Because it is. Many moons ago while backpacking in Europe I wound up explaining to some new German friends Kosher food. Not how it works, but that it exists. They knew absolutely nothing about Jews and Judaism - and there was no reason they would. The certainly felt pain over what their grandparents generation had done, but they knew nothing about who and what had been destroyed.
I hadn't really thought about it before, but it makes sense that with all the Nazi war crimes trials over with, extremely few Jewish people would ever have reason to return to Germany. I don't imagine Historic Jamestowne gets many Native American visitors for similar reasons.
One of the main reasons there are almost no Jews in Poland is because the Poles were so enthusiastic about killing Jews. It didn't make those who survived very nostalgic about their hometowns and the neighbors who had pointed them out to the Nazis.
My (devout atheist) father learned the Hail Mary because apparently the ability to recite it got you into Catholic School dances in Cincinnati in the early 60s.
I would totally go to an Episcopal church for the ritual and music, but I would feel really bad because I don't believe in god, so I don't. Except to the festival of lessons and carols at Christmas, because, music.
My (devout atheist) father learned the Hail Mary because apparently the ability to recite it got you into Catholic School dances in Cincinnati in the early 60s
My dad is very amused that everything I know about Catholicism is which bits have been "borrowed" for ritual magic. Not that ritual/Ceremonial Magic(k) is my thing, because it's waaaaay too reliant on memorization and geometry.
New French press achieved.
Unfortunately, in attempting to pack up my Travel Aeropress Kit i got part of the grinder stuck in the plunger. So now I am trying to MacGyver it back out instead of working.
Jilli's dad is indeed awesome, and Luther-like! And we're grateful because he helped give us Jilli!
when he's trying to go to sleep, he'll still recite the Our Father and other prayers in his head, because the ritual is still soothing.
When I was little, we'd visit relatives who lived in the mountains, invariably on weekends, and attend church with them on Sunday. I have such nostalgia-tinted memories of small white-painted churches, surrounded by huge green trees glimpsed through pointed clear-glass windows, while the congregation sang traditional hymns, kept more or less on key by the piano. There are times when I'm feeling swamped by life, or low and helpless, when those memories are bright and pleasant. I have the urge to seek out a small church some Sunday and slip inside to join in hymn-singing. Even though I'm aware that it would not match my memories, either in beauty nor in comfort.
Gave up. I have tools at home that will make this easier. I guess I can do some actual work.
The Methodists have some of the best hymns ever. Excellent training for a singer.
Learned my harmony in church. Musical harmony, anyway. And singing different melodies at the same time, which can be tricky if you've never done it. I can still sing the descant to Silent Night, which is a whole different song, thanks to church.
