In a recent issue of Reform Judaism, a rabbi suggested that we can learn something from the Fundamentalists even as we distrust their motivation. We can learn to testify, meaning to stand before the congregation and tell our stories. It is in that sense that I stand before you today.
A native San Antonian, I grew up with a profound sense of my Jewish heritage. My father, Meyer Scharlack, was born in Frankfurt on the Main, reputedly the most Orthodox of German cities. He came to America as a young boy, already well versed in Torah and Hebrew. He practiced the laying of T'fillin each morning as did my older brothers. Being the youngest of nine, I was only five both my father and my maternal grandmother died. But I understand that they could quote much of Torah, chapter and verse from memory.
My father’s biography was published in the Texas Encyclopedia (of 1916, I believe), available at the Institute of Texan Cultures. There is also a two-page article in the January 4, 1914 edition of the San Antonio Express-News entitled, “Charity Works of Peace and Prosperity Distinguish Jewish People of San Antonio.” In it, my father is featured, along with other recognizable names like Oppenheimer, Wolff, Hertzberg, Tobias and Wolfson. He was one of three men who met in 1922 to establish the Jewish Social Service Federation, which later became the Jewish Federation of San Antonio. Unfortunately, he died in 1923 before the organization was incorporated.
For many years there was a Scharlack among the leadership of many Jewish and secular organizations in the community. One of my sisters, Rosalind Scharlack Fink, was a founder (along with Harry Halff and Sol Frank) of Golden Manor, and she also served as president of the San Antonio Section of the National Council of Jewish Women. My brother Louis served on the Temple Board and my sister Mildred sang in the choir for many years. My brother Sheppard was on the board of St. Mary’s University. So my path was set for me early on.
Times changed and less tradition prevailed in part of our family. We joined Temple Beth-El and I attended religious school through Confirmation and high school classes. The Temple was then located across from the St. Anthony Hotel. My family, then as now, were members of both Agudas Achim and Temple Beth-El.
My mother (Alove ha-shalom) loved the Temple for its quiet, spiritual atmosphere, which I, too, cherish. At bedtime and morning, I recited prayers in Hebrew with my mother, but it is only recently, as I study with our rabbis, that I learned what the prayers meant. I “G-d blessed” all my family and friends, even our dog Queenie, but never had an inkling of what G-d was or is about. I am still pondering this, but accepting that G-d is beyond wordy explanation and that faith is in the heart.
As I grew up, Judaism always seemed rational to me. With due respect to my non-Jewish friends, I like Judaism's direct line to G-d, a line without a busy signal, always open. I use this line often, not only in times of loss and crisis, but in thankfulness for many blessings. I am especially thankful for the long life I share with my beloved husband, for the health and well-being of our children and grandchildren, and to our extended family as well.
Perhaps the prime importance of Judaism in my life is the sense of belonging. Abe Maslow, a contemporary psychologist, points out the basic necessity of this feeling in one's life. There is a touch of magic lighting the candles each Friday night wherever we are as I visualize women scattered throughout the world performing this ritual of welcoming Shabbat and of bringing light and perhaps in our own ways, a touch of enlightenment to the whole planet.
For me, this belonging and connection to others extends to the concept of tikkun olam, the rebuilding/healing of the world. Not by great heroic acts, but by performing as we now say, “random acts of kindness”... just doing whatever we can to relieve the suffering in the world, to add joy, and to address those “broken” aspects of society and the human condition. I see my belonging to the world as a Jew, as a woman... and I accept our clear involvement in tikkun olam.
Thus being Jewish means to be driven to relate to humanity in its larger context. There is a compelling force to seek G-dliness in all creations. This includes respect for other cultures and belief systems. That respect is manifested in my love and appreciation of people from cultures other than my own, of folk art, of objects which are hand made, which tell myths and stories about their makers. I see a close connection between our Jewish ethos and this variety of human expression, this cultural diversity. I have no difficulty in finding Jewishness in almost everything I do. In this context, let us not forget gastronomic or culinary Judaism. Although I must admit it is sometimes difficult to translate my old recipes into low fat, no salt delights.
Judaism makes each of us conscious of our commitment to perform mitzvot, to loving our commandments. Haven't we all been taught early on to “be a mensch?” How else can we account for the disproportionate number of our people in the social sciences, the law, in charitable institutions, in community service, in all manner of volunteer activity, social activism, justice, and what we call progressive issues.
I would be remiss not to mention my ties with Eastern thought, since many of you know that I teach Hatha Yoga and T'ai Chi in my everyday life. Both are paths to spirituality in its broader sense. Indeed, the word spirit comes from the Latin spiritus, breath. Breathing, taking in a breath of life as the life force, is the most important aspect of yoga. I think of these disciplines as “meditation in motion.”
One can recognize their relevance in these times when stress is endemic, when relaxation is a lost art, and when Americans of all varieties seem to be on a quest for transformation, meaning, and greater spirituality. As systems of physical, mental, and spiritual development, yoga and t'ai chi in no way conflict with Judaism. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why many of our young co-religionists in the 70s and 80s joined groups in which these practices were included.
What begs to be questioned is why Judaism seemed inadequate and how “other” systems of spirituality appeared to fill the need better. To this end, I must ask: Why has the teaching of Judaism often omitted fundamental information which links us to spirituality? Perhaps more explicit emphasis should be placed on our own tradition’s approach to spirituality.
This quest for spirituality was not lost or unknown to our ancestors who, used song, rhythm, and movement to induce profound states of focus and consciousness. In our own liturgy, we are admonished (Gates of Prayer, p. 348) not to take for granted the blessings of a healthy body, a resilient mind, and a strong heart and will...this is the connection, the synthesis of the body, mind, and spirit that I try to teach.
We are also reminded in our liturgy of the fragility of life, and therefore, the importance of showing our love today, enjoying each other and ourselves as though each day were our last. This is a part of what mindfulness is about.
Rabbi Block, in his sermon on Rosh Hashanah, spoke of the importance of prayer in the healing process. I, too, have stories of sending healing thoughts to those who are ill during our meditation or relaxation time in yoga class. As in our own prayers, we suggest positive thoughts (we call them affirmations) to help the body's natural urge to wellness, to assist the doctors with their medical therapies. These are not substitutes, they are complementary approaches on another plane. Healing is not curing. But we need the best of both traditional and alternative methods...Many studies and vast anecdotal evidence point to the effectiveness of prayer and positive thinking in healing.
I would like to quote from a document which was written when I served on the national board of the Council of Jewish Women. It expresses what Judaism means to me as a guide for individual action and responsible citizenship which I have taken to heart for many years. It says in part (paraphrased):
In conclusion, I have expressed the many aspects of my life - from volunteerism, to my love of folk art, to practicing and teaching, to rejoicing in my family and in the grand diversity of humanity - all as part of my being Jewish. My connection with all of these, as well as the comfort I feel within this vast spectrum of human experience, is at the core of my Jewish consciousness. Judaism provides me with both a historic and also a highly personal link to my own spiritual quest.
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