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snicketstrange · 3 years

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Rereading The Chapter 14 (The End)

I believed that in ASOUE's universe, chapter 14 was apparently written some time after the rest of the book. But I abandoned that idea. Lemony wrote to the editor that chapter 14 could be found at the end of the same manuscript.

We then have the epigraph of Le Voyage. It's an excerpt that portrays the moment of death, and perhaps the acceptance of death. But I don't think this means that Lemony is completely certain of the Baudelaires' death. I think it means he's pretty sure he won't write about the Baudelaires anymore. I think the right question is "why did Lemony decide to stop writing at this point in the story?" "Why did he plan to write more and then stop writing?" I think Lemony didn't promise to write the entire story of the Baudelaires. He promised to write the story of the conflict between the Baudelaires and Olaf. So when he was sure of Olaf's death, and that was only with the additional information he had probably had access to through Beatrice Jr, Lemony realized that the research might be over. The certainty of Olaf's death was the event he determined when the narrative came to an end. So, it makes us wonder what kind of promise Lemony made. Apparently he promised that he would clarify the facts surrounding the charges the Baudelaires went through, as well as the contexts in which these events took place. That's why it was so important to get this information out to the general public. Because it involved the honor of the Baudelaire family. Furthermore, this explains why he could not rely solely on the account given by the Baudelaires themselves: after all, they were being accused of being lying criminals. Lemony needed to clear their name, proving, so to speak, that the facts reported by the Baudelaires were real, and it was not enough just to record what he read in the island book.

I think this is the most sensible explanation, and as a theorist I will defend it. But as a fan willing to come up with slightly bizarre ideas, I feel like imagining Lemony realizing that his own death was close to happening. It would be interesting to imagine that Lemony's research took so long that he was an elderly man when he was publishing The End. And the reason Lemony finished his work at this point would be his physical limitations. That would explain shocking secret #13: "he's finished." And more than that: it would even explain the title of the book: "The End of Lemony Snicket". And furthermore, this would explain Lemony's dedication to Beatrice in chapter 14. After quoting the words of Charles B., in which the poet compares the hour of death with the setting off of a ship, Lemony claims that both he and Beatrice are like boats sailing at night, but especially her. Both were on a dark and lonely journey, but she was already dead. "

Beatrice's last words recorded in the book were really emotional to me when I first read them, and they still are today. Especially after I watched the Netflix series, it's now possible to imagine a very specific face when I picture Beatrice. And it's possible to think of a specific soundtrack when I read this.

About the baby's name, on my Headcanon Violet is the name of Mrs. W, who was presumed dead around the same time as Lemony. And in my Headcanon, just as Lemony didn't really die, she didn't either. I still like to think that she was the mystery woman on TGG, and that's the real reason Quigley used the name Violet in the message he sent to submarine Q.

I think this is the first time I stop to think that the Baudelaires ate crab. This is unclean food for those who practice Judaism as a religion, isn't it? I even thought the roast lamb was a reference to the Passover celebration, but they wouldn't do that by eating crab. Or is it that in a book in which Daniel Handler implicitly criticizes religion, he did so on purpose? I think it's unlikely, but still possible. But, albeit unintentionally, the Baudelaires rejected the religious customs of their ancestors in a book in which religious customs are questioned and this is significant.

"The baby had heard about danger, too, mostly from the register of crimes, follies, and misfortunes of mankind from which the Baudelaires read out loud each evening, although they had not told the infant the whole story. She did not know all of the Baudelaires' secrets, and indeed there were some she would never know."

The above excerpt is important as it reveals that Lemony has information about Beatrice Jr's future as he was writing this chapter. This explains how Lemony knows what happened in this chapter: Beatrice Jr told him. Lemony did meet her, and he realized that the Baudelaires hadn't told her the whole story.

A detail that has always pleased me in this book is to notice that after 1 year, Sunny stopped babbling words and has a more conventional and extensive vocabulary. I find this compatible with the fact that 1 year has passed and it's also compatible with her character development arc. One of asoue's themes is "how some children are forced to mature too quickly because of tragedy". Sunny, for example, needed to learn how to cook and convince herself that she loved doing it and that she was good at it in a few days. And all this before she learned to speak English properly. She needed to help with a birth long before she fully understood issues related to human procreation. But in chapter 14, she finally had the opportunity to develop without tragedies forcing her to skip important steps in life.

"Do we take this?" Violet asked, holding up the book from which she had read out loud.

"I don't think so," Klaus said. "Perhaps another castaway will arrive, and continue the history."

"In any case," Sunny said, "they'll have something to read."

Please realize how important this dialogue is. Daniel Handler placed this dialogue here to make sure the reader understood the source of information Lemony had access to: the island book. The children wrote about their own story in that book, including their thoughts, feelings, and private conversations. The children shared some details about ancient events, about when Sunny wasn't even born. In the book, Lemony found details about some events that took place on the island before the arrival of the three Baudelaires.

"I want to make sure these life jackets I've designed will fit properly."

Well... It's good to know that, even though the boat sank, the Baudelaires had lifeboats. Their chances of survival really increased a lot. And knowing that Beatrice Jr managed to survive a shipwreck, it's quite possible that they did too.

The Baudelaires watched her approach, wondering what the next chapter in this infant's life would be, and indeed that is difficult to say. There are some who say that the Baudelaires rejoined V.F.D. and are engaged in brave errands to this day, perhaps under different names to avoid being captured. There are others who say that they perished at sea, although rumors of one's death crop up are often revealed to be untrue. But in any case, as my investigation is over, we have indeed reached the last chapter of the Baudelaires' story, even if the Baudelaires had not.

Lemony just reports here what he heard. Although Daniel Handler intentionally wishes the ending to be left open, and I will respect his decision, I will speak my opinion. They didn't die at sea, though. Note that Lemony directly relates the baby's future to the future of the three Baudelaires. The way Lemony wrote here suggests that the baby's future is as uncertain as the future of her adoptive parents. But we TBL readers know the truth about Beatrice Jr.'s future. Beatrice is alive! So the most likely situation is that her parents are also alive. ( And who knows other characters that we thought had died there on TBB... could it be that at least one of them could also have survived?)

But the question is: if Lemony knows the baby survived, why did he hide this information from the reader? Certainly to protect his niece. Lemony didn't lie, just omitted some details.

The baby paused, and looked at the back of the boat, where the nameplate had been affixed. She had no way of knowing this, of course, but the nameplate had been nailed to the back of the boat by a person standing on the very spot she was standing—at least as far as my research has shown.

Lemony once again dismantled specific knowledge through research, which could only have been done through information provided by others. Beatrice Jr needed to tell Lemony exactly where she was at that moment and Lemony needed to compare that with the information Beatrice Sr and Bertrand wrote in the island book. And then, on visiting the site, Lemony was able to ascertain the most likely position for those descriptions. While Lemony is a bit mistaken, the research process must have been like that.

Finally, she uttered a word. The Baudelaire orphans gasped when they heard it, but they could not say for sure whether she was reading the word out loud or merely stating her own name, and indeed they never learned this. Perhaps this last word was the baby's first secret, joining the secrets the Baudelaires were keeping from the baby, and all the other secrets immersed in the world. Perhaps it is better not to know what was meant by this word, as some things are better left in the great unknown. There are some words, of course, that are better left unsaid—but not, I believe, the word uttered by my niece, a word which here means that the story is over. Beatrice.

Oh... How I love this ending. That's when I felt my head explode for the first time in my life, and I'm still picking up the pieces.

#asoue #asoue theory #lemony snicket #a series of unfortunate events #asoue theories #beatrice baudelaire #snicketverse #beatrice snicket #beatrice jr #violet baudelaire #sunny baudelaire

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idk-my-aesthetic · 4 years

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a concept

U know how in the comics Aang starts rebuilding the air nation with ppl who are basically converts to their religion? By like teaching them about the air nomad’s ways and stuff?

What if he gave some of them air bending using energy bending? And they could start re-building the air nation and it’s culture by teaching them everything!! They could even start moving back into the temples now that they could fly and rebuilding

They’d even have the bison!! According to the wiki aang found a living herd after the war !!

Idk just. As a Jewish person genocide stories are really really personal to me. And the thought of being the last of my people is terrifying

I just really want the air nation to have a chance to rebuild in a natural way. And I think that like letting ppl choose to convert and gifting them with air bending would probably be the best way

Ik aang’s kids and grandkids have air bending but trying to rebuild an entire nation from one bloodline is.... not the best idea

And I also know that in lok a bunch of ppl are given air bending, but that whole story really rubs me the wrong way (no hate to lok though!! There are parts I like!!)

Under the cut is basically an explanation as to why I take issue w/ it and find it mildly offensive/an essay about cultural appropriation in general lol. but i don’t wanna kill ppl’s dashes so if you wanna see the explanation check there

but i really think that aang like.... allowing ppl to convert, and teaching them, and gifting them w/ airbending in the most natural/best way for that story to go and i wanted to share that!! :)

anyway time for a whole essay because i.... apparently need to explain and justify every single one of my opinions. i’ma blame the adhd.

I have 2 main issues w/ the new air bender plot. a) the air Nomad religion/culture is pretty explicitly seen as a closed one and b) it’s sort of a cop-out.....

so... first:

Air bending is pretty explicitly a huge part of the air nomad culture and religion and is extremely spiritual. bc of how religious and spiritual it is the idea of ppl just.... randomly being given it really rubs me the wrong way.

It’s really really hard for me to explain this or come up with an irl example, bc these ppl didn’t ask for air bending, or try to gain it in anyway. So it’s not really their fault. But to me it feels almost like accidental cultural appropriation? If that makes sense

Which like. cultural appropriation is obviously bad. Even in the comic I originally referenced (the promise) Aang is initally really really offended by the people practicing the air Nomad religion when he first finds out!!! Which he should be!!!

There’s a difference between cultural appropriation, culture appreciation, and sharing culture. The first is bad, and the second 2 are good when done correctly.

Ima use an irl example w/ Judaism just bc using this personal experiences is apparently the only way my brain knows how to explain things

Scenario 1: Amanda (who is xtian) decides to research the Jewish holiday of Passover and the traditions behind it just bc she’s interested in it

This is cultural appreciation! She’s just learning about smthn she finds interesting. This is generally ok! although in some cultures there is knowledge that you are not supposed to know or discuss if you are not part of that culture and you should 100% respect that if it is the case

Scenario 2: Amanda learns about the Passover seder and decides to throw one herself

Dont fucking do this omfg. This is cultural appropriation. Passover is a super important and religions holiday! It’s one of the high holy days and celebrating it on her own isn’t ok!

Scenario 3: Amanda asks her Jewish freind Alex if she can come to his Passover seder

This is cultural appreciation and cultural sharing!! It’s totally valid!! She respectfully asks to join in and be included!

it’s diffrent from cultural apropriation for one huge reason. she is joining in, rather than celebrating it on her own with no jewish ppl present

Scenario 4: Amanda eats gefitlefish just bc she likes it

this is appreciation! even though there are no jewish ppl involved! bc gefiltefish isn’t a holy/religious/spiritual thing.

different aspects of different cultures have different levels of importance. as a general rule, if smthn is holy/religious, you should not do anything with it, unless invited by someone of that culture. if it’s not then you can generally do it on ur own (though there is some grey area there. ie, moccasins are smthn that aren’t religious to native americans, but if ur not native you shouldn’t be producing and selling them. if you want moccasins by them from actual natives)

scenario 5: amanda contacts a rabbi and starts the conversion process

this is...... just conversion lol. when she is finished with the process (which can take months/years) she’ll no longer be xtian and be jewish!! just as much as anyone who was born into judiasm. she’ll be able to host her own seders and any of her children will be jewish as well :)

sorry for the really long thing!! but i felt it was necessary to show the difference between some concepts that seem similar but are actually vastly different!!

anyway, i hope y’all understand the difference between cultural appropriation/appreciation/sharing. if ur asking urself “ok why does it matter tho” friendly reminder that alot of irl ppl have been murdered for trying to peacefully observe their cultures/religions :)

including the air nomads! (hey segway...)

they are literally hunted to extension because they are part of one culture/religion. you could argue it’s a racism thing (which it is) but race, culture, ethnicity and religion are all inherently tied. see: almost every non-xtian religion worldwide

SO. when you consider that a) the nomads were killed for their religion b) airbending was incredibly significant part of that religion, isn’t it weird that random people who have 0 connection or interest in that religion suddenly have airbending??

again it becomes like accidental cultural appropriation. which you can’t really blame the characters for in-world

but, these aren’t real ppl. they’re characters in a situation that was written by real ppl, real ppl who can and should be criticized

not that i’m trying to call the creators bigoted in anyway! this dosn’t seem like anything that was meant to be offensive. and it’s not really that offensive unless you think about it. to me it just seems like a plot point that wasn’t fully thought through. i don’t bring it up to shame the creators, just as a way to show others why it’s smthn not to be repeated

and, to show a better way to do a similar story

the reason i went so in depth w/ the explanation of cultural appropriation vs appreciation vs conversion is bc i wanna show why a different way of approaching a similar story would have been better

the reason i think my whole idea (of ppl basically contacting aang or the air nomads, converting to the religion, and then being gifted air bending through energy bending) is better than ppl being randomly gifted it is bc conversion takes work

to convert to any culture or religion you a) need a connection to someone in that culture (usually made by reaching out to a religious leader) and b) need to actually be accepted by that group in order to be considered one of them. it takes work and dedication. it’s a literal transfer of culture!! it’s just... ack i’m not good at explaining it

but dosn’t it make so much more sense that ppl who actually worked to integrate themselves into the culture and become one of them are givin airbending? not because it’s a privilege but bc they need to first become part of the culture in order to have any right or claim to it

but by just giving it to random non-benders it’s basically the reverse!! yes they later learn the culture and religon, but???? thats not how that works??? wtf???

i feel like i’ve been talking in circles and i’m sorry if i’ve bored everyone to death but i hope u understand my point.

anyway! next thing! (i swear this part will be way shorter)

by just making a bunch of random ppl airbenders it basically retcons one of the longlasting effects of the 100 yr war and almost just... erases the impact of the air nomad’s genocide

which. is gross and uncomfortable. genocide stories are touchy subjects and smthn that need to be treated with respect

just giving random ppl airbending it’s almost like the genocide didn’t matter at all. which i take a huge fucking issue w/ ok and i don’t feel like i need to explain why

instead of a natural rebuilding of the air nomads it’s just fixed with spirit magic. it’s just... an insult to the really compelling and well written genocide story that was in atla and an insult to the irl ppl who related to that story

so. yeah.... again i’m not trying to call out the creators, i again think this plotline was more accidentally insulting than purposefully

i already propsed a better way to do it by allowing converts to gain the ability to airbend. (hell it dosn’t even need to come from energy bending or aang. the air nomads were incredibly spiritual, maybe a spirit gifted it to the ppl who earned it instead of random fucking ppl)

but the other reason that converts instead of just.... random ppl gaining the ability is better is bc there aren’t gonna be that many ppl to convert!! there’s not gonna be some sudden boom in the airbending population!! theres would still be a story of the nation slowly healing and rebuilfing itself instead of the insulting sudden magic fix

oof. sorry for the long freaking thing. i literally went into this just wanting to share an idea and instead spent over an hour analyzing this stuff lol....

i hope this was coherent but if anyone’s got questions about anything i said feel free to @ me or shoot me an ask :) as long as ur polite and stuff i’ll answer to the best of my ability

#atla #airbending #atla meta #avatar tla #avatar #avatar the last airbender #aang #aang atla #atla worldbuilding #cultural appropriation #idk how to tag this also i am big tired #lok #genocide #tagging for blacklist #/ just in case

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rainbow-femme · 4 years

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Having some trans/converting to Judaism feelings right now

I want to convert, so much. Was in the process a year ago but had to break it off when I had to move states.

Now with quarantine putting things on hold I’m doing a lot of thinking about it.

I’m transgender, so converting orthodox is pretty much out, especially being bi on top of it. I know the occasional orthodox rabbi is ok with it but you’d also need an orthodox congregation that’s ok with it plus an orthodox Beit Din.

The plan has been to convert through conservative Judaism for a while now but more and more I’m struggling knowing I won’t really be considered Jewish by many people if I do

Here’s my thought process: If my life as a Jewish person would include the idea that I’m faking what I am to invade a place I don’t belong, that I don’t count as what I’m saying I am, that I won’t really be considered what I say I am because of how I didn’t go far enough, that at best I’m making people uncomfortable by saying I’m one thing when they see me as another and at worst I’m actively disrupting things by being there?

I get that enough by existing as a trans person, I’m nervous to sign up again as a Jewish person

To be considered to be invading Jewish spaces by “pretending” to be Jewish because the conservative conversion isn’t considered valid, to be seen as invalidating a minyan by being present as a tenth person, to always be the one who isn’t really Jewish because I wasn’t born that way and I’m not really Jewish because I did X but not Y

I don’t want to be wearing a yarmulke one day and be seen as appropriating Jewish culture while not actually being Jewish.

I’m getting tired of getting to the part of Jewish books where I have to see if who I am is talked about as accepted or an insurmountable sin that is reason to turn a convert away because they will hurt the Jewish people by being present. I’ve read so many variations on “Look, are gay/trans people evil? No, but g-d said they’re illegal so we just can’t let them be Jewish”

I have such a deep desire for religion and especially Judaism but I just don’t know if I can convert knowing how many people will once again just see me as lying about what I really am and tricking them into thinking I’m one thing when they don’t consider it to be true. This is the first time in my life I feel looked down on for being what I am because it’s a barrier to converting and being good enough to be Jewish, I don’t know if I can compound it by being looked down on as pretending to be Jewish and invading the spaces of real Jewish people

#why is it so hard to be religious and trans or gay why can’t one group see us as normal

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manicpixiedreamjew · 5 years

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ok i rewrote and revised my letter! let me know what you think

2/9/19

Rabbi Randy,

As our Into class comes to an end, a lot has been on my mind. My spirituality, my values; how my perception of the world has changed as I solidify my Jewish identity, especially as a young woman. I spent a few hours poring over journal entries dating back all the way to 2016 this Shabbat, and a consistent theme stood out in all of them: an overwhelming, genuine urge to live an authentic Jewish life. I read, thrown back into the innocent curiosity, the puppy love, the childlike fascination with Jews and Judaism that began with a book. The Chosen, the very first Jewish book I read, and I’m sure I’ve told you this story before; I’ll spare the details.

Anyway, those first inklings of interest, say, early 2016, were academic. I was a vehement atheist born to a family of atheists. Then again, who has a nuanced understanding of religion and people-hood at sixteen? My atheism was an obstinate, cynical world view triggered by traumatic experiences with Christianity. When I picked up The Chosen, though...I was slapped right across the face. Judaism was the first thing that challenged my philosophies; it forced me into an entirely foreign universe I never thought I’d know, need or understand. It taught me empathy foremost, in those early days...studying Judaism exhorted me to bear the burden of others, to feed the hungry (a MAZON seminar comes to mind), comfort the weary. Looking at my journal, an entry dated 3/3/17 elaborates on the effects of antisemitism in America, and next to that a newspaper cut out of a Magen David. It wasn’t quite personal then, but it was something I wouldn’t have looked twice at a few years earlier. It disturbed me deeply.

Then, mid-late 2017. The journal entries shifted, as you’d expect; I’d been exhaustively involved in reading and researching by then. I see a lovingly inscribed entry detailing, religiously, my first Kabbalat Shabbat at CRC. 7/1/17. The smells, the melodies, my friends, the birthday celebration of two elderly men who loved baseball. “A deep, riveting admiration for something ancient and pulsing with life.” That puppy-love stage was in full effect, my love of Judaism and its personal implications blossomed over the springtime, although its fragrance wasn’t entirely sweet: I was forced to confront my identity and ask myself that looming question. Do I want to become a Jew?

That question threw me for a loop. It was an emotionally intense time. I confided to my closest friend that, although it may sound absurd, converting to Judaism was something I was interested in. I remember crying myself to sleep some nights because the decision was so massive, so heavy, so entirely suffocating for someone with no background in religion, no sense of community or family. Eventually, though, my fate did not seem so dire, and I came to my senses: I loved Judaism. I loved it, I love it. One of the first things that stood out to me and comforted me was the Jewish emphasis on family, something I never experienced. I clung to it: how someone’s always there for you; how you’re adopted into world-wide support network called the Tribe. How no matter where you travel, anywhere in the world, someone will enthusiastically invite you over for Shabbat lunch. How, because you are Jewish, you will never suffer alone.

That, then, began my serious resolve to be Jewish, do Jewish and live Jewish.

Ever since I met with you on 11/21/17 (I have an entry for that, too!), my life has been a foray into Jewishness. You told me to start observing Shabbat and Yom Tov, and I did so with vigor: I bought a chanukiah, acquired the shiniest candlesticks I could, and read every book the local library had regarding proper observances. I look back on my first few holidays and laugh now, playfully admonishing myself for my mistakes and mishaps. But that’s the fun, right? If I learned anything from this week’s Parsha (Terumah), it’s that the means are more much important than the end, the intention more meaningful than the actualization. Late 2017 to early 2018 was all that: learning, doing, experiencing, interacting, existing with a fat dose of humility. Organizing a basic Jewish vocabulary, and through Shabbat services and working with the community, pinning down what it means to live a Jewish life.

Enter 2018! This was, perhaps, the most frustrated and chaotic year on my Journey to Jewish. To start, it was my last semester of high-school. Everything, and I mean Everything, was dependent on my graduation—most saliently my own happiness and sanity. My synagogue attendance was dwindling, my ambition and motivation was all but absent. I’ve always suffered from depression and severe anxiety, but its clutch tightened horribly those first few months. I managed to attend a Kol Nidre service in early September—and, it remains one of my most beautiful and cherished memories to date. December, I know, was the hardest. Between my Catholic father making crusade jokes and my Jesus-obsessed mother spewing casual antisemitism, between unending loads of coursework and no free time, I felt my spirit literally withering. This never weakened my resolve to live Jewishly, but some days I just couldn’t bring myself to enact the values I knew I held in my heart. Some days Judaism felt like a beloved friend, and others Judaism felt like a stranger. Nevertheless I continued to live as Jewish a life I could, but even kindling the Chanukah candles felt joyless. I was like Tevye standing in the middle of the woods, anguished, as his horse refused to budge. Through all of it, though—the sadness, numbness, friction—I was never, ever, once deterred. That’s how life is sometimes. But to be a Jew, as our own Reb Tevye zealously insisted, you must have hope.

And I did. This is when Judaism became real to me, when I realized it was a part of my life and etched into my very being. If I could live Jewishly, study, be a part of my community and find solace while also dealing with these hardships, this was clearly meant to be. I’ve been using “us” and “we” pronouns for a few months now, referring to myself as Jewish even though I’ve yet to immerse in a mikveh. When our class visited the Holocaust museum, the loss and heartache I felt was profoundly intimate...a personal loss, the loss of family I never had the opportunity to know and love. I had never experienced anything like that before, and it continues to haunt me. I’ve been the target of hateful and ignorant remarks. People have glowered at my Magen David; they’ve called me names and insulted me. “Christ killer, money hoarder, dirty Jew.”

But, and I’m a bit weepy remembering this, living Jewishly (and loudly at that) is a blessing. Maybe two summers ago I catered to an older family for their son’s graduation party. An uncle approached me, blinked at my Magen David and muttered “bless you.” I was visibly shaken; I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Later in the evening the grandmother touched my shoulder and asked, “are you Jewish?” I told her I was a conversion student. She embraced me, dug out dreidels from her kitchen drawer, and told me that she was separated from her Judaism during childhood. That it was too dangerous for her to practice, that she wanted to go back to synagogue now that she was safe. I encouraged her daughter to finally have her bar mitzvah. My heart was full. Another memory I’m fond of: wishing a stranger chag Pesach sameach and Shabbat Shalom on the street. He was wearing a kippah. The smile on that man’s face was unforgettable.

Those moments, to me, were godly. Actions are a conduit of holiness; I’ve learned that over the years. To act with intent and sanctify the mundane is second nature to us. A bracha, a kind word, charity, song...everything is a vessel for godliness.

Fast forward a bit: 2019. As I grew into my adult identity, so did I into my Jewish identity. I had my 18th birthday, graduated, passed my driving test. I began to wrap my hair on Shabbat, meditate on the Sh’ma swathed in a tallit, give tzedakah. Often times I sat in the little CRC classroom and pondered on the application of my learning: how it translated into my everyday life, how it reconciled with my values as a progressive woman in today’s society...but mostly, I think, I thought about how at home I felt. I walk into CRC and immediately feel at peace; a part of a family, the member of a loving household. I walk into the sanctuary and about a dozen people are ready to greet me with big, heartfelt smiles. It melts me every single time.

Alright, I’ll quit boring you with all this schmaltz.

I’m not sure that there was one definite moment when I knew, for sure, that being Jewish was the right choice for me. In fact, to assume all that soul searching could fit into one tiny, fleeting, ephemeral moment is ridiculous...as you know from the absurd length of this letter, which is only a minute fraction of my story. Seriously, I could go on, and on, and on; but I digress. Sitting at our Sukkot celebration and dancing with all the other people, looking up through the sukkah and marveling at the hanging plants and leaves. Baking challah on Friday morning and realizing that somewhere, other Jewish women are doing the exact same thing. Feeling warm summer wind on my face, seeing fireflies flicker through the bushes and knowing that HaShem is there. Touching my siddur to the Torah for the first time and bristling, feeling as though something breathed new life into me. Group Aliyah, a guiding hand on my shoulder as we chant the brachot in clumsy unison…

Each moment (and many more, and yet more to come) reaffirmed the fact that Judaism is my home. Ruth said it more succinctly and eloquently than I ever could: Your people shall be my people, and your God shall be my God.

Randy, I never thought I’d be doing this. Ever. Looking back at the learning and growing I’ve done, reading those journals and reminiscing on my journey, I can firmly say, if you agree, I’m ready to enter this Covenant officially.

Thank you for everything, as always,

Zoë

#oops its 5 pages #save

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sobbingoverthechallah · 5 years

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Pesach Problems! Or: Are My Housemates Assholes, Or Am I Too Sensitive?

Okay, I’ve got about an hour before candle lighting so I’m just going to dump this into your figurative laps and yeet myself off of Tumblr for the time being. It’s a long rant. I apologize in advance, and i’ll probably delete it later, but anyway please don’t reblog this! Because! It’s! Garbage!

So, this week has been my first PESACH! The two seders I went to at my university’s Hillel were absolutely incredible. I have never felt more included in my life, and my rabbi encouraged so much introspection and debating among us students and alums. I was allowed to bring my old family charoset recipe (I made it vegan, gluten-free AND kosher for Passover, which is almost impossible with a Sephardic-turned-Texas-hick charoset recipe for some reason). I have been eating matzah for a week straight, and I’m not going to lie, I really miss my morning toast. A lot. So much. But it’ll be over tomorrow, and then I can exhale a little bit and go back to not depriving myself of the joys of chametz.

But that’s been outside of my house, where I live with thirteen other individuals- some undergraduate students, some PhD candidates, some who aren’t even in university. If you read my little rants on here, then you know that my roommate is an atheist, and she has a huge problem with me. See, she’s the only person in this entire house who knows that I’m in the middle of converting. I don’t advertise it, obviously, and my eating matzah noisily with every meal has attracted the attention of my other housemates. If they’re curious about something, I have no problem answering questions. But no one knows that I didn’t grow up Jewish except for my roommate.

This past week has been filled with little passive-aggressive jabs about, well, Judaism. And my practices. It’s been one long week of side-eye and demeaning jokes about matzah. Of one housemate asking “why are you celebrating something so irrelevant, and without J*sus on Good Friday?” When I dressed according to tznius for the first seder- because, you know, it’s important to be respectful and I wanted to honor my ancestors by wearing some white with my long black skirt- my housemate made sure to give me a long, hard stare and then say “Well! Don’t you... look... modest”, in the most condescending and patronizing tone I think I’ve ever heard in my life. It’s been jokes about “Jews” being thrown around despite the house being FULL of goyim, with the exception of one housemate who’s Jewish and who has been sharing his kosher wine and matzah with me. I was honestly trying to brush all of it off, I swear I was, because I thought I was being too sensitive. But I think I have fully lost my patience. And it starts with my bacon pants. See, I used to LOVE bacon- I loved it so much, my aunt bought me pajama pants covered in bacon for Xmas six or seven years ago. I still wear them quite frequently. I have worn them on a very regular basis over the last five weeks that I’ve been living in this house.

So imagine my surprise when, after coming into the kitchen to get a glass of wine post-dinner dressed in my pants, a housemate stopped me and said “oh wow, you know, I knew that you had bacon pants, but I didn’t make the connection between JEW and bacon pants until right now!” That’s when I think that I decided to not let the next comment slide. Because Gd knows what kind of crap they would have been telling me over the past week if they’d known that I wasn’t born Jewish.

And I really don’t want to know. They were comfortable mocking “Jews”, referring to me as a “Jew” right in front of me (pro tip: if you’re not Jewish, don’t fucking call a Jewish person a Jew), making nasty jokes about matzah and blood libels (that came up exactly once this week, but they mercifully withdrew from the conversation after seeing how close I was to exploding sans apologizing), insulting the cultural and ancestral significance that Pesach has for me , because that charoset recipe is all I have left of my ancestors and I won’t stand for someone calling it “a mediocre garbage thing to eat” when they think I’m out of earshot. Lastly, someone put needles (???) on top of my quinoa faux-oatmeal, but that could have just been someone’s stupid negligence, although I don’t know why they thought it was okay to put things in my cubby full of Passover food. It got to the point where I was uncomfortable eating in the house, so I had to eat my breakfast very early in the morning and then eat a big lunch at Hillel, then run up to my room with some matzah before anyone saw me. But Pesach ends tomorrow night, and after saying havdalah, I am going to run to the grocery store and stuff my face full of bread and say a big fat “fuck you” to the guy who thought it was okay to eat a thick slice of freshly-baked bread right in front of my face while saying “oh man, it’s so terrible that you can’t have any of this”. It’s going to be glorious.

So, am I being too sensitive? Probably. I haven’t had to deal with this before, and it’s become very apparent to me how much privilege I had the last 21 years of my life not having to worry about what I say about spirituality and what I eat in front of other people. That being said, are some of my housemates assholes? Absolutely. I hesitate to put a label on their behavior, because it’s too mild to be something serious enough where I was afraid for my safety, but it’s enough to make me feel slightly on-edge whenever I’m around the same three to five people that think it’s appropriate to insult my life choices, my spirituality, my practices, and my identity.

I am going to go to Shabbos, hear the yom tov reading, have a lovely Shabbos dinner, and then count both the omer and the hours until I can eat my morning toast on Sunday. Thank you for reading. I just needed to tell someone, anyone, who might understand why I’m so uncomfortable in my own house.

#antijudaism tw #antisemitism tw #i'm putting the tws because i don't want to upset ppl with some of this stuff #please do NOT reblog #don't repost #you don't even have to reach out to me #bc i am actually totally fine? just frustrated and kind of unnerved #see this is a part of me recognizing my goy privilege that went out the fucking window when i brought that matzah home

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betsynagler · 5 years

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The Four (Thousand, New) Questions

When I was growing up, I didn't really have to think too much about what it meant to be a Jewish American. A large part of that was living in New Jersey, where being a member of the tribe isn’t exactly an anomaly. In Newark, pretty much all of my friends were Jewish or Black, until I spent 2nd grade in Catholic School. You’d think that might make it weird, but even then, it wasn’t. All my new friends just had Irish and Italian names, and I got to sit in the back during mass and read, which is the dream of every second grader. And when we moved to the suburbs, things became, if anything, more Jewy. We joined Temple Israel and actually tried going to services every once in a while, and I went to Hebrew school on Saturdays. At my suburban public grade school, I learned the term “Jappy” something my friends and I called other girls that we considered spoiled, regardless of whether or not they were Jewish, and in junior high, the school bus that came from the most wealthy, Jewish neighborhood in town was sometimes referred to as “The Jew Canoe.” Who did we learn these terms from? Other Jews. We were the ones trading in the laughable stereotypes, because that’s American Jewish culture all over: we joke because we can. It’s never been in doubt in my lifetime that we belong here, to the degree that we are comfortable poking fun at ourselves, enough that while we are very aware that we aren’t and will never be the majority — and if you forget that, you always have the 30 to 60 days of Christmas to remind you — we are perfectly okay with that; and enough to feel safe in the knowledge that the past is the past, because in the Tri-State Area in the 1970s and 80s, anti-Semitism was about as real to me as Star Wars: something that existed long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away. The same thing with Nazis. Nazis were the movie villains nobody got upset about. Nobody ever said, “Why do the Nazis always have to be the bad guys?” Why? Because they were the bad guys.

That doesn’t mean that my Jewish identity was 100% uncomplicated, mostly because I was raised to figure stuff out for myself. Mine were the kind of parents who took us to fancy restaurants and said, “Want to order the escargot? Have at it!”, perhaps not realizing that they’d end up with a seven-year-old who liked to try every appetizer on the menu but had a stomach the size of a golfball – which led to my parents gaining weight in the 70s, which led to their joining the exercise craze in the 80s...See how history happens? Being able to make my own decisions meant I could quit Hebrew school after one year (I was already a well-practiced quitter of stuff I didn't like, such as wearing dresses and learning the violin). I felt a little guilty about it, so I was definitely Jewish in that way, but one of the reasons I couldn’t get behind religious school was the fact that Judaism was supposedly my religion, but – go figure – our family was not religious. My parents don’t agree on which type of not-religious they are, since my mother describes herself as an atheist and my father calls himself an agnostic, but that’s only if you push them, since neither of them cares enough about it either way. They still identify as Jewish, and therein lay the confusion for me: Judaism is kind of an ethnic identity as well as a religion, but in a weird way, because you can convert to it, which you can’t do with, say, Slavic, and because it’s not one where we all come from one specific place, since Jews were basically driven out of everywhere. Sure, my family were all driven out of one country, Poland, but that didn’t exactly make them feel Polish. No, we were definitely Jews, just the secular kind, which is actually a thing — although I didn’t know anyone else like that in high school, the result being that in my group of friends, a mix of Jews and non-Jews, I was in my own category of Jewish, But Doesn’t Know When Any of the Holidays Are.

When I went to college on the West Coast, where I was meeting new people all the time, it was common for people tell me I didn’t “look Jewish,” which seemed to just fit right in with every other confusing part of my Jewish identity. You might think that, as a stealth Jew, I’d finally be privy to negativity about us, but that never happened. That was around the time of the rise of the religious right, and there were a lot of born-again Christians at Stanford, my freshman dorm was full of them. But while they may have believed I was going to hell, most of them still seemed happy to hang with me while we were alive – one of them even took me out for fro yo once (that’s short for “frozen yogurt,” and eating it together at Stanford in 1987 was called “dating”). If anything, being Jewish around them was an advantage, because they never tried to rebirth me the way they did other Christians, like my poor freshman roommate – I would come back to our room to find her surrounded by a group of them, looking uncomfortable, like she was getting hit on by Jesus. Mind you, I know now that my school was a liberal bubble inside the liberal bubble that was Northern California, and that protected me from a lot of things. But while we were definitely dealing with racism and sexism on campus at the time, anti-Semitism? That just wasn’t a thing.

Neither was being a Jewish person who didn’t support Israel. I didn’t know all that much about Israel growing up. I knew that it was the Jewish state, where I had once had some relatives, and that my cousins and eventually my brother — who finished Hebrew school — went to visit because they felt like it was an important way to learn about who they were. I didn’t. But when, in college, I had my first conversation with someone who’d lived in Israel about the way that Israelis felt this constant existential threat to their existence that justified their defensive posture when it came to negotiating peace with the Palestinians, even though they clearly had vast military superiority, I didn’t necessarily agree, but I got it. I understood why Israelis felt that, in a visceral, six-million-dead-just-because-they-were-like-you way that I think most non-Jews can’t.

That was probably as much of a surprise to me as it was to anyone: that, on some level, in spite of not looking Jewish, or being able to speak Hebrew, or knowing what Sukkot was (if it wasn’t about eating or presents, it didn’t make it into the Nagler Canon of Holidays), I actually still somehow just was Jewish. And that part of my identity might never have really sunk in if I hadn’t become a New Yorker. Moving here didn’t just mean that I discovered Zabars, or that I was a bagel snob, or that I would be able to have lox at catering pretty much every day (and occasionally take some home if it was really good), although those things did indeed happen. New York was able to absorb and assimilate Jewish culture in a way that allowed it to flourish as one distinct flavor of the whole that is this city of many flavors. New York is a Jewish city – in same way that it’s also Italian, Irish, African-American, Puerto Rican, Chinese, Russian, Indian, Dominican, Pakistani, Caribbean, Mexican, and the list goes on depending on who’s arrived recently and who’s coming next. And so, from the way I relate to food, to my sense of humor, to my analytical and intellectual side, to how forthright/tactless I can be, to my overall worldview: living here enabled me to recognize that I just wouldn’t be this way if I weren’t Jewish.

Everything feels different in 2019 in so many, surreal ways, but what exactly it means to be Jewish in America is definitely a big one. I’ve felt some vulnerability and uncertainty as a woman for most of my life, as you do, but I’ve never felt that way about being a Jew until now. To the point that I can’t call myself “a Jew” any more, because suddenly, that’s an epithet. How the hell did that happen? When did we allow them to take that word away? Then there’s the realization of, Wait, we can’t make those jokes any more because there are people who actually still think that shit about us? And they’re telling other people? Fucking internet. Add to that the fault lines within the American Jewish community over Israel and the ground really starts to feel like it’s swaying under your feet. How much we should continue to support this country that seems increasingly unrecognizable to me, that is so racked by fear and sectarianism that it appears to have given up on peace and democracy, that votes for a leader who has demonstrated time and again that he is both racist and corrupt? Well, now that I’ve put it like that, okay, maybe this is something that Israel and the United States have in common right now, but that doesn’t make it any better for those of use who are trying to stay on the sane side of it all. I’m lucky that most of my family is in agreement with me on these issues, but my mother has some cousins with whom she is close that she had to ask to stop sending her political emails, because their conservative views about Israel seemed to have somehow spread to abortion and immigration, despite that fact that they live in San Francisco. Jewish Trump supporters? From the Bay Area? What the hell is the going on?! Come on, this can’t be us. When an audience at the Republican Jewish Coalition cheers when Trump says “Our country’s full. You can’t come in,” don’t they hear the eerie echos of what the American government said to the boats full of Jews they sent back to be slaughtered in the holocaust? Don’t they know that we are supposed to be sharp, and educated, and fucking liberals? Oh, wait, is “liberal” now a bad word not just among conservatives but for some on the left too, as in the “liberal elite who control everything” that they’re always talking about? But, double wait, wasn’t that just another way anti-Semites used to say “the Jews” without saying “the Jews”? But triple wait, aren’t Bernie Sanders and Glenn Greenwald Jewish? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Of course, this about when all of your older Jewish relatives shake their heads at all of this and say, “See? This is exactly the shit always happens to us. Somehow, when things go bad in the world, and people start believing crazy conspiracy shit, that always turns back on the Jews.” I never believed that before, so to see it sort of happening right before my eyes is really something. But at the same time, I’m sure as hell not going to let that make me just silo up. Yeah, there are the swastikas, and the Tree of Life synagogue shooting, and “Jews will not replace us,” but can we honestly say we have it worse than everyone else who’s under attack in this country right now? What’s the point of joining a grievance competition that just gives the people who are trying to divide the left exactly what they want? It’s how, when the new questions that confuse and divide us just keep coming — What do we say or not say about Ilhan Omar? What about the schism in the Women’s March? What about the Senate bill that would allow state and local governments to withhold contracts from those who boycott Israel that Chuck Schumer supported? — they just get us to go after each other.

Let’s not do that. Sure, maybe this is just another case of me getting older and less able to accept how the world is changing — sort of a, “Damn Nazis, get off my lawn!” type of thing – and maybe I should just go along with this new normal. But that's one thing I know is definitely not me. MoTs like to talk shit out, sometimes too much, but eh. Let’s bring that tradition of analysis and argument — and I mean the kind where you’re forthright and emotional, but you still know how to listen — to bear on the questions we’re having both on the left and in the Jewish community about how we move forward, instead of fleeing back into our fears from the past.

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soulfulauror · 6 years

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The topic I’m bringing you today is one that I’ve grappled with for nearly as long as I’ve played Tina: Jewishness and the Wizarding World with respects to Tina.

Let me preface this that while I’m a conversion student (reform) I’m not from a Jewish family myself. Although I’ve started to practice religiously I cannot and will not call myself an authority on the matter for ethnic/secular Jewish people. As this is also a headcanon post while I will touch on minute details of my research I will not express every nuance, but I am happy to share texts and ideas.

Being a wizarding Jew: Religious or Ethnic? One of the biggest misconceptions I’ve seen in the FB fandoms in regards to the Goldstein sisters is that their relation to their Jewishness has to be religious. It does not. The Jewish people are one of the oldest people with written history, language, and culture in the world. There are people born Jewish, by Jewish law, that do not practice religiously and don’t believe in a higher being. This is the first thing I like to make a point of when writing either of the girls: They don’t have to be religious.

America in the 1920s in relations to Judaism: Like many different ethnic and religious groups there was a spike in immigration by the Jewish people in the 18th through 20th centuries. In particular, in the 19th century immigration happened due to Russian pogroms. Antisemitism was on a global level with Henry Ford in the United States writing propaganda in the early 20th century.

The 19th century also saw the introduction of a new form of Jewish movement in Baltimore, the Reform movement. Jewishness on a religious level within the United States was broadening. There were “modern” Jewish plays on Broadway. The introduction of the reform movement was considered a revitalization by some and in other ways, it was pulling away from a traditional Jewish identity in a time where being Jewish was dangerous and on a global scale unwanted by peers. This only heightened post WWI where the Jewish people were considered the “problem” and we know what happens from there.

New York in the 1920s had one of the largest Jewish populations on the planet and today still holds the second largest (after Israel). Different census says that the Jewish population at the time was anywhere between 30-50% of the population and reached a high in the 20s*. This means the wizarding population of New York would have, subsequently, had a large Jewish population and their own cultural identity.

Religion and witchcraft. This is a topic that I consider on all types of levels-- For a strict, orthodox Jewish person the idea of witchcraft would be considered against the Torah. For Conservative and Reform Judaism it might change a bit. But even for Orthodox Jews for the wizarding world it might be considered “an exception”. For this I’d like to direct you to a fanfiction about an orthodox Anthony Goldstein: here who explains the concept far better than I can. The idea essentially is that if not doing something (practicing/learning sorcery) will become a danger to others is it strictly wrong. And in this case, we know that magic can act explosively if not handled properly and, if repressed, results in an Obscurial.

Jewishness also has pagan roots and it’s own mysticism in Kabbalah. Early temple era practices involved ritual sacrifice (largely of animals that eventually got written out). I haven’t done enough research into Kabbalah itself to want to firmly say anything on it but a quick definition is, “ Practical Kabbalah in historical Judaism, is a branch of the Jewish mystical tradition that concerns the use of magic. ... “ Sukkot is, in a sense, still one of the most pagan-like traditions held.

So what does this mean for Tina and how does she handle her Jewishness? Well, not that we got the highlights of what I consider about her identity itself down let’s discuss Tina’s history itself:

Regardless of what debates may come up I will always write Tina as ethnically and religiously Jewish. Full stop. However, I also consider the effect that having lost her parents would have here. For my version of Tina I write as if her parents died somewhere in between her being 8 to 9-years-old. By this age she has a more firm grip on how her parents treated their own identities and it’s part of the cultural values she grew up in.

However, that was over fifteen years ago and for 9 of those years she would have been in most of my verses an orphanage (and I have reasons for that and I’ll write a headcanon on that one day). And when she wasn’t she was at Ilvermorny which, instead of collaborating cultural identities seems to be like England and no-maj America more Christain based. I’d like to think in a perfect worl children would be excused for religious holidays to practice, but given how religion is non-existent in this world it’s doubtful. So she went to a secular boarding school where Christmas, Easter, etc would have been the major holidays.

Still with me? Cool. So now that we’ve gotten all of the bits and pieces together that I’ve considered for Tina the fun part comes in:

I write Tina as culturally Jewish, led by Jewish morals and ideals, without a belief in g-d.

By the time her parents died Tina’s morals would have been formed and these are the things I have written into her character. Without dwelling on it long I’ll lift some titles from one of my favorite works Jewish Wisdom by Rabbi Joshua Telushkin on this. “When to Give, What to Give, How to Give,” “Helping the Helpless,” “The Obligation to criticize, How to do So, and When to Remain Silent,” “Listen to her voice,” “Either friends or death,” “A Person is Liable by his Actions”.

These are just some of the passages in this work that I feel plays into Tina’s character and I try to subtly put in. Because I do feel like that I shouldn’t have to constantly say she is Jewish for her to be Jewish-- Action speaks just as loudly as words and that’s what, to me, fits Tina best. So when I write her I consider how the Torah and Talmud would work and this Jewish morality, not necessarily adhering to mitzvahs (though she does to many, but she doesn’t live by them).

Saying she doesn’t feel religiously Jewish, however, doesn’t mean I don’t feel like she does nothing either. The interesting thing about Judaism is that you are allowed to grapple with it and come at your own terms. It’s that reason that it’s completely possible for wizarding Jews to be religious too-- Because it’s all about finding your own identity with g-d.

Tina’s had a difficult life, though. She lost her parents at a young age, she’s seen cold nights with no food, struggled to be successful and it’s always been something she had to do on her own. It’s not necessarily that she doesn’t believe in g-d she’s just come to terms with h him in her own way-- And this way is more of a spiritual reflection than anything.

She does believe in the holiness of Yom Kippur, for example. It’s the one time of year that I write she asks for off and insists on. Any other holiday she’ll work if she has to, but this is the one time she pressed for because it’s a period of reflection for her-- She’ll work through the week leading up after Rosh Hashanah but she earnestly takes the time Yom Kippur gives to understand herself, come to terms with what she did during the year, and it’s also a time she pays respect to her parents.

Tina’s Jewish identity for me is directly connected to the loss of her parents. After they pass away she has no reason to go to shul anymore, no reason for prayer, other than daughterly obligation. Again, she lived in an over-crowded era where kids like her would have been extremely lucky to eat properly. She’d have no reason to believe in those circumstances, but se still tried.

Every year without fail Tina lights a candle on Yom Kippur. She’d save up whatever nickles she could find when she was little. And now on the anniversaries of their deaths she visits their gravestones and places a rock. When she was old enough to give Queenie anything on Chanukkah she’d present her a single present, not much and it took too long to get the money for it--

--But for Tina she’s a woman who holds onto those memories and moments with her parents. She lives in her mother’s old apartment, wears their old clothes, keeps a locket that I personally write as her mothers. Holding onto these small moments is like holding onto a piece of them.

Tina is also a bit of a scholar as seen with her various books and I don’t feel that ends on the magical spectrum. She does earnestly want to know about the background she comes from, so she’s read the Torah and she reads scholastic works. And occasionally if she’s off at the time she walks to the nearest shul on Shabbat mornings.

Her Jewishness is a part of her and it’s something she grapples with. A younger her was angry at the concept of g-d allowing her parents to die, an older her understands that some things happen and it’s how you deal with them, the strength that pulls you through that happens. That there are no guarantees and what you can do is by acting with just and moral decisions. And that’s exactly how she lives.

Kosher is something I waffle on and this goes back to the remarks of “Hot dog, again? ...Not a very wholesome lunch.” Which I and many others do think is supposed to go back to that, but again I think it’s much more complicated-- Technically eating pork/non-kosher/what not is allowed if there’s nothing else to eat and you’ll starve otherwise. So I think as a child, before her parents died, Tina ate kosher-- But after they died it became eating whatever came by. That included pork or dairy products or whatever was there.

As an adult she does try to eat kosher for the most part, but she also eats at a matter of convenience. Hot Dogs could be kosher, but stand ones are unlikely so she probably justifies it by she needs to eat and she doesn’t know (and Waterston has saidt hat Tina gets so stressed out/works so much that she forgets to eat). There’s also some Jewish people who eat kosher in the home by don’t outside of it simply because of the idea they don’t actually know if a place is entirely kosher (since strict Judaism calls for such foods to not even be cooked on the same utensils).

The last and final element I consider is the fact that Tina is a woman who has high morals, strong loyalty, and a constant work-ethic. What this means is that although I feel she asks for at least one holiday off a year she doesn’t stress the others-- Her spirituality is more important and she can’t justify taking many off. Especially not during the High Holidays in the fall when you’re not /technically/ supposed to work for a month. She simply can’t afford that and I’ve read a few articles where even on Shabbat if it’s a greater loss to you (ie: money/food/etc) it can be justified and since her Jewishness is more spiritual than religious...

Well. Tina is a practising Jew, within the confines of the life she’s been given. She is very culturally Jewish and knows Yiddish and Hebew passably enough, Yiddish more so. She’s even a scholarly Jew, wanting to learn what she can even if it’s not necessarily something she makes part of her identity. Tina is very proud of being Jewish and holds it close to her heart as part of her parents. She’s just not a Jewish person who has quite come to concepts with her own idea of g-d or if one exists for her.

I would go on but this is already long and I think this covers quite a bit of information without going into my feelings on Tina versus period-antisemitism.

Thanks for coming this far if you have!

#headcanon ✘ an uncomplicated act of kindness

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ruminativerabbi · 6 years

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Books and Mirrors: As A New Year Dawns

The month of Elul, the last month of the Jewish year, is well known as the traditional time for reviewing the year, reflecting on our behavior and general comportment, owning up to our shortcomings, and finding the resolve to face the season of judgment, if not quite with eager anticipation, than at least with equanimity born the conviction that we can and will do better in the coming year. You often hear the Hebrew phrase ḥeshbon ha-nefesh, literally “an accounting of the soul” in this regard—and those words really do capture the concept pithily and well: thinking of our lives as ledger-books in which our instances of moral courage and ethical inadequacy stand in for the accountant’s credits and debits works for me and will probably suit most. There is even a book with that title—Sefer Ḥeshbon Ha-nefesh by Rabbi Menaḥem Mendel Lefin, written in 1808 and the only rabbinic work known to have been directly influenced by the Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin—which I wrote about to you all a few years ago just before Pesach. (To review what I had to say there, click here.)

How exactly to go about this is a different question, however. I suppose some people really can just sit down and review the year week by week, noting where they personally feel themselves to have come up short and resolving to respond in a way more in keeping with the moral code they claim to espouse when facing analogous situations in the future. For most of us, though, that process—although theoretically possible—is not that practical an approach to the larger enterprise: who can remember the days of our lives with clear-eyed enough exactitude to analyze deeds from months ago with the certainty that we are remembering things precisely correctly? Fortunately, there are other ways to see ourselves clearly and for many, myself included, the simplest answer is to use a mirror. Not a real one, of course, in which you can only see the reflection of your outermost appearance. But there are other kinds of mirrors available to us, some of which have the ability to reflect the inner self and which can serve, therefore, more like windows into the soul than the kind of mirror you look into each morning when you brush your teeth and see yourself looking back with a toothbrush in your mouth.

For me personally and for many years now, that mirror has always been a book I’ve chosen to read or re-read during Elul in the hope that it will allow me to see myself reflected either in its plot, in the way some specific one of its characters is depicted, or in the world it describes. Over the years, I’ve chosen well and less well. But when I do somehow manage to choose the right book for Elul, that choice makes all the difference by allowing me to see myself in the depiction of another far more clearly than I think I ever could have managed on my own.

This year I read Marcos Aguinis’ novel, Against the Inquisition. Although the author is apparently very well-known in his native Argentina and throughout the Spanish-speaking world, I hadn’t ever heard of him until just this last July when Dara Horn published a review of the new English-language translation by Carolina de Robertis of his most successful book, called La Gesta del Marrano in Spanish, in Moment magazine. The review was stellar (to read it for yourself, click here) and left me intrigued enough to buy a copy with the intention of it being my Elul book for this year. It wasn’t a big investment, so I wasn’t risking much. (Used paperback copies and the e-book version are both available online for less than $5 each.) But it turned out to be exactly the right choice: I just finished it earlier this week and found myself truly astounded both by the author’s literary skill and, even more so, by what the book has to say about the nature of Jewishness itself.

Seeing myself in the protagonist, Francisco Maldonado da Silva—a real historical figure who lived from1592 to 1639—was simple enough. Imagining myself reaching the level of piety, self-awareness, courage, and moral decency he exemplified in his life and, even more so, in his death—that was the mirror into which I found myself peering as I read Aguinis’s book. I don’t have to be him, obviously. But I do have to be me. And so the question is not whether I could learn Spanish and move to the seventeenth century, but whether I have it in me to be me in the same sense that the book’s protagonist was himself. If the concept sounds obscure when I formulate it that way, read the book and you’ll see what I mean: I can hardly remember feeling more personally challenged by a novel, and more eager to accept the protagonist as a moral role model. Against the Inquisition is a historical novel, of course, not a non-fiction work of “regular” history. But it tells a true story…and the opportunity to read the story, to take it to heart, to be moved incredibly by its detail, and to feel transformed by the experience of communing with a great Jewish thinker through the medium of his art—that is the gift Against the Inquisition offers to its readers.

The plot, fully rooted in the real Francisco Maldonado da Silva’s life story, is beyond moving. The details of Jewish life in Latin America in the late 1500s and the early 1600s will be obscure to most readers in North America today. But the short version is that all of South America except Brazil was part of the Spanish Empire back then. And the Catholic authorities (whose power over the region’s secular rulers was almost absolute) were dedicated not merely to making the practice of Judaism illegal, but to ferreting out even the vaguest traces of Jewish practice of belief that might still be lingering among the so-called “New” Christians, the descendants of those Jews who chose conversion to Catholic Christianity over flight when the Jews were exiled from Spain and Portugal, but at least some of whom retained a deeply engrained sense of their own Jewishness intact enough to pass along to their children and their children’s children as well.

Da Silva’s life story as retold in the book is remarkable in almost every way. His father, a physician harboring a deep, if secret and entirely illicit, devotion to his own Jewishness is eventually discovered and punished so cruelly and so degradingly that it beggars the imagination to consider that his torture—which is certainly not too strong a word to describe his treatment—was undertaken by men who considered themselves not only deeply religious but truly virtuous. But the meat of the novel is the story of how exactly the physician’s son Francisco, who also becomes well-known and highly respected doctor, is made aware of his Jewishness and then finds it in him not to dissemble so as not to be caught, but, at least eventually, to embrace his Jewishness and his Judaism openly and fearlessly. That kind of behavior was not tolerated in Spanish America, and the consequences for Francisco are, at least in some ways, even worse than the physical abuse and public humiliation to which his father was subjected.

The last chapters particularly are seared into my memory. You know what’s coming. You know that there’s no other way for the book to end. You understand that the protagonist, Francisco himself, sees that as clearly as you do. And yet you continue to hope that you’re wrong, that some deus ex machina will descend from the sky and make things right. You know you’re being crazy by hoping for such a thing—and, if you are me, you already know that the auto-da-fé of January 23, 1639, in Lima, Peru, was perhaps the largest mass execution of Jews ever undertaken by the Catholic church, a nightmarish travesty of justice undertaken in the name of religion in which more than eighty “New” Christians were burnt alive at the stake for the crime of having retained some faint vestige of their families’ Jewishness—but you continue to delude yourself into thinking that perhaps the author will take advantage of his novelist’s prerogative to just make up some other ending. That Francisco is depicted as having the means of escaping his prison cell but instead uses his freedom to visit other prisoners and encourage them to embrace their Jewishness and to accept their fate with pride and courage—that detail alone makes this novel a worthy Elul read.

My readers all know who my personal heroes are. Janusz Korczak, who chose to die at Treblinka rather than to abandon the orphans entrusted to his care. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who returned to wartime Germany to preach against Nazism and eventually to play a role in the plot to assassinate Hitler, for which effort he paid with his life. And now I add Francisco Maldonado da Silva, who chose to die with dignity and pride as a Jew rather than to run off and spend his life masquerading as something he was not and had no wish to be. Could I be like that? Could I live up to my own values in the way these men did? Could I be me the way they were them? I ask these questions not because I wish to answer them in public, but merely to show that they can be asked. They can also be answered, of course. And that is what Elul is for: to challenge us to peer into whatever mirror we choose…and ask if the man or woman we could be is looking back, or just the woman or man we ended up as. That is the searing, anxiety-provoking question the holidays about to dawn lay at our feet. If you’re looking for the courage to formulate your own answer, read Against the Inquisition and I’m guessing you’ll be as inspired to undertake the ḥeshbon ha-nefesh necessary to answer honestly as I was.

#Marcos Aguinis #Francisco Maldonado da Silva #Inquisition

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aegor-bamfsteel · 6 years

Note

What do you think of Eustace Osgrey?

You like potentially getting me in trouble with the Fandom, don’t you? I saw a certain post on your side-blog ranting about how terrible Eustace Osgrey is because he declared his support for Daemon Blackfyre in a drunken rant despite having some more materialistic motives. I tried to resist the call of the Wank, but alas, ‘twas too strong for me when I realized exactly what was being said and who was doing the saying. Ser Bamfsteel of House Moron, words Here We Wank.

The condemnation of Eustace Osgrey by one part of the fandom reminds me of the condemnation of Randyll Tarly by (what I’ve come to increasingly realize is the same) part of the fandom. What they don’t seem to get is that a character can be proud, uncaring of smallfolk, ambitious, hold conservative views on women and be suspicious of foreigners, but it still doesn’t excuse the Targaryens committing human rights violations against them. But Osgrey didn’t pull half of the shit Old Tarly did, and we’ve seen Bl00draven’s tyranny and Da3ron’s harsh terms have far-reaching consequences.

Seriously. I don’t think that any fan who likes Blackfyres believes that Eustace Osgrey was a perfect angel. I mean, he thought about burning a mill just to harm Lady Rohanne’s smallfolk in response to her men damming the Chequy Water. Didn’t actually do it, but it paints a picture of a proud man who would resort to hurting common people over a feud. I also don’t think he knew Daemon Blackfyre particularly well; his heart wrenching description of Daemon and his sons’ deaths made me tear up the first time I read it, but he doesn’t give us much about Daemon’s personality. He says that Daemon was brilliant with all kinds of weapons, surrounded himself with fellow warriors, wasn’t exceptionally religious, and was brave and honorable in battle, but did he ever have a conversation with his king? Get to know his policies and other opinions? We know that Alyn Cockshaw played with the Blackfyre children; did any of Eustace’s sons do the same? We don’t know, but I doubt it. We know from GRRM himself in an SSM and other canon pieces (The Mystery Knight, A Feast for Crows, The World of Ice and Fire) that a wide variety of men and women from all classes flocked to Daemon (even the Dornish Yronwoods were one of his most loyal allies) and his own wife was a foreign woman who provided a home for the exiles, so Osgrey's perception of Daemon doesn’t seem to be entirely accurate. It seems more based on Eustace’s own views of what makes a good king, and Daemon certainly fit the bill better than Da3ron.

Eustace Osgrey believed, as I’m sure Daemon Blackfyre did, that Da3ron was not the son of Aegon IV (he also seemed pretty ignorant about what kind of character Aegon IV was, but I digress). He was a minor lord/landed knight who disliked the new ethos of Da3ron’s court, but since that court was heavy on sycophants and nepotism (and, though the Great Fandom Minds™ would shout me down, intellectual as well as social elitism. Seriously, Da3ron in all likelihood thought those “dumb jocks” didn’t have an opinion worth listening to, which is why he refused to even attempt to understand their grievances. Great way to unite the realm), I can’t really fault him for that. The cause for which he and his young sons were fighting, from his point of view, was legally and morally just. That he also wanted control of Coldmoat after Maegor had unjustly taken it away from his family is certainly more mercenary, but seems rather ancillary in the face of the loss of his children.

And that’s what seems to be what Fandom is forgetting. Eustace Osgrey is a character for whom I pity, because despite his negative qualities, he shows the effects of the harsh treatment that the Blacks suffered at the hands of the Reds. The reason why he mourned the Blackfyre cause so much isn’t because he’s an ambitious jerk who wants another holdfast, but because all four of his young children died as a direct effect of his support of Daemon and he wants their deaths to mean something. Unlike Randyll Tarly, he seemed to be a loving father to all of his children. He told Dunk that he wished that his daughter Alysanne had married a man like him (and Dunk only a hedge knight! So I guess Osgrey doesn’t care about the circumstances in which a man was born, and esteems Dunk’s humility and honor); Da3ron had taken her hostage in King’s Landing, forced her to become a septa, she died at age 13 of the Great Sickness without any attempt to evacuate her or the other hostage children, and Bl00draven had burned her body leaving her father nothing to remember her by (Addam at least got a gravestone). If that had been your daughter and only child left to you after Redgrass Field, would you be angry at those responsible and never support them as long as you live? Da3ron and Bl00draven certainly didn’t help matters by forbidding people to sing about the Blackfyre heroes (a violation of freedom of speech) or criticize their regime, essentially ensuring that the old grievances were never healed. Remember how Aegon III said there were no more Blacks or Greens, but they were all one people? I guess Kind™ Da3ron II had less emotional maturity than a traumatized 13-year-old, because his punishments gave the Black supporters a very personal reason to fight against his family. Knowing the names of the capable knights who’d fought for Daemon, whispering their forbidden songs as the Reds sang “The Hammer and the Anvil” about how your family members died, became a rallying cry for a second rebellion. It’s heartbreaking how Osgrey says that the sunset over Redgrass was beautiful and he wished his sons were alive to see it, because he’d lost so much that day that nothing but a sunset was left for him to enjoy. I guess I understand why he would be so bitter toward his Red-supporting neighbor, who had (in his eyes) lost nothing and no one, after the ruin of his family.

Now, a more personal wank about this post on your blog that I’m sure triggered this ask: thank you for actually not linking me to the post, as I’ve blocked both of these users for mental health reasons (not to mention the latter of the two being a horrible person who supports a sexual abuse apologist and who apparently also stereotypes Judaism as a merciless religion). Of course, being the Great Fandom Minds™ that they are, they wondered just how anyone in the fandom could dare to agree with Eustace Osgrey and, by extension, disagree with them. These are the same people who defend Bl00draven for murdering Aenys Blackfyre by treachery; once again, to a certain part of the fandom, what the Blacks say is judged much more harshly than what the Reds have actually done, because the Reds were True Targs and thus so pure and speshul. Let me repeat that these users weren’t attacking a character, but attacking real people for having an opinion that they happened to disagree with. I wish fellow fandom blogs didn’t feel the need to give their words so much weight just because they’re more popular, since they seriously need to grow the fuck up.

#ask #asoiaf #eustace osgrey #dunk and egg #asoiaf meta #anti targaryen #anti bloodraven #anti daeron ii #first blackfyre rebellion #fandom critical

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thelastspeecher · 7 years

Text

Stan-at-Home - Chapter 2: An Idyllic Domestic Life

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 AO3

Okay so I wasn’t planning on updating this fic before I finished “Stan Pines, Farmhand”, but my muse, she inspires me. And I wanted to write something, since I’m officially post-op and have not much else to do while I recuperate. But anyways, in this chapter, we meet Stan’s wife! And we find out more about the family dynamics, as well as how Stan and his wife met. We also get a few hints about some of the drama coming in the next chapter, with Bill Cipher. Seriously. The next chapter is gonna be intense, folks. Anyways, enjoy~

YOU REALLY THINK YOU CAN ESCAPE ME, SIXER?

Ford sat bolt upright, drenched in a cold sweat. His breathing slowly steadied as he looked around the sparsely furnished, but clean guest room. He threw the brown-striped covers off and sat on the edge of the bed.

Fuck! See, Stanley, this is why I don’t sleep! Bill always finds me. Always. Once his heart had stopped pounding in his ears, he could make out the clatter of cookware and voices chattering. Ford hesitantly stood up and opened the door. He was immediately greeted by a waft of marinara-scented air. His stomach rumbled. How long has it been since I’ve eaten? He walked down the hallway and into the living room.

“You got Daddy in trouble,” an accusatory voice said. He looked down. Danny was standing in front of him, her diminutive arms crossed and brown eyes narrowed.

“Yer daddy got his own self in trouble,” a female voice said in a thick southern accent. Ford looked over. A short woman with mid-length caramel-colored hair and a very large nose was standing in the kitchen, wearing a clearly hand-embroidered apron. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of half-moon reading glasses. She stood in a pose similar to her daughter’s. “Let that be a lesson. Ya don’t lie ‘bout yer fam’ly.”

This must be Angie. Fiddleford’s younger sister. She smiled politely at him. She’s going to hate me when she finds out what I did to her older brother.

“You’re Stan’s wife?” he double-checked. She nodded.

“Though I like to think of it as bein’ Stan’s my husband. You must be Ford, the brother-in-law I didn’t know I had.”

“You’d be Ms. McGucket, then,” Ford said. She grinned crookedly, and it made Ford’s heart ache.

That’s Fiddleford’s smile.

“Actually, it’s Dr. McGucket,” she clarified. “But ya can call me Angie.”

“Oh, that’s right. Stan mentioned you have a doctorate.” Angie nodded again.

“Yessir. In herpetology.”

“Wow. That’s quite the achievement. Biology was always something that fascinated me.”

“Well, we can talk ‘bout that over dinner, if’n ya want,” she said cheerfully. She wiped her hands on her apron. “I was just ‘bout to send someone to fetch ya. Dinner’s ready. Spaghetti and meatballs. It’s all homemade and all kosher.”

Kosher? Ford looked at Stan, who was setting the table.

“Stan, do you practice?” he asked. Stan shrugged.

“Not really. But Angie and I agreed that the girls should grow up knowin’ some of the family culture. Which means they’re bein’ raised with a weird mixture of Catholicism and Judaism, but eh. It works out pretty well.” He glanced over at Angie. “Like our wedding.” Angie smiled fondly.

“Speaking of, why wasn’t I invited to your wedding?” Ford asked. Stan raised an eyebrow.

“Like ya can’t figure that out on your own. I didn’t want ya to show up and start yellin’ ‘bout how I ruined your life in front of my fiancée’s entire family. She’s got four older brothers, and all of them know how to use a gun.” He grimaced. “Didn’t need ‘em to think I’d ruin her life, too. Her folks are still suspicious about how soon the girls were born after we got married.” Stan placed the last bowl down. “Hey, lil monsters, get yourselves in here. It’s dinnertime!” Danny abandoned her post in front of Ford to run to the kitchen, where she was summarily lifted into her chair. “Daisy, get your butt in the kitchen,” Stan said.

“Wanna play,” Daisy whined from somewhere behind Ford. Ford turned. Daisy was busily scrawling in a coloring book. He squinted at the pictures.

That’s not a children’s book. Those are textbook photocopies.

“I know ya like yer fancy colorin’ pages,” Angie said, taking a seat at the table, “but ya need to eat, junebug.”

“…Fine,” Daisy sighed. She stood up, but stopped before she reached the kitchen. She held out her six-fingered hand to Ford. “Hold?”

“Uh…” Ford looked at Stan and Angie helplessly. Angie was clearly fighting back a grin. Stan laughed, not bothering to hide his amusement.

“C’mon, kid. It’s not like he’s gonna take ya for a walk or somethin’,” Stan said. He walked over to Daisy and picked her up, then put her in her chair at the table. Stan took a seat next to his wife, giving her a kiss on the cheek before he sat down. Angie responded with a kiss of her own. Ford tried not to stare at the blatant display of loving, happy domesticity.

My wild twin really did settle down. And it’s clearly a healthy relationship. If Mom ever found out Pops lied to her like Stan did to Angie…she wouldn’t even talk to him, let alone let him kiss her.

“You gon’ eat, Uncle Ford?” Daisy asked. “It’s friendly food.” Ford reluctantly walked to the table and sat down.

�� I can’t remember the last time I ate a meal with someone else.

“‘Friendly food’?” he asked. Daisy nodded.

“It’s how we described kosher,” Stan explained. “Easier than the whole spiel. At least, right now.” Angie cleared her throat. Ford looked over at her. Her eyes were closed.

“On this day, we thank the Lord for the bountiful gifts he has given us,” she intoned solemnly. Ford looked around. The other people at the table had their heads bowed. “We pray that he continues to bless us with food, family, and happiness. Amen.”

“Amen,” Danny and Daisy echoed. Stan grinned at Ford.

“Surprised ya, huh?” Stan asked cheekily.

“I, uh, was definitely not expecting that,” Ford said.

“We say grace before each meal,” Angie explained. “It’s a tradition in my fam’ly. But I’ve been tryin’ to make it a bit more…inclusive, since the girls ain’t just Catholic.” Ford picked up a fork. Angie’s eyes were immediately drawn to his hands. Ford swallowed, once again fighting the urge to hide his polydactyly from Stan’s family. “Stanford, Stan mentioned ya know Fiddleford?”

“Uh, yes,” Ford replied. “He was my college roommate.” Angie nodded, a contemplative expression on her face.

“I think Fidds mentioned he met his roommate again a while back. ‘Bout seven years? It was around the time we first met, Stan.”

“Well, um, that wasn’t the last time I saw Fiddleford,” Ford said. Angie cocked her head.

“Oh?”

“I saw him more recently, um-”

“We can talk about that after dinner,” Stan interrupted.

“I wanna know!” Daisy protested.

“It’s just boring grown-up talk, sweetness,” Angie said soothingly. Daisy crossed her arms and pouted.

“You met in ’75?” Ford asked. Stan and Angie nodded. “How exactly did that happen, by the way?” Angie smiled at Stan.

“Stan showed up at my folks’ house, tryin’ to sell some sort of vacuum.”

“Stan-Vac,” Stan supplied. Angie chuckled.

“You were a door-to-door salesman?” Ford asked.

“Yeah. My products weren’t good, but I was. Angie’s folks still saw through me right away,” Stan said.

“They figured this young man needed some help, so they invited him to stay fer dinner. And then he stayed the night. And then another night. And then my folks asked him if he wanted to stay permanently, as a farmhand,” Angie finished.

“When Angie came home from college for Thanksgiving break, she walked into the barn and saw me and, well, that’s how we met,” Stan said with a shrug.

“That’s quite the series of coincidences to bring you two together,” Ford remarked.

“Yep,” Stan said. He grinned at Angie. “Glad they happened, though.” Angie smiled back at him.

“Ick!” Daisy said loudly. Stan rolled his eyes.

“What?” Ford asked.

“The girls don’t like it when their ma ‘n dad get lovey-dovey,” Angie said.

“‘S boring,” Danny said.

“Then what do ya wanna talk about?” Stan asked. Danny frowned thoughtfully.

“Why is Uncle Ford more fingers?” she asked after a moment. Angie’s eyes widened.

“Stanford, I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “The girls ‘re-”

“No, it’s fine,” Ford said.

“They don’t mean anything by it,” Stan added. “They’re just too curious for their own good.”

“Seriously, it’s fine.”

Is it, though?

“To answer your question, Danny,” Ford continued, despite the awkwardness, “I’m a polydactyl due to a flaw in my genetic coding.” Danny and Daisy stared at him blankly.

“Ford. They’re three years old,” Stan said shortly. “They’re not in high school.”

“Oh. Right.”

“He’s got extra fingers ‘cause that’s just how he is,” Angie said. “Like how some folks have red hair, and some have brown hair.”

“I have brown hair!” Daisy said.

“Yes, ya do. And like yer Uncle Ford, you’ve got more ‘n ten fingers.”

“You actually inherited that trait from your father,” Ford added. “It runs in my family.”

“Then why does Daddy have ten fingers?” Danny asked.

“Some things skip generations,” Angie replied. “Yer Gran and Gramps don’t have red hair, but yer Auntie Violynn does. It’s just how things work sometimes.” Danny and Daisy nodded. Ford looked at Angie.

“I must admit, it’s refreshing to hear a full explanation, instead of just telling them ‘That’s how things are.’” Angie shrugged and leaned over to wipe sauce off Danny’s face.

“The girls are too curious fer somethin’ like that to slide. Anyways, I always hated hearin’ that, growin’ up.”

“I suppose you’re glad to find out where Daisy’s polydactyly came from?” Ford asked. Angie paused.

“Yes,” she said after a moment, in a calm, level tone. “I suppose I am.”

-----

Dinner passed by cheerfully. Though Ford, for the most part, felt like an outsider looking in, as he watched Stan and Angie flirt, carefully keep their daughters’ faces clean, and attempt to engage the girls in meaningful conversations.

Why does Stan keep asking them what they would do in hypothetical situations involving “pug trafficking”?

“It’s after dinner, girls,” Stan said. “Ya know what that means.” Daisy leapt out of her chair.

“You’ll never catch me alive!” she shouted gleefully before bolting. Danny followed suit. Stan stood up with a chuckle.

“I’m comin’ for ya,” he growled playfully, stalking after his daughters. There were squeals of joy from somewhere else inside the house as he left Ford’s field of vision. Angie began to clear the table, humming to herself.

“What, exactly, is going on?” Ford asked. Angie smiled fondly.

“It’s a bathtime ritual thing. Stan started it. He’s a goofball, that husband of mine.”

“Gotcha!” Stan shouted. There were more delighted squeals. Angie chuckled.

“Stan’s a heck of a father, by the way. After my maternity leave ended, we couldn’t find anyone to watch the girls. Well, not anyone that Stan thought was good enough for his babies. Stan told me ‘Ya know what, I’ve always hated my job anyways.’ Quit that very same day.”

“So he’s a stay-at-home dad?”

“Yessir.” Angie deposited the dirty dishes in the sink and began to clean them. “I appreciate how involved he is in raisin’ ‘em. I’m pretty busy most days, so it eases my mind to know that they’ve got one of their parents watchin’ ‘em.”

“Wow.”

“What are ya impressed by?”

“Honestly? All of it,” Ford said. Angie looked at him, bemused. “I never thought Stan would settle down, or have a kid, or, if I’m being completely truthful, if he did have a kid, I didn’t suspect he would make an excellent father.” Angie pursed her lips. “I mean, I thought he’d be a serviceable one. But not the one I saw today. It’s not like we got any ideas from how to be a good father from our own.” Angie nodded silently.

“That’s understandable. But it’s fer the best if ya don’t say that ya weren’t expectin’ Stan to be a good dad. It means a lot to him that his kids adore him so much. He’s put a lot of stake in his abilities as a father. He don’t need to hear that negativity from his twin.”

“…Of course.” A few minutes passed while Angie continued to wash the dishes. Ford looked around the kitchen. Like much of the house, it was tastefully decorated, in bright colors with pictures on the walls. Ford cleared his throat. “So, um, did you take these pictures?” he asked. Angie beamed.

“Yessir. Well, all of ‘em ‘cept fer the ones of me. I’ve always been a fan of photography. Had my own camera since I was thirteen. Pretty useful when I did field work fer my thesis. Can’t draw worth a darn, but I can make a salamander look like a movie star in a picture.” She shrugged. “If the lightin’ is right, ‘course.” Stan walked into the kitchen, slightly dampened.

“Kids are tucked in,” he said, taking a seat at the table. Ford eyed him curiously.

“Did you take a bath as well?” Ford asked. Stan laughed.

“Nah, the girls just like to have splash wars.” Angie put aside the dishes and joined her husband at the table.

“So, Stanford,” she said in a business-like manner, “at dinner, ya said that back in ’75 weren’t the last time ya saw Fiddleford?”

“Uh, no. Far from it,” Ford replied. “He actually was my assistant, up in Gravity Falls.” Angie frowned.

“Yer assistant?”

“Yes.”

“But Fidds was hired by someone named Stanford Pines, not Stanford-” She cut herself off and crossed her arms. “All right, which one of ya changed yer last name?” she asked, looking back and forth between Stan and Ford.

“What?” Ford asked. Angie turned to Stan.

“Stanley!”

“Hey, you knew I was a grifter. I went through a lot of different names. And I ended up takin’ yours anyways so-”

“Ya didn’t tell me yer real name! Ya didn’t tell me that, and neither did ya tell me ya had a twin brother!”

“Angie-”

“We’re married. We have two beautiful children. We need to be able to trust each other with our secrets.” Stan looked down, abashed. “I hope ya know where yer sleepin’ tonight.” Angie leaned in. “An’ it ain’t our bed.”

“Yeah, figured,” Stan mumbled. He glowered at Ford. “Way to go, Sixer, Tuesdays are the nights we get it on.”

“I wasn’t the one who lied to your wife,” Ford said defensively.

“Stanford,” Angie said suddenly, “if Fidds was yer assistant, do ya know what happened to him? No one’s heard from him in weeks. We’re gettin’ awfully worried ‘bout him.” A deep discomfort knotted in Ford’s stomach.

“He’s…not himself.”

“What do ya mean?”

“He’s lost his sanity.” Angie’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry, Angie. I- it’s my fault.”

“Wh- how?”

“It was through the course of our research that he- shit!” Ford scrabbled backward, falling out of his chair in the process. Angie had launched herself at him. Stan grabbed her torso, preventing her from actually harming him.

“Angie, what the hell are ya doin’?” Stan asked her.

“He has a son!” Angie yelled at Ford. “A fam’ly. An’ it’s yer fault that he’s gone? Worse than gone, he’s there in body but he ain’t there in mind!”

“Angie, chill!” Stan hissed. “He explained it to me earlier. It’s not completely his fault.” He nodded at Ford. “Tell her.”

“It’s- Fiddleford saw something that drove him mad. The domain of a former research partner of mine,” Ford said. Angie glared at him.

“Yer not helpin’ yer case, Stanford,” she growled. “It still sounds an awful lot like it’s yer fault that Fidds is- is-”

“I don’t think he’s completely lost,” Ford said. Angie blinked.

“Really?”

“No, I- I think he can be saved. It will be difficult and fairly intensive, but you can have your brother back.” Angie sat down again. Stan kept an arm wrapped firmly around her torso.

“All right,” she said softly. “If yer willin’ to help bring him back to his fam’ly-”

“And I am,” Ford said quickly. “Very much so.” Angie nodded.

“Okay. Now, tell us ‘bout this former partner of yours. What kind of person is he, to have a sanity-wreckin’ ‘domain’?” she asked. Ford sighed.

“This is going to sound insane, but…a demon.” Angie and Stan stared at him blankly.

“A demon?” Angie parroted.

“Sixer, what in the hell are ya talkin’ about?” Stan asked.

“Bill Cipher is a dream demon. He- he assisted in the construction of a device of mine. Something to allow for interdimensional travel. But he lied to me.”

“Demons tend to do that,” Angie said flatly.

“Ford, how are we supposed to believe ya?” Stan asked. “A demon? Seriously?” Ford sighed.

“I know. And I don’t have much by the way of proof. Beyond, well, this.” He took his first journal out of his trenchcoat pocket and handed it to Stan. Stan placed it on the table and opened it. He and Angie skimmed the journal with interest.

“This is either the truth, or a very powerful and complex delusion,” Angie said slowly, after reading a few pages. She looked at Stan. “I’m goin’ to defer to you on this, sweet potata. Ya know Stanford.”

“This is real,” Stan said softly. “Ford wouldn’t make all this up. And he’s not like your cousin Thistlebert. He’s not a madman.” Angie nodded.

“Okay.” She looked at Ford. “We might need some more proof eventually, but fer the time bein’, we believe ya.”

“R-really?” Ford asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Angie said. “And we’ll help ya.”

“Like I said, Ford, no one messes with my family,” Stan said. He grimaced. “Even if it is a ‘dream demon’ that’s tryin’ to wreck my twin’s life. What’s the difference between a dream demon and a normal demon, anyway?”

“Well, that’s a rather complicated topic,” Ford said. “The difference-”

“Stanford, maybe that’s a conversation you can have with Stan later,” Angie said. “I have to be up early tomorrow fer work, so I shouldn’t stay up much longer. Do ya have any questions fer us right now?”

“Actually, yes. Stanley, when I called, why didn’t you tell me you were a married father?” Ford asked. Stan crossed his arms and leaned back.

“I didn’t hear from ya in over ten years. Then ya call me up, askin’ me to go to a different state to help ya. Forgive me for not wantin’ to tell ya ‘bout the life ya clearly weren’t interested in,” Stan said bitterly.

“I didn’t know how to contact you,” Ford said. Stan’s eyes narrowed.

“Bull. I’ve had a steady phone number since 1975. Ya coulda gone through Mom before, but ya only did it last week. Ya didn’t wanna talk to me. Do us both a favor and quit lyin’.” Ford resisted the urge to look down like a scolded child. Angie frowned.

“But when I got here, why all the secrecy? I had to figure out that you were married and who the girls were on my own,” Ford soldiered on. Stan shrugged. “That’s not an answer.”

“Maybe ya figured it out before I got a chance to tell ya like I planned,” Stan said. “Maybe I was nervous about tellin’ ya I settled down, when everyone, includin’ me, said I wouldn’t. Maybe I’ve got a flair for dramatics. Who knows.”

“Stan,” Angie intervened, “did ya mention Ford contactin’ yer mother?”

“Yeah, why?” Stan asked. Angie crossed her arms and glowered at him. “…I just bought myself another night on the couch, didn’t I?”

“More like three. Yer mother’s alive? Is everything ya told me ‘n my fam’ly a lie?”

“No!”

“Are ya sure? ‘Cause it’s startin’ to feel that way.”

“Angie-” Stan started. Angie sighed.

“I know ya had yer reasons. But the lyin’, this can’t keep goin’ on! Is there anything else you’ve kept from me?”

“No,” Stan said firmly.

“Are ya sure?”

“Yes.” After a pause, Angie nodded.

“Okay.” She stood up. “Tomorrow, we can discuss a way to deal with this Bill problem.” She shook her head. “Bill. That’s quite the normal name fer a demon. Is his full name William or somethin’?”

“I’m not sure. I never asked,” Ford said, surprised by her candidness.

“Ah, well.” Angie looked Ford up and down. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Stanford, but…yer a bit of a walkin’ disaster right now.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Stan, would ya get yer twin some towels and show him how to use the shower? Oh, and lend him some of yer clothes, please.”

“There’s no need to do that,” Ford said quickly, holding his coat tightly. “I’m perfectly fine in the outfit I’m wearing.”

“Stanford, please, just borrow some of Stan’s stuff. I can throw yer clothes in the laundry tomorrow mornin’ and it’ll be done by dinner.”

“But-”

“You can keep yer coat,” she said with a smile. Ford relaxed slightly.

“All right. Stan’s clothes won’t fit me, though, I’ll have you know.” She nodded.

“I know. But they’ll fit better ‘n mine or the girls’ would.” Angie kissed Stan on the cheek. “Darlin’, don’t forget, yer sleepin’ on the couch tonight.”

“I know,” Stan muttered. He stood up. “C’mon, Ford, I’ll show ya how to use the shower. It’s a bit tricky.” Ford followed Stan to the bathroom. He could hear Angie hum as she resumed cleaning the dishes.

Well, I just completely overturned their normal, happy, life, didn’t I.

#stay at home stan au #stanford pines #stanley pines #gravity falls oc #angie mcgucket #Danica Pines #Daisy McGucket #gravity falls au #gravity falls #stan at home #fanfiction #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks #Stangie Family

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peremadeleine · 7 years

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I’m not sure how many, if any, of my followers are Jewish but if any of you are you might be able to give me a little insight into this situation, which I’ve honestly found a bit dubious for years.

One of my close friends is getting married next month—I'm actually in the wedding, something I'm sort of regretting at this point. I've known her since middle school.

When I met her, she had just gotten out of six years of Catholic school. The family had moved on to some sort of Protestant denomination at that point, as far as I know (maybe Baptist but I can't say for sure.) Shortly before we graduated high school, though, my friend decided that she was going to do the “Jews for Jesus” thing. She announced that she was now a Messianic Jew, bought a necklace that is some kind of Star of David/crucifix combo, and now that she has her own house she also has a menorah.

But at least to my knowledge, that was it.

I'm not a particularly religious person. I was raised Catholic (in a very cursory sense—my mom stopped taking me to church because it didn't fix my “bad attitude” [I was, at the time, a literal child, or mayyybe a preteen, mind you]) and I like the ritual, but that's about it. So it isn't as if I'm against her on principal, and while I don't believe anything in particular myself, I know other people's beliefs can certainly change.

It's just gotten hard for me to swallow over the past couple of months, though. She started talking about all the Jewish traditions she was going to have in the wedding, and when she finally dropped off an invitation to my parents a few days ago, it had a list of “important Jewish customs” of which guests should be aware listed on the back. That day, she also gleefully told me that her fiance “is Jewish now!” Simple as that, apparently.

Again, the last I heard and if I'm understanding correctly, she does still believe in Jesus Christ. (Maybe I'm wrong, though. Maybe she decided to ditch the “for Jesus” part?)

The weirdest thing to me, though, was about a week ago when I suggested we get together after work. I thought we could even make dinner together, and I asked her if she liked shrimp, which was part of the recipe I had. Well, she didn't even text me back till 7 p.m.--that's a whole other story. When she did, though, she told me that she couldn't eat shrimp because it wasn't kosher. Just to reiterate: I've known and hung out with this girl for going on thirteen or fourteen years now, and she's been claiming to be a Messianic Jew for about seven of them.

That I can recall, this is the first time I've ever heard her say anything about being unable to eat something because it wasn't kosher. Not that it mattered at the time, because at that point I was starving and was not going to bother suggesting an alternate meal plan. I just raided my own kitchen.

I mentioned this kosher incident to my aunt, whose late husband of twenty-odd years was raised in a strictly kosher household in Brooklyn. She asked if my friend had two separate sets of dishes (she absolutely does not, or if she does, they're never clean at the same time; I helped her pack her kitchen when she moved so I'm pretty confident that I would know). I'm not certain, but I'm also very skeptical that she followed the restrictions on unleavened bread during Passover, something I watched one of my other very good friends, though she wasn't even a particularly devout Jew, struggle with in our college dining hall every year. Another of my friends has a family member who converted to Messianic Judaism, and she told me said family member had an involved conversion process or ceremony—something I'm also pretty sure that this friend never had or went through.

Given that I typed up this whole thing, I'm sure it sounds insincere for me to say that I don't care about my friend's religious beliefs. Honestly, though, I don't—except that she's putting more and more emphasis on them without, that I can tell, actually going through the “proper” motions, like she thinks the “(Messianic) Jew” label and traditions are really cool, she wants to identify that way, too!

I know I have no right to do so, but sometimes I want to look at her and say, “Friend, listen, you're not Jewish.”

I'd just hate for her to rub anyone who was born/raised Jewish, who really believes in their heritage and traditions, the wrong way by throwing those labels around. Especially since even a quick Google search tells me that a fair number of Jewish people don't recognize Messianic Jews as real Jews, anyway and believe the whole movement is inherently antisemitic.

#religious talk under the cut #idk man #it just seems so dubious and tryhard to me tbh #saferincages #you might have something to say about this if you see it??

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ibilenews · 4 years

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Ultra-Orthodox and trans: 'I prayed to God to make me a girl'

When Abby Stein came out as trans, she sent shock waves through the ultra-Orthodox Hasidic community. A direct descendant of Hasidic Judaism's founder, The Baal Shem Tov, Abby's parents considered her their first-born son and a future rabbi - but she was adamant that she was a girl.

My dad is a rabbi, and having a son was a big deal. He would always tell me that after five girls he had almost given up on having a boy, and how much it meant to him. I almost felt bad for him throughout my childhood - a feeling of: "I'm so sorry, but I can't give you what you want."

I didn't know there were other people like me, but I knew what I felt - I just saw myself as a girl.

I sometimes wish that I'd had a teacher who was transphobic, because that would have meant I knew trans people existed. In the Hasidic community they simply never spoke about it.

What kept me sane during my childhood was my imagination.

When I was six I started collecting newspaper clippings about organ transplants - lung, kidney, heart and so on. In my mind, the plan was simple: one day, I would go to a doctor, show them my impressive collection of newspaper clippings, and they would perform a full body transplant, turning me into a girl.

When I got a bit older, I realised that wasn't realistic, so I came up with my next idea, which was to ask God. I grew up in a very religious family, and we were told God could do anything.

So, aged nine, I wrote this prayer that I said every night: "Holy creator, I'm going to sleep now and I look like a boy. I am begging you, when I wake up in the morning I want to be a girl. I know that you can do anything and nothing is too hard for you...

"If you do that, I promise that I will be a good girl. I will dress in the most modest clothes. I will keep all the commandments girls have to keep.

"When I get older, I will be the best wife. I will help my husband study the Torah all day and all night. I will cook the best foods for him and my kids. Oh God, help me."

The Hasidic community is the most gender-segregated society I've ever known or heard about - and I have researched gender-segregated communities quite a bit.

There are even some Hasidic communities in upstate New York where men and women are told to walk on separate sides of the streets - it's the closest thing that exists now to a 19th Century Eastern European Jewish shtetl (village).

From the second you start preschool, the sexes are totally separated. Boys and girls are told not to play together.

Even though in Jewish law there is no prohibition against hugging or holding hands with your sister or mom, when I was growing up it was still considered something Hasidic boys shouldn't do.

I never saw anyone naked. I did not know that my sisters and I had different body parts down under. It was never discussed.

Even so, when I was four years old I had this intense feeling of anger towards my own private parts. They didn't feel like part of me. It was an extremely strong feeling that I cannot explain to this day.

At that time, my mom would prepare the bath and let me play with the toys in the bathtub.

She used to keep a small tray of safety pins in the cabinet by the sink, so I would sneak out and take these safety pins and prick this one very specific part of my body.

It's not something that I encourage anyone to do, but I wanted to make it feel pain, almost like punishing it.

One time my mom walked in on me as I was doing this and she freaked out. I don't remember what she said exactly, but it was a very clear message that: "You are a boy and you're supposed to act like one, and don't ever say anything that might challenge that."

At the age of three, Hasidic boys have their first haircut, called the upsherin, which is when you get the side curls, or payos. That's the first kind of physical manifestation that indicates to the world - and to yourself - that you are a boy.

I did not want to have that haircut. I was throwing a temper tantrum for hours. "I want to have long hair! Why can my sisters have long hair and I can't?"

At 13, I had my bar mitzvah, which is when a boy becomes a man - so that was very tough.

I have some positive memories of it, like having a party and getting lots of gifts, but the concept of: "You are now a man," was really challenging. It was a celebration I felt I shouldn't be having.

If you want to get a sense of how isolated the Hasidic community is, until I was 12 I thought that the majority of people in the world were Jewish and that the majority of Jews were ultra-Orthodox - neither of which is correct.

Take any aspect of pop culture of the 90s - Britney Spears, or Seinfeld - I didn't even know it existed.

I didn't speak English until I was 20, just Yiddish and Hebrew. At school we just learned the ABCs and how to write our names and addresses, and that only lasted from fourth to eighth grade, for an hour a day - and even that hour was split between English and maths. Maths only went up to the level of long division, and we never touched any science or history, outside of some Jewish history.

The expectation, growing up, was that I would work as a teacher or rabbinical judge.

If you lead a synagogue or teach at a school in the Hasidic community, you're also called a rabbi, regardless of whether you have been ordained or not - but I actually wanted to be ordained. There were several reasons why.

Part of it was that I wanted to know exactly what I was rebelling against - my struggle with my identity as a woman meant I questioned everything I was being told about religion and God. At school, they called me the "kosher rebel".

At the same time, another part of me was hoping that if I really gave my entire self to it, all these feelings about who I was were just magically going to go away.

When I was 16, I immersed myself in Jewish mysticism, called Kabbalah. That was where I first came across a religious text that justified my existence.

In a 16th Century study of human souls called The Door of Reincarnation, I read: "At times, a male will reincarnate in the body of a female, and a female will be in a male body."

It gave me hope that maybe I wasn't crazy.

Even though I knew I was really a woman, I had an arranged marriage like everyone in the Hasidic community. You're born, you eat, you breathe, you get married at age 18.

My parents set it up. My bride had to come from a rabbinical dynasty and adhere to the same dress codes, which in my family are extremely unusual - so much so that there were probably only 20 to 50 girls in the entire world that were acceptable matches.

Fraidy and I met for about 15 to 20 minutes, and then we were engaged. We didn't meet again until our wedding, a year later.

At first, things went well. I liked her, she's an amazing woman, really smart and loving. We had great conversations, we never fought. As far as arranged marriages go, it was perfect.

It was the first time I had lived with a woman, which felt good. She was quite fashionable, and when we went shopping it was a way of putting myself in her shoes and thinking: "Oh, what would I get?"

Hasidic men wear black and white clothes with almost no choices whatsoever. Women get to explore a bit more, although it has to be modest, and certain colours, like red and pink, are off-limits.

But when Fraidy got pregnant, I really struggled. It was as if everything - gender, religion, my family, my son - was collapsing in on me and punching me.

It was like gender was hitting me in the face, it was just so present - what kind of clothes we were going to buy for the baby, whether we were going to do a circumcision on the eighth day - it was impossible not to face it every second.

My son's birth was the final, knock-out punch. I wanted to give my child the best life possible, but how could I, if, by the age of 20, I didn't even know what "a good life" was?

So I went online.

I knew that there was a place called the internet where you could connect with people and find information. There was such a strong focus on telling us how not to connect to the internet by mistake that I had learned about Wi-Fi and Google.

I borrowed a friend's tablet and hid in a toilet cubicle at a shopping centre that had public Wi-Fi.

My first search was whether a boy could turn into a girl - in Hebrew, I didn't speak English at the time - and on the first or second page of the results, there was the Wikipedia page about transgender people. That was the first time I learned the term and realised there were other people who felt like me.

Imagine struggling with something, whether it's physical or emotional, and you go to a doctor or therapist who for the first time in your life tells you: "Oh, what you are feeling is called XYZ, and here is what you can do to feel better, to find your place in the world."

Another amazing discovery was that there was a community of people online who had left ultra-Orthodox and Hasidic communities and had not just survived, but thrived.

A few weeks later I stopped being religious. I don't think it was obvious to many people because I was still living a religious life outwardly, but I stopped observing - for example, I started using my phone on Shabbat... anything that people wouldn't see.

My wife was the first person in the community that I spoke to about it, about six months after our son's circumcision.

I didn't leave my marriage. For a year, we tried to save it, but my ex was forced to leave me by her family. They took her away, quite literally. I lived in our apartment for the next few weeks, hoping that she and my son would come back.

Then, for a while, I moved back in with my parents. When I came out to my dad as an atheist, he said, "No matter what happens, you are still my child."

Once I realised that there was no way for me to live with my son full-time, I decided there was nothing left in the community for me.

Leaving is like emigrating - not just to a new country, but a new continent. It's a new century. It's time travel!

Suddenly, I was in a world where there were unlimited options for food and clothing. I bought my first pair of jeans and a red-and-white checked shirt. I always sucked at male fashion.

Language was the biggest obstacle to overcome, because when you grow up in New York, people expect you to speak English.

For three years I didn't speak to anyone in my family about my gender. I came out to my dad on 11 November 2015, a few months after starting hormone therapy.

It took my dad about an hour to even grasp what I was telling him, and that was thanks to certain religious texts that I showed him - one of which was the passage about male and female souls that I had discovered when I was studying Kabbalah, Jewish mysticism.

My dad admitted that trans people exist, which was quite impressive, because a lot of fundamentalist religious communities don't.

Then he told me: "You need to have a person who has Holy Spirit, in order to be able to tell you if you are really trans."

My reaction was: "I think two therapists and a doctor are good enough."

But he obviously disagreed, and a few minutes after that he pretty much told me that he would never talk to me again.

At that moment, it really hurt. But the reality was that by the time I came out, it was already three years after I had left the Hasidic community. I had enrolled in college, and was a member of some extremely progressive and amazing Jewish and queer communities - so I didn't lose any friends and my life wasn't upended by the rift with my family.

I still text my parents every week - my dad, my mom doesn't even have text messages - and the day that they are ready to talk to me, I will talk with them.

My ex-wife was not allowed to speak to me from the second we got divorced. My son is the love of my life.

I like to focus on the silver lining: instead of thinking about the 10 siblings who don't speak to me, I focus on the two who do. Anyway, most people I know nowadays outside the Hasidic community only have two siblings, if that.

Life is actually better than I could have ever imagined. I used to struggle with depression almost non-stop. Since I came out, I haven't had a day of waking up and feeling that there's no reason for me to wake up. Before I transitioned, there were days that I felt like that.

Being out as ourselves, being trans, being LGBTQ, is something that creates a life worthy of celebration, not just worthy of living. It's beautiful.

I was the first person in the Hasidic community to come out as trans, but there have been quite a few people since, and obviously, I'm being blamed for that.

I definitely think I can take some credit for it - the Hasidic community is never going to be the same again.

Abby Stein's autobiography is called Becoming Eve: My Journey from Ultra-Orthodox Rabbi to Transgender Woman

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eldritchsurveys · 4 years

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613.

Who was the first person you spoke to today? >> Sparrow. I do often speak out loud to Can Calah when I’m home alone, though. Who was the last? >> Sparrow is the only outworld person I’ve spoken to today. Have you told anyone you loved them today? >> No. Are you wearing shoes at the moment? >> No.

When did you last shower? >> This morning.

What song is stuck in your head right now? >> The Dragon Age Origins theme, because I was just playing it and it repeats a lot throughout the game. Does it snow where you live? >> Yeah. Do you live within an hour of the ocean? >> I don’t anymore. I miss it. Do you ever do things even though you know you’ll regret it later? >> Sometimes. I’m still getting a handle on being kind to future!me. Biggest mistake of your life? >> I have no idea and I’m not too concerned about it. What are you currently sitting/laying on? >> I’m reclined on my bed. Who is your oldest friend? >> I’ve known Elle the longest. I don’t know who would be oldest in terms of age. How long have you known them? >> Ten years. Where are they right now? >> She lives in Texas. Have you ever dated a friend of one of your siblings? >> No. How old is your oldest living grandparent? >> --- What were you doing at 11am this morning? >> I think I was gaming at that time. What do you plan to be doing 2 hours from now? >> Probably sleeping, or doing stuff Inworld, or reading. Where were you living in 1993? >> Elizabeth, New Jersey. Were you even born? >> Indeed. Do you remember who you were dating in July 2006? >> I think I was with Darkness then. Are you still dating that person? >> No. Who was the last non-relative of the same sex you had a conversation with? >> The last person I had a conversation with that wasn’t an Inworlder was Sparrow. Last non-relative of the opposite sex? >> --- Has anyone kissed you today? >> Can Calah probably has. Or King Crimson. What is the best gift someone can give you? >> I don’t know, I’ve never really thought about it. Where do you go to school, if anywhere? >> --- Do you have a job? >> No. Where did you get the shirt you’re wearing? >> Someplace in the mall, probably Hot Topic. Who were the last 3 people to leave you a comment/wall post? >> I don’t use facebook that way. Are you left-handed? >> No. Do you wear contacts? >> No. Have you ever been a clown for Halloween? >> No. Where are the last three places you went? >> The Wayland house, Lauren’s house, probably some store or another. Do you remember what the price of gas was the last time you saw it? >> It’s usually somewhere around $2.40. Do you prefer Pepsi or Coke? >> I don’t drink either. Is your hair longer than your shoulders? >> No. Do you tend to go for guys/girls with certain eye/hair colors? >> --- What time did you go to bed last night? >> Around 11p or so. When did you get up this morning? >> Around 8a. When was the last time it rained? >> A few days ago, I think. Are your finger nails painted at the moment? >> No. Have you ever made yourself throw up? Why? >> Yes. The “why” is classified. Do you ever go hunting/fishing? >> No. When was the last time you went camping? >> I want to say... 2015? Are you currently wearing anything orange? >> No. Do you know anyone who is a nurse? >> No. Would you prefer to own a lapdog or a bigger dog? >> A bigger dog. Are you more of a cat person? >> No. Are you currently wearing any jewelry? >> The jewelry in my piercings, and that’s it. Was any of it given to you? >> Nope. What is your worst subject? >> --- What was the worst thing to happen to you today? >> Nothing bad happened to me today, so I guess the worst thing would be how I felt right after finishing the phone call I made this morning. The phone call went fine enough, I guess, but I just felt like I did terribly. That usually happens after phone calls, for me, so I guess it’s just my brain being an asshole more than it is an actual reflection of reality. What are you looking forward to tomorrow? >> The Cafe Boba meetup. Playing more DAO, maybe. Do you know anyone who plays guitar? >> Maybe. Do you play guitar? >> No. Did anyone tell you that you looked nice today? >> No. How many missed calls have you had today? >> Zero. Who were the last three people to call you? >> Our wedding officiant, the rabbi at Temple Emanuel, and some spammer. Who were the last three people you called? >> The two people above are the only two people I’ve called in... ages. Have you had to have stitches at all in the last year? >> No. Did you graduate high school within the last 3 years? >> No. If not, will you graduate within the next 3 years? >> No, I graduated in 2004. How old will you be on your next birthday? >> 33. Which is coming next: Christmas or your birthday? >> My birthday. How many people live in the same household as you? >> One other person. Have you ever visited another country? >> No. Do you have any money on yourself at the moment? >> No. There is money in my wallet, but that is not on my person, it’s on my vanity. Do you sleep in the nude? >> No. Do you ever walk around the house naked if no one is home? >> No, I find that pretty uncomfortable. I’d at least wear underwear. What is your favorite way to spend a rainy morning? >> I don’t have a special way I spend rainy mornings. What is your favorite way to spend a cool autumn night? >> I don’t have a special way I spend cool autumn nights, either. Where was the last place you slept other than your house? >> The Wayland house over Christmas. Have you ever stayed up all night and then gone to work in the morning? >> No, but I have stayed up all night and done other kinds of adulting things in the morning. Is there anyone you wish you could see right now? >> No. Do you have any big plans for the weekend? >> Well, I’m going to the first Intro to Judaism class on Saturday morning. And on Sunday we’re going to visit Sparrow’s grandmother, which is definitely not my idea of a big plan (or any kind of fun, lol) but... meh. How many relationships have you been in so far this year? >> Oh, you know. Do you prefer to be single or with someone? >> Being with someone is fine as long as I feel like it’s an improvement on my solitude, not an infringement upon it. Do you have any tattoos? >> Yes. Are you planning on getting any? >> I have no plans on any new ones because I can’t afford them, but I always want one. Would you pierce your nipples for $100? >> No. Did you lose your virginity before you were sixteen? >> No, but I came close, thanks to somebody who should have known better. Have you ever dated someone who had a child? >> Yes. What are the middle names of everyone in your family? >> --- Are you taller than 5'6"? >> Nope. Where did you go the last time you took a vacation? >> New Orleans. If you could live in a tv show, which one would you be in? >> I’d really rather not. Television-show rules are so removed from the rules I’m used to dealing with. Would you ever consider adoption? >> I’ve considered it, yes. Who is someone you aspire to be like? >> I don’t aspire to be like anyone in particular, just... like myself, but awesomer. How do you feel about your life right now? >> I feel pretty good about it.

#surveys #survey #random survey

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olaluwe · 5 years

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I may not know what your faith is - Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism, name it; but one thing I know for sure is that 'redeeming the time' is one thing that's common or applicable to all.

It has always been and will always be. It's, therefore, a topic worthy of listening to or reading about, even of your own free will.

Let me, however, concede to the fact that this post would rely more on materials freely drawn from the bible.

It wasn't an idea borne out of the logic of the superiority of the faith but because it's one with which I'm conversant to an appreciable degree as a Christian and growing; and of which I've been stunned, lately, by a revelation that I'm a messenger by the will of God almighty through his only begotten son Christ Jesus.

Knowing this; I’m most humbled and seeking in all sincerity and truth for the best ways to fit into doing his will which he has set before all whom he had called as partakers and ambassadors of his riches in glory.

So, I crave your understanding as you come along. My prayer and hope is that you're richly blessed reading it.

Now before we proceed, let me quickly attempt defining the two ideas or concepts encapsulated in the post title namely 'redeem and time' for nothing is more dangerous than assumption.

What is time?

Time is the passage, circle or sequence of seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years in the life of everyone and everything. Since it is a circle or sequence, it has a starting and also a closing point. It's finite, at least, to everything and every work under the sun.

What does it mean to redeem?

To redeem is to buy back or recover something or someone that has been pawned, lost, or endangered. It also means to accomplish a set goal, desire, dream, glory, and destiny.

As living souls, we live to accomplish our earthy purposes in space and time.

And you may never know the true significance of redeeming the time until you have lost or crave for something - a car, a house, a wife, a husband, a child(ren), a job, name it; but can't have it even when your soul yearns for it the most.

Of essence, therefore, time is central to everything we do or become as human beings. So much so that the bible says 'to every purpose and everything under heaven there is time and season.' Ecclesiastes 3: 1.

There is a time to be born, and a time to die; and a time to plant and a time to pluck what’s planted. The list goes on and on and on. . .

On top of that, it is frighteningly short and quick; however, we look at it because it always catches up with us in all that we do.

In this present age, the maximum of a long life is roughly a hundred years and it's so full of troubles. Even at that, it would surprise you how it is quickly lived or fast spent.

Of course, there is a lot that we can achieve within the allocated period. It’s no gainsaying that these things must be accomplished with a measure of godly violence too. They must be redeemed, I mean to say.

After all, the Bible also says "that from the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven suffers violence and only the violent take it by force." John 11:12.

To corroborate the position of the bible, I remember as a teenager the popular saying among my hustling brothers and uncles then that "the way of the mouth is the way of heaven.

This in a literal sense means what to eat and drink take preeminence over other existential matters. That goes to show how they prioritize their work over lazying about. That's, of course, redeeming the time as far as surviving is concerned for them.

The same mentality, if not more is required when it comes to what we're here to accomplish. There's a popular saying that 'may we not let what we're going to eat take preeminence over the glory we're here to fulfill; the destiny we’re here to accomplish’.

From the foregoing, we all can see clearly how time can be redeemed through a combination of factors.

But how can you and I redeem the time, if its nature or attributes if you like, and to all what it serves as an agency we know very little about.

Having said that, I think it's only sensible I devout the next paragraph to listing out what I personally consider as the characteristics of time as it were.

In no particular order of importance, the following are some of the characteristics of time or the agency work it does.

(1) Time is glory (2) Time is destiny (3) Time is money (4) Time is success (5) Time is failure (6) Time is family 7. Time is knowledge and its applications thereby mutating into wisdom (8) Time is birth (9) Time is death (10) Time is salvation (11) Time is peace and safety (12) Time is relationships (13) Time is friendships (14) Time is work or labor (15) Time is rest (16) Time is reward (17) Time is reconciliation (18) Time is war (19) Time is fashion (20) Time is taste (21) Time is love (22) Time is hatred

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 expanded.

You can see that it's almost all-encompassing and hardly is there any aspect of life not covered. But then, if you can think of more, you're highly welcome to specify them in the comments section.

But rather than go the whole hog with the details of how time functions in relation to each of its attributes above, I'd concern myself first with redeeming the time as it relates to accomplishing your purpose and my purpose under the sun.

And secondly, as time functions regard the salvation of your soul and my soul that was purchased by our Lord Jesus Christ at a great price.

Why must time be redeemed?

Time must be redeemed because like I said earlier it's short as apportioned unto each and every one. It's on a quickening pace such that it is hardly sufficient to get all that we desire done.

Secondly, time must be redeemed importantly because the days are evil.

The days of a glorious earthly man are evil because desperately arrayed against him are stronger humans by position, connection, wealth, riches and glory; power and principalities, attitudes, beliefs, name it.

Why are these ones arrayed against him?

It a mystery that I think, among others, finds expression in the often-quoted line: The test of fire makes the finest steel.

Those things arrayed against you are the proverbial tests of the fire which you must pass to claim your glory even if you're the anointed of God.

To illustrate the picture I'm trying to paint above, I'll cite two bible stories of King David and Joseph and how they redeemed the time concerning fulfilling their glorious destiny. Some of us who’re Christians are already familiar with them.

True, David was anointed a king over the nation of Israel at a tender age after God zero his mind on taking the kingdom away from King Saul and his lineage. 1 Samuel 16:12-13

But he was not going to ascend to the throne immediately because his hour has not yet come.

Not only that, the way must be cleared which isn't going to happen in one day. He must also be seen to be capably deserving of the huge responsibility that's about to be entrusted into his charge.

Echoing in advance what would later be played out with our Lord Jesus Christ at the wedding in Cana of Galilee when his mother approached him with the report of exhausted wine by reproving his mother 'woman, what is this your concern have to do with me. My hour has not yet come.' John 2:4.

Continuing the story above, a deadly game of throne simply ensued between a young David and the incumbent King Saul. To cut the long story short, repeated attempts were made on David's life by the out-of-favor king Saul.

But he was able to survive the king's murderous onslaught, let me emphasize, not by wishful thinking. He followed some specifics.

At the same time, David had the opportunity to take the king's life because he played into his hands during his blind pursuits but he didn't, recognizing him still as the anointed one of God to whom no harm should come.

The next is Joseph. Joseph dreamt dreams detailing his glorious future. But the same God hide from him the trials that lay ahead to redeeming it possibly because he knew he had what it requires to pull through.

But again he could have failed if he didn't take the ownership of the Godly revelation concerning him.

So he went from being sold into slavery by his siblings to being tempted by the Potiphar’s wife and being sent to jail.

These are real life's stages upon which he must act his parts well to redeeming the time apportioned to him.

And he puts his soul in the role to emerge one of the most beloved bible characters to all through the ages.

Do not make the mistake of thinking the time was all theirs for the taking, after all, there's a revelation to that effect and more so because it comes with an anointing.

For there are examples even in the same bible of people who had the revelation got what was promised but in the end, lost it because they couldn't keep their sanity.

What did David and Joseph do to redeem their glorious destiny?

Or put differently, how can you and I redeem the time in practical terms?

1. Put God first

God is the source of all the purpose, glory, and destiny under the sun. And so his authority must be recognized at all times. Abiding by his plans is far beneficial than following the dictates of our limited mind. John 3:27. Putting God first entails worship, praying, thanksgiving, supplications, and work.

2. Be circumspect

There is a need for us to act with what I call 'divine caution' in the matters of fulfilling our purposes in the land of the living. Ephesians 5: 15-16.

3. Always act wisely

Wisdom is the principal thing. And the bible admonishes us that in all we do we should seek it. And wisdom is nothing but the practical application of knowledge. Knowledge, on the other hand, is a collection of facts about things in heaven, on earth and beneath it. Ephesians 5: 15-16

4. Show self-restraints

There's a perpetual need for us to act with self-control and not to put our glory and destiny on the line for a few seconds of earthly pleasure. Pleasure divinely ordained and programmed for an appointed time is far better.

What Joseph courageously avoided from the Potiphar’s wife would've been seen by someone lacking in self-restraints as an opportunity that must not be allowed to slide. But the end would've been disastrous.

5. Focus

Being focus entails not losing the sight of the prize or goal for which you and I have been called to fight. We must learn to press towards it and not allow ourselves to get distracted by diversionary and temporary things of this world. Philippians 3: 13-14.

6. Perseverance

Perseverance is staying the course come what may. When your goal and glory and destiny have to been declared by God who owns the earth and its fullness thereof, of necessity, it is that you endure the path he's taking you. The bible says it is not given unto you and I to direct our steps.

7. Be obedient

Obedience, the bible says, is better than sacrifices and fat of rams. 1 Sam 15: 22-23. No doubt, you can make sacrifices to God in praises, thanksgiving, supplications, and doing good to the people. But they would amount to nothing if you neglect the obedient part.

8. Keep faith

Faith, the bible says is the evidence of something not seen; substance of something hoped for. When God declares anything concerning you, he keeps faith to see that it is accomplished in his own time.

And so of necessity, you and I must keep the faith because God honors his words more than his name.

9. Movement

It has been observed that movement is key to achieving any goal in life. As a marathoner, you don't stop until you reach the finish line.

Life also has been compared to running a marathon. Because you have to keep moving, it requires endurance. It requires maturity. It requires dedication. Besides, until you move not moves in your life.

10. Humility

Pride the bible says comes before a fall. The haughty God says he would humble. So it is better to stay on the side of God by being humble. Humility brings divine wisdom and understanding which are needed to safely navigating the dark alley of the labyrinth called life whose every second, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years are evil.

Finally, as regards so great a salvation of your soul and mine for which our Lord Jesus Christ has purchased at a great price of his precious blood which was shed on the cross, it's now and not tomorrow for a second delay may prove costly.

The door of the ongoing grace opened to you and I when he showed up two millennia ago may just be shut if we remain hesitant in deciding and, if peradventure death comes suddenly. For the bible says it's appointed unto man to die once and afterward judgment follows.

Today's chance for the salvation of your soul is a rare opportunity. It's more precious than gold, silver, and the riches and glories of this world.

Arise, make haste to redeem it. The time is fast counting down. Take your chance now! Receive him as your Lord and personal savior. Shalom!

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