Week Sixteen (Idolatrous New Years?)

1. A Shiva Lingam in a Pretty Red Dress

While I had good intentions of joining a few other abroad jews this week for what turned out to be a rather short and sparsely populated Rosh Ha'shanah service (lacking a minyan it didn't take place in earnest), a late night and a later rise got in the way of such things. Instead, I spent the day primarily walking about under a blazing Indian sun, occasionally partaking of my (and others') religious whims. Before a go of rather universalist tashlich, a disowning of sins through the flinging of bread, I went with a friend for a dosa at our beloved and often frequented South Indian Club. After our normal go of things, after the saf/fennel was delivered to the table and the bill was paid amidst the seeds, the fellow who usually says nothing to us besides an exuberant "meals", "special", or the occasional "masala, cheese, etc...", simply pointed us to go upstairs, escorted by a small child. It was clear something was in the air besides a the normal smell of spice and sweat; while eating women had been gathering in the courtyard, sipping cha out of tiny pink plastic cups, looking profoundly satisfied. Without knowing exactly where we were going, but trusting out hosts on the quality of their dosas and the heartiness of their reception, we ended up in a large room with an even larger group of almost entirely middle age women sitting in plastic chairs facing a rather gaudily done up shrine, gossiping and taking little notice of the prayers being sung through two complimentary loudspeakers. Beneath the drapes of shiny plastic ruffles sat a veritable pantheon of gods, elephants, and happily smiling figurines, in attendance to what appeared to be a Shiv-Durga mash-up... a shiva linga done up with a little red and gold outfit, with a portrait of durga displayed behind. Simultaneously a exalted mash-up of the male and female, the paternal and the maternal, and simultaneously a stone penis in a dress. After our fill of banter and shiny things we left, picking up a ziploc baggy each of prasad and a saffron plastic bag filled with coconut, leaves, and a chunk of turmeric. I bought a loaf of "Atta-Shakti" bread - after returning the one that appeared to be full of a small contingent of ants - on the way to the nearby lake, where we proceeded to enjoy tashlich complimented by an at par number of stairs and a scenery of palm trees and concrete condominiums in the distance.

As I flicked the bits of bread into the water and snacked upon the grab-bag of prasad, I wondered more amusingly than seriously about how 'kosher' of a holiday I was conducting, considering the lack of proper hebrew prayer and its traditionally inappropriate replacement with an unexpected but rather satisfying jaunt of idolatry. I'm not quite sure of the answer, but I had to ask myself what is the meaning of a decree against idolatry outside of the context of age-old Canaan, within a world of unitarian monotheisizing Hinduism, in a post-Vivekananda India? Was my not particularly fervent audience before this funny mash-up diety on one of the high holy days an assault upon Jewish values and an action in need of atonement, pled for over the course of this week before Yom Kippur, or was it rather a completely acceptable universalist approach to the holiday, floating in the tides of the oceanic feeling of religion, replacing exact ritual yet preserving mindset and sacristy?