A colleague and I were comparing notes on how we socialize — now that Covid lockdown is over.
(We both don’t socialize in the same way that we used to. We are more…wary. That was the upshot.)
She said an interesting thing, though. She said, “I don’t feel like I deserve to be social anymore.”
And I could totally relate.
The fallout of the pandemic isn’t just that we don’t socialize; or, even, that we don’t want to socialize as much as we used to (aka “I don’t really feel like going out.”).
It’s that we kinda have internalized this sense that it just isn’t something we ought to do.
“Perhaps artists are porous to the emotional life experiences of others. Therefor your meaning is colored by this experience. I would consider your purpose the innate ability to metabolize the world to further nourish others. Which you have done for us— in this class! I have yet to see your work but I am certain it is marvelous in this ~illuminating~ regard”
… the innate ability to metabolize the world to further nourish others.
I wasn’t sure if she said this about her fellow student, or about me. I could totally take it as me, and feel great.
..algorithmically researched clickbait hubs. I mean, search up something important to you, something to which you want an honest answer (like about your health, for instance), and you will get the same five sites giving you fishbowl-like, recycled info that goes only so deep. Just enough to keep you clicking. “Magazines” that seem perfect for you.
I mean, is it just me, or has the Internet become a barely quantifiable cult-de-sac of sorta-information?
I call it “info-tainment.” Instead of actually learning anything, I am the one being “learned.” Algorithms are optimizing my own curiosity — and I Want Out of that.
Today I was talking with my kid, and I made some exasperated points about social media — people saying anything on the Internet — preposterous, conspiracy theory kinds of sh*t. We were talking, he and I. I said, “Are there more stupid people today than ever before, or what?”
He pointed out that there aren’t more stupid people these days than there were before. It’s just that now, the Gullible People are uniting with the stupid people.
Separating out the sets seemed to make sense to me.
What do you bring to a T’u Beshvat seder? I am copying some of this from Hadar, who hosts a great seder. It is really their content, and I am editing it slightly.
The T’u Beshvat seder moves through the Kabbalistic four-world model:
Assiyah: Earth / Action / Physical / Winter
Yetzirah: Water / Formation / Emotion / Spring
Atzilut: Fire / Emantation / Spirit / Summer
Briyah: Air / Creation / Thought / Fall
Each world has its own type of fruits, and wine associated with it. When you attend a seder, you are welcome, but not required, to bring them.
Here are some examples:
Assiyah: fruits with an inedible outer shell/peel (ex: banana, almond, pomegranate, orange) + white wine
Yetzirah: fruits with an inedible pit/seeds (ex: peach, plum, apple, date, cherry, olive) + white wine with a little bit of red (about ⅓ red, ⅔ white)
Briyah: completely edible fruits (ex: berries, figs) + red wine and white wine mixed more evenly (about ½ each)
Atzilut: no fruit, but you’re welcome to bring herbs or spices to smell + red wine (all-red)
You are welcome to substitute grape juice for wine in all cases!
Hadar goes on to instruct: “You’re invited to spend some time among trees in preparation for Tu Bishvat—even for just a minute!—and you may participate in and engage with this seder however you want. Some suggestions to help make your space and this experience special: Bring art supplies, light a candle, sit near house plants, gather objects that represent aspects of the four worlds. Or you can just show up and be present, no preparation needed!”
It occurs to me that I have a bio — separate from my secular one — of my Jewish experience, so to speak. Here goes:
Sarah Schmerler is a lay prayer leader at Kane Street Synagogue in Brooklyn. She also likes to attend services and learning events at such places as Shir Hamaalot (Brooklyn), Congregation B’nai Avraham (Brooklyn), Hadar (Online/Manhattan), and the Kohenet Institute (Online), among others. Both her parents were Jewish educators, who taught her that learning is lifelong; and she wants to thank Joey Weisenberg (Hadar, Rising Song Institute) for being her first prayer teacher.
Sarah started leading sabbath services at Kane Street in 2007.
Getting up before 7, and searching for coffee on a Sunday in Brooklyn means I ought to cut my losses. Walk down the street; expect every place to be closed. Roll shutters; or at best, locked doors, and chairs, stacked upside-down on tables visible through glass windows.
I know that Dunkin’ Donuts is THE best place, and also the only place. To be honest, I really liked the specialty coffee they discontinued 2 months ago called “Sunrise Batch.” And the replacement for it, “Midnight Batch,” is a decent consolation. So, yeah, Dunkin’ is actually fine with me.
I go. I order a Midnight and a couple starchy things. I tip the woman a buck. I wait. A few moments later the woman is shaking an empty urn and shouting at me. “No more Midnight,” she says through her mask, or at least I think that’s what she says over the machine and air conditioner drone. A man, her co-worker, nods. They point at a different urn. They point even more excitedly. “What is that?” I shout-ask. “Whawawle,” she responds. I ask again. The man shouts louder: “Guatemalan.” Oooh, I think to myself, that’s new. “Is that new??!?,” I shout/ask. “Yes!,” they shout/respond. “Okay!!” I say. I smile through my mask. My eyes light up. I take a sip.
Meh.
Kinda…watery.
I mean…it’s not bad. I bolster my disappointment. Hey, it’s special, right? It must be good to someone, even if I dislike it. I look up. There’s a label up above the counter I missed: “100% Guatemalan” it reads next to the regular coffee on the regular menu. That’s it? So is just normal coffee, re-branded? This new information shifts my mood-gears instantaneously. How silly can I be; I get happy or sad just based on a normal thing like this. I believe in unicorn coffees. Sigh. An adult would make the best of this, and I am an adult. I turn to go. Suddenly, I see a tiny label on another urn I wish I had not seen.
“Sunrise Batch.”
What?! No ads? They had it all along? I look around. No signs. I leave even more confused; even more adulting is needed. I summon it.
By the time I get to the corner, I have had a long conversation with myself. I have struggled. Here, briefly, is the result: One More Coffee Will Cost Me $2. $2 can buy me happiness. The embarrassment of walking back in is worth it.
I walk back down the block, swallowing my embarrassment while lidding my Guatemalan. I open the door. There is no one at the register. The woman is in the corner, and she is wiping some nasty gooey thing off a surface there that is just out of my vision. Ooh. I wish I had not seen that as well. “I would like a small Sunrise Batch” I say with as much conviction and normalcy that I can muster in my voice.
She hesitates for a nanosecond to take in my presence; she keeps the nasty thing in her hand while she touches the register with her pinky, delicately, and places in the order. (I guess my demand must have seemed to say, “Hold everything,” though I didn’t mean it that way.) She gives me my change (I am hoping, without touching it too much, but I kind of think she does, and you know what, I don’t even care). I tip her some more change. She says “Thank you,” over her shoulder as soon as it clatters in the tip jar. Her manner is sort of non-plussed. No judgeyness. It seems to say, Yes, this is what it is. And, yes, you, the customer, for ready money, can get what you want.
More intel. Are you ready?
Turns out, (I learn from the man, her co-worker, also masked, but a much louder shouter) that the Guatemalan IS the new specialty coffee. And that the Sunrise Batch has not been discontinued. I am in shock. I try to make his day. “At other locations it has been discontinued,” I venture meekly. “Well, here, it isn’t,” he responds. “Well, then, you have the best coffee in town!” I blurt, outta nowhere. Not the sort of thing I ever say. The guy seems to see me surprise myself. He smiles. “Would you like a tray for those?” he asks. “Yes, please.” I walk around Brooklyn the rest of the morning with a tray with two coffees. I am on a date with myself. I see some dahlias at a farmer’s market that hasn’t opened yet. They would be perfect for my friend, whose birthday it is today. “I know you’re still setting up, but could I buy those?” “Sure,” says the woman. I pay her. Now I have two coffees and flowers. I find a LuLuLemon Tote bag hanging from a brownstone fence. Maybe it is full of germs, but I can’t see them. It looks clean. I put the flowers in the bag.
I go to the park. I ask myself: for whom did I buy the extra coffee? For me. For whom did I buy the flowers? For my friend. And what do I get to enjoy? All of it.
For now.
Postscript: The coffees cooled. Until 11:30AM, the flowers are still in my possession. No one else showed up for my unicorn date. Maybe I just don’t know them yet. I can be wrong.
Sarah Schmerler 