Initially observed only by the elite and privileged society, proper etiquette reflected a person's level of breeding and refinement.
By the mid-20th century, the necessity for consistently polite behavior was no longer confined to the upper classes. Everyday Americans longed for upward mobility and career advancement, as well as socially acceptable neighborhoods, colleges, golf clubs and spouses. For starters, a few women — the self-appointed mavens of good taste — became the go-to experts with all the answers for puzzling personal and business scenarios.
Their influential books and newspaper columns included rules of conduct for countless everyday activities — eating, drinking, working, entertaining, writing letters, attending funerals, smoking cigars, getting married, riding escalators, giving gifts and more. Their sage advice emphasized respect and consideration for others, highlighted graciousness and honesty, and underscored common sense.
Today's vast array of etiquette books include Table Manners for Teenagers, That Was Awkward, and Etiquette for Dummies. Nice — but why usurp precious magazine pages to write about etiquette? Stay tuned, please.
I learned the rules of proper behavior in my public elementary school, starting in grade two. We stood up when an adult entered our classrooms, never interrupted grown-ups engaged in conversation, ascended the hall staircases in ladylike fashion and spoke politely to classmates and teachers. Our learn-to-read curriculum also included beautifully illustrated etiquette booklets designed for children.
For me to acquire excellent manners and perfect grammar was mandatory — a non-negotiable! Why so? I was a poor, spunky first-generation kid who yearned to fit into high society, to mingle with all the beautiful people in the world.
I believed that knowing the codes of etiquette — gracious behavior and well-bred words — was my only ticket. Case closed.
In my Jewishly-muddled home devoid of authentic Torah learning and rabbinic guidance, I believed that the mitzvos (religious duties) were the codes of Jewish etiquette and similar to everybody else's.
Over 25 years ago, I became a Torah Jew. Suddenly, mitzvos occupied an overwhelming presence in every area of my life. In time, they became my life. The 613 commandments — some are designated for men, women, or both, and some only for the Holy Land. But all are designated for our refinement, healing, joy, spirituality, betterment, sustenance, growth and even the World to Come. The human body — mine included — contains 248 limbs and 365 sinews that correspond to the 248 positive and 365 negative mitzvos Breathtaking. Man-made etiquette changes like the whims of a virus — but mitzvos are eternal, as transcendent as the Almighty Who created them. My astonishment — to the moon! Some mitzvos spoke to me like long-lost friends.
Shabbos (the Jewish Sabbath) was a magnificent universe unto itself. Kosher food, lighting candles, baking challos (special Sabbath bread), bikur cholim (visiting the infirm), — everything was a profound achievement.
To understand that tzedakah — giving charity — was a life-saving mitzvah — and not a politically advantageous etiquette maneuver — was an alternate universe.
But other mitzvos felt distant, such as shaatnez — the prohibition of wearing a garment in which linen and wool are intermingled. Why so? Although I bought it, delivered it to the shaatnez lab, and retrieved it, a stranger did all the spiritual work.
The men-only mitzvos — tefillin, tzitzis, bar mitzvah — were fascinating yet also distant. Not my destiny. In His infinite wisdom, the Divine gave me the mitzvos vital for my unique actualization. As for the mitzvah of counting the Omer for 49 days, starting 16th Nisan, night of the second Seder in the Diaspora, and ending on Shavuos… Several weeks ago, I told a group of women that I have never counted the Omer.
United in shock, as if I were an anti-vaxxer, a pro-vaxxer or both, they exclaimed, "Never the Omer! Why not?"
"I'll get back to you on that," I glibly replied.
I never counted because I knew nothing about this mitzvah that felt so obscure. Research time. The Omer was the new barley off ering brought into the Temple: "When the grain is standing in the fi elds" (Deut. 16:9). My eyes glazed over. Not for me.
Born and bred behind my mother's store on a main downtown street, I never had a grass-filled lawn or flower-filled backyard — just sidewalks and parking meters. I felt disconnected from things that grew in the ground.
More research.
When I learned that counting the Omer was also called counting Sefirah, I reconsidered my hasty decision.
I always felt connected to our Sages' mystical explanations of the mitzvos even though my knowledge of their texts was far from extensive. With enthusiasm, I delved into the significance of these holy 49 days. Seven Sefiros denote the seven manifestations of the Divinr's Presence in our world as reflected in our seven shepherds — Abraha, Isaa, Jacob Moses, Aaron, Josef and King David — who possess the respective attributes of kindness, strength, beauty, victory, splendor, foundation and kingship.
All the shepherds, attributes, Sefiros are intricately connected to each other and shine in combination — yet each has its own unique light that shines alone. Throughout these 49 days, we can rectify the improper behavior that has tarnished our souls and enrich our character.
Every week for seven weeks we can reach a new spiritual elevation — receive a Divine energy boost — because a different attribute rules supreme. My research was just the appetizer to the tantalizing feast of information and inspiration yet to be discovered.
WOW! My deadline, 16th Nisan, no longer in the faraway future, was gnawing within. The spiritual stakes were so high. To do or not to do? Painstakingly, I read the many rules of counting correctly — and incorrectly. Truth to tell, I was terrified of starting and then getting it all wrong.
I feared that all my counting cues — yellow stickies on doors and walls, clangs of alarm clocks and cellphones — could not shlep me through the grueling 49-day trek. To quit was to fail, and in the lexicon of my heart, these two verbs were demoralizing. Throughout these momentous days, we also recall the 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva who perished in a lethal plague and we observe several mourning practices until Lag BaOmer, the 33rd day of counting.
Weddings, celebrations, haircutting, listening to music, purchasing and wearing new garments, and more are forbidden. Throughout my decades of Torah observance, these prohibitions presented insurmountable challenges for me and my non-observant family. But I never quit, never aborted my duty. Now, my challenge was me!
Like the awesome arrival of Ne'ilah on Yom Kippur — last call before the closing of the gates — the opportunity to count Sefirah with enhanced knowledge, reminder cues and supportive friends loomed large before me.
Everything begged for a speedy yes. My commitment to Torah Judaism is wholesome. I strive to live, learn and love it. My gratitude to G od is immense. I did not become an etiquette zealot or an ill-fated passenger on the spiritual Titanic. My awareness that everything...
"Linda, stop tap-dancing," I self-screamed, "Decide already! Count or no count?" For reasons both expressed and concealed... not this year. In Pirkei Avos (2:16), Rabbi Tarfon explains, "It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you at liberty to neglect it."
With the Divine's munificent blessings, may I joyfully start and grandly fi nish the counting of Sefirah . . . next year . . . in Jerusalem. Amen.
(COMMENT, BELOW)
Linda Shapiro is a contributor to HaModia: The Daily Newspaper of Torah Jewry, where this first appeared.