A Year of Mourning - Reflections on Minyan 3

One minyan morning the conversation turned to prayer - not the prayers we recite, but how are we kddash - how are we holy? How can we focus our thoughts to understand there is no greater love than that of the Kaddosh Baruch Hu, the Infinite? Yet I think of my father. I do not think of his love, though it was vast. Of all the things taken from him, I think the most frustratrating was his ability to pray. He couldn’t stand, but worse, he couldn’t focus. Daily prayer was something he came to late in life. It opened and focuesed his day. But in the last few years prayer became more and more of a chore.

One of the things people remembered aboutr Daddy was his willingness to make a minyan. Even before he prayed regularly, it was a value of his. One bad weather nights he’d pile us all into the car. With four, we were almost half a minyan. We could make the difference to someone saying Kaddish. Even that was taken from him. Travel was hard, even only to the shul. He couldn’t get out to talk to people, and he could no longer longer read our tefillot to speak to God.

A Year of Mourning - Father’s Day

I’ve been so busy lately there’s barely time to think. My two jobs became three in April, plus being COO of my household, which could be a full time job itself. Yet I’ve fallen into a routine. I think more of Daddy each day. Perhaps the pain has faded enough that I can let down the barriers to memory and thought. Little things each day remind me of him. I say things like, “My Dad used to say...” “Papa would have said...”

I think of the lessons he taught me. Theology. Ethics. Today for hi was just another day. He didn’t like Father’s Day, or days like it. We didn’t need one day to appreciate fathers (or mothers or each other), that was something we should do every day. I remember Valentine’s Day. He used to shop generously for Valentine’s Day gifts. I remember a special chocolate cameo and stuffed animals. Then one year he came home announcing that this was a day not for us, not for Jews. We didn’t need one day to show we loved each other. We needed to show that regularly. And he tried. Though he was aggravating and intransigent at times, he was a generous year-round gift giver.

Today I am reminded of Daddy - on the radio, internet, newspaper... But I will think of him no more than tomorrow or the next day or the next.

Thank You God for Making Me According to Your Will - A Positive MeToo Moment

As I write this I am sitting in limud (learning) at the Rabbinical Assembly convention. I am constantly in awe of my colleagues: their accomplishments and their learning. Perhaps it is a symptom of being a woman in our society. Perhaps it is that we watch others change, but rarely see change in ourselves. And perhaps it is simply my nature. But I look at my colleagues, seeing their accomplishments, and respect, admiration, and amazement washes over me like a waterfall. “See what she has done.” “Look at where he is.” And, “Wow,” plays over in my head. How lucky am I to be surrounded by these amazing, erudite, accomplished rabbis. 

And then this happens.... a colleague told me I was her hero. “Me? Really?” I responded in my heart. How could I be her hero? I’m always so impressed by her. She always seems so determined, so well put-together. A heartfelt thank you burst from my lips. For not the first time this week, my eyes filled with unshed tears of overwhelming emotion. “Because of the Beth Tzedec position?” I recently took on a new temporary position, being the first woman to serve Beth Tzedec in Toronto, the largest Conservative synagogue, on their rabbinic team.  It’s flattering, and humbling, and overwhelming to be part of this foundational shul. I was there a dozen years ago in an educational position, but now I am not merely a rabbi, but one of THE rabbis. I am opening the door for women to follow me. 

But this is only part of her praise. Rather it’s for the trajectory of my rabbinate, spending my career in a galut (exile) from female rabbinic colleagues and full acceptance (if that can truly be found anywhere). Although I never set out to break boundaries and explore the midbar (wilderness), it’s true. I have spent my career as the only woman rabbi, often surrounded by, or at least frequently encountering people who doubted or demeaned me as a rabbi and scholar. I have been the first woman rabbi people met, or even heard of. I lost a job due to gender. (I recently came across letters from individuals offering to support me should I choose to sue. Their praise humbled me then, and humbles me now.)

Beth Tzedec is the first time I am serving in a fully egalitarian setting, the first time I am the same as other rabbis - not only in how I am respected, but in my function. I teach. I preach. I daven. I counsel. Perhaps I am safe. The community knows me. I left Beth Tzedec on very good terms. And I have been welcomed back with open arms. 

Nevertheless, to hear from a colleague, from another woman who impresses me, who I believe stands as a wonderful dugma (example), not only of a woman rabbi, but of a rabbi, struck me speechless. And so I give her this, an anonymous, but public thank you. You inspire me. You impress me. You motivate me and galvanize me to reach further and to do better.

A Year of Kaddish - Reflections on Minyan 2

I’ve written before that minyanim have their differences. One difference is the way the recite Kaddish. Some minyanim are almost completely made up of mourners. The majority of attendees are there to say Kaddish. Others have a core group supplemented by mourners. Some minyanim have clergy leading Kaddish. At others only the mourners recite. In some minyanim Kaddish is recited in a quiet undertone; while at others it is said in full voice.

I recite Kaddish in full voice. My words often carry out across the chapel, at times blending with the voices of others. I am one among many, supported by the other voices, our words carried to heaven by the sheer volume, ballooning upward, strong and steady. At other times my voice carries the voices of others, leading the kahal in our Kaddish. I wonder at the hesitancy of those quiet mourners. Are they uncomfortable with their role? With the words? Is it sorrow that holds back their voices?  I wonder, and I hope that the strength of my voice supports those quiet around me.

Inspiration in Memphis

Writing from Memphis at the JCCA-Jewish Welfare Board convention. It’s a conference of rabbis serving the US Armed Forces, and the most inspiring group of people I ever get to be with. I love these people. They serve our men and women in uniform and the Veteran’s Association. They, with their families: parents, children, siblings, and extended families, sacrifice so much to ensure the religious freedom (and freedom from religion) for our service members, whether Jewish or not. I cannot say enough about how much these colleagues inspire me.

This year the conference is in Memphis, and OH that southern hospitality! The Memphis community is so welcoming and supportive of the work of our chaplains. Of course this isn’t only the JWB. The JCCA is here too, and the numbers gave the Memphis Jewish community the opportunity to show off their hospitality. And boy did they! I don’t even know where to start. 

The food - Barbecue! I’m from New York. To me a barbecue is the thing you light in the backyard. In the south it’s an entity unto itself. WOW! The setting was pretty cool too. The community rented out Graceland for us to spend the evening. Again, WOW! More on that later. Dinstuhl’s chocolates. If you have the opportunity to buy, eat, or hoard Dinstuhl’s chocolates, I cannot say this enough, PLEASE DO! Not only is the chocolate really wonderful, but the owners are some of the kindest, most generous, and welcoming people I’ve ever met. Besides the chocolate that seemed to flow through the conference (which they purchased; they do not take any money out of the company. They work, really work, at the factory without salary, and buy all their chocolate getting only the same employee discount as anyone else.) they shared with us their wonderful memorabilia collection. Again, WOW! The collection was amazing, but the people so much the more so. Simply, Wow!

So, Graceland, in our world Elvis is a bit of a caricature. Too much is made of his end days, and not enough of his true nature. Elvis was a man who grew up with nothing. When he had something, he shared everything he had with those around him - those he knew, and total strangers. He brought his parents and grandmother to live with him. He gave away, not only money, but memorabilia, cars, and so much more. At Christmas time he’d set up an office, and any registered charity could send a representative to get a check. All of them, regardless of mission. If you were a legitimate charity, you got a donation. Simply because Elvis was a generous person. Simply because Elvis could. He lived without, and he wanted to ensure, to the best of his abilities, others wouldn’t have to.

 The Chaplains - These are some of the most inspiring and fun people I know. They live a unique life of service. Rather than clinging to their roots, those same roots allow them to soar. They travel the world, ministering to our men and women in service. They serve our service people and their families. And with them, their spouses and families serve. No matter how far away they are I know I have a system of support around the world. They are my friends and my family. I know I can call upon them, the chaplains and their spouses, day or night to share sorrows and joys. I thank them for all they do, and I salute them.