9th of Av

Given our situation, reading the verse "We have become orphans, fatherless; our mothers are like widows" (Eichah 5:3) is every bit as devastating as you'd imagine.

A year of davening slowly

Jewish philosophizing to follow. If you're looking for craft content, skip to the end.

Jewish law has many ways to help people cope with death. Most of them don't apply to me. No new clothes? I buy, on average, one shirt every two years. No music? I have a great memory for music, and mainly "play" it in my head after hearing a recording once or twice. No TV? Haven't watched since our color tube went, leaving us with a 17 year old black-and-pink set. No movies? Last movie I saw in a theater was Shrek 2. Before that--Shrek. No weddings? We live here in Israel, our families in the US, so that's an easy one.

So what's left? I could learn some gemara or read some Tehillim. But I already do that, anyway.

Then there's the biggie: Kaddish. Not exactly the world's least controversial topic given that, last I checked, I'm not my brother. I read up some, checked some sources, spoke to the local rabbi, and have been at minyan three times a day, saying Kaddish, for the past 13 weeks.

Some people say women only want to recite the Kaddish to "be feminists." That we're looking to take over men's roles instead of doing our own. I'd like those people (largely men) to try saying Kaddish as a woman must for a month or two and then let them talk.

Saying Kaddish, at least in the Orthodox minyans in which I have said it and particularly in my home shul, is an exercise in humility and humiliation. I'm not allowed to say the Kaddish alone--I have to arrange for a man to say it with me. Twice my husband was too sick to go with me to shul; I said Kaddish and none of the men answered. (Since then, my husband has arranged back-up kaddish-zuggers, who usually remember they're on. If they forget, I'm not allowed to prompt them--see next point.) I'm not aloud to say Kaddish above a whisper, because some men complained to the rabbi that the sound of my voice saying Kaddish made them think inappropriate thoughts. On the other hand, at least once each day some man walks in to the women's section to get a book, put down his books, put sunflower seeds out for the evening study session, or just to disguise how late he is getting to shul--usually when I'm bowing during Shemoneh Esreh, rear halfway in the air and unable to turn around. (Interesting--my voice behind a curtain is irresistible, my posterior is not. Not so great for the vanity, is that?)

Yes, I've read the responsa on women saying Kaddish, pro and con, and in this case they're irrelevant--the local rabbi's had his say (though his changed his psak in midstream because of community pressure, telling me to whisper the Kaddish, and saying wistfully "If it were 100 years from now..."). What gets me is how little the (male) community thinks of the women's section, with how little sanctity they perceive it compared to the men's section. The men's section is tidied after every prayer. In the morning, after the men have had a study session in the women's section, there are dirty tissues and sunflower seed shells on the floor, candy wrappers, books flung all over chairs, the table, and the floor, chairs tossed about as though they'd been wrestling with each other instead of the text. The curtain between the men's and women's section is consistently flung open all the way across. (I don't close it, aside from the little area in front of where I sit. It's not for my purposes, the curtain; I'm allowed to see the men. They can reach the curtain at least as easily as I can. Let them close it.)

I'm all out of ideas. I've talked to individual men. I've talked to the men officially in charge of the shul. How does one stop men from being pigs in the women's section?

I try to get to shul early and learn some gemara. Today I was learning Megillah 14b, which includes this gem: "While women talk, they use the spindle." In honor of that saying, here's what I've been spinning.

Sock yarn (still in single form) from a rainbow colored batt by Grafton Fibers. (As soon as I bought this, I found out Linda's no longer going to sell retail. Note to self: don't fall in love with this stuff.)
And there's been knitting. Clapotis v.3, out of horrible wool and mohair that my sister-in-law "inherited" from her mother, who is now in a Home, suffering from Alzheimer's. (Don't blame me--it's for my sister, and she spied the yarn in SIL's stash.)

And socks. Sockotta, no pattern, plain simple knit until you throw up. Started in the hospice while Mom was dying, finished here at home. Explain to me why from one side they look like they have nothing in common

and from the other they're a perfect match?


So, who's going to Chomesh tomorrow?

That was the week that was

When last I blogged, I was about to go into knit withdrawal. Been there, done that, gained the extra holiday kilo. But the holiday's been over for nearly a week, so where have I been? Knitting, of course. Like those two or three cups of coffee you drink after Yom Kippur -- you know better intellectually, but you're jonesing and so indulge.


Sukkot was lovely. The Youngest Teen had to do all the decorating herself, since the Oldest Teen and The Spouse put up the contraption and The Middle Teen barely breezed in with enough time to shower before candle lighting. Youngest did a ton and a half of paper chains and used all our ornaments.

Instead of bringing back all sorts of useless garbage from our travels, we bring back useless souveniers as sukkah decorations. Works best when we travel in December, not so well when we're travelling in June.



First day we went to my aunt, who lives about 20 minutes away, not so much to see my aunt and my neohew (learning here fr the year and with my aunt for the holiday) as because The Middle Teen agreed to come home for the holiday only if she could be assured of seeing friends who live in my aunt's town. (Said friends are now in Poland doing the 'Let's give the Poles our tourism shekel as reward for everything they did to--oops, for-- us in WWII' tour. Oh, my, did I get political there?)

Last Monday we went to Jerusalem because the Teens wanted to go to the huge Birkat Cohanim at the Wall and I had a client meeting. Afterwards we all (including my nephew) went to lunch in Talpiot--which cost a fortune, because the only way to get a seat in the restaurant's sukkah was to take waiter service, and then to the second day of the Beit Shemesh Festival.

Middle Teen met more of her Poland-bound friends

and we got to see Shai Gabso for a second Sukkot in a row.

I was more impressed with Adi Ran and the Moshav Band, but was very disappointed with Shlock Rock. I guess when you've been following a band for 25 years (before they even were Schlock Rock) you build up unreasonable expectations.

Time to get back to my knitting--Socktoberfest (and my upcoming anniversary) call.

When Judaism interferes with knitting

Tonight the holiday of Sukkot starts, and so my knitting ends for a week. I'm still not sure I understand why I have to give up my craft Prozac -- sure, in the days when you *had* to knit/weave/spin/sew to clothe your family it was work, but now? [sigh]

And it comes at the worst time, right at the start of my quick-finish-everything-in-sight-before-I-fly panic.

Speaking of which, can anyone explain why accomodations in Toronto, Canada are so flippin' expensive? The Spouse and I may actually stay in a hostel, because everything else seems to be about the same price as the hotel we stayed in in Paris, without the convenience of a kosher breakfast or being walking distance from the Eiffel Tower. (And what, pray tell, is worth doing in Toronto, particularly after 5 pm, aside from Lettuce Knit?)

Here's a state of the WIPs, before religion forces them into hiding.

An FO--another MD baby kimono. Everything old is new again, only this time in stocking stitch. Gifted to a baby to be named later -- her parents were so sure she'd be a boy they hadn't even thought of any girl names, and then, when she was born, oops!


So now I have no girl baby gifts. A serious problem in a town where babies are the local industry. Lack of gifts + lots of oddballs of acrylic + MD knitting book = log cabin baby blanket! Too bad I started the blanket off thinking I'd have a run on boy baby gifts, but I can compensate: when I'm done I'll embroider a flower in the center square using some girly-girl color yarn. Since the picture was taken I've added two strips and four circular needles, because a blanket all bunched up looks like unblocked lace. What this might say about my tolerance for unblocked lace and the number of #6 circular needles I own will go unsaid.


But it's not all acrylics (me, knitting in acrylics--well, it's for a good cause, namely reducing my acrylic stash). Oh, no, of course it's not, because it's

I've even managed a half FO (does that make it an F or an O?)

Trekking XXL, color 66. This may hold the record for sock longest on the needles, since I cast it on at the beginning of June, while waiting for a flight to Las Vegas. (Here's the sock visiting Red Rock Canyon, back when I thought I could actually finish a sock over the summer with the Trek-Along)

and cast off Tuesday. With any luck sock #2 will go faster, because now that The Spouse has doctor-ordered custom insole and needs to wear old man shoes for the rest of his life, he's decided the only worthy compensation is hand-knit socks. (Are there any good cotton sock yarns with a decent amout of lycra content, too? The Spouse will spring for a whole new sock yarn stash if I can find a brand. If not, I'll probably try a pair or two out of Cascade Fixation.)

And if he gets, socks, I get socks. I hope these come out nicely, but who can tell? It's a mystery pattern from the SAM Yahoo group.



And in the Mason-Dixon spirit of "nothing is too crazy if you want it bad enough," a garterlac placemat. I think it may be a little small; I may buy another ball of this Coats & Clark yarn when I visit my parents in November.

Yeah, I know it's garish and tacky, yet for some reason, every time I look at it it makes me feel insanely happy. Go figure.

Touching history

Today, for the first time since 1942, rabbis were ordained in Germany. And of all the scribes and calligraphers in the world, who was chosen to write their ordination certificates? The Spouse! I'm so proud of him for having his hand (literally) in a piece of history. Here's a video of some of the ceremony; The Spouse's work is inside the tubes being handed to the new rabbis.

9/11

Today is not the yahrzeit, but since today is the day the 2996 tributes are going up, here are links to tributes to the two (thank G-d, only two) 9/11 victims we knew personally.

Shimmy Biegeleisen
During high school, The Spouse worked in (or rather bartered in--he took most of his wages in books) the Biegeleisen family seforim store. When we're back in New York, we still stop by the new location in Boro Park, and it's still our go-to store for hard to find Judaica, be it old books or books which one needs a personal reference to be allowed to buy. (Yes, true story.) With one thing and the other, and living in the neighborhood, you get to know nearly everyone, like The Spouse got to know Shimmy.

Shimmy, HY"D, had the zechus of letting his family know where he was, so when the initial psak came out, declaring every unaccounted-for person who was known to be in the Towers at the time of the crash halachically dead, hsi family could begin the process of mourning.

Eliyahu Furman
The Furman family, though, did got get that privilege and had to wait long months until Chavie (my sister-in-law's adopted sister) was declared a widow and not an agunah. I remember seeing her and the kids at our mutual neice's wedding that December, how heartbreaking it was to see those nearly-perfect little angels and realize I was seeing part of their lives that Eliyahu never would.

May G-d avenge their blood.

As a family we were lucky. One of The Spouse's nephews worked in the Towers and was just about to get on an elevator when the first plane hit. He freaked out so badly, just from the sound, that he ran from the building, past the first bridge to Brooklyn and caught himself only at the second. If it had hit one minute later... ut it's hard, thinking abuot hashgacha pratit, because if it was what saved Ari, wasn't it also what doomed Shimmy and Eliyahu?

Eye Candy Friday

I always seem to forget to post somethin, which is why the button isn't up on my sidebar.

This is a photo of the artwork for The Spouse's Rosh HaShanah card.