In the continuing effort to enjoy writing, and to post it even if it seems marginally (or not at all) related to "breast cancer," below is my final bulletin article for the year:
Heirlooms
Are Not Always Old
During
the URJ (Union for Reform Judaism) biennial convention this year, there was, as
there always is, a wonderful exhibition hall with vendors selling anything you
can think of – furnishings for synagogues, software, books, jewelry, music,
artwork, insurance – beautiful things and useful things and, mostly things both
beautiful and useful at the same time!
As my family and I toured the hall the first day, we passed quite a few
tallit vendors. Some of them simply sold
ready-made tallitot, and some of them
were crafters offering custom work.
If
you have had a sixth grader in the past few years and have attended the tallit and tzitzit workshop with him/her, you have heard the story of my tallit.
It was my grandfather’s, and a few years ago my aunt, who had inherited
the tallit, passed it on to me. Her reason was that she knew he would be so
proud of the work I was doing. (Every
time I tell the story, and even as I write, her words bring tears to my eyes.) Now, I am genetically programmed, courtesy of
my mother, to be one of the most indecisive shoppers ever, so even though I had
considered wearing a tallit for many
years, the prospect of picking one out was just too much to bear. The timing of this presentation was, as they
say, meant to be.
My
grandfather’s tallit is a
shawl-style, very obviously made for a man.
That was okay with me, since it provenance was a part of its value to
me. However, it had come with a very
heavy silver atarah, or neckband, and
I had removed that, so it was missing “something.” As we visited the tallit vendors each day, I stopped at one particular stall and
asked the woman about just an atarah,
not a whole tallit – would she
consider creating that? She would, and
we went about designing this completely unique piece. (She would subsequently mail me fabric
samples and paint samples and drawings, and we exchanged numerous emails.) The only problem was, what would I want to
put on it? The most common prayer, the
one about being commanded to wear fringes, does not really apply to me. Other blessings did not seem to be quite
perfect, either.
I
talked to my husband, Rod, about it and we went back to the stall right before
the end of the convention, still undecided. One of the display tallitot had Hebrew wording on it that I
did not recognize, so I asked her what it said.
It said, “Pray as if everything depends on God; Act as if everything
depends on you.” This is one of my
absolute all-time favorite sayings, but I never knew what it was in Hebrew. Sometimes your decisions are made by the
power of bashert, of meant to
be. A few weeks later, my beautiful new atarah arrived in the mail, and I had a
blissful morning of hand sewing it onto my grandfather’s tallit. I sewed carefully
with pink thread to match the silk, making the smallest stitches possible, not
wanting to ruin this artisan’s work, but not wanting to use a machine because
for some reason I had to put “me” into it.
And now I have a tallit that
is my grandfather, and is me, and is truly an heirloom in so many ways.
As
we end another year of religious school, I hope that some of the
student-crafted seder plates and
Shabbat placemats and wooden Chanukah menorahs and challah covers become
heirlooms for your family. And I hope
that some of them come with you on May 20 to be displayed as cherished Jewish
family pieces, side by side with Grandma’s silver candlesticks or Zayde’s
Kiddush cup. My grandfather’s and my tallit will be there.
(Author's note: and yes, the atarah is pink for a reason.)
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