Why don't people follow the Torah/Kashrut?

This week's parsha, Shmini (Vayikra 9:1-11:47), makes many daily activities pre-ordained down to the finest detail. One such activity is eating. The laws concerning food and its consumption take up much space in our Torah, with this parsha being the first time real rules for said consumption are handed down. We are commanded in which animals to eat and which to avoid, as they are abominations for us! Yet how did these seemingly arbitrary decisions regarding our stomach contents come about, and in the desert, no less? More importantly, if God wasn't human, how could God honestly make such important decisions about something we spend much of our lives doing, thinking about, or preparing?

First and for most, we must remember that these were ordinances handed down by God. For that very reason, we cannot just throw them out the window (one of my students asked today why people don't believe in Torah or Kashrut!). God's authority is too important, even to those who may not observe all of God's precepts, to simply ignore EVERYTHING. As food is one of those universally attended to things, its one of the aspects of the Torah that is considered even by people who don't consider the Torah to be the word of God and the law by which they must live their lives.

So what of these animals that we are allowed to eat, and which are forbidden? We can have animals with cloven hooves which chew their cud. We can have animals of the sea with fins and scales. We cannot have winged, swarming things that walk on fours. And the Torah specifics which birds we cannot have. Examples of each category are provided.

But wait, why? Why should you bother listening, reading, continuing to care about this? That was exactly what one of my kids asked, but in a slightly different way. We were explaining what Kashrut is (if you can figure out how to simply explain Kashrut without getting into too many details, you will gain my unyielding respect), and talking about the fact that some people keep Kashrut and some don't. Usually the ones that keep it wear a Kippah and are considered to be dati (religious). (Interesting that in Israel, if you're "religious" you keep Kosher. In America, most Jews I know, whether observant on a regular basis or not, keep some semblance of Kashrut.)

Anyway, one of our kids stops the teacher and asks: "But why do people not believe in Kashrut or the Torah?"

We all stopped and looked at him in shock. First of all, this is a difficult question to answer in any language. Second of all, the amount of insight it takes to ask a question like that is incredibly deep.

Both the teacher and I started to answer, but she quickly deferred to me. I began with one answer, saying that sometimes people don't believe that the Torah came directly from God, so they don't feel the need to follow that word to the letter. However, I wanted to do justice to different perspectives, and didn't know how to say it. Even though the teacher said I could say in English and she would explain, I didn't have the words in English either. One of the other aides suggested that a reason for not following Kashrut was that it is too hard. The number of restrictions it places on one's life, the way it describes exactly what one must do and how, feels overbearing and not at all like something that is easy to follow.

I'll admit that I personally have struggled with the idea of Kashrut. Growing up, we didn't have separate dishes and we ate mashed potatoes (with butter) with our steak. As I got older, I stopped eating red meat and now do not mix milk and meat. Now I only eat Kosher meat if I buy it. In my own home, I want two sets of dishes. For me, it is about those around me, my friends and family, feeling comfortable eating in my house. But I have to say my curiosity is peaked when I wonder what the actual restrictions are all about?

Are they because at the time the Torah was given to Moses, the unkosher animals were also the unhealthy or unclean ones? Was it another way to distinguish between the Jews and the non-Jews, making sure that Jews stayed in their own communities (it is easier to eat a certain way and ensure that it is maintained if everyone else around also does that). Is this another way for God to demonstrate God's dominion over God's people? Truthfully, I don't have an answer. I'm not sure that an answer must be reached. Although many people have difficulty accepting something without reason, maybe that is the whole point of Kashrut. Maybe it's another one of those things that we have to accept on faith. It may even be beneficial in the long run!

Therefore, in the coming week, consider how you eat. You don't need to start keeping strict biblical Kosher, but maybe be mindful of how you eat and what you are eating. Be thankful for it. take your time in processing it.

Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Shemini, D'var Torah

Although it's from a few weeks ago, here is the text of my D'var Torah!

Shemini D’var Torah

Elana Nemitoff

Shachrit, 4 March 2013

Silence.

Silence is uncomfortable. Silence is painful. Silence is funny. Silence often has a reason.

In Parshat Shmini, Leviticus 10:3, we hear, וידם אחרון, Aaron was silent. Why? This occurs after Aaron’s two sons bring אש זרה as a sacrificial offering and are swallowed by God. Aaron is represented as silent in the following moment, as God dictates that God will be sanctified through these two boys, saying בקרובי אקדש ועל-פני כל-העם אכבד. The Torah continues with the disposal of the bodies, and in verse eight, God begins speaking directly to Aaron, telling him the rules of what he can and cannot imbibe.

However, looking back at 10:3, Aaron has still not uttered a word. Why not? Is he silent because of his leadership role? Or, is he reacting to Moses’ retelling of God’s chilling words that he will lose his sons to God?

Most of the medieval commentators had different interpretations of Aaron’s silence. Rashi says Aaron is silent in order to receive a reward - aשכר טוב על השתיקה. Instead of blaming Aaron, Rashi suggests that Aaron directly received the gift of the word of God, which until that moment had only come to him through Moses. Aaron might suffer from the deaths of his sons, but the reward is greater than the pain.

I disagree with Rashi and am inclined to agree with Ramban who offers two suggestions for why Aaron is silent. One is that הוא בכה ואחר-כך הוא וידם, he was crying loudly and ceased once Moses stopped talking. He listens. The other interpretation, using Lamentations 2:18, אל תדום בת-עיניך, saying, don’t let the apple of your eye cease, is that the word וידם actually means cessation and not silence. Aaron stops crying but isn’t silent. Ramban’s assertion is that Aaron must grieve privately, not that he must cease his pain.

    Another interpretation from Midrash גור אריה (vayikor yud bet, bet) suggests that Aaron is silent because Moses had already told him of his sons’ impending deaths and he had time to process the pain. He didn’t need to call out. Ramban still seems to have the strongest argument, as pain is pain, even when expected!

    A more humanizing interpretation comes from Matthew Berkowitz of JTS. He suggests that Aaron is silent in a moment of humility, showing him t as a role model for how to bear pain and mourn. Ron Wolfson, writes that the bible often shows people wailing in pain. Yet he also writes that when people first hearof a familial loss they go into shock and often don’t know their emotions or just go through the motions. It would seem that is Aaron’s fate. Aaron is distraught over his son’s deaths. His silence is not passive acceptance or anticipation of a reward. Rather, it is him taking a moment to internalize the memory of his son’s.

    In our lives as Jewish professionals, we will often work with individuals who have suffered harrowing losses. Our job, which we see from Aaron, is both to allow the outburst of tears, anger, frustrations – whatever emotions we may find peope displaying – and give them time to recall the positives of the deceased individual’s life. Not only that, but we must be the example, caring for our own grief as well. Aaron takes the opportunity to mourn, however short it is, in order to continue on in his role as high priest. We too, have and will continue to have taxing roles in our community. However, unlike Aaron, we must recognize that it is not only acceptable, but necessary to take the time to grieve appropriately. Wolfson suggests that only when one takes the time to grieve, can life move on. Otherwise, one remains stuck in a constant dead-hold of depression and denial.

    Therefore, we must recommend, both to others and ourselves, that time is necessary when it comes to grief and mourning. The initial outburst, as well as the after-effect of shock or other emotions are all normal. They should be cared for delicately, and only after the fact can one truly return to everyday life. Aaron teaches that life moves on, but we must listen to our hearts and pause a moment or many moments to recognize our sorrow. In the periods of שבעה, שלושים, ירצית, יזכור, we slowly return to our lives. We return to our lives having taken care of the pain we felt. We allow the pain to continue, but in doing so, we also make room for the memories of our loved ones. We take Aaron’s example and learn to continue on, but as we do, we will always remember.

Mea Shearim: A world within a world

I'm reminded of the song from fiddler on the roof: at three I started Hebrew school at five I...." Although I don't necessarily remember the words of the song, the idea is of importance. Starting at the age of three, orthodox, but especially Haredi children have their first hair cut, begin wearing Tzitzit katon and peyus, and most port antsy, start going to school. The learning process is not held off until the rest of the worlds kindergarten, but rather begins at three.

The father brings his son into the school, wrapped in his Tzitzit, eyes covered for fear he will learn bad ways. In the school, he does not even have a ball to tempt him into the other, secular world. Rather, he must learn the ways of his forefathers, first learning the aleph bet and slowly immersing himself in the words of Torah and the rest of tradition. By the time a child is six, he will have learned all of berashit and shemot (genesis and exodus) by heart. He learns the words as well as the commentary associated with it. And  the time he is bar mitzvah age, he know the tanach as well as Talmud and Mishna by heart. Then, it's off to yeshiva to do the real learning and debating. Although I'm really not sure what they learn there...maybe ,rabbinic commentary?

Regardless, this knowledge comes from today's visit to Mea Shearim, which it turns t is much smaller than I initially realized. The neighborhood itself is a cross section of the ultra-orthodox world, representing Haredim, Litvaks (ultra orthodox from Lithuania), mitnagdim, and chasidim. Each group has their own special way of dressing and interacting with the general public (as Michael Marmur said at the beginning of the year, there are many different shades of black). Some may avoid a female gaze while others simply want to inform.

The neighborhood itself is full of small alleyways and men coming in and out of the synagogue all throughout the day. At all times, for the most part, there is a minyan, ten people, prepared to daven together. The mikvah being located right next door is convenient, and offers the members of the community their daily necessity of cleansing (and gossip) before they are ready for the day. Directly across the street are two schools, one lLitvak and one Haredi. We entered the Litvak one and were immediately assaulted by loud screaming. Turns out the children were on a break and playing on their playground located in the dirt center of the three story building. The building , with rooms on each side, contains classrooms the size of a small dorm room, with as many as thirty children stuffed into benches, seated with the Chumash on the thin table in front of them. They chant along in unison with the rabbi, their teacher, as he translates the Hebrew or Aramaic into Yiddish. All the learning is in Yiddish, although outside of the classroom it would seem everyone speaks Hebrew.

The synagogue itself is a work of beauty, with the ceiling painted in the style brought over from Lithuania, with the names of the months on one half of the ceiling and the names of the twelve tribes of Israel on the other. Next to each is either the zodiac sign associated with the month or the symbol associated with the specific tribe. The room itself is set up for hevruta study, with benches facing each other and a table in between. A few pairs of old men and young boys sat opposite one another, engaging in reading and dialogue, but the room  a mostly empty. However, from the looks of the books strewn across the tables, Torah study or Talmud was a regular practice in this space.

Most surprising to me was our ability to walk into this building, no questions asked. Although we were with a former member of Mea Shearim, I still didn't expect to be able to walk in and peek around. Yet peek we did, as the children peeked back at us from behind their hands. The wide array of white, blue, gray, and black that stared back at us was unsurprising, but for its openness.

The principal came up to us on the stairs and started talking about the school, about the importance of teaching these children from a young age and what exactly is taught. It turns out that the children learn math and grammar, but only at a young age and only until a basic level of understanding. They learn how to add subtract, multiply and divide, using fractions and decimals, but after that there is no need. They will be learning for most of their lives and therefore don't need to engage in what the rabbi called לימודי חול, or secular learning.

Previous to this encounter, we passed a girls school, which is supposedly one of the last remaining schools of its kind. It is taught only in Yiddish and goes up until the ae of 16 or 17, when a girl is suitable to start finding a husband, or being attached to her chosen match. The school's main purpose is to teach a girl what she will need to know in married life: sewing, cooking, knitting, laundry, family expenses. She may learn a very selected version of history, and maybe math, but there will be no Talmud study. Not funded by the government, this is a very extreme version of ultra-orthodox education. The more popular kind of learning for females is at beit yaakov, which is partially government funded and therefore teaches more of the secular subjects.

Showing up in my jeans skirt past my knees and long sleeved purple shirt, I thought I was dressed modestly. It turns out that it wasn't what they consider modest, due to the colors in my clothing and the length of my skirt, not to mention a small part of my chest showing. Although I am aware that this is the lifestyle that has been chosen, as a way to remain connected to what they consider the true way of practicing Judaism, I became immediately sure that this was not the world I wanted to live in, nor was it the world in which I was prepared to raise a family. Jewish values are important to me and always will be important, but so is the modern world. Technology is an asset in the world (for the most part) and I believe that as Jews, but also as people, we have a responsibility to participate with the rest of the world in making this a better world in which to live. If they want the messiah or messianic age to come, how is studying Torah going to bring that about? What will the words on the page do to make this world better? Studying Torah and learning Judaics is a way of looking at the world, of developing a belief system, but there is more to life than that. It is our responsibility to take what we learned and then go out into the world and affect change from our own actions. We must, as Ghandi said, be the change we wish to see in the world. Only then can we start to see what a messianic age might look like and how we can be a part of it.

Being a reform rabbi may not be the path I need to take to get to affecting that change. However, people will always need counselors and therapists, people who are both spiritual and secular guides as they traverse the confusing world. That in and of itself is helping make the world a better place, both directly and indirectly. Indirectly, it is helping people find the greater wholeness inside of them to do good and directly it is helping them believe in a power that is greater than themselves. Prayer is a way to connect, to feel a community around you. And that allow one to know that he or she is not alone in the task of making the world better. Is it my destiny to be a rabbi...that is yet to be seen. But it is my destiny to help others and touch the lives of those around me. And that I am looking forward to doing.

Why I am a Reform Jew

It's been a while since I've written. A regular update to come soon, as so much has occured (I just attended the Israeli rabbinical ordination, last week I spent 2 hours talking with people in the West Bank....). But for now, just a simple essay we had to write for one of our classes entitled, Why I am a Reform Jew

            Choice. Freedom. Growth. Passion. Adventure. Discovery. Reform Judaism, in its many facets, has afforded me the opportunity to explore both who I am as a professional and as an individual.

            As a Reform Jew, I have the ability to choose what practices work best for me. I can daven with an Independent, Egalitarian Minyan or with an ultra-Orthodox congregation. The doors of any synagogue, especially in Jerusalem, are open to me and offer a unique prayer service. However, my knowledge base was not strong enough to allow me the opportunity to attend my choice of service. Yet, as I explored the customs and traditions that grew from generations past, I became aware of an immense beauty in the amorphous liturgy. Reform Judaism gives me the opportunity to learn from this plethora of institutions, and then truly decide which place works for me. Although I appreciate the traditional Ashkenazi shul, with a high mechitza separating the men from the women of the congregation, that is not the place for me. I like an Egalitarian service, but one that goes through the entire service, reads the entire Torah Portion. I like knowing what the full service looks like, with all the different pieces and parts. The experience of knowledge enables me. Without it, I cannot choose what I want because I am not in possession of all the individual pieces. Reform Judaism allows me to then piece together the aspects of tefillah that most resonate with me and find the passion within myself. I get a feeling of kesher, connection, to the generations.

            Reform Judaism has a huge base in aggadic tradition, looking more to moral and ethical guidelines than to the ones prescribed in the Torah, as supposedly given by Moses on Sinai. The options are endless for how a Jew may choose his or her practice, and my life is no exception. I can dress modestly (which I explored for a short time), I can choose to keep strict Biblical Kosher and wait a certain amount of time before I eat. I can decide that I do not want to touch men until I am married, and then only my husband. And those are just a few examples of outward signs of what Judaism might look like. However, I do not personally choose all of those things. I want to explore them, to potentially understand how those practices might enhance my life, but as a Reform Jew in the twenty-first century, I am able to make a choice. I choose to keep Kosher, but only to the point where I do not mix milk and meat. Keeping two sets of dishes does not necessarily resonate with me. I will wait until the table is cleared to eat dairy after meat, but not an hour or 6. I choose to touch men now, for two reasons. One, that I want to know what I’m getting into before I marry and because it can enhance a relationship or be a significant part in discovering if a connection between me and another person is sound.

The symbolism of how a person interacts with their environment is often a telling way of ascertaining what their beliefs are (especially here in Israel, where a kippah or skirt deems someone as religious). However, as a Reform Jew, my Judaism is fed from within. I am proud to be a Reform Jew when I lead a worship service that utilizes guitar, piano, and pure voices. I am proud to be a Reform Jew when I see the power the Union has to assert help for the victims of Hurricane Sandy on the East Coast. I am proud to be a Reform Jew when I go to Ethiopia, to Haiti, and see the immense continuing relief work that the JDC engages in on behalf of the Jewish people.

            Education and synagogue attendance may not be the highest they have ever been, but those who are engaged in Jewish education and who attend t’fillot regularly are ones I am proud to be associated with. They are passionate about what they are learning and even choose to pass on the knowledge to others, ensuring that Judaism will live on! I get to be a part of that. Not only that, but the passion and spiritual depth of the youth of this Movement will carry Reform Judaism (and every strand of Judaism) into the next generation. I look forward to the fact that I will one day teach these young people, bestowing upon them the same sense of adventure and love of learning that NFTY and Jewish camping instilled within me. I am a Reform Jew because NFTY and the URJ Camps, specifically GUCI, inspired me and continue to offer so many the opportunity to see Judaism in action, to live Jewishly, even for one month and a few weekends out of the year. The discovery that occurs at camp, helping children understand how special Reform Judaism is, demonstrating to them that Judaism is a living breathing entity that they are indeed apart of; that is my inspiration. Just walk into a chadar ohel after any meal at most URJ camps and the amount of ruach, spirit, is overwhelming. That inspires me and keeps me going, pursuing Reform Judaism and the Rabbinate in particular.

            Not only that, but Reform Judaism doesn’t go away. It isn’t pushy about what people should and shouldn’t believe and allows people to create their own personal path. My congregation at home instituted a program called IJP: Individualized Jewish Path. This project helps individuals or families figure out what their most profound Jewish journey is and what steps they individually need to take in order to see it to fruition. Although the number of individuals who took advantage of this opportunity was not public knowledge, the direct impact was that many more lay leaders emerged within the congregation. People started planning their own personal Mitzvah projects, creating a Mitzvah garden on the synagogue grounds or developing a Mitzvah tree, with different Mitzvah opportunities available for congregants to do. Passion evolved and demonstrated the power of individual choice on a congregational basis. Each time I came home from school, I saw more people at services, more people eager to take control of their own Jewish journey. I am proud to be a Reform Jew because I am both part of that movement and that people. I have seen the inspiration of many a person and been personally instilled with a sense of responsibility for not only my fellow Jew, but my fellow man. I am a Reform Jew because we, as Jews, care about all people and take pride in being both willing and able to help anyone in need. We help those individuals explore their personal connections and aspire to assist them in as sincere and singular a way as possible, in order to allow them to pursue their dreams and desires.

            The path of conversion used to be something that was kept a secret. Not only that, but if you were homosexual, there wasn’t an option to be a part of many congregations. Now, due to the hard work of the then UAHC and the CCAR, both converts and people of any sexual persuasion are accepted into the Reform Jewish world. I welcome everyone to daven, to learn, to engage in Tikkun Olam with me, and cannot be more appreciative and respectful of the stand Reform Judaism takes.

While dating someone who was not Jewish, I began feeling a stronger desire to go to services. I wanted to learn more and be able to engage in deeper discussions about the meanings behind traditions. Even more than that, he constantly asked me questions about a particular practice and what it meant. I would get frustrated, feeling that he should know the answers. Yet, now that he has developed a deeper understanding of the ritual and the tradition, he pushes back and engages in a dialogue all his own.  He encourages me to understand my practice and why I do it, not because he doesn’t understand, but because his practice is so different from my own. Reform Judaism allows us to engage in a dialogue about the future, about him becoming Jewish and what that looks like, of him having a woman help him through the process of conversion. Reform Judaism is the reason he is choosing to be Jewish and therefore I am incredibly proud be find my home here! Although we are no longer dating, he has continued to explore Judaism on his own and hopes one day to convert. I saw first hand the power that Judaism can have in someone’s life as well as how much I personally enjoy teaching it. As a Reform Jew, I have the opportunity to do that!

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.

Chicken...I think I'll pass

I love being Jewish. The traditions, the food, the prayer, the conversations, the opinions - you name it, we've got it. We even have those traditions that as a Reform Jew, I sometimes get a little squeamish over.

Enter Shlocking Kaporot (symbolic atonement using a chicken). My first encounter with this pre-Yom Kippur tradition was last year during Yom Kippur. My father stood on the Bimah and handed out rubber chicken finger puppets to all the children after Havdallah (he preached about it at some point during the day). The purpose confused me, but I had a rubber chicken to swing around my head nonetheless.

Coming to Jerusalem for the year, I was encouraged to take advantage of the many opportunities around me offering glimpses into worlds very separate from those of a Reform Jew. Once such opportunity was heading to the shuk for Kaporot. As I needed to go to the shuk anyway, I figured why not. Although I am incredibly susceptible to emotional reactions (especially when I have already had an emotional day), I should have known it wasn’t the best idea, but alas, hindsight is 20/20…

I found the big sign announcing that people could come in and pay to have their sins transferred to the chicken and therefore allowing them to start Yom Kippur on a clean slate. I walked up the stairs, unsure what I would find under the black mesh canopy. In a C-shape were stacked dozens of crates of live chickens. The smell was unbearable while the sound was a gentle squacking (until a chicken was taken out of its plastic crate and transferred to a cardboard box for the shocket (butcher) to have easier access.

Although five or six people asked me if I wanted to do it, I gave a wide-eyed answer of no, wildly gesticulating my disapproval and fear of this custom. Instead, I just wanted to watch (which I managed to communicate in bumbled Hebrew).  So, I stood there, a fearful 22-year-old, feeling out of place as the smell permeated my brain cells, waiting for someone to come in and actually have the chicken swung over their head.

At first, I watched as an Asian woman read off a list of names for a couple, asking that each person on the list have the ritual performed for them. To this, the shocket slit the throat of each chicken and threw it in a funnel like contraption so the blood could drain from their necks as they thrashed within. The next step would be the shave off the feathers with a brutal sounding standing machine, which would allow the chickens to be given to those in need of meat for the chag (holiday).

Finally, a woman showed up and I watched the shocket swing the chicken over her head, over and over, 4 repetitions of three times each. The entire experience was fascinating. No matter the request, the chicken ended up kaput, dead. And these people worked at this job all day, smoking, eating, joking as they did it. I was thoroughly disgusted.

However, this is not my practice. Although I don’t think it is humane or particularly nice (some may say chickens don’t have feelings, but they have never heard the ethereal squack of a chicken when its being held by its wings nor have they witnessed what a thrashing chicken looks like), I understand the intention behind it. One wants to be as cleansed as possible before he or she comes before God tomorrow, on THE day, Yom Kippur. I just feel there may be better ways to do it.

I will apologize to those around me. I recognize that I may not have atoned for EVERYTHING I have done wrong in the past year, but I know that I am not perfect, and that I have sinned. Yom Kippur is not just a day for atoning. It is also a day for petitions and for living, for celebrating being written into the book of life. I will remember the importance of gratitude, of appreciating the fact that I am alive each and every day.

            Most importantly, I will say thank you. So, thank you!