Yesterday was Rosh HaShana, the Jewish new year (well, so is today, if you are of a more religious bent, but as it happens we are not that way bent). Last year, mere weeks after arriving in Toronto, we attended High Holiday services hosted for many hundreds, possibly thousands, at the Jewish Community Centre quite close to our house. This plan made sense then, as both sets of grandparents had descended on us and we were a rather unwieldy mob of disparately adherent Jews. We enjoyed the services but felt like very small fish in an enormous pond-- however wonderful to see how full that pond was, after the puddle in which we splashed in Brighton. (Sorry, I have beaten that metaphor right into the ground. Or perhaps I drowned it.)
This year we tried a different, and smaller tack: the Danforth Jewish Circle. We knew a few families there and ran into some unexpected familiar faces as well; always a good feeling. One part of the New Year service involves reading from the Torah, an honor generally bestowed on particular people. At the DJC, while such individuals did the actual recitation, segments of the congregation were invited to step to the front and to join in the aliyah, joining the blessing over the Torah. These divisions were defined by our relationship to uncertainty. Have you struggled with uncertainty in the past year? Or, have you embraced and relished it? Or, would you like to learn to live with and love uncertainty? I had to declare myself. In the end, I went with the middle group: I think I've spent this past year very much embracing the sense of being new, of not being sure of the route, of relishing the discovery of new people, places, and coffee shops. At least, I hope so. I fear that a critical review of these entries might not put my attitude in such a positive light (so I won't do it just at the moment).
Especially lovely was the DJC's 'tashlich' service in the late afernoon. This ceremony has something to do with dispatching one's sins and burdens while standing by open water. In this case the open water was a quarry pool at the Don Valley Brickworks, a revered Toronto location that we had none of us managed to visit yet. We very nearly didn't visit it this time as we became extremely lost. After abandoning the car, finally, in a neighbourhood of vast houses (I quickly added 'real estate envy' to my list of sins to be discarded) we wound our way down through field and wood to the former brickworks, where middle child spotted the congregation gathered by the pool. A heron joined us, standing silently by during the singing and talking, then taking flight as we did. (Can herons be Jewish? Sounds a bit close to 'Herod'. He was Jewish, I believe. Herod, not the heron, that is.)
A less pleasant encounter with water this morning: yet more flooding in the blasted basement. Several boxes lost. Carpet muddy where I dragged the wet monstrosities out to the street (not a clever move). The property manager maintains I'm cursed and the basement haunted. This time they will try to put in a new door. I asked the manager she knew where our Persian rug might be-- she had taken it away after it suffered basement-linked water damage during the summer. 'Oh yes,' she said. 'It's still at the cleaners. He couldn't bring it back because his van exploded.' It's the curse.
Happy new year!
