#jewish circle dance

[matan4il]

Simchat Torah, which is Hebrew for "Torah joy," has long been one of the happiest holidays in the Hebrew calendar, arguably even happier than Purim. If you've ever been present when we Jews annually celebrate our Torah, the cycle of its reading, a beginning and an end at once, an infinity created by our love and devotion to our scriptures and our customs, then you know what I'm talking about. The dancing, the singing, the shared joy, the circles we form, representing the Torah cycle, where we link arms and are our individual selves and Am Yisrael at once, is something else.

I remember it as a kid, at the synagogue in my childhood city, this innocent joy and wonder as they were bringing out the Torah scrolls and the entire community came together around them, and I remember it as a soldier on duty during Simchat Torah, this exhilaration of the soul at seeing people dancing with uniforms and Torah scrolls, spirit and matter at once, expressing our unique identity and religious and cultural legacy, which taught us to live, and which we were willing to die for our right to have it.

Unlike in the diaspora where there are two days we celebrate to conclude Sukkot, each with its own customs, in Eretz Yisrael the holiday is only celebrated along one day, and for that reason, it incorporates the nature of both days. It conveys the joyous nature of the Torah reading cycle, and it also gives room to solemn blessings for the rain, as well as (for the Ashkenazim) the mention of our departed's names. Simchat Torah is happiness and seriousness and mourning all at once.

It is truly a holiday which is like Jewish history itself: contains stark contrasts, of beginning and end, of happiness and grief, all at once.

We read "And this is the blessing," the last parasha in the Torah, then we follow it by reading "In the beginning," the first parasha. "And this is the blessing" deals with the blessings Moses confers unto the tribes of Israel, focusing to a great degree on the part of the Land of Israel that each tribe inherits. Yet another indisputably Zionist part of our religion and heritage.

But I keep thinking about that particular combination. "And this is the blessing, in the beginning." It is easy to end and remain ended when something goes horribly wrong. It is so much harder (and therefore holds the promise of a blessing) to keep going despite everything, to rebuild, from scratch, from nothing, from the ashes of burnt communities... from the very beginning.

Hamas weren't the first to massacre Jews on this date. The worst previous antisemitic massacre to be tied to this date took place in 1655, at the old synagogue in Krakow, Poland. The Jews there weren't accused of colonizing anything, but when the Poles lost a battle to the Swedes, it was easy to blame the Jews. We were always guilty of something, because there were never consequences for the murderers who defiled our holy celebrations by spilling our blood, unlike there would have been for going against those who were actually guilty, those who had the power to punish.

No, the killing of Jews during this holiday isn't new. But us being able to defend ourselves, that is. That's what they really can't forgive us. But that's okay. We're not asking for forgiveness. We're looking for our blessing. And that's found in the beginning that's born out of every end, in the unbroken nature of our circles, which are these cycles of ours that we keep observing, and these communities of ours that won't stop holding hands. We will contain these stark contrasts. We will sanctify life, even when they try to make us pay for that with our own lives. We will observe Simchat Torah in all of its joy and all of its solemnity and all of its grief. We will talk about what this holiday means to us, in the wake of the worst massacre of Jews since the Holocaust. We won't be intimidated out of being Jewish. If anything, by delving into these meanings, we'll be more Jewish than ever before. We will read out the names of our dead, AND we will dance.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[tsyvia48]

Author & Mensch: Reflections on the impact of @neil-gaiman on my life, in essay and doodle

As a woman of a certain age, I am a well-practiced overthinker. Nerd, geek, know-it-all, intellectual, the names have been biting or praise depending on who wielded them. They’re all true, and I embrace them. 

In the early days of adulthood, when I was a wee 20-something overthinking nerd, geek, know-it-all, intellectual (20+ years ago), I became deeply interested in image and text and text-as-image. While friends were watching and arguing over Survivor, I was obsessing over Peter Greenaway’s The Pillowbook and Prospero's Books and Neil Gaiman’s Sandman. (To this day my copies of the Sandman graphic novels and the English translation of The Pillowbook of Sei Shonagon are proudly displayed on the good bookshelves—you know, the ones I want people to peruse.)

Sandman isn't merely good storytelling and good art, it teases at some of the fundamental questions to which my religion-major heart was consistently and reliably drawn. It modeled a way of rendering the questions—and suggested answers—I would never have imagined on my own.

In those days, I created an artist's book: an altered gift edition of Hamlet. I explored Ophelia’s femininity and the inevitability of her break with her mental health, caught as she is between Hamlet and her father. I imagined her story if she’d had true agency. I investigated the way art (fan art?!) had shaped my understanding of the play and my relationship to it. I layered in my story—my resonance and dissonance with hers—and my art, along with images of famous and not-so-famous paintings of Ophelia. I proudly named Greenaway and Gaiman as influences. 

I imagined myself an artist. And, truthfully, I suppose I was one. 

I read Good Omens back then, too, delighting over the religious tropes and subversions, the humor, and the fundamental faith in humanity that shone through. 

In the two decades since then, below the din of “responsible” choices (that have mostly moved me away from imagining myself an artist) there has been a melody quietly bringing me comfort, shifting my perspective, and reminding me who I want to be. When I stop to listen for and name the music, I realize much of it generates from Neil Gaiman. 

The Graveyard Book gave me comfort and hope as a new parent. 

Ocean at the End of the Lane reminded me of the layers and the depths⏤the archetypes and metaphors⏤present in everything around me, if I am willing to seek them.

Neil’s anecdote about meeting Neil Armstrong has been a talisman against imposter syndrome. Or, more precisely, it has been a permission slip for forgiving myself when the imposter syndrome inevitably surfaces.

The episode of Dr Who he wrote (“the Doctor’s Wife”) changed the way I understand the entire Dr Who experience before and since. 

Lucifer (tv), which his work inspired, gave me joy, comfort and distraction through a tough time in my life. 

When, a few years ago, I realized he is Jewish, I had that swelling of pride and resonance that I always get when someone I admire shares that identity with me.

And now there’s the Good Omens tv series. It has opened something in me I didn’t realize was closed. Crowley and Aziraphale are helping me better understand myself, and love, and gender, and storytelling, and, believe it or not, Torah. I am writing again for the first time in ages. I'm drawing more often and with more joy than I’ve known maybe since childhood.

I’ve been getting back into my gratidoodle practice, drawing and writing what I’m grateful for. And when I decided to add Neil Gaiman’s face and some words about my appreciation for his work to my sketchbook, I realized he’s brought me full circle.

Text and image and text-as-image + Neil Gaiman + story is an old constellation for me. And once again, I find my thoughts dancing, shifting, blossoming to the quiet melody of (one of?) the greatest storyteller(s) of this generation. 

And now that I am actively engaging with other Gaiman fans, I see how responsive and kind and encouraging he is to those of us who love his work, and his name is permanently etched on my heart: a benefactor, a teacher, a role model.

How satisfying and fitting that such a powerful and resonant voice, miraculously, thankfully, beautifully, also seems to be a genuine mensch. 

B”H (thanks to God) that I am alive at the same time as such a one.

#I didn't realize I was going to write AND draw when I started this #but I felt I needed both #I wish I had a flatbed scanner #this photo doesn't do it justice #there's greater nuance in the color in person #Stories matter #Art matters #like, really matters #Neil Gaiman is a gift to this world #Good Omens #Crowley and Aziraphale #Ocean at the End of the Lane #The Graveyard Book #Neil Armstrong and imposter syndrome #The Doctor's Wife #So grateful for tumblr

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: The Return

[mysterious circle of robed figures] JK Rowling: hello children Rowling: jesssse ssssingal returnsss Rowling: what newsss, wormtongue? Rowling: isss it good? Jesse Singal: mommy mommy don't hit me

Singal: mommy mommy it turns out that bluesky is bad! Rowling: what???? Singal: yeah! it turns out those grapes are totally sour

Singal: i'm going to go to the only place that hasn't been corrupted with cultural marxism! Singal: OUTER SPACE! Singal: no wait i mean Singal: i'm going back to twitter

monotonous_monkey$$$: buy dancing baby coin heinrich_bimbler420: pussy in bio giftpilz_goyim69: trans are a jewish plot to replace the white race Singal: ahhhh Singal: so good to be back!

Singal: i love twitter! bigtitty_tradtankie420: pussy in bio Singal: it's great! wehrmacht_frog420: pussy in bio Singal: couldn't be bett- dubai_realdoll420: pussy in bio Singal: er

Singal: excuse me mr elon musk sir? Singal: sir? sir? if i could have just a moment of your precious time sir Elon Musk: eyyy whatsa matta for you Singal: for be it for me, a lowly wordsmith of the fourth estate, to speak to you Singal: but if i could make just a teensy little suggestion

Singal: i mean you are very very smart Singal: so much smarter than me Singal: i'm not even worthy to make this suggestion Singal: i'm dirt Singal: just a worm Singal: just step on me Singal: just like Herrscher should step on my brooklyn apartment Musk: eyyy you mean atta [redacted]bergen street?

Singal: if i could ask that you Singal: almighty genius elon musk Singal: who is very cool and also very good at playing Diablo 4 Singal: and has lots of friends Musk: that issa true, i do hava lots of friends! Musk: you know i knowa da stephen king?

Singal: right if you could just turn off the link throttling Singal: please sir i need it for my grift Singal: for my grift, sir Musk: you know, i talka to da stephen king alla da time Musk: i talka, he listen Musk: it a reala solid relationship

Singal: please mr musk sir Musk: say you lika my website Singal: it's wonderful sir! it's the best! Musk: say itsa real good Singal: its real good! Musk: and donta you forget Musk: you're here forever!!!

[mariacallous]

KIBBUTZ GEZER, Israel (JTA) — As she eulogized Vivian Silver, her friend and longtime fellow activist, Ghadir Hani said, “Vivian, my beloved, if you could hear, I would want you to know: Hamas did not murder your vision.”

Hani, who is from Hura, a Bedouin town in southern Israel, was one of several speakers at a “parting ceremony” for Silver, the Canadian-Israeli peace activist who was killed by Hamas in its invasion of Israel on Oct. 7. Many in the mixed crowd of Jewish and Palestinian women at the ceremony held each other in tears, and a friend of Silver’s from Gaza sent a written note.

Silver was previously presumed to have been held hostage, and confirmation of her death in the massacre at Kibbutz Be’eri came earlier this week. Before moving to Be’eri in 1990, Silver had lived at Gezer, in central Israel, for more than a decade.

Cars lined the road for several kilometers outside of the kibbutz, and the large crowd included current and former Israeli lawmakers, Reform and Orthodox Jewish leaders, international and local media and activists wearing shirts bearing the names of left-wing organizations including the one she co-founded, Women Wage Peace.

“It is impossible to destroy humanity, solidarity, the wish for a safe future,” Hani said in her eulogy.

Arab-Israeli Knesset member Ayman Odeh, who leads the Hadash Party, described Silver in remarks to journalists as “the shining light of our community” and lamented that “instead of dancing together after achieving peace, she became a victim in the most horrible way.”

Dov Khenin, a longtime Knesset member from Hadash and later the Joint List, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency that his “heart is broken” and that Vivian “was optimistic, very smiley and personable” while working together with him on many campaigns promoting Jewish-Arab partnership.

Many speakers from diverse backgrounds described their immense pain at Silver’s death, and determination to pursue the causes to which she was devoted: peace and feminist activism.

“We promise you Vivian, we will continue your path even stronger and braver, since now it is clear where the path leads to that is not the ‘way of peace,'” said Avital Brown of Women Wage Peace. Brown promised to “continue to work with our Palestinian partners and the global community of women. “

After the final speaker, members of Women Wage Peace, all wearing light blue scarves, gathered  in a circle, singing Israeli folk songs and concluding with “We shall overcome.”

“You taught us the most important lesson: to be human, to see the other, the weak, the one whose voice is not heard,” said Hani, who discussed the difficulty of saying goodbye to Silver during wartime.

“I wait here without words,” she said. “We are all in shock. What would you tell us to do now? How can we continue from here?”

[shalom-iamcominghome]

[Video Description: A Jewish wedding. The bride, @jennmysterion on instagram, is voicing over the video, which is a collage of videos from her wedding, including a circle of people dancing, and her with her husband and her bubbe, among other clips. The video is titled Black Jewish convert + Holocaust survivor = ❤️]

Guyyys 😭😭😭

Transcript below

My husband is the grandson of Holocaust survivors.

As a Black Jewish convert, having my extremely intelligent Catholic aunt as well as bubbe, who is a Holocaust survivor, by my side on my wedding day was such an incredible honor that I will never forget.

Bubbe is a part of history, and I will always look forward to her sharing her incredibly inspiring life with me.

[dolphingirl1234]

being jewish is so fun

being jewish is thanking the police and security guards when we walk into shul (synagogue)

being jewish is complaining about not being able to eat bread for a week

being jewish is getting excited and taking a picture whenever we see something jewish in public

being jewish is gaslighting yourself into believing matzah doesn't taste like cardboard (I've gaslighted myself into loving it)

being jewish is lighting candles on literally every single holiday

being jewish is not understanding some traditions but doing them anyway because we love our culture

being jewish is dancing and singing and lifting each other up on chairs whenever something exciting happens

being jewish is learning hebrew on duolingo even if you learn it at school

being jewish is putting literally anything on challah and even if we have nothing we will eat it plain (challah is so good)

being jewish is making yom hazikaron (soldier remembrance day) and yom haatzmaut (Israel independence day) one after the other, like that's such a jewish thing to do

being jewish is looking forward to fridays because we love shabbat and family and challah and chicken soup

being jewish is making too many matzah balls but then not having enough

being jewish is having Israeli music playing in the background of every occasion

being jewish is dancing in a circle and singing songs we all know after hearing them all our lives

being jewish is watching the videos of people in Israel being so happy and singing and celebrating even as their trembling in a bomb shelter

being jewish is having everyone mispronounce your name/hebrew name

being jewish is wanting to kill ourselves while fasting on yom kippur

being jewish is acknowledging that kosher kitkats are better than normal kitkats (change my mind I dare you)

being jewish is having a magen david (star of david) necklace that you never take off

being jewish is coming up with fun ways to make noise when we hear haman's name in the megillah on purim

being jewish is reading a different part of a long ass book every week for a year and then celebrating when it's done before starting it all over again

being jewish is using hanukkah as an excuse to eat chips and donuts every day for a week

being jewish is welcoming creepy old imaginary men into our house every pesach (eliyahu/elijah)

being jewish is not being able to remember the 5 books of the torah

being jewish is arguing who's grandma's chicken soup is better (for any jews reading this it's my grandma's and I will not be taking criticism)

being jewish is getting board in shul and going to play on the swings outside until it's time for kiddish (food) (we like food)

being jewish is planning to go to Israel for your bar/bat mitzvah but it never actually happens

being jewish is going to hanukkah in the park to watch them light the big menorah and get free donuts and watch the fireworks

being jewish is taking purim way too seriously and making the most elaborate costume

being jewish is randomly owning as Israeli flag

being jewish is having at least 3 blue tutus

being jewish is hearing from holocaust survivors on yom hashoah

being jewish is watching a tv show just because there's a jewish character

being jewish is having so many family friends you can't even remember half of them

being jewish is having a built-in family in the jewish community

I love being jewish

[hero-israel]

Last week, in my Discord group of about 60 lifelong friends (and I mean really lifelong, danced-at-the-wedding, phone-call-for-the-divorce friends), one person posted a "from the river to the sea" meme they'd found on Twitter. I made clear that it was a huge problem, that person apologized and deleted it, everyone else seemed supportive and understanding.

And surprised.

Because none of them - not ONE of them - had ever heard the term before, nor knew what the river or the sea were, nor had any clue it could possibly be seen as threatening. That included the person who posted it in the first place. These are all college graduates, some of them with post-college degrees, all liberal Democrats who agree with everything John Oliver ever said.

The discussion went as well and as supportively as it possibly could have, but I am still floored by how.... remote the topic was from all of their lives. Including how remote it was for other Jewish members of the group (though I can't help but notice that those other Jewish members are unaffiliated and don't have kids).

I bring this up because it shows that social media really can exaggerate the scale of threats we perceive and experience. And if you had told me that more than a week ago, I would have cut you off and said "Of course, I know that, I'm not naive" - but it still would never have occurred to me that it could reach such a degree. How constantly reading updates on war and hate and protests and threats really can give a distorted and inaccurate picture of the world.

One time on Reddit, I noticed a pro-Palestine account that was positively obsessed with the "boogaloo boys," a purported sub-set of white supremacists. This person mentioned "boogaloo boys" probably 80 times a week, in the context of how their racial civil war was about to begin and would target Arab-Americans first. And it really began to look weird - a focus beyond their importance. I'm sure nobody would ever want to meet a "boogaloo boy," of course, but I also think this person made more posts about that group than the number of members there are in the actual group.

Has anyone outside age 18-23 and outside a college campus ever met a member of SJP? They're pretty horrible people, but they go tabling right next to all sorts of splintercranks who dissolve once you graduate.

There is a real perceptual, emotional downside to seeking out hatred and threats so one can announce "Aha! Look at all this hatred and threats!". It is not only privilege that allows people to avoid some problems and conflicts - it can also be demographic, political reality. It is important to know who hates and threatens us - and also to remain members of "the reality-based community." Internet discussions are not real life, college campuses are not real life, internet discussions among college students are the least real of all.

Scott Alexander touched on this - how certain political beliefs can be avoided even without conscious effort:

According to Gallup polls, about 46% of Americans are creationists. Not just in the sense of believing God helped guide evolution. I mean they think evolution is a vile atheist lie and God created humans exactly as they exist right now. That’s half the country.

And I don’t have a single one of those people in my social circle. It’s not because I’m deliberately avoiding them; I’m pretty live-and-let-live politically, I wouldn’t ostracize someone just for some weird beliefs. And yet, even though I probably know about a hundred fifty people, I am pretty confident that not one of them is creationist. Odds of this happening by chance? 1/2^150 = 1/10^45 = approximately the chance of picking a particular atom if you are randomly selecting among all the atoms on Earth.

About forty percent of Americans want to ban gay marriage. I think if I really stretch it, maybe ten of my top hundred fifty friends might fall into this group. This is less astronomically unlikely; the odds are a mere one to one hundred quintillion against.

[talonabraxas]

VISUAL NARRATIVES

In the realm of religious symbolism, Hindu and Chaldeo-Jewish diagrams stand as captivating landmarks, offering profound insights into their respective cosmologies and philosophical underpinnings. These visual narratives, far from mere aesthetic flourishes, serve as intricate maps guiding the seeker towards understanding the divine tapestry of existence.

Hindu diagrams, like the mandala, explode with vibrancy. Concentric circles cradle dancing figures and blooming lotus blossoms, each element resonating with symbolic depth. The mandala becomes a microcosm of the universe, reflecting the interconnectedness of all beings and the cyclical nature of samsara, the endless dance of life, death, and rebirth. Another emblematic diagram, the samsara wheel, charts the celestial journey of the soul, acting as a poignant reminder of the impermanence of earthly existence.

In stark contrast, Chaldeo-Jewish diagrams unfold with geometric precision. The Kabbalistic Tree of Life, resplendent with ten luminous Sephiroth, meticulously maps the emanation of God's divine attributes into the manifest world. Each meticulously arranged geometric form speaks of cosmic order and structure, inviting the seeker to contemplate the grand mechanisms of creation. The Merkabah, a fiery chariot ablaze with mystical symbolism, transcends its literal depiction to represent the soul's arduous ascent towards divine union.

Though their visual languages diverge, both Hindu and Chaldeo-Jewish diagrams converge in their pursuit of ultimate understanding and liberation. The cyclical dance of samsara and the Kabbalistic ascent of the soul, despite their contrasting styles, resonate with a shared yearning for the ultimate union with the divine. By navigating the intricate pathways of these sacred symbols, the seeker embarks on a transformative journey, striving to align with the cosmic order and achieve liberation, whether through samsara's cyclical dance or the Merkabah's mystical ascent.

Ultimately, venturing into the realm of these diagrams transcends mere academic inquiry. It is a comparative pilgrimage, enriching our understanding of diverse spiritual traditions while revealing the unifying tapestry woven from our collective human yearning for knowledge, self-realization, and connection with the divine. So, let us cast aside the shackles of rigid categorization and embrace the beauty of these ancient symbols. Within their swirling lines and luminous forms lies a hidden language, waiting to be deciphered and whispered to the soul.

Finally, Hindu mandalas' vibrant dance and the Kabbalistic Tree's luminous wisdom whisper across vast chasms of time and culture, finding surprising echoes in early Christian art and mystical thought. Clearly, these fascinating parallels suggest a shared history woven from universal questions about the divine. Let's embrace the whispers, appreciating the beauty of interwoven threads as we explore the boundless canvas of human spirituality. --Rethinking our connection with the Divine Creator

[achronalart]

A pretty 1927 pale lime green crêpe de chine dancing dress from Atelier Bachwitz, a Jewish-owned Vienna-based publishing house that published exquisite fashion and lifestyle magazines from 1898 to 1938.

The straight line silhouette is typical of the 1920s, the clever, zigzag piecing of the fabric more common after 1925 as the Art Deco aesthetic took hold. Loose, fluttering bias-cut ruffles became popular right around 1926 and got more and more fluttery as the decade progressed. Bright, cheerful colors in lightweight silks were fashionable the entire decade.

Looking at the image, I believe the skirt flounces are petal-shaped at the bottom, something like quarter-circles in cut, and freehanging from each other. A pain straight slip of matching silk worn underneath would protect modesty as the flounces flared out like flower petals while dancing.

[shieldofiron]

Two years ago, Jason was sitting stiff in a family sweater, trying to hold a perfect smile while the photographer snapped picture after picture.

This year, Robin and Heather produce a polaroid camera and manage to capture him and Eddie cuddling under the glow of the tree.

Two years ago, Jason and his brothers would have to help wrestle the giant Douglas fur tree to the front of the house so that it could be seen by the whole neighborhood.

This year, Eddie had dragged home the tree in his van. “The department store was getting rid of it from last years Christmas display, can you believe it?? And it’s black! I fished it out of the trash!”

Two years ago, Jason felt like he could barely breathe at Christmas time for all the pressure. Christmas was a time to be perfect, and he never felt like he could measure up.

This year, he and Eddie decorated the tree while Metallica played. Eddie had spent a lot of his childhood with his Jewish mother, so the concept of what did and what didn’t belong on a Christmas tree didn’t apply to him. “I think my cassettes look pretty in the branches, Jace. Get some of yours.”

Two years ago, Jason couldn’t have imagined making nice with the freak.

This year he cringes when he remembers it, running a hand along Eddie’s arms as they circle around him. “I love you, Eddie. You know that, right?”

Two years ago, Jason felt like he was on top of the world.

This year, he knows what being on top of the world really means.

Two years ago, Chrissy was stiff on his arm at the church social, looking like a stiff wind could blow her over.

This year, she’s pink cheeked and soft, holding Patrick’s hand while they listen to Dustin babble on about something.

Two years ago, Jason couldn’t have imagined that there were any queer people in town. To be perfectly honest he thought he was totally alone.

This year, they go over for a party and Billy and Steve’s place, and no one bats an eye when Jason and Eddie excuse themselves to do Eddie’s T shot in the bathroom.

Two years ago, Jason couldn’t have imagined having a black tree, or a real boyfriend or any of this stuff.

This year, he snuggles up to Eddie and hums along when Eddie gets all the words to the Christmas tunes wrong on purpose.

“God rest ye Merry Wintertime, let nothing you dismay. Remember Jace our savior, who fucked on Christmas Day…”

“Eddie, oh my god!”

“To give us all to satan’s power and lead us all astray,” Eddie cried out, tugging Jason into a dance, “Oh-oh, tidings of rock and or roll, rock and or roll, oh TIDINGS OF ROCK AND OR ROLL!”

“I love you. Weirdo.”

“I love you. Dork.”

[revlyncox]

Peace and Darkness

The darkness of the approaching winter solstice may help us get re-centered in the middle of the pressures of this time of year and these times in particular. Let the blessings of darkness call us to imagination, rest, and inner peace. This sermon was recast from earlier work and was delivered to The Unitarian Society in East Brunswick by Rev. Lyn Cox on December 8, 2024.

“Come into my arms and rest, child,” [said Night.] … You were born out of my darkness, billions of years ago, and you will return to me when all things end.” (From the story, “The Rebirth of the Sun” by Starhawk, retold in Circle Round: Raising Children in Goddess Traditions.)

I have to say, that sounds pretty nice to me. As the sun disappears from evening skies, I wouldn’t mind a little bit of respite with the timeless origins of the universe. December means a lot of things to people in our culture. It can mean bringing things to completion, or showing up to annual gatherings, or figuring out what to say in the holiday letter. Those aren’t bad things. Holiday busy-ness can call forth our creativity and remind us of our values. On the other hand, sometimes the season is so crowded with demands that we produce and perform, it’s hard to remember to simply be. Added to that, the pain and anxiety of the world are very much with us, and we may be feeling some pressure to make some grand gesture to save the world, if only we knew what it was.

Let us remind each other that, as Universalists, we know human worth is unconditional. Our place in this world does not depend on our usefulness, our productivity, our decorative qualities, or our ability to be entertaining. You belong here. When each one of us makes time and space to acknowledge ourselves as human beings rather than human doings, it is easier for us to practice acceptance of one another. Peacemaking in practical terms requires us to do a certain amount of letting go and practicing grace, for ourselves and for each other.

The dark days leading to the Winter Solstice make the perfect time to celebrate acceptance and renewal. It can be argued that axial tilt is the reason for the season, so let’s search for meaning in this time of chilly temperatures and late sunrises. With the next harvest so far away, we may be able to use this time to experience ourselves apart from tangible results.

If this is a time of year when we search for words to write in cards or to say in party conversations, perhaps it is also a time ripe for silence, to allow words to come to us. With the hope of growing light and fresh calendar pages ahead of us, perhaps we can connect with wonder and meaning as it happens right now, before we get caught up in planning for the future.

There is another element to celebrating the darkness of this time of year. White supremacy culture has elevated all things light and pale to mean good, and has put down all things dark and mysterious to mean bad. We may not make conscious connections between that dichotomy and skin color, but the bias operates on us nonetheless. Furthermore, equating the starkness of simple solutions and obvious choices with good and light leads us to reach for easy answers rather than allowing ourselves the learning experience of not knowing. That makes actual, practical peacemaking and cultural dialogue more difficult. Dark and light, good and bad are more complex than two flat sides. We need to go back and reclaim the divinity of darkness, the sacred place of mystery, and the open-heartedness of the unknown.

This Winter Solstice, let us rest in the heart of night, refreshing our spirits with imagination. Let us receive words and silence as they fall like snow, finding beauty in both their dance and their stillness. Let us attend to the year being born, holding off on answers as we honor the mystery of beginnings. 

Rest in the Heart of Night: Imagination

One of my colleagues is a certified facilitator in the Jewish Studio Process, which is an art-based spiritual practice. The purpose of the project is to cultivate creativity as a practice for spiritual connection and social transformation. It’s part art therapy, part study of sacred text, part group reflection. I have had a couple of opportunities to participate in this process at virtual UU minister conferences, meaning I was among my own art supplies at home while I was connected virtually with colleagues across the country. There is time for words, and a time for creating without words, which allows all kinds of insight and emotion to land in the artwork, there to be explored, experienced, discovered, and released. As they say in the Jewish Studio Project, “the page can hold it all.”

Creating art on my own during the non-verbal time brings me face-to-face with a number of personal obstacles. As with any contemplative practice, I have to return to my breath over and over, as worrying about products and outcomes distracts me from the present moment. I struggle with vulnerability, opening myself up to thoughts and feelings that aren’t especially convenient. My inner critic has some things today about my artistic abilities. But the facilitated process helps me make friends with all of those voices and lets me keep going. At the end of the session, I feel more accepting of myself and others, more attuned to the gifts I have to offer, more ready to learn what the universe has to teach me, and more prepared to take meaningful action for justice, kindness, and community building.

None of the things I create in the studio process are going to win awards. It’s not about the result. It’s about the experience of imagination and creation. It’s about opening windows to what is possible. To get there, I have to practice some humility. In a way, I have to let myself be in the dark. Being focused on the process rather than the product has created the space for finding a moment of inner peace.

For those who are motivated to work on external peace, the kind between individuals in conflict or countries at war, the value of allowing time for the darkness and mystery of creativity may not be obvious. I assure you that imagination is essential for the work of peace and justice. Theologian Walter Bruggeman writes:

“The prophet engages in futuring fantasy. The prophet does not ask if the vision can be implemented, for questions of implementation are of no consequence until the vision can be imagined. The imagination must come before the implementation. Our culture is competent to implement almost anything and to imagine almost nothing. The same royal consciousness that make it possible to implement anything and everything is the one that shrinks imagination because imagination is a danger. Thus every totalitarian regime is frightened of the artist. It is the vocation of the prophet to keep alive the ministry of imagination, to keep on conjuring and proposing futures alternative to the single one the king wants to urge as the only thinkable one.” 

Bruggeman urges us to expand on what is thinkable. There is more than one answer, more than one path, more than one perspective. In order to allow the imagination to flourish, we may need to quiet our linear minds for awhile. We might need the blanket of night, or the assurances of soft music. or the presence of supportive creative friends.

The winter holiday season often includes a lot of activity and deadlines and pressures. At the same time, the early sunsets and late sunrises, for many of us, cast a mood of contemplation. Perhaps we can allow these conditions to lead us into the here and now. This Winter Solstice, rest in the heart of night and allow your imagination to wander among the stars.

Let Words Fall Like Snow: Silence and Waiting

Like many of you, I spend a fair amount of time in waiting rooms. I keep discovering that, no matter what I bring to do, waiting simply takes as long as it takes. Lately, I’ve been finding that looking at my phone does not support my health and wellbeing, so I have conversations I wouldn’t otherwise have, or I rest my eyes, or I read all the signs on the walls. Not trying to escape from the waiting room seems to work better than filling those moments with the highs and lows of the internet. I forget, and open a book or a magazine or my email, and if I’m lucky I remember again and re-engage with the experience of waiting.

Perhaps these days of late sunrises and early sunsets create a seasonal waiting room. There are significant dates on the calendar that aren’t going to get here any faster. Some of us may have packages we’re waiting to receive or to be received on time. Even after the Winter Solstice, it’s still a few weeks before the effect of the year’s turning becomes obvious.

For me, the anticipation and the weather conspire to bring words more slowly to mind. I have to wait for words to form, like crystals growing on a snowflake. Again, like the snow, the words take their time on the way down, drifting where they will until they land in a place where I can gather them up. 

In her book, When Things Fall Apart, Pema Chödrön talks about the benefit of avoiding unnecessary activity and being present with a kind of “cool loneliness.” She writes, “Could we just settle down and have some compassion and respect for ourselves? Could we stop trying to escape from being alone with ourselves?” In other words, sitting and waiting might help us to find kindness.

My colleague Nancy Shaffer of blessed memory wrote a poem about this (from her book Instructions in Joy: Meditations, which is out of print but some of her poems are on the UUA’s Worship Web database.):

In Stillness

I have been looking for the words that come

before words: the ones older than silence,

the ones not mine, that can’t be found by thought—

the ones that hold the beginning of the world

and are never used up, which arrive loaned

and make me weep

The Christmas story is also one of waiting. The nativity stories portray a family and a culture, tired from living in oppression and from long journeys. They are expectant, waiting for meaning and direction to emerge from among them. In the book of Luke, when the shepherds relate what the angels told them about the child, “Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.” (Luke 2:19)

Mary has plenty to say elsewhere in the Bible. As you may recall from a skit that Marie and I did last year, when Mary visits her cousin Elizabeth, she has a beautiful speech about a coming time of justice, framing her words as if God has already done it. Her song includes things such as, “He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty” (Luke 1:46-56). Powerful stuff. Mary has a voice. Sometimes she directs her attention to contemplation. In the nativity story, as events are new and concrete, she ponders words in her heart.

There are gifts that the darkness and the silence have to offer. Theologian Howard Thurman wrote, "In the stillness of the quiet, if we listen, we can hear the whisper of the heart giving strength to weakness, courage to fear, hope to despair."

At times of great transition, waiting in silence may have more impact than words of cleverness or wisdom. Advice and pronouncements may fall short in the face of the heights and depths of life. When we face birth and loss, progress and starting over, it matters how we listen to ourselves and to each other. As the earth spins through the solstice, we face a transition together. If only a few flurries of words rest at your window, that is fine. Hold moments of silence and waiting in your heart as they come. Receive words as they fall like snow.

Honor the Mystery: Let Questions Go Unanswered

In this morning’s Time for All Ages story, the sun is reborn at the Winter Solstice. It’s a mythic story. The metaphor might mean different things for us at different times. What is clear to me, in season after season, is that there is always something being born and re-born at this time of year. Just what that is may not be clear at this point. We don’t need to know that in order to honor the mystery.

When I was in seventh grade, we had an exercise in science class that made a tremendous impact on how I see the world. The teacher put a slide on the overhead projector and asked us to name our observations out loud. We said we saw paw prints in the snow. There were two sets, one big and one little. We talked about the path of the paw prints. Finally, one of the students said, “I see black spots on a white background.” You could have heard a pin drop. That was a holy moment, with a roomful of young adolescents suddenly grasping the difference between observation and inference. We can get into philosophical discussions about how much we trust our senses, but for young scientists it was important to acknowledge that difference, and to realize how fast we jump to drawing conclusions.

In the moments of the sun’s rebirth, or gathered around the baby, or lighting the first candle of the menorah, we don’t yet know what will come to pass. Running ahead to answer questions skips the part where we connect with meaning as it emerges. If peace is going to enter into our hearts, it must pass through the door of unknowing. Predicting and controlling are rarely calm activities. Deep questions, sacred questions, do not require immediate answers.

Perhaps that’s part of the draw of winter lullabies and Christmas carols about sleeping babies. Pictures are painted in music of one profound, relatable moment, filled with love. For instance, in “Silent Night,” there are a few hints about what the writer foresees, “the dawn of redeeming grace,” but most of the details in the song imagine the nativity itself. We have the sense that a story is just beginning, yet right now we rest in the glory of one moment.

In the story of the Winter Solstice, the reborn sun looks out on the wonder of what has already happened. The sun sees and hears joy and gratitude from the earth. The next year may see a familiar turn around the spiral, some things repeated as the seasons turn. The next year may see something new. We don’t know for sure. Direction and meaning are still emerging as the sun is reborn. When we allow some of the big questions to go unanswered for now, we leave room for inner peace. That sense of calm, of openness to imagination, of being in the present moment, then equips us to create peace between neighbors and nations.

Conclusion

My prayer for all of us this Winter Solstice is that, like the sun, we find some sanctuary for rest and renewal. May we find in the sacred dark a connection to that which is timeless and accepting, that which binds us to the rest of the universe. May we take pleasure in the process of being human, realizing that our inherent worth does not depend on productivity. May we gratefully receive meaningful silence as well as words that fall to our minds and ears. May we leave open the doors of unknowing, honoring the sacred mystery as a new year comes into being.

So be it. Blessed be. Amen.

[divinum-pacis]

Jewish revelers dance in a circle on the holiday of Simchat Torah, in Jerusalem, Thursday Oct. 24, 2024. (AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg)

[milfygerard]

i had to see this awful article and now i need you all to see it too

[wishful-seeker]

First rules of witchcraft

1. Mundane before magical

Not every weird dream is a sign from the universe, not every strange emotion comes from divine intervention, not every dear you see is a God trying to speak to you. Think about how you would react to these things before you knew magic existed, try incorporating those past feelings with your new feelings that believe in magic, incorporate a scientific AND magical approach. It's very important for your mental health to be able to differentiate between an actual sign or something that is completely normal for humans. For example twin flames, this is a horrible ideology to fall into. If you're dating someone, and you become obsessed with them and you convince yourself they are your twin flame, but then the relationship starts falling apart and you feel like your pressured to stay in that relationship because you still think they are your twin flame, thats awful! Twin flames don't even exist! It is simply an unhealthy mindset that can keep abusive relationships going. If you're curious about which things to believe in and which things to avoid a good rule of thumb is if it makes you feel bad or if it hurts people then don't believe it! What we believe in is ultimately a choice, you cannot believe in something you know and you cannot know something you believe, therefore, believe in things that dont hurt you or others. It's very Important to practice mental health while experiencing and learning about magic, It's very easy to fall into a cycle where you think every single thing is a sign and it can lead you to being very confused. It can be easy to fall into dissociation, depression and mania if you heavily fall into woo woo shit with no logical reasoning. Another example is people denying themselves medication because they think they can heal through magic, this is false, and it hurts prople.

2. Avoid cultural appropriation

If you're not Native American you are not smudging, If you're not jewish you shouldn't be working with a Lilith. Think of it this way, we have no scientific proof that magic or deities are real, but we do have proof the people that are affected by cultural appropriation are real and it does hurt them. Therefore you should care more about the people who are harmed by cultural appropriation then your personal desire to do something in a closed culture.

3. BE SAFE

Don't put essential oils directly on candles, don't burn cinnamon, don't accidentally eat toxic plants, don't leave candles unattended. Practice basic fire safety and food safety. Some herbs in witchcraft can be toxic for pregnant people, and fine for others. Do your research.

4. Your path can be unique

As long as you are not being culturally appropriative or hurting people, you can practice however you damn well please. You don't have to follow every single rule in a book. You don't have to cast a circle every time. You can charge things in many different ways like singing or with your hands or with dancing, even playing an instrument. Your path and your practice can be completely unique, if something isn't working for you change it, have fun.

These are pretty much the most important things you need to know about witchcraft.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Ben Appel

Published: Dec 26, 2023

In 2021, Harvard evolutionary biologist Carole Hooven stated on a television news program that there are “two sexes” and that “those sexes are designated by the kinds of gametes we produce.” She added that “understanding facts about biology doesn’t prevent us from treating people with respect” when it comes to “their gender identities and use [of] their preferred pronouns.” Afterward, a Harvard graduate student, in her official capacity as director of the Human Evolutionary Biology Department’s Diversity, Inclusion, and Belonging Task Force, tweeted that Hooven’s “dangerous” and “transphobic” remarks made the department unsafe for transgender people. The Graduate Student Union took out a petition against Hooven, and, since no one would agree to serve as her teaching assistant, she had to discontinue her popular lecture course. This past January, under duress, Hooven retired from her position at Harvard.

More recently, I heard Hooven speak at a conference in Denver. She talked about academic freedom and her dedication to creating a just society. She said something I believe: that the truth is the way toward true social justice, and that the truth is what ultimately alleviates human suffering. After Hooven left the stage, I tweeted my thoughts about what she said, concluding, “Yep, I’ll die on that hill.” A Twitter user, in a now-deleted series of replies, responded, “Wish you would then. And quickly.” Later, this person elaborated, “Cis white conservative gays can all d*e. Please do, no one likes you.”

This might be the first time I’ve been called “conservative” for voicing my support of the truth and social justice. Right-wing homophobia is nothing new, though the enmity for “cis white gays” like me from the other side of the aisle has sadly also become widespread online. Here’s a very small sampling:

“[C]is white gay men are the weakest links and idc who knows it.” — @ann_forcino.

“ur rave wasn't ‘100% queer joy’ it was a warehouse party full of white cis gay men who want to dance and fuck each other lmfao [...] “that's not queer joy, that's f^g joy.” — @Maxies_back

“Chelsea and Hells Kitchen, more so than other neighborhoods in New York, produce nothing better than prissy, entitled cis White Power pretentious gay men, who don't respect diversity, or the rule of law.” — “LGBT for Change”

“Maybe they were right all along and white cis gays really do go to hell.” — Jerry Falwell @obssdwmlp

“Behind every bad man there is an even worse cis gay white man.” — @ANIMETWTDNI

“We need to realize that gay cis white men are still cis white men.” — @pettypiedpipertake

“Maybe homophobia against cis white gay men is valid.” — @heartIwin

“Noah Schnapp is also evidence that gays will truly go to h£ll. especially a cis white upper class gay like i genuinely, genuinely mean that and i’m sorry if that comes off as problematic.” [Schnapp is a 19-year-old Jewish gay actor who has spoken out in support of Israel in the wake of the October 7 2023 terrorist attacks.] — @brat6z

 “I love it when white gays erase the trans and black side of this flag [...] You faggots deserve to get hatecrimed to death.” — @daredevilshill_

Writing for The Nation in 1994, the gay playwright Tony Kushner argued that homosexuality and socialism are intrinsically linked. Homosexuals, he wrote, “like most everyone else, are and will continue to be oppressed by the depredations of capital until some better way of living together can be arrived at.” Kushner lamented the growing number of gay activists, like Andrew Sullivan and Bruce Bawer, who advocated a more pragmatic approach to equal rights. The radical contingent of the LGBT community has long pejoratively described these types of gay and bi people — those who prioritize marriage equality, the right to serve openly in the military, and peaceful inclusion in Western society — as “assimilationist.” Real gay liberation, the radicals argue, will result from razing Western civilization and its capitalist, cisheteropatriarchal system and rebuilding it in their utopian vision. Like the gay journalist Donna Minkowitz once said to Charlie Rose, “We don’t want a place at the table — we want to turn the table over.”

The thing is, the pragmatic approach won. Today, gay, lesbian, and bi people get married, serve proudly, have jobs, own homes, and raise families. Like black civil rights leaders who preached nonviolent protest and a politics of respectability, discerning LGBT activists took the long view. We don’t want to exist on the margins of society, they insisted, we want to participate in it. LGBT people, just like black Americans, are a vital part of the fabric of this nation.

But the radicals haven’t taken this defeat lying down. After the 2015 Supreme Court decision in Obergefell v. Hodges, which made marriage equality the law of the land, the radicals pounced. “You got what you want,” they seemed to say. “Now it’s our turn.” LGBT rights organizations, either under the influence of impatient extremists or in an attempt to stay relevant (i.e., donor-worthy), refocused their missions to a form of revolutionary activism that purports to fight on behalf of trans people but in practice agitates for a revolt against Enlightenment ideals, liberalism, capitalism, and even basic biology.

Every LGBT organization seemingly became an extension of a university Gender Studies department, whose purpose was not to produce new knowledge but to interrogate — or, in their academic lingo, queer — existing knowledge which they spuriously associate with “whiteness”, colonialism, and Western patriarchy. Alongside this, a new social hierarchy of disadvantage was erected, where everyone was in competition to be the most “marginalized” — and therefore deserving of resources, a voice, and power in the revolutionaries’ value system. According to that value system, being gay or bi seemed to matter far less if one were also white, cis, and male, and therefore deemed to be in cahoots with the oppressors.

In 2017, while I was a student at Columbia University, I interned for GLAAD, one of the largest LGBT organizations in the US. Not only had their mission absorbed this new orthodoxy, it had filtered down to the interpersonal level. On campus and at GLAAD’s offices, I was regularly called “cis” in a kind of sneering, vitriolic tone that reminded me more than a little of the bullies who called me “fag” in middle school. The oddest thing was that much of the vitriol was coming from people who didn’t seem to be LGB, or even T, but who identified only as nonbinary or “queer.” Many of the people I encountered seemed to be profoundly homophobic. Any gay or bi man that didn’t at least adopt he/they pronouns, especially if they were white, was considered assimilationist, right-wing, traitorous upholders of the evil sex binary.

I never quite got used to being eyed with suspicion by other activists for my normative, gender-conforming appearance, or the constant bad-faith interpretations of anything I said. The only cis white gays spared this unfairly cold treatment were the ones who made a public show of being self-hating — the ones who renounced their “cis white gayness” and frequently apologized for their white privilege.

It was alarming to be on the receiving end of such vitriol simply for being myself — for not shaving one side of my head, painting my nails, piercing my septum, and adopting plural pronouns. It was alarming especially because so much of the hate I received when I was young came precisely because I was way too sex-nonconforming (in fact, in middle school, my classmates would often ask me if I was a boy or a girl). I wondered if my peers cared that I had been mercilessly bullied as a gay kid, or that I had worked on a trans rights anti-discrimination campaign when they were barely teenagers. I knew that my volunteering for marriage equality wouldn’t earn me any points, since marriage was to them an antiquated Western institution and part of an “assimilationist” agenda. This attitude has become so entrenched in LGBT activist spaces, I suspect it partially explains why support for same-sex marriage among Gen Z Americans has dropped from 80% in 2021 to only 69% in 2023.

Last year, I got a little more clarity about this issue when I came across an article, also written in 1994, by Stephen H. Miller. The publishing journal, Heterodoxy, titled it “Gay-Bashing by Homosexuals,” although Miller’s original title was “Gay White Males: PC’s Unseen Target.” In the late 1980s and early 90s, Miller chaired the media committee of GLAAD’s New York chapter. In fact, Miller came up with GLAAD’s mission statement, which was to “fight for fair, accurate and inclusive representations of gay and lesbian lives in the media and elsewhere.” In the article, Miller wrote that he was “purged” from GLAAD in 1992 because he objected to the rising political correctness and censoriousness in the gay, lesbian, and bisexual movement. Similar to the cultural shifts of the past decade, Miller recounts how activist organizations began prioritizing race and gender (and of course, the Correct political views) over individual merit. New staff members had to attend “endless sensitivity sessions” which “identified white men (whatever their sexual orientation) as the oppressor class.” Suddenly, it seemed like there was more antagonism towards the “white males” within the LGBT rights movement than without. Miller, who described himself as a ��political moderate who believed in dialogue with the straight world and a good-faith search for common ground,” found himself “shunned.”

The race and gender quotas that LGBT rights organizations began adopting, Miller wrote, included weighted voting that favored women and people of color. For example, after regional delegations of organizers for the 1993 March on Washington for LGB rights failed to achieve their quotas, it was decided that women’s votes would count for three votes apiece and non-white votes would count for two votes apiece. That decision — and the many others that have since followed in LGBT activist spaces — calls to mind some dark and creepy moments from American history best learned from rather than imitated.

Of course, this also raises the question: Who decides who is a person of color and who is white, and how? Will they apply the one-drop rule, the early 20th-century legal principle that deemed any American with even one black ancestor (“one drop of black blood”) as black? I suppose that would be illegal since the Supreme Court outlawed the one-drop rule in its 1967 Loving v. Virginia decision. And yet, I’m not surprised by these backward tactics. It was Ibram X. Kendi who recently wrote, “The only remedy to past discrimination is present discrimination. The only remedy to present discrimination is future discrimination.” Around and around we go.

Then as now, as Miller wrote, anyone who challenged this illiberal orthodoxy was “deemed racist and sexist” and accused of harboring the belief that “white men are the main victims of discrimination.” Naturally, Miller notes, such accusations serve to discourage people who sense this hostility toward gay white men from voicing their dissent.

Then after AIDS decimated gay and bi male activist communities, lesbian radical feminists moved in, and a “critical attitude toward men, male sexuality, and ‘the patriarchy’” became the norm. “Male solidarity, once a hallmark of gay liberation, is now anathema.”

A direct line can be drawn from this upheaval in the early 1990s and the divisiveness in today’s LGBT activist spaces, where “cis gays” — and, in particular, “cis white gays” — are seen as upholders of villainous Western cisheteropatriarchy and its henchman capitalism. These modern activists are sure to include “white” not only out of an animus against white people, but because they assume that all people of color are helpless victims of Western capitalism who, because of their oppression, invariably hold the “correct” far-left politics. In his aforementioned article, Kushner invoked Oscar Wilde, quoting “A map of the world that does not include Utopia is not worth even glancing at.” He added that he is “always suspicious of the glacier-paced patience of the right.” Writing for The Advocate, the gay writer Bruce Bawer responded that he and so many others are “impatient with models of activism that involve playing at revolution instead of focusing on the serious work of reform.”

This anti-“cis white gay” attitude proliferates in LGBT media as well. “White Gay Men Are Hindering Our Progress as a Queer Community” was the title of an article published in the magazine Them. “You had your time — now, we have other things to fight for,” read the subhead. “Let's Talk About People That Aren't Young Cis White Gay Men,” a HuffPost article was titled.

I could go on and on.

A few years ago, I attended a conference for LGBT journalists. There, I met a young, white, gay writer who would go on to work for a progressive news outlet in New York. He said his upbringing in a Southern state had made him racist, but since then, he has “trained” himself to be attracted to black and brown people, and now black and brown people are the only types of people he wants to sleep with.

If this is the “progressive” strategy for combating racism, I want no part of it. And any liberal cis white gay person who opposes racism won’t either. This is racism, operating under the guise of “anti-racism”, plain and simple. It attempts to end inequality by inverting it and, in the process, is attacking the foundations of the principles that have enabled the remarkable progress our society has made in transcending bigotry and prejudice. I only wish more people who saw this dogma for what it is were unafraid to voice the truth about it.

==

Homophobia and anti-gay hate are alive and well as progressive virtues.

[bloodyscarab]

Moon Knight Mystery Swap!!

hey! here's a fic i wrote for @fdelopera for the 2023 moon knight mystery swap! very belated חנוכה שמח!

so grateful to have participated in this, and as a jewish system i felt incredibly lucky to have been able to write about the feeling of being a jewish system around the holiday season for another jewish person! thanks for this prompt and thanks to @tiptapricot for putting this on!

rededications of dedication

word count: 1.1k rating: g prompt: mcu moon knight system celebrating hanukkah, but each alter has a different idea on what to do, but while writing this turned more into the mcu system celebrating hanukkah, showing what each alter did to prepare. oops! final notes: slightly angsty in the middle, but a happy ending! small mentions of struggling with religious identity. generally jewish stuff that i don't aim to explain for the uninitiated. based slightly on my own system experience + how our system engages with religion. cheers!

---

in the system, it was jake that first engaged with the idea of hanukkah.

the concept of celebrating hanukkah had grown into a distant fog in the years since the system had left home. religion itself was not the issue, but the time and space in which hanukkah resided always felt distinctly hollow. the winter holiday season always left them with a bitter burn.

hanukkah wasn’t necessarily about the family. they all knew that. but it wasn’t a transgression to want someone to pray with, to watch the candles’ dancing brightness with, to recount embarrassing memories of hanukkahs past with.

jake had proposed the idea internally because layla that had inspired it externally.

“did you ever celebrate hanukkah, as a kid?” her eyes were scanning her phone as marc laid next to her in bed, back turned and eyes closed. the room was dark aside from her phone screen.

he hummed inquisitively, turning to face her. “why?”

“just looked it up because i was curious. it starts next week. i thought it would be cool if we could do something.”

“i did used to celebrate, but not for years.” marc wanted to expand on the statement, but every memory he tried to reach for felt as though it was only pulling itself further away from his grasping hands.

“do you wanna do something?” her voice softened, like she could witness the mental struggle in his face. “we don’t have to. it was just a thought.”

“i don’t know. i’d have to think about it.” it was such a simple answer that only seemed to hold multitudes of further questions. she nodded with a hum and looked back to her phone.

steven wanted something that he felt he could excel at.

he took to research on the prayers and traditions a part of him thought he ought to know without looking them up. the prayers he found felt clunky on his lips at first, like he was hitting square blocks against circle pegs. he understood only vaguely that the language had once felt circular before, that his mouth had, at one point, not felt square.

it was important for him to get those kinds of things right, and he knew within himself that it felt important only to him. he knew that marc didn’t mind, he knew that jake already knew, he knew layla wouldn’t mind. yet he struggled with each word, getting the pronunciation of the chet just right, letting the spacial vowel between the dalet and the shin hang for just the right amount of time, just for himself. it gave him a purpose for the moment, for his time out.

he was the one that looked for a hanukkiah, in a joint effort with layla. marc had imagined something rather plain and uninspired, while steven and layla pushed against the idea. the pair chatted over layla’s laptop for hours over ideas: surely electronic ones were too cheap and far from the original story, a thick olive wood one seemed too grand, a silver one with long and elegant intertwining strands felt just slightly too ornate. then there was the prices; then again, what was hanukkah but a celebration, an excuse to buy and use something expensive, ornate, heavy with artisanal craftsmanship and centuries of tradition? marc only listened in, intense conversations in the next room over that he could absorb in the louder chunks, but not entirely.

marc had been more interested in the understanding of his own history. asking jake for some kind of exchange of memory felt like walking across a glass bridge under a dark abyss, trusting in one another to not let the other look down.

jake’s stories felt only somewhat familiar to marc. each memory felt fragmented, split into a narrative marc remembered and a narrative jake knew to be true. marc was surprised with the amount of things he thought to be routine that he learned from jake. jake remembered things like the murmuring of marc’s father in his study, reading over the hanukkah halakha. he remembered things like watching marc’s mother taking time to wipe the wax that dripped down the hanukkiah branches just before sunset, the sky’s pink hue bathing her features in a glow that made her look less angry, less tired.

marc had the instinct to hide from the memories, to run across the chasm between him and jake and shatter the transparent bridge. he ached with a feeling of profound loss. he was faced with the seemingly endless times he missed those moments that connected him to deeply to his identity, the moments he now realized were missing in a way he wanted to recapture.

it stung in a way he could not quite place that jake did not just hold the memories he could not bear to carry, but also ones where he had been content, if not still balancing softly on an undercurrent of imminent destruction. the stinging became a quest, a want for versions of the feelings that jake held onto for marc alone.

jake suggested hanukkah because he wanted it. marc was jealous, in some respects, of jake’s assuredness. some of the prayers still hung from his lips, tucked into his cheeks to be used whenever needed. jake knew about hanukkah in a way that was admirable simply for his memory. he remembered their father’s recountings and readings of maccabees, held firmly to the power of the visual of jews with agency, power, self-confidence.

hanukkah was more than just lights on a windowsill, more than simple stories that echoed through bones of generations, and jake knew that best.

before the first sunset, it was jake’s hands that unpackaged the hanukkiah, placed it on a small plate to catch wax like their mother had done. it was marc’s hands that lit the shamash, touched it against the first candle. it was steven’s voice that recited the prayers, slowly, methodically, like he had practiced.

and it was layla that sat the longest at the desk, letting the warmth of the light rest against her as she sat on her laptop until the columns of wax were redistributed into drips and puddles. the light from the flames radiated off of her face and curls in a way that marc felt comforted by.

when she crawled into bed beside him, he hummed at her like he did the week before when she suggested celebrating hanukkah in the first place.

“still a good idea?” she whispered.

“yeah.” she could hear his gentle smile in the dark through his words. “glad you suggested it. you seem to enjoy it, too.”

“of course i do.”

“seven more days,” marc mused, a tone in his voice that held an air of sadness at the transience of the positive feelings of the holiday.

“seven more days. until next year.”

“yeah. until next year.”