BlogElul: Blessing

When I was at BCI several summers ago, I remember a Beit Midrash session when we were asked to learn about the person sitting next to us and then offer them a blessing. Then, we switched, and the other person received the blessing.

What does it mean to give a blessing, or to receive one?

When I think about blessings, I think about Friday nights here at the Academy. After we sing Shalom Aleichem it is our minhag for House Teams to bless the students in their House. Different staff members take different approaches to this- some do one communal blessing in English with good wishes for the week to come. Others offer a blessing to the House as a group using the traditional Hebrew words. It has become my own minhag recite the traditional Hebrew words for each individual student in my House. I like this partly because I like ritual that has a history. I also like this because it is the one time during the week that my attention is directly focused on one student at a time. Throughout the week I find myself with very little time for intentional personal attention for my students on an individual basis. For me, this is a way to connect with each of my girls in a positive Jewish way.

When I moved to the Academy, my dear friend took it upon herself to bless all of the Fellows. I am the only Fellow from that year still working at the Academy, and the tradition has continued. Having my friend bless me is often a very much needed reminder for me to make sure to acknowledge the blessings in my own life, and that there are people who care about and watch out for me.

Giving and receiving blessings has enriched my Shabbat experience since moving South. When do you experience blessings in your life? What do you think it means to give a blessing?

BlogElul: Prayer

This will probably contradict my other blog posts thus far, but I love prayer. I love the communal connection and the time for personal reflection. It's also one of the few times of the day where I don't feel any pressure to be doing anything out of my comfort zone- I just need to be.

When I was in 5th grade my life was turned upside down when my Mom was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease- the same type of cancer that killed her father when she was young. I don't think I really understood what was going on- people kept asking me how I was doing, how my Mom was doing and looking at me kind of funny. She was put on our synagogue's mi shebeirach list. The week after she was diagnosed I remember making my Dad take me to services. I needed to be in the only place that really felt like home- like normal. It was there where I felt safe and, when hearing my Mom's name, it was okay to cry.

I don't really think that prayer changes the outcome of peoples' illness. If that were the case, a lot more people I knew would still be alive today. Why does prayer matter then? I think that prayer is most effective for the caregivers and those thinking about the person actually sick. Prayer makes those people praying for others stronger, more connected to their support system. The concept of something like a Mi Shebeirach list is also a reminder for the community to check in with the family and friends of the person who is sick, in addition to visiting the loved one who is actually ill.

While I pray that all of my loved ones stay off of my mi shebeirach list, I hope that those who do find themselves in need also find a community ready to embrace them.

"Prayer cannot bring water to parched field, nor mend a broken bridge, nor rebuild a ruined city. But prayer can water an arid soul, mend a broken heart or rebuild a weakened will."

BlogElul: Shofar

I love hearing the shofar. As a child, I only remember hearing the Shofar on the High Holidays. Since coming to the Academy 4 years ago, the sound of the Shofar has taken on a new meaning. We have a beautifully moving ceremony for all new students the day they move on to campus. It involves having the flag of each country our new students represent carried by students from that respective country, student leaders carrying our Sifrei Torah into the room, parents blessing their children, etc. The last thing we do during that cermony is hear our Principal blow the shofar. The piercing sound of the shofar on that day is the Staff wake up call if we weren't paying attention already- our job has formally begun. We are now responsible for other people's children.

May the sound of this years shofar awaken in all of us a sense of newness and renewal, preparing us for a year of endless possibilites! Shanah Tovah.

BlogElul: Faith

I just asked my friend to share his funniest quote on faith and he told me to google Ambrose Bierce, who is a devout Atheist. I complained that the quotes he had weren't very funny so then he said "I have little expectations of God, and I believe that God has little expectations of me."

I don't actually think that what he said is really connected to faith...and I also disagree. Depending on what mood you catch me in I might say that I believe in God. I think that God absolutely has high expectations for me which is why I have high expectations for God. I think that this is why I sometimes feel like the world is against me.

On a positive note (for a change), I do have faith. I have faith in my friends. I usually have faith in myself. I have faith that I am on the path I was meant to be on, even if it does not look like what I had previously envisioned. The Jewish community gives me faith- I believe in the power of people coming together with shared goals and values.

As we go into Shabbat tonight, may we all find faith in whichever community we choose to spend time with.

Shabbat Shalom!

BlogElul: Trust

This is a hard one for me. I was raised thinking that I couldn't trust anyone. My experiences growing up in the Reform Movement helped me to learn how to begin to trust others. In my synagogue there were countless Rabbis, Cantors, Educators and temple members who were there for me and modeled for me what it meant to build a Jewish community. I went away to the URJ Kutz Camp for the first time after my sophomore year of high school and became connected to a place and group of people that helped me to begin to open myself up to others rather than be afraid to trust. The staff and campers alike became my family. I began to work at that camp after I graduated from high school. When I needed a place to stay well after the summer ended, camp leadership offered me housing and a job. I don't know if I would have gotten through college without the kindness and generosity of those who kept me going through high school and college.
At the beginning of each school year at the Academy "trust" is a word said often on campus. It is my job to gain the trust of new students, parents and staff members. Each year in August there is a moment where it hits me that parents are trusting me to care for their children for the year. That's a giant responsibility!
How does one build trust? How does one learn to rebuild trust after it is broken? May we all find people in our lives this coming year who we can trust, and who trust us in return.

BlogElul: Counting

I'm always counting.

I count POSHing totals for the 116 boarding students at the Academy.

I count the 22 students in my House every night I am on duty.

I count the 3 hours between meat and dairy.

I count myself and (hopefully) 9 others in minyan every Shabbat.

We Jews like to count. When I turned thirteen I really embraced the whole idea of becoming an adult in the eyes of the Jewish community. Suddenly, I mattered. In my small congregation growing up, my service attendance was valued and encouraged. At camp, I remember having a debate about whether or not the Torah could count as the 10th for a minyan. We often needed to count some geese to reach that quorum of 10. 

When I was in college I encountered Orthodox Judaism on my own terms for the first time. I struggled with the idea of not being counted in a minyan. I wanted to contribute to the community in a way that was meaningful to me. I didn't know how else to connect to prayer besides being counted in the community. At the same time, I admired the Orthodox community's devotion and serious approach to Judaism. 

In recent years I've tried to stop counting so much. If I focus on how many more days until something, or how many hours until something is over, I lose something. 

How do we focus on the present, when all we can seem to do is constantly countdown to something else?

BlogElul: Intentions

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions" -said by my friend who probably doesn't want me to use her name (not sure where this originally comes from.)

I didn't realize this about myself until I became more of an adult (whatever that means...), but I can be very snarky, sarcastic and cynical. Some may see this as pessimism, but I just see it as being a realistic optimist. 

I think that good intentions are at the core of every human being. However, good intentions mean nothing if the end result is nothing good. How can we work to have our good intentions become more than just intentions? How can we encourage the young people we mentor to do the same? Habits form early, and the earlier in life we can guide youth towards more than just good intentions is setting them up to travel towards, as my friend said, something other than hell.

BlogElul: Inventory

During the days leading up to Rosh Hashana, it is customary for many Jews to take a spiritual inventory of themselves. I'm generally someone who is interested in spirituality, but I become a little uncomfortable with a lot of God talk. I've spent a lot of my life wondering where God is. It makes me angry to hear things like- God is everywhere, you just need to look. Or, you're not supposed to understand God, that's why we describe God as a force bigger than ourselves. It's just too intangible for me. I absolutely feel a connection between myself and other people, and myself and community. Do I feel connected to a God? Not really. So much of our liturgy is filled with God talk. If I start to pay too much attention to my siddur during t'fillot I get really distracted. I'm sometimes not sure what I believe if I don't fully believe in God. Sometimes I wonder why I love services so much. I then remember the music. It stirs something deep inside of me that I can't explain. I'm sure some people would call that God. I just call it good music.
When you are taking a spiritual inventory, what do you notice? What do you need in the coming year to enhance your spirituality?

BlogElul: Return

"Reurn again, return again, return to the land of your soul.

Return again, return again, return to the land of your soul.

Return to who you are, return to what you are, return to where you are. 

Born and reborn again.

Return again, return again, return to the land of your soul."

-Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach z"l 

I've heard this song several times in different contexts that are important to me, so whenever I hear it now I am instantly brought back to those places- BCI, High Holiday services at RTOS. I appreciate this song so much that I even have it in my iTunes. 

While I love the melody, the concept of "returning" is something that I find challenging. I often find it difficult to move on from the parts of my life that have been a struggle. I don't want to go back to who I was at a certain time in my life- I've worked hard to get to where I am now. 

I do, however, appreciate and value the idea of not losing oneself in the process of discovering who you are. I often feel lost on my Jewish journey. I sometimes just want someone to tell me exactly how to practice Judaism in a way that will be meaningful to me. When I think back to how I practiced Judaism just ten years ago, I am amazed by how much I have changed. What I find most remarkable is that regardless of how far I stray from my Reform Jewish upbringing, certain aspects of liberal Judaism still make me feel most connected Jewishly. 

So, my question still remains. Do we need to return? 

BlogElul

My friend Phyllis Sommer has a blogging project that she shared with my HUC cohort as a way to keep in touch and to make the days leading up to the Jewish holidays more meaningful.

I never turn down a blogging challenge, so check back here August 19th!

Feel free to comment, start your own blog, and share this great idea with your friends!

Parashat Shemini

I'll be delivering this d'var tomorrow tonight...I'm not sure if I'm done with it just yet.

Shabbat Shalom!

Approximately 13 years ago I became a Bat Mitzvah. I’m the first to admit how much of a nerd I was, and still am. I loved studying my Torah and Haftorah portions, learning how to lead the service, and had a great time arguing with my Rabbi as I developed a D’var Torah about the same parsha that we read this week- Shemini.

                When I was studying for my Bat Mitzvah I was determined to come up with some concrete reason for keeping kosher. I learned quickly that there aren’t really any concrete studies that prove that eating a bacon cheeseburger is bad for you. As a former cheeseburger enthusiast, I know that God doesn’t strike down those who choose to not keep kosher. So then, what’s the point?

As a young teenager the part of Shemini that was most interesting to me was the laws of Kashrut. I’m not really sure why. At 13, I didn’t really keep kosher. Growing up as liberal Jew I didn’t really know anyone who kept kosher in a traditional way. The way I kept kosher has changed as I change as a Jew. In high school I began to keep kosher style by not eating meat with dairy. In the beginning of college I stopped eating non-kosher meat, and by the time I was graduating college I had two separate sets of dishes.

                At first, I really found it meaningful to keep kosher in accordance with Jewish law. I really had to think about what I was eating all of the time because everything was so new to me. As I got used to keeping kosher, I didn’t have to pay attention as much. This mindful eating I had previously experienced basically lost its meaning for me. So why do I still keep kosher? I still like the idea of eating within a Jewish framework. I feel that the way I choose to eat connects me to my Jewish community, the Jewish people and the history of the Jewish people.

                I received the gift of a tanakh from my Rabbi the day I became a Bat Mitzvah. Inside the book he wrote me a note. Unfortunately the book got lost between here and NY when I moved to Greensboro a few years ago so I can’t actually read it to you. What struck me most about his message to me on that day was what he shared with me about kashrut. He did not talk about the significance of keeping kosher. He wrote about the idea of being a kosher person. Keeping kosher doesn’t make us good people. Acting in a kosher way makes us good people.

This weekend we join the greater Jewish community of Greensboro in volunteering for Mitzvah Day. Our continued commitment as a school to tikkun ‘olam helps each of us strive to be kosher people. Different views of Judaism suggest different ways of keeping kosher. All views of Judaism teach that we should always work towards being kosher individuals.  May we all continue on the path of tikkun ‘olam and always find new opportunities to grow as kosher people.

Overwhelmed by Jewish Identity Formation

This weekend I had the pleasure of learning from an incredible professor from HUC. Our class was on Jewish identity formation. I'm still hung up on the first concept she brought to us. Jewish Educators (us) are Jewish Identity Navigators. What an overwhelming idea! How does one person help another to navigate their own journey?
I believe that the first step for the Jewish Identity Navigator is to be actively engaged in their own Jewish journey. These people need to reflect, acknowledge and wrestle with points of dissonance, and see the as opportunities for growth. Next, the navigator should acknowledge, test and push their own Jewish boundaries in order to help others define their own boundaries. My class debated whether or not Jewish Identity Navigators were responsible for setting boundaries for teens. I believe that as a youth educator it is my responsibility to set boundaries. I think that our class was debating the wrong thing. Rather than focus on whether or not we should set boundaries, we should be asking ourselves the best way to go about setting boundaries, and how to figure out where those boundaries are.
During this class we drew our own personal Jewish Journey maps- an activity I have done on more than one occasion. What I noticed this time when I was creating my map was that my journey has changed. Or rather, the perspective on my journey has changed. I realized that I had many points of dissonance that didn't appear to be points of dissonance until recently- losses, struggles as a teen, dropping out of college, not going to Israel. I somehow forgot about these crucial moments that have been moments of personal, often painful growth as a human being and as a Jew.
I feel honored to be a Jewish Identity Navigator, and engage in the holy work of guiding teens towards a meaningful Jewish life. Thanks to Cohort 1 for inspiring me!

My Kehillah Kedoshah

It's been a while. I've accepted a new position here at the Academy, which means that I officially started working on Friday. It's the first time since I was four that I am not a camper or working at a camp. It doesn't actually feel as weird as I expected it would. I'm excited to see what this year brings. I'm currently in a state of transition. I moved out of my Fellow apartment into another temporary Fellow apartment until my Houseparent apartment is ready. I half unpacked so I could feel somewhat comfortable for the time being, but didn't do much because I know that I will be moving soon. I came across old journals. I started to read my BCI journal from last summer. It is filled with notes from speakers I found interesting, observations about the community I was a part of, and lots of writing prompts from my Theater workshop.

This particular entry from that journal (I think) was just me reflecting on all that BCI had me thinking about:

I like to try and imagine myself in my ideal Jewish community. What kind of label would I give myself? I like to say that I would like to live in a pluralistic community, but really I want to experience a shomer shabbat community. I want to know what it is to be surrounded by observant, educated (I'm well aware that the two don't necessarily go hand in hand) Jews all the time. I want to understand and experiment with how flexible halakhah can be. I want to take on more mitzvot. I need a community that helps me to grow in that way. I want to keep my liberal ideals. I want to learn to appreciate all forms of Jewish expression, not just the ones that appeal to me. I want to fit into a community, yet be challenged by it.
-BCI 2010

Everything happens for a reason...

Or does it? I keep hearing this phrase a lot lately. The older I get, the less I think it is true. I've seen too many people die young, face illness, overcome an abusive past, and lose people they love. However, I look at how my life has progressed so far- if I didn't drop out of college and spend a semester very lost I wouldn't have gone to community college, which would have never given me a reason to live at Kutz for a year, which would have never given me the need to fund my own education, landing at the Binghamton mainly because it had a Jewish Studies major and was relatively cheap.

I just spent an extended weekend in Binghamton. I was last there for just a day or so last year to see some friends who were about to graduate. This time I was in town to visit with my Hillel family and just relax. I am amazed at how much I have grown since graduating, and how much working at AHA has shaped who I am today. I know I was meant to have certain interactions with specific people. They all shape who I am and how I understand the world. What's next? How do I know what the right direction is? I want to do what is going to push me to be the best person I can be. How do I know what that is? If I don't find the money to go Israel, then what do I do? I hate that my questions make me ask more questions, instead of finding answers.

Honoring the Life of Debbie Friedman z"l

I love Jewish music. The sounds of Debbie Friedman, Beth Schafer, Josh Nelson, Kol B’seder and Dan Nichols fill my iTunes. Upon learning of the death of Debbie Friedman, I smile through the tears, remembering the power of her words, and realizing the power that an individual has to positively affect the world.

Jewish music has been a part of my life during every transition and challenging moments I have struggled with. I began Religious School in our Temple’s “Bagels and Blox” program as a preschooler learning Debbie Friedman’s Aleph Bet Song, beginning my journey of Jewish learning. As a fifth grader, I learned what it was like to be comforted by the words of Debbie’s Mi Shebeirach as my Mom battled cancer. As a freshman in high school, I discovered the world of NFTY, and began to attempt to learn every Jewish song ever written. I just couldn’t get enough. I went to youth group concerts, kallot at song sessions, and had the incredible experience of being a part of two Union for Reform Judaism Biennials- singing and connecting with thousands of other like-minded Jews. During the summer of my sophomore year I attended the URJ Kutz Camp, where I was immersed in Reform Jewish living. As a junior in high school I became confirmed, singing Debbie’s “And the Youth Shall See Visions.” During my senior year of high school I sang Lechi Lach and Tefilat Haderech as I completed the Miller High School honors program at HUC-JIR in New York.

While I did begin to drift away from the Reform Movement during college, I worked for five summers at Kutz. Kutz gave me a Jewish identity, and I wanted to give back to the place that gave me so much. During one particular summer, the power of her music became clear to me. I was the assistant director for Kutz’s Mitzvah Corps program for teens on the autistic spectrum. I worked closely with a teen who didn’t have the ability to verbally communicate. He often made sounds with his throat, and pointed at things that he wanted others to notice. I struggled to understand him and was unsure of how to connect. During an evening program one night we sat in a circle to begin to say good night. We sang some songs, and decided to include Debbie Friedman’s Mi Shebeirach prayer. As our song leader strummed a few chords, I was shocked to hear my non-verbal camper in a quiet, but clear voice sing the words. He couldn’t tell me when he was hurting, or when he wanted a hug, but he could sing those words of healing.

Since hearing of Debbie’s death, I’ve been trying to figure out how to best honor her memory. I keep singing. Tonight, in the House that I live at the Jewish boarding school that I work for, songs of Debbie Friedman filled the air during our evening program. I led my girls in my favorite camp songs, shared my few stories I have from working with her at camp, and watched as my Houseparent’s 9 year old daughter ended the night by leading us all in Lechi Lach. Debbie Friedman’s memory lives on through the music that continues to touch the heart and stir the soul of generations to come. Zichrona Livracha, may her memory be for a blessing. 

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!