Jade and Joy (B’ha’alot’cha)

This week, I had the most amazing experience; I got to see the two ends of life back to back: brand new life and death.

They were vastly different experiences, yet they should have been the same in one way: filled with awe.

On Wednesday I accompanied a mohel (one who performs circumcision) way out in Brooklyn.

Getting there was just the beginning of the journey. I was locked out of my phone (security reasons), which threw me into a panic.

On the subway, I observed how everyone else stared at their phones, closed off to the amazing variety of life around them. It disturbed me deeply.

Then the family surprised me, as did the mohel:

The family, because they were so similar to mine: a "mixed" marriage of Latino (in this case, Mexican) and Jewish (Ashkenazi Holocaust survivors and Middle East Sephardi) descent.

The baby looked "native" to Mexico, with a full head of straight black hair and dark skin.

It was a pleasant surprise beyond my little world, representing the present and future of Judaism and the world.

The mohel, though immediately welcoming and kind, extremely skilled, ready to show and teach every step of the way, was a bit arrogant and jaded.

He knew exactly what to do, said all the right things at every turn, yet, shockingly to me, showed no interest in the baby.

I saw none of the awe he expressed in words for this new life. The suffering of a baby boy had become normal to him---a part of the sacrifice one makes for Judaism.

Maybe it is too painful to hold both. Otherwise, how do it?

And during the entire ceremony, beginning to end, an older woman scrolled and tapped away at her phone the whole time. It looked more like a habit than her struggle with the ritual, though it could have been both.

It all disturbed me deeply, and I couldn't sleep that night.

The very next day, I visited a funeral home where I expected a matter-of-fact tour.

This time, I was in total awe of what I got:

A mortician who herself lives in awe of death and dying and treats it with the deep respect and reverence it should receive; not a morbid person in the least, she talked about the beauty of dying as the body goes through different stages.
We spoke of the soul, Jewish beliefs around its slow separation, and its ascent.

It surprised me that my experiences of the two, of the bris and beginning, and ending and death, would have been the reverse: awe for new life, getting jaded around death.

I could see that this was true for some of the funeral directors; it just pays the bills, but not for this one. She was passionate and committed to everyone's care, alive and dead alike. She held both with equal reverence.

And I was wondering how in our wider culture, we have lost our sense of awe at the mystery of everything, and numb ourselves to that within and around us, staring at our phones constantly.

Would the world be different if we lived with more awareness, and could hold death with the same reverence we hold new life--if we didn't approach the end with such fear, turning away, and denial? If we could both hold pain and joy at the same time?

I was thinking about this week's parsha, in which so much arises:

The people are finally setting out through the desert; a cloud settles over as an indication to stay put, and lifts when it's time to move on--and no one has a problem with the these two states.

What's hard for the people is the redundancy of eating the unimaginable miracle manna day after day; instead they "remember" the abundance of meat and fish in Egypt they ate as slaves (?). God becomes frustrated, sends them quail and meat, showing that nothing is too much for the Almighty, then punishes them for their cravings and complaining by sending a plague upon them.

God also shows that, though Moses is special as a prophet, anyone can become one. In fact, Moses wishes it were so, that he shouldn't have to bear the responsibility alone of speaking to God.

When I think of my experiences this week, and of the lack of awe in our culture, I think of the state of the world and the constant barrage of bad news. Surely, there are good things happening. Can we hold both?

How can we possibly change the way things are going if we can't hold everything?

Can God, Moses, and the people hold everything as well as they do the cloud settling and lifting?---the gratitude for freedom and enough food vs. the boredom of manna and craving variety; the desire to single out one leader as special vs. the ability of many to become prophets and communicate in their own way?

I was wondering, how can a sense of belonging in and among all, our sense that all belongs, birth and death included, a reverence for the cycle of life and our love for the life that exists, help us in our work?

I found part of the answer in a conversation between marine biologist Ayana Elizabeth Johnson, and Krista Tippett, about Johnson's future book, "What If We Get This Right?"

Here is the description:

"Amidst all of the perspectives and arguments around our ecological future, this much is true: we are not in the natural world — we are part of it. The next-generation marine biologist Ayana Elizabeth Johnson would let that reality of belonging show us the way forward. She loves the ocean. She loves human beings. And she’s animated by questions emerging from those loves — and from the science she does — which we scarcely know how to take seriously amidst so much demoralizing bad ecological news."

My prayer for this week comes in the form of a question that guides Johnson:

"Could we let ourselves be led by what we already know how to do, and by what we have it in us to save?"

"What," she asks, "if we get this right?"

May we find peace with the cloud's lifting and settling; may we let ourselves be led by what we already know, by the love and the awe and the pain, and by a sense of belonging for life and all its stages; may we be and become leaders in our own special way, know that nothing is too much for us to achieve--and put our phones away and notice the awesome variety of life around us, as painful as it may be.

And may it be so; keyn y'hi ratzon.

Amen.