The Israel Birthright for Jews

Me in Israel a long time ago

The modern state of Israel has been a refuge for Jews around the world since it came into being officially in 1948. For many young people, it has also been a place to go to get a feeling for Judaism itself. Since 2000, Birthright Israel has led groups of young people ages 18 to 26 on ten-day trips of the Holy Land--at no cost! More than 300,000 young men and women have enjoyed the program so far.

It's a valuable experience to go to Israel. I went at 21--the target age for these travelers. I went through a different program, where you live on a kibbutz (communal farm) for a period of time and work. My program was an "ulpan," specially designed for immigrants, where you learn Hebrew in the classroom for half a day and work on the kibbutz the rest of the day. I didn't spend ten days--I was there for ten months! But, for the young folks taking one of these trips, it sounds fantastic.

URJ Kesher is the official trip organizer for Birthright Israel. Take a look at the itinerary and you can see that it hits all the high spots and gives a fine overview of the country for the visitor. You see not only visit the holy sites of Jerusalem but experience night life in the modern city of Tel Aviv, swim in the Sea of Galilee, float in the Dead Sea, sleep overnight in a Bedouin tent, climb historic Masada and visit the Yad VaShem Holocaust Memorial.

I'd love to go, because there's much that I missed in order to stay on the farm and make food for the animals and practice my Hebrew lessons. Every Jew should experience Jerusalem, and there is much about Israel that will be very different from home and exciting. I got to feel a little more what being an American was all about (If you're not from the U.S., what being from THAT place is like). Israel is unique. Check out a sample trip itinerary here.

In a time and place where it's easy to grow up knowing little of your Jewish heritage and not understanding the importance of Israel, ten days can make a big difference.

Joining in at a Chabad Saturday Service

I was invited to attend a Saturday morning service by Rabbi RR, and I accepted. It was to be followed by lunch, so I figured I'd get a good chance to meet some of the people who attended the shul and see how they felt about things. Rabbi RR suggested I drop in once the service had already started, so I got there at about 10:30 a.m.

The Rabbi placed a tallit over my shoulders, directed me to come up to the front of the room, and I grabbed a siddur (prayerbook) and joined in.

While Reform and Conservative synagogues are set up on the "church" model, where the professional religious staff performs a ritual that parishioners may or not be involved in, the Orthodox model is more participatory. Although the rabbi is the nominal leader, anyone can direct the service who knows how it goes. There is an order, and there are some long prayers in Hebrew to say, but they're all there in the book. Occasionally, I watched the rabbi say a passage very quickly--like an auctioneer--and then slow down. Some of the people spoke the prayers at their own pace, and you could hear them in the background.

The centerpiece of a Saturday service is reading from the Torah--the sacred scrolls containing what a Christian would recognize as the first five books of the Old Testament or the Pentateuch. The common English translation is NOT the King James version, but it reads in a "thee and thou" way. There are other translations into more standard modern English too, but it's most satisfying to hear it in Hebrew, and then have the Rabbi explain what's going on.

It's an honor to help with the reading--to be called "up" for an aliyah. There is a short prayer that you chant before the section of the Torah portion that is read while you're up there, and a short concluding prayer. I was surprised--and pleased--to be called up for the fourth of the seven aliyahs. Using my Hebrew name--Shlomo ben Mendel--the rabbi beckoned me up to the folding table that he used to hold the precious Torah, which had been ceremonially removed from the "ark" where it normally lives. It had the wooden spindles on each end and the beautiful hand-written text on its parchment.

I said the first prayer--which I not only remembered, but got to hear three others recite before me, and it was written on a large card on the table in case you needed help to remember it. I was surprised that it was the very same one we used in the Reformed temple when I was a kid!

I stood next to the rabbi as he read, with my hand on the Torah's wooden handle. After reciting the concluding prayer a few minutes later, I moved to the side as a young man, came up and did his part. After you finish and step back to your seat, others shake your hand, congratulating you for participating. It felt great.

The service proceeded after the Torah reading for a while, including a Haftorah reading from the Prophets. At the end of the service, the rabbi wished us "Good Shabbat" and we stepped away to have lunch.

There was a nice spread in the kitchen, and I helped myself before sitting down at the long table with the others. We had a very pleasant and interesting conversation about Jewish subjects, including a little wine and some hard liquor (in small quantities). Shabbat is a happy time, even though we also discussed a few people who were ill and one man's sister, who had just died unexpectedly a few days before--in her 40's. The man had said the mourner's kaddish prayer during the service, so assumed that had suffered a loss recently.

The Orthodox service, as done by the Chabad folks, is inclusive, and I was pleased that I knew enough to participate. I felt at home there, which surprised me a little. I will be meeting with the rabbi this week to talk about the upcoming holiday of Purim, and I'm sure I'll be back for Saturday soon.

Judaism and Music - Keeping Two Streams Separate

Where's the bass player?

I have just returned from an abortive attempt to play the bass at a Friday night service. I had been concerned about this particular temple because of the minimal attendance but even more because of the erratic and unprepared nature of the cantor.

Tonight, I arrived on time and was ready to go, but she worked with two other musicians exclusively on a new song. I sat and listened for half an hour, doing nothing. Finally, we began on what was to be our second piece at the upcoming service. I played it through, and it sounded nice. She then decided that I should simply play the root of the chord for each measure, and proceeded to dictate these to me.

I decided then that this was not going to work for me. I packed my bass and came home.

I have believed for a while now that I could combine my love of music with my exploration of Judaism but that does not appear to be working for me. I have now played in a few different places and I am finding that I don't enjoy it. The parts are simple and repetitious--if there's one written at all--and are sometimes required with no rehearsal. There is lots of waiting around before and during the service. I am not having fun, and, with so much real music to play, I don't need this. So for now, I am separating music from my religions studies, until the time comes to reconsider under other circumstances. Maybe a Renewal congregation, filled with ecstatic worshippers, will change my mind.

Oddly, when I played the Faure Requiem in an Episcopal church last November, it was a wonderful experience. The piece itself took some hard work and the bass had a beautiful and worthwhile part to contribute. Of course, playing with several fine musicians, an 18-member choir and an organ was fine too. But that was church music!

It's hard enough for me to revisit Judaism in the first place. I remember attending services in a number of different temples as a kid and not really enjoying it that much. I got fidgety sitting on a hard, flat bench and repeating words written in a book that didn't mean anything to me. I didn't really need to watch a show. It seemed foreign and unfamiliar, and it felt like the other people knew each other--but I was alone.

My bar mitzvah training consisted of a few lonely months in a brand new place to which I had just moved the summer  before. Religious school on Sunday mornings when I was in the 9th and 10th grade seemed mostly irrelevant and a waste of a good weekend day.

I went to Israel in 1974 to get away from college for a while. Although it started out as a grand adventure, I spent nearly all my time on the kibbutz, which became a narrow routine, especially when my half days of Hebrew study ended after six months. I learned that I was very much an American, and although the Israelis and I shared a common heritage we did not share a common upbringing or attitude. 

So--what am I looking for now? Why am I devoting regular time and attention in 2012 to learning more about Judaism?

Well, there are some questions that aren't answered by music--or by what you do at your job. I want to understand more about life--and where I fit (and don't fit). I want to start asking the right kinds of questions. I think that the ancient tradition to which I am an heir is a fine place to start. And I have.

But I think I'll keep music, which is doing just fine, thank you, out of the picture.

Cut Down Too Soon

Today is Tu B'Shevat, the Jewish New Year for the trees. I celebrated it on Saturday, but today, the actual date of the holiday, it seems especially relevant, because on my street, a mighty redwood tree is being cut down. I assume that the tree removal company is not owned by a Jew because this has to be the worst time ever to do it.

I drove home yesterday and saw a terrible sight--a tapering trunk--poking up towards the sky--with no branches, and rudely severed at the top. A neat pile of firewood sat along the sidewalk, a sad remnant of the once mighty branches. I remember that you could stand under this tree when it was raining and be totally dry. No more.

I knew that this towering redwood was on its way out, and I had already said goodbye to it. Sadly, it had the bad fortune to be planted in a neighborhood of homes, sidewalks and sewer lines, and it was wreaking havoc on all of those. The current owner of the home by which it stands felt very bad about having to remove the poor tree, but it was damaging his home--and he wasn't the one who planted it. So it's not his fault.

The loss of this tree connected in my mind this morning with news from Facebook. Yesterday, I learned that my friend Lisa's brother had lost his only son, at the age of just 48. I don't know the details, but I do know that both the man and the tree were cut down too soon.

If we believe in a God who is loving and merciful, it's hard to accept some things in life. I don't believe that a higher presence is paying specific attention to each one of us--and making things good. The universe can feel pretty impersonal sometimes. The tree, of course, is easier to understand--it was a human decision to plant it and to pull it out of the earth. But why do people have to die before their time? Maybe it IS their time--and we just don't understand. But that doesn't really help.

I have a lot to learn.

Goodbye, redwood tree. Goodbye, Zachary.

Tu B'Shevat with Shir Ami

Today, I took part in a Jewish holiday that I had never heard of or celebrated before. Tu B'Shevat, which occurs on the 15th of the Jewish Month of Shevat (Feb. 8 this year), is a marking of the new year for trees. Originally related to the tithing of produce grown in the Holy Land, it today is a time to celebrate by eating fruit specified in the Torah and think about the health of the planet we occupy.

I joined a friendly group of about 30 people at Congregation Shir Ami to commemorate the holiday. We gathered in the cozy room that serves as the central gathering place for the congregation and, similar to what we do on Passover, we read through a haggadah that walked us through four worlds as described in the Kabbalah: our actions, our emotions, our thoughts and spirits.

On each six-person table, besides red and white wine and flowers, was a large tray containing fruit from each world that would be available in Israel. As we progressed through the service, we ate a sample from each world, for example, almonds from world one, apricots for world two, and drank a cup of wine with it.

Interestingly, we mixed the red and white wine as we went, starting with all white, then white with a touch or red, red with a touch of white and finally, all red. Each time we ate, we said a blessing on the food (fruit of the tree) and each time we drank our wine mixtures, we sang the wine blessing.

As a relevant way of thinking about the earth on a day of trees, the haggadah contained information on ways to take care of the planet, from proper vehicle maintenance and using public transit to lower air pollution to not wasting water and recycling plastic containers. It concluded with The Ten Plagues of today:

• Acid Rain
• Melting of the polar ice caps
• Diseased trees, destruction of the rain forests, forest fires
• Pollution of oceans, lakes and rivers
• Air pollution
• Water shortages and droughts
• Creating garbage landfills
• Over consumption of energy
• Extinction of species
• Destruction of the ozone layer

No wonder Tu B'Shevat is called by some the "Jewish Earth Day."

An interesting note about trees: It was a custom in ancient Israel to plant a tree at the birth of a child. When the child grew up and married, branches were cut from the tree to hold up the chuppah (marriage canopy).

Three quarters through this very pleasant ceremony, we broke to enjoy a delicious lunch. The salads, soups and quiche, topped off by brownies, cake and coffee, were all excellent. Then, we went outside where the children were expertly guided in planting four slim new trees along the east side of the temple grounds.

Then we went inside to have our last cup of wine and conclude the service.

There is so much we can do about our planet, and a day like this reminds us about it. It also feels good to enjoy fellowship in the warm and friendly atmosphere of this community synagogue. I think I'll be back soon.

Sacred Space

I've been wrapping tefillin now for a little over a month, every day except shabbat. It's a quick process, but has extended little by little as I add a few words of the prayer I say. I now read two of the three paragraphs relating to putting on tefillin.

Today, as I entered the downstairs "office" I've been using, I saw a newspaper with a disturbing headline that I'd left there yesterday. I turned it over. Then, I saw someone's business card with a photo on it. I looked around and saw my mass of clutter--car models, papers, office supplies, junk. Too much distraction.

I realized that, for me, this room is starting to have some importance. It's my mini-shul now, and as that sacred space, it deserves better. So, it's time to clean it up. The table should be uncluttered, the hutch unburdened, the shelves, neat. Because whatever may be happening when I tie those leather straps onto my arm and head, it is putting me in a different frame of mind. That may very well be the entire purpose of doing it. I'll keep on and see.