Alef: The NEXT Conversation
New Years, New Resolutions
by Meredith Druss
Last Monday was my birthday. I’ve finally hit 25 and with it, all the quarter-century crises attached to the nuanced age. Having a September birthday, I’m often looking towards my next year at the same time the Jewish community is looking towards our new year. Falling near, if not on, one of the holiest days of the Jewish calendar, causes me to reflect a little deeper during my birthday: Did I accomplish everything I wanted to? Am I happy with the direction of my life? Do I still have the same core values? What do I want to change about myself in the upcoming year?
This month, for me, has always been filled with renewal and reflection. Therefore, as my first contribution to the Alef Love Column, I bring you four years of my New Year’s resolutions. Being Jewish gives us two New Years each calendar year, which means we get a second chance to look back and declare a resolution. As I share my reflections on the past four years of resolutions, I welcome any feedback, guidance, or advice from readers on what your resolutions may be. Beware, there may be a little TMI…
JUST SAY YES – New Years 2008
Winters in New York are rough. Add to that a recent break-up and unemployment, and that’s the situation I found myself in as I Auld Lang Syne-d my way into 2009. Friends of mine can attest that I’m a fairly happy person, but depression sets in quickly when you have no reason to leave your tiny NYC apartment.
The terms: Unless I had something better to do (and sleep does not count), I had to say ‘Yes’ (within my means/values/morals). “Meredith, will you be my wingman at this friend-of-a-friend’s party?” “Hey, you’re cute, can I take you out for a drink?” “Mer, will you join this kickball league with me?” That winter, I made new friends and nurtured old friendships, repelled a cloud of depression, got better acquainted with New York City, and yep, went on dates (this is the love column, right?). Lots of them. Having to say “yes” wouldn’t let me get away with judging guys at first sight. And trite as it may sound, the lesson was learned. There are some great guys who aren’t packaged in a buttoned-down shirt and Ivy league degree. Sometimes the dork in a kickball shirt dancing to Britney ends up being a Jewish boy-next-door type with Mets season tickets, the same taste in music, and a incredible sense of humor.
RSVP ‘YES’ – Rosh Hashanah 5770 & New Years 2009
Just saying ‘Yes’ is exhausting. Rosh Hashanah 5770 let me amend it a little bit. New terms: RSVP ‘Yes’. No balking on an official invite and be open to invitations for new or out-of-the-box things.
FIVE – Rosh Hashanah 5771
As one can imagine, Just Say / RSVP ‘Yes’ has it’s repercussions. Finding myself single after being in a very serious relationship throughout college had me saying yes without being too discriminatory. Faced with a similar situation, my friend L joined me and we ushered in Rosh Hashanah 5771 together with a new resolution: five
The terms: Quality, not quantity. We were not allowed to get involved with more than 5 guys this year. L and I are both passionate and emotional, so who was really worthy of an emotional investment? Which guys are the ones who deserved to be laughed over, cried over, and everything in between? Thanks to five for proving that it’s not the one at the bar telling you “You’re gorgeous, but I’m not sure your haircut does you justice…” It’s not an ex either, we know where those stories end. For us to waste a number on you…you’d better be worth it, and in the process, we figured out what was most important to us.
RAISE THE BAR – New Years 2011
In NYC it’s easy to get into a rut. You found a nice, polite, cute Jewish guy with similar interests and lives within walking distance of your apartment?! He’s a keeper. NYC is a city of convenience. In 2011, it was definitely time to raise the bar.
The terms: Evaluate your situation and set your expectations higher. He was boring (we broke up). Under-appreciated and over-worked? Ask for that raise (I got it!). Be kind, even on the mean streets of NYC (all it takes is a smile). When the status quo is comfortable, it’s tough to pull yourself out of it. After raising the bar for myself, I saw that people looked at me in higher esteem. Knowing that I wouldn’t settle, they respected my decisions and conversely, raised their own expectations of themselves.
Judaism allows us to make two fresh starts a year, and I’ve found it’s the perfect opportunity to renew my past commitments or alter my values and the direction of my life. With 5772 just around the corner, I’m open to suggestions for a new resolution and catch-phrase, but I know that I’ll get the opportunity to revisit it in a couple of months…for 2012!
Photo provided by the author.
A Decade's Send-Off
By Ruvym Gilman
2009 becoming 2010 was just going to be another December 31 journey towards January 1st. There would be a house party somewhere, red plastic cups with cheap alcohol, and a flat-screen-LCD tuned to video of a ball-o-lights gently gliding down a shaky pole in some far off place in TV land. But then I came across a recent article in New York Magazine that reminded me that we weren’t just approaching the end of a year, but the end of a decade. This, I thought, was a big deal, and an opportune time for introspection. So with 2010 looming, I wanted to take a moment to reflect on that disaster-less day of January 1, 2000 when the world didn’t collapse because of the Y2K bug and I could never have imagined what December 31, 2009 would look like.
By now I can barely remember a thing about the 90s other than that I was living in the suburbs, that I played a lot of videogames, and that I tried, hopelessly, to combat my acne and look a little less awkward. It was in May of 1999 that I finally asked out the girl I had a crush on for the entire seven years I spent in the Jericho School District. I invited her to the Senior Prom knowing that she’d probably say “no,” but also realizing that if I didn’t do it at that moment, I would regret it forever. I ended up – unsurprisingly – going to that prom dateless, with a few of my equally dateless friends. Then 2000 came and I suddenly found myself in college, living in New York (Fucking) City with no idea about who I was or what I wanted to do or what the heck was going on. And now, somehow, ten random years later, I’m here.
“Here” is me at 27.9, on the cusp of being well into my “late 20s.” To a 17 year-old at NYU, this would have been ancient, close to the dreaded oldness of 30. The 17 year-old thought he would be married by now, maybe even have a few kids packed into a cool SUV (no minivans please). Forget the fact that he didn’t understand anything of love or relationships or what it really means to commit yourself to one person for your entire life. He also expected that by 27 he would have already made an unprecedented and unforgettable impact on the entire world in some area of power or expertise that, at the time, he had yet to discover. That too has not come to pass, even while he has learned to savor the positive impact he can have on his family and his closest friends. At 17 he would never have been satisfied with such a pittance.
At some point he managed to graduate college, go to law school, become an attorney, and to the chagrin of his entire family, leave a good-paying job in a corporate law firm to work for a Jewish non-profit organization. A Jewish non-profit? The 17 year old didn’t even like thinking of himself as Jewish. Beyond his bar mitzvah, the encyclopedic set of Kabbalah books his parents were swindled into buying when he was 8, and a failed attempt to go on Birthright just as the Second Intifada started, he had no Jewish connection at all. The last thing he ever imagined was that, a decade on, he would be wearing the identity on his business card.
In the last ten years he also had the good fortune of meeting some incredible individuals. There were the friends who fixed themselves so prominently into his existence that he could foresee the days when they were all old men sitting in some backyard somewhere drinking beers and talking of the world. Then there were the ones who had the patience to teach him – the kid – about love. They were also the ones who, inadvertently, also taught him about loss. Together all of them proved, in the words of one of those old men in the backyard, that “good or bad, it’s all good.”
So now what? One of the things we (the 17 year old kid and I both) have learned in the last decade is that regardless of what I think, I have absolutely no freaking idea. But there’s something beautiful in the not knowing, and it makes me feel kinda grown-up to be able to say that.
Photo by Joe Lanman, licensed under Creative Commons.
New Years Resolutions
By Emily Comisar
Only hours remain until the clock strikes midnight on the year 2009 and, just like everyone else, I am left to reflect on what the year has brought and all that I wish to accomplish in 2010. For me, this year in particular brought with it many changes: the separation from a beloved significant other, a new job, and an apartment of my own. When the time comes to decide upon my New Years resolution, I have to wonder what else I could (and should) ask of myself in the coming months. Could I stand to lose five pounds? Sure. Keep my house cleaner? Definitely. Call my widowed grandmother more often? Don’t get my father started.
I’ve always made it a point to never make resolutions about my weight, and cleaning my house from top to bottom sounds exhausting. I should really call my grandmother more often, but I’m not sure that’s enough to justify the weight of the “New Years Resolution,” something that, as a Jewish person, I have the joy and burden of doing twice a year. Yes, Rosh Hashanah is already months past and our hearts and minds have moved on to cheerier, less spiritually-taxing holidays, but after all the ups and downs of the last twelve months, I am determined to make both 5770 and 2010 years to remember.
My quest for the perfect resolution has led me, naturally, to my immediate family–the people who know me best and love me despite all my flaws that need correcting. Unfortunately my brothers, both of whom pulled all-nighters the Friday after Thanksgiving, are drowning in final papers and exams at University and have started screening my calls. My mother–to her credit–is a newly born small-business owner. So, although she takes my calls, she has more important things to think about. My father always provides a listening ear, but his only advice to me for the last six years has been “out nice ‘em.” I’m not so sure that this applies here.
My friends, on the other hand, are extremely opinionated individuals. For that I take pride in their presence in my life, but I wonder if certain decisions at this point are better left to me and me alone. I reflect and refract, think of everything that has happened right-side-up and up-side-down, and wonder where have I been and where am I going. What do I keep and what do I throw out the window?
Suddenly it occurs to me: Rosh Hashanah, the other white meat. The timing of the Jewish New Year this September brought me to an unexpected decision mid-calendar year. After resting on my creative laurels for too many months while pursuing a paycheck with health insurance, I told myself that I was going to step up and really, truly make the effort to bring my writerly aspirations to fruition. “Is that still important to me, a few months later?” I wonder, and the answer is yes, it absolutely is. Suddenly the burden of the second New Years Resolution is lifted. It is not burdensome that I must think like this twice a year as a person whose faith and culture revolve around a second calendar; it is a gift. I have been given the opportunity to renew my resolution from 90 days ago and enter 2010 reinvigorated and certain of what I want to get out of the coming months. Who knows, maybe I’ll lose five pounds, clean my apartment, and call my grandmother as well.
Photo by Robbert van der Steeg, licensed under Creative Commons.
The New Years Tree
By Rita Kreynin
I love a New Years Tree. No, not the Christmas fir tree. The New Years fir tree.
What is a New Years Tree you may be wondering? One of my favorite memories from my childhood is that every year, around the middle of December, my parents would get our family a yolka that would be in our living room, adorned with festive lights, decorations, and presents underneath to be opened by my family on the morning of the New Year.
WAIT A SECOND! My family is Jewish, why on earth are we celebrating a holiday that sounds identical to Christmas?
I should clarify. When I was four years old, my family emigrated to the U.S from the former Soviet Union. When I was in the first grade, in an effort to illustrate religious diversity, our teacher split the class up according to which religion was celebrated in the home. Trying to determine where I fit, I explained to the class that my parents were Jewish but that we put up a decorated tree for the holidays. My fellow first graders assured me I must be half Jewish and half Christian because a tree in my house must have meant that I celebrated Christmas.
That day I came home very confused – were my parents keeping something from me? Not according to my mother.  She explained to me that because religious observance was discouraged under communism in the Soviet Union, people didn’t celebrate Hanukkah or Christmas. The New Year was the holiday celebrated by all Soviets and at the heart of the celebration was the decorated yolka, which was introduced to imperial Russia by Peter the Great in the late 17th century. To offer a little history — in 1916 the yolka was first banned by the state church council and thereafter by the Soviet officials, but in 1935 the ban was lifted and New Years became an official state-recognized holiday. From 1935 until 1991, when the Soviet Union crumbled, New Years was one of the most beloved holidays in the land.
My parents stopped putting up a real New Years tree in our house around the time I was eight, when they figured out that, in America, Jews don’t have fir trees in their homes. When I begged really hard, I managed to convince them to assemble a fake tree, but only succeeded in that a few times. These days, the aroma of pine needles coming off of a Christmas tree makes me nostalgic and giddy. If my apartment were big enough, I would probably get a New Years tree this holiday season. It would be lovely right next to my menorah.
Photo by Ed Bierman, licensed under Creative Commons.
05: Death and Tragedy
This week we introduce Issue #5: Death and Tragedy
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It may seem strange to have the first issue of the new year focus on death and tragedy. The beginning of a new year is typically a time for excitement and enthusiasm, an opportunity to create new beginnings and improve ourselves through resolutions. But the American New Year, or in general, the secular observance of the new year in the Gregorian calendar, is a moment in time, a clock striking midnight. In that second, one year is completely gone and a new one is suddenly upon us. This concept, however, sits in stark contrast to our observance of the Jewish New Year – a period of 10 days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur that serves as a time to embark on a process of repentance, reflection, and renewal.
While it is nice to imagine that a singular instance can bring about all the change that hope for, the reality – and particularly the Jewish reality – is often not so simple. While this is the perfect time to start over or try again, it is also a time to ponder what we have lost and learned, and to use the lessons from our lives to help us become better people for the coming year.
We have all experienced loss. Many of us have lost grandparents, parents, or friends. As Jews we are also affected by the vastness of our collective historical death and tragedy, underlined most violently by the Holocaust. Just as the Jewish New Year is a 10-day stretch that takes us from one of the most joyous Jewish holidays (Rosh Hashanah) through to the most somber (Yom Kippur), grieving, healing from that grief, and growing from it, is all part of a very similar process, one that isn’t an instantaneous transformation, but is rather one that takes time.
In this issue, we explore death and tragedy as a way of reminding ourselves that, as Jews, we have a responsibility to remember those who have come before, even as we celebrate the possibilities inherent in the concept of a new year. We’ll look at how death has affected some us, maybe changed us, or in certain cases, not affected us at all. Although this is an incredibly vast topic, we hope these stories will shed light on how we experience death and tragedy through a Jewish lens.
- Alef
Photo by jpc101 licensed under Creative Commons.
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Death and Tragedy Posts:
Grave Recollection
Clear
Inglourious Basterds
To Mom With Love
Sitting Shiva in the Land of Oz
My Jewish Jeanne
January 14
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