The Motzei Shabbos Minute

For some reason, my brain happens to work in insane creativity and pensiveness overdrive on Shabbos -- probably because I know I can't write anything down. So here are some things that crossed my mind over the past 25 hours.

• I can't seem to figure out which lights to leave on and which to turn off for Shabbos. You'd think, after nearly a year of living in this apartment and being Shomer Shabbos that I'd have it down. Alas, I always miss one. When I was married, it was my ex's job to keep tabs on the "what to do before Shabbos starts" list. The benefit of this was that if he missed something, it wasn't my fault. (hashtag "perks of being married.")

• Why do I snack so much on Shabbos? What is it about these 25 hours that make me want to do nothing but sleep and eat? I used to do a lot more reading and learning, but these days it's eat a bunch, sleep until 3 p.m. on Shabbos afternoon, get up, go to shul, nosh, pray, sleep. 

• I've realized I have very inconsistent habits when it comes to when I sit down for the brachot during Torah reading aliyot and when I stand. Sometimes I find myself standing for all of mincha, sometimes for all of maariv. I don't know that there's a hard-and-fast rule about whether you stand or sit, whether you do a full lean-over for the bracha or if your tush coming off the seat in a little nod is enough. Maybe I should ask my rav. It's interesting the mish-mosh of sitting and leaning versus standing and fully leaning that goes on. Consistency is key in so many of the things that we do. 

• Guitars are weird in shul. I don't know why. I love to sing, I love to dance. But. I don't know.

• Feeling a little weighed down from my overcooked Moroccan cholent and spending last night noshing some coconut ice cream and chips (not to mention staring down the yellow-based food options at seudat shlishit for which I did not consume) ... I've realized I've let myself go a little. I need to walk the walk if I'm talking the talk. Yes, I am a gluten-free, egg-eating vegan, but that doesn't mean that junkfood abounds for someone in my shoes. So I'm going to call this the Aliyah Diet. Step one? Throw away everything I own foodwise (and donate the stuff that isn't open). I'm going to stick to a strict shopping list that will serve the three meals a day I consume -- no more, no less. By and large, what I eat is going to be focused on my two favorite change-the-way-you-eat-and-feel books Crazy Sexy Diet and The Eat-Clean Diet ... both say "diet" but mostly are focused on eating vegan, living foods.

• Moving to Israel doesn't scare me. At all. Is that rational?

Yes, There Are Jews in Omaha

I spent a Shabbat in Omaha, Nebraska, recently and really enjoyed my time. If you ever wondered what the community there is like, read on. Was I asked to write this? No. I did it because I think it's a community worth looking at if you're considering a move out of the city life or the typical NJ/NY experience. Also: Nebraska's unemployment is the second-lowest in the nation and Warren Buffett lives there, so ... that's awesome, right? 

Do you even know where Omaha is? Most people know Omaha and only Omaha when I mention that I'm from Nebraska. We landed in Nebraska in 1996 and I left there after graduating college in 2006, but there are moments of longing for the simple, easy life that it provides. Luckily, Denver gives that same kind of chill living, almost to a second degree.

My only pre-recent experience with the Omaha Jewish community: a Shabbat visit to the Chabad there where they let me light Shabbat candles despite not being converted yet (which made me feel awesome and special and Jewish) and Passover at the big Conservative synagogue there. Both experiences I had with the University of Nebraska-Lincoln Hillel as we attempted to broaden our Jewish life in Lincoln.

So when I was planning my most-of-the-way-cross-country trip, I knew that I needed to stop somewhere for Shabbat, and my options were Chicago, Des Moines, and Omaha, and because I was trying to stay on I-80 for the trek, I opted for Omaha because, well, it's my home state and I'd read in the OU magazine once that the community there was booming with young adults and a happenin' Jewish experience. I mean, they had a kosher bagel shop that burned down and was immediately rebuilt because of its importance to the community.

So I looked up the rabbi at Beth Israel (Orthodox) -- Rabbi Gross -- and sent an email out into the abyss hoping for a Shabbat hookup. He responded quickly with a place for me to stay and meals, too! (Truth time: I actually wrote to him on Shabbat.com and email and Facebook ... I was anxious.)

I arrived just in time to my hosts' house to find out there was another Shabbat guest who currently is United States trotting (her story is fascinating), and at dinner discovered there was another stopperby on his way to Arizona. It was an impromptu Shabbaton, and we were all welcomed with the openest of arms by the rabbi and community.

The shul is very new and modern, which some like and some don't. I'm one of those traditionalists who really likes the old-school, old-world shuls with lots of character and history, but for an Orthodox shul, it had beautiful artwork and stained glass and quite the nice mechitzah, too, which, let's be honest, can make or break the experience of davening. (Wait, am I the only one who thinks this?)

I really enjoyed the rabbi's d'rash, if only because for the first time in a long time, I watched an Orthodox rabbi interact with his audience! He asked questions, took answers, and made it more of an interactive learning experience then a soapbox pulpit presentation, which I really enjoyed. Next time I'll have to study the parsha to make sure I'm prepared for the Q&A.

The community is diverse -- black hats to women without covering -- but it seems that everyone jibes well with one another, and that's the sign of a very powerful dynamic. And rumor has it that the eruv is going up soon, which will be the first time there's been one in Omaha ever!

As the community grows, so too will its infrastructure. I have no doubt in my mind that with Rabbi Gross's leadership the community will be rocking out plenty of Jewish amenities in the future that will make Omaha a more tantalizing location. But if you want out of the NY/NJ scene and want to buy a house for what you'll get a shoebox apartment in the City? Then consider Omaha. A community can only grow and become awesome if people go there.

Believe me, if I weren't in Denver right now, I might very well be in Omaha. My friends are there, the congregation is growing, the amount of children running around is enough to put a smile on your face, and there's a bagel joint. What more could you ask for?

PS: Check out the rabbi's blog here. 

I'm Entering Politics ... Sort Of

It's election season for Congregation Ahavat Shalom, better known in these parts (aka Teaneck) as TABC or the Apartment Shul. We're a community of young adults, recently marrieds, and people with a few kids here and there who live in a collective of three apartment complexes -- Terrace Circle, Walraven, and Westgate -- although there are a few stragglers outside these complexes. Tuvia and I live in Terrace Circle, and I actually think the bulk of the shul membership lives here, too.

So there's a president, treasurer, and all of those other fun positions, including Sisterhood Committee, and then there are four vice presidents -- one for each of the complexes and one to represent those who don't live within the complex system. And so, someone nominated me for the VP of Terrace Circle, and I was both shocked (in that Sally Field "you love me! you really love me!" kind of way) and stoked.

Most people have responded to my nomination with, "So now you're going to have to actually come to shul, right?" to which I respond, "Well, yes." You see, most people don't remember that I actually used to come to shul, every weekend, but then summer hit and I was in Israel for a month and then we were in Nebraska and then it was one million degrees outside and ... forgive me my sins!

My role, should I be awesome enough to land it, will be to make sure Terrace Circle shul members pay their dues (enforcer!), help connect the complex to the board (communicator!), organizing and erecting the complex sukkah (project manager!), and to help organize and make awesome the Purim chagigah and all other fun events like the BBQ (event planner! shmoozer!). I think I'm cut from the cloth to handle all of this, don't you?

And after the sukkah fell down practically on top of me last year, I'm ready to make a durable sukkah that will be able to sustain the wrath of HaShem! Oh, and I hope to make it more aesthetically pleasing than it was last year. A sukkah should be downright beautiful, people. Come on!

Also? I'd really like to use my position to streamline the inclusiveness of the Terrace Circle apartments. I feel like there are a lot of factions and cliques and people who come into the community who don't really get the welcome they should from the appropriate representatives of the various complexes, and I want to be that face -- the face of Terrace Circle! Yes, I might come banging down your door for dues, but I'll invite you to an awesome Terrace Circle event while I'm at it. I want people to feel comfortable bringing issues to the board about anyone, anywhere, anytime and to be able to trust in me that I'll handle things appropriately and confidentially, too.

Thus, my platform is simple:

Efficiency

Inclusion

Awesomeness

Coffee ... Lots of Coffee

Have questions? Want to know whether I'm ready for the position? Whether I can handle being a member of the boys club? Feel free to comment or email me. And I'm serious about the coffee. All are welcome to come and partake in the Keurig or enjoy a delicious Lazy Bean beverage, on me, to talk Terrace Circle and Ahavat Shalom shop!

The Linden Shabbaton -- Will You Be There?

Once upon a time, I went to a Shabbaton in Crown Heights, and it was probably one of the most amazing Shabbats of my life (despite being completely overwhelmed by what can only be described as a massive crowd). Once upon another time, I indirectly ended up at a Shabbaton in West Orange at my dear husband's family's shul, and that, too, was amazing. So, I suppose, you could call me a proponent of the Shabbaton experience -- it's like an awesome camp experience, for adults!

Enter, if you will, The Linden (NJ) Shabbaton on May 6-7, 2011, for young couples and families, buyers and renters. Someone once told me that if Linden were compared to a pair of jeans, it would be "relaxed fit." Now, I'm not a pants-wearing kind of gal, but I remember relaxed-fit jeans, and they were cozy and comfortable and made me feel at home in my own skin (thank heavens for jean skirts!). At Congregation Anshe Chesed in Linden, shul isn't a fashion show, and it's not a place to see if you're keeping up with the Schwartzes. Linden folks, I've been told, come together in a relaxed environment to focus on G-d and community.

Thus, during this Shabbaton, the Linden community wants to invite the curious and hopeful to take a gander at what it means to be comfortable and relaxed before your friends and community, as well as HaShem.

And if I haven't caught your attention yet, how about this: The Shabbos Park. This is a place where all of the couples -- children or no children -- get together and hang out on Shabbos afternoon. During this Shabbos afternoon powwow, the rabbi holds a class for women, while the men entertain the children (and themselves, one hopes!). All I can say is, drool. Learning for women while the men (who are really kids) get to play with the kids? This is a definite win-win.

According to my sources, Linden is a beautiful, safe, and very affordable community. The location is great, and the community is devoted to simplicity and spiritual growth -- all according to a "relaxed fit" atmosphere.

For more information on The Linden Shabbaton, just shoot an email to the shul. I just might be there. Will you? It never hurts to check out a new community -- you never know when you might fall in love and find that perfect fit for which you've been searching.

And, for what it's worth, Anshe Chesed's Rabbi Hess is on Twitter and he has a blog! Talk about a tech-savvy community.

Coolest. Chanukah. Gift. EVER!

I picked the worst time possible to start re-blogging post-hiatus, mostly because I'm in the midst of finals. Although I'm not as stressed this year as in year's past, I'm still feeling the crunch. Hebrew and Ancient Jewish Fictions are finalized tomorrow, and Midrashic Literature is all due by Friday at 9 a.m. Add to this a stack of Bible exams I'll be grading, and by the time Monday roles around I'll be ready to drop. The upside to the madness is that soon I'll have about a month off with nothing to do but edit, read, exercise, and contemplate life's mysteries. Oh, and blog about my Israel trip and everything else that's been spinning around in my noggin.

So for some light reading (and easy blogging) today, I'd like to share with you one of the Chanukah gifts I picked up for Tuvia. Never fear, he already opened it -- and he loved it! I am the ultimate gift giver, what can I say.

The story behind this nifty Lego toy is amusing. Tuvia and I have lamented our current and future situation in the community, seeing as that I live on campus and he lives in a city other than that which our shul is in. The houses in the community are exceedingly expensive, and depending on where I happen to get into graduate school (more on that later), we might be moving next summer. Of course, we're not even married (or engaged) at this point because of the lack of conversion, but we've formulated a plan on how to make it work: The RV. Yes, the time-tested and true method of Americana living in dire straights, the rolling vehicle in which one can make a home and a Shabbos dinner. We promised our rabbi that -- after we're (g-d willing) married, and if we can't find a place in the community, we'll find a way to make it work. That means procuring (if necessary) a Shabbos Mobile in the form of an RV that can sleep many, feed more, and situate us right next to the shul. Talk about the coolest plan EVER. So I got this little RV for Tuvia, just in case the plan doesn't happen. This way, he'll always have his dream (mini-)Shabbos RV.

Happy Chanukah, friends!

Passion, Fire, and Self-Respect: Part II

I posted a few days ago about my frustration and dare I say disgust with a weekend spent in a certain community -- from the way people talked their way at full volume through the davening to the jungle-like attack on the kiddush table after services. And a lot of you agreed that it's a problem. To be honest, the latter is of less importance in the long run, and people's manners are something I can't exactly change. It can be attributed to how we're raised, what our parents tell us is right and wrong, our own perception of decency and self-respect, and having respect for those around us. People, I'm sad to say, lack a general filter for right and wrong when it comes to manners nowadays, and I find this pervasive among the Orthodox Jewish community. I'm not saying people live in filth and are out-and-out rude -- there are exceptions to every rule and assumption -- but overall, I'm frequently blown away. Now, maybe I'm partial but I can think of two communities (including for the most part my own) where this isn't such a problem.

But the talking during davening? This exists everywhere. Everywhere except maybe a few select shuls where if you talk, you're really, seriously chastised with an unverbal, eye-piercing excommunication from the sacred space.

Interestingly (one of those "wow" moments), the readings for the weekend in my "Praying With Fire: A 5-Minute Lesson-A-Day" addressed the very issue that I was experiencing. Maybe it aroused more anger in me, maybe it brought the situation fully into perspective. I joked about taking the book with me, and shouting to the people what exactly our sages have said on this very issue of talking during davening. But I didn't. Instead? I'm going to share it with you here, and maybe I can alter how some of us (we're all imperfect; even me!) carry ourselves in shul, while davening.

"The harm done by disturbing others (by talking during prayer) is so substantial that the Shulchan Aruch rules that to avoid disturbing others, a person saying Shemoneh Esrei should not raise his voice in prayer (Siman 101, Se'if 2). ... If this is the halacha regarding voices raised in tefillah, one can surmise that there would be no tolerance for disturbances created by voices raised in casual conversation."

The text goes on to discuss various rabbis who cited the cause for certain  massacres being because the community didn't respect the shul, they spoke during davening, bringing harm upon the community. I think this is a little harsh (at one point it is suggested that the reason the Sephardi community was saved from the Holocaust is because of their strict rules NOT to speak during davening), but interesting to ponder at any rate.

The Zohar identifies a person who speaks about worldly matters in synagogue as a "kofer b'ikar," -- a heretic (Parashas Terumah 131a), and the Roke'ach adds that one who speaks during prayer is guilty of "masig g'vul" or stealing the sanctity of the synagogue (Hilchos Teshuvah, Siman 26). One text goes so far as to say that he who speaks in shul is "chillul Hashem" -- desecrating the name of HaShem.

And this text was made for me: "The impact of talking during prayer is sometimes perceived more keenly by newcomers to Judaism (that's me!), who have not become desensitized to it. They cannot reconcile the great divide between what prayer truly is and how it is sometimes treated." Now, I see the divide, I'm just really annoyed. The author goes on to discuss that if this is the impression to a new comer or ba'al teshuvah, imagine how the children feel. If they see it, they can't discern what is normal and what is not, and thus talking during services is the "norm" -- it perpetuates the myth that this is in fact okay.


In essence, by talking during davening, you're negating the mitzvah of davening by committing the sin of nullifying the prayers! It's a horrible cycle. Why don't people see that? On Shabbat, for example, a person is 13 blessings short of the required 100. Throughout Shabbat, we fulfill the commandment by eating various foods and delicacies, but if we fall short, we compensate by listening to the blessings said over reading of the Torah and the Haftarah and responding Amen. But if we're talking during all this, we probably fall short, and where's that leave us?

Let us talk to G-d quietly, in devotion that is personal. After all, "there is too much ugly noise in our world today." Why bring more?

Passion, Fire, and Self-Respect.

First it happened in the House with Joe Wilson. Then Kanye west spewed his guts without thinking on the VMAs. Whatever happened to self-respect? Restraint? The human filter of decency? Here we go ...

"So you're completely out of Selichot books?" he asked the clerk.

"Yup. But, you know, my shul is right down the road. I've got more than enough Selichot seforim there, and, you know, our's is a little bit, well, shorter. Because, you know, we're closer to G-d," the clerk said with a snicker, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

I think he was joking, but maybe only half joking. And this was how our weekend in New Jersey for Shabbat and Selichot ended. Sans selichot seforim and with a clerk making jokes left and right about being "closer" and nearer to G-d.

I don’t want to say I didn’t have a good time in West Orange, but I feel like there were a lot of things playing against me. We arrived at Tuvia’s mom’s place about 10 minutes before the absolute latest candle lighting time (that was using the 18 minute leeway). I’d wanted to shower, but there was no time. Tuvia ran off to shul, and I, being frustrated, exhausted, and all-around grumpy, stayed home, lamenting my hair (sad, I know). Add to this that the weather was miserable, and, well, this kvetcher is set.

In the morning, I arose to the most hideous display of Chavi-hair ever. Tuvia suggested I throw on a hat “Want to be married today?” he asked. I thought about it for about a half-second and decided that no, that would not be a good idea. I didn’t want to confuse all the little old ladies and family friends. I did my hair the best I could, got dressed in a new skirt, and plodded off to shul. Tuvia’s grandmother set me down in a back-ish seat of the shul to daven, because I actually wanted to focus on my davening, and didn’t want to intermix with the chatty folks. And I was good to go until right before the Torah service when these women came and sat all around me. I suddenly realized that there are some things that I will never – I repeat never – be able to adjust to in the Orthodox shul.

I understand that there’s this unspoken thing that says that it’s okay to schmooze in shul during davening. That the older women are permitted because they’ve seen it all, and I get that. But most of the time they whisper. They have the respect – the self-respect – to whisper. But the women who go to shul, sit in the sanctuary, and do nothing but talk? I don’t get it. If you’re going to shul to socialize, not to daven a SINGLE WORD, then why are you sitting in the sanctuary? There’s a whole shul of space where you can air your dirty laundry without disturbing the beauty of the Torah or the importance of Kaddish or the Shemonei Esrei. And even when the guy in front of the bimah would stop the reader, in order to garner the attention of the crowd, to get everyone to shut up and listen, these women just kept talking. At full strength, full volume, as if they were in the crowd at a Yankees game. I was baffled. Truly baffled. I could have moved, but would it have solved the problem? No, it wouldn’t have. The men were talking. The women were talking.

Whatever happened to sacred space? Respect for the book? Self-respect? Shame?

Things only got worse. I mean, women at my shul jabber away, and I found a different location and sort of made it clear that no one can sit next to me when I’m davening. And it works. After the service, I go to the social hall, and we all do our thing. We talk. We schmooze. But the Kiddush was, well, something out of a horror film. It was What Not to Do at Kiddush 101. Now, it was a big Kiddush. They were honoring a pillar of the community, an amazing man who just hit 85 and is still going strong like a young buck. The man deserved the festivities, but the people – the congregation – didn’t show this man any respect. There was nothing but gluttony, selfishness, rudeness, and an utter lack of self-respect. It reminded me of that scene in “Mean Girls” where the main character imagines the cafeteria and everyone’s slinging food and acting like jungle creatures. Or maybe like a soup kitchen from the Depression Era. Kiddush can be outlandish at my shul (people pushing and shoving and acting like they’ve never seen kugle before), but at this Kiddush? Because of the pure magnitude of people and food, it was like a massacre – of food, of respect, of everything that I cannot adjust to Jewishly.

I’m a Midwestern girl. I may have a backwoods Ozarkian family, but my parents taught me patience, they taught me manners, and they taught me not to eat out of things with my hands, not to double-dip, to use a napkin, to pick up after myself, to not cut in line, to have respect for your elders, and just generally how to act like a decent human being – not an animal.
But there, in this shul, I had people shoving me out of the way for a meatball, I watched a 10-year-old girl double-dipping chicken in a sauce dish about a half-dozen times, a kid trying to reach five people ahead of him for a plate even though he was, well, five people deep. I watched adults dropping food on the floor, and leaving it there, probably assuming the help would pick it up. I watched people setting their dirty and disgusting plates down on tables with fresh food when there was a trashcan about a foot away. I had to step back from the crowd. And watch. I was disgusted. Is the Jewish way to be self-fulling? The idea that Jews – especially the Orthodox type – are messy, impatient, cheap, and pushy?

I’ll never be like that. And you can sure as hell bet my children won’t be that way. No sir. Not this girl.

I can’t explain the disgust I felt during that experience. After a while, I just wanted to go home. I didn’t even go back for mincha or maariv or the special talks they had with their scholar in residence. I wanted to not be there at that place, with those people, who lacked a sense of self-respect and common decency. I wanted to run away, find an Orthodox synagogue where the people are calm, patient, kind, respectful, and want to be there more than anything to daven, to share a sacred space with G-d, and then get their social fill afterward in a calm and respectful manner.

Does such a place not exist? Is this going to be my Jewish pipe dream?

We ended up going back for Selichot around 11:45 on Saturday night. There was a speaker and then davening at 12:54 in the morning. There weren’t nearly as many people there, but the crowd was calmer, more relaxed, more attuned to what was going on. Or maybe everyone was just exhausted. The chazzan’s voice was mournful, soul-piercing. My eyes welled up when he cried out the words, speaking to G-d with the most beautifully sad voice. And then it was a rush of quiet davening, and then it was over. Where was this during Shabbat? This passion, this fervency, this communication with G-d?

Sometimes I feel at a loss. Like I’m walking a lonely and quiet path, where my way doesn’t meet up with the majority way. I want to daven in organized chaos – the sound of voices mumbling together, but mumbling with a purpose, devotion and a passion. Not voices discussing other people or random things irrelevant to the prayers at hand. I get that davening isn’t for everyone, and I get that not everyone wants to go to shul to daven, and that shouldn’t deter people from just going, I guess. But how is someone like me supposed to reconcile all of this?

Overall, this weekend left me confused and frustrated. I feel very much like no one understands how I function as a Jew – religious, passionate, thoughtful, serious, hopeful. Sometimes the cheese does stand alone. To be Orthodox, must I alter my personality into something that it isn’t? Something loud and pushy and unconcerned with prayers and people?

Where is the fire? What happened to the fire in our souls?

Tugging My Strings

Well before I left for Israel, and well after I got back, I was feeling a void religiously and spiritually. It happens. We all know that it comes in stages. For months we'll feel connected, tied to G-d and the community and our spiritual strings are happily tugged day and night. And then, out of nowhere, one day we realize that the strings are covered in dust and cobwebs and their limpness leaves us feeling empty. Of course the "we" and "us" is really me. The other night I told Tuvia this. I mentioned that I was feeling kind of empty. I realized that I hadn't written about anything religious in some time on the blog (though, I guess to some it might seem like I have). It seemed like everything I had written was pop culture or politics or just general "blah blah blah." It's been a long, long time since I've written a d'var Torah and probably even longer since I sat down and read through the parshah. I used to be on the ball, head-first, my strings were active.

So I was looking forward to shul on Friday. Tuvia and I drove over to the Orthodox shul, arriving a little bit after minchah had started. I remembered to take my transliterated siddur with me, since I'm not so comfortable with the regular Artscroll just yet. Add to this that the shul's siddurim are in much-loved shape, I figure better I batter my own copy rather than their's.  I found my place quickly in the women's section, opened up my siddur, jumped to where we were, and began to daven. The men's section was loaded with men in varied kippahs, some in black hats, some with payess, some with beards, some meandering about. The women's section was empty except for me until another woman showed up next to me. But I was so in the zone the entire service that I missed things going on on the other side, missed any missteps or air bubbles in the service. I read the words with strict devotion, I threaded my tongue around the syllables, hoping to find that passion, to feel the tug of those strings, and it happened. Slowly, but surely.

After the service, we headed over to our Shabbos dinner hosts' house, where we were joined by another couple and a family of five. Overall, there were 13 of us at that Shabbos dinner table, noshing salad and challah and kugel and pie. Conversation flowed from Israel to the local Jewish day schools, from school to Nebraska and Wisconsin. The hospitality was good and Midwestern, which is what I'm used to. The host reminded me so much of the Kosher Academic, which is probably why the entire experience was so comforting and at-ease. I didn't feel like I had to act a certain way or say certain things. It was exactly what I needed to continue the evening. The strings continued to be pulled, I was alive again. With the blessings and the kippah-headed men and the challah and the bensching ... I missed all of these things.

I think I just miss the full Shabbos experience: services, conversation, the meal, the wine and the blessings, the feeling of the evening and the day, the real rest and focus. Luckily, the people at the shul are so kind, so welcoming that we've been invited back for Shabbos dinner and the full-day Shabbos experience.

This week, I'll be here on campus for my first Shabbat at Chabad in weeks. Nay, probably in a month and a half. I'm excited to hook back up with the campus Jewish crew, but I am also disappointed that I won't be making challah and lighting the candles and enjoying Shabbat with Tuvia, but all good things come in time.

Until then, I'm shining my strings and hoping they continue to lead me on and on and on ...

Jewish Gingering.

Just when you thought Gingerbread Houses were only for those of the Christmasy persuasion, Chavi came up with the newest new-age Jewish holiday activity: the construction of the GingerShul!

I was checking out the local Wal-Mart when I saw the Gingerbread House kit, and thought ... that would make a really stellar gingerbread synagogue. So the kit was purchased and this weekend, while enjoying some rest and relaxation in the Poconos, the gingerbread shul was built and I think it came out quite smashingly.

For more photos, find me on Facebook and you can see the entire process ... it was quite a time! And no, I don't plan on eating it ... for many reasons. But hey, it looks cool sitting by the fire!

I'm back ... but wait!

Wow. Really? Seriously? Best weekend I've had in a long time. Shabbos in Washington Heights in NYC with Susanne and friends, drinks with various bloggers and internet personalities such as Sara from PopJudaica.com , EstherK , Ezra Butler and Susanne , of course, followed by the meeting of Evan's mother and grandmother (she was elated to feed me gefilte fish) and the conclusion of the weekend eating at a "kosher style" restaurant outside of Hartford? Well, yes, it was pretty darn amazing. But I don't have the energy or time (I have boatloads of homework to do before I sleep) right now, but rest assured you'll hear about my Orthodox shul adventure, eating lunch at Yeshiva University, and clomping around in the rain all weekend.

Until then, though, please go check out the newest edition of Haveil Havalim -- edition #184 "A Barbarian Roars Again" over at A Barbarian Yawp's blog! (And whoa, I got a mention this week, wahoo!) Oh, and just for fun, check out this awesome picture from the weekend -- yes, those are Internet superstars Chavi, Susanne, Esther, Ezra, and Sara! Until I get a free moment ... Shana Tova and may your new year be ever so sweet!

A Birthright.

I'm standing just off the curb near the bus stop, watching taxicabs and cars zip by, waiting for a free space in the traffic to make it across Broadway. Really, I'm at ease -- my skirt flapping wildly in the wind; gale force winds have painted the day. I wanted very much to just stand there, eyes closed, early summer wind brushing over and around me, making my kosher-for-shul skirt dance. And then there's a clearing, and I run, sandles clicking against the ground, and I'm thinking: when did skirts become oppressive. And then I'm thinking: I should blog about this and shul tonight and about how it's hard to fight the urge to blog after something beautiful whips around your mind making it difficult to think -- you must get the words out in some form, else they'll continue to stir up and around making it uneasy to concentrate, to breathe.

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I showed up 15 minutes late to shul. I followed a young couple in and as they were picking through the headcoverings I opened the sanctuary door to find it empty. I tucked myself into their space and asked if they knew what time services were. I then found out that sometimes they have services in the basement, in the room where on my first visit to the Orthodox shul they'd had a Shabbat dinner and where I'd scooted myself into an already-full table of Jews. I plodded down the steps and there, in the big room, were crowded dozens of congregants separated women from men by a lace curtain divider. I (reluctantly) grabbed my transliterated (brown) siddur and grabbed a seat. The men's side was pretty hoppin', and the woman I'd run into mentioned that when they have services downstairs, there's dancing and lively(er) singing. Now, I'd skipped a service at the Conservative shul because I was hoping to avoid acoustic guitars and the like, so it was funny that the Orthodox shul had a similar thing going down; but rest assured, there were no drums or guitars or anything aside from the voices -- the beautiful voices -- of the congregants.

I quickly found my place in the siddur, but realized for the first time at the Orthodox shul that I really loathe the transliterated version. The thing is, the transliteration does that whole "s" versus "t" bit from the Ashkenazi/Sephardi pronunciations and it just throws me. I know the prayers, but when you're staring at a transliterated page you have a tendency to read what you're given and it's just frustrating. If only everything weren't so ... fast. Yes, if things were slower I could probably keep up in the Hebrew. But at the same time, the pace is what enthralls and excites me. There is so much, so very much, and all of it is beautiful. I found myself marveling tonight at how quickly I was moving along in some of the prayers you find in all shuls for the ma'ariv. I wouldn't change the service at all. It's me who needs to change. The Hebrew needs to be like a second skin, a glove. I should be able to open the siddur and know precisely where we are in the service, know the words and the melodies. And in due time, well, I'll be there.

And there was dancing. On the men's side, anyhow. The women sort of smiled and looked on over the divider as the rabbi and several other (also rabbis) danced in a circle. I wish I could convey the beauty that emanates from this congregation when they're singing and davening. It's like our entire past, all of our ancestors, are in the room voices belting loudly in many different melodies making the most serene sound. I can close my eyes and it's as if the entire room has become Israel -- the people, the entire congregation. And that, of course, is what Shabbat is meant to be. I've never experienced that before, that washed over feeling of generations past and present alive in the voices of those singing and davening.

But then there is the guilt. I left services, opting to skip out on a (most likely delicious) Shabbat dinner to go home. The day left me weary -- the heat was suffocating and the wind left me feeling worn. I need sleep, it's true, and I have many a plan for the weekend (not partying hard, folks, but going to a green market and chalk art festival and book fair). The entire week drifted by seemingly without any sleep, and despite the joy and absolute happiness I feel when joining a Shabbat table, I knew I needed to come home. I trekked down the street and, seeing two buses coming, stopped at the corner and waited. As I stood there, people leaving the Orthodox shul walked by, and a feeling of dread overcame me. I began to think, What will they think of me? Am I being judged? Should I just start walking so they think perhaps I was just taking an idle break?
No one said anything to me. They probably didn't even notice me. I'm sure there are plenty of people who take the bus -- not everyone lives in the eruv or within walking distance, right? I was over-thinking it. But having already started thinking about blogging about services, I'd also turned on my Blackberry, which I subsequently (and shamefully) shoved in my bag. The bus came, I hopped on, pulled out Potok, and read the entire way home.

And now, we're back to where we began.

I'm trying to figure out how to reconcile a lot of things. From what I hear, this (modern) Orthodox shul isn't like other Orthodox shuls. The rabbi is one of a kind. The people? Also unique. The atmosphere? You won't find it anywhere else. I'm beginning to worry: Is this going to turn into another situation like with my "starter shul" back in Nebraska? Will it come to be that no shul on the planet will be able to compare with this shul? On the same note, is this synagogue "acceptable" in its Orthodoxy or is it talked about by the folks up in West Rogers Park and Skokie? Scratch that. Now that I think about it, every year I guess there's a mass migration of new families from this Orthodox shul up to the Orthodox neighborhoods in the near suburbs. They even have little reunions I guess. So yes, it's kosher.

Why am I asking all these questions? Who cares?

While standing in services, not paying attention to the prayer, my eyes floated through the lace curtain to all the young bachelors. I began to wonder (so much thinking going on) whether -- if I really wanted to land me a nice Orthodox boy -- this whole conversion debacle would make someone apprehensive about me, even if I had chosen to convert Orthodox. Would it keep someone from loving me? From accepting me? And how would I handle that. Is it even worth it? Afterall, I've been known to be in love with goyim (past and present).

Oy. My head hurts from all the thinking, but this is what shul does to me. I go, I experience something beautiful, I leave, I begin to think. Sometimes I wonder if my approach to Judaism is too academic, too serious, too fretful. And then I step back and look at those words and think of the sages and great thinkers and realize no, this is precisely what I'm meant to do. It's who I am.

It's my birthright.

I promise to post something with more content. And meaning. And depth. Really.

Oy. I've been so busy the past few days. My time at work seems to fly, mostly because I'm busy working on stuff for the professors while intermixing it with loads of genealogy research. After the second cousin started sending me stuff, I started working again on the tree over on Ancestry.com. I don't pay for an account, so I have to be super creative with my sleuthing, and for the most part it works quite well. I'm sending off for five marriage certificates and one death certificate for relatives who lived and died here in Illinois. I think it's interesting that I've ended up in Illinois (yes, I'm moving) and that I'd like to end up back here in the future. The roots of my family were firmly planted here for several generations, and in Missouri and Tennessee, too. I have to figure out how to get creative with looking at the old country, though, because I'm hitting a point where the relatives I need to fill in the gaps come from Germany (my family is uber German, it appears). It amazes me, though, how well-kept records are. Census data, death and marriage records, business dealings -- all in the U.S. these things are tallied closely. Overseas in the Old Country you find most records in the form of business ownership and christening, which can be a blessing I suppose. Especially since my family, being uber German, was also uber Catholic from many angles.

In unrelated news, I've fallen back in line with my Torah study. I didn't manage to get anything put up last week (d'var Torah, that is) because of the trip. Hopefully this week pans out better and I can get some thoughts up. On the other hand, tonight I'm out and tomorrow night is the Lag B'Omer Bonfire of which I'm totally stoked to attend since it's just down the street. Any other Chicagoans should come and join in, by golly. In case you're curious,

It’s tradition on the yahrzeit of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yohai, reputed author of Zohar, to have a bonfire and celebration! In Israel, Mt. Meron is completely alight with bonfires and music.

Now, for those wanting more info, here's what I can tell you: Lag B'Omer is essentially a way of saying the Thirty-Third Day of the Omer. The Omer is the count between Pesach and Shavuot (the day Torah was given), and on Lag B'Omer all the restrictions are sort of put on hold and music and singing and dancing are all permitted and encouraged.

Friday I'm going to head back to the Orthodox shul. They're probably going to wonder why I come every other week and don't make it on Saturday mornings, eh? This Saturday morning I'd go, but I have a friend coming into town and we're going to spend the day plodding around town and then heading to the Rilo Kiley show with her sister Saturday night (this friend, Melanie, and I have been to oodles of Rilo Kiley shows together, so it's all happy and nostalgic).

Luckily, no work Monday, which means I get a complete day of absolutely nothing. It'll be nice, considering next weekend I'm setting off again, this time to San Francisco to visit a very awesome someone. It'll be a quick trip, but I've never been. Perhaps I'll get bitten by the SanFran bug, eh?

And finally: Last night, unable to sleep, I penned (well, wrote) an introduction to a book-type-memoir-thing. It involves content based on this blog post, not to mention content from this other blog post. I'm not sure what the chronology will be, but I have so much to say. I'm not sure where I'll go with it, but it will cover a lot of stuff -- past, present, future. Anyhow, perhaps I'll post it up in the Google Docs for all to read. But for now, let's just say that depending upon how tonight goes, it'll probably shape how I feel about it all anyway.

I'll keep you posted.

A Shabbat to Teach Me.

"Shabbat Shalom, Shabbat shalom, good Shabbos, good Shabbos."

"Hello! Do you have a Shabbat dinner to attend!?"

"No, no, Rabbi, I ate earlier, but thank you."

"You ate earlier? You must eat again! Let me find you a ... yes!
Here, this is Chavi, she'll be joining you for dinner."

"Uh ... thank you rabbi! Shabbat shalom!"

This was the scene after services last night, and I couldn't have been more happy with how the evening ended up. Let me explain, I didn't eat much for lunch Friday, so when I got home around 4:30 I went straight for some Chinese food (orange chicken!), then took a short food-coma nap before shul.

So I went to the Orthodox shul, where, I really can't describe it, but I just felt at home. Walking in through the doors and grabbing the (transliterated!) siddur and heading to the women's section, I just felt like I belonged. I gave a friendly wave and nod to a few people who remembered me from the last time or from the seder I'd been to, and then plopped down. One of the women I'd met during pre-Pesach services sat next to me, which I'll admit made me feel absolutely welcomed and acknowledged. The service began and people slowly flooded into the men's and women's sections. I don't know if I mentioned it, but I checked out a copy of the ArtScroll Siddur from the library, but unfortunately it isn't the transliterated and my Hebrew just isn't what it should be. So with my transliterated copy, I tried to keep on par with the service, but the rabbi wasn't shouting the page number very loudly and a few times I got lost, but for the most part I was more in tune than last time. (My tip? How about one of those signs like they have at the DMV with your number on it that flashes, you know? So somehow it's set to a timer of page numbers! Or not ...) So I actually kept up, and was more participatory than last time, and I think it's just like when I first started going to shul -- I slowly pick things up, it slowly becomes more comfortable, and soon the melodies and service flow will be like a second, holy skin.

After services, I shmoozed with a few people, said hi to a few others, and while I was standing there chatting, the rabbi walked up to me and that conversation took place. The thing is, I can't help but feel like I'm taking advantage of people when I go to their houses and nosh on their Shabbos delicacies. I know that it's not that way, and that it's hospitality and that someday I'll be returning such kindnesses. But it's still this feeling I get, it's this imposing feeling that I can't help but worry about. It's why, in my mind, it makes sense to eat before hand. But if the past two shul experiences at the Orthodox location are any indication, perhaps I should just cope with the kindnesses and quit eating meals! And in reality, the Shabbat meal is a sort of mitzvah, not to mention that it's a great way of meeting people and having thoughtful, intelligent conversation.

So I ended up at the Shabbat table of a nice couple near the shul. I admire their Judaica, and their hospitality was indescribably friendly. There were several other guests at the table, including one who -- at the very beginning of the meal -- blurted out, "I know you, you're a blogger!" Now, this actual made me a little unsettled, and sent this weird feeling into my tummy. I've met plenty of people on streetcorners who know me through Yelp and recognize me through my photo, but every time it happens I always start to think "Yikes! What have I written recently? Am I controversial? If I am, who cares? Isn't this what you want! To be a known blogger?" But after this initial "yikes" moment, the questions came and people asked what I blog about and I was really excited to talk about it. Overall, the dinner was exciting, and the food was outstanding (such good challah -- with honey, even!). I ended up connected pretty well with one gal at the dinner who at some point might be reading this blog, assuming we reconnect. She's got some tips for me on organizations that would offer what I might be interested in -- in light of recent events about my Birthright experience.

Listen, I write about all this because for me, the full Shabbat experience is something new to me (and yes, I went e-free except to call my friend and tell her I couldn't make it to Shabbat lunch because of a horrible sinus headache and other symptoms). Not to mention that the idea of the Shabbat dinner as an important part of the rest is exceedingly new to me. In my experiences -- at least, up until moving to Chicago and becoming good friends with a woman at work -- I had never been invited anywhere for any kind of Shabbat meal. In my mind, the meal was just one of those things that happened like any other meal and wasn't really that big of a deal. You go to shul, you light the candles, and mazel tov -- that's Shabbat for you. But I'm learning that there is much more to Shabbat than I ever thought I knew. They're the things that we think we understand, but we really don't. I imagine in time I'll take Saturday services more seriously, I'll also understand havdalah and will work it into my observance. It's truly moving for me to discover this alter-ego of Shabbat, these things I never understood until now.

So I thank my friend, SS and her family, and the Orthodox shul for opening up the light of a full Shabbat to me. I only hope that all of you take the time, one day a week, to stop and rest, to have an involved meal with your family and friends, and to let go of the mundane you experience each day of the week.

Pesach, the Seder

I've been trying really hard to be productive with my day, but ugh, the internet is so vast. It's like a physical manifestation of thousands of years of d'var Torah and mishnah. There's so much! So little time! And every shiny new object pulls me in. But I'm here to talk about the seder I went to Saturday night, at last.

I arrived at shul on Saturday a little after 7 p.m. for the evening services. The rabbi at the Orthodox shul was guaranteeing that he'd have everyone out in time for the candle lighting so the seders could start ASAP and not run into the wee, wee hours. There were friendly glances from those who'd met me the night before, and as usual the kids were running around in the cutest way possible. The davening was mesmerizing and the songs magical, and the rabbi's sermon (which had to fill up a space of about 20 minutes for some reason about the rules of davening and the time) was interesting, discussing the Sephardic and Ashkenazic traditions of blessing the wine before the second cup and so forth. The service ended, Chag Sameachs were issued, I grabbed my (free!) box of Shmurah Matzo and we headed off to the host's apartment.

As it turns out, the host was having his first seder, with the help of his mother and father (a rabbi from the DC area) who were visiting for the holiday. The group for the seder consisted of five men in their 40s/50s, the parents, myself, and another girl six months older than I. It was definitely an interesting (and boisterous) group of individuals. I was hopeful, excited, pumped! We got to the apartment, unloaded our matzo boxes, and after some confused shuffling and figuring out what to say, we three women lit the candles. Then, we piled into the small dining area into our assigned seats -- my card said "GUEST."

The host and his father were sharing the seder leader duties -- they would be bouncing thoughts and gleanings off one another and the attendants, as well as sharing glimpses into vintage, historical haggadot. The bonus of the seder was that we had the rabbi -- a man who had been in the business professionally for 36 years, and who has been teaching for 41 years, not to mention having been a chaplain in the military. This man, he knew people, important people. He had wisdom about Jimmy Carter and the present "situation" -- yes, these people were Washingtonians, with grace and wisdom, not to mention stories that were a fascinating addition to the seder table. The singing was melodic and familiar, and although the haggadot didn't have transliterations, I could follow along -- I just couldn't sing with the crowd. I hummed the melodies and listened to the atuned and seasoned Jews around me, the smiles on their faces, the community and friendship, the freedom that emanated from this group of Jews gathered in this holy and historic ritual -- it made me feel alive.

We had the typical food -- gefilte fish and matzo and charoset -- but there were interesting tidbits to the seder table, including, instead of parsley, we had potatoes. It's a Polish tradition, and I thought it was beautiful, not to mention helped us get through the heavy portions of the non-meal. The rabbi told us stories about The Rebbe, shared wisdom and asked us questions. I was so proud that when the rabbi's son (the host) asked if anyone knew what Pesach meant I could share, without hesitation, that I knew what it meant. I shared my tidbit about matzo in the Middle Ages. I listened as those around me asked and answered questions -- these people, they were engaged, constantly engaged, in the conversation about our history, our lineage, what it meant to be an enslaved, then free people.

We finally arrived at the meal around midnight -- three hours after we had started the seder. This caused complications when it came to the afikomen, since there are rules about the latest time in which you can consume it. And who got to search for the hidden afikomen? Yes, you guessed it, me. I played it off like a chore, but in my mind I was elated. I, this Jew by Choice at a seder table with these Orthodox Jews (note: the rabbi and his wife are Conservative), got to be the child, the Jewish child I've always envied for knowing Hebrew and the rituals better than I. It meant the world to me, this I cannot lie about. After some searching and help from a few people, we found the afikomen, ate our dessert, and then the afikomen. There was more discussion, more politics and gleanings, more wisdom and discussion of ritual and then the night was done. It was nearly 2 a.m. and we were all exhausted, but awake and conversing, laughing. We were alive and free. We plodded down the hall, the other girl and I singing a song and arm in arm shuttling down the hallway and down the stairs and out into the night we all went. One of the men flagged me a cab and I was off toward home.

The thing is, it was the most appropriate seder experience I could have asked for. The thing about it is, Pesach is a festival of freedom. Pe, the mouth, and sach, that speaks -- the mouth that speaks. Only when we are free can we speak our minds, can we speak openly and with our hearts on the tips of our tongues. And on that night, I truly understood what freedom felt like. I was free to be myself, a Jew, among these people, and it was liberating to experience such a holy, religious, meaningful and touching seder. It was nearly five hours long, but it was the most all-encompassing light inducing moment I've had in a long time. It reminded me of how I felt at the Chabad House in Omaha all those years ago at the simple Shabbat table with song and food and laughter and conversation. I felt enlightened and whole.

So it is, friends and passersby, that I conclude my discussion about the first night seder. I am indebted to the rabbi and his wife and their son and those who opened their minds and hearts to let me attend the seder, to share in the mitzvah with them. It's one of those things that will rest in my mind, gather dust, and be relived each year at Pesach.

Kul tov!

Here we go a shul-ing, a Conservative shul-ing.

I started 2008 out right, at least I think I did. Despite a horribly, gut-wrenching stomach ache on Friday evening, I went to shul. That is, I went to the Conservative shul that's just a little nearer to me than the Reform one I was going to up until now. I guess I can't say I'm giving up on the Reform synagogue, but it just wasn't cutting it. Emptiness is the word I would use to describe the services and the general atmosphere. And maybe the fact that I went to this Conservative shul on a young adults night is giving me some kind of euphoric view of the Conservative shul in a nutshell, but I'll take that. And I'll run with it.

I thought I was late, and that's okay in the Jewish circle it seems. I remember going to Hille meetings and being the first one there. Then folks would show up 5 minutes late -- Jewish time -- and then others would come 10/15 minutes late -- Israeli time. But it turned out I had the service time wrong and was just on time. I'm not sure what the makeup of the shul is like, but I get the impression that there's a big congregational hall and then a few little rooms for smaller kabbalat Shabbat services and for special programs like the one I was at. The place was packed, though. I mean, they had to bring in extra chairs and the room had to have been filled with 60+ people. I looked around, not knowing anyone, and actually felt at ease, like I was home. All the men wore kippot and everyone was singing. It actually felt participatory, but not in that forced way. Not like these were almost-b'nai mitzvahs trying to appease their parents before falling off the wagon.

The service began and ... I'll admit it: I'm pretty much a virgin when it comes to the Conservative service. I remember the first time I'd gone back in Lincoln and being utterly lost and confused about when I was supposed to speak and when I wasn't. The second time I'd gone to the Conservative shul in Lincoln, I was too in awe of the fact that my 8th grade teacher was there to discuss the Holocaust to pay attention to the service. So I followed along best I could, and about one-quarter of the way through the service I was absolutely on. It's interesting to me how the new Reform prayerbook resembles the Conservative one -- with gleanings, Hebrew on one side and English on the other, translations here and there. It's a way of making it personal, with the community.

It's strange for me not to stand up for the kaddish, though, and I don't know that I would ever feel fully comfortable sitting through the kaddish while those in mourning stand and recite the full prayer. The thing is, ever since hearing a Reform rabbi's perspective on the subject, I've been unable to understand why the community does not stand as a whole. The rabbi likened it to the Red Woods -- they could not stand, in their hulking, mighty beauty, without the support of the roots of those around them. This, he said, is the same as the community holding up those mourners. I think it's a beautiful image, and it will always sit with me when I hear the kaddish.

The rabbi's sermon was engaging. But not just engaging. I mean, it's easy to engage the audience; the difficult part is keeping them tuned in. He spoke about the four promises, which led to the four cups at the seder, which led to him telling us about all of the interesting ways that secular traditions work their way into our religious traditions. He emphasized that it is not where these things come from them, but the way we see them in our tradition and what they come to mean. It's interesting, because I read the Torah portion last week and the four promises were, of course, super important, but I didn't dwell on them. I passed them over like anything else. At the same time, it's minorly hard to read a lot of the Exodus knowing that it'll be rekindled for Pesach in several months :D

The night ended with people piling into a local apartment complex's party room for board games, food and drinks. It was just chill, relaxing, and after a nice Jewish guy took me under his wing and introduced me to a few people, I felt like I'd found a nice little Jewish community I could potentially be a part of.

I'm excited to go back for a normal service, just to see whether it's as lively, engaging and friendly. I'm not sure how much of the Young Adult crowd just comes for those specialized services and how many come consistently, but here's hoping. I guess the crux of the reason for me to go back was that even though it was a Young Adult service, I didn't feel like the service was less intelligent or engaging than it would have been for a normal Shabbat service. Sometimes Young Adult stuff is quick, short, moronic and set up so that you can get in and out and shmooze with some hot Jewish folk. I mean, we all know that people go to Young Adult services to survey the produce, right? But for me that's only half of it. I like a little substance with my prowling, darn't!

So I have some reading, researching and investigating to do. I want to know what that great dividing line between Reform and Conservative is. And while we're at it, I'd like to toss Reconstructionist in there. Perhaps I'll work my way up to Orthodox at some point. Sometimes the lines are blurred and to me the only difference sometimes appears in the clientele or simply what building people go to. I know that there is a lot more to it, but I will be completely honest right now and say that I converted Reform not just because I identified with the movement at the time, but because it was the convenient choice. The Conservative shul back home was unwelcoming and bleak and unengaging, and I'm not the only person who would tell you that. I'm sure it's changed now, as it's cycled through a rabbi or two. But my experience on Friday was nothing like that I experienced those years ago. And I know it isn't just a movement, but it's also the fact that the community is different. The city is different. The people are different. There's a lot at play, I get that.

But I haven't felt that happy and at ease and engaged in my Judaism in quite some time. Here's to you, Conservative shul. May you continue to keep me on my toes.

The synagogue that just wasn't.

I decided that -- because I'm up for adventure -- I'd hit up one of the other Reform synagogues in the area. I like my shul well enough (it sure ain't home, though), but I like to know what else is out there. So I grabbed some dinner and went to the synagogue, which is conveniently downtown near a convenient El stop. The shul shall remain nameless, simply because ... well ... my rant will give it away anyway, but I don't want to call it out. I'm sure they're doing something right, but beyond the clean, fancy building and the spacious seats, I'm not sure what that "right" is.

There was a tot Shabbat going down, so there were lots of families there. In the main sanctuary I noticed that there were quite a few people my age, mixed in with a lot of your classic, old-school shul folks. I sat down and a friendly fellow walked up and shook my hand, said Shabbat Shalom and walked on. He went a few rows up to two other girls my age and started up a conversation with them. I felt sort of shafted, but let it go. As the sanctuary filled with families and more young people, I felt relieved. Then that friendly guy showed up on the bima! Not only that, but he wasn't even sporting a kippah. Now, I'm not one to judge, and the great thing about this fancy thing we call Judaism is its freedom and bounty of rituals and traditions. But the rabbi without a yarmulke?

Then I noticed that the organ was tuning up to go. Now, I have an aversion to organs in shul, simply because, well, it's an organ. It screams of Protestant services. I sat back, and let it go. Then, then came something that almost set me over the edge ... there was no cantor. The shul doesn't have a cantor! It's HUGE, and it doesn't have a cantor, let alone a song leader. No, it has a choir, of four people, who sing in operatic fashion to tunes I've never heard nor could ever pick up, even if I devoted myself to it 24/7 for the next six months. The harmonies were wild, ridiculous, and to top it off, it disallowed the congregation from participating ... no one was singing.

The real kicker came when we got into the traditional, Hebrew aspects of just about every congregation on the planet. These portions were sung by the choir, and the congregation just sat there. Watching. Listening. No participation? When the bar mitzvah got up to read the V'ahavta ... he didn't chant it with the melodic nature that everyone on the planet does ... he just read the transliteration. Everyone was all glowing with pride, and I was like "Are you serious? That's it? You've got to be kidding me!" I listen to kids go through the kiddush every week and their squeaky, off tune voices are music to my ears! This kid didn't even have to try! Mi chamocha, V'sham'ru, both sung by the choir. We just sat there, and I couldn't even understand the words as they sang them. Then came the T'filah. We rose, and recited ... the words ... just said them. No tune, no passion, no nothing. Just said them. Then the choir sang the Avot V'Imahot while we just stood there. Once again, I couldn't even understand them. Where was my service!?

Then there was the fact that the service was ... well ... out of order. I mean, I know the flow of the service, but there was something convoluted and strange about this service. Things seemed out of place, or things were missing, one or the other. The congregation uses their own "edition" of the URJ siddur. Originally I thought "that's cool" but then after going through the service (and nearly walking out after about 5 minutes), I realized "not cool." The word mitzvot is completely missing. The word salvation appears more times than the word the! It is worded strangely and in truth felt more like the Christian services I went to in the days of yore ... it made me exceedingly uncomfortable.

Then there was the sermon. The guy ... well, I was sort of taken aback at his "analysis" of the Torah portion, which seemed more like him quoting some sages than offering insight. Not only that, but he completely neglected the idea that Abraham becoming old wasn't to be taken literally, but that was coupled with becoming the first to gain wisdom, thus growing old. Sigh. And what else? He sounded like a preacher. He had that slow, evangelical drawl thing going on. Not an accent, but that slow, calculated speech that's almost demeaning.

Afterward I stuck around because they were doing the oneg with the kiddush and motzi. This is one thing that I dislike about my present shul, because there they do the kiddush during services and the challah is completely non-existent. So I was excited, and hopefully. One of the younger guys came up and introduced himself to me and asked if I came around much and stuff. I told him I was a member of a different shul, but this one had piqued my interest. He then proceeded to say "isn't the rabbi great? He's probably the best rabbi I've ever heard! And he's our age, he's only 29!" It then made sense. This guy is fresh meat. Then again, the rabbi that converted me was literally fresh out of rabbinical school and he had a vibrancy and Jewish gusto that lacks comparison!

Oh, and I didn't even mention the most interesting part. This synagogue doesn't have Saturday Shabbat services. Instead, it has Sunday morning services a la church. I repeat: No Saturday services, but Sunday services. They rationalize this because you take your kids to Sunday school at the shul, so why not have services then!? Not only that, but it's a decades-old tradition that just happened to stick around. It seems ludicrous to me, but I guess they have plenty of members, so it must be working somehow. But I think their patronage is a certain type of Jew.

Now, I don't want to keep this going because it's already getting long, but attending this shul made me feel like I'd warped back to the early days of the Reform movement where the goal was to mimic the Protestant service. I hate the idea of "Judaism lite," because most people of the faith would say that that is what I've got going on, being a certified member of the Reform movement and all. But the Judaism that I practice is not lite. It might be lite compared to what many Jews do, but I can say it is probably leaps and bounds above what these people do. It was frustrating being there because I wanted to stand up and scream at these people. My favorite parts about the service -- the T'filah and the Amidah and the Aleinu -- they were all ripped out for the sake of a quartet of opera singers. And what for? The people who attend these services don't even attend the services. They sit there and hold their prayerbook (which opens like other American/English books, by the way) and watch as the service floats by. I don't want to say it, but there wasn't much Jewish about that service. It was generic and edging on preaching the "good word." Eternal life and salvation. My G-d ...

Needless to say, I will not be going back. And if anyone asks, I'll give them my two cents. I never wanted to become that person ... the person who says "you're not Jewish enough for me," but it happens and everyone draws those lines -- convert or not. It isn't being hateful or holier than thou, it's coming to the realization that there are these levels, these pegs on the totem pole. I'll never be Jewish enough for the Orthodox Israelis, and I'm mostly okay with that. And now I know that this synagogue, in the heart of this city I love, will never be Jewish enough for me. And it makes me uncomfortable to say that, but I'm mostly okay with that, too.

So it's back to what I've come to know ... even if there is no motzi.