Learning Judaism as a Native Language Requires More Than Synagogue Once a Year

I wanted to share with you this article from Tablet Magazine, an online Jewish ezine with great articles:

Becoming fluent in your own religious tradition is like playing an instrument or a sport: It takes time, dedication, and practice.

By Mark Oppenheimer

It’s the High Holiday season, the time of year when synagogues double or triple or quadruple in attendance, as barely affiliated Jews stream back through the sanctuary doors, looking for their yearly connection. Some are scared, others disdainful, many bored. And confused—lots of confusion. As someone who writes about religion for a living, I have conversations throughout the year with these “High Holiday Jews,” but also with other Jews, some of them regular worshippers, others infrequent, who are trying to figure out why Judaism is so hard for them. I’m not a rabbi and I don’t have any good answers, but I do have some reflections, which I hope will put some people’s minds at ease, maybe even help them.

The basic problem is that for many people, Judaism used to be a native language. For many of them, it was a second language—after Russian, or Polish, or English, or whatever. But it was still spoken in their home, in one way or another. What’s more, because Jews were forced together by anti-Semitism, laws, or mere custom, Jews knew plenty of other Jews. Often, they knew other Jews almost exclusively. So, even if one was not from a very learned family, one still felt that a Passover Seder, or even a Simchat Torah parade, was familiar, friendly, native. Your family might go to synagogue only a few times a year, but when you went you saw friends, neighbors, relatives. Even if you didn’t understand the prayers or connect with any of it spiritually, you still felt more or less at home.

That was Judaism as a native language.

These days, except for tiny Jewish minorities in gentile lands, or for the Orthodox who live among other Orthodox, Judaism is not native to anybody. Even many Israelis are now estranged from, and don’t understand, Jewish religious practice. So, for most of the Jewish world, Judaism the religion is now a learned practice. It can still give great joy and meaning to one’s life, but most of us can never practice Judaism in the easy, unearned way that, say, I can celebrate the rituals of being American: the Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, Super Bowl parties.

So, if Judaism is no longer a native language for many Jews, what is it? I believe that Judaism is best thought of now as an art, or maybe a sport. Put in even simpler terms, it’s like playing guitar, or playing tennis.
Consider that playing guitar is very, very hard when you start. Let’s say you take a beginner’s class. At the beginning, you will feel frustrated and embarrassed when you make mistakes. If you don’t even know how to read music, and if, what’s more, you lack a good ear, then you will be surrounded by people, even in that introductory class, who seem far ahead of you. You may go back for a few weeks in a row, and you may even practice every night, but after a month you won’t have made what seems like satisfactory progress. Meanwhile, if you bump into fellow students, or hang out at the music school, you will feel as if all of them are ahead of you, making more progress, and coalescing into a community of musicians that you will never be able to join. Some of them may start jamming together, or using lingo that you have yet to master. You will already be defeated. (This doesn’t have to be guitar, of course. It could be violin, cello, lute, whatever.)
And what if you only went to this music class once or twice a year? (You can see where I am going with this.)

Continue reading.

Post Labor Day Whites

When is it fashionably acceptable to wear white after Labor Day? On Yom Kippur! Many people have the custom of wearing white on Yom Kippur. In the synagogue you will often see women dressed in white suits or dresses and men bedecked in a white garment known as a kittel (Yiddish for robe). There are several reasons for this custom: 1) Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, is the day on which we ask God to overlook all of our mistakes. Consequently, it is customary to wear white as a way of emulating the angels, who stand before God in purity. In Hebrew, angels are known as "malachim" (singular-mal'ach) which means messenger(s).  The malachim were created as God's spiritual messengers and are pure, totally spiritual creatures. Human beings, on the other hand, were created of both matter and spirit. It is this combination that gives us "free will," enabling us to make choices that, unfortunately, are not always the best. These unwise choices are what require us to engage in teshuva (repentance). On Yom Kippur, one wishes to emulate the malachim, the pure spirits who exist only to serve the Creator. 2) White garments, especially the kittel, are also reminiscent of the burial shroud. On Yom Kippur, one's life is held in balance by the greatest Judge of all. When one is reminded of one's mortality, a person is more likely to engage in honest introspection...Did I really act properly? Was there anything I could have done better? etc. 3) And of course, on Yom Kippur you don't have to worry about food stains!

How To Bake the Ultimate Challah—for Rosh Hashanah or Anytime

For Rosh Hashanah, I'd love to share with you Joan Nathan's video on baking a challah.

לְֹשָנָה טוֹבָה תִּכָּתֵיבוּ

Have a Sweet and Happy New Year

Guest Blogger

Shalom Chaveirim,

I'm back from my vacation and revving up to get ready for High Holidays, Religious School, Chai School, Adult Education Classes and all that comes with fall.

I read this wonderful newsletter from Nigel Savage, the Executive Director of Hazon, a Jewish organization dedicated to sustainable communities. With the holidays approaching so early this year, I hope you'll take a moment and read through what Mr. Savage has to say about community.

Morah Judy

Elul, my Grandma, the Tomato Hornworm,
and the Talmud

Dear All,

It's great to be at Isabella Freedman. Adamah Farm Vacation is underway – parents and kids hanging out here and having a whale of a time. I picked some of the last of the raspberries. I learned about the minimum temperature for a compost pile to legally be certified as safe to use (over 130 degrees, for at least two weeks). And I saw a tomato hornworm for the first time and learned about the wasp larvae that eat the hornworms – and thus enable the tomatoes to grow without having pesticides sprayed on them to kill the hornworms.

And meanwhile, even as it's the start of August and the middle of summer, it's also about to be the start of the Hebrew month of Elul.

I'm particularly conscious of the timing because my Grandma died – ten years ago this month – on the last day of Av. Confusingly the last day of Av is the first day of Rosh Chodesh Elul; ie the day before thesecond day of Rosh Chodesh Elul, which is in fact the first day of Elul. That in turn is the first day we blow shofar, and thus the official start of the season of teshuva – of returning to our best selves.

So, in honor of my grandma, and lest the holidays catch you unawares, a few things to think about in the forthcoming season of teshuva.

First: I don't want to mythologize either our grandparents, or the world in which they grew up. They were human, which is to say no less flawed than we are ourselves. I have no desire to go to a dentist of 60 years ago. I don't wish to smoke as they smoked. I'm glad I have google maps – even though I know it lessens my already weak sense of direction. I wouldn't have wanted to be gay when my grandparents were my age now. I don't mythologize living through the Great Depression or the Second World War – let alone the Great War that all four of my grandparents lived through, and that my father's father was injured fighting in.

But with these caveats, it's worth thinking, I think, about aspects of their lives that they took for granted, that many of us need to learn or relearn, and that underpin the building of healthier and more sustainable communities. Here's one in particular that I've been thinking about:

A sense of duty and obligation. I think the single greatest difference between my grandparents' generation and mine is in relation to a sense of duty and obligation. I don't think they were all great, and I don't think that we're not. And duty and obligation have their downsides. Nevertheless: there is something corrosive and damaging about how we relate to many institutions of Jewish life today (and, indeed, to many institutions in the wider society). Jewish tradition's foundational questions are not "is this meaningful to me?" or "what will I get from it if I go to services on Rosh Hashanah?" Jewish tradition starts not with rights but with obligations; not with the search for personal meaning, but with ol malchut shamayim – the notion of taking on certain responsibilities, even certain burdens, because the tradition expects them of us.

One of my favorite parts of the traditional morning service is that, very early on, you say a bracha (a blessing) for learning Torah and then – because you've said the bracha and you need, as it were, to complete it – you then learn a series of Torah texts. One of them is from the Talmud, 127a:

"These are the things which someone performs and enjoys their fruits in this world, while the principal remains in the world to come: honoring one's parents; doing acts of lovingkindness; going early to the house of study, morning and evening; welcoming guests; visiting the sick; accompanying the bride; escorting the dead; focus within prayer; and bringing peace between someone and their fellow; and the study of Torah is equal to all of these."

So I love a whole slew of things about this text, but I want to share just two:

• I love that it doesn't just say you have to do them. Rather the text is saying: these are reallygood things to do – they're so good that you'll be, as it were, doubly rewarded for doing them. But the obligation to do them is still, in some sense, internalized. We have a choice. Do we choose to do these things – or not?
• I love the mix. Things that divide out very clearly in contemporary life are all mixed up together here. Visiting the sick, acts of loving-kindness – those things are "social justice" – doing good by others. Focus in prayer – isn't that about my personal spiritual journey? Making peace between two friends who've argued – that's not religion, that's being a good friend, surely? Going early to shul – whose business is it if I go early to shul or not? The rabbis of the Talmud didn't draw such sharp distinctions.

And, even as I'm writing this, I suddenly remember something I had learned from Reb Shlomo Carlebach z"l, which I'd forgotten. In reference to this text, I once heard him say: "If it's a mitzvah to accompany the dead, how much more so is it a mitzvah to accompany those who are alive – but really struggling…"

So as the sun beats down, and the farmers pick our food for us, it's not too early to think about Elul, and your grandparents, and the lead-up to Rosh Hashanah and the Jewish New Year. What are those aspects of your grandparents that you want to emulate? And which are the mitzvot that you choose to take on, or to take more seriously — not simply for what you might get from them — but for what you might give?

Shabbat shalom, chodesh tov,

Nigel Savage
Executive Director, Hazon

Registration

Shalom,

I hope everyone is having a fabulous summer.  

By now you've probably read the Rabbi's blog and received a letter from the Temple outlining our new no-tuition policy for Religious School.  I am so thrilled that our Temple has committed its resources and philosophy to the education of our children.  We also have some wonderful new activities planned for schoolchildren and younger.

Each month starting in October we will have:

     A Saturday Morning Tot Shabbat at 10:00 geared for infants-5 year olds
     A Friday Evening Youth Service at 5:30 geared for ages 5-10
     A Sunday Morning Story Hour at 10:00 geared for 2-5 year olds

Another change you will see this coming year is a move to have all classes of Religious School on Thursday -- that’s all grades, Ganeinu through Chai School.  We appreciate all who responded to the survey, your voices were heard and the Education Committee made the changes.

Stacie is sending out a link to a  Registration Form.  We do need you to fill this out for each student (except Chai School) who will be enrolled this year.  This will enable us to know how many teachers to hire, books to order, etc.  We ask that you have registration into us by August 15^th.

I’m very excited about these changes.  If you would like to join the Education Committee, please let me know.  New voices always provide new ideas and energy.

Have a great summer and stay tuned for more information on the start of the coming school year, we have something very special planned for September 26^th. 

L’Shalom,

Judy Alexander

Director of Congregational Education 

What Does Temple Sinai Mean to Me?

On May 14th three of our Chai School students were Confirmed.  Rabbi Glazier asked each of the Confirmands to prepare a speech on the topic above.  Here is the second speech, from Andrew Levite 

First of all I would like to thank everyone for being here today to attend my confirmation, as well as Eli’s and Natan’s.

For my conformation speech, Rabbi Glazier asked me to talk about Temple Sinai, and how it has helped me through my life and what role it played in me being here today. He prompted me by asking what Temple Sinai has done for me. Now that I am here at the point of my confirmation, I can look back on my past experience here and reflect what this place has provided me with.

Temple Sinai has provided me with so much. I have learned basic Hebrew, have been taught several prayers, have attended many classes, and have grown to be a Jewish adult. Through the generous help of Rabbi Glazier, Morah Judy, and the several other teachers that I’ve been lucky enough to have, I’ve extended my Jewish studies past my Bar Mitzvah for another three years to my confirmation.

Earlier in my life, I attended a Sunday school here. I learned what it meant to be Jewish and a lot more about Judaism through Sunday school. Once a week during the school year I came here to learn more about my religion and what makes it so special. Eventually, I made my way to my Bar Mitzvah. And just over three years ago, I had it here at Temple Sinai.

Temple Sinai has become a symbol of Judaism for me over my life. This is the place where all major events relating to Judaism have taken place for me.  It is incredible the amount of support that has been provided to every kid who is starting out, or finishing their Jewish studies.

What Does Temple Sinai Mean to Me?

On May 14th three of our Chai School students were Confirmed.  Rabbi Glazier asked each of the Confirmands to prepare a speech on the topic above.  Here is the first speech, from Eli Rachlin:

Ever since I moved to Vermont from France in the year 2001, Temple Sinai has been the place I have most associated with Judaism. Now while I know that is a fairly obvious statement, I think that it has the most to do with what the temple means to me. Although my first memories of Jewish holidays or traditions do come from the age of 4 or so in France, whether it is the search for the afikomen or the lighting of Hanukah candles, the most memories, and certainly the most vivid and meaningful, come from here.  

Coming every Sunday, Wednesday, Tuesday, or Thursday for Hebrew school may have not always been how I would prefer to spend my afternoons, but looking back, I really do value the knowledge I received about my heritage, as well as the ability to meet up with others in the Jewish community in my area. Now it is true that for the past five summers I have gone to a Jewish camp, but in truth I don’t go to that camp for Judaism as much as I do for the people that go there. 

It is here that I find more of an association with my Jewish identity, most of all because here is where I had my Bar Mitzvah. And when I think about my Bar Mitzvah, I am reminded of how in no way could I have been prepared for that special day if it weren't for all the amazing people at Temple Sinai that got me there. Beginning with learning the Hebrew alphabet and how to read in the younger grades, and then the prayers of the service in 4th and 5th grades, and then learning how to chant in the year leading up to my B’nai Mitzvah, it really shows me how that fantastic was a culmination of everything that was given to me by this great establishment. 

And I think overall, that is what Temple Sinai means to me. To be a place of giving. Temple Sinai is more than just a place that holds the Torah, or a Sanctuary for prayer, or school for Jewish education. It is made up of a congregation, or community, that gives back to all that are a part of it in order to create a richer and more meaningful tradition that I myself have benefited from.