Chag same'ach and Shana tova a tutti.
That's right, loyal reader(s?), your local fleekinfloygn posts are now available in Hebrew and Italian. I guess that makes me an Itali-Jew. That's catchy. Patent pending.
So mama just left. She was here for about 5 days with my grandmother, attending meetings and then chillin' 5770-stylez with me for Yom Kippur. It was actually awesome. In addition to getting on really well, she'd rented a car, which was AMAZING, though I'd never own a car in Toronto as my blood pressure would go through the roof (Incidentally, my blood pressure is 107/68 so take that, suckers).
It was a very synaoguey time with 5 hours on Sunday and over 7 on Monday. The music was incredibly beautiful, the sermons occasionally interesting and the liturgy presenting me with my same issues with the theology that I always have, though I think I'm coming along way with approaching it philosophically rather than literally. Also, one of the things about Reform I love is the way that they discuss transgression. In more traditional denominations, they pretty much just read a laundry list (what does that mean, anyway?) of things that made you suck; essentially a lengthy elaboration on the basic 7 sins, though I think they are themselves a Christian concept (Sandra?). Conversely, in Reform the approach in much more humanistic, adapted for modern times and insistent that we are all guilty of being douches at times (my term, not theirs) and that this atonement is both individual and communal, which I like very much. Some of the English readings are a bit fruity for me, but I think that's only because I feel that in synagogue, I want to mean everything I say, which ultimately is a good thing. There wasn't a lot of humour in this part of the weekend, what with it being the gravest day of the year and all, but, nevertheless, here's a rough representation of a tableau one might have seen:
Otherwise, adventures with mom were awesome, many of which included large gatherings of little-known family, all of whom were extremely kind but would inevitably would ask that same questions over and over again about my existence in their fair land. I suppose this is natural, but it is exhausting all the same.
My favourite MOMent came, however, not amongst family but strolling down Queen St. W on Saturday afternoon. We'd gone out to make some purchases for a gathering the night, she some wine, me some samosas from the local falafel eatery. As we walked home, it began to rain, so we shared her umbrella, trekking side by side. After a couple minutes, it became apparent that we were both getting wet thanks to size of the umbrella and the natural distance two people put between them whence a-strolling. Mom squeezed in, putting her hand on my waist as I held the umbrella over us both. I didn't think anything of it until my mother, loin of my fruit, says, "Oh, I wonder if everyone thinks I'm a cougar!"
Um, ew. Just...ew.