Hi All,

As the month draws to a close, I'm feeling especially appreciative of this blog's daily presence in my wintery mix of a February. Final stretch! We are almost there! I'm thinking about past posts this month, and really loving the range of contributions you've all made.  Highlights include: Zoe's link to the greatness that is Ariana Grande (did you watch this? You must.), Jonah's arial shot of his family and friends gathered to welcome his nephew, Caro's brillz treatise on life and love in SF, Einat's poetry...the list does on.

I have especially been thinking about Nomi's helpful reminder and gentle nudge that we don't have to hopelessly capitulate to February's gloom; we can--SURPRISE!--choose what kind of month we want to have, we can cast a different spell on the experience, we can construct it how we please. We might do that against the backdrop of the month's history in our lives. But we still construct it all the same.  I have been actively trying to switch my mindset from thinking that this month curses everything it touches to thinking that I can bring things into this month to add more light.  That's certainly how I plan to close it out.

Some things I'm loving and thinking about, including some words of Torah about forgiveness in February at the very end, after the sign-off.

1) Yesterday, my amazing colleague and I stopped our clocks to look at pictures of s'mores online.  In our research, we came across this website, which includes this AMAZING history of toasted marshmallows in the U.S. and a summary of "High Society Marshmallow Roasts." WHAT.

2) I also finally got around to listening to this beautiful On Being episode, with Robert Ross and Patrisse Cullors discussing, among other things, the healing power of activism.  The episode is beautifully entitled "The Resilient World We're Building Now."

3) On an entirely different note, my favorite Key & Peele sketch.

4) Finally, a favorite Hafiz poem that must have been written during the last days of February:

Out
of a great need
we are holding hands
and climbing
not loving is a letting go.
Listen,
the terrain around here
is far too dangerous
for that.

Keep Hanging On, Selah,
Jana

Parshas Ki Sisa

This week's Torah portion--the last in February--is called Ki Sisa (or, to some weirdos, Ki Tisa). It recounts a number of events that occurred after the Israelites received the Ten Commandments in the desert after the Exodus from Egypt. Most significantly, it recounts the story of the Golden Calf. Digest version: Moses is a little late coming down from Mt. Sinai, the Israelites immediately lose hope and demand from Moses's brother, Aaron the High Priest, to make them a golden calf so they can all worship it as their g-d.  Confronted by the angry mob, he obliges, collects gold from the Israelites and throws it into a fire, and, in his telling, "Out jumped this calf."  Not a high water mark for taking responsibility, but whatever. Given that G-d's major theme throughout the Bible up to this point is monotheism, and given that G-d just commanded this as #1 on the list of 10, both Moses and G-d are incredibly pissed, and Moses severely punishes the worshippers (burns the idol, makes the Israelites drink water full of its ash, and then encourages the Levites to smite all the nonbelievers). But Moses meting out punishment is almost a footnote; official business he has to get out of the way before the much harder task to come: lobbying for the people's forgiveness.

What happens next is pretty remarkable, and pretty Februarydik.  Moses is so committed to forgiveness that he proposes an ultimatum to G-d: Forgive these people, or else take me out of this Book.  Essentially, he tells G-d that he doesn't want to be part of any story that doesn't include the greatest forgiveness, even for this. Moses is hardly a sap--he just encouraged a massacre against the idolators. But much more time is spent recounting his deliberate negotiations. At first, G-d won't yield. He tells Moses, "No, those people who desecrate my name--those are the people that are out of the Book."  Moses isn't satisfied with this.  He won't accept a history that whitewashes this grave sin, but he also won't accept a history that doesn't forgive it. He believes that history must hold multiple, complex, painful truths all at once.

What's my proof of this? The words he uses: he recounts the terrible sin to G-d, then says, "And now, if you would forgive them--and if not, I beseech you, blot me out of that Book which You have written." (Ex. 32:32).  He doesn't say "They were bad....BUT..."  He says "and." His word choice and his ultimatum make it clear: "These things are all true. They have betrayed you. And also, forgiveness. All of these things must be true, and if not, then I can't be part of this anymore."  G-d agrees, and then Moses makes a bolder claim: You've asked me to lead this people, and I don't even know your Name. It's a twofold point. First, Moses is remarking that he feels distance from G-d compared to the monumental task that G-d has asked of him. Second, Moses is feeling distance in the face of this terrible event: "You were going to destroy this whole people, you didn't think to forgive them, I had to convince you to forgive them. I don't feel like I know you the way I did back when we first met and you asked me to do this. We're different now, and I need to know who you are going to be for me and for this people, from here on out." It gets me every time; this incredible loneliness Moses must feel in the relationship he is renowned for mastering. He's standing in the face of this miraculous pillar of cloud, begging for these people, and then he says, "What are we even doing here? Who are you, anyway?"  G-d tells Moses that G-d will reveal G-d's identity: Moses tucks himself into a cleft of a rock, G-d's "Presence" passes before him, and G-d reveals that G-d is (roughly translated): "G-d, G-d, G-d Compassionate and Gracious, slow to anger, abundant in lovingkindness and Truth, bestowing kindness toward thousands, forgiving all sins, and purifying."  When the relationship between G-d and the Jewish people, and between G-d and Moses, reaches its absolute rock bottom, Moses calls upon G-d to reveal G-d's most authentic identity in that moment. And that identity is compassion. It is forgiveness. It renews itself generation after generation.

I'd like to think, however heretical this might seem, that this revelation was actually very difficult for G-d. I don't think G-d's first choice was to be Compassionate and Gracious and Slow to Anger or particularly abundant in Lovingkindness. I think G-d was majestically pissed, had every right to be, and just wanted to end it all right then and there.  I really get the G-d of that moment, the G-d who can't countenance forgiveness, doesn't even contemplate it, really. And I think Moses saw that, really saw it, and said, "Yes to all of that, AND forgiveness. I can only be the leader of a forgiven people. So, what does that make you? And now that we're here, can you tell me something about that?"  Jews recount this authentic compassion, this expression of Divine identity, most often during Rosh HaShanna and Yom Kippur, when we are most in need of forgiveness.

But I'd like to invite everyone to bring these words into their February selves and their February circumstances. It's the final days of this month, the bitter end of what it might have challenged us with, the very last dregs of the worst.  For me, in certain areas of my life, I feel the rock-bottomness of it all, the sense of absolute ending, that inability to believe in anything more or different or better. Who, or what, is bearing witness to that very low and brutal feeling? And who, or what, in that same witnessing, is inviting me to my compassionate self? Who, or what, is asking me who I truly am, and who I truly want to be, even with all that seems to argue otherwise? Who, or what, is validating my deep confusion or anger or senses of loss, and imagining that from that very place, I can forgive, because that is also who I am? And not just forgive once, or now, but repeatedly, February after February, generation after generation? And since I'm not just a victim of February but also a perpetrator of it, who, or what, is helping those I love find their authentic identity so that I might benefit from compassion, grace, abundant lovingkindness, and authentic forgiveness?  These answers take time, of course, longer than our shortest month of the year, for example.  And sometimes we know we need the answer but we don't know where it will come from.  So in the meantime, as we finish this month, perhaps we can each ask ourselves: when I am in that bleakness and truly don't know what will be revealed, in which cleft of which rock can I tuck myself that I might best see the glory of that truth pass before me?