Outsider

    I was born after the Holocaust in a world far removed from the atrocities I study.  My grandparents lived close by and my parents made sure we saw them (both sets) every weekend.  The front row of every elementary school concert was filled with Bengels siblings, parents and grandfolk.  I'm living the life Hitler wanted to destroy.

    Or am I?  What do I have in common with the children I've been writing about?  What do I share with the families before they were pushed into cattle cars or shot into pits?  Is it my Jewishness or my humanity?

   My secular Judaism, celebrated in a Reconstructionist congregation is so removed from that world. It is even separate from the Jewish world I see here in Israel.  It's so marginalized that the word "Reconstructionist" has red dots underneath it and autocorrects to "Deconstructionist".  The security person at El Al asked me what kind of temple I attend and didn't know what it was.  In Israel, the "promised land", I am still a stranger in a strange land.

    My colleagues here often ask me what this kind of Judaism is, and I tell them that we are a small segment of the Jewish population in the US and we believe in the progressive evolution of the faith.  A few key insights from the Reconstructionist Judaism page:

• Judaism is religious, because it is involved with issues of ultimate meaning in life.
• God is not an external being that acts upon us, but a power that works through us. 
• As a civilization (and not simply a religion of beliefs), Judaism involves language, literature, art, history, music, food, land, rituals and beliefs. 
• Reconstructionism is a totally egalitarian, inclusive approach to Jewish life, where men and women, gay and straight are all equally embraced and welcomed. 
• Reconstructionism is distinguished from other movements by its rejection of exclusive “chosenness” of the Jewish people, and its embrace of working in partnership with others to repair the world 
• It is a people-centered Judaism where, in Kaplan’s words, “the past has a vote but not a veto,” and where the ultimate worth and dignity of every human being is celebrated and valued.

 My culture, therefore, is very different from that of my ancestors.  Before Nazism plagued the Jews of Europe, a mix of anti-Jewish pograms and the hope for a better life sent some of my relatives to America.  Pictured here are my Papa's maternal grandparents, Leah and Israel.  I know very little about them, except that they came from Mlawa and that he was a Rabbi.   

  If my great-great-great nieces and nephews were to know something about me, perhaps it would be that I moved to New Jersey and that I was a teacher.  One could argue that "rabbi" means teacher, and therefore we aren't really all that different.  However, I know that his limitations and connections were very different from mine.  His wife's were even further disconnected from the life I live, I'm sure!

   Did anti-semitism make this change?  Did American liberalism cause it? What about intellectualism and modernity?  I do not know.  But I do know that my grandparents, for all their emotional commentary on Yiddish and the Holocaust, could not tell me about when they first heard about the nightmares faced by their counterparts in Europe. I asked and I asked, but this was a rift I could not get past.

  So, here I am now, a cultural and spiritual Jew in a rare form of US Judaism, visiting Israel and having an image of what services would be like at the Great Synagogue of Jerusalem. 

  I knew that it wouldn't be my heimishe shul.  Congregation Kehilat Shalom is small and cozy.  We have deep discussions and know each other well.  

  I knew that it would be Orthodox, and thus women would be in the upper levels, separated from men.  I knew that the beliefs would be stricter than mine, and that I should not expect to see the mothers blessed alongside the fathers, or a prayer for all living beings alongside the prayer for the people of Israel.  As a visitor, I was okay with this.

  I had a vision though, an idealistic one perhaps, of the Shema.  

 To me, personally, there are two tenets of Judaism that live deep inside of me, from my  innermost core to the edge of my frizzy hair: Tikkun Olam and Unity.  Tikkun Olam is that message of repairing the world that I talk about frequently.  Unity is the idea that though we are diverse, we are all connected.  The Shema means "Hear, Oh Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One."  The religious and devout say this prayer multiple times each day.  When I sing it, I think about how I strive to relate to everyone, even people who seemingly have nothing in common with me.  I strive to feel connection to the moon and the stars, the crickets and the butterflies.    

   I look at the prayer in Hebrew, too, and I marvel at how certain letters stand out, making the connection with the Hebrew word for "Witness."  Part of my job as a Holocaust Scholar is bearing witness to the past so future generations will not suffer this way again.  I must feel connected to the past and the future.  We are one.  Shema-- hear, oh Israel.

   So here I am, and I had this hope for connection.  I had been told that "Jews everywhere" say the Shema.  It is what connects us all.  I also believe that, although melodies differ for other prayers from country to country and time to time, the Shema chant is old and constant.

    Well, I expected too much.  There were songs in the Orthodox ceremony that I sang from my soul. I knew them well and felt connected.  Most of my colleagues left a few minutes in, but I wanted to wait it out for the Shema.  I knew it was just a few prayers later in the Siddur.

  And when the congregants arrived on the page of the Shema, everyone was silent.

   Crickets.  

   Nothing.

   The mid-service Shema was done in silence.  My heart dropped.  I still feel sad about that!

   So, Friday night I was kind to myself.  I reminded myself that it has been an intense week, and maybe I'm feeling lonely because I'm far from home, or maybe there's some degree of Holocaust fatigue setting in.  I allowed myself to "have fun" on our day trip the next day.  I urged myself not to feel marginalized from my own faith.  

  Our day trip on Saturday was to the Northern region of Israel.  We drove along the Jordan border, past Bedouin tents and camels, through Tiberius, up along the Sea of Galilee and into the areas of early Christianity.  I saw amazing architectural ruins from the first synagogues and heard deep spiritual music from a group of Nigerian ladies who were making their baptism in the Jordan River.  (I quietly sang to myself: "There's one more river, and that one river is Jordan....")  My group went to the Mount of Beatitudes and to the Church of the Loaves and Fishes; we visit so many historical sites in the story of Jesus.  

   Some of this was beautiful.  The sea was calm, and I saw the Golan Heights just across it and wished they would find peace.  The international paintings of Mother Mary in Nazareth were stunning.   The village of Capernaum had amazing stone ruins and reminded me of the eternal feeling I had in the cliff dwellings of Mesa Verde.  

   

As a Jewish teacher visiting these sites, I felt a sadness that they were commercialized with bus after bus passing by and souvenir shops with the same tschatschkes and holy water.  In Nazareth, I was deeply saddened as I imagined a young Jesus who could not have imagined all the wars that would be started in his name.  On the bus, I thought how differently I have been brought up.  I was not told "The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth" as a value statement.  My science fiction professor mom taught me "The meek shall inherit the earth, the rest shall inherit the stars". 

 So, what's my takeaway? I'm neither fish nor fowl.  I guess I always knew that.  I need to fit in with my own skin and silliness, and I need to make my connections with myself and share my love with others.  I need to accept my outsider status and just keep learning and sharing and loving.

  But last night, what I needed above all, was to get sleep.  Sometimes that's where we humans go to recharge and reconnect.