Fear of Being Jewish - Facing a New Reality in the 21st Century

I have never experienced fear or apprehension associated with being Jewish.  Even when I traveled to Europe in the mid-80's, I felt trepidation about being an American, but not about being Jewish.  All that changed one evening last week. 

While serving hot chocolate to the homeless, three men that I believed were of Arab decent walked by and paused at our table of holiday offerings.  They looked at those of us they presumed to be Jewish and questioned us multiple times to determine if we were indeed Jewish. 

I was fortunate to be a part of a holiday event for The Night Ministry, a Chicago based organization working to bring housing, health care and human connection to members of the Chicago community struggling with poverty or homelessness.  Our Sisterhood has been involved with this organization for many years serving monthly dinners on a busy sidewalk location.  On this particular night, we had tables set up representing multiple religious and cultural winter holidays including Hanukkah which they had passed first on their way down the street. 

They stopped at our table and the first question they asked was if this was a Hanukkah celebration.  I think we had offered them hot chocolate.  The question was phrased very deliberately and when we answered that it was a holiday party for the homeless the next question was even more direct:  do you celebrate Hanukkah?  I think we were all a little surprised and no one answered so the next question was brought on right away - are you Jewish?

Honestly, I don't recall if we even answered them; but I was shocked at the questions and shocked at the realization that in the 21st Century, in my adult lifetime, I will experience fear for being Jewish.  I had been worrying about what my kids might experience on a college campus and trying to push those fears out of my mind recently; but suddenly I was confronted with personal fear.  Fear for my well being for no reason other than my religion.  Certainly I have felt fear and anxiety for Jewish people throughout the world in general lately.  Moreover, in light of recent events I have also come to realize what it must be like for African-Americans growing up as a minority due to race; but I have never experienced those feelings on a personal level. 

I grew up in a suburb that was composed of many religions, races and cultures but had enough Jewish people that the schools all closed on the Jewish Holidays.  I attended the University of Michigan and expanded my world to include friendships with people of many backgrounds and increased my awareness of worldly issues.  I moved to Chicago and lived in a city filled with every ethnic and religious group one could imagine and moved about protests and rallies on a fairly regular basis.  But I never experience fear on a personal level - until last week.

I have always felt relatively secure growing up and into my adulthood and thought of organized atrocities against Jews as a thing of the past.  I attended two important events recently.  One showing normal daily Jewish life in  pre-war Poland and the other about Jewish refugees from Arab lands.  While the images from these events spoke of generations before my own,  I think we have to face the reality that recent events are indicating that our reality may be changing.  The relative safety of Jews in the world has been shattered and our generation along with that of our children may be faced with difficult times and difficult decisions. 

ISIS vs. Israel - Confrontations on a College Campus and Realities We Need to Face

Just this week, the world was confronted with two atrocities forcing us to confront the realities we presently face in our own lifetime.  ISIS beheaded another American and the last remaining hope for a peaceful existence in Israel was shattered when two terrorists invaded Har Nof and viscously attacked worshipers - Rabbis no less - while they prayed in their synagogue.  I am sure the world was  shocked at the audacity of each of these actions and I am sure Israel experienced shock, grief and numbness as any thoughts of security in the religious sector disappeared. 

Unfortunately, many of us may feel removed from the actions of ISIS and the weight of this new bold form of terrorism in Israel; but I am sure more of us feel for our fellow Americans and fellow Jews as we realize that life as we experienced growing up may never be the same.  But what about our children?  Do they have a grasp on the realities that they will face?

I have a son who is a high school sophomore and a daughter who is a senior. Both my kids went to a Jewish Day School and have a sense of belonging to Judaism and a strong connection to Israel.  Both are aware of worldly events and are compassionate towards the plight of others.  As I begin to visit colleges for my daughter, I have come to realize that I need to make sure she is emotionally prepared for the world at large because certainly, a college campus best represents the world at large!  My daughter is outspoken and has strong feelings for what she believes in, but despite growing up in Chicago and attending a high school with very diverse students, I know that I will need to empower her to handle situations that can be dangerous.  Unfortunately, it's not only the campus parties that I am talking about.  While in Boston this summer, she witnessed a few anti-Israel protests.  At first I had advised her to keep her distance, but deep down I know at some point her safety is going to have to take a step back from her convictions and thoughts on social justice. 

But my concern right now is the reality she will face on college campuses.  I have heard many stories of anti-Israeli and anti-Jewish actions on campuses.  All campuses - even my own at the University of Michigan and it sickens me to think that my kids will have to deal with this ugly part of life in the twenty first century.  I saw this post college campus video on Facebook this evening and couldn't believe how there was such animosity toward Israel when clearly there is ignorance or tolerance for ISIS. 

I am not sure how to prepare my kids for the realities of their lifetime.   Up until recently, the experiences and exposures in their lives and my own were so distinct.  While I am still trying to learn how to deal with the shock of the atrocities of my own lifetime, I clearly need to include them in my plans.

When Life Ends - Does G-d Really Determine Our Destiny?

A young woman in Oregon took her own life today.  She decided today was the day she was going to die, with dignity, before her illness took the rest of her without her knowledge or consent.  Oregon  now allows for assisted suicide.  The Catholic Diocese, of course, could not condone her actions but acknowledged her actions and her death and sent condolences to her family. 

The news of this assisted suicide brought back memories of Dr. Jack Kevorkian who, as many of you may know, assisted in terminating lives of the terminally ill in the 1990's.  The reason this resonated with me all these years is because my father died of Alzheimer's Disease in 1989 and I watched Dr. Kevorkian's later career as it began with his first assisted suicide of an Alzheimer's patient in 1990 not far from the nursing home my father lived out the final chapter of his life.

I do not know what religion, if any, that Dr. Kevorkian practiced.  I do not know what stance, if any, that the Conservative Judaism Movement has on assisted suicide.  Clearly, the Catholic Diocese does not approve or endorse the practice but I do wonder what individual religious people think of this highly ethical issue.  Of course, the easy thing to say is that G-d determines when one's life should end; but on the other hand, no one really knows for sure if G-d controls individual destinies. 

Should religion even play a role in the debate on assisted suicide?   I am not going to debate the issue of pain and suffering.  I have no experience in that area as my experience is based more on decline of a person's mind and body.  The first issue in my mind is whether or not one can argue the importance of quality of life.  Because I watched my father's mind and body deteriorate over the course of ten plus years I feel I am qualified to have a valid opinion on the value of quality of life.  Quality is an important factor of life.  Quantity, ironically, I have decided is less important.  In the scope of humanity, does it really matter if someone lives to 106 as my grandmother did or to 46 as my brother did as long as each of them contributed to the best of their ability and made the most of the life span that they had?

What about the soul?  Does the soul stay intact as the body and mind deteriorate?  Is the soul independent of the mind and heart and ability of someone to love, think and maintain a state of being?  I hope so but of course, can't be sure.  Watching someone lose their character, love of life and entire personality makes it very difficult to feel confident that their soul is intact.  And even if the soul is intact, should that alone be a barrier to assisted suicide?

I did a quick Google search on whether Jewish law permits assisted suicide while knowing in my heart that it did not.  Not surprisingly, one source by Prof. Steven H. Resnicoff, DePaul University College of Law, stated:

"Unlike nonreligious legal systems, Jewish law assumes the existence of an omnipotent, omniscient and benevolent Creator whose purposes cannot always be fathomed. Jewish law also assumes a network of relationships between and among the Creator and all human beings. As a result of these assumptions, there is purpose and responsibility in every instant of life, for the individual and for the community, even though the purpose is not always readily apparent.
Jewish law imposes specific responsibilities on individuals to safeguard their own lives and to help others. The extent of these obligations, however, are not unlimited. The continued debate pertains to the nature of these limitations."

I imagine for some it is religion itself that would not allow for assisted suicide no matter what the circumstances.  I imagine for others it is faith more specifically that draws the line.  I envy those people who are so sure in their convictions on the topic.

I often wonder if death brings the answers to the questions that forever go unanswered.  While religion has brought so much to me in recent years I don't know if religion will ever provide me with the answer to the horrible experience I encountered while witnessing my father wither away to the point that I wondered what was even left. 

The More I Think I Have Traveled in My Journey, the More I Realize I Haven’t

I left a synagogue class today contemplative, pensive and somewhat sad.  In preparation for Rosh Hashanah, our class was about Hannah and her relationship with G-d as she angrily approached Him about her need to conceive a son.  The discussion, of course, led to the discussion of being able to experience a personal relationship with G-d and what it truly means to pray.  Feeling as if you are able to open up your soul and your heart and sharing all of your experiences with G-d – those that are prevailing as well as those that are defeating.  Being able to feel connected to G-d no matter where you are, whether it is in Shul, or watching a sunset or in taking a walk in the park, or on your way to work on the train.  Being in a place in life, time and space that enables you to feel connected to something bigger than you – something that has influence on you beyond what you can even comprehend.

I know how far I have come in the past few years, even beyond what I have learned in the educational realm.  I know that I have developed a connection to Judaism beyond the history and traditions.  I know that I feel a connection to my synagogue that I never imagined would be possible.  But what I don’t know is if I will ever have that type of relationship with G-d or even if it’s something  I will even hope to achieve.

This is something that is difficult to say, especially because I know for so many it is automatic.  I have not been brought up to have any real direct connection to G-d and one of the things I have often pondered about is how so many religious people take G-d for granted.  This is something I have always felt envious of, but certainly I also wondered how something so abstract could be taken for granted.

Recently, while sitting is Shabbat Services and feeling so in tune to the service, I had an “ah ha” moment.  With the repetitive nature of the weekly service and the beauty of the words, songs and messages; I suddenly realized that those individuals that were brought up in a synagogue had no reason to question their faith.  It simply was a part of their daily or weekly lives.  Once again I felt the familiar envy and intimidation my religious insecurities often lead to, but at least I now understood the “how” as well as the “why” something so important, yet so abstract, could be accepted without question.

Still, understanding why and how others can accept does little to help me get to that point.  My Rabbi once asked me if I could be at least open to the idea that G-d exists and certainly I am.  I feel as if I am closer to understanding the need to believe that G-d exists, but I don’t know if I will ever get to that point in my life to fully believe and that makes me sad.  I also must admit that I don’t know if I currently feel the need to get to that point in my life and that makes me even sadder. 

My Rabbi also told me once that he used to stop, take deep breaths and allow G-d to enter his life.  I had forgotten that until just now and while I know that I will never pray on a daily basis, this is something I think I am comfortable with and am ready to try. 

Reaching A Milestone: 11 Months of Kaddish for My Mom and Learning to Live My Life Without Her

Death is such a encompassing concept.  Hundreds or thousands can die at a time from  war or a catastrophic event and it can feel so far away from us as individuals if we are not directly affected.  On the other hand, we lose someone close to us and the exact opposite is true - death is so personal and  intimate.  I remember having this thought when my brother died after 911.

I recently said Kaddish for my mom for the last time at the end of the eleven month cycle.  I was a little confused because it was several weeks before either the Hebrew calender or regular calendar anniversary of her death but apparently this year was a leap year so there was an extra month.  I tried to say Kaddish once a week for my mom since her death and I had so many mixed feelings about that last morning a few weeks ago; but what I didn't appreciate at the time is that I am finally a grown up - carrying out such an important privilege and responsibility of adult Jewish life.  While this ritual is certainly not chosen by all Jewish adults, certainly learning to live our lives without our parents is an experience we all share.  I realized that this is a "milestone" no different than the milestones we reached in our youth such as walking, speaking our first words or starting school.  It is a turning point in most people's lives with challenges that I had never anticipated.  I never imagined how hard it is as a woman, to no longer have your mother in your life.  I have gained a new respect for everyone I know, young and old, who have lost their mothers.  Of course, this is not to say that losing a father or either parent for a man is any different, but I can only reflect on my loss of my mother as her absence is still so strongly felt.

I mentioned that I had mixed feelings on my last day of Kaddish.  Of course I was deeply saddened as I was reminded of my personal loss and sad that a landmark of time passed without her being able to continue to experience life.

I had other feelings on that day that I must share.  First, I felt pride in myself that I was able to more or less maintain the commitment to weekly Kaddish.   This is something I had never even known about and as I progress on My Journey, I felt strongly about accomplishing this for my mom and my self.  But I also had felt disappointment  that I could still not recite Kaddish well enough at the pace it is said during Kaddish and that I was not able to reach that as a goal I had set for myself.  Finally, I felt incredible gratitude for the solace and comfort I received from supportive community of my synagogue and our Rabbis.

"Learning to live without one's mother" is an expression that I have come to appreciate and a task I have spent the last eleven plus months trying to figure out  how best to do.  I imagine that this necessity of life will be different at different times of my life, but I know it is something we all must come to terms with.

Standing Tall with Pride at Being Jewish

I've never been more proud to be Jewish then I was today.  I have felt sadness, anxiety, optimism, despair, and frustration over the situation in Israel just like everyone else.  I have felt gratitude for the IDF, empathy for their parents, concern for all Israelis, frightened for the southern Israelis, respect for the Israeli leaders, sorrow for the Gazan civilians and disgust and even pity for the radical Islamics.  But today, as I read one particular blog entry,  I was filled with pride.

I have been reading the Times of Israel blog entries continually and I have really been impressed that this particular blog seemed to be fair in its reporting and not slanted as some of the other blogs and Israeli social media outlets have been.  I have found myself riveted by not only the military events of the month; but of the social, political and interpretive comments.  While my knowledge of Israeli politics and political parties is very limited I have begun to understand the view of both the right and the left.

I really intended to write this week about either my first experience observing Tisha B'Av or about the conclusion of saying Kaddish for my mom; but those will have to wait. 

Today I read an entry that reported  Prime Minister Netanyahu's statements since the cease fire.  First of all, I was impressed with his ability to quickly switch gears from making military decisions to speaking (at least portrayed in the media) calmly about the current situation and moving forward in his role as prime minister.  He reportedly offered condolences to the Palestinian citizens harmed or killed and said, “Israel deeply regrets every civilian casualty, every single one. We do not target them. People of Gaza are not our enemies. Our enemy is Hamas.”  Another post stated that Netanyahu stressed “every civilian casualty is a tragedy." 

But the posted quote that affected me the most was what seemed to me a bold and direct statement that clearly is not going to be supported by much of the international community or even by all Israelis. 

Raphael Ahren wrote, "It would be 'a moral mistake,' he says, not to act against terrorist fire from mosques, schools and residential areas. Such behavior would represent 'an enormous victory for terrorists everywhere,' he says.  If this were to happen, more and more civilians would die around the world, he says.  Terrorists must not be allowed to 'fight from civilian areas with impunity'."

I'm not exactly sure why this post filled me with such pride and made me think how thankful I was to be Jewish.  Maybe because I recognized the leadership that was needed to be able to publically make this comment.  Maybe because I respected the decisions that were made in order to shape the future of all civilizations.  Maybe I had a sudden realization that these qualities are what drive the Jewish people, both collectively and individually.  I'm not sure; but I instantly felt pride in Benjamin Netanyahu, in Israel, and in my Judaism.

I know enough to know that not all of Netanyahu's decisions were supported by all of Israel's leaders and that many felt that it was a mistake to agree to the current ceasefire.  There is certainly more than one way to approach a political and/or military dilemma but I also know how important it is to support the final decision.  I have gained such respect, and pride, Israel and the decisions that were made.

Saying how proud I am to be Jewish seems like a paradox as just three weeks ago I told my 17 year old daughter to stay away from the anti-Israeli protesters and the Israeli supporters while she was in Boston.  With four weeks of education and enlightenment behind me, I think now I would instead tell her watch her surroundings, stay in a group and to be sure to stand tall while supporting Israel.

Praying for Israel - I am Amazed at How Important This Has Become to Me

I knew last Shabbat that I needed to go to services to pray for Israel.  While I have been trying to go weekly to say Kaddish for my mom, I felt the need to go last week to participate in the prayer for Israel.  While I still struggle on whether or not I believe in prayer, it was very important to me that I participate in the prayer for Israel.  The desire I felt and of course continue to feel is very deep and imbedded within me and has come as a surprise to me.

I woke up late Saturday morning and contemplated for a moment about not going, but knew this was something I needed to do.  The only problem was that in my synagogue's Siddur, the prayer is not transliterated.  Over the past year or so, I have felt a disconnect from those standing around me and felt removed from the rest of my congregation because I could not contribute during that particular prayer.  I have actually felt a disconnect to Israel as I stood there not being able recite the entire prayer and I knew that on last Shabbat; standing among the others and simply standing was no longer enough. 

I was rushing to get out of the house but first stopped to find a transliteration that I could bring with.  While it was still difficult to follow along I at least felt that I was moving in the right direction and working toward not only being part of a community, but joining in my community in something that I knew in my heart was important, significant and essential.   

When I say important, significant and essential - I don't just mean to the well being of Israelis and the future of Israel and our people; I mean how important, significant and essential it was for me to be able to participate.  No one is more surprised at the depth that I feel now toward Israel then myself.  Intellectually, I am not surprised that I am glued to the live blog from The Times of Israel; but spiritually I am surprised of the depth of the concern and support I felt and continue to feel.  While this war is likely a turning point for Israel, it is certainly turning out to be a turning point for me personally.

Feeling Connected to Israel, The Media and Learning From Israelis.

Below is the entry from one week ago when I was compelled to write how I felt connected to the situation in Israel because I had visited there, even more than because I am a Jew; and also wondering how connected others felt.  While, I certainly still do feel that way, with all that has occurred in one week's time, I simply can't leave it at that.

I have become addicted to the Israeli Times Live Blog - constantly checking it for updates.  Last night, I couldn't sleep until I knew what was happening with the humanitarian cease fire.  I have also become dependent on Facebook posts and links and in reading what those that I know who are in Israel think and post. 

Although it seemed that the news outlets have been devoting more time to the stories of the current conflict, I am still amazed at how little the networks are airing on TV - including CNN - who in the past has milked stories of war and conflict for all they could.  So many evenings this week I have wanted to get an update offline, but found the usual talk shows were still airing.  Certainly the days news from Israel was more important!

Of course now with today's downing of Malaysia Airline Flight 17,  the focus of TV news will pull away from Israel and will be an inhibiting factor for Americans connecting with the conflict in Israel.  What I don't understand is why there is now constant coverage of a situation that is not going to change, or whose developments will come in very, very slowly when the situation in Israel is constantly changing hour by hour! 

I also feel compelled to comment on something else I wrote last week asI think my thoughts written below may no longer hold true.  A friend of mine who is currently studying in Israel was so impressed to see a group of Israelis dancing the other evening and living their lives as best they could under the current circumstances.  While before I was considering the possibility that many living in Israel did not want to face the reality of the situation as it was beginning to unfold, but maybe a more accurate viewpoint is that they continue to have courage and strength to live their day to day lives.  And from what I am reading on Israelis' Facebook pages, they do live their lives despite the fear and trauma they may be facing!  I hope we can all learn from the strength, courage and commitment shown by our fellow Jews living in Israel.


I am so grateful I had the opportunity to visit Israel this past year.  Not because as Haaretz.com says, "Israel's calm years are over," but because now I have a greater awareness and sensitivity for Israel that I would not have otherwise.  Obviously as an adult Jew, I have always been aware of the plight of Israel to some extent, but I feel more connected to the events of this turbulence time in a way that I did not during the previous major uprising.

While on our synagogue mission in December, the rockets from Gaza began to slowly increase in frequency.   I have been told that those living in Israel say its part of their everyday life and they don't become alarmed at the news if a terrorist's rocket here and there and the isolated events are of little concern to most residents.  However,  at the time my niece was a journalist with the IDF and through conversations with her it became apparent that the intensity of the situation was increasing.

I was surprised how the Israeli community took the news in stride.  Was it because of the heightened sense of security that one feels from the presence of the IDF that my niece always speaks of?  Was it because of their total faith in their government? Was it because of a feeling of stability within the region because life in Israel had been is calm?  Or did their acceptance of events come from not wanting to acknowledge or accept changes in the life, culture and peacefulness in their everyday lives?  Did the average Israeli citizens close their eyes to the inherent dangers and internalize a false sense of security?   Do average American Jews close their eyes to the ongoing questionable fate of Israel?   Or am I way off base for even wondering if this may be the case?

Certainly,  tragedy and terror have a way of bringing people together and feeling connected. With the murders of Equal Yucatan, Naptime Franken and Gil-ad Share, Jews a cross the world joined in solidarity both in action and in thought and have been in tune with recent events.

As more detailed news and specifics filter in on Facebook posts and links, mot of us are aware of the extent of instability of the region;  but do we really have a grasp of the situation?  By now we have all seen the Facebook site of Israelis happily posting selflies from their shelters.   My sister-in-law seemed content to know that the rocket headed for Tel Aviv was intercepted and assumes her daughter is safe.

More and more Jews are actively seeking news because,  as usual,  mainstream news on Israel is limited.  Aside from hearing the news and learning of the ongoing, I wonder if most American Jews actually feel connected to Israel.

A few years ago I asked my grandmother, who was born in New York in 1907,  how she felt when Israel became a nation.  Her answer surprised me.  She said she couldn't recall thinking one way or another about it.  My grandmother had spent her entire life as a Jew in Diaspora without a strong sense of attachment to the Jewish population at large m. She was an American first and a Jew second.  I have a feeling that that sentiment was, and is, not uncommon to those removed from religious culture and upbringing.

In addition to my relationship with my synagogue think my visit to Israel has provided me with a growing connection to Israel.  Had I not been to Israel and not developed an appreciation of our history,  gratitude for the land of Israel,  an understanding if out plight and even a sense of honor; I may too may feel removed from the present day events and what it may mean for the future of both Israel and our people.   I am so thankful to my synagogue for helping me feel connected during these uncertain times.

"When You Die...You Will See G-d" - Did I Really Just See That on a Billboard??

"When You Die....You Will See G-d"

While driving to Detroit for the unveilings/dedication ceremonies for my mom and grandmother, I saw a rather large billboard with the statement above.  Large font, black letters on a white background - you couldn't miss the message, even at 80 mph.  My most immediate thought was:  do people really believe this - that you confronted and are reunited with G-d once you die?  I am sure many do but I am willing to bet that just as many, even those that have believe in G-d, do not.

While this declaration presented itself as just that - a statement of fact - my next thought was really as if it were a question.  "When you die, will you see G-d?"  Obviously, none of us know the answer but the question immediately brought several thoughts to mind.  One of which I have yet to share with anyone but will do so today.

First, I must say that I am always amazed, and envious even, of those who fully believe that they will be with G-d once their presence and energy is no longer part of our world.  I think it is wonderful that people are able to find peace in the presence of death of a loved one by believing that there is something on the other side of conscience life.  Having had my share of personal loss, I have had ample opportunities to ponder this question, even if it hasn't been through faith or religious thought in the past.  I have gone back and forth on what I think actually happens but each thought I have had seems to always relate to finding comfort when you have lost someone.

I have been following a blog of a mother of a five year old who was diagnosed with terminal cancer and whose faith was so devoted, without question, to truly believe that her son, at age five, was blessed to be able to return to his maker.  Granted, she was not of our religion and her beliefs were apparently imbedded in her since her childhood; but to be able to believe that your child was going to a better place and to express gratitude was beyond anything I could have imagined.  I kept waiting to see if she wrote of the pain of her impending loss and finally was almost a little relieved when she finally dealt with her loss on a purely emotional level, putting religion aside.

Obviously none of us will ever have the answer to the question "When you die, will you see G-d" and of course, none of us can make this declaration as a statement of fact.  I recently told a classmate of mine in the course I was taking on finding faith that this was a question I have been wanting to present to my Rabbi.  I would love to know what he thinks; but I haven't found the courage yet to ask him.  

I have however, found the courage to admit that when my brother died (dead brother #2), I felt jealous that he was able to know the answer.  I know this sounds odd and certainly I was not jealous that he died; but it was the first loss I had suffered as an adult during this time of exploring my religion and faith.  It was the first time I had not only questioned death, but questioned what happened at death, spiritually.  After witnessing the deaths of both my grandmother and mother, I know what happens during those last moments of life physically and have formed opinions on what occurs to both body and soul in those moments based on what I witnessed, but now, more than ever, I wonder what actually happens spiritually.

Will I see G-d when I die?  I will never know of course; but as I go through life and explore our religious beliefs and background for those beliefs, I hope that when the time comes I will be confident and secure in accepting whatever knowledge I will be presented with, if anything at all.  In the mean time, I will continue to seek answers and look to our religion for comfort in what we all have to face. As I prepare for the unveilings this week, I will look to our faith and the words in the prayers that I will read to enable me to continue in this journey of life while deeply missing those that are no longer with me.

Seeing G-d in Every Sunset is Simply Not Enough Anymore

Faith. 

Faith is defined as believing in G-d.  As children we are either taught to believe in G-d, instinctively believe in G-d or doubt in the existence of G-d.  As adults, faith differs from person to person as well.  As a child growing up witnessing “bad things happen to good people” I was amongst those who had doubt.  As I moved into adulthood, I put the idea of faith aside while I lived my life, witnessing more bad things as we all do, and believing that while G-d may exist, he has no control of individual lives.  I may have felt G-d in the sunset each day, in the beauty of flowers, in the delight of a new puppy and as I studied medicine - the brilliant and delicate way our bodies are designed.  I believed that G-d was responsible for life overall but I think what I was really believing in was Mother Nature.  When things started going downhill for my mother, I again questioned my beliefs.  I wished that I could find faith in the hour of need as more religious people seem to be able to, but I didn’t see how.  My Rabbi helped take me to the first step of believing in the possibility of G-d and so that I wouldn’t have the feeling that I was alone.  Sure, I could believe in the possibility of G-d.

 
I recently took a course at my synagogue on faith.  The ten week class intended to guide us in defining, seeking, and exploring faith in so many ways.  For me, the class brought on more questions than it answered, but it has opened my eyes that seeing G-d in the sunrise and sunset is simply not good enough anymore.  I have come to realize that faith isn’t simply believing (or believing in the possibility) but means to be able to be in a relationship with G-d. 

Relationships can be complicated.  Relationships are difficult as it is with living beings.  There are relationships with those you have known all your life and relationships with those you just meet.   I have always thought of the word relationship in context to another human being.  I had never thought of having a relationship with G-d; but as I think about it, we have relationships with our environments, relationships with every one of life’s situations and even objects that we love!  We wouldn’t we have a relationship with G-d!

All relationships happen on their own time line – some faster than others.  I have no expectations for myself.  I am sure families that are religious ensure their children have a relationship with G-d by establishing religious beliefs early on.  I am sensitive to others who seem to instinctively accept G-d despite all those bad things happening as well as those who actively try to find that relationship.  I recently stumbled upon the blog of a woman whose five year old son was dying and was astounded how her faith kept her positive and how her belief in prayer served her the same in hoping her son would improve, in keeping her strong as he deteriorated, and remaining faithful as she enters her new phase of life without her son.  I was so impressed with her ability to not question her faith.  Conversely, I have a friend who has been studying Torah for years and is so versed in the content as well as multiple interpretations but is unable to feel G-d presence during Shabbat Services despite his efforts.

I have come to understand (at least intellectually) that accepting and honoring the Torah puts us in a relationship with G-d, but of course, I am approaching this cerebrally as an adult and not from habit or from the benefit of growing up with teachings.   As I encounter more people seeking and experiencing this very personal relationship, I continue to be jealous of those with a more religious background and struggle to find my own relationship with G-d.  While in Israel, I didn’t have the spiritual awakening I was hoping I would, but at the time, I knew that was probably not going to just happen.  I now understand that I need to have a more active role in my relationship with G-d to feel spiritual as this relationship would be no different than establishing any other relationship.

I actually had an “Ah-ha” moment a few weeks ago in Services.  While the Haftorah was being recited, I was reading the Torah portion and with the Trope chanting in the background, I was totally engaged in what I was reading.  I have been reading the Torah now for almost two years but this was the first time that I was totally engrossed in what I was reading.  I don’t know if I would say I was connecting to G-d; but I did feel different and had a sense that I was in a more spiritual place even if it was for just that moment.  While I will continue to look to the sunsets to feel G-d’s presence, I know that I need to look beyond Mother Nature to secure my relationship with G-d and to truly establish faith.

The Middle East –Persecution and Exodus - Past and Present - for Jews, Christians and Muslims

My new, albeit much overdue, interest in Israel has led me to the realization that my lack of interest in history of any kind growing up has left me at a tremendous disadvantage.   While barely interested in American History, I had absolutely no interest in World History, Politics or World Religion and certainly no idea how the three are intertwined.  I supposed I was not unlike other premed students; but my lack of knowledge in these areas has presented itself as a huge deficiency in my adult life. 

My study of our history beyond our Bible is still in its early stages, but I know enough to understand the imposed exodus and diaspora that occurred following the destruction of both the First the Second Temples.  I know enough to understand the powerful drive that through our history, we have always had to return to Israel.  I know enough to understand why we claim rights to the land of Israel.  What I recently realized, however, is that I don’t know enough about the history of the other inhabitants of the Middle East.

My Detroit suburb was predominately Jewish but as the years went on, the area became more Chaldean.  I knew little of these new neighbors other than they were from Iraq and seemed to like very large displays of Christianity on their front lawns.  I am embarrassed to admit that it wasn’t until many years later that I learned that they were prosecuted in their homeland because of their religious beliefs and were forced to leave Iraq to pursue religious freedom and took great pride in being able to do so in their new homes.  What I didn’t realize at the time, was that the Jews of suburban Detroit were not much different from their new Arab neighbors, but separated by many generations in their experiences.  Our history of persecution is not unique.  I recently realized that the Jews, Christians and Muslims seem to all be in similar positions over time. 

On our Israel trip, we explored the Golan Heights on a jeep tour and saw the remnants of the Six Day War.  It was easy to imagine what our people went through while I was photographing land mines that may still be active and bunkers that had been destroyed.  But when our driver told us that he took a group close to an area overlooking the Syrian border where they could see, first hand, the gunfire of the Syrian Civil War; I realized that religious persecution existed well beyond our own confines.  It brought to light the present day current events in a way that it never had before.

I pay attention to the world news much more than I did years ago.  I now read The Times of Israel online regularly. While I find the online articles especially helpful with multiple links as references, I find many of the readers’ comments from strong religious supporters of all religions disconcerting.   Often the comments are one sided and hurtful – no matter which side they are supporting.

I am thankful that more headline stories are of personal accounts of world news happenings because it truly makes me understand the issues as being social and cultural - not simply political.  The articles on Muslim families forced to leave the Central African Republic and then ambushed on their way out seems to go hand in hand with that I learned about my ancestors in Poland not so many years ago.  Is their situation any different than our own generations ago? Last week, I read an article on Syrian Christians living in Chicago and openly celebrating Easter for the first time in years and recalled stories of Jews who celebrated holidays and Shabbat in secret.  In fact, a recent Facebook post photo showed Jews from 1943 hiding in Poland secretly baking Matzo for Passover.  Back in high school, I did not understand the significance of my new neighbors being able to display their religion.  Religious freedom is something that I had always taken for granted.

While in Israel, I was struck by the tolerance that seemed to exist in the Old City of Jerusalem and shed new light on the tumultuous relationships that Christians and Muslims share with Jews.    Putting political and religious powers that be aside, I was surprised to see how the Jews, Christians and Muslims who actually lived and prayed in the Old City seemed to do so seamlessly.  It’s my understanding that no one argues that there are sites within the Holy City that are holy to all three religions; but it seems that those that are honoring their individual religion in the Old City are able to do so while respecting, or at least accepting, each of the others. 

As I research the exodus of other religions from ancient times to present, I have a better understanding of the world at large and how political agendas affect religious groups and the rights of individuals.   Yom HaShoah was recently observed and while we will certainly never forget and are committed to making sure others don’t either; my recent education empowers me to understand and continue to learn not only about the persecution of others and the political forces that are involved, but to respect those affected individually.  As I read the article about a Syrian woman who finally was able to leave Syria and secure safe passage to her sister in Chicago, I wished that I had had more sensitivity toward my new neighbors back in Detroit.

 

 

 

 

Masada - Sharing a Memory with Millions While Feeling So Alone

We went to Masada.  Us and everyone else - everyone goes to Masada. It is consistently one of the top three tourist sights in Israel.  We are a group of 42, but probably 42 of approximately 800,000 individuals who visited Masada during the year 2013.  If so many people visit Masada, then why did I feel so alone on the top of that plateau?

We stood with our tour guide, Otto, at the very sight where so many Jews made the difficult decision to end their lives in order to preserve the integrity of their religion, culture and dignity.  We stood and listened.  We listened to the story - a story complete with history, landmarks, remnants of Jewish life,  evidence of persecution and a story filled with emotion.  A story that as Otto put it:  we were experiencing a memory, not just history.  I truly felt that I was sharing in that memory.

The experience of being at Masada was certainly a shared memory.  We were given details of life on Masada and daily experiences that indeed made us feel as if it was a memory of our own.  As I looked at our group of 42, I began to understand that those that were here before our group were really no different than us.  It could have been us, each of us, living in fear and having to make such a difficult decision.  Our ancient ancestors were no different than us - it could have been us.  As I looked around from person to person - families, children, grandchildren and grandparents - I realized that it was us here so many years ago.  We were no different, except that we were born into a safer time and a safer place.  At least that is what we keep telling ourselves.

I was filled with emotions but I was also filled with the sense of being so alone in my emotions.  While so many people were there on that day, not to mention every day before and after our visit, I was surprised that I felt so alone.  I sensed the spirit of cohesiveness our ancestors must have had and I certainly felt it among our group; but I felt alone in my emotions and I wondered if others did as well.  Maybe the feelings I was experiencing - heart breaking sadness, futility, loss of a people - our people,  and utter despondency - can't be shared.  Perhaps these and other feelings I was unable to identify can only be felt deep within oneself and can't even be explained, let alone expressed.  Perhaps the only way to truly feel what our ancestors felt on Masada was to imagine what each individual must have felt as they came to terms with their decision and that no matter how bonded they were as a group; in the end, they were all alone.

As I stood on the cliffs of Masada overlooking the Roman camps I truly felt the pain of the memories of our ancestors.  I know each and every one of the 800,000 visitors to Masada that year must have felt the same, but I can only imagine that each of them also felt the vast loneliness while standing in their history.

Souvenirs From Israel....A Timeless Tradition

Souvenirs from Israel.....so many chatzkies, so many choices.  I didn't think too much of it while I was in Israel; but as I am going through my mother's house,  I just realized what a timeless tradition is was, and is, to give and receive tokens of the land of Israel.

One thing that impressed upon me the most while on our trip is that Israel belongs to each of us.  I had never thought of it that way.  Actually,  I never really understood what it meant that the land belonged to the Jewish people (we will leave out all politics and others' claims to the land for right now).  Certainly I knew that Israel is the Jewish Homeland and is welcoming toJews from all countries;  but while there, I gained a total appreciation of the dynamics and reality of living in Israel and feeling like it's my home too.

I was shocked to learn that such a large portion of the land, the actual land,  was purchased and contines to be purchased by Jewish organizations so that it actually belongs to all of us.   Israel belongs to me my children and G-d willing, their children.  Because I am Jewish, I have the right to live in Israel. I have the privilege of applying for, and making, Aliyah if I want to.

I understand now how dependent Israel is of support from Jews of other countries.  I was impress r d to learn of the countless organizations world wide that provide support to Israel. I recently found out about  American Physicians and Friends, a group that brings Israeli physicians to the US for training and provides disaster training for US doctors.   I immediately began a dialogue and planning for a conference for my profession to be held in Israel in 2016.  While in Israel, I gained a sense of personal responsibility for Israel and will do what I can to promote and support Israel including learning her history and helping bring others to experience what I experienced while there.

Many people have been fortunate to visit Israel severseveralsl times and for many more, a visit is a once in a lifetime experience. Neither my mother nor grandmother had ever been to Israel, but I know that each felt a sense of dedication and inclusiveness based of the souvineers they saved.  Bringing a gift for someone is certainly the meaningful when traveling,  but receiving a gift from Israel means so much more.

Experiencing Israel Through Emotions - From Day 4 of Our Trip

I had a difficult time putting my thoughts into words, because really, its not thoughts I was having, but emotions.  Emotions I was unable to distinguish.  Emotions that arose from nowhere.  Emotions that I had a hard time identifying.

We had been in Jerusalem for four days.  While I hadn't had a spiritual awakening or even a spiritual connection to all that I had seen as of yet, I was certainly having a visceral experience that I did not expect.  While others may have experienced a variety of emotions when visiting the Kotel for the first time based on their upbringing, knowledge and study and respect for the Wall, I experienced pure emotion unattached to these attributes and background which I lacked.

I was teary eyed when I first visualized the Wall, cried when I approached and touched the Wall, sobbed quietly when I placed a not into the crack of the wall on Shabbat, and fought back tears when saying Kaddish for my mom during our Mincha service while facing the Wall.  While my mother was not very religious, the timing of this visit made saying Kaddish for her in Israel an especially important part of this trip for me.

I had no idea how powerful visiting the Kotel would be.  As I learned the history of The Temple, the Wall itself and especially how the 1967 War once again changed our access to the Wall, I was overcome with emotion.  I am sure that part of my emotional response was tied to missing my mother; but I am also sure that it was much more than that.

While visiting Masada that day, standing on top of the mountain, overlooking the Roman camps and learning the story of the brave and difficult decision our people - our ancestors - were forced to make, I could not stop crying.  I easily imagined our group as the community that lived on Masada for six plus years who finally had to make the ultimate sacrifice to maintain dignity and respect for their families and their faith.

I am still unsure how to label the emotions I felt; but certainly pride, respect and loss are all playing a role.  Maybe even shame that I am just now learning about Israel and gaining both an understanding and love for the country - our county.  I suspect, however, there is more to my emotions that I have yet to realize and I look forward to exploring my feelings in the years ahead as I continue my education of Israel.

Is Honoring Shabbat Enough (at least for now)?

I don't observe Shabbat.  I have enjoyed and am comfortable with lighting the Shabbat Candles and welcoming and honoring Shabbat.  However, I drive on Shabbat, I partake in activities on Saturday, I cook on Saturday, and I do not have Shabbat dinners.  I have however, stopped doing work related activities on Saturday and begun to treat the day different then Sundays.

I find it difficult to be in services when I know I don't observe Shabbat.  I have been going to services, not as an expression of observing Shabbat, but more as a learning experience, at least for right now.  Recently, I began reading the English during services as opposed to focusing on the transliteration.  In several areas of the Siddur, I almost felt ashamed to be in Shul as I read about the gift of Shabbat.  I felt very uneasy knowing the prayers were about the importance of observing Shabbat and knowing that I do not observe.  Although, other sections that were about praising G-d and his gifts to us - life, Torah, and even Shabbat.  I could appreciate those sections and felt good to be apart of what I was reading.

Reading the English has enabled me to take a more active, engaging role during services.  Certainly, reading/chanting the transliteration made me feel engaged and part of the community; but without knowing what I was reading made it difficult to feel actively involved.  Reading the English definitely helped.

So, for now, I will continue with lighting of the candles, going to services when I can and learning about Shabbat.  For now, I can only honor Shabbat in this way and respect the gift that has been given to me and feel apart of the community that I belong to.

Lighting Shabbat Candles - How Does it Feel?

"How did it feel?"  That was the question that each and every religious person asked me when I told them I lit the candles that first Shabbat.  I was surprised at that question when my Rabbi first asked me and perplexed when our ritual director asked me the exact same question. 

The only way I could answer each of them was to tell them how I didn't feel. 

I didn't feel awkward or embarrassed or odd. 

It didn't feel awkward or uncomfortable or odd. 

It was fine.   I had decided to light the candles by myself and for myself.   My thinking was that if I became comfortable with lighting Shabbat Candles by myself, it would not be a big deal to incorporate that into our Friday evening if we ever decide to do a Shabbat dinner.  I knew that it was the first step in that direction.  I knew that I had to do this for myself before I could do this with someone else.

It has been three weeks now that I have lighten the candles.  I am still not sure how I felt - pride, maybe;  a sense of accomplishment for sure; happy, certainly because that comes with a sense of personal satisfaction. 

I don't know if those responses were what was anticipated when the question was put before me.  I don't know that I felt anything spiritual, but I think I did feel a sense of belonging. 

I am wondering exactly what responses were anticipated by the first two that questioned me; but I do know, that by the time the third person (another Rabbi) asked me, I think I began to understand the question just a little bit more.

Trying to Overcome the Next Fear - Lighting Shabbat Candles

One of the things that so impressed me while being in Israel was how serious religious people are about Shabbat.  Obviously, I know that the Orthodox and many Conservative Jews observe Shabbat and I am aware that it is considered one of the most important holidays; but I never realized how people truly love, and respect, Shabbat.  Watching the multiple groups of religious adults, both young and old, dancing Friday night outside the Kotel is an image I will not forget.

While in Jerusalem, we attended services at three different synagogues.  The first was an Orthodox Italian Synagogue where the women sat in the balcony and could peer down through  3/4 closed shutters at the service below.  I was overcome by the splendor of the small Shul, the solemnness of the service and the absolute beauty of their Torah.  But what struck me most that day was the reverence and admiration they had for both the Torah and the service.  It's not that I haven't noticed those things in my own Synagogue, but I seem to have seen things in a different light on that day.  Maybe it as the vantage point I had while sitting above in the balcony.

Given that this week's Parasha is B'Shallah and that honoring Shabbat is first mentioned here in the Torah, I have been thinking all week long that I might like to honor Shabbat in some way this weekend.  I am planning on going to Services, but that isn't enough of a step for me at this point.  I have been debating all week whether or not to light candles and say Kiddush and Hamotzi.

My daughter is sleeping out tonight and my son has a friend over.  Not the best weekend to start this.  Or maybe it is, I don't know.  I am not planning a major meal and am not in the frame of mind to fully accept the Sabbath (and don't know if I ever will) but I think if I don't at least light the candles this week (tonight actually), I will never do it.  I feel silly that after all these years, I have never done it.  Well, maybe once or twice.  Many years ago I purchased candle sticks and a bread knife that I always intended to use for Shabbat and I think we may have had a Friday night Shabbat dinner once or twice when the kids were young.  I still have a hard time participating in one ritual and observance but not the others associated with Shabbat, but I think I have to do this one step at a time. 

I don't know if I will ever fully observe Shabbat -  I think its difficult to make this commitment so  late in life while there are others I live with who have no intention of making it with me.  Of course, that is entirely my fault and I regret not starting and having a more religious home when my kids were little but there isn't much I can do about that now.  I can only show my kids that I have realized, at least at this point in my life, that religion is important and needs to be integrated in some way and hope that they will carry that message with them as they become adults.

I am going to pull out my candlesticks, the Kiddush cup from our wedding that we also used for the B'nai Mitzvahs and the bread knife.  Even if we are only having Chili for dinner tonight and even if I do this before my son and his friend come down to the table.  I need to do this for myself.  And hopefully, it will make it easier for me the next time.

Shabbat Shalom

Tel Aviv – From Sixty Six Families to the Jewish Metropolitan Mecca it is Today

Unfortunately, my initial experiences in Israel consisted of listening to Christmas songs on the plane (LOT Polish Airline) upon landing and the strong odor of urine at the bathroom at Ben Gurion Airport!  But otherwise, our first day in Tel Aviv was exactly what I expected – big city living amongst a Jewish population.  What I quickly came to lean about Tel Aviv, however, was far from big city life.

On the first day of our group trip, we went to Independence Hall and my education of Israel really began.  Growing up, I really knew nothing about Israel, except that I remember in the 70’s when “no land for peace” was the popular American Jewry thought.  To learn that in 1909, sixty six (66) Jewish families formally established the city of Tel Aviv was astounding to me.  Sixty six families used their resources, skills, determination and vision to form this independent Hebrew city despite all that was against them during that time because they knew it simply must happen.

We participated in a dig at the Beit Guvrin Caves earlier in the day where we witnessed evidence of life as far back as the third century BCE.  We were told that recently a 1700 year old menorah was found in the area and my son even dug up part of an animal jaw with its teeth still intact!  The idea of Jews actively living in the actual land I was on - and digging through - in biblical times brought the study of the Torah close to my heart.  The history I have been learning about from the Torah covered so many generations; but later in the day, at the Independence Hall, I was struck by the contrast of the more “recent” history of the rapid growth of Tel Aviv from 1909 forward.

My grandmother was born in 1907.  That meant that Tel Aviv, Israel’s largest metropolitan area, had gone from non-existence to a small, well thought out village, to the fast paced financial center and young and hip big city mecca that it is today during the life time of one individual.   I know that these past 104 years, just as the previous hundreds and even thousands of years were not without fights and struggles.   I am coming to appreciate how the Jewish people are forever overcoming those challenges because of a strong determination much like that of those initial sixty six families;  and I know in my heart that we will continue to overcome Israel’s current struggles and status challenges because Israel simply must be what it must be.