beyond understanding such impenetrables. Think Jack Nicholson on the stand in A Few Good Men. The answer is a truth I cannot, and have not been created to, handle. Some may call mine the coward’s way out. I prefer to think of it as setting aside the impossible to leave energy for taking on the possible.

God’s first question to Adam, indeed the first question in the Hebrew Bible is Where are you? The Divine had caught wind of Adam and Eve’s encounter with the snake and their alfresco fruit sampling. Centuries of answers grapple with that question. Where are you? invites a lifetime of answering, discovering within hidden wells of strength and potential growth.

One year our answer to Where are you? might be, “snared in pain and resentment.” Then one day, Where are you? comes at us again and we have a new answer, one sourced from compassion and forgiveness. Another year and perhaps we might answer from a place of understanding and empathy.

Answers matter. For me, however, the questions matter more.

 

*Shoah is a Hebrew word meaning utter and complete destruction. Holocaust is derived from the Greek word holokauston meaning a sacrifice that is consumed by fire, as was done in Biblical times. The preference for using Shoah reinforces the truth that Hitler’s murder of six million Jews was not a sacrifice to a deity but an incomprehensible destruction of human life

What Does Liberation Mean to You?

As they often do, Passover and Easter will bookend the coming week. We’ll be revisiting our peoples’ founding story. For Jews, the theme is liberation. For Christians, resurrection.

The holidays arrive in tandem with the growing availbility of the Covid vaccine, and moving into a new phase of this pandemic.  Bit by bit, arm by arm, we are being liberated from a year of isolation. With the reappearing crocus and snowdrops we, too, find ourselves breaking through. We feel life returning to us. As we move into this holy time, I offer a few questions we might ask ourselves and one another at our holiday meals. whether in person or on Zoom.

1. What has this year of quarantine liberated you from?

2. What might you not choose to resume?

3. How do you feel you are coming alive once again?

 

 

photo credit: Debra Darvick © 2021

Mary Oliver Answers the Questions

I had a post-doc in worry. Covid pretty much cured me of it. Or cured me of the notion that worrying did anything but furrow my brow, wreck my sleep and drive me to consume copious portions of foods made from sugar, fats, and salt. Mary Oliver, of blessed memory and eternal wisdom, was a worrier too.

 

I Worried
Mary Oliver

I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?
Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?
Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.
Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?
Finally, I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.

***.        ***          ***

 

Where are you with your worrying? Can you set it aside? How did you reach that state?

 

 

Taking Stock

Hard to believe we’re edging up on a year of Covid.  The virus  weaves itself through nearly every consideration in our lives.  Multiply by, say 50, the number of lives claimed and you have twenty-five million people mourning their family and friends. Scientists of all disciplines will likely be studying for years to come the emotional, physical, educational and social implications of this pandemic.

The goal of this site is to “enhance your now” to bring a bit of brightness to you, my readers. Amidst it all, this year has also brought silver linings, and that is where questions come into play. What silver lining has this pandemic year brought to you? Have you taken the opportunity to do something you might not have attempted otherwise, a new hobby perhaps, or skill? What of your relationships? Which have been strengthened and how? Which  have been weakened? The song “For Good” from Wicked comes to me.  How, and possibly who, has changed you this year? For the better? For good?

Photo credit:                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               “Zodiac sign of LIBRA in a 15th century manuscript” by VirtualManuscript Library of Switzerland, licensed umdr CC BY-NC 2.0

 

Zen and the Art of Hospital Corners

Hospital corners! I love them. My grandmother taught me and every morning when I make my bed, I think back to my visits when I tagged alongside as she “did her doins'”, straightening the house before we left for the day.

Hospital corners and bed making go beyond sentimental memory. Making my bed each morning begins the day with order. The bed, at least, is in my control. I can have my day planned, but the Yiddish truism Mentsch tracht un Gott lacht*  is a truism because plans come undone. To-do lists are left behind, a phone call from the lab or a friend can upend our world.

But my bed? I’ve got that covered. Yes, it’s rote. Yes, it often feels like a monotonous chore instead of an act of the spirit.  Sometimes I rebel and stow our second blanket in the cabinet without folding it first. Yet I have come to welcome this daily anchor to the morning. This small  unceasing task of making the bed makes me. Makes me calmer, prepped for the day, aware of the blessing of a bed and a loving husband beside me each night. Making my bed is a small act of loyalty, gratitude and pleasure.  For me, making the bed really does matter.

What morning ritual anchors you for the day?

 

* Man plans and God laughs.