shebit, posts by tag: religion - LiveJournal

Shana Tovah!

and also:

Happy birthday zevemiel!!

I managed to get my suit made in time for Rosh Hashana (finished at about 11pm monday night, to wear on tuesday), and got lots of compliments on it, including being asked where I bought it. Considering it was my first attempt at making (non-costume) clothes since school, and by far my most ambitious sewing project ever, I'd call that a success.

I was so paranoid about the skirt being too small that I overcompensated and manged to make it too big, so I need to take it in, which is a shame because it means marring it with more seams, but it's about three inches too big, so it really does need adjusting.

The jacket needs a couple of hooks and eyes added to make it sit properly when fastened, but otherwise it's worked pretty well.

Having made a suit from scratch (to my own pattern), knocking up a few new skirts should be a doddle, especially if I don't want them lined (though even lining them isn't scary any more).

Yesterday was pleasant. I had intended to walk to shul, but it was raining and horrible so I jumped on a bus and managed to be there really early - when I arrived at about 9.30 there were only three women there.

The service was nice enough, though it always makes me homesick for my community back home - every community has a different style, different tunes etc. Still, I'll be with my parents at Kingston next week for Kol Nidre and Yom Kippur, so at least I'll be at my shul for the prettiest (if somberest) service of the year.

It's odd: I consider Brighton home now, and have gone to Hove shul for Rosh Hashana for the past four years (I think), know a handful of the younger congregation and have dinner with the rabbi once every few weeks, but I still very much consider Kingston to be my jewish community. I know everyone there, I've been part of it since I was four, went to sunday school there. Hove Synagogue is just somewhere I go when it's not practical to go 'home'.

Anyway, after the service I walked to the rabbi's place and had a nice lunch (and drank l'chaim over some single malt). I discovered that it's incredibly tiring to spend an afternoon with four under-fives. They never stop. When the cat's being a little psycho I can throw him out, but apparently you can't do that to a two year old.

There were the rabbi's three kids (and there's another six weeks away - by the end of the year they'll have four children under five and they're only around my age!) and the son of one of the guests, who's a week older than the rabbi's youngest. And a little baby psycho. He beats up girls. And bites. Though us grown ups¹ did all end up in fits of giggles when we had to warn the other kids "Careful, it bites! Run away!"

I finally said my goodbyes at about 5.30 because the others all had plans for the evening. I got home at about 6pm, discovered a cat sleeping in my bed² and collapsed. I don't think I moved for the rest of the evening other than to eat something and tidy away the sewing stuff - the lounge looks less like a sweatshop than it has for the past week, with fabric scraps everywhere and pins strewn about.


¹ When I say 'grown ups' I mean those over five years of age. The management would like to point out that the individual widely known as SheBit, despite what her identification documents might say, is not a grown up.

² Chad seems to have developed an obsession lately with sleeping in my bed. He hasn't slept in Moose Biscuit's in weeks, and if I've gone to bed with my door shut he'll scratch at it and mew pathetically until I let him in. He does make a nice foot warmer, though, and is entirely adorable when sleepy (he was less adorable on monday when I was trying to get my jacket finished and he was suffering from ADHD). Yesterday I woke with my legs apart and a kitty between my knees (a situation which always compels me to recreate the trash compactor scene from Star Wars - "Oh my God, they're screaming!") and this morning I woke with my ankles crossed and the Chad curled up in the little nook between my feet. He is made of adorable.

I had quite a busy weekend, which I'll post about later, but did anyone see the Cutting Edge on More4 last night, called 'The Dangerous School for Boys'?

The gist is that some pillock with no training as a teacher decided to set up his own public school (to translate for Americans, that's basically a very expensive/exclusive private school, the most famous of which would be Eton). He couldn't afford to do it here, so he bought up a crumbling old chateau in northern France and opened the doors five years ago.

Because the school gets no state funding (from the UK or France) it isn't subject to any state curriculum.

None of the staff actually have any training or qualifications as teachers.

Basically, the pillock wanted to create a school in his own personal image of how public school should be - all homoerotic games between the staff and the boys and important life skills like being able to recite the mass in Latin.

Wait, did I just call reciting the mass an important life skill?

Had I forgotton to mention that the pillock was a devout Catholic who'd been rejected by his local diocese when he'd tried to enter the priesthood?

Now, I have nothing against Catholocism or Catholics (I count one fairly devout one amongst my friends). I don't agree with their beliefs, sure, but so long as they leave me alone and don't try to convert me or tell me I'm going to hell - or that I murdered their saviour - I'm happy to live and let live. Each to his own. You worship God your way, I'll worship Him mine. What I do take issue with is teachin young boys (aged 10-16) liturgy, Latin and choir practice instead of actual subjects which would be necessary in their lives, and, more immediately, in getting anything resembling qualifications.

The school teaches no form of sex education and their RE is restricted to one religion. One of the boys (who really seemed to have his head screwed on) suggested that this was daft, because if they recieved no teaching whatsoever on any other religion then how would they relate to anyone from a different culture as adults?

Through all of this I thought that the pillock was just an idiot, and wondered how moronic the parents were to pay £9k a year to send their kids to this laughable excuse for a school. I mean, my friend who was a Carthusian always said that you don't go to public schoold for an education, but if you don't get that then at least at a real public school you get into the Old Boys' Network; Not only does this 'International College' have a tiny alumni, but I'd think that any of their boys would be laughed out of town by an Etonian or Carthusian for claiming to have gone to a public school.

As I say, for most of the programme I'd thought the pillock was just a misguided (and quite probably closeted) idiot and idealist. It was only later that I downgraded his status to evil scum. This was when he decided that a good lesson would be to allow a bunch of boys with zero experience and and a blunt axe to slaughter a bunny. The resultant debacle contravened several European laws on animal cruelty and slaughter, made one boy a vegetarian and had me crying (while squeezing a startled Chad) and yelling obscenities at the tv. I think I may have refered to the pillock, repeatedly, as an 'evil fuck'.

I'd never heard a rabbit scream before last night and I never want to again.

There are those who might call me a hypocrite for being so angered by such a sight when I regularly eat meat. I eat meat from animals which have died quickly and humanely, according to European law. Not from animals which have been bludgeoned to death, kicking and screaming, with a blunt instrument.

Evil fuck.

I really hope the school goes under (which looked imminant), and soon.

But I just have to ask, again, what kind of moron pays to send their child to such a place?

Questions from cucumbersarnies. If you want some questions just comment and I'll oblige.

1. What do you value most about being Jewish?
Good question, and one that's tricky to answer. I suppose the simplest answer is the sense of identity and community that it gives me. I have something in common with millions of people all over the world, who all share my beliefs and (variations on) customs. I suppose that could be said of any religion, though - if I were Catholic, I'd share that with a whole bunch of Catholics. So something specifically Jewish... one of the things which christianity did away with when it evolved from Judaism is the concept of the mitzvah. Christianity has a big list of specific sins but only a general idea of 'good deeds'. We have the mitzvah, which is sort of an anti-sin. Mitzvot can be general - like the mitzvah of tzedaka (giving charity) - but can also be very specific - the mitzvah of lighting Sabbath candles on friday nights. It's not all about sin - it's about doing things which are pleasing to God, whether it's because they help others or just because they are aspects of the religion.

2. What's your favourite meal to cook?
I rather enjoy making sushi - it takes time but is fun, and the results are yummy.

3. what is the most enjoyable fandom that you are part of?
My two biggest fandoms are Tolkien and Buffy (or Joss in general, because I've decided that Firefly is actually better than his previous output). While I'm more active in the Tolkien stuff day to day - running a handful of communities and constantly writing fanfic - I suppose that the Whedon fandom is more enjoyable because of the humour involved, and the pleasure to be found in people getting my constant quotes.

4. Favourite buffy season and why?
Easy - it's always been s2. While some of the best individual episodes fell in later seasons, and some much-loved characters (Wes and Faith) weren't around yet, the Angelus arc is still my favourite. The best baddy is the one who really knows you. Angelus knew how to really hurt her, and that was great to watch.

5. Tell me a piece of poetry that you like.
I studied the War Poets at school and fell in love with Wilfred Owen's 'Futility', which even features in this icon.

Move him into the sun —
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds, —
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved — still warm — too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?