I finally did it.

What did I do? I followed through on my plan to get accepted to a program of study in Israel. Assuming I figure out the logistics and finances, I will be spending 11 months living and studying in Jerusalem at the Conservative Yeshiva. This dream of mine is actually going to come true. I've been longing for this experience since I watched my peers go on EIE in high school. In college, I went on Birthright and had my first taste of Israel. I knew that I loved Israel before I even got there which was great because my trip wasn't exactly the most positive Jewish experience I had (I got put on a URJ Camp Harlam trip so everyone knew everyone else, and I got heat stroke and my body did not react well to Israeli food which left me throwing up for much of my trip.)
Despite that not so positive introduction to Israel I still have a burning desire to experience all that Israel has to offer. I want to learn Hebrew, grapple with Jewish texts, hike and swim all over the country, eat delicious Israeli food...this list could go on and on. It may seem as if I am always exploring my Jewish identity, but I believe that a long-term experience in Israel is something that is crucial to my development as a Jew. I also haven't had the chance to really live as an independent observant Jewish adult. The communities I have spent time with since becoming observant were set up in a way that everything was provided for me- I went to Hillel in college, I worked at camp over the summer, and now I work in a Jewish communal environment. I want to know what it's like to really have to create Shabbat with my peers. I want to have people over for Shabbat. I want to try a new minyan every week. I want to find an engaged community where I can just be myself and not have to worry about always creating an experience for others.
I am so excited about this opportunity in Israel. I'm also completely terrified.
To financially support me, go here: http://funds.gofundme.com/185i4

Searching for Home

(Originally posted at The New Vilna Review http://www.newvilnareview.com/homepage/searching-for-home.html

)

As a liberal minded but traditionally-observant Jew, I feel blessed to have the ability to weave in and out of different Jewish circles. In the past I’ve worked at a Reform summer camp and was a regular Conservative minyan participant on Shabbat mornings at my college’s Hillel every other week. When Hillel wasn’t meeting, I attended Chabad’s Orthodox tefilot. While the majority of my friends were largely involved with Chabad because of its traditional atmosphere, I committed myself to Hillel because of the attraction to its pluralistic nature. When discussing how we define our Judaism, my friends found it easy to admit the denominational labels we did not label ourselves with. Our Jewish identities were a mix of our childhood upbringings, camp and youth group, and Israel experiences. Somewhere along the way I became dissatisfied with how I had related to Judaism, and began to search.

I am constantly conflicted with emotion. The same ease of feeling a part of many different Jewish groups I feel proud to be able to say I feel in virtually any American Jewish community, is the same slight discomfort that I also feel in every community, because I can’t seem to find one that feels truly home for me. My first spiritual home no longer physically exists. I had spent the twenty or so years as a member of a warm and welcoming Reform synagogue- the Reform Temple of Suffern Shir-Shalom, located in Suffern, NY. With fewer than 250 families, I knew just about every name and face, and most knew mine as well. I was a madricha from seventh through twelfth grade, held various youth group leadership positions, attended a supplementary Religious School program through high school, and got to fill in for the cantor the Shabbatot our student cantor was not leading services.

As our small tight-knit community became even smaller, the decision was made to merge with the nearby Beth Haverim synagogue. By this time, our Hebrew high school programs had already been combined, and by forming these partnerships, it became important for the merging of two spiritual communities. Eventually, a date was announced for the closing of our synagogue building, and the official joining into one new congregation. The date was in the summer, a time I knew I would be away in upstate New York working at a sleep away camp. I immediately got permission from my Camp Director to take the time off to be present for my synagogue’s final Shabbat service.

Because I was immersed in camp, I did not have the time to really think about what this impending merger meant to me. The 45 minute drive with one of my mentors from camp (who happened to be the former Principal of the Religious School when I was in elementary school) to my synagogue, gave me the time to think and reflect on the special community that raised me to be the Jewish adult I am today. As I sat and cried during the very last service of the Reform Temple of Suffern Shir Shalom that summer, I couldn’t help but feel sad because I knew that I could never come home again. Yes, a lot of congregants joined the new merged synagogue, however my family did not. When I’m back in Suffern these days, I still make it a point to spend Shabbat at the new synagogue. For me, I feel like something is missing every time I am there. While I can’t put it into words exactly, something still draws me back.

So, I continue searching for my spiritual home. I like traditional liturgy and modern innovations. I want participatory prayer experiences without watering down the service and yearn for an egalitarian, traditional and innovative Jewish community to call my own. My connection to the Reform movement has left me with the desire to be open-minded about my Judaism, committed to social action and egalitarianism. My limited experience with more traditional communities has allowed me to become more educated as a Jewish adult. At times, my searching has made me feel lost, but for right now, it just leaves the door open for countless opportunities.

My Love for Jewish Pluralism

(Originally posted at New Vilna Review http://www.newvilnareview.com/)

I learned so much from Shalom Kantor, the Hillel Rabbi I had the pleasure of working with during my time at Binghamton.  I spent many hours talking and arguing about the intricacies of building a pluralistic community, attempting to define and challenge what that meant. Do we cater to the most religious students on campus, or work to welcome in those who are on the most liberal end of the Jewish spectrum? I clearly remember my first Shabbat experience in college. I walked into that first Shabbat dinner and sat down ready to experience Shabbat in a way that I thought was going to be like my previous communal Reform Shabbat celebrations. I relaxed as we sang Shalom Aleichem, a song with which I was familiar. But when we got to Kiddush, suddenly I felt out of place. Why was it so long? Then, we washed hands. Why did these Jewish rituals seem strange and unfamiliar? I felt like an outsider. After dinner I began to look forward to Birkat Hamazon (prayer after the meal) and singing. To me, this meant singing a few paragraphs of a prayer, banging on tables, and using hand motions, connecting me to the community I was praying with. I left feeling I could not even participate. Since when was Birkat Hamazon so long, and why did “my songs” seems so foreign?

I came to learn that many Reform Jews who grew up similarly to me in the United States have this exact experience. As a result, they feel like Hillel is not for them and that they are different and stop trying to become a part of a university’s Jewish community. I took a different approach entirely. I was determined to become comfortable in my new Jewish community. I began to ask questions. I asked my more observant friends to teach me how to lead the traditional Kiddush and Birkat Hamazon . My greatest moments of growth during college were a result of the personal, daily interaction I had with peers from all walks of Jewish life. I began to find meaning in more traditional Judaism. As I studied and began to understand more about traditions, I decided to keep Shabbat and kashrut in accordance to Jewish law. I found myself becoming more comfortable in prayer settings that differed from that which I was raised.

After spending two years at a local community college, I transferred to Binghamton University. This was where I began to understand and love the struggles which pluralism presented. Binghamton is approximately thirty percent Jewish, with students from all different types of Jewish backgrounds. In terms of Jewish life, I spent the majority of my time serving in leadership roles within my campus’ Hillel. My main job was to oversee the Pluralism Team- the Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox chairs. The Reform chair was a product of NFTY (North American Federation of Temple Youth), and the URJ (Union for Reform Judaism) Camping system. The Conservative chair was a product of USY (United Synagogue Youth) and the Ramah Camping system. The Orthodox co-chairs both attended Orthodox Jewish day schools throughout their lives. Many of these people not only became my teachers, but also my good friends. We often met to discuss the various issues we faced building a pluralistic community. On several occasions, we attempted to hold pluralistic services on our annual “Unity Shabbat.” Often, everyone involved would leave the prayer experience unsatisfied or frustrated. On one Shabbat in particular, we found a balance that seemed to meet the needs of the majority of students in attendance. During Friday night services, the Conservative chair and I led Kabbalat Shabbat together, using a guitar, until we reached Ma’ariv. This pleased both those who appreciate the use of musical instruments on Shabbat, as well as those who prefer a more traditional prayer experience. The challenge of meeting the needs of everyone often seemed overwhelming. For that one Shabbat, it seemed as if we came pretty close to succeeding.

My Rabbi taught me countless life lessons that I continue learn from long after I graduated from college. When talking about my interest in the rabbinate, he often joked that he couldn’t teach me how to be a Rabbi, but he could teach me exactly what not to do. Through mistake after mistake, I learned how to empower and engage others, even when a task could get done much more quickly if I did it myself. I learned how to apologize when I was wrong. I also learned how to ask for help when I needed it. My rabbi taught me how to be an active listener, and how to become comfortable with silence. During his first week of work during my second semester of school, I walked into his office unsure of how I was going to continue to afford tuition, and faced the overwhelming task of becoming a financially independent adult. He had no connection to me, but immediately listened to me and helped me find a solution. As the semesters flew by I found myself sharing my fears, dreams, and struggles with him, always leaving conversations with him feeling like I was connected to something greater than myself.

What does it mean to be pluralistic? After my initial experiences it college, I thought that, while we were preaching a Jewish community for everyone, we were really just catering to the needs of the most observant students, or what I like to call the “frummest common denominator.” Can something truly be completely pluralistic? I still don’t know. I grew to love my Hillel, and began to see the value in the struggle for pluralism.

Ever since I started high school, I knew that I wanted to be a Judaic Studies major. I came from a home that gradually lost interest in Judaism, and eventually disengaged from synagogue life and home religious practice. As my family drifted away from Judaism, I began searching. I searched for spiritual experiences, new rituals, music, prayer, and connections to community. I always wanted to learn more. When I was presented with the opportunity to study Judaism in an academic setting, I did not even consider any other options. As a senior Judaic Studies major, I began the dreaded job search. I had a long list of organizations I thought which I might want to apply for, and a whole list of Israel programs that in which I dreamed of participating. I decided to earn money first, and maybe go to Israel in the future.  I found my ideal Jewish job in Greensboro, North Carolina. As a New Yorker, many people asked why I was moving away from the great Jewish community that was in the Northeast. I applied to be a Fellow at the American Hebrew Academy (AHA), the nation’s premiere pluralistic Jewish boarding school. I often have a hard time explaining the Fellowship, and exactly what my job is. I am an assistant houseparent, living in a house full of freshman girls. Depending on the need, I serve as their nurse, mom, mentor, tutor or big sister, depending on the time of day (or night.) I plan programs to help get the girls acclimated to campus, and educate them on teen issues that affect them, as well as plan social programs for fun. I also student teach for the Judaic Studies department on the academic side of campus. In addition, I have interned with the campus’ Admissions and Fundraising departments. Finally, I can also be found working with the Deans of Jewish life on Jewish programming.

My students come from all areas of the country, world, and Jewish background. In my house alone last year, I had girls from Wisconsin, New York, Colorado, Texas, South Carolina, Pennsylvania, California, Maryland, and Aruba, Israel, Argentina, and Mexico. These girls identified as Reform, Conservative, Orthodox, and everything in between. As sundown approached every Shabbat, the girls in my house would all rush around the house borrowing each others clothes, style their hair and enjoy the excitement of Shabbat. It didn’t matter that one girl didn’t use a computer on Shabbat, or another girl ordered in food Saturday, or another girl read Torah in a minyan while her roommate attended a more traditional service where males were only counted as part of the prayer group. Is pluralism just being able to peacefully coexist with other Jews? I’m still not sure.

Before returning to my second year of work at the Academy, I spent a month immersed in the pluralistic utopia of Brandeis, California known as the Brandeis Collegiate Institute (BCI.) Like AHA, I am surrounded by Jews from different states, countries, and Jewish backgrounds. What’s different this time? I’m a participant, no longer in charge. This program, designed for 18-26 year olds, asks its participants to constantly step out of their comfort zones. I found myself each Shabbat really struggling with my desire to keep Shabbat in a traditional way, while maintaining my participation in all communal activities. It is BCI tradition to do Israeli dancing on Friday nights. This requires the use of a sound system and a computer to play music. I would normally refrain from this type of activity on Shabbat, and wasn’t sure what to do when it was announced on the first Shabbat of the program that this would follow dinner. Every Shabbat I found myself staying in the Hadar Ohel with a few other participants also uncomfortable with the dancing. We sang the traditional Birkat Hamazon and sang songs until the rest of the group had finished dancing. It bothered me that not everyone could participate in all aspects of BCI’s communal Shabbat experience. As we reached the last Shabbat of the summer, I had had enough. When it came time for Israeli dancing, I decided that for a half an hour, I would be uncomfortable for the sake of the community. I danced. I think I even enjoyed it. Did I feel a little confused and uncomfortable afterwards? Absolutely. Did I hope that maybe my actions might spur someone to maybe consider adding some traditional elements into their Shabbat practice, even if it made them a little uncomfortable at first? A part of me did. Is pluralism just a compromise? Should we have to compromise our own values to accommodate someone else’s differing beliefs? I ‘m not convinced.

What do I know? I know that pluralism is worth fighting for. Pluralism needs to be a dynamic dialogue. I believe, and will always fight to ensure that all forms of Judaism are seen as valid. In a pluralistic community, I think that unfortunately, not everyone can feel welcome. Individuals need to believe in the values of pluralism in order to be a part of a pluralistic community. I know that in Binghamton, New York, the Hillel is constantly creating new opportunities to meet students where they are and engage students in a Judaism that is meaningful. I know that in Brandeis, California, young Jews are living side by side in a pluralistic community and defining what kind of adult Jews they want to be every summer. I also know that in an amazing school in Greensboro North Carolina, Jews from all walks of life are living side by side every day, learning together, praying together, eating together, living together, teaching each other, and growing together. I am eager to spend this next year addressing the challenges that living in pluralistic environment present. Working in this environment is truly a microcosm of the Jewish world. The young people from this place will make an impact on the greater Jewish world and their home communities because they can relate to and learn from any Jew, regardless of their specific Jewish beliefs and practices. I can’t think of a better place to be to explore my Judaism, and figure out how I can best serve the Jewish world as a professional. I’ve heard the argument said that pluralism is merely tolerance. I cannot and will not accept that as my definition of pluralism. Pluralism has to be more.

The world's best kept Jewish secret...

I've just returned from Brandeis, California which is home to the Brandeis-Bardin Campus, and summer home for the Brandeis Collegiate Institute. I spent an entire beautiful month getting in touch with nature, connecting to Jews from all over the world, exploring my Jewish identity, and growing through art.

If you know me at all, you know that you'll never find me volunteering to become one with nature or to do anything relating to art. Notice that I did not say that I was leading this program. Rather, I was a participant.
The idea for me, and for the program, was to step out of my comfort zone.

I spent the first week very frustrated with both myself and the program. I wasn't connecting with anyone. I didn't feel moved by any of the services. I found the singing lame, and the dancing boring. Beit Midrash seemed too basic for me. I began to think that maybe I had wasted my time and money. I felt too old to be there, too observant to enjoy every aspect of Shabbat. Why wasn't I spending the summer doing what I always did, work at camp?

Then, I slowly began to open up. I remember one night in particular where we experienced Beit Teshuvah, an incredible Jewish rehab program that performed in an extremely moving musical for us. I cried. A lot. I felt like I was finally, just maybe, beginning to get it- BCI, myself, my past, and how I might begin to move forward. Fast forward through some more 'out of my comfort zone' experiences. I hiked up a mountain and slept outside under the stars without a tent. I chose for my art focus to be theater. I began doing improv, writing, and opened up to that small group in my workshop, not realizing how special that time was that we had together. Another night, we got to be clowns. I was an interpretive dancing clown, showing off my lack of dancing ability. I began to look forward to singing with Harold, and dancing with Josefa. I sang a song with a friend for something we called malevah malkah, an arts performance every Saturday night. I took a trope class and chanted Torah for the first time ever without a recording or someone whispering it in my ear. For the first time ever, I studied Talmud. I began to listen to other peoples stories, and slowly share my own.

The summer arts celebration, Hagigah, happened the Thursday night before we left. Each arts workshop showed off what they had been doing all summer. My theater workshop put together their own play, based on all of the writing we had done all summer. It was incredible. I had been so frustrated during our last run through. I couldn't get across the emotion I had written down on paper. I was afraid of getting that upset and angry in front of people, because I've never done that before. The emotions were strong and I was afraid to go there. During our last rehearsal the artist in charge of theater made me physically push my hands against hers to physically feel that struggle. I couldn't do it, and began to dread the performance. About an hour later it was my workshops turn to go on stage. Would I be able to remember all of my lines? Can I really tell my story? What will people think? Something magical happened. I felt as if I was finally being revealed. We all were. The other people in my theater workshop were incredible. We each shared a part of ourselves that night, and connected to each other so deeply. It was so powerful. What was almost even more inspiring were the reactions we got from the rest of BCI after our performance. BCI is the most supportive community I have every been a part of.

The next morning, this past Friday, it was my turn to do Avodat Halev. Avodah Halev is a time when participants are assigned a time to speak- to share something about themselves. I was assigned to speak on the last day. I had all summer to think about what I would say, and by the time I was standing up in front of everyone, I still wasn't exactly sure what I would say, and how it would be received, and why I would even want anyone to know. I took a chance. A big chance. I was so introverted this summer (more than usual, if that is even possible.) I felt like so many people knew nothing about it me. I told my story. I was honest with myself, and said things out loud that I had never felt comfortable saying before. It was an extremely empowering feeling. This was also the beginning of the end of BCI. As a result of the end, or that I feel like I bared my soul during my Avodat Halev, I started crying, and it seems like I didn't stop until I stepped off the plane at Newark airport.

Now, here I am, another plane ride later, sitting in my apartment at AHA, wondering how to explain to everyone what I just did for a month. I went in to this program thinking that I was going to have a trans formative Jewish experience, one that would shape my Jewish identity. I'm not really sure that happened. I already have a strong Jewish identity. What I did gain, however, was something completely different. I feel like I can be more present and in the moment. I want to know everyones story, and truly connect. I also think this summer was a time of healing for me. I think I finally have found some of the support I have been so desperately looking for to be able to stop looking back, and let go.

So, BCI Aliyah 2010, I thank you. Thank you for sharing this incredible experience with me. You have touched my heart in such a way that I will never forget. Continue to grow, learn, and connect. Looking forward to continuing to be a part of this Jewish journey with all of you...

Wrapping up the year...

I am about to complete my first year of working full-time in the Jewish community, although "full-time" is an understatement. I've become accustomed to being up with my kids until midnight, being woken up by a sick girl at 3am, and waking to the sound of a fire alarm at 6am. I wouldn't even know how to begin to count the amount of "hours" I've spent "working." That being said, I am exhausted.
I have spent so much of my time doing things for the girls in my house that I often found myself forgetting to take care of myself. There have been so many nights when my door was open, even though I wasn't on duty. I could have easily not answered the door when my girls have knocked at all hours of the day and night, but something made me always open my door. In return, I think I managed to build a house community that feels comfortable enough to come to me for just about anything.
Despite having little time for myself, I tried my best to make this year one of growth. I surrounded myself with a wonderful new group of friends that have become my family. I sought out mentors to teach me anything and everything from davening, to having conversations about rabbinical school. I had a taste of what it was like to be a Mom, and am still sometimes amazed at how well I responded to some challenging situations that my girls presented to me.
As I look to next year, I am excited to be going to BCI and spend some time re-energizing myself and reflecting on this crazy year. I think I am going to spend the early fall studying for and taking the GRE's, and applying to a TBD Israel program. In terms of the fellowship, I am excited to work with new people, have new teaching opportunities, and continue to learn as much as I can.
Here's to hoping that next year is as much of a year of growth as this year has been!

The award winning 'Fightin' Zebras'...and comparative Judaism

This Shabbat was a nice change of pace. I entered a female fellows team into AHA's ultimate frisbee tournament. We (the Fightin' Zebras) managed to win 1 out of 5 games because a team forfeited! We were awarded the spirit award, due to our awesome uniforms. I haven't had that much fun in a while. 

Yesterday during the school wide picnic lunch outside, one of my girls asked one of the co-deans of Jewish life a question. She wanted to know what type of Jew she was. She was asking about the difference between Reform and Conservative Judaism. She determined that, at home in Mexico, her family was not Orthodox because she went to a synagogue that had mixed seating. I was sitting next to the two in conversation, and the Dean decided to ask me.

I almost started to laugh. I think this answer isn't such a simple one. I don't think I know the answer. She was specifically asking about what type of Jew she was based on tefillah. We talked about using instruments and hakol vs hameitim. That's as far as the three of us got because it was time for Birkat Hamazon. I think I would have talked more about Musaf, but I'm really not sure what else. In my little experience within Conservative settings, it also seems that Reform is more participatory, but I'm not sure if that's an accurate statement. Afterwards, the girl continued the conversation with me, more confused than ever. I ended it by just trying to stress that you don't have to pick one. Being Jewish is complicated, so why try to fit it into some little box that someone else has decided that works for them?

I don't think I was very helpful, especially because I don't know how to figure it out for myself.

In other news, it's hot here. My brain already thinks that it's summer. Only a few more weeks to go...

What is my purpose?

Do you ever wonder what your purpose in life is?
This vacation was awful for a number of reasons. At the beginning of break word spread that two high school seniors from my town were killed in a car accident. At the end of break there was more news of another sudden death of someone who was just a year younger than me from the area. What is going on?! So much of the news coverage reminded me of when Emily died. So many unanswered questions. Candle light vigils, memorials at sporting events- it was all too familiar. I limited my TV watching and newspaper reading this vacation- stories of these young kids were everywhere.
I think I know what I am supposed to be doing with my life- or at least what I want to be doing. I want to help other people. I want to be that person that other people turn to when they need someone. I want to build communities, fight for justice, and work towards peace.
I've felt very conflicted these last two weeks in NY. I keep searching and searching. I don't even know what I'm looking for anymore. I'm not even sure what brings me back to NY. I think I'm ready to say goodbye for a while.
Back to North Carolina tomorrow...looking forward to reconnecting with my girls, as well as my friends...and remembering what my purpose is.

My summer...

I debated about what to do this summer for a while. At first, I wanted to go to Israel and study, but then my bank account gave me a reality check. Then, I thought that I wanted to apply to be the Director of Jewish Life at the new URJ sports camp opening at AHA. The process was going to take longer than I could wait, and once it seemed like I was going to be an AHA fellow for a second year, I wanted my vacation to be off campus. Then, I found the Brandeis Collegiate Institute (http://bci.ajula.edu/)- a highly subsidized three week retreat for Jewish adults to explore their Judaism through the arts in a pluralistic setting. Did I mention that it is in California?! The program is for people ages 18-26, so I knew that if I didn't do this now, I probably never would. As I started to explore the program I learned that several people involved with AHA worked and/or attended BCI at some point. A few weeks after I applied, I learned that I was accepted! I'm very excited to be a part of a pluralistic community and hopefully translate what I experience there back to my work at AHA next year.
I have one friend from Binghamton who has also been accepted, and I know two of the people on faculty. I'm looking forward to being able to share this experience with people from different parts of my life before AHA, and hopefully meet a lot more new people to learn from and grow with.
To clarify, I am not artistic. I can't draw, act, or dance. I also am not the type to embrace the great outdoors. All things I'll be expected to do this summer.
It will be good for me to do something a little out of my comfort zone...

Laser Pointers, Powerpoints and Shabbat

I am often asked why I do certain things as a Jew. Most people who have known me for a while assume that I am a Reform Jew, and are confused when I say things like 'I can't go out until after Shabbat is over', or, 'I prefer more traditional liturgy.'

I am shomer shabbat. I am not shomer shabbat out of the feeling that I am obligated to do so. I am shomer shabbat for many different reasons. I started to explore a more traditional way of observing Judaism when I transferred to Binghamton and got to know the Hillel Rabbi and his family. He was one of the first people I got to know who was deeply connected to Jewish tradition and practice, but was totally connected to the outside world. I had lived a very sheltered Reform Jewish life up until that point. Little did I know that my involvement with the Binghamton Jewish community would lead me to make friends with Jews from all walks of life. My closest friends identified as Conservative, Orthodox, Zionist, Jewish without a label, etc. I found myself a part of a shomer shabbat community, and loved it. I looked forward to the quiet and relaxation each week. I began to experiment with certain things on Shabbat. At first, I stopped doing homework on Shabbat. Then, I stopped using my computer on Shabbat. Next, I stopped using my phone and watching TV. There was something refreshing about disconnecting from the outside world. I had a whole day set aside for prayer, sleep, and friends. This eventually led me to choose to live with 3 other observant girls for my senior year of college, making the active choice to commit to an observant lifestyle.

The Jewish choices I have made over the years have made my life more meaningful. I haven't had many people or situations challenge my choices, until I come home. I don't come from an observant home. I am not part of an observant community. I am fine with living with people who choose to observe Shabbat in a different way (I have lived in a pluralistic house at AHA since August and have done just fine.) It is clear, however, that my family is uncomfortable with how I live my life.. The idea of doing anything for Shabbat is so off their radar. To them, what I do is crazy and to the extreme. What they don't see is that, for the past 4 years, I have found communities that encourage my exploration of Judaism and my choices to live a more observant lifestyle. I am not the only one doing this. I am not as alien as they think of them.

The use of technology on Shabbat has started to make me really uncomfortable. At one point a few summers ago I experienced a powerpoint Shabbat service done by Rabbi Billy Dreskin. At the time, I thought it was really interesting. Looking back on it now, I don't necessarily think that I loved the idea of using a powerpoint, but I did love his creativity and ability to think outside the box. He knew that for so many people, services as they are just aren't enough. I admire his desire to try and engage as many people as possible in prayer.

This past Shabbat I went to my "home" synagogue in NJ. We read Torah on Friday nights. To many, that's a foreign concept in itself. I always grew up doing this way, so it seems pretty normal to me. I really don't like the services there, but I happen to really like the Rabbi and the familiarity of seeing people from my old congregation...so I keep going back. It's really interesting to see the similarities between this synagogue and the Reform synagogue that I work for in Greensboro. Both synagogues strive to be warm and friendly synagogues. Both Rabbis have camp backgrounds. Yet, when it comes to services, so much of the service is not participatory, although it seems like that is what is intended. For both synagogues, so much of the service is the cantor or cantorial soloist singing by himself. I don't like it when people are watching one person pray. I like to do the praying myself! Okay, done with that rant.

Back to this past Friday night in my synagogue. During the Torah service the rabbinical student leading pulled out a laser pointer to read Torah on the projected Torah page on the wall. They took the Torah out but didn't actually read from it. I get that they were trying to make it accessible to everyone. I get that for some people, the technology is really exciting. For me, I just want to hear the Torah being read...from the Torah.

These next 16 days of vacation are supposed to re energize me for the remainder of AHA's school year. I am already looking forward to returning...

On Loss and Faith

This weekend marks the first yartzeit of Jonah Dreskin, an integral part of the Kutz community. I met Jonah's parents at Kutz before I really had the chance to get to know Jonah himself. Jonah's parents are the kind of people who, for me, scream Kutz. They are innovative, passionate people alway available to serve the communities they are a part of. My heart broke when I heard the news of Jonah's death. His parents are the type of people who I would feel comfortable turning to in a time like this. What happens when those people are the ones who need support the most? I often wonder, as an aspiring Rabbi, how one balances personal challenges in a public role.

I clearly remember sitting in the Hillel office about a year ago, and seeing an e-mail from Kutz in my inbox. I figured an e-mail announcing the death of someone from the community would mean perhaps an elderly alum had  died. I scanned the e-mail, shocked to read Jonah's name. I first met Jonah when I was working at Kutz in the winter and he was participating in a NFTY-NAR event. Always the one everyone looked up to, Jonah really found his place in NFTY. I watched him transform from that young NFTYite to a confident Kutz staff member. During my last summer at Kutz, there was a time during staff week when the dining hall manager became sick, and I was asked to step in and keep the dining hall running. Jonah was working as kitchen staff, and finding it challenging to work with a particular co-worker. At one point, a screaming match erupted. Instead of engaging in a fight, Jonah approached me for help. His maturity and genuine desire to just do his job well was extremely impressive.

When news traveled that Jonah had died, I felt so far away from the rest of my camp community. Kutz had a sort of mini memorial service via conference call before Shabbat came in that weekend. I sat alone in the Hillel lounge, listening to familiar camp voices on the conference call, crying and full of questions. Following the conference call I attended KESHER services at my Hillel. Several students who knew Jonah at different points in his life attended the service. We spent some time sharing memories, and finding some comfort in each others company. While we all knew Jonah from different places, we each had those same bits of Jonah memories to make us smile (and cry.)  I couldn't help but start asking questions, during that service and so many times more in this past year. Why do young people die? Why would God let something like this happen? Weeks following, I sat up late at night wondering if Jonah was okay, wherever his soul was now.

 As the days, weeks, and months passed, stories of Jonah floated across cyberspace. It is incredible to watch Jonah's memory stay alive so strongly. Pictures, videos, music, and stories keep Jonah's spirit with us. I hope that Jonah's close friends and family are comforted by memories and love that surrounds them. He has left me with the desire to make the people most important in my life know just how important they are to me. The Kutz community is near and dear to my heart, and a loss like this leaves makes such an impact on each and every one of us.

This weekend also happens to be the yartzeit of my Mom's best friend. She had a two sons, and and a deceased stepdaughter and deceased husband. So much death in such a short time to one family. I used to to firmly believe that everything happened for a reason. My Mom's best friends family was like our extended family. We used to spend a lot of holidays together, and I have fond memories of Passover seders where her husband designed a personalized seder, managing to incorporate everyone and their personalities into the meal. There is no way that this was meant to be. So much sickness and pain for one family- I just can't believe that this was God's plan. Does that mean that God wasn't there? God didn't care?

These loses in my life have really changed my view on God, and my relationship to God. I don't believe that God chooses who lives and who dies. I do, however, think that God provides the love, support, tools, and community one needs to learn how to live, grow, and honor the memory of their loved ones.

May Jonah and Amy's memories be for a blessing.

A New Denomination?

After this next week, we will be in AHA's final academic trimester of the year. I've done so much, and it's only been 7 months. I co-run the Rosh Hodesh group, connected with each girl in my house (and love every day with them!), fell in love with a new group of friends- the fellows, gained new wonderful mentors that keep me inspired to keep growing and learning, led both reform and conservative services, learned enough to be a tutor for conservative style synagogue skills, created and led full lessons on liturgy, and the list goes on and on....

I'm trying really hard to make sure that I'm getting as much out of this fellowship experience as I can. During the first trimester I studied with a faculty member to learn how to lead Conservative davening. This semester I've been learned Torah trope, and, after next week, I will have had the experience of reading Megillah. While I don't need to be attending things like study sessions, I always feel like I learn something new about the

Today for a Shabbat minyan alternative we did a text study based on an article recently published in Haaretz about Haredi  and Secular Judaism. Our discussion eventually led us to talk about my favorite topic- pluralism. Specifically, what does Pluralism mean here at AHA?  Could a Haredi Jew be welcomed at AHA?A proponent of Judaism beyond denominations, the leader of the discussion suggested that eventually, he imagines, people will begin to identify as 'pluralistic,' just like one identifies as Reform, Conservative, etc. But really, what does that mean? How does on identify as pluralistic? I imagine that this could one day be the direction that AHA heads in. Students would graduate from AHA as pluralistic Jews. What would they be like?

How do you teach Pluralism? Is living and coexisting with Jews different from yourself enough? Can you have Judaism without different denominations?

Here's to hoping that the next month before pesach break brings new challenges and a chance for me to get re-energized!

Shavua Tov :)

What do I do now?

In the process of applying to be at BCI I've learned that it is a really special program, and something I'm really hoping that I'm given the chance to participate in. I had never heard of BCI before my friend started to work for the program, and now all of a sudden numerous important people in my life are raving about the program, sharing their stories about all that they learned when they were participants many summers ago.

I wasn't sure if I could really afford to not work for a summer, and I also wasn't sure if I would get out of doing another Jewish summer program. The last few years of my life have left me very confused Jewishly. My Jewish identity used to be something I was very sure about. I was a Reform Jew. There was nothing about that identity that bothered me. In fact, I embraced it and loved it (and found a wonderful community to call home.) I developed leadership skills at Kutz, in NFTY, and in my synagogue. I loved the idea of 'choice through knowledge' and spent much of high school acting on that idea- making educated choices about how I wanted to practice my Judaism. 

College exposed me to so many different ways of practicing Judaism. I've always loved ritual. Suddenly, I found myself exploring communities that practiced Judaism using rituals I was not accustomed to using. I was so eager to learn and tried to soak up all that I could. Now I find myself always floating between different communities, torn between who I used to be and who I think I want to ultimately become. 

I now feel like I practice Judaism in a way that so many people in my life don't understand. It frustrates me and makes me sad. How do I explain the peacefulness I get from shutting off my cell phone and turning off my computer each Friday afternoon? How do I explain the joy I get from singing my favorite Shabbat songs or praying during services? How do I explain the feeling of connection I feel from being in a community of people that (for the most part) just get it? I don't know how to explain how much things like Shabbat mean to me, if it doesn't mean anything to others. 

I love the fact that I'm at the point know where I can honestly say that I think of my Judaism as beyond the dividing denominations. Now I am just totally confused about how to figure out what kind of Rabbinical School I want to go to, what kind of Rabbi I want to be, and ultimately, what kind of Jew I want to be.

I feel like all of this confusion can't be good for my head...

Finding God on the basketball court...

During my last semester of college, I found myself being asked a lot of tough questions (coming from both myself, and other people.) My Hillel Rabbi always managed to ask me the type of questions that kept me up at night. One day towards the end of my last semester he had to ask the tough one. God. "What are going to say to the kids who have the God questions?" In my head I panicked, having no idea how to respond to a question like that. For a while, I also panicked that I had chosen the wrong job and wrong career path. After my anxiety subsided, my Rabbi reminded me that most God questions aren't necessarily about God, and more have to do with why things happen the way they do. Or at least that's what I understood.

As a Jewish Life fellow here I get to help create a lot of interesting Jewish programs. At our last meeting we were introduced to a program that didn't necessarily need our help, it was just something that was happening, so we should know about it. We offered a Shabbat minyan alternative- a panel discussion called "Are you there God, it's me, AHA." Cute name. I was intrigued by the program and was looking forward to observing it this Shabbat. Then I got an e-mail asking me to be a part of the panel. 

What? I thought I wasn't going to really need to talk about God? As soon as I found out who the other people on the panel were, I tried to figure out what perspective I was supposed to bring to the table. You had the Orthodox Jew, the academic, the therapist...and me. I tried to figure out what God answer I was expected to give based on the others around me...and then I realized that that wasn't the point.

I've never been asked to speak about God in a public way, and I was really nervous. I said things that surprised me, if that makes any sense.

I spoke about the few times I feel as thought I have felt God in my life, using examples from the 10th grade confirmation essay I had to write several years ago. I felt God when I made a 3 point shot during a basketball game. I felt God when I was in the middle of a mosh pit of teenagers during a NFTY song session. I also felt God during my summers working at Kutz when I was able to communicate with one of my non-verbal teens on the autistic spectrum. I realized all of these experiences have a common thread- my interactions with other people. I cannot recall a time where I have felt God's strong presence without being a part of a community.

I wonder how I get to that point? How does one encounter God on an individual basis? Is it bad that I haven't been able to feel God without being present with others? 

I don't know. I think that I have to get used to that. Thank you Deans of Jewish life for asking me to be involved with things that keep me up at night just thinking...