And So It's Yom Kippur...And What Have You Done?

 The rain falls gently this morning from my roof to the concrete tiles by my pool -- one of my favorite sounds. The special needs Spaniel Bo, not fasting this YK, gently crunches on his kibble -- another favorite sound. I'm sitting in an otherwise quiet house -- Wifey still in Atlanta, and would be fast asleep now in any event. And the time is ripe for taking stock.

The sages and rabbis tell us that's the reason for the YK season -- to ask the Big Man forgiveness for all manner of sins, and to take stock. As to the latter, I always recall the Joyce Carole Oates story "Where are you going; where have you been?" Although it's a dark coming of age tale, about a young girl, the title is so profound to me -- in life's journey it's all about our pasts and future. Of course, it's great to live totally in the moment -- something I have always found very hard to do in the absence of alcohol.

I remain in many ways my father's son. He had no use for the hocus pocus of the holiday. He had bad memories of his orthodox childhood -- made to spend hours in the shul as a boy on YK -- remembering mostly the horrible breath of the old fasting men. So he raised me to be a proud Jew and Zionist -- but eating and avoiding shul on YK was not only ok -- it was his way.

Over the years, I dabbled. First when I came to UM, Eric's family took me in, and they attended the Reform synagogue Beth Am, where there was a box of kipot labeled "Optional," since the place, even in the late 70s was SO modern, you didn't have to wear a yamalka. That became an Eric family joke -- referring to yamalkas as "optionals." I went with them, and day dreamed during the services, but do recall some cool stuff, like it was ok to golf on shabbos as long as you "knew in your heart it was a special day."

Later, under Rabbi Yossi, I DID attend. A few times, I truly felt connected with the Big Man, for some reason on Kol Nidre, the eve of YK, even though that service came historically much later than the Torah. I think it was the spooky music from the cantor that resonated with me -- comedian Lewis Black says it is the inspiration for every Alfred Hitchcock movie score.

But over the last decade or so , I came to terms that services were, to quote another great Jew, Bob Dylan -- well "it ain't me, babe." I admire all who go, but within a few moments of attending, I was late for the door. A few times I was the class disruptor -- whispering jokes to my seatmates, drawing the rolling eyes of Rabbi Yossi. 

Nah -- better that I stay home, where some years I watch some online services.

Still, since 1987, I have heeded the admonition of a long lost acquaintance, Ronnie, a wealthy South American Jewish broker who was married to Wifey's co-worker Kathy. We were couple friends, and one year we were discussing the upcoming Days of Awe. I told Ronnie that I worked on RH and YK -- I wasn't at all observant, so why not?

Ronnie grew stern, and told me how wrong that was. I was a Jew, and these were the most important days. If I wanted to avoid shul, or eat -- that was my call -- but to go work in public -- well that disrespected our people. He was correct, at least for me -- I never worked a high holiday after that.

Ronnie and Kathy are long divorced, and years ago Kathy dated one of Paul's friends which led to a hilarious story totally inappropriate for YK, so I shall save it for another, maybe alcohol fueled, time...

Anyway, most Jews are what I call buffet Jews -- we walk along the line of the religion and take what we choose. One of my more holiday observant friends has a son off in Chicago today -- preparing for a marathon tomorrow. The young runner explained to me that he of course needed to eat before the big race, but planned "not to eat anything he enjoys." I applaud his creativity. 

I did my own Tashlich the other day -- the custom of casting off one's sins symbolically as bread crumbs, but tossing them into water. I went to my pond, and tossed some bread crisps Wifey had stored in the fridge for company, telling the Big Man what I was doing. The fish and turtles seemed to heartily enjoy this act of repentance.

So for today, I will say I'm sorry -- just not as thoroughly as the prayer books for YK. Those are creative about the different kinds of sins we commit -- ones we run to commit versus ones we commit sort of unintentionally, for example.

And I plan to do a LOT of taking stock, in the quiet of my blessed home. I still think each day how fortunate I am. I hear the lyrics of the newly deceased Kris Kristofferson and his "Why me?" I leave out the Jesus part when I play it in my head.

I'll leave early for Miami Shores, and spend a bit of time with D2 and Jonathan, and Betsy the enormous puppy. They'll be headed later to a break fast hosted by Judy, Jonathan's truly matriarchal grandmother. I was invited, but as my late mother Sunny noted, you only have ONE tuches and it can only be one place at a time, and I had already agreed to attend Joey's brother and sister in law's break fast.

I spoke to Bob yesterday. Though proudly Sephardic, he said there would be bagels and lox, the soul food of the Ashkenazim -- we agreed that though Sephardic food is often better, nothing like bagels and lox to break the fast...

I hope to spend some quality time with the grandsons -- at the very top of the Sugar Mountain of my absurd blessings -- the joy and energy those 2 boys have brought our family is really something else.

And so my wish for all this YK is discovering some meaning -- however small or large it is. Our time here is so short -- seems silly to NOT savor each moment, recalling where we've been, and where we hope to go.