The Importance of Wandering

On June 18, 2011, just 10 weeks after I stepped from the mikvah, I was privileged to give the d'var Torah at my husband's childhood synagogue. The parsha was Shelach. At this point in the Torah, the Israelites have made it to the borders of the promised land, and they send in 12 spies to scope out the situation. The spies find a beautiful land flowing with milk and honey, with grapevines so large that it takes many men to carry them back to the camp. But they also find a land filled with formidable inhabitants. Ten of the spies report back that the land is good, but not worth the fights with the “giants” (Numbers 13:32) who live there. Only two, Joshua and Caleb, insist that settling the land will be worth it and that with God's help they can settle there. The people side with the ten spies, and for this lack of faith, God dooms them to 40 years wandering in the wilderness.

Unfortunately, I've lost the copy of the d'var Torah I gave in 2011, but I remember that it was about fear, wandering, and finding your place in the world. We moved a lot at that time in our lives - for jobs, for grad school, and then for jobs and grad school again. Between 2010-2015, we lived in 4 cities and 6 apartments. We've been settled in the DC-area for over ten years now, and with our wandering days behind us, it seemed like a good time to revisit the themes of that old d'var Torah.

The Israelites let their fear keep them from the life God had promised. They saw themselves as small and insignificant, “like grasshoppers” (Numbers 13:33), and let their own insecurities cloud their judgement. The 40 years of wandering was a punishment that helped to reshape their thinking. A people who can survive a nomadic life in the desert can do anything. While not a punishment, my own years of wandering helped clarify my values and strengthen my community ties. Nashville and Birmingham taught us the value of small, engaged Jewish communities. Philadelphia showed us the power of walkable communities. We learned the differences between areas with many transplants and those with more homegrown populations, and the importance of pride of place. Everywhere we went, we joined a synagogue, defying the demographic trend of young 20-somethings not embracing memberships. We didn't let the possibility of moving away in the future keep us from engaging in the present. In each place, we built relationships, celebrated holidays, and did the daily work of discovering who we are and what we wanted from life.

Now, more than a decade into our time in the DC area, I see how those wandering years were not just transitional, they were formative. They taught us to be brave enough to try something new and grounded enough to keep showing up. Like the Israelites in the wilderness, we learned who we were as we traveled. Looking back, I think the heart of that long-lost d'var Torah was this: fear tells you to wait, but faith tells you to begin. Wandering gave us the wisdom to know when to pause and when to move forward. And now, as we stand more firmly rooted in the life we've built, I’m grateful for the places we’ve been and the courage it took to journey through them.

Vengeance and Compassion

This week’s parsha was B’Shalach, which features the beautiful Song at the Sea, Shirat ha-Yam. This melody elicits a sense of the Israelites' joy at their freedom from bondage and their excitement for the future. Given the beauty of the melody, it can be easy for us to gloss over the fact that the text is pretty violent. Among its many verses, Shirat Ha-Yam includes:

“I will sing to Adonai, for God has triumphed gloriously. Horse and driver God has hurled into the sea.”

“The deeps covered them. They went down into the depths like a stone.”

“You made Your wind blow, the sea covered them. They sank like lead in the majestic waters.”

This unapologetic display of joy at the death of the Egyptians might offend our modern sensibilities, but it’s also understandable and has so much to teach us about human nature and about our relationship with God.

The Israelites, pressed up against the banks of the Sea of Reeds, fleeing the advancing Egyptian army, miraculously find the water parted before them. They walk, in awe, safely between walls of water from slavery in Egypt to freedom at Sinai, and watch as God brings those waters crashing back down, drowning their pursuers - the Egyptians who oppressed them for 400 years, who threw their sons into the Nile, who would have murdered them at the sea had God not intervened. I don't blame them for rejoicing. These deaths bring closure and a definitive end to the Israelites’ enslavement. Their peace of mind comes because they have witnessed the destruction of their enemies. With the army destroyed, there is no one left to come after them.

It is a violent and vengeful act by God. The Torah explains that God goaded the Egyptians into pursuit and lured them into the sea. In Exodus chapter 14, God explains to Moses that sending the Israelites in a circle and back to the Sea of Reeds is a ploy to trick Pharaoh into thinking they are lost and will be easy to recapture. God says, “Then I will stiffen Pharaoh’s heart and he will pursue [the Israelites], that I may gain glory through Pharaoh and all his hosts.”

And when they reached the sea, God split the waters “with a strong east wind.” Ramban argues that God used wind so that the Egyptians would rationalize the parting of the sea as a natural phenomenon and not a miracle, thereby making it easier for them to charge into the sea and ultimately to their deaths. Once in the sea, God “threw the Egyptian army into a panic” and “locked the wheels of their chariots.” Based on this description, we can only conclude that God meticulously planned this series of events. This death by drowning mirrors the horror of the Israelites’ sons being thrown into the Nile. It is not only vengeance, but poetic justice.

Water is both a source of death and life. The same Nile that Pharoah used to drown a generation of Israelite boys also carried Moses to safety. The same sea that parted for the Israelites crushed the Egyptians. The lack of water and its miraculous appearance in the desert later in this parsha and throughout the Israelites’ 40-year journey through the desert will remain a constant reminder of its power over life and death. Moses is sentenced to death for striking a rock in anger to make water flow from it. The journey through the wilderness begins and ends with water as a life-saving and life-taking source of wonderment. It’s a challenging duality, as illustrated by the conflict between vengeance and compassion throughout this parsha.

God’s actions in the first part of the parsha through the end of Shirat ha-Yam lean toward a portrayal of God as vengeful. However, following the Israelites’ praise for God’s vengeance in Shirat ha-Yam, the rest of the parsha shows God to be extremely restrained and compassionate. God spends a lot of time frustrated with humanity throughout the Torah, but not in this parsha.

In Genesis, we see God’s temper, destroying humanity in the Great Flood (another example of the destructive power of water). We see God, frustrated with humanity’s sinfulness and willing to destroy entire cities, reconsider the fate of the people of Sodom and Gomorrah after Abraham suggests that they need not be destroyed. When, during their journey in the desert, the Israelites build and idolize a golden calf, God threatens to destroy them and start a new covenant with Moses, an offer that Moses (thankfully) refuses. There are plenty of examples of God’s short temper and vengeance, but this week, God is extremely patient despite a lot of complaints and doubt from the Israelites.

Whenever God is short-tempered, angry, or frustrated with humanity, I like to remember that we are made in God’s image. If I lose my temper more quickly than I’d like, or gloat too much when my team’s biggest rival suffers a humiliating loss, I can take some comfort in the fact that it’s a natural reaction, even though I know I need to strive to be better. God works on God’s own temper throughout the Torah, so it’s no failing that I need to work on mine too, as long as I actually put in the work to improve. It's no failing if your temper runs short.

In Shirat ha-Yam, the Israelites praise God for destroying the Egyptians and God responds to this praise by demonstrating love, not through vengeful protection, but through patient compassion. When, on their march through the desert, the Israelites grumble about bitter waters, God makes them sweet. When they grumble about hunger, God provides quail and manna. When they grumble again about thirst, God causes water to flow from a rock. Each time the Israelites become frustrated about their situation, they question whether it would have been better to remain in Egypt and doubt God’s power and ability to provide for them. They lack faith. God could have taken offense and punished them for each transgression, but instead of focusing on their ungratefulness, God demonstrated understanding of their underlying fears and met them with patience and compassion. Just as water can be both a source of sustenance and a source of destruction, God - and humanity made in God’s image - has the ability to be both short-tempered and compassionate.

The Israelites clearly needed God’s compassion in this parsha. They hadn’t been on the receiving end of patience or understanding for generations; they had been slaves for 400 years. And they deserved compassion, because their lives, even in freedom, would not be easy. With the larger threat of attack from the Egyptians resolved, the Israelites, of course, turned their attention to the everyday concerns of nomadic survival: of feeding themselves and their families and surviving in a hostile wilderness. When the Israelites faced an enemy, God crushed them. By destroying the Egyptian army, God offered the Israelites justice and peace of mind. But when they faced starvation and thirst, and a long period of persistent hardships, God offered them help and compassion.

As I read this parsha, I couldn't help but think about the days when we could all be together. And now, after ten and a half months and over four hundred and thirty thousand deaths, COVID has really put B'Shalach's themes of life and death and God's patience and compassion into a new light.

In the face of our own long period of hardships, we are all striving to live up to God’s example of compassion. We may not always succeed. We are all understandably on edge, our nerves frayed and patience run down by ten and a half months of life and death, of uncertainty. Of course we're struggling. I will continue to lose my temper from time to time, and if the Chiefs win the Super Bowl next week, I’ll not only celebrate, but I’ll probably also gloat about Tom Brady’s loss. I can only hope that when that happens, I am met with God’s patience and I correct myself quickly. To be made in God’s image in this moment means that we all need to try to fill the world with more lovingkindness, to give others grace, to offer a helping hand, and show a little bit more patience. These times call us to put Hillel’s Golden Rule into action: to treat others as each of us would like to be treated. May we all see God’s compassion reflected in each other and continue to find reasons to sing God’s praises.

Shabbat shalom.

Abraham and Lot

Last weekend, I found myself in a discussion about high school reunions. I have not attended any of my high school reunions and had myself removed from the school's call list shortly after graduating. It's nothing against the school or my classmates; I just have no interest in seeing most of the 800+ people in my graduating class and the ones I do care to see, I've kept in touch with. I live 700 miles from my hometown. I left for educational and professional opportunities and at this point I have no intention of moving back. I've stayed in touch with some family and friends who are still in the area, but I've drifted apart from others.

How do we choose with whom we remain in touch and which relationships we let slide?

This week we read parsha Lech Lecha (Genesis 12:1-17:27). There is a lot to unpack in this portion, some of which I've discussed on this blog before. This year, however, I want to focus on the relationships between Abraham and his family.

Midrash tells us that Abraham's father was an idol maker and that when Abraham was a young man, he was left in charge of his father's shop, where he mocked the customers and smashed the idols. When God came to Abraham and told him to go forth from his home to a new land, Abraham left and never returned. He and his wife, Sarah, along with his nephew, Lot, traveled together throughout the region until they had both amassed too many flocks, servants, and herders to share the same land peacefully. After some arguments among their herders over land use, Abraham and Lot decided to part ways amicably. Later, when Lot was taken captive during war, Abraham rallied his men on a successful rescue mission.

Unlike when Abraham left his family at the beginning of the parsha, the separation of Abraham and Lot did not mark an end to their interaction. Did Abraham actively avoid contact with his father after he left or did they just drift apart? Why did Abraham and Lot remain close, despite their competition for land? Why have I remained close with some people over time despite great distances between us, while allowing other relationships to lapse?

Abraham charging into battle after his nephew is a big gesture, an obvious display of affection. This week, I'm wondering who I would charge into battle for and who I could take just five minutes to call as a small, but important touch point of ongoing relationship building.

Shabbat Shalom.

Babel

This week's Torah portion is Noah. Things move fast in the first few portions of the Torah. Just last week there were only two people on Earth and now there is a whole world of people. After God floods the world, Noah and his family quickly repopulate. In the middle of a recounting of Shem's lineage, we read about the Tower of Babel (Genesis 11).

The Torah notes that "all the earth had the same language" (Genesis 11:1) and that the people gathered together in a valley and decided to build a tower to the heavens. Midrash (the Oral Torah) tells us that the people wanted to build a tower with a statue and sword on top to wage war against God (Artscroll Bereishis, The Sapirstein Edition Rashi, Genesis 11:1 note). If a person fell from the tower during construction, everyone kept working, but if someone dropped a brick, they mourned the loss of the brick and the delay it caused their work. In their single-minded focus on building the tower, life ceased to be precious; the people did not value the humanity of their fellow man. Being of one mind became toxic and destructive. So God gave them all different languages and dispersed them throughout the world. On one hand, when everyone spoke the same language and were of the same mind, they were able to join together in a unified undertaking of massive proportions. On the other hand, there was no voice of dissent among them to question their violent tendencies. Giving them different languages and dispersing them not only disrupted their endeavors, but diversified humanity as well.

Science backs up God here with a theory called the edge effect. You can learn more about it from this Hidden Brain podcast episode on the topic, but in short, studies on the edge effect show that working with people from diverse backgrounds increases the creativity of all involved. While it is natural to want to cluster with people who understand you and share your background, scientific and creative breakthroughs are more likely to come from diverse groups of people working together.

I can't help but draw parallels between the Tower of Babel and the political toxicity of our society today. When we surround ourselves only with people who think like us and only consume media that reinforces our beliefs, we are creating little Babels for ourselves. From our little towers of sameness where everyone speaks the same language, we propose to wage war on big ideas (capitalism, socialism, political correctness, the patriarchy, Big Pharma, etc), and reject the humanity and worth of anyone who does not contribute to our cause. What we can learn from the Tower of Babel and the edge effect, however, is that it is not good or productive for us to surround ourselves with like voices. Listening to only one perspective seems to inevitably lead us down a path to war. God's solution can be a model for our own attempts to do better today - diversify. Read multiple sources, talk to and really listen to the concerns of others, collaborate, learn a new language.

Shabbat Shalom

Quote of the Week: Teamwork

One of my boss' favorite phrases is "teamwork makes the dream work." I don't know where she picked it up and if it makes you groan at how corny it sounds, you are not alone. Yet, as we prepare to read Parsha Yitro this weekend, I can't help thinking that it is extremely relevant.

In this portion, Moses' father-in-law, Yitro (or Jethro) visits the newly-freed Israelites in the desert and almost immediately notices the inefficiency of this new nation. All issues in need of arbitration are brought to Moses, who personally hands down judgments on all the people's problems. Seeing that this is tiring for both Moses and the people waiting patiently for their turn to be heard, Yitro proposes a solution: teamwork. Moses chose trusted leaders in the community to hear cases and make judgments for the people's minor issues, leaving only a "major matter" (Exodus 18:22) for Moses to personally hear. By delegating the work in this way, Yitro lessened the burden for Moses and shortened the wait time for the people, so that they would not be overwhelmed.

Where the people had once spent entire days waiting to deliberate their problems, they could now be heard much more quickly, leaving time for other important matters, like finding food and water, protecting themselves from enemies, and worshiping God. We learn from this portion that asking for help and relying on others is not a sign of weakness, but one of strength and trust necessary for the furtherance of any nation and betterment of mankind.

Quote of the Week: Tu B'Shevat

Friday night is Tu B'Shevat, a minor Jewish holiday celebrating the New Year of the Trees. In that spirit, I would like to take a moment to appreciate the natural beauty that surrounds us every day.

This weekend, we will read Parsha Beshalach, in which God finally leads the Israelites out of Egypt. There is danger awaiting us on this new journey, not only the Philistines and other people, but from the unforgiving desert wilderness. In Beshalach, we come up against nature again and again - our escape route is blocked by the Red Sea, scarce water is undrinkably bitter, then there is no water at all, and the ground is barren with no food to sustain us on our long trek.

In the words of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel:

"Monotheism in teaching that God is the Creator, that nature and man are both fellow-creatures of God, redeemed man from exclusive allegiance to nature. The earth is our sister, not our mother." -Abraham Joshua Heschel, Man is Not Alone

If the earth is our sister, she certainly acts like it in this parsha. Sometimes we don't get along with our siblings; we refuse to share our toys and withhold things from them. Sometimes we need a gentle reminder from our parents to play nicely, call our siblings more often, and look out for one another. In Beshalach, nature (with some prompting from God) takes care of us. The sea parts safely, bitter water becomes sweet, food appears on the ground like dew, and water flows freely from a rock.

On Tu B'Shevat, how can we return the favor? Aside from taking a moment to appreciate our surroundings and enjoying this unseasonably warm weather, here are some other ways to celebrate the holiday:

• Clean up your neighborhood - Next time you see a discarded food wrapper on the sidewalk, pick it up and throw it away. Or call your local Parks Department to volunteer to clean up a neighborhood park.
• Plant a tree in Israel - You can donate online to the Jewish National Fund to plant a tree in honor of a special occasion or in memory of a loved one.
• Recycle - If you don't recycle at home or at work, look into recycling centers near you or talk to your coworkers about instituting a recycling program in your office. When I lived in an apartment complex that didn't recycle, I drove my cans, bottles, and paper to a recycling center 20 minutes away.
• Composting - Try composting at home; the EPA has a handy guide to get your started. You can do it in your backyard or, if you're like me and don't have any outdoor space of your own, try a smaller composting container inside. I have a friend who has an indoor compost - it's a super-cute ceramic jar on her kitchen counter and it doesn't smell or anything.

However you celebrate, chag sameach; have a happy Tu B'Shevat!

In Defense of Isaac

It seems inevitable that every year someone will say, "Isaac is boring."

Abraham traveled the world, argued with God, and led armies into battle.

Jacob was cunning and strong, received messages from God in dreams, and wrestled with angels.

But Isaac never traveled beyond the boundaries of his promised land. He re-dug the same wells as his father and re-hashed the same stories. He rarely spoke to God and never wrestled with angels.

I've always been sympathetic to Isaac. I don't think he is meant to be larger than life, like his father and his son. He represents us - bound to the Jewish people by our forefathers, repeating their rituals and re-treading their well-worn steps in the landscape of Jewish tradition, taking God's promises on faith, and promising even more to our children.

Maybe this year we can view Isaac not as the boring and blind forgotten middle patriarch, but as the model for our own Jewish lives.

Coming Together on Thanksgiving

This Shabbat we will read Chayei Sarah, the life of Sarah, which recounts Sarah’s death and burial, Isaac’s marriage to Rebecca, and the death and burial of Abraham.

As so many of us come together with family for Thanksgiving this year expecting harsh political disagreements, I am reminded of Abbey Bartlet’s wise words on The West Wing:

“What most people find it important to remember is that, in the end, the two sons [Isaac and Ishmael] came together to bury their father.”

Skip to 1:30 for Abbey's story

If you are celebrating Thanksgiving this year in a politically-divided home, I hope that you and your family will be able to set aside your differences and truly have a happy Thanksgiving.

Action

Last weekend, as we discussed Lech Lecha in my new Torah Study group, someone asked why God would require circumcision. After all, he argued, God is omnipotent, so if God doesn't want man to have foreskin, then God could just make man without foreskin.

But I don't think that's the point. Circumcision symbolizes the covenant between Jews and God. It is the act of circumcising someone (more than the end result) that matters here. God always requires action of us, because actively engaging with something makes it more ours and actively engaging with someone makes that relationship stronger. When we interact with God (through Torah study, prayer, ritual, or however else you do it), we are building a stronger relationship with God and with the others who participate in those activities with us.

We see the necessity for action all over Genesis. God couldn't just spare Noah's house; Noah had to build an ark. Despite being promised a child by God, Sarah believes that there is still action required on her part to produce that child (whether or not letting your husband sleep with your slave so you can adopt the resulting boy as your own son is the action any of us would take is a separate matter). And now God requires circumcision, which is just the beginning of many more mitzvot - actions that will solidify our covenant with God.

The group leader took this one step further and said that it is not only action, but choice, that builds strength and character. Lech Lecha not only means "go" for Abraham, but "choose." In leaving his home, Abraham can and must choose a new life for himself. As a stranger in a new land, who will he be and how will he define himself? This struggle for definition in choice is what makes Abraham and Sarah the spiritual parents of all Jews by Choice. Abraham chooses to act in some pretty impressive ways and Parsha Vayeira this weekend will highlight some of his best moments. Hopefully we can all follow Abraham's example - to defend our friends and family (Gen 14:14), to treat the stranger with kindness and generosity (Gen 18:2), and to stand up for justice (Gen 18:25).

What better time to act generously and kindly than now, in the wake of Hurricane Sandy, when so many friends, family and strangers throughout the Northeast are without homes and without power?

To those affected by the storm, I wish you a speedy rebuilding.

Shabbat Shalom

We will do and we will hear

Last week in the Torah's Parsha Mishpatim, while the Israelites were wandering in the desert, God stopped them at Mount Sinai to give them the Ten Commandments and a long series of other laws. After receiving these laws, the people responded, "naaseh v'nishma" which means "We will do and we will hear/understand" (Exodus 24:7). 

This one phrase in the Torah has sparked years of theological discussion. Shouldn't the phrase be flipped around? How can you do something before hearing what it is and understanding it? So at Torah study, we talked about rituals - those things in our lives, religious or not, that we do without ever having been told and without quite understanding why. What do you do regularly for no discernible reason? How many things do we have to do first in order to understand them? Before I had ever heard this line of Torah, the philosophy of doing before hearing/understanding was the guiding force in my conversion.

It took a year and a half of regular Shabbat observance, theological study, and cultural immersion before I felt comfortable and at home in Judaism. I progressed from awkward newbie to "hey, this is fun" to spiritual frustration as I failed to connect on the higher level I was hoping for to desperate prayers to God for a connection with a religion until, finally and suddenly, everything clicked. I "did" Judaism and then I understood it, connected with it, and heard God's response to my prayer for a religious home. I don't think it could have happened the other way around. To hear/understand and then do is logical. Faith is not.

Letting Go

This is mostly going to be a post about my sorority, but it fits in so nicely with the end of Genesis that it seems appropriate for my blog.

*Note: In comparing my experiences with my sorority to those of Jacob, his sons, and the House of Israel for generations after that, I am attempting to relate the Torah to my life. I don't mean to put the story of the Israelites entering and leaving Egypt on the same plane as collegiate sorority drama. This should be obvious, but just in case.

Summary of Vayechi, this week's Torah portion and the end of the book of Genesis:Jacob has spent the majority of Genesis building a large family clan, thus kick-starting God's repeated promise of uncountable descendants. Through Jacob's efforts - and the efforts of Isaac and Abraham before him - his family clan will come to be known as the House of Israel. In the preceding portions of Genesis, Joseph saved Egypt and the world from starvation, making the Israelites pretty awesome and important. Skipping ahead a bit: generations later, when these people are all gone, the Israelites will still exist, but in a radically different position. After a long period of slavery, after the Exodus, and after witnessing the power of God countless times (in the ten plagues, the pillars of fire and smoke that led them through the desert, and the revelation of the Torah at Sinai to name a few), these Israelites will not say with the degree of certainty that Jacob and Joseph did, "God exists and is watching over me" (not a direct Biblical quote). They will be a different people and yet, the same.

Jacob, in this portion, is about to die and leave his hard-earned, angel-given name (Israel) to his sons, who don't always do the right thing and may not always represent his name in a way that would make him proud. But you can't live forever and creating something that will exist beyond you has to come with the understanding that you will one day pass the torch and it will be out of your hands.
It's similar in a sorority. I am an Alpha Sig, specifically a founding member of the Theta Nu chapter. The talented group of women I called "sisters" in my time there are vastly different from those women who make up the chapter today, but we are all Alpha Sigs.

Some background information:In 2008, I joined a new organization of bright, quirky women dedicated to strength, scholarship, and service. The goal was to build this organization, ATP, into a force on campus, a home for women with shared interests in things like superheroes, tea parties, and Harry Potter. Ultimately, we strove to join a national sorority and give the women of Knox College a fourth option for Greek life.

After getting caught in the middle of a war on Greek life for two years, we succeeded in reaching official sorority status and became the Theta Nu chapter of Alpha Sigma Alpha (ASA). ASA values strength, scholarship, and service with the added bonus of encouraging spiritual, physical, and purely enjoyable pursuits. Of course, when transitioning from one organizational structure to another, some things will be lost and some added, but overall, the ideals seemed to fit and I really felt this was an organization that could carry on in place of ATP. One month after our installation as an official chapter of ASA, I graduated from Knox with the sense of accomplishment that comes from graduating and leaving something tangible behind. That organization and fantastic group of ladies enriched my experience at Knox, gave me lifelong friends, and pushed my personal growth in ways I couldn't have imagined. All I wanted was for that feeling of happiness, pride and accomplishment to touch the lives of future Alpha Sigs.

My Alpha Sigma Alpha badges

As it turns out, however, letting go is easier said than done. I want to want nothing more than happiness for my future sorority sisters, but I have this nagging feeling of ownership over something that is now rightfully theirs. After all, you can't pour two years of your life into something in the face of constant adversity and then just let it go at the drop of your graduation cap. Rationalizing to myself that organizations grow and change all the time doesn't make the news of certain changes sting any less. For example, in ATP we placed a great deal of importance on academic achievements and professional conduct. We wanted to come across as the brainy (nerdy was ok too) and organized girls. One of the great things we gained by joining ASA was the official motto of "Poise and Purpose" which we reflected in ATP, but never officially adopted. So it hurts to hear that the new body of women who make up ASA have lowered their academic standards (only one member made the dean's list last term) and that they tend to come across as loud and a bit obnoxious (not all the time, but enough that it's noticeable to me over the internet).

To by fair, this happens with sorority sisters; we get on each others' nerves. My time in ATP and ASA, while highly valuable to me overall, was also filled with times when we didn't all like each other and when being part of it stressed me out more than anything else. We had our share of obnoxious moments and times when we didn't live up to the high standards we set for ourselves. We had our share of fights, both at chapter meetings and in the privacy of our own dorm rooms. But as an active collegiate member, I had a say in the organization. If I didn't like something, I could confront it and combat it. As an alum, I can't do that. It's not my organization to run anymore. I spent the majority of my college career creating this organization, just as Jacob spent the majority of his life creating a people/family/religion.
Here's what I've learned from all this:
I helped to create an awesome organization. I did my job and reaped some of the benefits of it before graduating. Now I need to let go. In order to grow and thrive, they will have to adapt the organization to a constantly-changing campus community (after all there's a complete turn over of the student body every four years) and who am I to judge how best to adapt when I live 900 miles away and can only keep up with campus activities through the student paper?

On the other hand, in joining ASA and becoming my new Alpha Sig sisters, these women took on the responsibility of representing not only themselves and the organization in their time, but of representing the organization overall and the memory of their alumnae. In the three-year span while ATP was struggling to become a national organization, a lot of women graduated, so when it came to choosing a national sorority to join, it was our job to consider what our alumnae would want. We didn't necessarily consult them about our choices, because we understood the situation on the ground better than they would, but we did take a good hard look at the goals they set out to achieve and tried to find an organization that would reflect what ATP was when they founded it and what ATP had become under our leadership.

To any Knox Alpha Sigs who may have found this, please don't get too personally offended. I don't mean this rant as an attack on any of you. I just needed to talk it out for myself in a public setting so I wouldn't stew about it to myself.

Alpha love and mine,

Erin

Grasshoppers

In the past week's Torah portion, Shelach, God told Moses to send 12 scouts into Israel to check out the land. They returned with the following pronouncement, "Yeah, the land is definitely flowing with milk and honey and it's pretty awesome, but it's full of big scary Anakites, Amalekites, and Canaanites." Two of the scouts (Caleb and Joshua) disagreed with this assessment, but the other ten had already managed to incite fear and panic. The result? God said, "Fine, you can stay in the desert then."

Two things really struck me about this portion on a personal level:

1. In describing the people who live in Israel, the ten doubtful scouts say they look like giants and that "we looked like grasshoppers to ourselves, and so we must have looked to them." (Numbers 13:33)

I think like this all the time. I don't tend to voice an opinion unless I feel like I have all the facts. By all the facts, I mean leaving no stone unturned and I pretty much always think that there must be something out there that I haven't read or haven't thought of. This kind of thinking generally leads me to belittle my own opinion as "uninformed" and if I'm unsure of myself, I think everyone else must be able to tell and must think of me that way too. So when the Israelites saw themselves as weak and small, I could relate. But as we learned in the Haftarah reading from Joshua 2:1-24, those "giant" Anakites, Amalekites, and Canaanites, saw the Israelites as a real threat.

My take-away: Don't assume that everyone else sees me the way I see myself and don't be so self-conscious. I should focus more on my strengths. Even if the Israelites were set on seeing themselves as grasshoppers, they should have noted that grasshoppers can be incredibly intimidating in numbers. Maybe all the excitement of crossing the Sea of Reeds, receiving the Torah, and building the ark made them forget that a swarm of locusts destroyed Egypt's crops not that long before (thanks, Plague #8).

2. If the Israelites had just had faith that God would be with them when they entered the promised land, they wouldn't have had to spend 40 years wandering around in the desert. Their fear immobilized them and left them unable to move forward into their land and to develop as a people. I tend to lean in the direction of the ten fearful scouts, though I don't like to admit it. Instead of trusting that everything will be fine, I worry that something will go wrong and then limit my activities in order to avoid those imagined scenarios. I have been getting better at ignoring those doubts and just having faith that I will have fun. The evidence backs me up - nothing ever goes wrong when I make the effort to hang out with friends or try something new and I even usually have fun. The Israelites had similar evidence in support of just heading into Israel on faith - the plagues, the Sea of Reeds, manna, clouds of fire and smoke, receiving the Torah! They forgot all of that in their fear that this time it wouldn't work out in their favor. I don't think anyone would say that was a smart move on their part.

In light of these insights, my goal this week is to be more like Joshua and Caleb - to have confidence in myself, to have a little faith, and to try something new.