Dear Brandeis community,

 

I woke this morning to the familiar iOS harp jingle of my alarm, swinging my feet from bed to slippers, and slouched down the hall toward the kitchen, coffee, and my computer. It was the stuff of mindless routine (routine from the French route for road, the well-worn path); my body on autopilot.

 

But on this particular Thursday morning my mind was set at a different angle, and I observed each of these morning routines as they took place—with Theodore Roethke’s brilliant villanelle "The Waking" swimming in my head ("I wake to sleep and take my waking slow"). I was invited into this mindful practice by Jason Goldblatt, dad to Carly in 5th grade and member of our Budget and Finance Committee. As we do in many of our committees, we begin B and F meetings with a d'var Torah, and yesterday Jason interpreted this week's parashah (Metzora) through the lens of ritual—the rituals of returning people to the community after an illness, in the case of the parashah—but also the rituals of admissions, and our annual cycles of bringing people into the Brandeis community.

 

Jason's d'var was a surprising reminder that the quotidian work of school can be thought of through the lens of ritual. It brought to mind for me Victor Shlovsky’s notion that the work of art is the work of "defamiliarization"—of making the familiar unfamiliar, so that it can be perceived anew. I would argue that the Jewish practice of setting aside time (whether time for Torah study in a meeting devoted to numbers, or Heschel's notion of Shabbat as an architecture of time) is very much about defamiliarization—about making those worn paths new again, by virtue of changed attention.

 

Life was beautifully defamiliarized for me this past week when I finally sat down to read When Breath Becomes Air, Paul Kalanithi's incredible memoir. His is a story that has come into our collective lives this year—the young and brilliant neurosurgeon whose life was cut short by cancer—on NPR and elsewhere, and circulated among many in our community. Amanda Wulfstat, mom to Zoe and Jacob (and Sarah and Mira, not yet at Brandeis!), left the book on my desk with a note—"I hope it reaches you as it did me." The story was sad enough that I let it linger, but finally dove in after a conversation with another head of school who is dealing with a rash of terminal cancers in her school, and her appreciation for what the book offered in those moments. It certainly did reach me—it is sad, yes, but even more so it is profound and thoughtful, a heartfelt reminder to live each day with kavanah, with intention.

 

As a basketball fan, of course, last night was a night of the routine gone ritual, with our hometown Warriors writing an effervescent ending to a regular season for the ages, and Kobe Bryant in Los Angeles ending a career as only Kobe could, with 60 points on 50 shots. And this morning we’ll sit with our 3rd graders as they lead us in tefillah—a ritual moment of growth, leadership, and celebration for our community. In all of these moments I am reminded to take note, to remember, to appreciate, that there are so many stars in the firmament of our days—and how lucky we are for these reminders to lie back together and count them.

 

Wishing you all beautifully unfamiliar weekends, my friends.

 

Warmly,

 

Dan