Holding On to Sweetness

So already, this morning was one of those get-moving Monday mornings. On the agenda was a visit from the plumber: my new washing machine was working well if and when the water flowed into it--which happened if and when the old valves, turn-offs, and associated pipes worked as and when they should--a circumstance that had ceased to be certain. I was going to be the plumber's first appointment, so I was up and at 'em. Not the day for an early morning walk along the beach!

Relieved as I was that my pipe dreams were about to fulfilled, I was also a little resentful of the timing of all this (and yes, I was the one who had jumped at this plumber appointment time for a number of dull reasons). Today is a Jewish holiday that I didn't understand at all until last year, even though as a child, I stayed home from school on this day in order to observe it. Back then, though, it never occurred to me to question anything that meant not going to school.

It turns out I'm not the only Jew whose understanding of Shemini Atzeret has been partial or non-existent. As Abigail Pogrebin says in My Jewish Year: 18 Holidays, One Wondering Jew, though she admits to "a bit of exaggeration*," 

  What's the easiest way to stump a Reform Jew? Ask him to explain Shemini Atzeret. 
   What's the easiest way to stump an Orthodox Jew? Ask him to explain Shemini Atzeret. (90)*

During her research/journey through the Jewish calendar, Pogrebin learned that "after the unceasing intensity of Elul, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Sukkot, God is asking us to stay just a bit longer"* (91). God as yearning for us--all of us, each of us? It's still such a new idea for me. But given the centrality of covenant in Judaism, what more would I expect, even if I can't respond to it with a completely faithful, resounding "Yes"?

Among those to whom Pogrebin spoke was Modern Orthodox Rabbi Asher Lopatin. Her book reports on their conversation and her reactions to it.

He . . . sees Shemini Atzeret as a tender, bonus moment with the Almighty, in contrast to God's severe evaluation during the Days of Awe.

'This is the intimate holiday,' he tells me. 'Atzeret means detaining. We're ending this period of holidays and pulling everything together. . . . The term atzeret means stop and come in,' . . .. I [Pogrebin is speaking here] could use a breath to pull everything together; I'm feeling buffeted by the marathon that started in August. 'As busy as God is with the whole world, God is also interested in what I'm doing. There are no special customs. No special foods. No crying. No shofar. The message is, "Just sit there and be there."' (92)*

I so relate to Pogrebin's sense of having been part of so many experiences of communal and individual intensity since Tisha B'Av. But now as I sit here knowing the Jewish calendar is about to pitch me out into ordinary time after these weeks of heightened spiritual purpose, of study, of going here and there, and then going here and there again, I'm feeling resistant to letting them go.

Not that it's been a smooth ride. While these weeks have held me, they've challenged me. Sometimes I've longed for ordinary time. But interestingly, my sense of belonging and engagement didn't waver even in those many moments I wasn't feeling what I'd hoped I'd be feeling--and that was really something for me. I admit it: I still struggle to think of God as being "interested in what I'm doing." But I no longer have trouble thinking of Him as being interested in what we're doing. 

So as I sat in my dining room waiting for my plumber to arrive and fix my "ordinary time" problems, I was thinking about not wanting to let go of the serious sweetness of these last two months. But ordinary time was encroaching, and I needed to decide what to serve for dessert to several old friends who are coming to lunch next week. What would go with a bowl of clementines--or maybe with maple-walnut ice cream? I opened up Maida Heatter's Book of Great Cookies--given to me about thirty years ago by one of my anticipated lunch guests--and out fell a photocopy of Heatter's recipe for hermit bars: whenever I've brought these cookies somewhere, I've invariably been asked for the recipe***--so now I always bring photocopies along with the cookies themselves.

I didn't bake this hermit bar!**

Oh! Perfect, I thought. Ordinary time was looking to have great sweetness potential. Two kinds of sugar, and molasses. Currants, plumped by a brief soaking in boiling water. Cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, mace, and allspice. Ordinary time would have some spice, too--first, wafting on the kitchen air warmed by the 350-degree oven required to transform cookie dough to cookie bars.

Julia Cameron would probably call this synchronicity--this immediate stumbling on the right cookie. No, I didn't make it to synagogue today. But as I sit at my dining room typing this, I am feeling distinctly present and deliberately seated--and much aware of the possibility of the sweet continuities between the sacred and the ordinary.

P.S. My plumber came and went!--and all's well with my washing machine and all those places that water needs to flow and not flow.

* Pogrebin, A. (2017). My Jewish Year: 18 holidays, one wondering Jew. Bedford, NY: Fig Tree Books.

** C. (2006, January 2). Mondays with Maida - Hermit Bars [Web log post]. Retrieved October 21, 2019, from https://mylittlekitchen.blogspot.com/2006/01/mondays-with-maida-hermit-bars.html
*** This link suggests raisins as the fruit to include. The book version of the recipe says one can use currants or raisins, and suggests golden raisins in particular.