Today I experienced instant gratification on a whole new level. My brother got me an iPod Touch for my birthday (now that’s a good brother!). Another friend got me an Amazon.com gift certificate. The combination made me think: Kindle eBook! I downloaded the (free) Kindle App from the App Store, went to a blog I frequent, AskMoxie, clicked through to the book NurtureShock which she recommended, and with one click, bought the Kindle version, and with the click of a button on my iPod, I owned the book. (To my chagrin, in my haste, I used my 1-click shopping, which paid for the book with the credit card linked to my account instead of with the gift certificate, but that’s not the point here.)
In the space of LITERALLY three clicks, I had the book. It took maybe one minute. Five if you count how long it took to browse to and download the Kindle App. Maybe less. Oh, and I had to enter a password once.
Before Amazon, before Internet Shopping, we had two options: Drive to the store, browse the physical shelves, pick up the item, peek at the price tag, take it to the cashier, and pay for it using an approved method like, I don’t know, cash, and drive home. And, *gasp*, you might have to go to more than one store to get everything you needed. This was the “instant” method. Alternatively, you could order something from a catalog by mail and expect to wait six to eight weeks to get it, COD or check or money order accepted.
Then, 15 years ago, we got Amazon.com and the Internet Shopping Revolution. Now we just had to browse the virtual shelves for just about anything under the sun, take our credit card from our wallet, type a long string of numbers, enter our address, and, voila, less than a week later, you had your stuff, without even leaving your house.
It’s gotten worse. Now they save your information, so you don’t even have to get up to go find a credit card. You click a button, enter a password, and you’ve paid, like magic! You don’t even take part in the transaction anymore; you don't have to get out of bed. You pick something out, and you get it, just like that.
And now, with books anyway (I don’t suppose they’ve figured out how to email clothes or power tools), we can have it with no wait at all. No hoping the UPS guy will come today; no worrying that FedEx has misrouted your item. Click! There’s the book. Click! Paid for and ordered. Click! I’m reading it in the bathroom!
I was floored. And I’m no technophobe. I love computers; I’ve had one as long as I can remember. I was entering DOS commands before a lot of my friends had learned to type. I was slow on getting into the cell phone revolution, and I’ve only just obtained the iPod Touch, but that was a matter of money, not technophobia or reluctance.
But I was shocked by how easy it was. It didn’t even feel like spending money. I didn’t have to get up and go downstairs, find my purse, fish out my wallet, pick a credit card, come back upstairs, type in all the information, and then download the book. I just had to CLICK. Amazon already knows me! And so does Apple! How very convenient!
But what’s this have to do with the price of brisket in Crown Heights?
Well, for one, you still can’t download kosher brisket to your iPod, and I am now registering my formal complaint on that matter.
But, more to the point, what is this obsession with, this need for, instant gratification? Why do I need to have this book RIGHT NOW? Why should it even be possible? How impatient are we that someone actually thought up this whole system, so that I could have the book I want in three seconds or fewer?
In Judaism, we are taught to work for the sake of the work, not for the reward. We are taught that when we pray, we are to be in the moment, thinking of what we are doing right NOW, not what might come later. When we perform a mitzvah, it is for the sake of G-d and the performance of the deed, not for the sake of a reward we may or may not receive now or in the future. It's not about gratification at all, much less instant gratification. If anything, we might get a reward in the World To Come, which is about as far from instant gratification as I can think of.
Sometimes, maybe it’s worth getting in the car and driving to the store. Enjoy the time out of the house, see the sky, feel the ground beneath your feet, watch the clouds, smell the books, talk to people, oh, and if the book you want is on the shelf, interact with the cashier in order to buy it. And if the book isn’t there, maybe you didn’t need it all that badly, but at least you got some exercise walking the stacks.
If things are too easy, we forget the value in working for them. And the more we can instantly fulfill every whim, the more whims we will need to fulfill, and the faster we will need that fulfillment. This leads us to some amazing things, like the Kindle App for iPod. But it also leads us to recklessness and disregard in our quest to get what we want as fast as we can.
Take a moment just to be. Put down the iPhone when you’ve finished reading this post. That text message can wait, your client won’t notice if it takes three more minutes for you to answer her email, and your kids may as well start learning patience now. Do a mitzvah for the sake of the mitzvah. Here are some ideas for a simple mitzvah you can perform: Say a blessing over kosher food, ritually wash your hands when you wake up in the morning, say the Shema before you go to sleep, light Shabbos candles, give tzedakah, study Torah. If you need instructions on performing any of these mitzvot, or you want more ideas, feel free to leave me a comment, contact your rabbi, or (and I laugh even typing it) Google it.
Hey, the internet isn’t ALL bad.
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Minyans on a Plane!
Back in 2005, my husband and I were flying to Israel for the second time to visit his family. The interesting thing about flying to or from Israel is that there is a much higher percentage of Jews around than just about anywhere else you might be, except in Israel itself (duh). What’s nice about this is that at the appropriate times of day, the religious men on the plane gather in a convenient place to pray whichever prayer service it is time for. On the plane, or in the airport, they have the advantage of being able to gather 10 Jewish men easily, thereby collecting a “minyan,” the minimum number of people required to recite certain prayers, such as the Mourner’s Kaddish*.
Every time I’ve been in a place where there are informally at least 10 Jewish men around (as opposed to in services, where it’s planned that way), it’s been amazing for me to watch the men gather in a loose bunch, whip out their prayer books (or these days, their iPhones or Blackberrys when it isn’t Shabbat!), and daven (pray) the morning, afternoon, or evening service, roughly together.
So, back to the plane on the way to Israel in 2005.
When the men began gathering to pray the morning service, a woman on the plane stood up and gravitated toward the group of praying men, bringing with her a tallit* bag so that she could don her prayer accouterments and daven with the men. We assumed that she was a Conservative, Reform, or Reconstructionist rabbinical student flying to Israel to study. We don’t actually know, but she fit the profile. Anyway. The men didn’t want her to pray with them, and she got miffed and was complaining about being asked to pray somewhere else.
We watched this drama unfold somewhat bemusedly. It illustrates so well the struggle many American women from the less traditional movements have. We women want to pray, too! We want to wear the tallit and the tefillin and the kippah, join the minyan, and daven the morning service. We want the privileges that the men get by default.
But see, if you’re Orthodox, there are two problems with this philosophy. First of all, women don’t need to wear tallit, kippah, and tefillin. Thus, a woman doing so makes an Orthodox man uncomfortable. Second, though a Reform or Conservative or Reconstructionist well-meaning woman wants to pray with the men, in a traditional Orthodox arena, women and men do not intermingle while they pray.
So, on the one hand, the woman on the plane had a right to be miffed. She had a right to want to wear the tallit and kippah and pray with the men. But on the other hand, the men had a right to be uncomfortable with her standing with them, and to request that she pray elsewhere on the plane.
Now, notice, they didn’t ask that she not pray. They asked that she not pray standing next to them. Whether they were in a plane, at the airport, in the middle of Jerusalem, or in a synagogue, they would not have wanted her or any woman to stand next to them while they prayed. It’s simply not proper. And no matter what, she wouldn’t count in their minyan.
If she wanted to pray her way, she needed a congregation or gathering of like-minded Jews, men or women, who do count women in the minyan and encourage them to wear tallit and kippah and tefillin. But it wasn’t really fair of her to insist on davening with a bunch of Orthodox men on their way to Israel. There, it became an issue of respect.
I think it’s interesting, too, that the men were respectful enough of her not to ask that she not pray in the way she wanted, but she was not respectful enough of them to know that she shouldn’t try to pray with them to begin with.
I run into this a lot, where what I want to do is in direct contradiction to my religious friends’ beliefs. For example, I drive and carry on Shabbat. We haven’t reached the point where we keep all of the laws of Shabbat. But I know that it is disrespectful to my more religious friends to make a big deal of it, so I make an effort not to carry or drive on Shabbat around them. They don’t watch me arrive or leave, and I try not to bring anything in or out of their house (except my kids and my keys). They insist on my using their diapers and wipes, on providing changes of clothes if my kids get dirty, and so on, so that I wouldn’t have had to carry anything with me. And on the flip side, if they want to give me something, they would never give it to me on Shabbat, because then I would have to carry it home. And I know not to ask.
In this same vein, the woman on the plane should have known already that she would not be welcome, and instead of trying to make a martyr of herself, or get upset about it, or stage a mini-protest, she should have respected that they were not of a mind with her, and she should have chosen a different part of the plane to daven.
* Tallit, tefillin, and kippah are the prayer shawl, leather strips and boxes placed on the head and arms, and the yarmulke or skull cap worn during the morning prayers. I’m not going to go into the significance or religious meaning of any of these items now, but Wikipedia has an article accompanied by pictures, if you’re curious what it looks like. (Men wear a kippah all the time.) Traditionally, women do not wear kippah, tallit, or tefillin, ever.
* The Mourner’s Kaddish is a prayer said by mourners. Traditionally, one says Kaddish for a parent, spouse, child, or sibling who died within the past 11 months, and also on the yahrzeit, the anniversary, of their death. The Mourner’s Kaddish can only be said in the presence of a minyan, 10 Jewish men who are all praying together.
Every time I’ve been in a place where there are informally at least 10 Jewish men around (as opposed to in services, where it’s planned that way), it’s been amazing for me to watch the men gather in a loose bunch, whip out their prayer books (or these days, their iPhones or Blackberrys when it isn’t Shabbat!), and daven (pray) the morning, afternoon, or evening service, roughly together.
So, back to the plane on the way to Israel in 2005.
When the men began gathering to pray the morning service, a woman on the plane stood up and gravitated toward the group of praying men, bringing with her a tallit* bag so that she could don her prayer accouterments and daven with the men. We assumed that she was a Conservative, Reform, or Reconstructionist rabbinical student flying to Israel to study. We don’t actually know, but she fit the profile. Anyway. The men didn’t want her to pray with them, and she got miffed and was complaining about being asked to pray somewhere else.
We watched this drama unfold somewhat bemusedly. It illustrates so well the struggle many American women from the less traditional movements have. We women want to pray, too! We want to wear the tallit and the tefillin and the kippah, join the minyan, and daven the morning service. We want the privileges that the men get by default.
But see, if you’re Orthodox, there are two problems with this philosophy. First of all, women don’t need to wear tallit, kippah, and tefillin. Thus, a woman doing so makes an Orthodox man uncomfortable. Second, though a Reform or Conservative or Reconstructionist well-meaning woman wants to pray with the men, in a traditional Orthodox arena, women and men do not intermingle while they pray.
So, on the one hand, the woman on the plane had a right to be miffed. She had a right to want to wear the tallit and kippah and pray with the men. But on the other hand, the men had a right to be uncomfortable with her standing with them, and to request that she pray elsewhere on the plane.
Now, notice, they didn’t ask that she not pray. They asked that she not pray standing next to them. Whether they were in a plane, at the airport, in the middle of Jerusalem, or in a synagogue, they would not have wanted her or any woman to stand next to them while they prayed. It’s simply not proper. And no matter what, she wouldn’t count in their minyan.
If she wanted to pray her way, she needed a congregation or gathering of like-minded Jews, men or women, who do count women in the minyan and encourage them to wear tallit and kippah and tefillin. But it wasn’t really fair of her to insist on davening with a bunch of Orthodox men on their way to Israel. There, it became an issue of respect.
I think it’s interesting, too, that the men were respectful enough of her not to ask that she not pray in the way she wanted, but she was not respectful enough of them to know that she shouldn’t try to pray with them to begin with.
I run into this a lot, where what I want to do is in direct contradiction to my religious friends’ beliefs. For example, I drive and carry on Shabbat. We haven’t reached the point where we keep all of the laws of Shabbat. But I know that it is disrespectful to my more religious friends to make a big deal of it, so I make an effort not to carry or drive on Shabbat around them. They don’t watch me arrive or leave, and I try not to bring anything in or out of their house (except my kids and my keys). They insist on my using their diapers and wipes, on providing changes of clothes if my kids get dirty, and so on, so that I wouldn’t have had to carry anything with me. And on the flip side, if they want to give me something, they would never give it to me on Shabbat, because then I would have to carry it home. And I know not to ask.
In this same vein, the woman on the plane should have known already that she would not be welcome, and instead of trying to make a martyr of herself, or get upset about it, or stage a mini-protest, she should have respected that they were not of a mind with her, and she should have chosen a different part of the plane to daven.
* Tallit, tefillin, and kippah are the prayer shawl, leather strips and boxes placed on the head and arms, and the yarmulke or skull cap worn during the morning prayers. I’m not going to go into the significance or religious meaning of any of these items now, but Wikipedia has an article accompanied by pictures, if you’re curious what it looks like. (Men wear a kippah all the time.) Traditionally, women do not wear kippah, tallit, or tefillin, ever.
* The Mourner’s Kaddish is a prayer said by mourners. Traditionally, one says Kaddish for a parent, spouse, child, or sibling who died within the past 11 months, and also on the yahrzeit, the anniversary, of their death. The Mourner’s Kaddish can only be said in the presence of a minyan, 10 Jewish men who are all praying together.
Monday, May 3, 2010
On Prayer
For the past week or so, I’ve found myself wanting to be able to “do more” for people, not in the physical sense, but in the realm of prayer. In Judaism, one thing women are especially encouraged to do is to recite Psalms on behalf of people who are ill or injured or otherwise in need of help. There are specific Psalms that are generally used as prayers for the sick, but one can also simply read straight through the Book of Psalms, keeping the sick or injured person(s) in mind while one recites.
Prayer works two ways. If one believes in G-d, then one believes that G-d has the power to heal or cure or repair. So, by prayer, one can request that G-d help a friend or relative or relative of a friend, or a stranger. But, also, by praying we feel like we are somehow contributing to the world in a positive way, by asking for help on someone else’s behalf.
I began to feel like I had quite a few friends who could use a little help on the prayer front. So I made it a point to read a few Psalms every day, including a few that are specifically designated as prayers for the sick. Today I got up to Psalm 25. I’ll read a few tomorrow, and the next day, and eventually I’ll have read all 150. Then, I guess, I’ll start again.
It’s amazing how you feel proactive when you take it upon yourself to do this. I take a few minutes of my day to make a heartfelt plea on behalf of a friend, a friend’s baby, a friend’s nephew, a relative, and maybe, in some small way, I can swing their pendulum in the right direction. I don’t claim to have a direct line to G-d, that I can speak and G-d will go, “Oh, well, if Jessica is asking, then of course I’ll cure so-and-so’s cancer.” That’s arrogance in its highest form. But I still think that there’s some kind of, I don’t know, prayer energy or something that G-d responds to, but we have to put in some of the effort.
This is actually true in most aspects of Judaism. G-d is willing to help, possibly, but you have to do some of the work. You don’t just sit there and let money rain down on you from the clouds. No. Maybe G-d gave you the intellect to go to Harvard and get the medical degree so that you can be a successful heart surgeon and make money that way. But you have to do the legwork. You have to use what G-d gives you. You can pray for parnassa, success, but if you don’t send out resumes or study for tests, you aren’t doing your part.
Obviously, I can’t personally work toward curing a friend’s cancer or helping a baby to become healthy so that he can get out of the NICU. I don’t have the necessary skills. That isn’t part of my G-d-given role in life. But if I can take a few minutes to think about those people, well, shouldn’t I?
I know that famous statistic, that 95% of Americans believe in G-d in some form or another. I have also read of studies that show that when people are prayed for, even if they don’t know about it, they have a better survival rate. We Americans are a religious people, even if a lot of us don’t want to admit it. There’s something about organized religion that some Americans find repugnant. I don’t know why. If organized religion can give us something like this power to pray, this framework for prayer, the community to pray with, and to pray for, and if that prayer can help other people, then I think that’s pretty darn good.
So take a moment to think of people in your life who could use a few prayers. Then open a Bible or prayer book to Psalm 20, or 30, or 23 (“The Lord is my shepherd…”), or to Psalm 1, and start reading, thinking of the people that you know while you read. How could it hurt?
Prayer works two ways. If one believes in G-d, then one believes that G-d has the power to heal or cure or repair. So, by prayer, one can request that G-d help a friend or relative or relative of a friend, or a stranger. But, also, by praying we feel like we are somehow contributing to the world in a positive way, by asking for help on someone else’s behalf.
I began to feel like I had quite a few friends who could use a little help on the prayer front. So I made it a point to read a few Psalms every day, including a few that are specifically designated as prayers for the sick. Today I got up to Psalm 25. I’ll read a few tomorrow, and the next day, and eventually I’ll have read all 150. Then, I guess, I’ll start again.
It’s amazing how you feel proactive when you take it upon yourself to do this. I take a few minutes of my day to make a heartfelt plea on behalf of a friend, a friend’s baby, a friend’s nephew, a relative, and maybe, in some small way, I can swing their pendulum in the right direction. I don’t claim to have a direct line to G-d, that I can speak and G-d will go, “Oh, well, if Jessica is asking, then of course I’ll cure so-and-so’s cancer.” That’s arrogance in its highest form. But I still think that there’s some kind of, I don’t know, prayer energy or something that G-d responds to, but we have to put in some of the effort.
This is actually true in most aspects of Judaism. G-d is willing to help, possibly, but you have to do some of the work. You don’t just sit there and let money rain down on you from the clouds. No. Maybe G-d gave you the intellect to go to Harvard and get the medical degree so that you can be a successful heart surgeon and make money that way. But you have to do the legwork. You have to use what G-d gives you. You can pray for parnassa, success, but if you don’t send out resumes or study for tests, you aren’t doing your part.
Obviously, I can’t personally work toward curing a friend’s cancer or helping a baby to become healthy so that he can get out of the NICU. I don’t have the necessary skills. That isn’t part of my G-d-given role in life. But if I can take a few minutes to think about those people, well, shouldn’t I?
I know that famous statistic, that 95% of Americans believe in G-d in some form or another. I have also read of studies that show that when people are prayed for, even if they don’t know about it, they have a better survival rate. We Americans are a religious people, even if a lot of us don’t want to admit it. There’s something about organized religion that some Americans find repugnant. I don’t know why. If organized religion can give us something like this power to pray, this framework for prayer, the community to pray with, and to pray for, and if that prayer can help other people, then I think that’s pretty darn good.
So take a moment to think of people in your life who could use a few prayers. Then open a Bible or prayer book to Psalm 20, or 30, or 23 (“The Lord is my shepherd…”), or to Psalm 1, and start reading, thinking of the people that you know while you read. How could it hurt?
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