Half Changed World

I’ve been reading and thinking a good bit about Pope John Paul II’s life and legacy the past few days.  It’s hard for me think of another public figure whom I both respect deeply and thoroughly disagree with on many issues.  Not being Catholic, I was never directly affected by the Pope’s positions;  I can disagree with him without feeling insubordinate or betrayed.

Rabbi Yoffie’s statement for the Union of Reform Judaism sums it up well for me:

"While we had our disagreements – on gender equality, reproductive rights, and the rights of gays and lesbians – we never doubted for a moment that he was a man of profound principle, courage, and vision.  Even when our religious traditions led us to different conclusions, John Paul II always found new opportunities for reengaging in our common purpose of bringing justice with mercy into the human community."

I’m reminded of a passage from Stephen Carter’s book, The Culture of Disbelief, in which he comments on Americans’ tendency to create God in our own image — our habit of assuming that God supports all of our political and cultural positions (a failing equally prevalent among the left and right). He challenges us to allow religion to be more than a mirror that reflects back our own smug certainties. 

One nice thing about D attending a Jewish preschool is that they totally ignore most of the secular and Christian holidays.  So we didn’t have to run around making valentines for all of his classmates last month, and this month he’s not bringing home Easter baskets or talking about Easter eggs.  Instead, they’ve been making hamentaschen and singing Purim songs.  I’m particularly fond of "Harma Harma Haman" sung to the tune of "Little Bunny Foo Foo."

But the Purim story isn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world to explain to a 4-year-old.  He likes being Haman and saying "bow down to me" and I get to be "the Jewish People" and say "NO!" and then we both laugh.  But last night he was thinking about all the characters, and he couldn’t quite figure out why there were two Queens in the story.  I simply said that Vashti is the queen at the beginning of the story, and Esther is the queen later on, and left it at that. 

I think I’m going to get away with it this year.  But at some point, he’s going to notice that Vashti gets the kibosh for refusing to dance in front of all of the King’s friends.  And while saying "NO!" works out ok for Esther and Mordechai and "the Jewish People," it doesn’t turn out so well for poor Vashti.  (I guess I’ve always been a fan of the underdog; I used to dress up as Vashti for Purim when I was just a bit older than D.)

After another trip to the doctor, D is now on six different medications.  Two of them taste awful, and he howls and runs away when we take the bottle out, but then uses every ounce of bravery in his body to swallow them.  I keep wondering whether we’re doing the right thing, if we’re putting him through this unnecessarily.

This afternoon, I remembered one of my favorite Anne Lamott articles, about God’s in box.  I love Lamott, because she’s just as neurotic as I am.  She both makes me feel normal just the way I am, and gives me hope that it’s possible to get off the hamster wheel.

My one misgiving about the title of this blog is that it implies that this is a transitional stage, that one day the world will be "fully changed."  I’m not sure I believe that.  Some days I think that it’s inevitable, that the old attitudes are dying out with the generations that believed them; other days I think there are three steps back for every two steps forward.  (Two recent studies on hiring and marriage preferences, using undergrads as their research subjects, were especially disillusioning.)

Since it’s Martin Luther King Day, I thought I’d share a piece of one my favorite King sermons:

"As you know, if I were standing at the beginning of time, with the possibility of general and panoramic view of the whole human hisotry up to now, and the Almighty said to me, "Martin Luther King, which age would you like to live in?" — I would take my mental flight by Egypt through, or rather across the Red Sea, through the wilderness on toward the promised land. And in spite of its magnificence, I wouldn’t stop there. I would move on by Greece, and take my mind to Mount Olympus. And I would see Plato, Aristotle, Socrates, Euripides and Aristophanes assembled around the Parthenon as they discussed the great and eternal issues of reality. But I wouldn’t stop there…

"Strangely enough, I would turn to the Almighty, and say, "If you allow me to live just a few years in the second half of the twentieth centry, I will be happy." Now that’s a strange statement to make, because the world is all messed up. The nation is sick. Trouble is in the land. Confusion all around. That’s a strange statement. But I know, somehow, that only when it is dark enough, can you see the stars. And I see God working in this period of the twentieth centry in a way that men, in some strange way, are responding — something is happening in our world….

"Well I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people will get to the promised land. And I’m happy, tonight, I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord."

King gave this sermon on April 3, 1968, the night before he was assassinated.

We had a Hanukah party last night, which was a lot of fun.  The baked "party latkes" from Cooking Light were a disaster, but the fried latkes were a huge hit, both the traditional ones and the curried sweet potato latkes from Joan Nathan’s Jewish Cooking in America.  I like cooking and I like having people over.  Can’t say I love the hectic cleaning that’s needed to get the house ready to have company.  (I wish we had entertained more during the period when we were feeling flush enough to have a biweekly housecleaner.)

The party was a nice mix of people we know from different settings — work, online communities, school, hobbies.  I think it worked because there were no big clumps of people who already knew each other, so people had to find different things to talk about.

I had an interesting conversation with one of our guests, a Christian married to a Jew, about why I am less than totally thrilled about celebrating Christmas with my in-laws.  Why, he asked, is it not a totally positive thing to have another holiday to celebrate?  I don’t have a really good answer.  I think I have this vague notion of Christmas as a big seductive force that will try to suck us all in if I don’t draw a bright line against it.  It is one of the ironies of the season that Hanukah is a celebration of resistance against assimilation, and it is the most assimilated of Jewish holiday.

Tonight is Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. May you and your loved ones be written in the book of life for a good and sweet new year.

(Why good and sweet? Because if you wish only for a "good year," you might get one full of what a friend of mine refers to as AFGE — Another F-ing Growth Experience. So may your year be both good and sweet.)

Thanks to RebelDad for the prominent mention in his blog. Reading his blog — and filling up his comments column — was one of the main things that inspired me to start writing this.