Yishtabach: Praise

Praise the morning blessings of the Birchat HaShachar,

Praise the songs of the Pzeuki Zimra,

Praise  the Names of the Hatzi Kadish,

Praise the Infinite Eternal of the Barchu,

Praise the light and the darkness of the Yotzer.

And between and within them, Yishtabach.  Praise

Praise the sounds of praising

And praise the ones who praise.

Praise that which is being praised.

Praise the praise.

Yishtabach

What is this?

What am I doing?

Does God need praise or do I need to praise God?

What does that even mean?  

Yishtabach

What kind of ominpotent God needs praise?

I don't believe in such a frivolous God 

I don't believe in anything that needs to b e worshipped

What an insecure God to need such flattery.

Nevertheless, Yishtabach

Is it a pathetic petition to a King?

Is it placation of the jealous Torah God?

Is it worship of a tribal god? 

I hate kings and autocrats and tribes.

So really, Yishtabach?

Is it the praise or my saying of it that makes it holy? 
Does it change me for the better?

Does it make a difference to anyone at all?

Or is it empty dead ritual?

I feel a little ridiculous.

And still I say it, Yishtabach.

Yishtabach Shimkha la'ad malkeinu
These are not my words, but they belong to me.

Yishtabach Shimkha la'ad malkeinu
Praise that which is bigger than us.
Yishtabach Shimkha la'ad malkeinu
Praise the need to praise.

Amen

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Trisha

This Is The Ritual, Hanukkah version

© Trisha Arlin

This is the Ritual:  Bowing during the morning blessings.
I used to refuse to bend my knee
and bow
during the Morning Blessings.
Baruch Atah Etcetera
Thank you for Etecetera….
Who was I bowing to?
A male king?
That’s not God.
Screw that.

But then I thought,
What if I bowed anyway?
What would that feel like?
So I tried it for a month.
As an interesting experiment,
I bowed deeply for a month.

And
It was  mechanical, pointless.
And then one day, kind of without warning
Each time I bowed, I found there was a reason.
I bowed to history and tradition,
I bowed because my ancestors bowed.   
I bowed to everyone who has ever been forced to bow,
I bowed because everyone else in the room was bowing.
I bowed to my fear of the future,
I bowed to my regrets of the past.
I bowed because I am not the center of the universe.
I bowed because I do feel God's presence, somehow.

This is the Ritual:  Wearing a tallit.
I never wore  a tallis during the Shabbat morning service
When I was little.
It’s cause I was a girl,
Girls didn’t do that.
I sat next to my Daddy in services and played with his tallis fringes
But they were his, not mine, never to be mine.
And anyway, do I even believe in the kind of God who would care?
How dare you tell me how to be a Jew!!
And anyway, navy blue stripes, so boring.
So screw that

But then I thought,
What if I wore a tallis anyway?
What would it feel like?
So I wore it for a month,
As an interesting experiment.
And
I felt dramatic and self-aggrandizing, very look-at-me.
And then one day, kind of without warning,
Each time I put on my tallit I found there was a reason.

I put on the tallit because it was winter and it kept me warm.
I put in the tallit to wrap myself in the memory of my father, sometimes I even wore his.
I put on the tallit because I can and you can’t stop me.
I put on the tallit because it covered the vanity of whatever I was wearing that day.
I put on the tallit because I found one that matched my outfit.
I put on the tallit because it draped me in Torah.
I put on the tallit because God apparently has a thing for fringes and who am I to argue?
I put on the tallit because women who wear tallit at the Kollel, the Wailing Wall, get yelled at by people who claim to be religious.

This is the Ritual:  Wearing a kippah.
I sometimes wore a yarmulke when I was young,
The flimsy lacy kind,
Stuck on with a bobby pin,
A trivial thing,
A girly affectation,
Stupid.
A real kippah was for boys,
It fit their short hair.
But it flattened my lovely curls
So screw that.

But then I thought
What if I wore a kippah anyway?
What would it feel like?
So I wore a kippah on my head for a month,
As an interesting experiment.

Immediately, each time I put on my kippah,
I found there was a reason.
And it was amazing!
I put on my kippah to make a feminist statement.
I put on my kippah because it shows respect for the synagogue and the prayer leaders.
I put on my kippah to announce to myself that I have entered the shul and I must be mindful.
I put on kippah because I can have a lot of different ones to match my moods and my earrings.
I put on my kippah because everything underneath becomes a capsule of kadosh, of holiness.
I put on my kippah because it reminds me to connect to God, however I understand God that day.

This is the Ritual:  Lighting the candles on Hanukkah
I loved Hanukkah when I was young:
Eight days of presents, what’s not to like?
But then I grew up.
I lived alone.
Who was I lighting the candles for, not me,
I didn’t care.
The Chanukah menorah was for families
And I don’t have children.
And it’s a fire hazard!
So screw that.

But then I thought
What if I did the hanukkiah thing anyway?
What would it feel like?
So one year I lit the candles every night, for eight nights,
As an interesting experiment.

And every night, each time I struck the match,
I found there was a reason:
I lit the candle as an homage to my childhood.
I lit the candles because if pagans and Christians can celebrate the winter solstice, why shouldn’t I?
I lit the candles because a friend was having a latka party.
I lit the candles because fire is pretty.
I lit the candles because I used to have a crush on Judah Maccabee.
I lit the candles because really, why shouldn’t I get to have Hanukkah even if I don’t have kids?
I lit the candles because, well, it was the seventh night so I lit the candles.                                                                   
I lit the candles because of all the other Jews all over the world lighting candles.

These are the rituals:

When I need something bigger than myself, 
I bow.

When I need to separate myself from the mundane but not my community,
I wrap myself in my tallit.

When I need to place myself in kesher, in connection,
I put on my hat of holiness, my kippah.

When I need to see in the darkest of times,
I light candles.

Brucha At Achat, 
Baruch Atah Echad, 
Bless the One-ness, 
Giving us the ability to encircle time and space with meaning.  
Amen.
  

Pick A Ritual

I used to refuse to bend my knee

and bow

during the Morning Blessings.

Baruch Atah Etcetera

Thank you for Etecetera….

Who was I bowing to?

A male king?

That’s not God.

Screw that.

But then I thought

What if I bowed anyway?

What would that feel like?

So I tried it for a month.

It was ridiculous, boring.

It was humbling, profound.

I stopped bowing.

And I missed it.

So now on Shabbat morning,
When I thank a being I don’t believe in 
For gifts I don’t usually have,

I bow.

I bow to history and my community,

I bow to everyone who has ever been forced to bow.

I bow to my fears and my need for something bigger than me.

I bow because my ancestors bowed.   
I bow because everyone in the room is bowing.

I bow because I am not the center of the universe. 
I bow because I do feel God's presence, somehow.

So, a suggestion:

Pick a ritual.
One that is done in your community. 
One that you don’t usually do. 
One that you almost never do. 
Just one.
Then do it.

Do it without a reason. Do it for a month or two. 
See if it takes on meaning for you, 
See if it creates sacred space. 
See if it creates sacred time.

Learn about this ritual.
Do you know its traditional reason?
Do you know it's communal value?
Do you find a personal resonance?

Can you create your own meaning?

Keep doing the ritual for a month or two.
Then stop.

Do you miss it?
Did it matter? 

Pick another ritual...