I bit in, and everything in me suddenly said, "Why yes, Grandma Minnie." A few bites later, it was again just a delicious thing and now sentimental too. But for that first moment, I had the unmistakable sensation of my grandmother next to me, our hearts turned toward each other in a way that hasn't been possible for nearly half a century.
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Despite prayers for rain that begin this week, and despite all these rainmaking rituals, they didn't actually want the rain to hit while they were all sitting outside in the sukkah. So they had to struggle with what it meant to pray for something that you're not quite ready for yet.
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It's a good story. About how real we feel when we are brokenhearted, sometimes the most real we ever feel. And how close to God, how in dialog we can be, in those moments of suffering, in the moments when we groan.
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This is a practice that is not part of "official" Judaism, meaning the Judaism that is under the authority of men. It is a practice of our grandmothers. But as the 13th Century Spanish rabbi known as the Rashba wrote to his [male] colleagues, "we should not mock the practices of elderly women, for they are certainly founded in sacred origins, even if we have forgotten the reasons."
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Of course, "It is what it is," this over-used, over-articulated cliche, would not be an unreasonable translation of YHWH, our under-articulated name of God. YHWH, another 4-letter word, works out in Hebrew to sound like a great big IS. With a hint of was in the middle and a gesture toward will be at the front. YHWH. Was-Is-Will-Be.
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