#69 Happy Thanksgivukkah

Tonight at sundown, a little after 5:00 p.m., the Jewish Community of Bend sponsored the lighting of a giant menorah in the Old Mill Shopping Mall.  There was a small crowd (between 50 - 100 men, women and children) gathered in the Center Plaza near the foot bridge. 

I stood somewhere near the front of the crowd where I could see the stage.   Before the lighting of the giant candles, a couple of girls went through the crowd handing out chocolate Chanukah gelt and thin circular glow sticks that one could wear around one's neck, on one's head (like a halo) or use, like the two small boys next to me, like a sword.  As we waited for the ceremony to start, we listened to Jewish dance tracks.

2012 Old Mill Menorah from Temple Beth Tikvah website

Then the dance music cut off and I heard the Mall's sound system in the background playing a rock song about love in a voice reminiscent of Michael Stipe.  (Last year, the Mall's loud Christmas music created some cognitive dissonance during the menorah lighting.)  A young orthodox rabbi, complete with broad-brimmed hat, untrimmed beard, and payot, got up on a small stage in front of the giant menorah and spoke very briefly about the meaning of Chanukah, mentioning the Macabbees but moving more toward the contemporary vision by saying that Chanukah was like Thanksgiving because it was about gratitude and giving.  His view was similar to that expressed by journalist Joseph Cotto in the Washington Post when he wrote,

Hanukkah need not be a Maccabee-fest. Jews have celebrated the holiday throughout the ages as a vehicle for remembering righteous strength and courage. In a comprehensive historical sense, it has little to do with the Maccabees per se. Rather, it is a living testament to perseverance in the face of adversity and devotion to tikkun olam — repairing our broken world.

  After his brief sermon, the rabbi sang three blessings.  Some folks in the crowd sang along (I think sheet music was handed out to a few folks early on).  Then he lit the first "candle" (which was more like a torch).  After the ceremony was over, the crowd was invited to a small empty suite next to the multiplex where there were trays of jelly donuts and warming pans of latkes along with learning games for the kids and take-away menorahs, candles, and dreidels for which one could leave a donation.

I enjoyed the ritual (as I enjoy many religious rituals) and thought about past threats to the local Jewish community.  I remember when there was only one congregation here and they met in the basement of the Methodist Church.  One year the windows of the church were spray-painted with swastikas. Now the Jewish community is much larger.  Here are some sites of interest:

Chabad (Lubavitch) of Central Oregon

Temple Beth Tikvah:  A Reform Congregation

Congregation Shalom Bayit (Jewish Community of Central Oregon, Ben Tannen Religious School)

LY #62 News Rituals of Alzheimer's

I could write about how chaotic my public speaking class felt tonight and wonder what I would have done with it when I was younger, but instead I want to mention the rituals of news.

It was at the U of U of course that I learned of the ritual function of television news, how it served to express the horror of the day only to end with a human interest story that told us that no matter how wack things seemed, the people in power had control and we shouldn't worry because somewhere something good was happening to or being done by someone.  (For more on television as myth and ritual take a look at this 1987 Communication Research Trends review article.) 

I remembered this interpretation of the function of news this weekend while listening to an NPR story about Alzheimer's.  Pansy and Winston Green, a couple NPR has been following, are dealing with Pansy's Alzheimer's diagnosis.  The story is rather dark, as the disease has been progressing and even though she keeps her spirits up and fierce, her husband looks ahead into the darkness that he will be dealing with far more consciously than she will.  The story featured recordings from a planning committee of their local Alzheimer's association.  We hear one member of the committee struggling to find words for what he wants to say.  NPRs transcript quotes Winston:

"There is still fear," he says. "Not so much denial, but fear. ... You're with people that are that much advanced, and you're thinking, oh my gosh, this could be our journey."

He sees the future in the present of the other people there.  He has an honest fear.  His wife, however, is more optimistic.  She may imagine that she will be able to keep the control that she thinks she has.  The challenge for the writer is to allow both the reality and the optimism into the wrap up of the story. The award-winning journalist Ina Jaffe (one of my favorite NPR personalities) can do that.  She ends the story with these two sentences:

"The Greenes have spent 57 years accepting each other for who they are. They have no plans to stop now."

A happy ending for a dark story.  This vision, of the couple still whole, of that wholeness having a possible future, is a repetition of the "human interest" ritual ending.  Love offers a salvation.  For the moment.  The turn toward hope is a customary ritualized performance for American human interest writers.  Still.