Category: Judaism

Kabbalat Shabbat – A Religious Experience of Love and Acceptance

by Chris Orrey (10 Minute Read)

During my year of Judaism I attended Kabbalat Shabbat services at Kehilla Synagogue on various Friday nights. Kehilla felt to me to be the little-synagogue-that-could. The services I enjoyed were often sparsely attended, but there was an undercurrent I felt when I entered the Kehilla space that told my soul I am on to something. On one particular Friday night, this was magnified into a religious experience that I will carry in my heart always. This one service, so full of love and acceptance, was the antidote to every negative religious experience I had prior or since. On that magical night, I experienced what is possible with religion.

As I walked into the right-side door of the double-door entrance and up the 5 or 6 stairs that lead to the second floor and the entrance to the [chapel], I felt a familiar stirring in me. It was a mix of nervous anticipation and hope, a familiar feeling each time I walked into a place of worship. I had almost cancelled being there, in lieu of taking my mom to look at a used birdcage. Mom and the Universe seemed to know, however, that I needed to be there. I looked down the hall ahead of me and saw a regular Kehilla congregant come out of the All Gender restroom. The reminder of Kehilla as a safe space felt reassuring.

I entered the sanctuary to my right. If it wasn’t for the large wooden cabinet on the bimah in the front of the room, Kehilla could look like any Christian church: wooden pews, stain-glassed windows, a high peaked roof. In fact, Kehilla inhabits a building that was once a Presbyterian Church. That feels right. Kehilla’s rabbis have ongoing interfaith events with local Christian pastors and Muslim imams. It’s one of the many things I loved about Kehilla.

As I entered, I saw people lighting Shabbat candles at the back of the chapel, and noticed three women setting up chairs, microphones and musical instruments at the front of the room. I recognized two of the women. Jenna Stover-Kemp sat in a folded chair, tuned her guitar and adjusted the microphone in front of her face. With short brown hair, a slim figure and black-rimmed glasses, Jenna reminded me of my favorite political news commentator, Rachel Maddow. I met Jenna a few months prior at a weekly Queer Torah class I attended at Kehilla. I was a bit surprised to see that Jenna was preparing to play sacred music for tonight’s services. During Queer Torah we explored Jewish sacred scripture from an LGBTQ perspective. Jenna co-led the teaching of the class with Rabbi Dev. As Rabbi Dev took the lead on issues of spirituality, Jenna, who was pursuing a doctorate at Cal Berkeley in the department of Jewish Studies, took the lead on scholarly issues such as biblical history and Hebrew interpretation. I would soon see that Jenna’s right brain was as fully developed as her left.

The woman who sat in the middle chair next to Jenna was Hazzan Shulamit Wise Fairman. While most reform synagogues refer to their spiritual song leaders as cantors, Kehilla’s cantor uses the throwback title hazzan. This fits her. From her long, graying, wavy hair to her contagious gap-toothed smile and soul-engaging voice, Hazzan Shulamit had an aura of mysticism.

A third woman, who Hazzan Shulamit introduced as Beth Dickinson, sat in the third chair, looking out over the attendees with a sweet, motherly smile. As Jenna began to softly finger the strings of her guitar, Hazzan Shulamit settled in with an African-style djembe drum between her knees. She looked first to Beth, then to Jenna, as if to silently say, “Let’s bring in the Sabbath, my sisters.”

Hazzan Shulamit began to sing, in a pitch that was clearly higher than her vocal range preferred. Hava. Hava nashira, shir’ hallelu…. She looked to Jenna, who broke out in an embarrassed smile and quickly faded out. Jenna moved her guitar’s capo, and then began playing the melody again in a lower chord. Hazzan Shulamit smiled broadly and began again, with enthusiasm. Hava. Hava nashira, shir’ halleluiah….

I picked the lyrics up with ease and soon joined the others, my own average voice sounding better than usual when accompanied by the three women and the rest of the congregation. Hazzan Shulamit ensured that we all had the harmony – translated as “Let us sing together, sing hallelujah” – when she began adding other words and vocalizations, making us the harmony to her more talented and experienced melody. I felt my neck and shoulders relax and my heart begin to open, simply from being a part of this chorus of 30 or so people, some friends to one another, some strangers, some new to Kehilla, and some wearing pre-printed name tags showing they are regular members of the Kehilla community. I felt glad to be there. Hazzan Shulamit led us to a quieter and quieter harmony of the words, until our whispers were barely discernible and eventually faded away.

“Shabbat Shalommm!” Hazzan Shulamit said, with a welcoming smile.

“Shabbat Shalom,” we replied.

“Yum, yum,” she said. “This truly is a yum, yum.”

I smiled at this tender description. These services were already beginning to feel to me like a delicious and soothing bowl of ice cream.

“Welcome back,” Hazzan Shulamit said as her eyes scanned the people in front of her. She landed on a few others and me as she added, “And for those new to Kehilla, and new to Kabbalat Shabbat, you are all very welcome.” Her smile felt angelic and was having the desired effect. I did feel welcome.

Hazzan Shulamit shared her own gladness to be back in the space of Kabbalat Shabbat – the Friday night services that welcome in the weekly day of rest that begins at sundown. Her smile didn’t fade as she exclaimed, “What a time we are living in!”

The rainbow flag and Black Lives Matter banner at the front of Kehilla made it clear to me that Hazzan Shulamit was speaking of the current political climate under the Trump presidency. “We made it thus far. It is not a small thing,” she encouraged.

Broadening the space of welcome, Hazzan Shulamit spoke directly to my heart. “Shabbat is a gracious hostess. Tonight I want to interpret that as meaning we can bring the fullness of our hearts, the emptiness of our hearts, the fullness of our oys, and our joys. All of you and all the parts of you are welcome here.”

I smiled at the reference to the Hebrew word “oy” which is translated as woes in English. Oys and joys. I loved the reference!

Jenna began a soothing background accompaniment as Hazzan Shulamit half spoke and half sung to us a poetic introduction to what we would experience on this Shabbat evening:

“Tonight we are going to have a little journey together,

into the dark night of Shabbat.

We get to practice

opening our minds and our hearts,

our spirits,

even just a little more than they might already be opened.

We get to avail ourselves of a portion of Shabbat peace.

Maybe a portion of Shabbat joy,

Maybe a portion of comfort.

This is, after all, Shabbat Nachamin, the Shabbat of Comfort.

On the heels of Tisha B’Av, the ninth day of the month of Av,

which happened this past Tuesday.

For some of us, it commemorated many tragedies

that have befallen the ancient Israelites

and the Jewish people

throughout history.

Where we practice

as a community, if you happen to be plugged in,

of being together,

in community,

to really be present with grief,

to be present with uncertainty,

and to make a space inside that openness and that presence,

for hope to be reborn,

for vision to be regained.

Even, for gladness to re-infuse our lives.

So, the great prophet Isaiah raised up,

‘Nachamu, nachamu ami.’

Comfort, comfort my people.

So on this Shabbat, it could be

that we need a little extra comfort,

to soothe us,

for how we experience directly

and also bear witness

to all sorts of troubles in the world.

So may it be for us an opening

And a time of increased comfort

And peace

And joy.”

Jenna continued her soft strumming as Hazzan Shulamit directed us to Psalm 95 in the Kabbalat Shabbat prayer and songbook, called a Siddur. The volume and pace of the song began slowly and softly, then gradually increased as the energy of the three women took me from a quiet place of reflection to a place of steady and repetitive Hebrew words and group clapping. As always, I felt most competent in my singing when the lyrics moved from Hebrew L’chu n’ran’nah l-Adonai… to “La la la la la la…..la la la ya ya ya….” With either, the English translation came through to me in feeling:

Singing to you

            Erupting into shouting

            At the place of the rock of our salvation…[1]

Jenna continued the background chords as Hazzan Shulamit directed us to our next song. “Continuing with Psalm 99 at the top of page 6. We take a step back – from our work, our analysis, our manipulation of the world around us – from our efforting. We take a step back – to give ourselves a chance to breathe. In, and out….”

Psalm 99 is just not possible to fully describe with words only. The music felt haunting, yet also comforting and inspiring. While I had no idea why, the English translation gave a hint of the depth of my feelings.

“Exalt the Eternal our Power, and worship at the mountain of holiness; for the Eternal our Power is holy.”[2]

            The words alone on the written page appear to me to be the words of a pastor, forcing a religion onto me. Words that someone like Fred Phelps and his wackadoo congregation would put on a picket sign along with “God hates faggots.”

But I could feel the translation of these words into music. The lyrics in Hebrew spoke to me. They said, “There is a Power within us; a Power that connects us all; a Power that some call God.” On this Friday night, I felt it as pure Love.

As Hazzan Shulamit led Jenna and Beth and the gathering to the close of Psalm 99, I could see that she was feeling Love, as well. The entire congregation seemed to be. She then led us into a musical prayer for healing and release. She invited us to take a load off and reminded us that we were not sitting in front of a screen, we were not riding on a bus or sitting behind a steering wheel. We were having a renewing Shabbat experience. And we were doing it together. Song after song.

Baruch sheym k’vod mal’chuto l-olam va-ed…

            L’cha dodi lik’rat kalah…

As we sang the songs in round, it became easier and easier to follow the English transliteration and sing the Hebrew words. An occasional glance at the English translation told me the meaning was accurately forming in my heart. As Beth added the tambourine to the ensemble and the tempo increased, I could feel the excitement grow in the lyrics that translated to, “Come, my friend, to greet the Bride, Let us receive Her, the Sabbath!”[3]

Joy seemed to envelop the people around me as we got up and danced, following the three singers from one set of lyrics to another. Glancing at the Hebrew, following the transliteration, and occasionally taking in the English, I realized that I didn’t need to understand each word to fully participate, yet something deeper happened when I recognized the first Hebrew word I had learned, just months prior:

שָׁלוֹם‎

Shalom. Peace. We could certainly use more of this in the world, and I was grateful to be experiencing it, welcoming in the Shabbat. I wasn’t Jewish and had no intentions of converting to Judaism, yet my experience of it on this balmy summer night was a gift – an example of how a religious experience can bring about a spiritual uplifting, even for those who are just visiting, as was I.

My feeling of being truly welcomed continued as Hazzan Shulamit led us through additional Psalms in the form of songs, leading up to the call to worship, in which we stood and faced the open side door leading to the world outside. According to the Siddur, Lev Friedman adapted Kehilla’s version of this call to worship from a Hindu chant; another example of the benefit of combining beauty and wisdom from two different religions to synergistically create something magnificent.

Bar’chu, Dear One,

                        Sh’china, Holy Name.

                                    When I call on the light of my soul,

                                    I come home.[4]

We sang it slowly, following Hazzan Shulamit’s lead, dropping off as she soloed with Hebrew not on the pages before us. Her voice was stunning. She led us through A Ma’ariv Song, showing us our role in the call-and-response format before going on to share brief prayers as the call, with our words in Hebrew as the response.

Ma’ariva a ma’ariv. Ma’ariva a ma’ariv.

            You open up the gates of time…Ma’ariva a ma’ariv.

            “You cycle forth the seasons… Ma’ariva a ma’ariv.

            You give life reason… Ma’ariva a ma’ariv.

            You shine the day and call the night… Ma’ariva a ma’ariv.

            Ma’ariva a ma’ariv. Ma’ariva a ma’ariv…

Again we faded out, as if the words would remain an echo within us. Hazzan Shulamit talked about the courage it took to love, the courage that is required to be heard and the courage needed to take in the love that is our Divine inheritance. She talked of the love of pets, the love of family, and the love of our earth and sky. Leading us to the Love Prayer for the Evening Service, Hazzan Shulamit explained that Kehilla’s spiritual leadership had encouraged the use of a new melody for the standard Hebrew words. How fun it was to have the Hebrew for “Everlasting is the Divine love we receive. The path of Torah is the path of love…” sung to the melody of Jason Mraz’s hit song “I’m Yours.” My sweet Cynthia came quickly to mind and I found myself wishing she was there with me, experiencing the same uplifting joy.

“Love,” Hazzan Shulamit began. “All earnest, healthy, consensual, juicy love. Let us pray to the Oneness that unifies us all.”

            She paused, then continued in a softer voice, “Sh’ma on page 13.”

During this prayer, I felt more a part of this Kehilla flock than at any other. I covered my eyes with my right hand, a Jewish tradition for reciting the Sh’ma. According to Rabbi Joseph Telushkin, the Sh’ma is the most famous prayer in Judaism.[5] About 5 years prior, I had dated a Jewish woman. Already fascinated by the religions of the world, I attended many religious events at her reform synagogue in Sacramento, California, including the bar mitzvahs of her two sons. Margaret taught me the first verse of the Sh’ma and I loved the part of the services when I could join the rest of the congregation in its singing. While it was initially awkward to cover my eyes as I offered what is more a statement of faith than a traditional prayer (“Hear O’Israel, God is All, All is One”), the years of intermittent practice lent me a comfort in shielding my eyes from the distractions that would prevent the prayer from forming at the deepest recesses of my soul. At the moments when I joined the synagogue in reciting the Sh’ma, from memory only and with my eyes closed, I felt that my voice had become “part of the eternal Jewish choir.”[6]

This time was no exception. The melody of the Sh’ma is in a range of notes that are at the strongest part of my vocal range, adding to my comfort and connection with the melodic prayer. My confident yet soft-spoken voice joined the others as we slowly sang the words of the prayer I had come to love.

Sh’ma…..

            Yis’rael…..

            Adonai…..

            Elo-hey-nu…..

            Adonai…..

            eh-chad!

            As is tradition, Hazzan Shulamit led the gathering right into the first paragraph of the Sh’ma, called the V’Ahavta. The English translation of this passage is “You shall love.” It was no surprise to me that Kehilla’s Kabbalat Shabbat included this passage, yet passed on the second and third paragraphs, “It shall be” and “The Lord spoke,” in lieu of a poem written by Jewish feminist Marcia Falk about loving life. Kehilla was my kind of synagogue: spiritual yet thoughtful, reverent yet independent.

Kehilla recited Falk’s prayer in popcorn-style, with attendees reading one or two lines when inspired to do so, and the entire congregation joining together for the final sentence: “Truth and kindness have embraced, peace and justice have kissed and are one.”[7]

Hazzan Shulamit then spoke of life’s joyful crossings, and asked for shares of our own sea crossings, relating them to the Israelites’ crossing of the Red Sea. An older woman shared that she and her partner were celebrating their 25-year relationship the next day. Kehilla used the American Sign Language adoption of waving hands as silent applause, and this announcement generated waving hands throughout the room, as well as some enthusiastic exclamations of “Mazel Tov!”

A middle-aged man then shared that he has crossed over, as a parent, to the stage when his children no longer need him like before. He added that his daughter’s boyfriend sweetly and nostalgically asked him for his daughter’s hand in marriage.    Jenna shared that she has a new baby nephew for the first time in her life. Without the usual inner-dialogue required for me to become brave enough to speak in uncomfortable environments, I spontaneously raised my hand. Hazzan Shulamit rested her eyes on me and I shared, “My name is Chris, and since I was last at Kehilla, my girlfriend proposed to me. I’m engaged.”

I felt the genuine happiness of the people around me, with exclamations of “Yay!” and “Mazel Tov!”

Hazzan Shulamit gave me the sweetest gift of the day, re-visiting the earlier Jason Mraz tune and singing out loud to me and the others, “Love, love, love!”

A young woman’s contribution that she just moved to California from New York was met with many welcomes, and a woman I recognized as a regular at Kehilla shared that the earlier song about love transferred her grief for a Kehilla member who had passed two years ago into a great love and appreciation for her friendship and memory. A young man holding the hand of a woman his age then shared that they had recently proposed to one another. More hearty congratulations.

Many more shares echoed the notion that life is full of both oys and joys. Hazzan Shulamit reiterated this by acknowledging that some are still in the middle of their crossings, and encouraged us to pray for courage and patience if we are still on the shore. This prayer, too, came in the form of a song: Mi Chamocha, words uttered triumphantly by the Israelites as they crossed the Red Sea.[8]

We rose for the “Amidah,” the silent, standing prayer. Hazzan Shulamit, with Jenna’s accompaniment, asked us to consider whom we might invite into this “simcha” (gladness) of peace. She asked, “Who can we open our hearts to, our doors to, our pocketbooks to? Who is in need of peace and protection? Who is vulnerable? Who can we begin to welcome, into our lives, our congregation, our community? Who can we invite into this peace that we have created with our hearts and our love?”

With this invitation for introspection and charity, Hazzan Shulamit, Jenna and Beth led the congregation into the “Hashkiveynu Song.” Let us lie down in peace, and may we be sheltered by a sukkah of divine wholeness. The song again faded, this time into a space of quiet. Every person in the room engaged in their own private prayer. While I have often read the English version of the Amidah prayers in the siddur during this time, I felt a deeper connection to the space the services had created and stayed with my own thoughts and prayers. I thanked the Universe for my life’s greatest blessings, Cynthia, my son Zach, my grandson Jay, and prayed for a peace like our country has never known. I prayed that this presidency would bring about recognition that through division we only create more divide. I prayed for peace from a place deep within me. I prayed and prayed and prayed, until I felt the breadth of my prayers and small tears escaped from my closed eyelids. As I heard others sitting back into their seats, I came back to the present, grateful that my gratitude and hopes and dreams had been sent out to the Universe in such a sacred way. The final song of the service couldn’t have been more perfect. A subdued beginning of the song “Oseh Shalom” (“For Peace”) transitioned into a tambourine and djembe-accompanied prayer for all:

Oseh shalom bi-m’romav, hu ya-aseh shalom a-leynu, v-al kol Yis’ra-el, v’al kol yosh’vey ye-vel

May that which brings peace to the cosmos bring peace upon us, upon all Israelites, and upon all who dwell on the earth.

 Ameyn, ameyn!!

 

[1] Kehilla Synagogue Friday Night Siddur https://kehillasynagogue.org/friday-night-siddurprayer-book-draft/ Page 3

[2] Kehilla Synagogue Friday Night Siddur https://kehillasynagogue.org/friday-night-siddurprayer-book-draft/ Page 6

[3] Kehilla Synagogue Friday Night Siddur https://kehillasynagogue.org/friday-night-siddurprayer-book-draft/ Page 7

[4] Kehilla Synagogue Friday Night Siddur https://kehillasynagogue.org/friday-night-siddurprayer-book-draft/ Page 10

[5] Rabbi Joseph Telushkin, “Jewish Literacy – The Most Important Things to Know About the Jewish Religion, Its People, and Its History” Page 633

[6] Rabbi Joseph Telushkin, “Jewish Literacy – The Most Important Things to Know About the Jewish Religion, Its People, and Its History” Page 668

[7] Excerpted from The Book of Blessings: New Jewish Prayers for Daily Life, the Sabbath, and the New Moon Festival, Harper, 1996, Used by Kehilla with permission of the author. www.marciafalk.com

[8] Dr. Ron Wolfson, “The Spirituality of Welcoming – How to Transform Your Congregation into a Sacred Community,” Page 109, Turner Publishing Company, ©2006

By Chris Orrey

A 10-Minute Read

During my thirty years as a police officer, my diet fluctuated wildly. During healthier times, I would prepare my own salads, drink fruit and vegetable smoothies, and pass on the endless array of donuts, cookies and chocolates at desks and in the break room. During unhealthy times, I would squeeze a McDonald’s drive-thru meal in between successive and unrelenting calls for service. Eating at work was representative of my overall eating, the teeter-totter between health and disease, losing weight and gaining weight, and trying various diets to see what I could sustain long-term. Beyond sharing meals with the few co-workers who would pray before eating, religion didn’t enter my mind when it came to food.

When I decided to pursue a career as a writer after my retirement from policing, I had already decided what I would write about: religion. More specifically, I would immerse myself in six of the major religions of the world, one year at a time, and write about it. I decided to begin with the three major Western religions, the Abrahamic faiths of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, in historical order. I would then move to the Eastern religions of Hinduism and Buddhism, before ending my journey with New Thought, the New Age religion practiced in Reverend Michael Bernard Beckwith’s Agape Spiritual Center in Los Angeles. Why end with such an obscure religion? That’s a topic for a future post.

I planned to begin my year of Judaism with the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, in 2016. Beginning at the start of the Jewish calendar seemed to make sense. But when October 2, 2016 finally arrived, I wasn’t ready – mentally, emotionally, or logistically. I hadn’t found a primary synagogue; I didn’t have a Jewish mentor; and I didn’t know how to honor the holiday that would kick off my first year. Additionally, my time was precious and restricted. I had a seven-month-old grandson living in my home with his teenaged parents, a partner who lived fifty minutes away, a one-year-old Golden Retriever who needed daily exercise, a part-time teaching position at a local community college, and a three-times-per-year volunteer position for a ten-day women’s leadership and personal growth retreat on a ranch three hours north of me. Whew! Where would I find the time to experience and learn about Judaism, let alone learn to write creative non-fiction so I could share my experiences?

Even though I wasn’t ready, I was itching to begin so I stuck with my start date and began with baby steps. I decided to begin with my diet. I was under the naïve impression, based on cultural stereotypes, that observant Jews don’t eat pork and don’t eat shellfish. Allow me to apologize to my Jewish friends, cousins and readers now. I have dispelled much naiveté and ignorance over the past eleven months, and have learned a great deal about a faith that I have come to love. But when I began this journey, I had much inspiration, but little knowledge. Knowing that diet would be a part of each year’s journey, I chose to begin the Jewish New Year by not eating the “forbidden foods,” pork and shellfish, for a year. To me this was just a first step into Judaism. I still planned to find a synagogue, take classes, read Torah and other Jewish literature, travel to places significant to Jews, and expose myself to the religion and the culture in as many ways as I could.

I thought that giving up pork and shellfish would be easy; much easier than giving up alcohol, which will be a requirement of my year of Islam. And while I love bacon, shrimp and anything lobster, I was confident that I could give them up for a year. It would simply be a matter of paying attention to my food. I also guessed, accurately I would later learn, that this dietary restriction would be a constant reminder of my journey and would provide countless conversational opportunities.

When my fiancée Cynthia and I dined at Wise Sons Jewish Delicatessen in San Francisco early on in my year of Judaism, I briefly spoke with the owner, Evan Bloom. Bloom, who is Jewish, grew up in a home that “kept kosher.” His dad still did. Bloom was gracious enough to clarify my naïve thought that a Jewish deli would automatically be kosher. He said the cost of maintaining a kosher restaurant is extremely high. His restaurant, he told me, is for people to experience the flavor of Jewish dishes, not to experience kosher food. (As a side note, I encourage my San Francisco Bay Area readers to put Wise Sons on your agenda.)

I was beginning to see that I had much to learn about kosher eating. I didn’t even know why Jews don’t eat pork or shellfish. Somewhere along my path, however, I had picked up the myth that it was because pigs and crustaceans are dirty. What a remarkable reminder of the things we “know” that are not so. I had even heard that pork and shellfish were “high tref” (pronounced trafe) foods, but I didn’t know exactly what that meant, or even where I first heard it.

In reading the Torah and studying Judaism, which was part of my commitment to my year of Judaism, I learned that tref foods are not forbidden because the animals are dirty, but simply because the Torah says so. Why does the Torah say so? Countless rabbis have weighed in on this and there is much disagreement. I was more confused than enlightened with many passages of the Torah. For example, in Genesis (the first book of the Hebrew Bible), God seems to promote a vegetarian diet: And God said: ‘Behold, I have given you every herb yielding seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed – to you it shall be for food; Genesis 1:29[1] In the same chapter I read: Every moving thing that liveth shall be for food for you; as the green herb have I given you all. Genesis 9:3

So it appeared to my beginner’s mind that the God of the Torah has allowed for ALL living things to be eaten. Yet, later in the Torah, I found verses like this: These are the living things which ye may eat among all the beasts that are on the earth. Whatsoever parteth the hoof, and is wholly cloven-footed, and cheweth the cud, among the beasts that may ye eat. Nevertheless these shall ye not eat…Leviticus 11:2-4 So there are more forbidden foods, I asked myself?

I learned that Leviticus is not just the part of the bible that Evangelical and Fundamentalist Christians and Ultra-Orthodox Jews use to tell the world that gays are sinners, but it is also the book of the bible that spells out the dietary restrictions upon which kashrut (Jewish religious dietary laws) is based, along with numerous other commandments. Which made me wonder why fundamentalist Christians care so much about the portion of Leviticus that allegedly makes being gay a sin, but those same Christians don’t’ follow the eating guidelines in Leviticus, nor do they sacrifice animals and splatter the blood in a particular way, as commanded in Leviticus. Again, more on that in future writings.

As I learned more and more about eating kosher, I found that it was pure luck that I hadn’t violated the simple mitzvah (Judaic commandment, or law) of not eating fish that doesn’t have fins or scales. I learned that the forbidden foods went beyond pork and shellfish. Oyster, clams, eel and squid are also forbidden foods. And I had no idea that the Jewish ban on pork wasn’t exclusive to pigs, but was about any animal that chewed its own cud but doesn’t have cloven hooves or animals that have cloven hooves but doesn’t chew its own cud. What?? Simply speaking, I had to add hare, rock badger and camel to the list of forbidden foods. I was grateful I didn’t have to worry about Cynthia serving broiled camel any time soon!

As my knowledge of kashrut expanded, I learned that the forbidden foods are not the only rules of keeping kosher. Orthodox Judaism, typically represented by Hasidic Jews who are known for their black hats and coats and long beards and side-locks, are steadfast in their interpretation of kashrut, have separate dishes or even separate kitchens for preparing meat meals separately from dairy meals. This derives from the Torah verses in Exodus (23:19, 34:26) and Deuteronomy (14:21): You shall not boil a kid in its mother’s milk.[2]

Later rabbis and sages in the Talmud interpreted this section increasingly more strictly over time: from no animal may be cooked in any milk, to not cooking meat in the same cookware as non-meat dishes or serving them on the same dishes, to not eating meat and dairy at the same time. Thus the need to have two sets of dishes, as well as an outright ban on cheeseburgers, chicken parmesan, or any other dish that combines meat and dairy. According to The United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism, milk represents birth and life sustenance, while meat represents flesh and death. “Mixing them shows an insensitivity to life.”[3] The time period one must wait between meat and dairy meals could take hours of study to understand. Was it a dairy meal or a meat meal? Did the dairy meal include hard, aged cheese? Dutch Jews require a one-hour waiting period after a meat meal, German Jews three hours, and Hasidic Jews six hours. Kosher eating, like Judaism, seemed to me to be a spectrum.

The more I learned about kashrut – the system of laws that govern what and how Jews eat[4] – the more I realized the extreme efforts Orthodox and Conservative Jews put forth, especially in the United States and even more specifically in my own state of California, to maintain their commitment to what they believe to be a religious mandate.

Kashrut does not lend itself to stopping by the local Subway for a sandwich. People who keep strictly kosher must eat in private homes or prepare their food themselves, as there are very few kosher restaurants available. According to the online magazine Kosher Delights, there are only nineteen kosher restaurants in California.[5] With 4.2 million Americans identifying as Jewish by religion[6], and 22% of those 4.2 million keeping kosher[7] that’s a dearth of restaurants for strictly kosher customers. While New York certainly has vastly more restaurants that are certified kosher, hundreds from what I can tell from various websites, the fact remains that most kosher meals are consumed in the home, made up primarily of foods purchased with labels that make them certified kosher. And strictly kosher homes are not simply a matter of what one can or cannot eat. The mitzvoth (Judaic laws, plural) of eating kosher include a long list of rules about how the food must be prepared.

To be kosher, animals must be slaughtered in a particular, and highly humane, manner. The basic tenet of shechitah (laws of ritual slaughter) is that the killing of the animals must be swift and as painless as possible, and as humane as possible.[8] Observant Jews may not consume blood, “reflecting a sensitivity to blood as a life-force,”[9] so the blood of the animal is removed through a process of salting and soaking. The animal is also inspected for any signs of illness or injury, both of which would deem the meat non-kosher. All of this and many other laws of kosher meat preparation must be handled by a certified kosher butcher and “supervised by a duly ordained and highly trained rabbi.”[10] The meat must also be cooked well done to eliminate any remaining blood.

While all vegetables, fruits, grains and nuts are considered kosher, this is only if they are free from all insects. Every winged swarming thing that goes on all fours is an abomination for you. – Leviticus 11:20

Cynthia and I saw a movie during the summer of my year of Judaism called Menashe. It was a touching indie film about a Hasidic man in New York struggling to raise his son after the death of his wife. In the opening scene, he’s at the cash register of a small neighborhood grocery store checking out groceries for a Hasidic woman who is trying to corral her seven or eight children. Menashe holds up the head of iceberg lettuce she’s buying, and apologizes to her that it isn’t very fresh. She tells him it looks fine, but he insists upon getting her another one. He goes to the back room and berates his own boss for stocking unwashed lettuce in the area marked pre-washed. The lettuce was fresh enough, the filmmaker is showing the audience, but had not been washed and inspected for insects, deeming it potentially non-kosher. The small bit of insider’s knowledge I had about this Torah passage gave me a moment of satisfaction. I knew that vegetables had to be pre-washed and inspected for insects to be deemed kosher. Cynthia may have been the only person in the theater who didn’t know that. When we were in the lobby with the other five moviegoers in attendance, I could hear that they all had thick accents of Yiddish, the language spoken in the film.

I have cousins who I adore who are Jewish, as my gentile cousin married a wonderful Jewish man. She didn’t convert, but their daughters were raised Jewish and had their bat mitzvahs (a ceremony of rite a passage for Jewish twelve or thirteen year olds who go through much preparation and study, to include chanting the Torah in Hebrew.) While I do recall that we would have turkey and roast beef for Christmas Eve dinners together, I do not recall any specific steps they took in an effort to keep kosher. As a child I didn’t give it any thought. As an adult studying Judaism, I have come to realize that their temple falls within the Reform tradition (also called movement, or denomination, by some) of Judaism.

A prominent Canadian Reform rabbi, W. Gunther Plaut, wrote the following about his movement’s take on kashrut, “The almost total silence of Reform literature on this subject is witness to the fact that it no longer was of real concern to the liberal leadership.”[11] The Reform movement has since grappled with the issue of kashrut, allowing for local cultures and traditions within their various synagogues to have varying guidelines for their congregations. I have been to a Reform synagogue that identified their potluck as a “dairy meal,” and I have been to Reform synagogues that identity their potluck as vegetarian. When I was in Hawaii this summer, I looked for a synagogue to attend Friday night Shabbat services. I found the website for Kona Beth Shalom, although they were not having services on the Friday I was on the island. Their website indicates that they do not have weekly Shabbat services, but when they do, the rules of their potluck oneg (informal gathering on Shabbat) clearly state “No pork or shellfish, please.”[12] It appeared that I was on the right track, at least per Kona Beth Shalom standards.

About five years ago, I dated a Jewish woman named Margaret who was a member of Congregation B’nai Israel, a Reform synagogue in Sacramento. While our dating relationship didn’t last, our families bonded and her sons, Jacob and Justin, are best friends with my son to this day. Jacob, now 19 years old, especially reveled in the smell, flavor and dining experience of pork. And not just any pork…Jacob love, love, loved bacon! Margaret even bought Jacob bacon socks for Hanukkah. Raised by an atheist Jewish mother, Margaret grew up with what her mom called “kosher-style.” For them, that meant no pork or shellfish in the home and no milk and meat in the same meal. While both Jacob and Justin, whose father is Christian, chose to go to Hebrew School and have their bar mitzvahs, they did not choose any dietary restrictions. When they were on the bimah chanting their Torah portions in Hebrew, they were no less Jewish because of their diet.

When I began my year of Judaism, I didn’t know within which movement I would practice. Orthodox? Reform? Conservative? Reconstructionist? Renewal? I barely had a sense of what each of those meant, and my list was far from complete. I have come to learn that there are as many movements and viewpoints in modern Judaism now as there have been for hundreds of years. There are vast liberal perspectives (Reform, Renewal and Reconstructionist), and vast conservative perspectives (Orthodox and Conservative). There are movements that interpret Jewish law by the strict letter of the law, and those that are more lenient with their interpretations. The range of options within Judaism allowed for the range of “full observance of the biblical and rabbinic regulations to total nonobservance”[13] not just in regards to dietary guidelines, but also with keeping Shabbat, attire, prayer and a myriad of other issues. Having no confidence in my ability to keep strictly kosher for a year, per Orthodox standards, I decided to continue with what seemed to me to be Kosher-ish. (I got the “ish” from Jacob, who once described himself as Jew-ish.) I would continue with my efforts to eliminate the high tref foods from my diet.

Following my self-prescribed kosher-ish diet was supported by the efforts of my life partner, Cynthia. After plates and plates of turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce during Thanksgiving week, our endless extended family Christmas gatherings all featured spiral ham as the main course for dinner. Cynthia, being my greatest fan and biggest supporter, grilled a steak for me while her mom served spiral ham for the eve of Christmas Eve, and grilled chicken for me while I served spiral ham (Cynthia’s favorite) for our own Christmas dinner in my home. Having to choose out of the primary protein of a meal while dining with others, when pork is the only option, has been a challenge for me. My body maintains, and even more specifically, loses weight best on a low-carb eating plan. Meat protein has been such a key part of my diet for so long that the thought of becoming vegetarian was overwhelming, even though I admire vegans and vegetarians immensely. What could be more spiritual, I have pondered, than not participating in the killing of animals? I have yet to take that leap.

Why eat kosher?

As I learned the rules of eating kosher, the whys of eating this way consumed more and more of my thoughts. My Hebrew teacher, Bracha, attends a Reform synagogue. Early in my year, during the Jewish holiday of Sukkot, she told me that Orthodox Jews follow all mitzvoth (the plural of mitzvah) “because the Torah says so” and then find meaning in it, while Renewal Jews find meaning in something so they do it. I contemplated this in regard to my own choice to abstain from the forbidden foods during my year of Judaism. I wanted it to have meaning, but it took time for me to find such value. The writing of this article, many months in the making, was the impetus for me to find my owner purpose for restricting myself from the Torah’s forbidden foods.

To dial in to my own meaning, I did some research to find out what motivates others, beyond the simple fact that the Torah, in countless various passages, commands it. Miri Rotkovitz is a kosher chef and writer who pondered the same question in her 2017 article in The Spruce. In reading Rotkovitz’s “Why Do People Really Keep Kosher, Anyway?”[14] I realized that I am an outlier. Most of the list she provided just didn’t apply to me. I didn’t grow up keeping Kosher, I don’t have any Kosher-observing friends who I want to routinely host in my home, I am not lactose intolerant, and I know that Kosher foods are not necessarily healthier than non-Kosher foods (even Oreo cookies have been deemed kosher). And, mostly, I am not Jewish. That is one of the primary reasons Rotkovitz listed for why people keep kosher.

Yet one of the reasons Rotkovitz listed did resonate with me: embracing Jewish identity. Rotkovitz shared this assertion by French foodie Brillat-Savarin: “Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are.”[15] This was exactly why I was restricting my diet. The simple act of eliminating these forbidden foods from my diet for this year was a statement of my commitment to experiencing Judaism. I didn’t begin with that thought at the forefront of my mind, but it explained it best.

Kehilla Synagogue Senior Rabbi Dev Noily met with me halfway through my year to discuss my journey through Judaism. We touched on kashrut and she explained to me her take on it. Dietary restrictions have a purpose: they bind communities together. Kehilla food-involved gatherings are always vegetarian, honoring those who keep kosher as well as those who keep vegetarian for health and ethical reasons. Dietary restrictions, Rabbi Dev said, are a marker of identity, just as Rotkovitz wrote.

Yes. Not eating the forbidden foods is a marker of my journey through Judaism. Each time I inquire as to the ingredients of a dish, or share my dietary restrictions, I initiate an opportunity to talk about Judaism, religions, or writing. It is a marker, as Rabbi Dev described it, of my sacred journey.

My sacred journey included very little yearning for the forbidden foods I had forsaken for a year. I still dream about the hot pastrami sandwich and matzo ball soup Cynthia and I shared at Kat’z Deli in New York City. It was cold outside on that cold March day, but it was warm in our bellies, and warm in our hearts. Judaism has had that effect on me: a warming of my heart.

 

Note: For a thorough explanation of Jewish dietary laws, as well as any other questions about Judaism, Tracey Rich’s website Judaism 101, written from the Orthodox viewpoint, has been an excellent resource to me. Check it out at www.jewfaq.org

 

[1] Torah – The Five Books of Moses, edited by Simon Abram

[2] The Five Books of Moses – A Translation with Commentary by Robert Alter

[3] http://www.uscj.org/JewishLivingandLearning/Kashrut/default.aspx

[4] Living a Jewish Life – Jewish Traditions, Customs and Values for Today’s Families by Anita Diamant © 2007 Page 273

[5] http://www.kosherdelight.com/USA/California/CaliforniaKosherEstablishments.shtml#A

[6] Pew Research Center http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2013/10/02/how-many-jews-are-there-in-the-united-states/

[7] http://www.pewforum.org/2013/10/01/jewish-american-beliefs-attitudes-culture-survey/

[8] Living Judaism – The Complete Guide to Jewish Belief, Tradition and Practice by Rabbi Wayne D. Dosick, PhD © 1995 Page 257

[9] http://www.uscj.org/JewishLivingandLearning/Kashrut/default.aspx

[10] Living Judaism – The Complete Guide to Jewish Belief, Tradition and Practice by Rabbi Wayne D. Dosick, PhD © 1995 Page 258

[11] http://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/kashrut-reform-judaism/

[12] Kona Beth Shalom website: http://konabethshalom.org/

[13] http://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/kashrut-reform-judaism/

[14] https://www.thespruce.com/why-keep-kosher-2121847

[15] https://www.thespruce.com/why-keep-kosher-2121847

by Chris Orrey (5 Minute Read)

“What you don’t know would make a great book.” – Sydney Smith (English writer and cleric)

Some years ago – the detail of the moment is now lost to me – a thought sprouted in my psyche telling me to explore various religions. The idea kept growing – the idea to immerse myself in six of the major religions of the world like a convert, one year at a time, and to write about my journey. Knowing this would be a consuming endeavor, I waited until I retired from my careers as a police lieutenant and adjunct college instructor before I began. This left me years to ponder the idea. The thought grew from an idea into an obsession.

My “Year One” began last October, with Judaism. I had a faint notion that I would be mentored under the wise counsel of a rabbi, taken in by a synagogue, learn and experience and pray and feel the religion of the Jewish people. The vision felt clear, but its details were murky.

The experiences have thus far been many: many moments of laughter, love, curiosity, frustration, shyness, courage and a great deal of thought; thought about my exploration and the experiences I have had thus far as well as those to come, but also a great deal of thought about what to write about my journey. I have called the exploration of Judaism a rabbit hole. Like Alice in Wonderland, each mystery unfolded leads to other mysteries leads to other mysteries – and so on and so on and so on. This has created a two-fold problem for my writing.

My first challenge is time. Time is precious. Where do I devote my time? My partner Cynthia, grandson Jay and son Zach are a given. My relationship with Cynthia comes first and foremost. (Thankfully, she supports the time I need to walk this path. Sometimes she joins me, and many times I am alone amongst the company of tens or hundreds of strangers.) Then there is “me time”: meditation, exercise, nutrition, sleep, pleasure reading. Time with family must be built in: my family, Cynthia’s family – all so important to us both. My friends are also precious to me. I must make time for them, as well. Our dogs, Kali and Athena, our cats, Nala and Scooter, all require time and attention. Our houses need upkeep. Bills need to be paid. Medical appointments need to be made and attended.

How do I work into this maze of commitments time to experience Judaism, research Judaism, read about Judaism, and write about Judaism? As my short list of blog followers can attest, I have done a mighty poor job with this indeed. What was intended to be a monthly blog has turned into two blogs in five months. Yet, the time constraints feel like the lesser of the two-fold writing problem. The second seems to be a much higher and steeper mountain to climb.

About what do I write? What will readers want to read? What will create an incentive for them to give up their own precious time? Do I describe the interior of the synagogues I visit? Do I quote the inspiring words of the rabbis and other spiritual leaders? Do I quote books? Do I teach as I write? The words of my friend Carson Johns, a public speaker and personal growth facilitator, come to mind as I hear him explaining the root of the word education – the Latin Educo: to draw out from within. My journey through this vast and fascinating religion and what it means to me is all I can share. It is up to me to find the theme, the thread, with which I will weave my writing.

Like the perfectionist that I am, however, I don’t want to just write, I want to write well. I want to go deep. I want to channel Anne Lamott and Cheryl Strayed and Elizabeth Gilbert through my heart and mind, out my hands and onto the page. I desire to be a writer who opens up her heart and soul to her readers, who can then use those experiences as a lens through which they deepen the meaning of their own lives. How do I do this? In his memoir On Writing, Stephen King gives the following advice: “If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot.” Read and write, write and read. What about walk the dog, play with my grandson, cook dinner, run errands, make love? What about writing workshops and books on writing? What about Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style? Shouldn’t I memorize Elements of Style?

In Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott says to simply write your “shitty first draft.” Just get it on paper. She didn’t say how many drafts are allowed, although she did say perfectionism will ruin my writing. (Yes, of course she was talking to me.)

So, with this blog that has nothing to do with the Torah or Passover or Shabbat or eating Kosher, I practice letting go of my perfectionism. You get to decide if this was my shitty first draft or my 10^th. And while you are pondering that, feel free to let me know what would excite YOU in a book about my year of Judaism. I would love to hear from you.

Shalom!