Judaism is not a spectator sport

Subtitle: Why I love independant minyanim

Have you ever been praying and felt totally disconnected from the person at the front of the room and subsequently just totally checked out?  I have and I hate it. I like to feel like I’m actively engaged in the whole process.  That my presence in the services counts for something making it worth my showing up to communal prayer despite the whole not obligated to it thing.  I can daven (pray) at home and get as much from it as going to most places I have available for communal prayer.

However, there is one place I can go where I always feel like I count.  Not literally counting in a minyan, but that my presence is valued and valuable.  And not only me personally, but every person who is in the room for any given service. Without fail, I feel this way every time I show up for an independent minyan. Whether I know everyone or no one, I know that my presence is appreciated and I can get a little bit more out of the experience.

Judaism is a religion of action, and in an independent minyan, everyone has to act.  Be it leading services, leyning, giving the d’var torah, helping with set-up or singing along with the davening - you are that much more involved in the act of that service.  Every voice is heard, literally and figuratively.  Every person has something to contribute, and the community is enhanced by each person’s unique background.  Without clergy directing the experience, it becomes deeply personal and reflective of all of those backgrounds and unique skills.

I am so grateful to have been a part of multiple independent minyanim in my past and look forward to hopefully being a part of more as our journey continues changing our physical location.  I know wherever I land, if I can find an independent minyan, I’ll be at home and engaged in my davening. I’m no sure I can ask for anything more.

Channeling Chana

Every year I make a “resolution” at the Jewish New Year.  Not a fluffy one like people often make on January 1 that is forgotten just a few weeks in – but something that will hopefully make me a better Jew.

Last year, my goal for the year was to give more monetary tzedakah.  I have always been good at giving time and items, but not so much financially, and while I don’t have the money to give as much as I would really like to be able to – I recognized that if I planned it out, I could give more than I had been.  Working for a Jewish non-profit definitely helped me in this way and I feel like I have taken concrete steps towards identifying how I can best give financially and more personally.  Both are important, so now I need to find the balance. (And before anyone says it, yes I know that working as much as I do for a Jewish non-profit is a huge gift of tzedakah in reality as well.)

Post by Melissa

This year, I wanted to focus on tefillah as that is someplace I tend to keep having the best intentions but not following through on making changes.  There are two components which I considered, the first being better about remembering to pray three times a day and the second being better about mouthing the words of my prayer.  I decided to focus on the second first because I feel that saying the words (rather than just reading them) makes praying more meaningful and intentional.  I’d rather pray less often but with more focus, then more often without.

I have also always had a bigger block to mouthing the words of my prayer.  You see, I feel like a crazy person talking to herself – but the story from which we derive the need to daven in this way makes the same point.  We read in Samuel that our ancestor Chana prayed in Shilo silently and desperately for a child, where the High Priest proceeds to  scold her, mistaking her voiceless prayer for the ravings of a drunk woman.  She replied that he is incorrect and that she is “a tormented woman. I have drunk no wine or other strong drink, but I have been pouring out my heart to God.”  From this, we gain the custom to inaudibly speak our prayers.

I feel like if Chana could do it in such a way that mistook her for a drunk, perhaps I too can find the kavannah to overcome my preoccupation with the appearance in order to daven more purposefully and to pour out my heart to Hashem.

Rosh Hashana Recap

This Rosh Hashana was a profound and unique few days for me, so I wanted to take a moment to reflect and recap them with you all.  It was our first big holiday in our new community, and the first time either D or I have lived in a place with so many options and such a diverse spectrum of people with which to celebrate.

Of the four services over the two day chag (holiday) I prayed in four different minyanim (places of communal prayer).  All of them I had prayed with before, none of them on a day like Rosh Hashana.

On the first night, I went to the big traditional synagogue in the area.  They have a chazzan (cantor) with a fabulous voice and a great male choir so it was nice to get a bit of that vibe.  Also, it happens to be where my best friend davens, so I got to spend a bit of time with her and her family on the holiday, for the first time since I moved to the city she lives in 5 years ago.  That night, we had dinner with a bunch of new friends which was just a lovely way to start the year.

On the first day, I went to a small minyan that meets at the synagogue I went to for first night. (Well, that’s only half true, I started the morning at the minyan next door where we normally go and the rebbetzin had said I could go to because there is always room in the women’s section.  However, there was a seating chart and I didn’t have a ticket and it made me nervous, so I left during the torah service and met D at the other minyan.) The visiting Rabbi gave a very inspiring talk about crying and how the most meaningful cry is that of coming home, and that he feels that is what the shofar is all about.  That sort of the set the mood for every shofar blast I heard over the chag.  We had a nice quiet lunch together, and then did some cooking for the dinner we were hosting.

On the second night, I unexpectedly got to pray with my normal minyan which I already know and love.  I had been at Tashlich talking to some friends when we realized it was time to go, they assured me there had been less people present the night before and seating was not an issue. So I went off to pray without finishing what we needed to do for dinner. Lucky for me, the Rabbi gave a brief class between the afternoon and evening services, so I could scurry home and prep my fruits and veggies and change clothes.  I made it back just as the evening service started and it was great – both to be able to make the most of my time and to pray in a space where I feel at home.  Afterwards, we hosted a nice group of friends over for dinner and got to blend our old and new communities at one happy table.

On the second day, I went to the inaugural Rosh Hashana services of the lay minyan I have gotten involved with recently. It was a refreshing service and a nice change of pace.  The services were short and to the point, but still filled with meaning and inspiration.  My favorite part though was that rather than one long d’var torah (which I inevitably lose focus during), they had 5 people give short talks throughout the service, including me.  Having so many people speak about so many different topics was a wonderfully refreshing alternative.  Each drash was very different and reflected the variety of people involved in the minyan which makes it so special.   Afterwards, we had a nice casual lunch with one of our favorite couples and their adorable daughter who never fails to make me smile.

Then we came home to finish getting ready for Shabbat! What a fabulous whirlwind three days it made! So many great friends to share meals with and inspiring words of Torah to be heard.  Though I will say, it was lovely to sleep in today and even the fast isn’t so bad after the three days of celebratory meals. (That said, I am writing this on fasting brain, so I apologize for any of it which may not make so much sense.)

Ten Years

WTC memorial lights - post by Jessica

I’ve been thinking about this all day, so I thought it was time to write about it.Everyone has a story about where they were on September 11th.

It was my senior year in high school, and I was driving to school, listening to some terrible morning talk radio show. As I turned off the car, I heard him say that someone had flown into the World Trade Center. It was radio and I was in a hurry, so I didn’t understand that he meant a commercial jet – it seemed so much more likely that some poor pilot had gone down in lower Manhattan.

I learned the truth about two hours later. In the days before everyone had internet on their phones (heck, we barely had text messaging!) halfway across the country, it took a while for the news to filter in. My second period class was bowling,  real bowling alley (we had 80 minute classes) and they had the TV on. With the towers falling down. I have the memory of looking up at the screens while trying to bowl burned into my eyelids when I think about that day. It’s a tribute to not understanding yet what was happening that we were expected to bowl at all.

By the time we got back to school, everyone knew what was going on, and every TV that had some kind of connection to the outside world was on and we were glued to it for days.

I think it took until my junior year in college when I met someone who had been there to really process what had happened in a personal, connected way. Not just a tragedy that made me cry. I say this because I think I feel a little guilty by how normal our lives were by comparison. It was a tragedy, but it was also homecoming week. Although we knew logically that this was way bigger than us and way more serious, on an emotional level it seemed totally unfair that it would forever mar our experience during our senior year. It produced what I’ll describe as hysteria, in which because we felt we were being asked by the adults in the community to give up our homecoming, we were more spirited and raucous than usual. Even as we were all a little uncomfortable underneath, even as the world had fallen apart just a few days before.

For me, aside from this unspeakable tragedy, it also meant a cancelled NFTY youth group event in St. Louis. It was the fall Leadership Training Institute. I lived and breathed for those events, where I would see most of my friends in person. I understand better now than I did then why it was cancelled: no one really wanted to let anyone out of their sight at that point. For us a high schoolers, it was depriving us of a chance of seeing some of our closest friends and processing our fear and grief together. It was, of course, the right decision, but it felt so bad at the time. I spent the weekend looking through pictures from our summer to trip to NYC and putting the several photos of the WTC from June 16, 2011 into a photo frame. They had been worth the real-film photos because I had found the buildings to be very beautiful. I also went to the Homecoming dance, even though I hadn’t planned to since I was supposed to be at the event. Before I went though, my parents hosted a 9/11 prayer service in our living room. I attended in my homecoming dress.

Ten years – more important than 9 or 11? Not really, but it’s tradition. It’s also probably more poignant here than it is halfway across the country – we had a ceremony on campus for the first year anniversary, but I don’t think there’s been one again until this year. Here, it’s more visceral, knowing that the NYU campus is not far away from Ground Zero, or as Mayor Bloomberg prefers – One World Trade Center. R and I are planning on going to the memorial, as soon as we can figure out our new schedules enough to get tickets.

There’s another strange thing – because I was 17 when it happened, I am among the youngest who remember the events as something close to an adult. Freshmen on campus this year were 8 when it happened. It’s like that with every big event, but it seems weirder, since they don’t seem that much younger than me anymore.

I don’t have a profound truth. Just some memories and some tears. I hope we are all comforted with our remembrance and can work for a better, brighter future for all of us, together, whoever we are. I encourage you to share your memories here, or at any of the many websites that are encouraging submissions.

Shabbat Shalom – peace for all the world.

renewelul

Post by Melissa

The month of Elul began last week, and while I fully intended to write a post on Rosh Chodesh (which was Wednesday, a normal Melissa posting day) I am glad I got too busy to make that happen, so that I can do it now instead.

Elul is the month which leads us up to the Yamim Noraim, more commonly known as the High Holidays.  Throughout Elul we reflect upon our past year and the lessons learned as we prepare for the auspicious days ahead.  Rosh Hashana provides us a new start, the ten days of repentance a time to discuss our wrongs with other people, and on Yom Kippur we make one final plea to Hashem to forgive all our wrong doings and to be sealed for another year of life.

The past year has been quite tumultuous for D and me.  We have faced the gammat of issues from my unemployment and poor health,  to the stresses of school and pre-rabbinical preparations for D, to the ultimate test – families.  We have both had a variety of physical and emotional problems amongst our closest family members.  Top it off with it being our first year of marriage and all the adjustments inherent in that and well, lets just say we are glad to see it go.

There have been some amazing highs of course, including the starting of this blog.  Not only has it given me a fun creative outlet, it has allowed me to challenge my thoughts and ideas in a constructive manner.  It has allowed me to make some great new friends and find new Rabbis to whom I can relate and ask questions just for the sake of curiosity. It has also given me a new level of passion for Jewish education and women’s issues and I hope that going forward I am able to find new ways of sharing that passion.

Given this, I do not find it ironic that I resigned myself to my destiny of being a Jewish professional as the month drew near, and that I spent the days around the new moon interviewing for a position, which I will begin this Monday. I hope this new position lights my way to a meaningful career and continued reflection and drive not only in the month of Elul, but in the months and years to come.

I encourage you to take a moment to reflect upon your year. Its strengths and weaknesses. The good and bad which has come of it. Perhaps most importantly though, I encourage you to take a moment to reflect on the lessons which you learned and how you can apply that in the year to come. When the shofar sounds this Rosh Hashana, let it not be a wake-up call, but rather a call to action.

Friday Question: Do you…

This weeks question is inspired by something Melissa was dealing with recently.

If you otherwise may have your head uncovered at home, do you make sure to have your head covered while doing Jewish learning? Does this vary based on what type of learning you are doing?

MSG says: I make an attempt, however sometimes D and I have spontaneous learning as we come across something which inspires us to look up something or have a longer conversation about something we had learned earlier. I think I need to be more cognizant of this but really look forward to your responses on this one.

Future of Women in Judaism

As mentioned on our Facebook Fan Page, I was recently asked to write a piece about the future of Judaism as it relates to women’s involvement.  I took it on in a true Melissa form and am both proud of the result and humbled at its inclusion.  To see my byline alongside Anita Diamant (Author and Found of Mayyim Hayyim) and Rabbi Shmuly Yanklowitz (Founder of Uri L’Tzedek) is one of the greatest honors in my life.

Since I am spending today in the car with my parents, headed to celebrate my niece’s 6th birthday I leave you with a few links to peruse in my absence.

My piece for the Future of Judaism Series at Patheos: An Ever-Evolving Judaism: Women Meeting the Needs of Community

The entire “Future of Judaism” series at Patheos.

A brief blog post about the series which acknowledged my piece from MyJewishLearning.com

I’d love to hear your feedback!

Community All-Nighter

post by Jessica

As a natural born night owl (I was probably one of a few 8 year olds who watched the 10 o’clock news regularly), you’d think that the tikkun leil Shavuot, or the tradition of staying up all night studying on the evening before Shavuot, would have been my Jewish event. In fact, it’s only really been in the last three years that I’ve had a real appreciation for what it could be.

Every year, they have a multi-denominational   tikkun leil shavuot, every year the same yet different. Being later in the spring or early summer, the holiday doesn’t start until 8 or 9pm and so the night starts late to begin with. Classes continue until about 4 a.m. at which point the group splits to egalitarian and Orthodox. The Egalitarian minyan prays by the lake, and the Orthodox minyan goes back to their synagogue, since the actual event doesn’t take place there.

I can honestly say that this event is one of my favorite things that this community does. Not only is there a full schedule of programming almost right through the night (the programming at 3AM is a lot smaller, since the group is a lot smaller) but then in the morning, we enjoy the hush of the beginning of the day.

Last year, I joined the egalitarian minyan at the lake in the morning. We walked for quite a while as a group, dragging prayerbooks and tallitot (prayer shawls) with us, but it didn’t matter. We arrived just as it was started to really get light enough to see outside, and so we started to pray. I must admit that I really did not get a lot of formal praying done. I have never really been an inattentive participant in prayer, but I could not force myself to look down.

I had the glory of the world spread out before me. The weather was perfect – not a breath of air disturbing the lake, the sun rising without a cloud in the sky. As the beautiful orange orb lifted itself out of the water, the fish were jumping and making ripples in the lake. I could not look down at the printed words in front of me. Even if it were the less familiar Shavuot prayers, I could not look down and miss this. I could feel the true gratitude and joy well up inside of me, and even though I wasn’t praying with the words, I was doing the best I could to convey the amazing awesomeness in front of me, willing God to understand what I was seeing and my feelings as the best prayer I could give.

After the morning prayers, we returned back to the sanctuary to read the Torah scroll. The surroundings were less inspiring, and we were all tired in body by that point, after having been awake for nearly 24 hours. However, I tried to carry that spirit with me for the duration of the prayer, and the duration of the day. This year, maybe we won’t get perfect weather, or have the very real reminder of how beautiful this world is However, as I celebrate my birthday on the second day of Shavuot, I’m going to remember that feeling every year.

Experiencing a Women’s Mincha

post by Jessica

A little over a week ago, I was asked by a friend to do the d’var Torah (literally word of Torah, generally what we’d call in English a short sermon) at the women’s mincha being held at the synagogue on Saturday afternoon. Having never been, even though it was right up my alley, I was very curious about going and this seemed like a great excuse. Plus, since it was my bat mitzvah parasha, I actually had a reasonable idea of what I wanted to say.

Aside from that though, I had no idea what to expect from the experience. It was totally different from anything I’d been to previously. The only thing I had to possibly compare it to was the women’s megillah reading on Purim, and I knew it would be different from that. I arrived a little early, as requested by the organizer, and helped set up the little beit midrash so it could be used for praying. Women trickled in as the time neared, and I started to relax. Almost everyone there were not only people I knew, but friends. When we started the service, one of the organizers got up and explained a little bit about what they would and wouldn’t do. They would read from the Torah, without the Torah blessings, although it would be broken up into the three aliyot (sections) and there would also be no repetition of the main prayer out loud. Otherwise, it would be your pretty average gathering.

I was surprised. I think that might be the best way to describe it. As my friend got up to lead the davening, and the women responded, it was the most amazing sound. Twenty or so women, singing the davening (prayers). It gave me the most amazing shiver down my spine of joy. This was why this moment was different. Praying with men and women is beautiful. I especially like it when you can hear both groups equally, making a joyful noise. I’m not sure I had ever heard a roomful of only women praying. It was almost overwhelmingly powerful and beautiful. I did my dvar Torah, two women read from the Torah, and I enjoyed the entire service, especially hearing some of the children who had come to the service singing loudly as well. All of that put together made for a really fulfilling experience for me.

Is it a perfect answer for women looking to participate in prayer? Of course not. However, it definitely fulfill some of the needs. It allows women an opportunity to do things like read Torah, lead a group in prayer, talk seriously about Torah, in a smaller, welcoming environment. It truly was a beautiful service and helped me connect to prayer in a way that I hadn’t in a long time.

All in all? I keep thinking to myself, “self, why didn’t I go earlier this year?!?” and also that I am truly glad that these groups exist. I don’t think I understood before at all. Poor mans substitutes. Turns out, it’s something beautiful, all by itself.

Taking on Something New

Post by Jessica

There’s a lot of things going on right now in my life related to taking on new things, but I am thinking about one thing in particular at the moment.

I’m starting “kallah (bridal) classes” this coming week. Yes, we’ve been married since September 2007, but the truth is, we moved right before the wedding, and I really had minimal exposure to what I was supposed to be doing with mikvah. It wasn’t important at that point in time in my life, and it just hasn’t been any where in my priorities until now.

It’s always been something that has interested me, and as several people could attest, it’s something I’ve asked about in various contexts over the past few years. However, I just never got around to really doing something about it. Once we realized that the whole R becoming a rabbi thing was going to be a reality, I started thinking more and more about this particular aspect of my life. We keep kosher, we keep Shabbat – but what about this? And so I started looking into it. Clearly, Melissa is a big supporter of the cause, but since we don’t actually live in the same city at the moment (I love the internet!) there were limited opportunities to talk to her about it and she couldn’t be the one to hold my hand through it. I talked to another friend about it, and even got her notes from her kallah class, which I devoured, but it still wasn’t enough to push me over the edge. I bought a book about it (Taking the Plunge – here – excellent, if a little hard to get) which was a great resource and helped me feel more comfortable.

Nothing was pushing me over the edge, and, as it often is, it was an unlikely conversation that prompted me to really do something about it. On the seventh day of Passover, R and I somehow got onto the topic of our immersions before our wedding, which took place in a lake nearby where we got married. It was deserted and the park district seemed a little mystified, if okay, with our request for a “ritual bath.” So we went, on two different days, but I think our difference in experience had to do more with attitude than anything else. He thought of it as an adventure. I thought of it as something that meant that I didn’t really get the celebration of mikvah that I hadn’t really known I’d wanted until I didn’t have it. The longer we’ve been married, I think, the more I realize that I might have missed out. And I wanted to fix that. So, I had a conversation with our program director, who is a really lovely woman, and we set it up to start this coming Monday.

In a way, this is probably the first time I’ve really done something with the specific idea that I’m going to be a rabbi’s wife as part of my motivation., and that feels like some kind of milestone. Not only that, I feel like it marks some kind of transition in my life, although I’m not sure exactly what. I’m hoping to learn a lot and to find meaning and joy..and deal with the lingering feelings of doubt and uncertainty. I’ll keep you updated.