Thoughts #2/3

Thought #2: Choice Through Knowledge

Judaism is everywhere, even in secular Tel Aviv

            In choosing where I was going to attend Shachrit services yesterday morning, I had a plethora of options. There was Shira Chadasha, where I know I am both comfortable and get a traditional worship experience. There was Moreshit Yisrael, close to me and therefore easy to get in and out of in time for lunch. There was Kedem, where I am slowly finding my voice and confidence in the more traditional liturgy, all the while having the opportunity to ask questions and learn when I don’t understand. Or, I could venture out of my self-imposed comfort zone and experience a new worship space.

            Sara and I both decided we were up for exploring, so headed down to the Ashkenaz synagogue in Yemin Moshe. If I had thought about it, I would have realized that the synagogue was likely a remnant of the beginnings of the settlement and therefore much more traditional with mehitza and a significant amount of silent, quick davening. As soon as we walked in, we knew it wasn’t the kind of place either of us enjoyed. Although the mehitza did not reach the ceiling and we could see over it, we were facing the mehitza instead of East. Also, although we walked in at 8:45, the congregation had already arrived at the repetition of the Amidah. By the time I personally went through from Barchu until the end of the Amidah, I realized this wasn’t where I wanted to pray. Sara concurred and we slipped out the back to go to a much more communal service at Kedem.

            Kedem is an independent, egalitarian minyan where Sara was given the honor of an aliyah and I, hagbah [lifting the Torah for all to see, in respect of what was given by Moses at Sinai]. We both let out a deep breath when we walked in, as they were just getting to Barchu and we would be able to pray an almost full service with them. Not only that, but men and women were seated next to each other and the atmosphere was more welcoming.

            As we walked around the city, going from service to service to lunch, we discussed what we wanted to find in a service. In the past, my answer was traditional, right off the bat. Give me somewhere that does the whole service. But as we talked, I realized that my answer has morphed, even in the past five months. Not only do I want traditional, I want a service where I can feel like I am part of that community, that my voice is not only desired, but necessary to make up the minyan required for certain prayers. I want a place where voices are raised together, not in something that seems like a garbled chant, but in song and beauty. Moreover, I desire a community where I walk in and immediately feel like the community welcomes me, as both a visitor and a member of the congregation.

            By this point, I know the liturgy well enough to lead a Reform service (which, were it not for needing to add iyunnim and other odds and ends, I could likely do in my sleep). However, that isn’t the point. The point is that davening is a prayerful thing, allowing you to lead the congregation, but not necessarily separate you from it. That is what I have found. The place where I want to pray, both in this year and in my future life is a place where I am both welcome as a Jew, made to feel comfortable in the environment, and given the opportunity to wear my tallit.

            Reform Judaism has allowed me to explore all these avenues. I am not required to wear a tallit or wrap t’fillin, nor are any of my classmates. We, at the end of our learning, are expected to KNOW about the ritual and the meaning behind them, but we are expected to make our own decision as to whether or not it resonates with us. That is the beauty of where I sit. I can daven in a traditional setting while at the same time spending Shabbat afternoon cooking dinner for the homeless. And that is okay, because that is what makes Shabbat special in my life. I choose my own adventure. Choice through knowledge: it works! [Thank you Rebecca Vogel for helping me understand the importance of this idea]

Thought #3: Passion, talk, avenues of life

            I went to dinner with someone I met at shul the other week. While I truly enjoyed talking to him, by the time we hit the hour (of two hours) mark, I found myself getting tongue tied and losing words. Not only that, but a feeling of pure exhaustion settled over me. Normally, I am an eager dinner companion, ready and able to volley the conversation back and forth, keeping up a good stream of information and talk. However, for some reason, I found myself allowing the ball to drop more and more as I settled into my chair and gazed at my surroundings.

            Later that night, I realized something: we had spent two hours talking about Judaism. Usually, I am all for that. But for some reason, I couldn’t play out the game. I needed a break. After leading services, going to class, doing a 2-hour bike ride, and going to the shuk, I had spent almost all of my day either practicing, working on, or talking about Judaism. My dinner was supposed to be about getting to know the person. And it was. But it was all about Judaism.

You never know what is around the corner.

 

            Then something clicked. I love Judaism. I love it passionately and speak about it an inordinate amount. Hey, I’m in Israel studying to be a Rabbi, so it’s allowed, right? Of course! But, as such, I also need a break every once in a while. I need to keep my gambit of ‘other activities’ fresh so that I always have another activity or topic to turn to when Judaism simply cannot keep me talking. My life is Judaism, but that isn’t all it is. I am a friend, a daughter, a teacher, a cyclist, a photographer, a writer and so much more.

            A few days later, I found myself at an intimate lunch with a few classmates. We were waiting to start lunch and talking about the future of Reform Judaism (go big or go home, right?). Somehow the topic of incorporating other parts of life into Judaism came up and I jumped on it. Having realized my opinions on the thoughts a few days previously, I stepped in with my half-formed opinion, intoning that life was about more than just davening. My friend then took every one of my interests and related it back to Judaism.

            Somewhere in that conversation, I realized that where we are and how we look at the world often depends on the person into whose eyes we are looking at the time. In their eyes is reflected our own thoughts and goals, wishes and ideals. Through them, we gain insight into ourselves, and truly learn who we are and want to be by engaging in dialogue with them.

            I have to shape my life to be what I want it. If I want to be outdoors and connect with nature, I have to find time for that. If I want to pray three times a day, I also need to make that a part of my life. That is the beauty of Reform Judaism. I have the power and ability to actively do that, to decide how I want Judaism to be reflected in my life and how I want to teach and bring it to others.