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.

Purim - An Amazing Story of Jewish Survival

I remember Purim from my childhood, but it's mainly for the noisemakers and the tasty hamantaschen (see photo). I knew there was something about Queen Esther (was she sort of like Queen Elizabeth?) and a king and an uncle. But that was it.

Now, as an adult, with an interest, I have heard the entire Book of Esther, which is read during Purim. The observant Jew is supposed to hear it twice over the two-day Purim Holiday--in its original Hebrew. I heard it once this year, but it was the first time ever.

Luckily, there's an English translation alongside the Hebrew in the little book I held during the reading so I could keep up with what was going on. While the rabbi chanted from the beautiful hand-calligraphed scroll, I l earned about how the Jewish community, in exile in Babylonia (modern Iraq), was nearly destroyed. It seems the king was unhappy with his queen, who wouldn't show up when called (he had a harem), so he had a beauty contest to replace her. Esther was chosen, but she hid the fact that she was Jewish (this is surely not the first time this has happened).

Esther's uncle and guardian, Mordecai, had heard of a plot against the king and saved his life by having Esther pass it on to the king. But at the moment, the king, who seemed surprisingly easily manipulated, is told by Haman, his evil counselor, that he can and should wipe out the "others in their midst." Once again, a sadly familiar tale. For some reason the king goes for this and sends out a decree to kill all the Jews.

Of course the Jews are shocked and horrified. But rather than just having Esther intercede, Mordecai gets the community to pray, and finally tells Esther. She fasts for three days and then approaches the king. Now, just walking in on his majesty could get you killed but she does make her plea. Then, the king realizes that Mordecai was the one who saved his life before and the plot turns 180 degrees in an instant. It's Haman who loses out and the Jews are saved.

Unfortunately, the king's proclamations can't be rescinded, so he has to issue another one, essentially arming the Jews against their attackers. The Jews kill off a bunch of people and become so frightening that some non-Jews convert to Judaism to protect themselves. I didn't see THAT coming.

I didn't realize that the first day of Purim is a daylong fast, so when I arrived at the Chabad shul some folks were ravenous. Since I'd eaten, I didn't stay for the festive meal, and because of other commitments, I couldn't attend the big party the next night. But I did get the message this year. I hope every holiday that comes along I can learn and understand more deeply than I have before.

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.