Praying with my Feet, in Cheap Israeli Flip Flops

After a few months of nose to the grind studies and pop-rocks chocolate-fueled evenings knee deep in Hebrew grammar, I had a week that really merits sharing, and most of all with those I love. Lest this year ever start to feel routine or mundane, I found myself in the presence this week of over 200 of the most innovative progressive Jewish leaders in Jerusalem. Many came from North America to celebrate the 25^th Anniversary of Women of the Wall, some came to see a deeply devoted cohort of 4 Israeli Reform Rabbis become ordained on our campus, and some, in fact came to meet the incoming class of HUC Rabbinical and Cantorial students.  (Oh goodness that means me!)

 

My ears are still ringing with diverse range of voices of progressive Judaism that I’ve had the great honor of hearing -among them Anat Hoffman of Nashot Ha Kotel, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vaaj8INViDQ&feature=player_embedded,  Rabbi Gilad Kariv of the Israel Religious Action Center, and David Ellison, the outgoing President of HUC. Each are standing, in unique ways, for a vision of a pluralistic Jewish society that frees everyone to express themselves Jewishly (and humanly) in the way that personally resonates whether that expression is at the Kotel, in the knesset, or at the shuk.  It’s a vision that sounds simple, and at the same time, especially in the Israeli public sphere, where every facet of life from the time your birth certificate is issued to the time your plot is picked requires a qualification of Jewish identity, it’s deeply radical and the realization of safe spaces for pluralism is an uphill battle.  This week, however, seeing a glimmer of this vision actualized in an unexpected place and gave me reason to hope:

Several months ago, when I wrote about the monthly gathering of Women of the Wall (Nashot Hakotel) that meets to pray in public at the kotel each Rosh Hodesh, I described feeling drowned in a sort of spiritual assault that came from opposition to women’s prayer at the wall. At least women’s prayer that includes singing outloud, wearing a tallit, or reading from the Torah. Heckled and jeered, I felt lost, and silenced. It felt like a social protest, but it was not a spiritual service.

This past Monday morning could not have been more different. Surrounded by a sea of women across every level of observance and denomination, and supportive males as well, led by a fierce cadre of Israeli female rabbis (a rareity that does exist here) whose voices rang out, sang, clapped and prayed, I found my own voice was right there in lockstep. It was not lost, but instead singing with abandon. And friends-I am not a public singer. Of course there were boos, there were whistles, and perhaps there will always be, from  those for whom others’ expression can never be anything but an existential threat to their own. But swept up in prayer, I noticed it only as a silly afterthought.

We spent the entire day together, learning, davening, dining and dancing to Miriams’ song. We sang for a day when no Israeli woman or girl’s expression of Judaism would be compromised or silenced. My horah (that grapevine dance thing) could really use some work, but there wasn’t an inch of me that wasn’t glowing to be in that kind of company. I have some powerful, practical 1-inch heels to fill. (Lets be honest, rabbis aren’t known for their stilettos). ..

It hasn’t all been highs here, and lest you get any impression otherwise, the day to day is still very much about celebrating small victories: winning the HUC costume contest by dressing as Heinz condiments with our friend’s 2 year old as a ketchup packet, recognizing a teeny tiny dot in a letter of the Torah that miraculously changes the entire meaning of the sentence , dissecting the essays of Ahad Ha’am, buying the right kind of detergent, or at least pretending you actually wanted dish soap anyways if that’s what you got….

But I felt this week, praying on my feet in cheap Isaeli sandals, hearing leaders speak for pluralistic expression-which is absolutely not without sacrifice, struggle and discomfort, that ultimately, the doubt dissipating about what I’m doing here, and the excitement stirring about what is yet to come on this well trod  learning path.

"Pursue some path, however narrow and crooked, in which you can walk with love and reverence."

Henry David Thoreau

 

Shanah Tovah and the Eternal Table!

The Jabotinsky Rosh Hashana Table

 

Shaking my head in disbelief or pinching myself has become routine these days. I cannot quite believe that it is September, that I have already completed my first quarter of Rabbinical school, and that this very week, marks the start of the High Holidays, and a new year in the Jewish cycle. (5774 if you're counting...) Summer’s learning and the daily challenge in acclimating to living in Jerusalem, have proved to be a roller coaster so far, but ultimately, an enjoyable one, thanks in large part to the 40 classmates I’ve come to consider my family here, as we spend just about 95% of each day in each other’s presence. Whether with late night Chinese delivery to study for biblical history, or end of the week scrappy basketball games, we keep each other from taking the intensity of this program too seriously to enjoy life.  I’ve also adopted a 3 ice cream bar per day diet that I highly recommend for desert living, grad school survival and general well being.

This past week, to begin the new quarter, the whole gang of us hopped a bus up North to the Galil or Sea of Galilea region, to explore some of the key sites in the narrative of the founding of Zionism. In studying a very young nation’s ideological evolution , I saw some parallels to our own educational undertakings-also characterized by a collective of largely 20-somethings with little certainty, experience or precedent for the process they embark upon, buoyed by pluck, faith, and desire to affect change. And plenty of trial by error.

We met fascinating individuals who imparted their versions of the pioneer experience, making it very clear there is no one way to tell the story of Zionism or innovation in modern Israel.  Our tour included a spirited historic re-enactment the ill-fated fortification of Tel Hai by early pioneers, and a discussion with a 26-year old resident of the small, economically challenged town of Kiryat Shmone, who has opened a co-op café as a hub for social protest, inspired in part after the Occupy Movement in the states.

Of the many rich conversations had, there was one in particular that inspired my current thoughts on the approaching new year:

A man named Muki, one of the earliest Kibbutz residents in Israel, now in his 80s, came to speak with our group, and  gifted us with an anecdote I’ll attempt to paraphrase. He recalled, at the age of 20, being appointed “Secretary” of his young, flegling kibbutz, and fielding a complaint from a recent Russian immigrant, about the deteriorating state of the furniture in his simple kibbutz room. The room, with its standard-issue table, chair, and pot, were badly in need of repair. Proudly, Muki told the man that the Kibbutz would replace the old table with a new table, the kibbutz would simply provide a new one, and he could go pick out something from the communal supply store.

It wasn’t what the man wanted. What he yearned for, he said, was the table that his family had in Russia-the eternal dining room table that withstood time’s wear, and wore the marks of generations. Muki was left to ponder-what did the Kibbutzniks have that would endure time the way this man described? What, if anything,  would be preserved-what would have enough value to be passed to the next generation, without the perpetual need for reinvention?

This Rosh Hashana, I have on my mind growth and change, academically, personally, spiritually. Just as deeply, I have on my mind preservation, memory, and enduring narrative. What from our lives deserves safeguarding from all the anticipation of change surrounding us? What will we abandon in the name of innovation-or to make space for what is newly possible? What, as we move forward, will remain on our own Eternal Tables?

 

The Torah: A Women's Commentary

Wanting to write down while the memory is still fresh and the buzz in my heart still palpable how incredible it was to be in the presence of Tamara Cohn Eshkenazi tonight, at a faculty-hosted Havdallah. This woman, who stood before us draped in a shocking majenta scarf, and carried a demeanor of both grace and ferocity, took on the publication of a unique, brave and challenging compilation of the first exclusively female Chumash with full commentary on the Torah. I am convinced after meeting her tonight that the process of the compilation was one of careful, insightful deliberation, depth, and a spirit of genuine camaraderie amongst women writers, who were hungry to have their voices heard and to be held to a high standard of intellectual discourse in their work, as male torah scholars have enjoyed for centuries. She brought in the voices of women from absolutely every religious place on the spectrum, from Orthodox to transgender Reconstructionist, rather than politicize “ progressive feminism”  to speak to only a select few or to exclusively the Reform movement which published the book.

 

I am most struck by her description of how the process went-rather than an ego war, it was a creative joy for the women to work together, and literary criticism (which I sense there was plenty of) was treated as educational-I deeply hope to find that kind of challenge and support in my colleagues, and particularly my female colleagues throughout rabbinical school.  I am increasingly aware that the challenge is particularly steep for women when constructing our careers and reputations, and it can be too easy to fall into traps of claws, or saccharine as large groups of women are stereotyped into. On a personal level,  I am inspired by her use of poetry, to frame each parsha, which in itself can contain poetry, but can also (often) be problematic patriarchal narrative, and to introduce a way to take on the most challenging gender dichotomies, laws and polemics with poetic vision really speaks to me.

I am still very much crafting my vision of what kind of rabbi I hope to be..but the intuition in me now says that deeply creative, and textually grounded pastoral care will be my niche, and inspirations like Tamara who emphasize BOTH a profoundly intellectual and accessible read of Torah, and a welcome of creative voice into the telling of our narrative bring me to recommit to finding my own spiritual voice in this role. To intuition. And scholarly, spiritual female leadership.

 

 

Wisdom in a Chinese Diner

The night before our orientation to Rabbinical School in Jerusalem starts, I receive a fortune at one of Jerusalem’s finest mediocre Chinese restaurants which reads:

 כוח שדרוש לאתגרים הצפויים אבל בסופו של הדבר יבוא ימים  יפים"

 

 “Strength is needed to confront all that is difficult, but at the end, come beautiful days.”

(Yes Hebrew fortune cookies translate into broken English too). I can’t imagine a more appropriate or necessary phrase to internalize as I embark on this wild year of diving off the deep end into Jewish tradition, culture, worship and community here in Jerusalem.

I’ve kicked off orientation day with perhaps one of the most challenging, upsetting, and ultimately grounding experiences I’ve had yet here in Jerusalem:

 

 

Here’s the scene: I am awake at 5:50am to join a group of Reform rabbis, students, families, and community to join ‘Women of the Wall’ a growing movement of women and their supporters who conduct monthly Rosh Hodesh ceremonies at the Western Wall, or Kotel, one of Jerusalem’s holiest sites, traditionally gender segregated and under the authority of the ultra-Orthodoxy of Jerusalem.  Please check out the site for more information, I am by know means the authority on this group!

We board busses giddy and bleary. I am surrounded my new classmates and friends, and I am unprepared by what we will see.

5 minutes later our bus arrives at the security entrance to the Kotel. Immediately, blocking the entrance, we see a sea of men and boys with long black coats and black top hats gathered in protest of our decidedly un-Orthodox presence. Their jeers, screams, and whistles drown out our first prayer of Shacharit, the morning service.  The first real eye contact I make with one of these men sends me to tears, and I feel afraid. Their jeers continue through a hot and scattered prayer service, including a brief, moving Bat Mitzvah of a young woman who is the third generation of women in her family to read from the Torah. (One of the main protests the Ultra Orthodox have is with women reading from the Torah).  I am overwhelmed and I cannot connect to a single prayer. We end with HaTikva, the Israeli national anthem. There is still a huge well in my throat,  but at this point I know somehow I will be glad I’m here when I process it. Mostly, my heart is broken, to experience what it feels like for Jews to drown out,  protest and suppress, the prayers of other Jews.

Later…I am back in bed, my head aches, and yet, I’m coming to a better place, halfway between wake and dreams. I am trying to see past what felt like senseless hatred this morning, I know the issues surrounded the Kotel are more complicated than the surface demonstrations, and that considering how and where each side is coming from is critical.  I’m dreaming that some day I’ll be able to see this story as a way to connect to congregants, and others who’ve been hurt or alienated before by an experience with their religion, and that this experience is one of those “Teachable moments”.  Still I am filled with a bit of dread as I head out on my run that maybe this is the day I’ll be spit on, or maybe I’m really not welcome here, and I drown my thoughts in pop tunes that will make me forget I am in Jersualem. I hope someday this movement is seen as a turning point in Jerusalem's narrative about what prayer in public spaces can be, and a move towards a more accepting, pluralistic vision of worship.

Final Scene of the Day: It’s Orientation night-night 1 of Rabbinical school. I am sitting on the lawn outside the Jaffa gates of the old city, surrounded by 41 young, idealistic, genuine aspiring rabbinical students who have chosen to devote their lives and careers to serving a Jewish people we can only now imagine. We close our eyes, we hum, we listen to words of wisdom from past students and teachers. And then we walk home. And know that this is the beginning of always coming home, in the spiritual sense, that is.

Life is not tried..it is merely survived, when you're standing outside the fire.

 

That’s some sound life advice from country singer Garth Brooks that I took to heart when I bid fond farewell to my beloved Bay Area this year, to begin an immersive and intensive year in Rabbinical Studies at Hebrew Union College in Jerusalem . (Don't worry...I also spoke extensively with rabbinic mentors...)


Thanks Garth!

The quote feels appropriate to the moment though. Heat, literally and figuratively are understatements in Jerusalem and the rhythm of life here feels at once welcomingly warm-and a bit combustible. I hope this blog does some justice to my Rabbinical school experience unfolding so far-and most importantly, that it brings those of you far away in my life a little closer for the year.

And though it’s already been a week or two into school, (apologies if school has already swallowed much of my free time) but I’ll rewind in this first post to the very beginning. Bear with me, future posts won’t be so long!

   

As you may know, Step One of my rabbinical school adventure involved getting on a plane with forty 18-22 year old Birthright participants, who entrusted me as their chaperone on a 10-day whirlwind tour (led by Yael, a knowledgeable Israeli tour guide and an armed security guard as well) throughout the North, South, East, and West of Israel. (Only possible in a country smaller than New Jersey.) I am not sure I have ever laughed harder in ten day and only 60% of that was exhaustion induced giddiness.

Participants bond with Israeli Soldiers, by attempting to put on their uniforms in less than 3 minutes.

Yael explains the land...I hold her maps and wear aviators.

Their wonder at the country I’ve lived in and toured several times now was rejuvenating and somehow, the Israel TOP Ten Must See spots I've seen many times now still move me. I won’t bore you too much with the itinerary, but rest assured we covered much ground on that bus- Each day brimmed with desert hikes, falafel sandwhiches dripping with tahina, museums, camels, Tel Aviv nightlife, (a highlight for staff chaperones...) and much more.

 

Highlights included officiating my first Hebrew naming ceremony for 3 participants who had not had Bar Mitzvahs, and receiving a new nickname-Mom! Thankfully I buried that one when I put them back on the plane to New York at 2 am on June 21st.

 

At 6am on June 21st, I made my way bleary-eyed to my very own dwellings where I will be sleeping, eating, and causing trouble in educational ways for the school year-a very charming apartment I’m renting from a lady named Rivka on 6 Jabotinsky Street, about 15 minutes walk from downtown Jerusalem. Hence my oh-so-cleverly named blog. She greeted me with chocolaty oozey babka, challah for Shabbat, and some instructions for several appliances I still don’t know how to use. I nodded and collapsed.

Requisite tantalizing Israeli food photo

 

 Thus commenced almost 2 full weeks of my own exploration of Jerusalem-a city I’m coming to appreciate for its consistently messy clash between tradition and modernity, religious and secular living, cosmopolitanism, and a determination to definite itself as an exclusive Jewish homeland. I’ve taken to going on long, meandering walks through streets both familiar and different than any Jerusalem I’ve ever known from a bus or guided tour. The walks have the effect of feeling like you’re wandering through 3 or 4 different movie sets at once. In one outing I pass a crowded Aladdin-like marketplace charade of vendors extolling the price of their figs and pitas, to a procession of enormous extended Orthodox families parading into the Old City for Shmuelik’s Bar Mitvah, (names changed for privacy and funsies) and then the odd overheard café conversation about dating in your 20s between some nice American folk that might as well have taken place at a Starbucks.

The sights and smells, and adventures in broken Hebrew are proving to be a rich education in and of themselves-but fear not, tomorrow begins my first official day of Rabbinical school orientation and I will regale you with tales of the EDUCATIONAL experience as it unfolds. For now I leave you with a Hebrew expression learned from Rivka, that suits any question asked for which you don’t have too much of an answer.

 “Kol Tuv” …”It’s all good.”