.הכנסת השנה החדשה
Another long week has passed since my last post - sorry for the lack of updates.
This weekend was, as I described it in Hebrew class, שופ''ש אוחים (a weekend of guests). On Friday night, Jessica baked challah with a friend of ours from HUC, and then the same friend joined us later in the day to watch a movie and cook dinner. A second friend arrived just as our movie finished, and the four of us shared a delicious meal and pleasant conversation.
On Saturday morning, Jessica and I went to Shabbat services at the Conservative synagogue affiliated with the Conservative Yeshiva, which I always find meaningful. During the kiddush, we met Rick, who's thinking about applying to rabbinical school HUC or Hebrew College next year. He was an interesting fellow, and we invited him to join us for lunch. He agreed, and we welcomed him and three other friends to a potluck lunch filled with delicious foods.
Saturday night, we had our final guest, who came over for S&S (Snacks & Scrabble). That, too, was delightful. All in all, a wonderful weekend!
Sunday, for me, began a time of finally entering into the period of High Holy Days (after the long buildup over the month of Elul). We had special programming at HUC about Rosh Hashanah, including a walk-through of the Rosh Hashanah liturgy that I found very helpful in my own ability to appreciate and find meaningful Rosh Hashanah services.
I'm finding that the more I learn about the liturgy, the more meaningful I find it. One of my goals for this year (I forget whether I've written about it yet) is to become more familiar with Jewish liturgy and to strengthen my "prayer muscles." For so many years, I sat through services, finding certain parts engaging and others less so - but I never had an appreciation for the service as an entire unit (let alone Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur being a unit, let alone their being a unit with Sukkot, let alone their being a unit with Elul), and I want that to change. I think it's important not only for me as a rabbi but for me as a praying Jew to know what the service is, what comprises it, and how it can be meaningfully experienced. In some ways, I feel like I could have figured a lot of this stuff out already if I had taken the time in previous years, but on the other hand, at least I've decided to begin now ... and so far, I find my own expressions of faith growing with my knowledge.
For example, as I know more Hebrew now than I ever have (and I expect to be saying that every year for many years to come), I find that I can understand the prayers much better ... which is very handy here because we don't read a single word of English here in Israel even though we use the same Gates of Repentance machzor here as in the States. Knowing what the prayers are actually saying helps me follow the flow, feel comfortable where I am, and focus on what's being said in an impactful way. I can really focus in on the כוונה (intention) of the service and in turn, relate to the words.
So, what have these relations yielded? Here are some thoughts I've been having recently, inspired by Rosh Hashanah:
First of all, I want to highlight the latest progress in the development of my appreciation for Reform Judaism as normative and authentic. While theoretically, I believe that Reform Judaism is for Reform Jews as authentic as "orthodox" Judaism is for "orthodox" Jews, it can nevertheless be difficult to feel that way all the time. For example, when discussing with Jessica what do on the second day of Rosh Hashanah, I mentioned that I wanted to continue our series of HUC services or go to the Conservative synagogue that we like. She said that if we're not going to have an Israeli "experience," we should stick with HUC as it will probably be similar to Moreshet Yisrael. I agreed.
But in subsequent conversations, we've been talking about how our HUC services are just as Israeli as any other service in Israel. They're entirely in Hebrew, the sermon was given by a non-American, and the music has an international, though certainly Ashkenazi, feel. The real differences aren't Israeli/non-Israeli but rather Reform/non-Reform.
So, should one go to a non-Reform service to have an "authentic" experience? Of course not. Modern Reform Judaism is just as much a part of the continuum of Jewish practice as any of the dozens of brands of "orthodoxy" out there, and to top it all off, I find the Reform Jewish experience meaningful. Our services are intentional, not minimalist; moving, not fleeing. My teachers at HUC are extremely learned--some might say pious--women and men who have made Judaism their life's work, and I'm proud to follow in their footsteps. It's tempting, especially here in Jerusalem, to think of ourselves as doing things the easy way or finding the most basic way of praying, but I do not believe that that's what Reform Judaism is, and when I'm a professional practitioner of Reform Judaism, I look forward to carrying myself with just as much pride and authority as any other self-respecting Jew.
While in the area of organized religion, I had a thought this morning at services about one of the greatest values of religion. I was listening to Avinu Malkeinu, perhaps my favorite piece of Jewish music, and it was having its customary significant impact on me. After the petition ended, I mused about the ability of that music and the choir and the Hebrew words to have a transcendent effect on me, to remind me that the corporeal world is an illusion and that reality is much more complex than our human senses can know. Something about the music helped me realize that.
And I realized in turn that religion can have this effect on all of its participants if they're open to it. There are certainly people in this world who can have truly transcendent, spiritual experiences on their own or in smaller communities, but generally, people need help. Sometimes help comes through a parent, friend, or mentor or a group comprised of those people. Sometimes, help comes through a non-human intermediary. And sometimes, help can come through communities. In my case, my Jewish community is the beneficiary of thousands of years of trial-and-error, of intense debate, and of serious study. Hebrew has become a holy language because of the infinitely deep contexts it has collected, and my prayer in Hebrew in a community of Jews has the ability to transport me beyond myself and, through relation to other Jews, beyond this physical world.
So, religion--at least my religion--is extremely powerful. But it's also entirely dependent on community. My theology, though certainly influenced by countless external factors, is my own ... but my ability to relate to theos is almost entirely in the communal setting. I think that if I'm like a lot of people, this is probably the primary raison d'être of religion worldwide.
Thus, religion is for us. It helps us connect through one another to the spiritual realities that compose and transcend this world - and therefore, I believe, all of religion is really about us. As much as we describe God and thank God and petition God and ask God for forgiveness ... it's really all about us. We say אבינו מלכנו שמע קולנו (Avinu Malkeinu, sh'ma koleinu) - our Father, our King, hear our voice ... and yet I believe it's much more about koleinu than it is about Avinu Malkeinu. When I ask forgiveness from God, it's because I recognize that I've done something that needs forgiving. We're taught that one doesn't receive forgiveness unless one has resolved not to repeat the transgression - so, we come to God with a contrite heart and readiness to change. Therefore, the value in "being forgiven" is not simply to receive God's forgiveness but rather to have changed in response to recognizing our own wrongdoing. I confess to confess, not to be forgiven by God.
Now, does that mean that I shouldn't think about God during prayer? I don't think so. I believe that there is a God but that God isn't able to be comprehended on this level. Nevertheless, there can be no greater achievement than to relate to God, so we shouldn't just give up. On the contrary, we should try even harder to transcend "this level." If thinking about God as a King helps us to do that, that's fine. For me, I don't believe that God rules over our daily actions, but I don't mind calling God King in order to further a theology that supports and enables people's connections to God. And, by participating in that communal prayer, I also build bonds between myself and my fellow community members, and those bonds can be of infinite value to my person and my super-person.
Because active t'filah (prayer) always comes to an end, and what we have left are the pray-ers who are ready to go about their daily lives, now in a stronger relation to one another than before the prayer service. It reminds me of Avinu Malkeinu - the music soars and transforms and concludes with a congregational melody that lacks the awesomeness of the previous lines. Similarly, we can be transformed and transported during prayer, but we always have to alight back on earth and continue living our lives. And those lives are made richer -- and re-transformation is made easier --- through the lives of others.
This can also be reflected in Rosh Hashanah's placement in the calendar: 25In the seventh month, on the first day of the month, you shall observe a day of complete rest, a holy convocation commemorated with trumpet blasts (Leviticus 23:24). According to (a) tradition, God created the world on Rosh Hashanah, on the first day of Tishrei (the seventh month). On the first day of creation, before which the world didn't exist, it was the seventh month. Thus, six months would, theoretically, have been in the history of this first day of existence. Why wouldn't the world be created on the first month?
One response I've been thinking about is that the world begins in the middle. Our acts of transcendence during prayer are timeless, and yet they are couched in history. Similarly, when we emerge from these moments, we will once again resume relating to the world in a timebound fashion, waiting for the next new beginning. Just as we can understand God to be "day by day renewing the works of Creation," so can we understand the very "first" creation to have taken place within a context of קודמות ("previousness" - both Hebrew and English made up by me).
So, those are a few of my raw thoughts that this period of holiness has inspired in me. I hope to continue to generate thoughts along these lines during the upcoming weeks, and hopefully I'll be able to share them here. And, of course, I look forward to elaborating on these ideas in a more significant fashion as I continue my path toward the rabbinate.
In the meantime, I wish all readers a sweet and good new year, despite and because of all its contexts and aspirations.
Showing posts with label High Holidays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label High Holidays. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Cantors, Cooking, Cups, Concert, Camelot
About Rosh Hashana Services: It is in writing about moments such as these that I realize that language is inadequate - or that I don't have the skill to shape my words in such a way that you can understand the full majesty of what we experienced. Seated in a high-ceilinged room at HUC, from whose Eastern wall, made entirely of class, we watched the sun as it set (last night) and ascended (this morning) over the Old City, we listened to and joined in services of such magnificent music that it quite literally brought tears to my eyes. These cantorial students, these people with talent so great, their voices rang out so purely and fully together that they seemed like the heavenly host of angels praising G-d that we read about in the high holiday liturgy. It was especially moving to hear some of our friends, cantorial students, whom I'd never really heard sing, sharing and bearing themselves in front of the congregation and really sanctifying the day with their gifts and their passions. I felt like a guitar that had been strummed and I'm still resonating, within me I'm filling up with music and sound, waves that flow upwards and outwards and fill the whole of me.
In addition to the pheonminal choir of cantorial students, we also had the honor to hear Cantor Eli Schleifer, the director of the cantorial program in Jerusalem. His passion was matched by his control of the music, and his ability to connect the music to the words of the prayers to enhance and elevate the entire experience. He read the Akeidah, speaking the words of G-d and of Abraham with a bold, deep commanding voice, and the words of Isaac with a voice so tentative, so unsure, that he was transformed himself into a timid son following a half-crazed father in search of his G-d at the expense of his own lifeblood. There were so many powerful moments in his prayers, that I simply cannot recount them all. When he sang of mortality his voice began strong and softened until it was a tiny star in the vast, dark, heavens. All of his words, all of his prayers, were so deliberate, so artful. There wasn't a single misplaced note or syllable, not a single word that seemed to be sung by rote or out of obligation to the tradition - all was sincere, all was in a spirit of atonement and celebration, of truly marking life by the seasons in which we live it, by the emotions we experience, and by the limits of our physical bodies and the limitlessness of our souls.
I wish all of you could have been there. It was grand but also participatory, it was awesome, but also down-to-earth, it made me feel as though praying was a holy endeavor, while reminding me that prayer is also a vehicle and a vessel that needs to be brought out of the synagogue and carried around as part of every day life. If I can bring the service with me as I embark on the ten days of tshuva, I will have accomplished much.
Daniel and I were just discussing how difficult we find the ten days of tshuva, because we aren't sure what they mean and how we should act during those days. For instance, is it enough to say to everyone "If I have done you any wrong this year, I am sorry"? Or is that sort of a cop-out as you aren't personally probing to try to remember the wrongs you have committed and you aren't making yourself vulnerable to others by admitting your imperfections? And what if you honestly can't remember something that you did wrong? Or what if you can remember it but it really was just a small thing, and you think it would do more harm than good to bring it up again? Exactly what are we to do during these ten days? Another question is to what extent should we force ourselves to be better people for just these ten days? If I want G-d to judge me for who I am, perhaps I shouldn't change my behavior for ten days, perhaps it is dishonest. Or, perhaps I can take these ten days and try to change and improve myself, nad maybe some of it will stick into the next year. It's like a trial period for New Year's Resolutions - and surely if you do something every day for ten days, it is likely to make an impression on you, and affect your behavior at least in some small way for the rest of the year. I don't know, but I do know that it is important to try to be the best version of yourself at all times, and perhaps focusing on that for ten days will help with focusing on it throughout the year.
As the New Year is beginning, the weather is changing and we're beginning to feel a cold breeze settling on the city of Jerusalem. It will stay, and the sun will seem rarer, and it will be harder and harder to find warmth in the city. It seems like a hard time to begin a New Year - not in the spring when we can rejoice in the warmth of the sun and in the personal freedom that summer offers, but at the cusp of the rainy season, when we are chained to our umbrellas, slaves of our galoshes. But, perhaps too the rainy season is an appropriate way to begin the year, as it is the start of the agricultural cycle, and I am praying for a year that bears plentiful fruit, a year that grows toward the sun, a year that blossoms in vivid colors.
--------------------------------------------
We began our preparations for Rosh Hashanah with cooking, which is itself a deeply spiritual activity. A very wise person once told me that the action of knitting, a practical, creative endeavor of craftingthe long and narrow into the full, soft, and warm, was one of the most spiritual activities that life offers. I'm not sure if that holds true for me, but I would say that I can apply the same to cooking. I love the mysterious way that artcan be created out of the very stuff of the earth - the grain and the leaf, the fruit and the nut. We baked a splendid honeycake in preparation for the holiday. It is rich, dense, and fragrant, with candied ginger, cloves, and nutmeg. We're hoping to have some friends over tomorrow after services to share it with us. For today's potluck lunch, we made a simple yet elegant dish of mushrooms in olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and white wine, and for the potluck dinner we are attending tonight, I tried to replicate the lasagne recipe that Paola taught me a few weeks ago. We spent most of the day yesterday cooking and shopping for food. In addition, we decided to splurge on some items we've been sorely missing: a challah cover, candle sticks, a vessel for ritual hand washing, a set of cups, a set of serving bowls, a steamer, and four mugs. Everything was on sale because of the holiday season and was quite reasonable, and we are pleased at the idea of leaving the apartment well stocked at the end of the year, as we've been so happy with all of the supplies left to us by the previous tenants.
---------------------------------
On Thursday, I took my final exam for my ulpan, and I am now enjoying a month's break. For my first day of break (Sunday), I went to the Ministry of the Interior and finally was able to procure a student visa, thus ending the painful work of half a year. I've begun studying for the GRE Subject Test in Literature in English, though my testing date has been pushed back until November. I have a lot of studying to do for the test, so while I am disappointed at the date change, especially as I am a little antsy that not everything will arrive to the schools I'm applying to on time if it is sent so late, I am pleased to have the extra time to reread Canterbury tales and quiz myself on the names of all of the characters that ever appeared in a work by Shakespeare or Dickens. I've begun reading in English again, I couldn't help myself, and even Hemmingway (who I'm reading now but have never read before) feels like a dear old friend. The lack of a novel these past months has felt deeply physical and personal, like a whole part of my life and my identity had been left stranded at the airport in Toronto. Being able to read in Hebrew helped a little, but I am so glad to be reunited with the English language. I am a bit nervous, however, that this long break will allow too many opportunities to forget to be diligent about language study, and I hope to continue to read in Hebrew and in Yiddish throughout the break. In addition to all this reading, I of course will be applying to graduate school, and am currently working hard at discovering my sense of purpose, so that I can write a statement of purpose to each of these universities. Wish me luck.
---------------------
On Thursday night, Daniel and I strolled to Yung Yiddish. We are rarely out so late at night, and there was an excitement to the bright lights of stores against the stillness of the evening. On the way, we passed through the shuk and I bought Daniel a molten chocolate cake. We passed through bustling Jaffa street and through an empty Rehov Yerimiyhu where we walked past a store displaying fancy, beautiful sukkot.
The crowd at Yung Yiddish was mostly secular this time, and the place was pretty full (maybe 45 people in the audience?). The performer, Theresa Tova, had a deep, pointed, strong, alto voice, and she sang Cabaret/Jazz style Yiddish pieces, many of them also translated into English (She's not a Hebrew speaker), with poise, and a smooth, easy sort of confidence. She was accompanied by a pianest and cellist that she had just met that day, yet the performance was not anxious, and where there were mistakes, they were corrected cooly. Theresa Tova exuded a love for the music that she was singing - an enjoyment of it, and also a belief in it. She had a jazzy, sassy, easy, sultry sort of stage presence. She explained each piece before she sang it, often with jokes and always with smiles. We loved her music, and we found ourselves clapping and singing along to Belz, Sheyn Vi Di Levoyne, Papirosn, and many others. We enjoyed it so much that we bought a CD and when we are back in the States we'll be glad to lend it to you. Theresa Tova is an actor. singer, and writer, based in Toronto (woohoo!) who performes in New York, Poland, Germany, Toronto, and elsewhere. Her mother was a Partisan during the Holocaust, and Tova learned Polish Yiddish in her home.
After Tova finished singing, Mendy Cahan, the head of Yung Yiddish, passed out cups for wine and vodka and made a warm toast to the New Year. Armed with our CD and these warm wishes, we set out into the evening to walk back to our apartment.
----------------------------------------------
It's been so long since I've written that I keep thinking of more that I want to say. Should I tell you about teaching a friend to bake challah and the two huge honey-glazed round challahs we produced? Should I tell you about the Shabbat meal we shared with two friends, or the Shabbat lunch we served to other guests the following day? Should I tell you about the new friend we made at shul on Saturday that we welcomed into our home for lunch the very day we met him? Or about my being called to the Torah for an aliyah at the Conservative shul we enjoy attending on Saturday mornings? I think it would be too much, and take too much of your time. Suffice it to say that it has been a full, full, few days (both in terms of being busy and in terms of consuming a lot of delicious food!)
----------------------------------------------
So instead of ending by telling you more about our week and our life here, I want to end with a thought for the new year. The following quote, which I read on the blog of the Velveteen Rabbi (see the links side of our blog page) struck me as particularly useful in conceptualizing Rosh Hashana:
She Writes: "Today is the birthday of the world." We say it every year; we'll say it on Tuesday and Wednesday, that 48-hour span of time which Jewish tradition mystically considers a single extended day of Rosh Hashanah. But the liturgy says something slightly different than what the simple English rendition would suggest. As Reb Duvid notes, harah means "pregnancy," conception or gestation: not labor, not birth. I've never carried nor borne a child, but I can see from here that they're very different things. Rosh Hashanah isn't the world's "birthday," exactly; it's the day when we celebrate creation's pregnant possibilities.
In studying for this English exam, I found myslelf rereading Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalott," which is about a magical woman who lives in a tower upstream from Camelot. She sits near a window and looks at the world through a mirror, weaving a tapestry that depicts the world that she sees outside. She is forbidden to look out of the mirror itself and to see real life. Ultimately, she sees Lancelot out her window and falls so in love with him that she cannot resist, looks out her window, and as her mirror cracks, she realizes the desolateness of the cursed life she leads. She leaves her tower, carves her name into a boat, lays down upon the boat and floats to Camelot, dying of cold along the way. It is a deeply mournful poem, of the desperate longing to break free from a life cut off from the world and in an act of desparation and of headlong bravery, to experience real life, even just for a moment before the coldness of death.
If creation is pregnant with possibilities, I think "The Lady of Shalott" urges us to take them. To take risks. Not to weave "by night and day a tapestry of colors gay" about the lives of others and the world that lies outside our doors, but to actually go out and to see the world and to live life. It is not easy to do. It is not easy for me to do - my natural inclination is to stay home where I am safe and comfortable, and perhaps this is why it seemed so exciting and unusual to me and Daniel to be out on Thursday night, as we are in fact inside most evenings. But my wish, my hope, my dream for the new year, is that as we enter into a time of the birth of the world, we will not only recognize its potential, but experience and be a part of that potential. I wish you all a sweet and a meaningful new year, a new year of experiences, of action, of headlong fanciful bravery that lasts more than just a moment, but for the whole long and enchanted journey of your lives.
In addition to the pheonminal choir of cantorial students, we also had the honor to hear Cantor Eli Schleifer, the director of the cantorial program in Jerusalem. His passion was matched by his control of the music, and his ability to connect the music to the words of the prayers to enhance and elevate the entire experience. He read the Akeidah, speaking the words of G-d and of Abraham with a bold, deep commanding voice, and the words of Isaac with a voice so tentative, so unsure, that he was transformed himself into a timid son following a half-crazed father in search of his G-d at the expense of his own lifeblood. There were so many powerful moments in his prayers, that I simply cannot recount them all. When he sang of mortality his voice began strong and softened until it was a tiny star in the vast, dark, heavens. All of his words, all of his prayers, were so deliberate, so artful. There wasn't a single misplaced note or syllable, not a single word that seemed to be sung by rote or out of obligation to the tradition - all was sincere, all was in a spirit of atonement and celebration, of truly marking life by the seasons in which we live it, by the emotions we experience, and by the limits of our physical bodies and the limitlessness of our souls.
I wish all of you could have been there. It was grand but also participatory, it was awesome, but also down-to-earth, it made me feel as though praying was a holy endeavor, while reminding me that prayer is also a vehicle and a vessel that needs to be brought out of the synagogue and carried around as part of every day life. If I can bring the service with me as I embark on the ten days of tshuva, I will have accomplished much.
Daniel and I were just discussing how difficult we find the ten days of tshuva, because we aren't sure what they mean and how we should act during those days. For instance, is it enough to say to everyone "If I have done you any wrong this year, I am sorry"? Or is that sort of a cop-out as you aren't personally probing to try to remember the wrongs you have committed and you aren't making yourself vulnerable to others by admitting your imperfections? And what if you honestly can't remember something that you did wrong? Or what if you can remember it but it really was just a small thing, and you think it would do more harm than good to bring it up again? Exactly what are we to do during these ten days? Another question is to what extent should we force ourselves to be better people for just these ten days? If I want G-d to judge me for who I am, perhaps I shouldn't change my behavior for ten days, perhaps it is dishonest. Or, perhaps I can take these ten days and try to change and improve myself, nad maybe some of it will stick into the next year. It's like a trial period for New Year's Resolutions - and surely if you do something every day for ten days, it is likely to make an impression on you, and affect your behavior at least in some small way for the rest of the year. I don't know, but I do know that it is important to try to be the best version of yourself at all times, and perhaps focusing on that for ten days will help with focusing on it throughout the year.
As the New Year is beginning, the weather is changing and we're beginning to feel a cold breeze settling on the city of Jerusalem. It will stay, and the sun will seem rarer, and it will be harder and harder to find warmth in the city. It seems like a hard time to begin a New Year - not in the spring when we can rejoice in the warmth of the sun and in the personal freedom that summer offers, but at the cusp of the rainy season, when we are chained to our umbrellas, slaves of our galoshes. But, perhaps too the rainy season is an appropriate way to begin the year, as it is the start of the agricultural cycle, and I am praying for a year that bears plentiful fruit, a year that grows toward the sun, a year that blossoms in vivid colors.
--------------------------------------------
We began our preparations for Rosh Hashanah with cooking, which is itself a deeply spiritual activity. A very wise person once told me that the action of knitting, a practical, creative endeavor of craftingthe long and narrow into the full, soft, and warm, was one of the most spiritual activities that life offers. I'm not sure if that holds true for me, but I would say that I can apply the same to cooking. I love the mysterious way that artcan be created out of the very stuff of the earth - the grain and the leaf, the fruit and the nut. We baked a splendid honeycake in preparation for the holiday. It is rich, dense, and fragrant, with candied ginger, cloves, and nutmeg. We're hoping to have some friends over tomorrow after services to share it with us. For today's potluck lunch, we made a simple yet elegant dish of mushrooms in olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and white wine, and for the potluck dinner we are attending tonight, I tried to replicate the lasagne recipe that Paola taught me a few weeks ago. We spent most of the day yesterday cooking and shopping for food. In addition, we decided to splurge on some items we've been sorely missing: a challah cover, candle sticks, a vessel for ritual hand washing, a set of cups, a set of serving bowls, a steamer, and four mugs. Everything was on sale because of the holiday season and was quite reasonable, and we are pleased at the idea of leaving the apartment well stocked at the end of the year, as we've been so happy with all of the supplies left to us by the previous tenants.
---------------------------------
On Thursday, I took my final exam for my ulpan, and I am now enjoying a month's break. For my first day of break (Sunday), I went to the Ministry of the Interior and finally was able to procure a student visa, thus ending the painful work of half a year. I've begun studying for the GRE Subject Test in Literature in English, though my testing date has been pushed back until November. I have a lot of studying to do for the test, so while I am disappointed at the date change, especially as I am a little antsy that not everything will arrive to the schools I'm applying to on time if it is sent so late, I am pleased to have the extra time to reread Canterbury tales and quiz myself on the names of all of the characters that ever appeared in a work by Shakespeare or Dickens. I've begun reading in English again, I couldn't help myself, and even Hemmingway (who I'm reading now but have never read before) feels like a dear old friend. The lack of a novel these past months has felt deeply physical and personal, like a whole part of my life and my identity had been left stranded at the airport in Toronto. Being able to read in Hebrew helped a little, but I am so glad to be reunited with the English language. I am a bit nervous, however, that this long break will allow too many opportunities to forget to be diligent about language study, and I hope to continue to read in Hebrew and in Yiddish throughout the break. In addition to all this reading, I of course will be applying to graduate school, and am currently working hard at discovering my sense of purpose, so that I can write a statement of purpose to each of these universities. Wish me luck.
---------------------
On Thursday night, Daniel and I strolled to Yung Yiddish. We are rarely out so late at night, and there was an excitement to the bright lights of stores against the stillness of the evening. On the way, we passed through the shuk and I bought Daniel a molten chocolate cake. We passed through bustling Jaffa street and through an empty Rehov Yerimiyhu where we walked past a store displaying fancy, beautiful sukkot.
The crowd at Yung Yiddish was mostly secular this time, and the place was pretty full (maybe 45 people in the audience?). The performer, Theresa Tova, had a deep, pointed, strong, alto voice, and she sang Cabaret/Jazz style Yiddish pieces, many of them also translated into English (She's not a Hebrew speaker), with poise, and a smooth, easy sort of confidence. She was accompanied by a pianest and cellist that she had just met that day, yet the performance was not anxious, and where there were mistakes, they were corrected cooly. Theresa Tova exuded a love for the music that she was singing - an enjoyment of it, and also a belief in it. She had a jazzy, sassy, easy, sultry sort of stage presence. She explained each piece before she sang it, often with jokes and always with smiles. We loved her music, and we found ourselves clapping and singing along to Belz, Sheyn Vi Di Levoyne, Papirosn, and many others. We enjoyed it so much that we bought a CD and when we are back in the States we'll be glad to lend it to you. Theresa Tova is an actor. singer, and writer, based in Toronto (woohoo!) who performes in New York, Poland, Germany, Toronto, and elsewhere. Her mother was a Partisan during the Holocaust, and Tova learned Polish Yiddish in her home.
After Tova finished singing, Mendy Cahan, the head of Yung Yiddish, passed out cups for wine and vodka and made a warm toast to the New Year. Armed with our CD and these warm wishes, we set out into the evening to walk back to our apartment.
----------------------------------------------
It's been so long since I've written that I keep thinking of more that I want to say. Should I tell you about teaching a friend to bake challah and the two huge honey-glazed round challahs we produced? Should I tell you about the Shabbat meal we shared with two friends, or the Shabbat lunch we served to other guests the following day? Should I tell you about the new friend we made at shul on Saturday that we welcomed into our home for lunch the very day we met him? Or about my being called to the Torah for an aliyah at the Conservative shul we enjoy attending on Saturday mornings? I think it would be too much, and take too much of your time. Suffice it to say that it has been a full, full, few days (both in terms of being busy and in terms of consuming a lot of delicious food!)
----------------------------------------------
So instead of ending by telling you more about our week and our life here, I want to end with a thought for the new year. The following quote, which I read on the blog of the Velveteen Rabbi (see the links side of our blog page) struck me as particularly useful in conceptualizing Rosh Hashana:
She Writes: "Today is the birthday of the world." We say it every year; we'll say it on Tuesday and Wednesday, that 48-hour span of time which Jewish tradition mystically considers a single extended day of Rosh Hashanah. But the liturgy says something slightly different than what the simple English rendition would suggest. As Reb Duvid notes, harah means "pregnancy," conception or gestation: not labor, not birth. I've never carried nor borne a child, but I can see from here that they're very different things. Rosh Hashanah isn't the world's "birthday," exactly; it's the day when we celebrate creation's pregnant possibilities.
In studying for this English exam, I found myslelf rereading Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalott," which is about a magical woman who lives in a tower upstream from Camelot. She sits near a window and looks at the world through a mirror, weaving a tapestry that depicts the world that she sees outside. She is forbidden to look out of the mirror itself and to see real life. Ultimately, she sees Lancelot out her window and falls so in love with him that she cannot resist, looks out her window, and as her mirror cracks, she realizes the desolateness of the cursed life she leads. She leaves her tower, carves her name into a boat, lays down upon the boat and floats to Camelot, dying of cold along the way. It is a deeply mournful poem, of the desperate longing to break free from a life cut off from the world and in an act of desparation and of headlong bravery, to experience real life, even just for a moment before the coldness of death.
If creation is pregnant with possibilities, I think "The Lady of Shalott" urges us to take them. To take risks. Not to weave "by night and day a tapestry of colors gay" about the lives of others and the world that lies outside our doors, but to actually go out and to see the world and to live life. It is not easy to do. It is not easy for me to do - my natural inclination is to stay home where I am safe and comfortable, and perhaps this is why it seemed so exciting and unusual to me and Daniel to be out on Thursday night, as we are in fact inside most evenings. But my wish, my hope, my dream for the new year, is that as we enter into a time of the birth of the world, we will not only recognize its potential, but experience and be a part of that potential. I wish you all a sweet and a meaningful new year, a new year of experiences, of action, of headlong fanciful bravery that lasts more than just a moment, but for the whole long and enchanted journey of your lives.
Friday, July 25, 2008
American and World Reform Judaism.
.יהדות רפורמית אמריקנית ועולמית
I want to start by posing a question inspired by an email I received: Why do some (most?) congregations charge (non-members) for High Holiday tickets? I'm sure there's some sort of "economic reality" that synagogues have to face, but the entire idea is distasteful to me.
The reason I bring up this point is that I recently received an email from an old list that I'm on advertising High Holiday ticket prices to "young people" in the D.C. area. While several places let students in for free, others require a ticket purchased at a "discounted" price of $18-200. Let's say I'm an unaffiliated 28-year-old in the DC area. I'm certainly not going to pay a dime to go to services, to my options for free services include:
Adat Reyim (Conservative)
Beth Torah (Reform)
Farbrangen (Independent)
Kehila Chadasha with Am Kolel (Havuah/Renewal/Reconstructionist)
Temple Sinai (Reform)
University of Maryland Hillel (Reform, Conservative, Orthodox)
and three Orthodox/Traditional services
Now granted, that's an enormous panoply of options compared to Roanoke (which has two congregations), but of the 56 options available in the area, it's sad that less than 1/4 are free. (And that's if you're under 35!)
One thing I don't know is whether this is a common phenomenon or one unique to American Judaism. I suspect that this is more of an American approach to High Holiday service attendance, though I can't back that up with anything more than a hunch. If it's true, though, then it serves as a sign of American Judaism's unique way of doing things and also reflects a certain amount of privilege and wealth not available to other communities.
Which leads me into my next topic: World Reform Judaism. On Wednesday afternoon, we had a chance to meet with Rabbi Uri Regev, the leader of the World Union for Progressive Judaism (WUPJ) (which is headquartered in Jerusalem ... in the same complex as HUC!). Rabbi Regev, a graduate from and later director of the Israeli Rabbinic program at HUC, shared with us the accomplishments of the World Union, largely in the Former Soviet Union (FSU) and in South America. Where the WUPJ has not had significant impact is in North America. Many of the Jewish communities there feel secure and insulated from the rest of the Jewish world, and Rabbi Regev believes that a mutual partnership and enrichment must take place between American and non-American Jews, a relationship that should be built with Israel as its heart.
Now, I'm all for the expansion of horizons of Americans' understanding of Judaism beyond the boundaries of our country. My trip to Israel on Hillel's "Winter Israel: Peoplehood and Pluralism" trip exposed me to members of Jewish communities in ten different countries and opened my eyes to the complexities and richness of (at least parts of) world Jewry. Some time ago, I overheard someone make a comment about how all Jews have something in common: Going to Hebrew School once or twice a week to become a Bar or Bat Mitzvah. My immediate reaction was, "Of course all Jews have something in common ... but it's not the religious school model that you grew up with!" She was referring, I believe, to American Jews, but her concept of Judaism defaulted to the familiar. Of course, upon reflection, she would have known that Jews outside America follow a diverse array of educational systems, but the gut feeling was that "all" Jews live in the United States.
If we can change that basic perspective, we can open our minds and hearts to other communities so much easier. I don't know very much about American Jewry's involvement in the movement to move Russian Jews from Russia to Israel, but I understand that the outpouring of support was significant. Something "clicked" with American Jews about their fellows across the world, and the result was a tremendous amount of support.
Now, don't get me wrong: I'm not trying to squeeze aid out of the American Jewish community to go toward improving the lot of poor Jews across the globe; not at all. What I'm suggesting is that, given a recognition of a common bond, people can be drawn together from across vast distances. The strengthening of our Jewish community can only serve to make us more world-conscious and therefore more likely to speak out and act against injustices around the world. If my home congregation had a sister congregation in Rio de Janeiro, for example, I might have been taught something of Brazilian life and culture in Sunday School. Perhaps I would have had a chance to go on a Youth Group exchange of some sort to see how Jewish youth live there. And today, perhaps I would have enough interest in my sister community to know that Brazil is facing an oil workers' strike that is still in negotiations.
However, what I'm less sure about is the second part of Rabbi Regev's message, that Israel has to be at the center of our world Jewish identity. Now, at this point in my Year in Israel, I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. I don't know very much about Israel and the religious climate here (I've been here such a short amount of time, relatively speaking), and I don't fully understand the impact Israel has on the Jewish world at large. I believe that it is entirely possible that Israel should be central to a global understanding of the Jewish community, but this is an issue I still have to explore for myself. How much should Israel be my home away from home, and how much should it trump my thoughts about and support to communities in Eastern Europe, South America, and other places? This is a topic I'm sure I'll be returning to.
It's also a topic touched upon by someone else we met with on Wednesday. Iri Kassel, the executive director of the Israel Movement for Progressive Judaism (IMPJ), shared several stories with us that communicated the state of Progressive Judaism (a term used to describe non-traditional alternatives to Orthodoxy) in Israel. To summarize, the IMPJ is growing in strength and influence but very, very slowly. There are 24 progressive congregations in Israel, and the IMPJ has programs in 80 schools. Last year, the IMPJ sponsored 85 "Bat Mitzvah is not Just a Party" programs that sought to bring meaning to girls' Bat Mitzvahs since in Israel, generally, a girl doesn't actually do anything or receive any recognition as a Jewish adult (but still receives a big party with lots of presents and delicious food). There's also a one-year Mechina program for students who have graduated from high school and who are delaying their full term of military service for a year. This program seeks to prepare the young men and women to fluent in the values and moral dilemmas of military service.
These are all very exciting programs, but there is a lot of work to be done before Progressive Judaism is recognized as a viable religious community and spiritual expression. For example, there are currently 3,000 orthodox rabbis getting paid by the state; 0 progressive rabbis have that privilege. However, there's a case in the Israeli Supreme Court right now that will hopefully result in the state paying a Reform (woman!) rabbi just like an orthodox counterpart. Recently, the IMPJ received four (worn-down but standing) buildings from the government, and that's a victory of precedence that will hopefully be replicated in the future.
Naturally, I believe that Progressive Judaism is a vibrant and fulfilling means of spiritual and communal expression, and it hurts to see it degraded, sometimes violently, in the Jewish state. Nevertheless, I'm inspired by the work that IMPJ is doing, and I fully support it. I don't know what I can do aside from talk the talk, however. Even when asked what we can do to help, Mr. Kassel could only suggest that we visit the Progressive synagogues in Israel, make relationships with the communities, and if possible, bring Americans to visit them in the future. Not exactly a concrete answer ... but on the other hand, I can also see the importance to Israelis for Israelis to make this happen. It's one thing when an American rabbi says to an Israeli "Reform Judaism is beautiful!" It's another thing entirely when an Israeli (who was more than likely raised either observant or secular) tells her friends and colleagues about the importance of Progressive observance in her life. I certainly hope that the IMPJ continues to make significant strides, and I'm here to lend support if I can!
It's interesting that, the day after meeting with the IMPJ, we had our first "tiyul" (trip) in Jerusalem. We walked (a lot!) around different parts of the city and explored texts that highlight the significance of Jerusalem in Jewish tradition and observance. The tour brought us closer and closer to the Kotel, and as we drew near, we discussed the significance that gaining the Western Wall in 1967 had for the secular soldiers that fought for it. We talked about the changing character of the Wall and how only since 1969/1970 or so has it been controlled by the orthodox - prior to that, men and women prayed together (and the space was much smaller). Overall, we discussed how Jerusalem belongs to all Jews, not just the orthodox, and this is reflected in poetry and songs from Israeli society and history.
Many of my colleagues have expressed extreme difficulty relating to the Western Wall. I believe that a significant part of their unease (and mine) is the oppressive weight of the orthodox always on alert for a bare shoulder or uncovered head. It's a shame that they have declared the Wall theirs when clearly it's not, and it's a challenge for myself and, I believe, for progressive and Reform Jews in general not to let them "get away with it." To me (and I'll talk more about this another time, I'm sure), the Western Wall represents a unity of the Jewish people, but recently (very recently in the scope of Jewish history), it has become a symbol of division.
And perhaps as Progressive Judaism "catches on" and people start recognizing the value of spiritual and communal exploration outside orthodoxy, the observant community will have no choice but to become partners rather than overseers. Next year in Jerusalem.
I want to start by posing a question inspired by an email I received: Why do some (most?) congregations charge (non-members) for High Holiday tickets? I'm sure there's some sort of "economic reality" that synagogues have to face, but the entire idea is distasteful to me.
The reason I bring up this point is that I recently received an email from an old list that I'm on advertising High Holiday ticket prices to "young people" in the D.C. area. While several places let students in for free, others require a ticket purchased at a "discounted" price of $18-200. Let's say I'm an unaffiliated 28-year-old in the DC area. I'm certainly not going to pay a dime to go to services, to my options for free services include:
Adat Reyim (Conservative)
Beth Torah (Reform)
Farbrangen (Independent)
Kehila Chadasha with Am Kolel (Havuah/Renewal/Reconstructionist)
Temple Sinai (Reform)
University of Maryland Hillel (Reform, Conservative, Orthodox)
and three Orthodox/Traditional services
Now granted, that's an enormous panoply of options compared to Roanoke (which has two congregations), but of the 56 options available in the area, it's sad that less than 1/4 are free. (And that's if you're under 35!)
One thing I don't know is whether this is a common phenomenon or one unique to American Judaism. I suspect that this is more of an American approach to High Holiday service attendance, though I can't back that up with anything more than a hunch. If it's true, though, then it serves as a sign of American Judaism's unique way of doing things and also reflects a certain amount of privilege and wealth not available to other communities.
Which leads me into my next topic: World Reform Judaism. On Wednesday afternoon, we had a chance to meet with Rabbi Uri Regev, the leader of the World Union for Progressive Judaism (WUPJ) (which is headquartered in Jerusalem ... in the same complex as HUC!). Rabbi Regev, a graduate from and later director of the Israeli Rabbinic program at HUC, shared with us the accomplishments of the World Union, largely in the Former Soviet Union (FSU) and in South America. Where the WUPJ has not had significant impact is in North America. Many of the Jewish communities there feel secure and insulated from the rest of the Jewish world, and Rabbi Regev believes that a mutual partnership and enrichment must take place between American and non-American Jews, a relationship that should be built with Israel as its heart.
Now, I'm all for the expansion of horizons of Americans' understanding of Judaism beyond the boundaries of our country. My trip to Israel on Hillel's "Winter Israel: Peoplehood and Pluralism" trip exposed me to members of Jewish communities in ten different countries and opened my eyes to the complexities and richness of (at least parts of) world Jewry. Some time ago, I overheard someone make a comment about how all Jews have something in common: Going to Hebrew School once or twice a week to become a Bar or Bat Mitzvah. My immediate reaction was, "Of course all Jews have something in common ... but it's not the religious school model that you grew up with!" She was referring, I believe, to American Jews, but her concept of Judaism defaulted to the familiar. Of course, upon reflection, she would have known that Jews outside America follow a diverse array of educational systems, but the gut feeling was that "all" Jews live in the United States.
If we can change that basic perspective, we can open our minds and hearts to other communities so much easier. I don't know very much about American Jewry's involvement in the movement to move Russian Jews from Russia to Israel, but I understand that the outpouring of support was significant. Something "clicked" with American Jews about their fellows across the world, and the result was a tremendous amount of support.
Now, don't get me wrong: I'm not trying to squeeze aid out of the American Jewish community to go toward improving the lot of poor Jews across the globe; not at all. What I'm suggesting is that, given a recognition of a common bond, people can be drawn together from across vast distances. The strengthening of our Jewish community can only serve to make us more world-conscious and therefore more likely to speak out and act against injustices around the world. If my home congregation had a sister congregation in Rio de Janeiro, for example, I might have been taught something of Brazilian life and culture in Sunday School. Perhaps I would have had a chance to go on a Youth Group exchange of some sort to see how Jewish youth live there. And today, perhaps I would have enough interest in my sister community to know that Brazil is facing an oil workers' strike that is still in negotiations.
However, what I'm less sure about is the second part of Rabbi Regev's message, that Israel has to be at the center of our world Jewish identity. Now, at this point in my Year in Israel, I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. I don't know very much about Israel and the religious climate here (I've been here such a short amount of time, relatively speaking), and I don't fully understand the impact Israel has on the Jewish world at large. I believe that it is entirely possible that Israel should be central to a global understanding of the Jewish community, but this is an issue I still have to explore for myself. How much should Israel be my home away from home, and how much should it trump my thoughts about and support to communities in Eastern Europe, South America, and other places? This is a topic I'm sure I'll be returning to.
It's also a topic touched upon by someone else we met with on Wednesday. Iri Kassel, the executive director of the Israel Movement for Progressive Judaism (IMPJ), shared several stories with us that communicated the state of Progressive Judaism (a term used to describe non-traditional alternatives to Orthodoxy) in Israel. To summarize, the IMPJ is growing in strength and influence but very, very slowly. There are 24 progressive congregations in Israel, and the IMPJ has programs in 80 schools. Last year, the IMPJ sponsored 85 "Bat Mitzvah is not Just a Party" programs that sought to bring meaning to girls' Bat Mitzvahs since in Israel, generally, a girl doesn't actually do anything or receive any recognition as a Jewish adult (but still receives a big party with lots of presents and delicious food). There's also a one-year Mechina program for students who have graduated from high school and who are delaying their full term of military service for a year. This program seeks to prepare the young men and women to fluent in the values and moral dilemmas of military service.
These are all very exciting programs, but there is a lot of work to be done before Progressive Judaism is recognized as a viable religious community and spiritual expression. For example, there are currently 3,000 orthodox rabbis getting paid by the state; 0 progressive rabbis have that privilege. However, there's a case in the Israeli Supreme Court right now that will hopefully result in the state paying a Reform (woman!) rabbi just like an orthodox counterpart. Recently, the IMPJ received four (worn-down but standing) buildings from the government, and that's a victory of precedence that will hopefully be replicated in the future.
Naturally, I believe that Progressive Judaism is a vibrant and fulfilling means of spiritual and communal expression, and it hurts to see it degraded, sometimes violently, in the Jewish state. Nevertheless, I'm inspired by the work that IMPJ is doing, and I fully support it. I don't know what I can do aside from talk the talk, however. Even when asked what we can do to help, Mr. Kassel could only suggest that we visit the Progressive synagogues in Israel, make relationships with the communities, and if possible, bring Americans to visit them in the future. Not exactly a concrete answer ... but on the other hand, I can also see the importance to Israelis for Israelis to make this happen. It's one thing when an American rabbi says to an Israeli "Reform Judaism is beautiful!" It's another thing entirely when an Israeli (who was more than likely raised either observant or secular) tells her friends and colleagues about the importance of Progressive observance in her life. I certainly hope that the IMPJ continues to make significant strides, and I'm here to lend support if I can!
It's interesting that, the day after meeting with the IMPJ, we had our first "tiyul" (trip) in Jerusalem. We walked (a lot!) around different parts of the city and explored texts that highlight the significance of Jerusalem in Jewish tradition and observance. The tour brought us closer and closer to the Kotel, and as we drew near, we discussed the significance that gaining the Western Wall in 1967 had for the secular soldiers that fought for it. We talked about the changing character of the Wall and how only since 1969/1970 or so has it been controlled by the orthodox - prior to that, men and women prayed together (and the space was much smaller). Overall, we discussed how Jerusalem belongs to all Jews, not just the orthodox, and this is reflected in poetry and songs from Israeli society and history.
Many of my colleagues have expressed extreme difficulty relating to the Western Wall. I believe that a significant part of their unease (and mine) is the oppressive weight of the orthodox always on alert for a bare shoulder or uncovered head. It's a shame that they have declared the Wall theirs when clearly it's not, and it's a challenge for myself and, I believe, for progressive and Reform Jews in general not to let them "get away with it." To me (and I'll talk more about this another time, I'm sure), the Western Wall represents a unity of the Jewish people, but recently (very recently in the scope of Jewish history), it has become a symbol of division.
And perhaps as Progressive Judaism "catches on" and people start recognizing the value of spiritual and communal exploration outside orthodoxy, the observant community will have no choice but to become partners rather than overseers. Next year in Jerusalem.
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