Divided We Fall

I read an interesting article the other day about Hebrew Union College possibly not admitting rabbinical students who are in interfaith marriages. The article was by a Reform rabbi in a same-sex marriage. The debate in the comments was fascinating, and while the author had originally made a very convincing case, the resulting conversation showed me both sides of it and now I don't know WHAT I feel!

But what struck me most in the comments was the openly hostile attitude from many Orthodox Jews toward Reforms. There were soooo many commenters who just dismissed the author entirely and wouldn't even engage in a conversation around this because she is Reform and because HUC isn't "valid" anyway. The remarks weren't just dismissive or condescending - they were angry and disgusted, with the interfaith marriage bit being just a detail on the side. There were people saying that it doesn't matter what this author does since she isn't really a rabbi. Others said it was silly that the HUC would worry about anything since there are no standards as it is for ordaining rabbis. Others said since this rabbi is part of a movement that completely dismisses and undermines the Torah anyway, it isn't surprising that she would take this stance.

The attitudes were just devastating to me. Is it a surprise to me that many Orthodox Jews do not see liberal Judaism as valid? Not at all. Reform rabbis are duty-bound to inform candidates for conversion that their conversion will most likely not be seen as valid in the Orthodox sect, and my rabbi let me know this from the get-go. It was mildly irritating in an eye-rolling way, but not something that affected my decision. I see it in my Orthodox colleague's lack of recognition of me as a Jew - no congratulations upon my conversion, no "Chag Sameach" at holidays we both share in, nothing. I feel it, and I have to let it roll off me the same as someone who is anti-gay chatting merrily with me until something related to home life comes up, when they suddenly nod and smile and look away as they try to find a way to wriggle out of what seems to me like normal conversation.

Now that I know more about the other denominations, I think I could just as happily have converted to Reconstructionist or Conservative Judaism (equally dismissed by Orthodox), but never, ever Orthodox. If my only option in Judaism was a strict, literal interpretation of the Torah and accepting institutionalized sexism, I couldn't have gotten on board. There is a reason so many Jews broke off from this. But to think that so many Jews, our own brothers and sisters (though they may not see US that way), dismiss us as Jews is hurtful. I wanted to yell back at some of the commenters as they talked about not taking the Torah seriously - I dare them to sit in ONE service or Torah study with my rabbi and not feel the absolutely infectious love and respect she has for Torah.

I think what frustrates me is that I don't have a negative view of Orthodox Jews. I respect them for their discipline in following Torah the way they feel is right. I am grateful to them for being fruitful and multiplying, since Reforms aren't quite as good at that and tend to have smaller families. I can allow them room to be a little skeptical or disagree with how liberal Jews of all denominations interpret Jewish law. But why the hatred? What good does it serve any of us to dismiss, look down upon, and express anger and disgust toward one another? And for what, when we are all just trying to follow our hearts and our God and live good, holy lives? I can't imagine using up any of my energy on directing hatred toward my kinsfolk. There is so much to be grateful for, and so much to do in the world, and that's where my focus is. If another Jew isn't hurting anyone, I'm really not worried about what she's doing or how she's practicing. I guess it's just hard for me to understand, and it is certainly disappointing.

My First Shavuot (I barely knew what it was last year)

Shavuot commemorates the receiving of Torah and the Ten Commandments on Mount Sinai, and is also a harvest festival in that Jews in ancient times counted down from Passover to Shavuot (the period after liberation from slavery in Egypt in which Jews wandered through the wilderness until revelation at Mount Sinai) by giving offerings of barley, culminating in a wheat offering on Shavuot itself. (Was that run-on sentence long enough?) Now the counting of the omer (a unit of measure for the offerings) is observed through steps toward personal refinement to prepare oneself to spiritually receive the Torah on Shavuot, remembering the moment at Mount Sinai and recommitting to accepting the Torah for oneself.

I have been fortunate enough to belong to a temple that has offered many ways to observe the counting of the omer (which by all means is not observed by a majority of Reform Jews) in a way that is meaningful and relevant. This has included the rabbi working elements and themes into services and Torah study, as well as offering a four-part series on “Great Jewish Books” and a four-part series of meditation workshops. I have recently discovered that this is pretty unique to our synagogue and our rabbi, and that many, many congregations do not provide such opportunities for meaningful observance. Maybe this is because it is technically a “minor” holiday, or maybe it is because, as I recently read in an article in Tablet, modern American Jews struggle to find meaning in the holiday and are largely unobservant of it, and it is hard to continue offering something for which people are simply not showing up. But I also think that non-participation can be a self-fulfilling prophecy; it takes time, thoughtfulness, and energy on the part of the clergy to infuse all aspects of religious observance in this period with connections to Shavuot in order to get people engaged and invigorated. Once you do that, it is up to people to choose whether or not to engage and participate, and you certainly can’t force them to get excited and find meaning in it - but without at least the information and the opportunity, you would have no one! And that seems to be exactly what is happening in many places.

I feel so lucky that there have been plenty of opportunities within my synagogue to be observant of this very special holiday, opportunities to keep our brains engaged and to focus on our own spiritual development by challenging us to watch how we are living and make conscious efforts to refine much of that through the smallest of choices in how we behave. I even have an awesome “My Omer” app on my phone that has allowed me to check off each day and has given a meditative exercise based on the weekly themes.

This period culminated in a mini Tikkun Leil Shavuot last night. This is a study session that traditionally goes all through the night and provides continued and intensive opportunities to mentally and spiritually prepare for Shavuot. There are many places in Manhattan that offer all-night study sessions, which my old soul with my 10:30 bedtime would never be able to accomplish, as much as I’d love to. I was grateful for the opportunity to get a taste of it, and to do so with people I am becoming familiar with in my own temple. The first hour was led by our cantor, who taught a lesson on “eco-poetry,” which involved discussion and analysis of nature-themed poems by Israeli artists. The second hour was led by our rabbi, who taught from different texts about the Torah. I can definitely see the appeal of staying up all night having discussions like that. What an awesome way to bring in Shavuot! We ended with a sweet ritual in the sanctuary, in which we recommitted ourselves to the pursuit of Torah and each got to hold it. (So glad I got to practice that for my conversion or I would have been terrified! It went much more smoothly this time.)

This morning was the festival service, and I had asked permission to come to work late so I could attend. Let me preface this by saying I knew this holiday would hold more significance for me than is probably typical, compared to other more major and highly celebrated holidays. This is simply because it is soooo relevant to my recent – and current! – experience as a Jew-by-choice. The holiday commemorates what was basically a mass conversion, where each person chose for themselves to accept Torah and follow God through Jewish practices and teaching. And on top of that, there is a reading from the scroll of Ruth about her decision to follow her deceased husband’s faith and commit herself to God, Judaism, and the Jewish people even after his death, when she had the option – and was even encouraged – to return to her community of origin. I mean, how could this NOT be a major holiday for me? But I really didn’t expect to be as emotional as I was. As much as the Tikkun Leil Shavuot had fueled my brain and overall energy, this service fed my heart and soul in a way I could not have anticipated.

I became very and uncontrollably emotional at a totally unexpected moment, before the Torah or the story of Ruth were even read. It washed over me almost out of nowhere. Rabbi encouraged us to envision ourselves at the foot of Mt. Sinai (midrash says that every Jewish soul that ever was and ever will be was there accepting Torah) as we took a moment for our silent prayer and meditations. I sent up a very simple and brief prayer. All I thought was, “Thank you, God, for leading me here and allowing me the opportunity to accept Torah and Judaism.” After that it was all emotion. It overwhelmed me even as I finished those words, and I just started crying. I didn’t have sobbing breaths, but it was definitely more than damp eyes. Tears streamed down my face and I felt unexpectedly and undefinably overcome. In that instant, I felt like I had just come out of the mikvah again. I felt a similar sense of awe and humility, and probably an even more intense feeling of gratitude.

From that point on, it was over for me. Fresh tears came over me as the Torah was brought around, then again as Cantor chanted the Ten Commandments from the Torah, and yet again as I recited the most powerful and emotional “Sh’ma” of my life. The intensity of my emotions completely surprised me, but were also very welcome, and I didn’t feel self-conscious at all. I just felt a bit of effort to hold myself together and not let myself completely go, as I was definitely on the verge and easily could have gone into full weeping. How incredible to unexpectedly feel so emotional just days after I had finally started feeling myself even out!

I kind of wish I could make an addendum to my beit din, for when they asked what my favorite holiday was, my answer was something like, “They are all still so exciting and new that I don’t yet have a favorite. I love them all equally. But I’m sure that will change as I experience them a few more times, get more familiar with them, and make different personalized associations with each of them.” I'm pretty sure I have a clear favorite now!

This may not be true all my life. What I find personal and meaningful and emotional even ten or twenty years from now may be very different. My conversion may even be a distant memory amidst a busy, full emotional life in which I have come to take my Judaism for granted and am focused on and distracted by so many other things. How intense my joy and pride after high school graduation just twelve years ago, and yet I am barely nostalgic for it now. I know intellectually that it was a time of pure, unbridled ecstasy and excitement, but no photos can invoke that feeling in me again now. It already feels so much a part of my past. I’m hopeful that my descriptive journal entries will help me be able to re-experience all of this on an emotional level, as I do with things that happened as long ago as 2004 when I really began intensive journaling that was more about my emotional processes and less about chronicling events. But even so, it would take intentional reading to evoke those feelings again. I will have to work to provoke that nostalgia. It will not always be such a part of my everyday emotional makeup, and therefore Shavuot may not always hold such meaning for me.

Although even as I say that, I realize that it may still hold just as much meaning, even if the emotions aren’t as raw and fresh. It will likely never again feel the way it did a mere three weeks after my conversion, and for that I will be able to cherish my first Shavuot forever. But when this is all so normal and I’ve forgotten the intensity of it all and the emotions aren’t as powerfully overwhelming, may the celebration of Shavuot always serve as my reminder that I chose Judaism long before it became official, and will continue choosing it every day for the rest of my life.

Settling In (as a Jew)

It's finally happening. I am coming down from the high of my conversion, which I was riding long before it actually happened. (Jewish) life is settling in around me, and I am content. I am still eager to learn, but with a more normal and sustainable level of excitement, rather than with the urge to run and dance and jump around that has had me swept up for months. No high can be maintained forever, and the silver lining is that I know now what being Jewish feels like from a typical, everyday perspective - it feels comforting and content and secure and stimulating. When Rabbi asked me a few weeks before my conversion how I thought it would feel on April 20 (the day following my conversion), how I feel now is exactly what I described - normalcy, calm, a seamless fit in my everyday life. But it took me a few weeks to get here.

I haven't lost my passion and excitement. They are just at a different level because Judaism is infused into my life rather than something I'm excitedly reaching for almost outside of my life. I will never lose the shine in my eyes for Judaism (as Rabbi said to me on the bimah April 19 as I positively glowed) and, as a Jew by choice, I don't think it's possible to completely take it for granted. I sure hope not. But this feeling of normalcy makes me feel even more authentically Jewish, because now it's just what I do, it's just my life. Just like my everyday life with my wife makes me feel more happily and contentedly married than the giddy honeymoon glow that I knew would not last forever, and what would it be followed by?

Another silver lining to this is that my comfort level has increased even more. I feel just slightly more comfortable talking to Rabbi when I see her (still not completely, because I will always be socially shy) and even more comfortable than before talking and asking questions during Torah study and other events. Again, still a level of shyness, but not so much self-consciousness like there was before. I'm still Rabbi's #1 fan and think she's amazing, but it's a little less "OMG we have to go to such and such, I want to hear Rabbi and just be around her, she's so incredible!!!!" and a little more just admiration and respect for the level of intelligence and insight and spirituality she brings into every discussion, a feeling I'm sure I share with every other member of our congregation. I feel less like a fangirl, and more like a member on equal footing.

Today this same brilliant and lovely rabbi made a beautiful point in Torah study about the opposite but equally important concepts of God as almighty and awe-inspiring (malchut) and God as an indwelling presence within our world and within each person (shechinah). She used the last verse of Leviticus juxtaposed with the first verse of Numbers to show this, in that the first is about God speaking to the people from Mt. Sinai and the second is about God speaking to the people within their own space. This led to an awesome conversation about "peak" experiences in our own lives, miraculous or very emotional events that makes us feel over-the-moon connected to God, which is like God revealing Godself at Sinai in such a massive way, versus our more common baseline experience with God where we have to search a little more to find God within ourselves, our daily lives, and the small moments around us.

Finding that subtle difference in nearly identical verses and being able to expound on that in a way that makes it completely relevant to our lives is just incredible to me. Never before in my life would I think the Torah portion on census could have anything to do with me! Judaism is so intellectual and so spiritual at the same time, and I remain smitten around every new corner. I never would have thought it possible to sit down with a clergy and have these kinds of conversations full of light-bulb moments.

Yes, I may be more settled and less dancing down the hallways, but I am building a deeper and more mature love every day. I hope my kids, who will be blessed to have the ability to take their Judaism for granted, can find and develop this same love.

Circle of Life

Just last week, I basked in happiness as I watched a female cardinal take a bath in our sprinkler the first day that I watered our newly seeded patches of lawn. She fluffed and preened and shook and was just so enjoying herself from atop our fence in the spray of water that my heart was overfilled with happiness and gratitude.

This morning we came back from temple to a dead baby bird in our driveway. She was perfectly intact and it must have just happened because there were no bugs around her and they just started coming in the time it took us to dig a hole for her burial. She was on her back with her head back, as if she had fallen and her neck had broken. She looked too little to be out of her nest, and I didn't see the nest anywhere. She was so beautiful, every tiny perfect detail of her, and I scooped her onto my trowel and buried her beneath a hedge.

Then I took advantage of the sun between two major rain showers (one of which had made gorgeous music on the roof of the sanctuary) to transfer my seedlings from their cups to the ground. I still felt so sad about the bird, but had to transfer that energy into nurturing new life, life that will help sustain us.

There was too much nature happening in my own backyard today. Beautiful and sad and overwhelming.

Being such an emotional person feels like a curse almost as often as it feels like a gift.

Spring = Many Opportunities for a "Shehecheyanu"!

One of the things that fascinated me about Judaism when I was in my Intro class was how so many of the rituals around life cycle events are perfectly orchestrated to help guide a person through a healthy, normal emotional process. As a social worker, I was intrigued by how the rituals around death and mourning, for example, perfectly correlate with what is considered a healthy and appropriate way to cope and grieve. What a beautiful way to nudge people along this path rather than allowing someone to flounder in chaos and repression and maladaptive coping techniques. This gave me such a respect for the wisdom of our ancestors.

I now feel similarly about the "Shehecheyanu." I have become such a fan of this blessing, and am grateful I had to learn it for my conversion.  It is a blessing for special occasions and new things, and you know what? Finding opportunities where this blessing is appropriate helps enhance my appreciation of these events. For instance, I was already joyous about planting our blueberry bush together, having my hands in the earth and helping nurture life, but recognizing that moment as an opportunity for a "Shehecheyanu" made me appreciate it even more. It made me pause and take time to feel grateful to God for this moment.

A less obvious example is saying it before baking my first cake as a Jew, which I am doing this afternoon to bring to our oneg. (I had the whole week off work for my parents' visit, and since they left yesterday afternoon, I have time today to bake, which rarely happens.) It is also my first caramel cake ever. This is not something I may normally feel such a level of appreciation and happiness for, and recognizing it as an opportunity to say a "Shehecheyanu" gives me pause to feel gratitude and joy where I otherwise would not have. And this is what made it connect in my mind to what I mention above about the wisdom behind Jewish traditions. What a beautiful reminder to appreciate and thank God for even the smallest of things. It keeps me in the moment and builds on my already joyful and contented nature.