The Tzniut Project 22: Part of a Chain

This is the 22nd in a multi-part series called The Tzniut Project. Women from a variety of backgrounds with a variety of observances have volunteered to anonymously answer questions that I have written about their practices, people's assumptions, and more. For more information on origins the project, click here. Please continue to check back with The Tzniut Project to read more stories and comment abundantly!

Note: This post is contributed by a reader.

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1. How do you affiliate Jewishly? Feel free to elaborate on the words people use to describe you and the words you use to describe yourself.
I do not like denominations or boxes. I identify as a Jewish woman who is doing her best to live a halachicly observant life in 2011. If you asked my friends and family you would hear the following descriptors though: Conservative, Conservadox, Traditional, Orthoprax, Modern Orthodox, Orthodox, or just simply frum.

For your box placing ease, here is what I can briefly share. I am shomer Shabbat, shomer Kashrut, observe taharat hamishpaca, wear skirts and sleeves and cover my hair at all times in the presence of anyone other than my husband or parents (I don’t have kids yet, don’t know what I’ll do then!). I also believe in learning with a critical eye and the need to question and understand our religious obligations. I am comfortable davening with or without a mechitza, but I will always respond aloud and will sing along aloud as well. Oh, and I only wear stockings in the winter (for warmth) and live in open-toed shoes all summer long.

2. Growing up, did your mother or grandmother dress modestly in any way? Do you think modesty was something instilled in you by your family? Did you dress modestly growing up?
I did not grow up religious, so although my mother and grandmother both dressed modestly, it was not a religious choice, but rather just a personal one. They were comfortable with themselves, but also dressed in a way which was always appropriate for any setting. I on the other hand, did not. Everything I wore was too short, too low, or too big. I had no sense of dressing in a way which honored my body. However, opting into modest dressing (a la tzniut) as an adult makes it a conscious and continual choice that I am proud of now.

3. Are you married? How does your spouse feel about your choices for modest dress? Is it a dialogue or does your partner leave the mitzvah to you?
I am indeed married. My husband appreciates that I dress modestly, however he respects that is my choice. If I were to decide to wear pants again, he would be fine with it. Lucky for him, he also knows that I fully believe in this mitzvah and will not take backward steps in its observance.

The only thing he has a vocal opinion on is not wearing a sheitel, and 95% of the time I agree with him about that.

4. What would you wear on a typical day? On Shabbos? If you dress differently on weekdays and Shabbos, why do you make this distinction and how?
I wear skirts past my knees and sleeves over my elbows, and something on my head. On a typical day, it is an a-line or jean skirt with a shell and a cute cardigan/wrapigan/blazer or a cute top over a long sleeve shell with a coordinated head covering. Over Shabbat it is similar, only the skirt and hat selection is specifically different. When I began only wearing skirts, I knew I had to somehow make Shabbat clothing special. So I have weekday skirts and Shabbat skirts (and hats) and they are separate in my closet. Oh, and always with fun accessories and shoes – tzniut does not mean boring!

5. What do you think other people infer from your clothing and hair covering choices? Has anyone ever said anything to you outright that expresses a judgment based on your appearance? (Ex: “You don’t cover your hair or wear skirts, so why do you keep kosher?”)
The bulk of the judgment I receive comes from people who can’t understand that just because something looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck – it isn’t always a duck. (And by duck, I mean a certain kind of Jew.)

However, the one that affects me more profoundly is that when I made the shift to dressing tzniut, it was difficult for many people in my life to handle, largely because I was known for wearing low slung jeans and tank tops. How was it possible to choose to wear shirts with sleeves to the elbow all the time, and later to only wear skirts past the knee and a neckline close to the collar bone? Clearly it was being forced upon me! How shocked they were to learn I had really come to think about how I dress in a different way. I found it empowering to take control of my body and how I presented it to the world in a positive way, and I make the choice every day when I get dressed. It has been years now, and I still have friends and family members who cannot accept that this is my choice, let alone one that I am happy with and intend to opt into every day of my life.

6. Have you ever surprised someone by dressing more or less modestly and making them rethink their stereotypes about what it means to be an observant Jew?
All the time! I do not live in a city or community where tzniut is common. I know very few women who wear skirts and sleeves, fewer who always cover their hair, and even fewer who do not wear sheitels. So being someone who does all that, but is also an educated career woman who is engaged in the broader (read: secular) Jewish community – often makes people stop and think. It is a proud moment for me whenever I can make someone rethink their stereotypes, and gain a broader sense of all the different types of religious Jews out there.

7. When you see someone who observes tzniut differently than you, what are your initial thoughts? How do you deal with them?
I believe that it is a journey and I am always happy to see people on the path. I do not think I have room to judge anyone, as I would not want to be judged by others.

My favorite thing about seeing someone out and about who observes tzniut differently, is when we can look at each other and know we are sisters on the journey, and give each other a knowing nod or smile. My friends who do not dress tzniut don’t understand those moments, but I do. It makes my heart happy.

8. I say modesty or tzniut … what does that mean to you?
Tzniut tends to be most commonly translated about modesty in reference to clothing. I think defining it down on this level does an injustice to tzniut and people who uphold the ideal of modesty. Personally, I believe that the most important component of tzniut is how we carry ourselves, not how we dress ourselves. Holding your head high with confidence, without boasting. Being a good person and friend, without advertising that you feel you are such. Lending a hand when needed, without making a big show about how helpful you are. That is the inner-modesty which is so much more valuable in today’s society. While how we dress should reflect the person we are on the inside, should a woman’s skirt length be more important than living a modest life?

9. Anything else you’d like to add about your choices, experiences, and more!
In the end of my copy of Naomi Ragan’s Sotah, she writes a bit about a conference she was at where she spoke on the topic of women’s rights in Judaism, entitled “A Letter to My Sisters.” When I read the following response she had to an attendee who asked how a modern woman in the free world would “choose to wear the chains imposed on [her] by religion and the narrow minded, backward men who are religious leaders,” it resonated with me. This is what Ms. Ragen had to say to this woman:

I am a part of a chain that reaches back for thousands of years. There is a great joy in knowing who you are, and where you come from; in cherishing and preserving those cultural and religious treasures which are your heritage and which make you unique. Why should I allow these men to push me out, deny me that place? No, I prefer to fight them, to make them live up to the goodness and justice of the authentic religion that belongs to me, not just to them. I prefer to have them thrown out, rather than for me to leave.

This response captures my sentiment on embracing modest dress more eloquently than I could have realized.

The Tzniut Project 21: "I'm a Conservative Jew who covers her head."

This is the 21st in a multi-part series called The Tzniut Project. Women from a variety of backgrounds with a variety of observances have volunteered to anonymously answer questions that I have written about their practices, people's assumptions, and more. For more information on origins the project, click here. Please continue to check back with The Tzniut Project to read more stories and comment abundantly!


Note: This post is contributed by a reader.

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1. How do you affiliate Jewishly? Feel free to elaborate on the words people use to describe you and the words you use to describe yourself.

I am a proud member of the Conservative Movement and affiliate at medium sized (400 family) Conservative synagogue. My husband is an employee of the congregation, and we live in walking distance of the synagogue. We are Shomer Shabbat and keep a completely kosher home. Since we live in a town with no kosher restaurants besides the JCC café, I do eat vegetarian food out at non-kosher restaurants. My husband does not, although on rare occasion in the interest of shalom bayit, he will have a cheese-less salad at a non-kosher restaurant (think anniversary dinners, etc).

2. Growing up, did your mother or grandmother dress modestly in any way? Do you think modesty was something instilled in you by your family? Did you dress modestly growing up?
I did not grow up in an observantly Jewish home, so I cannot say my mother or grandmother dressed in a modestly-aware style. That said, there was always a sense of appropriate dress that was expected for me. One thing I will definitely emphasize one day when I have children is that they dress like children. Today, one thing that really bothers me about dress is how adult, sexually-charged, and inappropriate little girls’ clothing can be. Little girls do not need bikinis, spaghetti strap tank tops, or tee shirts with suggestive statements on them.

I didn’t dress modestly by tzniut standards growing up, but I was never a tank top wearer (perhaps mainly because my mother didn’t buy use clothing like that!). Since I was always one of the tallest girls in my class, short skirts were unacceptable in my family because they were REALLY short on me.

3. Are you married? How does your spouse feel about your choices for modest dress? Is it a dialogue or does your partner leave the mitzvah to you?
I am (happily) married for just over a year. I was never planning on covering my hair after marriage although my husband did ask me about it when we were first engaged. His words were, “I’d rather you not cover your hair, but it would be completely fine with me if you did. It’s your decision.” I appreciated his respect of that, and I’m not sure if one day I will take on that mitzvah. My husband does not have any real opinions regarding my clothing choices and has told me he likes no matter what I wear (I sure am lucky!).

4. What would you wear on a typical day? On Shabbos? If you dress differently on weekdays and Shabbos, why do you make this distinction and how?
My style of tzniut is a modified version with which I feel very comfortable. I would say I wear skirts about 75% of the time. I went through two year-long periods in college and in my first year of marriage where I wore almost exclusively skirts reaching the knee. I do wear pants, although I do not wear tight jeans or dress pants – usually I prefer more, full trouser-style. I do wear short sleeves, however I am no longer comfortable wearing tank tops in public. I do not cover my hair.

On Shabbat and teaching religious school, I always wear skirts and sleeves at least to the elbow if not longer. I always wear a kippah in the synagogue (even if not davening or teaching) and wear a tallit at all morning services. For me, my Shabbat clothes are truly separated out from my weekday work and after work clothes. Even my style choice is slightly different – on weekdays, I wear more business professional style with pencil skirts and blazers and on Shabbat, I tend to wear more mid-calf, flowy skirts with cardigans and brighter colors. I occasionally wear hats on Shabbat to services instead of a kippah.

5. What do you think other people infer from your clothing and hair covering choices? Has anyone ever said anything to you outright that expresses a judgment based on your appearance? (Ex: “You don’t cover your hair or wear skirts, so why do you keep kosher?”)
Since many people from my synagogue only see me in skirts, for a while many assumed that I only wore skirts. Surprisingly, many women actually appreciated and seemed to admire this choice. Conversely, when I have worn a hat to services, I have often gained questions like, “Oh, are you frum now?” I foresee if the future that one day I will wear hats all the time in services. The answer will then be, “No, I’m a Conservative Jew who covers her head.”

6. Have you ever surprised someone by dressing more or less modestly and making them rethink their stereotypes about what it means to be an observant Jew?
Yes! This is perhaps the most frustrating thing to me. For a while, when I was wearing more skirts, I felt a little bit more recognized as observant within my city’s broader Jewish community. Now, when I’ve been at our JCC in pants, I often feel like people are shocked to find out that my husband and I are Shomer Shabbat or keep kosher. It goes to show how appearances can cause assumptions. That said, the people who matter most to me (both in the liberal and Orthodox communities), recognize the strong Jewish life that I (and my husband) live. That’s what really matters.

7. When you see someone who observes tzniut differently than you, what are your initial thoughts? How do you deal with them?
When a friend of mine started covering her hair about a year into her marriage, it caused a bit of a stir at our synagogue where there were no women who did that and barely any women who wear a hat on Shabbat (most are bare-headed or wear kippot). For me, I wondered if she was becoming too immersed in the Orthodox community in which she was volunteering. Now, she has a young son and has brought him every Shabbat since he was born to our Conservative synagogue and has continued to read Torah and wear a tallit along with a tichel. I admire her for staying strong in her decision, despite what others thought.

8. I say modesty or tzniut … what does that mean to you?
Many things. On the surface and if I look at my earliest understanding of the term, it means the way “observant” Jews dress and behave. I see myself as an observant Jew and certainly more traditional than most members of Conservative Judaism. Today, I see tzniut as an important element that enlightens how I dress and how I behave. Certain things are kept for myself and my husband. I don’t need to put my body (or for that matter, my thoughts) all “out there” in order to put portray my personality and my character. This is perhaps the most important lesson tzniut has taught me.

9. Anything else you’d like to add about your choices, experiences, and more!
Thank you so much for doing this project and for including people of all segments of the Jewish community.

Saying Kaddish for Reform and Conservative Jews?

Over the weekend, before Tuvia and I schlepped into Monsey, we were in Livingston, New Jersey, visiting with Tuvia's family for his stepmother's Adult Bat Mitzvah ceremony at a Reform synagogue. The event and Shabbos are already several days removed, and there are often things I intend on writing about but never get to because they become history rather than necessarily present memory. However, on one of my listservs this morning, someone sent out a kind of disturbing article from The Jerusalem Post: Non-Orthodox Judaism disappearing. The headline isn't exactly disturbing or surprising, but rather something in the text caught my eye as upsetting (especially in light of my weekend at a Reform shul).

"With a heavy heart we will soon say kaddish on the Reform and Conservative Movements," said Yeshiva University Chancellor Rabbi Norman Lamm, head of the Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary, in an interview with The Jerusalem Post.

I've been aware for a long time that the Conservative Movement is hurting, losing individuals to the Orthodox end or the Reform end at a fairly steady rate. But the Reform Movement? It's been growing at an exponential rate, it seems, as converts typically come into Judaism through Reform and because most of those who associate with Reform Judaism also associate themselves as Secular Jews, and that's a large portion of the population. Lamm, however, attributes to the loss of Reform for a different reason.

"Reform is out of the picture, because they never got into the picture, and the Conservatives are getting out of the picture," Lamm said.

I found this a little upsetting. Maybe more so than the idea of having to say Kaddish for the movements. Maybe I'm naive, but I'm also one of those holdovers who says that all newspapers aren't going to die. Some will persist, because we trust what we can hold in our hands in front of us -- technology is uncertain, unreliable, and not forever. But the idea that the Reform Movement was never in the picture is concerning. It is clear that Lamm assumes that Judaism is religious Judaism, observant Judaism, traditional Judaism. He acknowledges Reform Judaism only to the point that it exists, but beyond that, it has no authority or legitimacy and deserves no attention. It's a disturbing sentiment for such a powerful man.

I was uplifted by his sentiments at the end of the article, though, regarding how he views those of the Gay-Lesbian population. But he does make that horrible generalization that homosexuals are proselytizers of their lifestyle. I'm guessing he has a problem with flamboyantly open and loud gays? Seriously? What a narrow-minded outlook! But he does say, "Everyone should be made to feel comfortable ... I would never exclude a person because his wife does not cover hair or because he does not adhere to the laws of Shabbat or because he is a homosexual."

Enter: Glimmer of hope for someone.

But the reason this article has me a little put-off is because, although I'm about a million light years away from the Reform Movement in observance and ideologies, but because I also was in that Movement not that long ago, I see the positives it provides. Yes, they have an acoustic guitar and tambourine and piano that made my ears ring and my face turn into a scowl with irritation (reminds me of church camp, seriously), and yes they send kids to the door after services with tzedakah boxes (this was the most disturbing and shocking thing at the shul this past Shabbos), but people were there, if only for the simchas. Yes, the rabbi was taking notes on the bima on Saturday morning for his sermon (writing on Shabbos?!), and yes there were men not wearing kippot and women wearing clothing akin to string bikinis. But it's how those Jews do their Judaism and I applaud them for having some devotion to Shabbat, lifecycle events, and to their family having some knowledge of their Judaism. It isn't how I would ever choose to do my Judaism, and I can't even say that I approve of how Reform Judaism rolls. But it's how I came to Judaism, and I can understand the lens many of those people are viewing Judaism through. Sometimes it needs to be easy and accessible, but that's also the path people start upon that can lead them to Orthodox Judaism and more.

At any rate, I think it's a little early to say kaddish for the Reform and Conservative Movements, and I think it would be very, very wrong to do so. I do think, however, that Orthodox Jews need to be prepared to welcome and bring people into Orthodoxy from the Conservative Movement if need be. It isn't us versus them and we shouldn't mourn their movements, because that means we're morning the loss of thousands of Jews within those movements. Even the most secular Jews call out for a connection at some point, and we need to be prepared when that time comes.

Rabbis Explain Why People Become Orthodox

Note: I had originally posted a blog here, which was crossposted on Jewsbychoice.org. However, in an effort to keep content original on JBC, as well as my personal blog, I encourage you to head over to the JBC blog in order to read the post. I apologize for the confusion this might cause.



Thanks!
Chavi


There has been an interesting series posted on the Hirhurim Musings blog about Why People Become Orthodox, and I thought it would be useful to share here simply because the perspectives of many Conservative rabbis are shared. Essentially a question was posed to a number of rabbis across the spectrum of Judaism, and as far as I can tell it's an ongoing series. To read the blog post, please visit this link.

Of Literary Note.

For the first time -- in a long time -- I shut the computer and plopped down on my bed to finish up a book, Chaim Potok's "The Promise." I'd been reading it voraciously, eating the words as if I'd been starved of prose for days, if not weeks. I'm not sure why, but that's what Potok's books do to me. They enliven the appetite for words. For me, that's rare. Of course this also means I need to set out to read all of his work, since right now I've read a mere three or four of them.

Last week I finished Marc D. Angel's "Orthodox Road to Conversion," which I haven't really had the chance to fully discuss. And then I finished "The Promise" and now? Now I'm reading Robert Eisenberg's "Boychiks in the Hood."

I know what you're thinking: Chavi is disappearing into the big, bad, dark black-hatted world of Orthodoxy and Hasidism! Quick! Grab a rope! It's like quicksand in the Jewish community, no?

No. I'm not sure why, but I'm drawn to Orthodoxy. I'm drawn to the construct of the rebbe in Hasidism. I'm drawn to this seemingly perfunctory -- if that's the right word -- Jewishness. It intrigues me in many ways.

But let's be honest here. I know Reform and Conservative Jews more kosher than me (in more ways than one). I'm the floating Jew, if you recall. Analyzing the movements and trying to find her place among the chaos and the intra-battle of Jew vs. Jew. I have a distaste for labels, remember?

The thing of it is, though, that below my copy of "Boychiks in the Hood" (in the pile of "to take to work tomorrow" stuff) is the newest issue of Reform Judaism magazine. Yes, I still get it, and yes it still comes to "Amanda and Ian Edwards." The first time it happened, I nearly cried -- it being so soon after the ex and I parted ways. But now, getting the magazine with that as the addressee, well, it gave me a good chuckle.

There are quite a few things that intrigue me in this issue and the biggest one is the cover story: Why religion matters. I opened the magazine randomly to a random page and ended up on a sort of Q&A about keeping kosher. The resounding response, it seems, was not to keep kosher by eating foods that some random Orthodox rabbi deems okay, but to go the vegetarian route. No way an Orthodox rabbi can taint your cause then, eh?

I'm ahead of the game, though. I need to read the issue -- cover to cover. I think there's going to be some good stuff in it, and I don't say that in a condescending sarcastic way (much to the disappointment of what many of my readers probably think). I don't dislike Reform Judaism, in fact, if there is one congregation in the world I will always return to, it's my Reform congregation back in Nebraska, for the people there, in my mind, are the most devoted, passionate Jews I know. They're the most real people I've met. But I'm biased. It's like how you have to love your family, no matter what, you know? I love them, come hell or high water or sheitls, I love them.

But that's not the point. The point is that I'm reading all these texts and fictions about the "other" side of Judaism. The inside world, as opposed to Tova Mirvis' painted "outside world." I'm looking and asking questions because that is what we do, as Jews, and what we ALL should do -- regardless of creed, beliefs system or values. Questioning is human. And anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar and a chump.

So I'll read on. And this "Boychiks in the Hood" book? I'm 20 pages in and absolutely intrigued. If you haven't read it, I recommend picking it up. It'll get your mind a'spinning.

The Ba'al Teshuvah and the Ger.

(I'll write about last night and the Jewish experience a little later, but for now ...)

I came across this story over on a friend's blog, and I had to say a few words about it because I think it's truly a moving issue and story and it comes back to the whole "Who is a Jew?" issue. The story is about a woman that realizes at a friendly dinner table one evening that she is not Jewish. That is, that her mother converted under the auspices of the Conservative movement in the 1950s and as adopting more mitzvot (ba'al teshuvah) and becoming more frum, she realizes that her frum husband is indeed intermarried, that her children are not accepted as Jewish, and that she is not at all Jewish (her words, not mine).

The truth was that my earnest commitment, my core identity, my lifelong affiliation and my membership in Jewish organizations were irrelevant. Judaism is not a club one decides to join, nor is it a democracy where the majority make the rules. The only handbook for admission is the Torah, and the rules were decided by God.

The blogger, whom I consider an e-friend, stresses the heartache about this situation, and this I understand. But the article is written with poise and definitely does not portray the writer as resentful or angry about the entire episode. Most poignantly, the author ends with this:

Yet, I would do it again. The raison d’etre for the Jew is to change and grow beyond the limits we imagine we have. As I look back fifteen years to the beginning of my odyssey, to the woman I was at the rabbi’s Shabbat table, and see where I sit today, I realize that when I cast my lot with the Jewish people and commit to doing God’s will, anything can happen.

It seems to me that the author, while upset that her dedication to Judaism could ever have been questioned (though, she never actually says anything about it being questioned, per se), would jump through the hoops once again, because it is where she belongs and who she is. I have to say I don't agree with a lot of the author's sentiments about what it is to be a Jew, or a convert at that. Though, I do have to say her comments about being a BT and a ger are significant -- you are neither, but both. (This makes me think about people who move to the United States, live here for dozens of years, and never become citizens for one reason or another -- they may feel like a full citizen, but they lack the rights and privileges of being a full citizen, nu?)

While my blogger friend says this is why she will never be anything more than a Reform convert no matter how many mitzvot she takes on, I have to say that it is stories like this that encourage me to pursue an Orthodox conversion. I don't want to get to that point where my children are placed in such a position that they are in this woman's shoes. That isn't the only reason -- and of course it's definitely the wrong reason -- to convert Orthodox. But I'm on my way, in some ways.

Can you sense the struggle in my words?

It was suggested that my e-free Shabbats would be easier if I planned out in advance what my plans were. I thought, "Geepers, that's a great idea," and here I am at 1:30 p.m. on a Friday with no clue what the Sabbath will hold for me. I thought, I should make Friday nights my dinner/movie night, since I've removed myself from regular shul attendance (an ordeal and issue all its own that I might touch on in a second). But what about Saturday? The days are getting longer. I can't spend all day napping, and I sure as hell can't spend all day at the tea shop reading. My attention span is that of a toddler. The weather has been outstanding, but it's supposed to drop a major 15-20 degrees over the weekend, so a stroll along the lake isn't completely out of the question, but doesn't sound as appetizing as it would have yesterday or today (where we've topped out in the upper 50s).

What do people DO on Shabbos?

I mean, people who A) Aren't Married or B) Don't Have kids or C) Spend all day at Shul or D) Sleep all Day. There's a lot of hours in a Shabbat day, folks.

I was reading this week's Torah portion last night, and mind you, we've hopped on into Leviticus, that great book of do's and don'ts that bring us into living a life of priests, a holy nation. There was a little spiel on how the book opens in the singular and slowly moves into the plural, and the author draws on this to come to the conclusion that attendance at shul is much like this -- one enters the sanctuary as an individual, but through prayer in community, one transcends to become a part of the larger Jewish community. I read this and felt this momentary rush of utter guilt.

You see (here's where I touch on my absence at shul), I'm just struggling with this idea of the shul as a social circus. The rabbis as bureaucrats. The entire thing as a production. I want organized chaos, not organized organization. I think I'm still struggling with missing my small shul back home, where it was comfortable, close-knit, where the people wanted so very much to be there, where it felt genuine. And ever since I read that book on Conservative Judaism, well, it reminded me of all the things I've always loathed about organized religion, why for so long I was devoutly religious, but in the sense that I believed, and I prayed, and I felt connected, but I didn't need a space or people. But then I think back to how lonely it was.

It's a very confusing, very heartbreaking thing I'm feeling. I'm so strong in my Jewishness, so settled into the ground I stand on, and yet, for some reason, something is just not completely right. So I'm exploring, evaluating, doting on me, to see what it is. To see what will make it better.

I keep telling myself that once I go off to school and have Hillel, it will be much like what I am used to, a small community over Shabbat dinners and services, holiday meals and festivities, something close, something personal.

Indeed, it's frustrating.

So it's now 1:42, and I'm still stuck on my plans. I should have told the Kosher Academic I was going to invade her place tonight, but I know her husband isn't well and I don't want to catch anything with my trips coming up. So maybe I'll just pick a movie, grab a nosh, and then read. I'll force myself out of bed, try to find some way to fill the space, reflective and full of prayer.

I'll get the hang of this Shabbos thing at some point.

Finally finished: Conservative Movement in Judaism

So I finally finished "Conservative Movement in Judaism" by Daniel Elazer and Rela Mintz Geffen. It only took me forever. I'd been doing well, then I happened to just stop reading on my way to and from work out of an inability to focus. So I'm going to attempt to concisely go through some of the things I flagged as I was reading that caught my eye. My favorite bit of text from the book is probably the following statement about the concentric circles when you map American Jewish affiliation, with a small mass at the center and circles that get larger and larger until the outer circles are self-loating Jews or those who do not know or understand their affiliation because of intermarriage or assimilation:

"This is the condition of American Jewry and, increasingly, of all diaspora Jewry: a magnet at the core pulls those who contain within them the iron fillings of Judaism closer to the center, more or less according to the degree of their iron (i.e., Jewish) content."

+ "As recently as the 1950s, Louis Finkelstein, the then Chancellor of the JTS, was quoted as saying privately that, 'The Conservative Movement is a gimmick to bring Jews back to authentic Judaism.' "

+ "Some mitzvot ... have been ignored altogether, neither accepted nor advocated."

+ "Another dimension of Conservative religious observance was the transformation of the worship service into a programmed production rather than a spontaneous experience. This trend has been characteristic of non-Orthodox movements since their inception over 150 years ago. ... This has not happened in all congregations, nor at the same pace, nor to the same extent, but the trend was widespread and powerful."

+ (In reference to the idea of the elite -- rabbis/observant Conservative Jews -- and the mass -- the general lay community who doesn't adhere to traditional observance.) "One of the reasons the havurah movement attracts elites is that many among the masses do not want a synagogue that requires efforts on their part; they want a "service station."

+ "... 89 percent of those currently Orthodox were raised in Orthodox homes." -- Amazing!

+ "Israel offers a great challenge to the Conservative Movement, since in our times any Jewish movement that does not have a strong presence in Israel will never be part of the overall Jewish picture in a serious way. Today, the Masorti Movement in Israel is still struggling. It is not getting the support that it deserves from its big brother in America, yet it is making strides."

+ (In a list of ideas for what the Movement can do to bolster its hopes of survival.) "The change of the Movement's name to Masorti has several advantages. In the first place, it is a Hebrew name and thus can be comfortably used by Jews affiliated with the Movement and others worldwide. Having a Hebrew name, also gives the Movement a certain advantage."

+ (The crux of my "problem" with the movement.) "In the present situation, there seems to be a great ambivalence towards halakhah. The Movement is indeed 'Conservative,' in that it wants to conserve its halakhic commitments and responsibilities, but m any of its members and some of its leaders are not really prepared to face up to the implications of those commitments and responsibilities in its day-to-day affairs. In short, it presents a public face as a halakhic movement, but with much private inconsistency." -- Note, the author goes on to offer several solutions, citing that the Movement must commit to something, either strictly adhering to the halakhic face that it fronts or even acknowledging that there are varying degrees of halakhic observance and embracing these camps of observers among rabbis, lay community, teachers, etc.

+ "Conservative Judaism cannot be both halakhic and responsive to every politically correct demand of contemporary liberalism. It must place the requirements of Jewish law and tradition and Jewish peoplehood first and foremost. This does not mean becoming Orthodox with a different name. There is or should be a place in the world of traditional Judaism for those who do not accept the contemporary Orthodox view of humrot (stringencies), that is, who measure Jewish fidelity by making Jewish observance more difficult."

And finally ...

"A Conservative Judaism that properly embodies a firm attitude toward the Torah as a sacred constitution, along with a flexible attitude toward its codes, will be in a position that will enable the Movement to maintain genuine halakhic demands as norms and boundary setters for its members.
This shall strengthen the Movement in the long run. Evidence from scientific studies of religion points clearly to the fact that in matters religious, the greater the demands, the more faithful and dynamic are the adherents who accept them. We believe that the Conservative Movement will become stronger as it becomes more demanding, even if it has to be come somewhat smaller in numbers in the process."

Note: I fully intend on elaborating why I chose these specific points to share, but I will do this later. I think that in essence, the author pegs the problems and answers pretty accurately. The struggle of not knowing where the central "power" in the Movement in is one of the most catastrophic aspects of the situation. Additionally, the idea that the Conservative Movement arose out of a desire to maintain tradition but in a modern construct needs to change. This stance of "what" Conservative Judaism was worked well for the first and second generation of Conservative Jews, but it no longer applies.

In essence, the Movement needs to become worldwide, defined, and represented in order to thrive and sustain itself.

Catholic Israel.

So if it weren't for the fact that The Blackwell Companion to Judaism cost more than $150.00, it would be on its way to me right now. I happened to stumble upon the text (which I hoped was available online, and it is, but U of C doesn't have permissions to view it) while searching for writings about Solomon Schechter's "catholic Israel."

It's important -- and I realized this after the fact -- that we emphasize the little "c" here as I begin this conversation as it relates to my discussion about Conservative Judaism as I explore what it is and how it works and whether it's what I'm "looking for." So we're not talking Catholic Church, we're talking simply the word, "catholic."

catholic: Etymology: Middle English catholik, from Middle French & Late Latin; Middle French catholique, from Late Latin catholicus, from Greek katholikos universal, general, from katholou in general, from kata by + holos whole

In essence, what I gather from Solomon Schechter's position is that "the whole of Israel" (i.e. the Jewish community) should make decisions on Jewish law -- not rabbis or sages or scholars. Now, in his time, Jews were much more observant than they are today. I can understand possibly how such a statement and/or idea could be within reason in the late 19th, early 20th century. But to have such an idea espoused today is sort of ridiculous. Robert Gordis, a leading Conservative rabbi of the 20th century suggested that the idea of "catholic Israel" is completely feasible, but must be reinterpreted so that "the whole of Israel" is instead the whole of Jews who try to observe Jewish law. This seems to me to defeat the purpose, then, of "catholic Israel." Gordis writes in the 2003 version of The Blackwell Companion to Judaism (which I can view nicely on Google Books, btw):

Speaking to the very nature of Conservative Judaism, [Schechter] wrote that contemporary American Jews "accept all the ancient ideas, but they want modern methods, and this, on the whole, may be the definition of Conservative Judaism."
But Schechter's notion that the Jews who made up the nascent Conservative community "accept all the ancient ideas" may have been one of the gravest miscalculatoins of his career and of the movement's founders in general. ... But [the community] did not accept or deny the "ancient ideas" -- indeed, they differed from Schecter and his colleagues in that the worldof ideas was simply not what animated their Jewish lives. ...

The leaders of the movement seem to have intuited this tension early in the movement's history. Whether consciously or not, they assiduously avoided articulating with clarity what they meant by "Catholic Israel," a phrase that Solomon Schechter had introduced when he wrote that "the centre of authority is actually removed from the Bible and placed in some living body ... the collective consciousness of Catholic Israel. ..." This implicit decision left open the possibility that a largely non-halakhically committed community could still be a legitimate partner in the emerging project called Conservative Judaism.

I've been told that the idea of "catholic Isreal" is still actively espoused among the Conservative community, and it just adds to my derivation of a movement so very confused about what it wants and hopes to be. On this note, it seems that even Schechter perhaps didn't have a firm grasp on the community or how it might change -- or was already changing.

Now. There are 5.9 million Jews in the U.S. (according to the 2000-01 National Jewish Population Survey), and according to estimates from a variety of sources, Conservative Judaism claims 1.25-1.5 million individuals who identify themselves as Conservative. It must be noted, though, that of those million plus, the amount that claim synagogue membership is likely half to three-quarters. On that note, Daniel J. Elazar and Charles Liebman "have estimated that there are no more than 40,000-50,000 that live up to the standards of Conservative Judaism as defined by its leadership and who see themselves as Conservative Jews" (from "The Conservative Movement in Judaism," 2000).

Schechter claimed that those who would be members of the movement would most assuredly accept the ancient ideas, and merely want modern methods. But if this is so of "catholic Israel," then why is it that there is the division of the elite and the mass -- the people expecting the rabbis and their families to be more observant than the lay community? Why is it that Elazer and Liebman's figure is so minuscule compared to the larger picture of the Conservative community? If this is true, and if the community, the whole of Israel were to decide on Jewish law, then -- in all honesty -- Jewish practices of custom and halakhic standards would fall entirely by the wayside ...

So, I guess what all of this means is that I disagree entirely with Schechter and his idea of "catholic Israel." I'm not sure what I think alternatively, but I know that Schechter sort of had a pipe dream going on, there, with no anticipation of the extent of assimilation and acculturation. But regardless? Disagreement abounds.

Any thoughts are welcomed, of course. I look forward to comments and considerations! Likewise, if I'm completely off-base in my interpretation of "catholic Israel" or have misunderstood what Schechter was going for, feel free to sock it to me!

L'hitraot!

The Great Divide: Conservative Judaism in the 21st Century.

So ... Shabbat Shalom, friends.

I've sort of taken on a, well, academic endeavor into Conservative Judaism. I realize that I have slowly floated away (more or less) from Reform Judaism, in which I converted. Now, I have to give the precursor that the Reform Judaism that I converted into in Lincoln, Nebraska, in my mind, is nothing like the Reform Judaism I have found anywhere else. The Reform Judaism there is filled with people who are active in the shul, everyone knows each other, the same people go to services every week, it's just very close-knit. I mean, not everyone keeps kosher or davens daily or anything, but it felt more genuine. Like the people were there because they believed in Judaism, not necessarily Reform Judaism, but Judaism itself. It never felt like church. It never felt like the Protestant Reform Judaism that I've witnessed elsewhere. I went to shul, it was shul.

But as I grow, and as I learn and explore what it means to be religious or observant or devout in Judaism, I realize more and more that what Reform Judaism is (with the exception of that which I came into, which is always the sweetest) is not the kind of Judaism that I practice or want to practice. I don't mean to offend, and I know I have Reform readers. But in my mind, it has become all the more clear that it -- in my mind, once again -- is insincere, it's like, a show. A repetitive, droning show that no one really wants to be at. The b'nai mitzvah celebrations are benign and the kids -- it would appear -- are not having to learn much of any Hebrew to become b'nai mitzvah. The people look bored, except when they're noshing at the pre-oneg or scarfing desserts afterward at the oneg. It's more about socializing than anything. It's like, belonging to a club. A club where you see people and you say hi and then you listen to some guy speak and it lasts way too long and then you go home and that's that. It feels like church to me anymore. It doesn't feel passionate. And I know that it depends on the shul, but I've been to shuls in Denver and Washington DC and New York and Nebraska and Chicago. And save for the one in New York and my home shul, I'm just not getting it. It's so suburban and benign. And the idea that I keep "somewhat" Kosher or -- G-d forbid -- go to shul every week or study the Torah portion or want to go INTO Judaic studies just astounds many of my Reform/Secular friends.

So as time has pressed forward, I have found myself more and more leaning toward Conservative Judaism. But then I realized, I really, truthfully, know nothing about Conservative Judaism except that it was birthed as a middle-ground, to keep the shtetl Jews who wanted to Americanize but keep their traditions. Reform was too lazy, Orthodox was too crazy. So what is Conservative? What does it say? What is its function? What is it all about?

And so I found a paper by Jack Wertheimer, "The Perplexities of Conservative Judaism." I read this paper with great interest last week on the train ride home from work. I often find it incredibly difficult to focus on reading anymore on the train, but this had me glued. I'll admit, too, that the "lazy" and "crazy" lines are taken right out of his paper, because his comments on the issue of what Conservative Judaism strives to achieve really struck me and actually are what made me realize that what I know about the movement could fit on a single page of paper. Says Wertheimer,

"In religion as in other areas of life, disunity and disorganization can be symptoms of a deeper confusion. A wag once memorably classified Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform Judaism as, respectively, 'crazy, hazy, and lazy.' The 'hazy,' at least, is not inaccurate."

At this point I realized that what I didn't know and now did know made sense. You have this middle-ground movement that is losing members left and right to, well, the left and right -- Orthodox and Reform. Why? Because of the hazy. Conservative Judaism, it would appear from this paper and other documents I've poked at, doesn't know what it's doing with itself. In its beginnings the rabbis had things one way and the lay community had things another way. I also didn't realize that there is no defining body of Conservative Judaism, but rather the body of rabbis and then the organization for the synagogues. What's more, Orthodox and Reform leaders predict the movement will go defunct in the next 10 to 20 years, for lack of membership.

It makes sense, of course. I am sure there are those within the movement who keep strictly kosher and walk to shul and edge on Modern Orthodox, but perhaps who grew up in the movement with parents or grandparents who came to the states and vowed to not maintain orthodoxy. And then there are those who go every now and again, enjoy a nice pork chop, but appreciate the services with their bounty of Hebrew or perhaps simply grew up in the movement. So what do these individuals do? Over time, they shift, one way or the other. It's only a natural progression, nu?

So here I am. I have a few books here from the library, including "Conservative Jewry in the United States" by Goldstein (which surveys the demographic and trends among the community), as well as "Conservative Movement in Judaism" by Elzar, which is, well, what you would expect. Avi has suggested some texts to me off the Conservative movement's website, and, well, we'll see if I can't pick those up locally or up in Skokie and then go from there.

The thirst for knowledge is strong in this one, believe that folks. I just want to understand what the movements have to say -- while knowing, of course, that within every movement are a million microcosms of different ideals and beliefs and systems of living the law. Then, perhaps, I can figure out why I feel as though I'm in this weird dimension of floating around, feeling like I don't necessarily fit anywhere, but at the same time craving the organized chaos of a Sabbath service. I mean, I feel fine at the Conservative shul. I love it, I really do. But if there is this tension and confusion that I don't know about, I'd rather be prepared than hit head-on when people start defecting to the other movements en masse. I feel like "Jews in Space" or something. Trying to find a planet that will accommodate my specifications, if that makes sense.

So with all that in mind, Chavi shall search for a place to land that has more to offer than simply oxygen and challah.

Be well, and Shabbat Shalom.

Work, Stress, Exhaustion, and Shul.

Note: This is a long post, but it's meaningful. To me, anyway. I hope you read the whole thing. And if you don't? Well, you've saved yourself a slice from my life.

Yesterday -- that's Friday for those of you keeping score but not a calendar -- will go down in history as the Worst Day Ever in my Career as a Minion to Some Guy Who Thinks He's More Important Than Everyone Else. I've complained about my job in the past, but at this point I'll say I've hit my threshold. I've never in my life been thrown under the bus (I'd never used that expression before this job) or walked all over like a ratty Thrift Store rug this many times. I've never been treated so poorly, nay, treated like a complete waste of space, before in my life. I have also never met a human being in my life as ungrateful as the person that I work for. Every detail of my job basically comes down to kissing ass, bowing down, and doing it all without breaking into tears and/or telling said boss how I REALLY feel or what I REALLY think he should do with that thing HE misplaced, not me.

So I left work early yesterday, around 3 p.m. I went straight home, and when I got there, I checked my e-mail, paced around the room, and at 5:15, took an Ambien CR and called it a day. My doctor prescribed them for me months ago, but after taking them two or three times, I realized that the CR (controlled release) was a myth and that I was left feeling like complete crap for a full 24 hours AFTER waking up. But for days like yesterday, when you want to go into a coma and sleep at least 12-15 hours, it's perfect. It'll zonk you out enough so that when you do wake up every hour or so, you feel so horrible you have to close your eyes and force yourself back to sleep.

I know this isn't a healthy philosophy on life or sleep or a job. And I get that. I really do. I never expected to be working as someone's administrative assistant for as long as I have been, not me, not the girl with a bachelor's in journalism who spent some time at two of the nation's biggest newspapers. Life doesn't always fit the magical plan though and I blew it by not heading to Michigan and declining acceptance last year. But I'm in the process of righting that wrong. It's all the bullshit I have to put with to right that wrong that is slowly killing me.

People ooo'd and ahh'd at Heath Ledger when he died. Sleeping pills, they said. He couldn't sleep. He was strung out. He was tired, he was exhausted. He had too much on his plate. He once took two Ambiens and woke up an hour later. And I get it. I get how that feels. Where every little thing you do just feels like this gigantic weight placed on your head, like you're balancing it all and at any minute it's going to all crash to the ground and you'll have nothing but a pile of broken stuff at your feet. And you cry. And then you hit the wall, take some pills, and hope for the best. You hope to sleep. For once, to really sleep. To really feel like you've slept. Not the nights where you wake up constantly or are semi-conscious the entire time.

I now GET why my dad is so worn out. I get why that glitzy star was worn out.

I'm too young to really allow myself the pain of sleep deprivation. I'm too young to allow myself to be so stressed out about a job I don't even care about. But all of these things just hit me yesterday, and as I sat in my supervisor's (technically my "boss" isn't really my "boss") office with the light glaring through the mini-blinds at me, I realized I was done. I started bawling. "I can't do this anymore," I said. The thought of having to search for another job just to pass the time until I get those acceptance or denial letters haunts me. I don't want to job search. I don't want to sit in stale offices and interview for something I don't care about. Something "just to pay the bills." I want to save some money and finally pay off that last bit on my credit cards, I really do.

I'm just tired of being treated like shit and feeling like a zombie (sans brain consumption), day after day.

So there's that. The past two days have been absolutely miserable and I forced myself out of bed this morning, despite the urge to just stay there, all day, staring at the ceiling. I was awake, wide-eyed at 7 a.m. So I hauled my heavy body out of bed and got a peach from the crisper. I sat in the dark, in my bed, in my pajamas, and ate the peach. Ian would have killed me for that. He never let me eat in bed; but Ian's a part of that past of those things. So I ate my peach, threw away the peach pit, and got on the computer. My far-away friend Thom was there, thank heavens, and as we exchanged e-mails about whether I should or shouldn't go to shabbat services this morning, his final "just gos" were enough to put me in the shower, into some fairly decent clothes, and out the door to 9:30 service at the nearby Conservative shul.

Before I left home, I was examining the possibilities. There were a dozen different services at the synagogue today, and I didn't know what half of them were. I saw that the 9:30 service included a bar mitzvah, so I figured it was the most "normal" of the Saturday sabbath services. I didn't want to encroach on a minyan, because, damnit, I just don't get the Conservative service yet. I love it, because it feels more full, it's more filling than the Reform service, but I don't get the rhythm of it.

To me, Conservative service is like organized chaos. And it's beautiful.

I was at shul for THREE hours this morning. It wouldn't have felt like three hours, but the entire row of pre-teens behind me yapping for the entire three hours kept me aware of the time; they were keeping tabs, that is. It was the first bar mitzvah service I've ever been to where the bar mitzvah doesn't feel like a sideshow. I try to avoid such services because -- in the Reform movement anyway -- the kid typically sputters through a few things in Hebrew and gets blessed and all we have to talk about at the end of the day is how squeaky his voice was. At the service today, the kid LED the service. The integration was impeccable. Now, this kid was particularly well-spoken. His d'var Torah was about Jethro, not the decalogue. He talked about how leaders cannot do everything themselves, about how it is our responsibility as a community to assist and it is the responsibility of the leader to ask for help. Nothing can be done alone.

This kid's a fucking genius, I thought.

It took me a while to get into the flow of the service, but I magically always figured out where we were on the page. It's like the words glow and stick out and say "yo! we're here!" The sanctuary -- which, might I add, was beautiful -- was pretty full for what I'm used to and the bouncer at the door was shoving yarmulkes on the heads of everyone coming in late. People came in and out the entire three hours. This is something sort of foreign to me, as I show up early, and leave when it's over. Though, the next time I might have to step out for one of my Weight Watchers-prescribed snacks, lest my stomach start participating in the responsive reading. I also loved how there were many different aliyas for the Torah portion. How different people read and the bima seemed like it was exploding with people wandering about, singing and chanting and talking. When the Torah came around people filled the lower aisles and I just stood there, not wanting to fight the rush for an encounter with the scrolls. The best part, though, was that the chumashim were Etz Chaim, my chumash of choice. I liked having the full-size version; it's better on the eyes.

I guess what I'm trying to say is -- I felt like I was at shul.

One of the things I notice right away about the Conservative service is that everything is read so quickly. You can go through two pages silently in 30 seconds. Even the responsive stuff is hard to keep up with. I'm going to have to master my Hebrew speed reading. Maybe this is why the Reform service feels like it lags and drags and moves at a snail's pace. But then I wonder, are we missing the quality, for the quantity? Maybe there's a middle ground I haven't found yet.

I was glad I went, though. I'm glad I went out in the cold and trudged down to shul and sat there with those obnoxious tweens behind me talking about haircuts and only chiming in with their tone deaf voices when it seemed like parents were glaring back at them. I'm glad I got to experience that kid's bar mitzvah, even if I might never see him again. I attempted to wish him a hearty Mazel Tov afterward, but he was busy. I'm glad that I got to experience the chazzan, who I can't believe I haven't mentioned yet. The man has the voice of thousands of years of Jewish chanting -- it's mesmerizing, and it makes me get how people can sit there for hours on end, even if they're not participating. It's like attending a classical concert, every week, mostly for free. I'm glad I got to experience all three rabbis. At least, I think the three guys who led the services were the rabbis. I'm glad I got to sit in that huge sanctuary, watching and listening the different way the people around me recreated Sinai.

I guess it was the perfect week to go. After the crap of the past few days, it fit. I gathered with the tribe and we stood at the base of Sinai and listened to this bar mitzvah read to us the decalogue, the 10 Commandments. In our hearts we were there, in our minds we were there. It was emotional, and I'm not saying that to be cheesy or to make it more important than it was.

So I think I've found a new home. I need to do some more exploring and figure out what all those people my age were doing up until the last hour or so of the services when they finally joined us. Then I need to do whatever it was they were doing. It's not so important to belong, but to figure out the flow of the 30 different services on any given Saturday and then fit myself in.

Until then, though. I'm going to settle in for a Shabbos Nap and hope that when I wake up, the snow has stopped and my eyes are unheavy.

Shabbat Shalom, friends.

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.

Calling Chaviva, Calling ... Chaviva!

Okay, a few things.

For starters, I went out last night for the first time in a long time (save the dinner with coworkers recently, which was nice, but last night was definitely a different beast) to a bar, with a bunch of people (we're talking 20-30) who I did not know. Yes, complete strangers. I headed off to Goose Island to meet up with a bunch of people who I had "met" through an online community of people who like to review things and spout off about them, too. I spent about 4 or 5 hours out and met some absolutely amazing people from just about every corner of this little big city I call home. People in their 20s, people in their 50s. Seriously, probably the most happy night I've had in a long time, one where I felt alive, social, and like who I used to be, a long time ago, when I was more hopeful and positive about where I was going. There were also a handful of Jews there, so it was nice to meet some of the fellow tribesmen/woman. But the coolest thing about the night? Well, on this online community, I'm known as "Chaviva E." simply because that's how the site rolls. I originally signed on as "Amanda E.", but there was this obnoxious, hated gal on there who also was an Amanda. So I opted to change my name. As such, everyone last night called me by my Hebrew name, my name that I truly connect with, and it was like coming home. Being in a social situation where people know me by my "Jewish name" is truly exceptional. The funny thing, though, is that everyone called me "Cha-viva" ... as in, Cha cha, cha cha cha. Salsa dancing style. I hated correcting people, but it felt natural, and it sort of became a joke after a while. There were some very interesting pronunciations, though, as well. But the Jews got it right the first time, and it felt good. Overall, there were some amazing conversations, friendships made, kindly flirtations, and genuine joviality.

Secondly, I caved. I bought a Blackberry Pearl. I know, I know. What do I need with it? Well, the thing is, my job sort of calls for it (not necessarily, but, it's hard to explain). And I'm addicted to the Internet, so why not? I'll give it a go for a few weeks and if it doesn't do me well, then I'll pack it back down to a normal phone and normal service. My number is still the same, but I'm now on T-Mobile. A-freaking-men.

So that's that. I hope everyone had a thoughtful Shabbat. Despite my efforts to make it to shul last night, stepping in a gigantic pile of mud/snow/slush caused me to head straight home. Thus, I am starting 2008 by attending my first Shabbat of the year at the Conservative synagogue. It's a big step, but, I have a really good feeling about it. We'll see where that takes me, but I've heard some good things about the congregation there.

Laila tov, friends, and may you and yours be well as we near 2008.