Answering the call

 

Melissa lights the Chanukiah at JCC Manhattan with her fellow intern.

As I’ve mentioned, I have the immense honor of interning at The Center For Jewish Living at JCC Manhattan this year. I also have the honor of interning alongside a woman getting smicha at JTS who recently shared about a project she was asked to do for a class which I assigned myself — write an essay describing your rabbinic calling and putting it in a textual framework. So while this is in no way an essay, it is my reflection on that prompt – or at least what resonated with me afterwards.

 

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We learn in Pirkei Avot that Avraham had ten tests, but the mishna is deliberately vague about what exactly those were. (I don’t like using the word test in this discussion, which I am pretty sure I have already written about, so I’m going to use the word trial from here.) Rambam brings a list based entirely on psukim, which resonates with me more than the options which rely more heavily upon midrashim.

Maimonides lists Avraham’s trials as follows:
1. God tells him to leave his homeland to be a stranger in the land of Canaan.
2. Immediately after his arrival in the Promised Land, he encounters a famine.
3. The Egyptians capture his beloved wife, Sarah, and bring her to Pharaoh.
4. Abraham faces incredible odds in the battle of the four and five kings.
5. He marries Hagar after not being able to have children with Sarah.
6. God tells him to circumcise himself at an advanced age.
7. The king of Gerar captures Sarah, intending to take her for himself.
8. God tells him to send Hagar away after having a child with her.
9. His son, Ishmael, becomes estranged.
10. God tells him to sacrifice his dear son Isaac upon an altar.

That tenth test is Avraham’s true hineni moment. The moment he can no longer ignore the calls, and begins to accept his relationship with God and his future as a leader of the Jewish people.

One of the most profound things I learned in looking at all the various iterations of this list, is how many of the trials were not so clear in the moment, but upon reflection become easily placed into the list.

That’s how I feel about my rabbinic calling.

There are so many moments throughout my life that were calls, some were very clear, but others were less so. And ultimately, I too had my hineni moment, the moment at which I could no longer ignore the calls and took a moment to really hear Hashem.

Interestingly, when I stopped to really think about them, I too had ten moments of feeling a call.

1. Before my Bat Mitzvah when I fell in love with being in shul, leyning, and leading tefilla. (Also, when I first began exploring feminism and what it meant to me in a Jewish context.)

2. Constantly being told as a teen that I’d be a great rabbi.

3. Debating what graduate school to attend and whether to do a dual degree at once or to wait and decide how to expand my MSW after completion.

4. Spending an entire conference with a small group of rabbinical students, and one of them saying “give me a call when you change your mind about becoming a rabbi.”

5. Reaching out to what I thought would have been the best choice rabbinical school for me and not hearing back. {It is a particularly good thing that this happened, since I ultimately left the Conservative movement.}

6. Embracing the “rebbetzin role” (and subsequently starting this blog) after meeting and marrying my husband, and continuing on our evolving religious path. (And having all those people who told me as a teen I’d be a great rabbi nodding their heads.)

7. Meeting Dr. Sharon Weiss-Greenberg in Denver, who was then the Director of Recruitment for Yeshivat Maharat and first planted the seed.

8. Meeting Rabbi Avi Weiss the first time, where he casually mentioned attending Yeshivat Maharat while my husband attended Yeshivat Chovevei Torah.

9. Listening to a podcast of a panel of future Maharat’s at Stanton St Shul while walking to Nishmat where I was falling more in love with text study every day.

10. An initial skype meeting with the esteemed and beloved Rosh Yeshiva, Rabbi Jeff Fox.

Once I was able to really stop and hear the call, to accept that this was where I was meant to be, answering hineni was the only choice. It was reflexive and instinctive, just as I imagine it was for Avraham. I had no idea what coming to Yeshivat Maharat would really mean. I had no idea just how difficult it would be on so many levels. I also had no idea just how rewarding it would be on so many levels. But I knew I had to say it. And I know I have to continue saying it.

Hineni.

Hineni.

Hineni.

My Maharat Life

Learning in yeshiva last year (Photo: Uriel Heilman, JTA)

I am a future Maharat.

I am a wife and a mother. A sister and a daughter. A friend. A social worker. A writer.

I am a lover of Torah and Judaism. Of Jews and the Jewish community.

I am learning Isur v’Heter and Orach Chayim. I am learning Masechet Ketubot, practical rabbinics, and pastoral Torah.

I am learning a book of Nach and a perek of Gemara as a part of the #womenleadersfortorah siyyum on Tanach and Gemara.

I am filled with hakarat hatov to JLIC, Nishmat, and Pardes for providing me with strong Orthodox women Torah teachers, and to each of those women individually for their leadership, scholarship, and mentorship. Also, to my primary mentors – women who happen to be rebbetzins but are learned leaders in their own right.

I am a rabbinic intern at The Center for Jewish Living at JCC Manhattan and I get to spend time helping infuse Judaism into people’s lives in real and practical and tangible ways across the lifespan.

I am passionate about working in diverse Jewish communities and in helping people engage their Judaism. I am an Orthodox Jew (without any modifiers). I am no less an Orthodox woman or a Jewish communal leader because of my desire to combine them.

I cannot speak for any of my colleagues at Yeshivat Maharat, or any other institution training Orthodox women for leadership positions. I can only speak for myself. And for me, being at Yeshivat Maharat makes it possible to live my dreams while also being true to who I am.

This is my Maharat life.
I heard my call and I am here. Hineni.

The Weight and Warmth of Torah

Before Rosh Hashana I posted the following on Facebook:

We tend to spend a lot of time at Rosh Hashana reflecting on the past year and/or thinking about the coming one.
This year I was given a charge I want to pass on…

Stay in the present.

(For fellow parents of young children for whom time for prayer can be fleeting, make the most of it. Stay present and connected. Pray the liturgy. Talk to God. Meditate. Do whatever you need to make the most of your time.)

Let us start this new year fully present, and take every opportunity given to remain so throughout the year.

Shana Tova!

Finishing Four Years

As Melissa mentioned, she and I were at an event where we got to talk to several rebbetzins in the field. As we sat around the table, I realized, possibly for the first time, that our time as students is ending. Real life is just around the corner.

The rebbetzins spoke about their journeys – the first congregations, where they met their husbands. Most knew already that their husbands were rabbis – unlike us, who came to it already in the relationship. But R graduates in a few short weeks, and we already know where we’ll be next year (more on that to come, I promise), and so my perspective has shifted. The questions about work-life balance aren’t theoretical, but will rapidly become practical.

It made me realize, also, how much time has passed since we started this journey to the rabbinate, and how different (or not) it looked from what I expected. From my computer in Chicago, I had no idea what to expect. I still don’t yet know the day-to-day realities of “rebbetzining” in a congregation. But I know a lot more than I knew then.

In the past four years:

• I’ve started and finished a graduate school program in Non-Profit Management and Jewish Studies (thanks NYU!)
• I’ve held several internships and job
• R started rabbinical school, set to graduate in June
• R started a master’s in Modern Jewish History at YU, set to graduate in two weeks
• We haven’t moved anywhere, although the bookcases in the apartment are multiplying (they’ve doubled in the time we’ve been here!)
• We’ve met amazing, wonderful, intelligent people that we’re honored to call colleagues and friends
• Almost five months ago, after two years of struggling with infertility, I gave birth to our beautiful daughter. I’ll write more about that journey soon.

So much has happened, and yet, so much will happen in the next few months. R and I both feel like this is the year we become adults – parents and a new career direction. Life changes like this make me introspective, so I have sense that there will be more posts like this. I also have a whole set of posts languishing in drafts. Watch this space.

Reflections and Gratitude

As those of you who have been reading our blog for some time know, we have all had pretty winding journeys. While we haven’t been nearly as prolific as we once were, this blog has been a great source of support on these journeys, and its still an important part of our lives.

Recently, Jessica and I were sitting together (I should have taken a picture!) at a panel discussion with rebbetzins in the field. They spoke so beautifully and touched on many things we have thought about and discussed over the years, and it profoundly reminded me of just how blessed we are to have the community which this blog has generated.

I am eternally grateful to all of you for reading along and for reaching out. Even if no one was reading, I would still write because its how I like to deal with my world, but knowing you are reading encourages me to actually post my musings.

(I keep making plans to post more, and it keeps not happening, but hopefully soon I’ll find a balance again.)

Leading the Exodus

We read this past week about the moment at which three dynamic leaders stood at the edge of the sea, and how different their experiences were surrounding that moment. A mentor shared a bit about something she spoke about and it really made me think about those three leaders – Moshe, Miriam, and Nachshon.

Moshe leads the cause and then stops to pray when he feels he’s unsure of how to move forward – literally and figuratively.

Miriam packed her timbrel, inspired others to pack theirs, and was ready to celebrate the salvation she believed was coming.

Nachshon stepped right into the water and hoped the people would follow and God would provide – the ultimate display of faith.

These three leaders were all necessary, as are their leadership styles today.

We need people who are slow and deliberate and look for guidance along the way. We need people who are optimistic and ready to inspire others with their passion. We need people to boldly step out and take the first risks.

We need modern day leaders like these three to work in tandem to continue guiding Am Yisrael on our journey. It didn’t end when we exited Egypt or entered Eretz Yisrael, in fact it had only just begun.

The Cadence of Kaddish

I have been wanting to write about saying Kaddish for months now, but I always felt like I needed to tell a grand story, to find some way to encapsulate all the emotions and experiences in one cohesive post – and that was too daunting a task. However, this weekend, I had the honor of hearing four women speak who wrote about their experiences for Kaddish: Women’s Voices in addition to the co-editors, and I realized that vignettes are just as important and powerful. So I’d like to share just a few of the moments which stick out in my head the most, on both a personal and communal level.

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Early on, I realized my Kaddish had a specific cadence, and that while I tried to match it to the other mourners, it always came out in this very specific way. After some reflection, I placed it – it was my grandfather’s cadence. I grew up sitting next to him in shul and listening to him say Kaddish “for the people who have no one to say it for them” on a consistent basis, and it must have imprinted in my mind.

I love that long after his death, I continue to find ways in which he continues to shape my life.

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One Erev Shabat, I was at a shul that was not our regular place and the women’s section is a balcony. As mincha (the afternoon service) was ending, the man who was leading the tefilla (prayers) paused and looked around to see if anyone was saying Kaddish. When no man spoke the starting words, he moved on quickly and finished the tefillot with it being uttered at all. So while my husband who often said Kaddish for me in the days when I couldn’t make it to services myself (five weeks of modified bedrest and a newborn were a bit of a hindrance to that), could have said it for me so that it would be heard, he didn’t even realize until it was too late.

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Another Erev Shabbat I was staying with friends who lived in an amazing yishuv in Gush Etzion. I had been told it would be ok for me to say Kaddish, but found myself standing in a community member’s kitchen, removed from the main tefilla in their living room by a wall, and unsure if I’d be heard when the time came. There were again no male mourners saying kaddish, but rather than skip it the leader just said it quickly himself and I said it along with him from my side of the wall. (Though it didn’t feel nice to me to say Kaddish so quickly, I was able to do so.) I noticed he slowed down the next few times and wondered if a man had joined him I couldn’t hear.

After davening, our host mentioned that a mutual friend had told the man leading to slow down because a woman was also there saying Kaddish. I never asked if he knew it was me, or he could just hear a voice – but either way, it was a simple act that was greatly appreciated. And as we walked up the hill, the leader approached us, asked me a few questions, and apologized for not noticing me. Another simple act that was greatly appreciated.

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Not saying Kaddish the last month was extremely hard. And it sometimes continues to be. It gave me a concrete space and action to be present with my mourning and my loss, and for both my husband and I to reflect on my amazing mommie. There are still times that I start to say it and have to catch myself – this is no longer my ritual, no longer my place and space.

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Without a doubt the most profound Kaddish experience, is this one.

Post by Melissa – Photo Copyright Yitz Woolf

Saying Kaddish for my mother, with the cadence of her father, at the brit of my son who was named for both of them.`

 

 

 

Its my birthday and I’ll blog if I want to

Post by Melissa

I’ve started to write a few blogs recently, but feel like its weird to just dive back in after my hiatus without saying hello and giving some closure. So, I figured what better day than my 32nd birthday to do just that!

I had a very difficult pregnancy, then a very intense labor and delivery, and then got to snuggle an adorable baby boy at the end of February. He is quite possibly the cutest giant tiny human on earth (and I’m not the only one who thinks so). At this point, I am planning on not posting his photo or many stories about him on the blog, though I do occasionally post it in semi-public places online, the blog is more public than I’m willing to make his life right now.

In June we left Israel as planned, just days before the kidnapping and the subsequent turmoil and war. It broke my heart to be in CA and not in Israel, but alas – it was what it was.

We mostly spent our summer in CA with my dad, learning Gemara, visiting people and places in San Diego, and getting ourselves reacclimated to life in America. After two years in Israel, it definitely took time to get used to customer service, not bagging our own groceries, and having to check for food being kosher.

Also this summer we had the unveiling of my mom’s tombstone and the whole family was together for that, which is always nice – though I hate it has to be for such sad reasons. We tried to balance the sadness of that by the joy of spending the time with the youngest member of the family and remembering the cycle of life.

We did take some time to sign our lease in NY and then visit our friends and family in Denver, reconnecting with a place that meant so much to us for so long. And we took some amazing family photos and new headshots (as seen above) with our beloved wedding photographer/friend.

Our first Shabbat in our new community was my mom’s first Yarthzeit and yesterday was my first real Yizkor, so I’m now in a new phase post-aveilut. I’m trying to embrace all the things which reminded me of her and were too hard to deal with last year as ways of honoring her memory in the coming years. (This includes recognizing and celebrating birthdays, hence my acknowledging that in this post.)

What now, you ask?

Well, we are finally living the dream.

D (who is now going by his Hebrew name, so shall hence forth be N as in Nachum) is now a first year student at Yeshivat Chovevi Torah (YCT).

I am also a first year student – at Yeshivat Mahara’t! (Surprise! Only not, right?)

When Jessica and I started this blog, N going to rabbinical school was the goal but it seemed far off, and then as life happened it kept getting pushed back – so its crazy to think that its finally happening. And that I’m doing it too.

Not surprisingly, having a high-needs baby and being in my first year at Yeshivat Mahara’t already keep my plate quite full. Yet, I find writing cathartic and good for processing my thoughts – so I’m hoping to post semi-frequently both here and on the JOFA blog, “The Torch,” but I make no promises on frequency or remembering to cross post the ones from JOFA.

I hope you all had a wonderful year, and a rejuvenating Rosh Hashana/Yom Kippur. 🙂

Review: Talmudic Images

Post by Melissa

Anyone who has ever learned the Talmud, be it in daily practice of Daf Yomi or a single shiur, knows that the wisdom of our sages is vast and keeping track of the sages themselves is quite a task. This is where Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz comes to our rescue with Talmudic Images, one of the recently released books in The Steinsaltz Library from MAGGID, a division of Koren Publishers Jerusalem.

Rabbi Steinsaltz brings the knowledge only someone of his vast learning and teaching experience can to this book, as he chronicles the lives of thirteen of the most often cited sages from both the Tannaitic and Ammoraitic generations. He utilizes the Talmud to paint a picture of the lives of our sages, weaving together stories from different masechtot (volumes) and incorporating bits of history along the way. Having access to the bigger picture of their lives allows us to better understand their positions and approaches to the debates in which we see their names bandied about.

In addition to the fact sharing, Rabbi Steinsaltz elucidates on the reasons for each sage’s particular approach to halacha, based on the information he has pieced together about their lives.  These insights are truly eye opening for the reader, and allow for a much deeper comprehension of the nuances of the positions which are upheld by our greatest sages time and again.

After having completed the monumental task of translating and commenting on the entire Talmud, Rabbi Steinsaltz is in a unique space to be able to offer such comprehensive overview, while keeping it concise and interesting. He brings enough material on each sage to allow the reader to get a clear view of who they were and the historical context in which they lived, without being overwhelmed by too many details.

This book is not only an interesting read as a stand alone book, it is an essential reference (not to be confused with Rabbi Steinsaltz’s Talmud Reference Guide) for the casual and regular Talmud learner.

Personally, I am excited to be able to have this book in our collection for a lifetime of review, and intend to purchase Biblical Images – a similar piece about the people in TaNaCh, as well.

 

*Disclaimer: I was not compensated for this honest review, though I did receive a complimentary copy of the book. 

The First Day

Apparently the roller coaster of the pregnant avel continues after the pregnancy ends….

 

Today is my *first* Mother’s Day.

My first as a mother.

My first without my mother. 

 

I have been having anxiety about today for weeks – ever since the first “Mother’s Day is coming!” email arrived in my inbox. I cringed every time I deleted another one. I cried as I entered giveaways on Facebook. I smiled as I looked at the little guy in my arms.

I read this moving piece from my dear friend Esther and thought of all the ways I could honor my mommie. I had grand ideas of what to write and say and do. I thought of the things both big and small that we we used to do together and how to incorporate them into a special ceremonial remembrance.

Then last night I got a text from my dad that said in part “you had a great example of what to do, now just love your child like she did” and I realized that I honor her every day. Every time I tell my son I love him. I every time I snuggle him close. Every time he wraps his tiny little hand around her necklace. Every day, in every moment, just by being the mom which comes naturally after having such an amazing woman as mine.

I realized that I am lucky to have had such an amazing mommie, who without being here to celebrate my first Mother’s Day as an Eema, is no doubt with me in everything I do as a mom every day.