Earlier this week, we observed Tisha B'Av, the most mournful day on the Jewish calendar. It was appropriately unpleasant, with a 25-hour-long fast in the heat of summer, but it was also decidedly meaningful. To me, there is no more powerful place to be on Tisha B'Av than Jerusalem, no better place in which to witness the ways in which the Jewish community has rebuilt itself, despite all the parts of it that still need repair. But this Tisha B'Av was especially meaningful to me on a personal level because this year I took on the task of publicly reading aloud, to the Pardes community, the first chapter of Eicha.
This was a significant undertaking for me for several reasons. First, on a purely practical level, I had never before learned trope of any kind and had no real experience with public leyning (unless one counts a few psukim that I memorized for my bat mitzvah sixteen years ago). Second, when I am in religious settings I am very self-conscious of the fact that I was not brought up in a traditionally observant lifestyle, and I often feel like a fraud when I try to do something indicative of a "more religious" background. Finally there's that old, familiar voice in the back of my mind that quietly yet forcefully asserts itself whenever I publicly take on a challenge: Just who do you think you ARE, to do something like that?!
And yet, I really wanted to do this, so a few months ago I slowly taught myself the Eicha trope (thanks, virtualcantor.com!) and set about learning to leyn the first chapter. As soon as Pardes started organizing students to publicly read Eicha, I signed up for perek alef. As the eve of Tisha B'Av drew near, I noticed my excitement and anxiety mounting simultaneously. On the one hand, here was an opportunity to do something profoundly spiritually meaningful within a community I care a lot about...on the other hand, where did I get the audacity to think that I could pull this off--or that I should?
I'm not sure how my leyning sounded to anyone else, but what struck me was the sheer power of hearing my own voice. I wasn't going to win any Grammy Awards for technical brilliance, but I was clear, I was confident, and I was present in that moment with every inch of my being. Who is this person, I wondered, who has so much presence? When did I become someone who would voluntarily become visible and heard?
Over many years in recovery, I have become that person. It is to the credit of the clinicians who have given me the tools to bring myself out of the shadows, and to my family and friends who have motivated me to actually use them. It's thanks to my Pardes teachers and fellow students who have made me feel safe to take risks and secure in the knowledge that, even if I don't know all the answers, I still deserve to be heard.
Given that it was Tisha B'Av, it would probably be a bit inappropriate and inaccurate to say that my leyning experience was enjoyable, but it certainly was powerful. There was profound meaning in hearing my own voice chant the history of my people, while looking out over the lights of Jerusalem twinkling in the night sky. Like Jerusalem, there are ways in which I still feel incomplete and less than whole, but there is also undeniable evidence of all the repair and growth I've worked hard to achieve.
May we all continue to heal our broken parts, and may we develop into our most harmonious selves, ready to project our voices out into the world.
No comments:
Post a Comment