Masorti Movement Judaism - The Middle Path

I had the pleasure of visiting with Menachem Creditor, the rabbi of a Conservative congregation in Berkeley, California this week. Netivot Shalom sits on a busy major street, its modern, glass design reflecting its location in a tolerant, open community.

Interesting, then, the word "Conservative." This is not the political or social conservatism of Rick Santorum or right-wing radio commentators. The Conservative, or as it's also known, Masorti Movement, is based on "conserving" Judaism much as one would conserve natural resources.

As I am beginning to understand it, in brief, the Masorti Movement came about because of the Reform Movement, which, in 19th Century Europe, rebelled against established Jewish practice and threw away much of the ancient tradition for a new, vernacular interpretation. Out went kosher laws, shabbat practices, and much of the rest of it. The Conservative/Masorti rabbis believed that some kind of reform or modernization was needed--but not to the extent of the reformers--so they took a middle path, "conserving" more of what was once known simply as "Judaism." Interesting that the concept of "Orthodox" Judaism only came when the reformers created something new.

For my research, I'll go to a service at Netivot Shalom and see what I think.

Rabbi Menachem is one of the contributors to the Shefa Network, which works to make Masorti Movement Judaism relevant. Please read more. And be sure to look up Rabbi Menachem on YouTube. He's a fine musician and singer.

Return to Kehilla for Singing

Last night I returned to Kehilla Synagogue, after my first visit of a couple of weeks ago. It was billed in advance as a musical service, and I was expecting a group of musicians and a big, noisy crowd. I got there and hurried to grab street parking, only to find a lot full of spaces in the lot. I once again expected hundreds but counted 19 folks (with a few stragglers). Most appeared to me middle-aged and older lesbian couples and there were three or four men besides me.

Inside the roomy sanctuary, we sat on folding chairs near the bima, with several candles set low before a Debbie and Julie, who are Kehilla songleaders. Julie I had met before, at the first service, when she showed me around the place.

The music ran from end to end, with nicely done drumming--Debbie is well regarded for her skill after decades of exploration. It gave a quality of Middle Eastern music, the rhythms keeping us all alert when there was also a tendency to feel sleepy. That's because there was a period early on where we got to schmooze a little. Later, we stretched, breathed deep and went on a guided meditation led by Debbie.

The service moved along, and I tried to sing along with it, referring to three different printed handouts. It was enjoyable in a way--but didn't feel especially Jewish to me. I'm used to the Reform service, which has music but is more of a "performance." I appreciated that we all were involved--and even that there was a period when we could speak about something we were dealing with--"crossing a bridge" as it were. But I got a little fidgety. Seeing a few attendees dancing freely alongside the group felt a little like something from a Grateful Dead concert.

Afterwards, we all met in the room downstairs and had a nice kiddush, sponsored by one of the women there. It felt warm and friendly. I was able to meet a few more of the congregants, and I sang along comfortably with the kiddush. Any time you can eat a handful of challah, pulled right off the loaf, it's a blessing.


The service was full of positive energy and included the essentials of Jewish ritual, but was also looser and had a sense of the experimental. Mention was made of the rabbi's recent meetings with other clergy to talk about the Occupy movement and while I found this interesting, I don't seem to be as focused on the political action component of Judaism as this congregation is.

I left with a strange feeling of disconnection. For some reason, this kind of service isn't moving me, and I'm not sure why. I get more invigorated by the more traditional Shabbat at the Chabad shul, even though I understand less of it. Despite my feeling of being part of the '60s hippie generation, I don't really relate to this kind of hand-crafted event. But that's part of  what my Jewish Roots Project is about--finding where I fit and where I don't.

I plan to come back again at some point to try another type of service to see how that works.

Kehilla Synagogue--Intimate and Inclusive

I had the chance to spend Saturday morning Shabbat with the kind folks at Kehilla Synagogue. I had been meaning to go since it's not too far from home and I was eager to see what Renewal Judaism is like in an established congregation.

My previous experience with Renewal was with "chaverot," which meet in people's homes, gathering together for the high holidays (Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur) but going their own way the rest of the time.

The Renewal movement of Judaism, which grew out of the 1960's and the Aquarian Minyan (founded in Berkeley in 1974). There is a strong sense of wanting to heal the world, partly from those who were appalled by the war in Vietnam and who had a stong sense of social justice. Kehilla is fully open to all, feminist, all-inclusive of gay, lesbian, bi, transgender--well--everybody--even non-Jews. And, as is the case in so many congregations today, couples often contain only one Jewish member. Kehilla has always been accepting of these families.

Kehilla (it means "community" in Hebrew) was founded in 1984 by Rabbi Burt Jacobson, who has been a rabbi for 45 years! He was there on Saturday and I had the pleasure to meet and talk with him a little.

I actually visited Kehilla many years ago when they shared a building with a church in Berkeley, but now, they occupy a fine old church at the edge of a thriving commercial street in Piedmont, California--right where it becomes a neighborhood of homes.

I wasn't sure how big a space it would be at Kehilla, but I was pleased to find that this Shabbat was intimate, taking place in Fireside Room downstairs. The main sanctuary looks big enough to handle a pretty large crowd, which it surely does on the major holidays. I got a tour from Julie, one of the first to arrive. She is involved in Kehilla's substantial music organization, a small part of which I enjoyed on Saturday. I also met Rina, who is a lifelong singer and who led the musical part of the service--which was a lot!

This service seemed like a good one to attend because it going to talk about art and creativity and how it relates to Judaism and spirituality. As a musician, I was intrigued. And we did talk about it, with Rabbi David Jonathan Cooper, one of the co-founders of Kehilla. He was serious, humorous, thoughtful, and very open. There were a few places in the service where congregants spoke about (or blessed) something--in this case, we spoke of light and of art.

I said a couple of things as part of the group. I have always had mixed feelings about this, because I feel like we non-rabbis are not experts, but the kind of inclusion at Kehilla felt right. There was a significant amount of praying, in Hebrew, but also singing--very pleasantly rendered with harmonies by several of the attendees.

My experience in childhood was of sitting and not participating, but Kehilla welcomes participation. When the Torah was opened up to be read, several of us took part, from unwrapping to holding, and when the three aliyas took place, anyone who wanted to could come up and do it together. I liked that. It spreads the honor. Nobody was dozing off or getting bored, although I was surprised at how many people joined the service after it had started.

I had thought that perhaps the Renewal service here would be too "way out" or not have a strong basis in tradition but I didn't find that here. I heard plenty of Hebrew, and some of the melodies were the same ones I learned in the Reform synagogue as a child. And, there were some new melodies, including ones written by people in that room.

After the service, which went for more than two hours (it felt like less), we went into the next room and celebrated with a nice oneg, with a spread of traditional Jewish food, including home-baked challah (thanks, Steve!) and we had a grape juice kiddush.

I had some interesting conversations. One person told me she and her husband joined because it was a community without gossip. Everyone got along. That seems like a good idea to me. Of course, I've had a pretty nice time at every service I've attended with the people themselves. When I consider affiliating with a congregation, perhaps next year, Kehilla will definitely be in the running. I felt at home there, and that whatever I was or did would be OK. My non-Jewish wife could come--if she felt like it--and nobody would mind. Kehilla is politically active and very much part of the modern world, which feels good--and different. The significant emphasis on music, participation and inclusion feels right.

It's a 20-minute drive away, too.

I plan to attend a larger event--a musical Shabbat at the end of the month, and will report back.

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.

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.

Welcome to Torah Study

Yesterday, I went to my first Torah study group. I came away with mixed feelings.

It started out with a nice personal tour of the facilities, including the beautiful 100-year-old sanctuary and the brand new, starkly and unapologetically modern chapel, connected by the social hall named after a long-serving former rabbi. 

I joined the group in a classroom at the end of a hall. I arrived in time to find a good seat along the long table. The meeting ended up standing-room-only--probably 35 people. We had bagels with schmear and coffee, courtesy of one of the class members; a list circulated for others to volunteer this service for upcoming weeks. 

The class, I found out later, has been meeting for many years, and there were some obvious "regulars."

So, what was it like? The text for the day was the very beginning of the book of Job, from the Writings. I'd been looking forward to a stimulating, fast-moving study, but I felt there was too much nattering about trivial details before starting the actual examination of Job. I was annoyed by the know-it-all tone of a few of the class members. It reminded me of my mid-college years of sitting in a philosophy class waiting for things to move on. I didn’t have much to add on this first visit, but it seemed that we could have progressed more quickly and focused more on the meaning of the text. After about an hour and a quarter the group broke up--until next time.

There were a lot of elderly people there, and I made me uncomfortable. It felt like a diversion at the Jewish retirement home. As a member of a rock group and what I consider to be a "youthful" 58, it just felt too slow-moving. One ancient woman at the other end of the table stood up (very slowly) to announce her upcoming hip replacement surgery. Sigh. A distinguished-looking older African American man near me, wearing a middle-eastern style kippah, started going on and on about something he deemed relevant from another place in the Torah and the rabbi had to gently refocus the group.

It's quite possible that those who are interested in Torah study tend to be older folks who aren't sitting glued to their Facebook or other electronic social activities. It was only my first time there, and I brought in my own prejudices and habits. I felt that the "students" were blabbing on about their interpretations, but that may very well be what the class is about--to get different views and opinions on the material to somehow illuminate the text for everyone. Perhaps that's the ideal, but when I was a student, I wanted to hear what the teacher had to say, and I found this kind of woolgathering an inpediment. But it may be that I tend toward passivity and acceptance of the words of "experts," when one of the goals of Torah study is to actively question the material. But is fussing over the details beneficial or just intellectual fooling around?

Perhaps a smaller, younger group might work better for me. I'm not sure if I should perhaps visit this group again and try to come back with a different attitude. At the speed it was moving, though, it could take a decade to get through the Torah one time. But maybe there's no hurry.