Home Presentation for Yom Kippur Symposium 5759, September 30, 1998
As I began to collect my thoughts for this presentation, I tried to answer the question in my own mind, "What has been the impact of Judaism on my life?". I will tell you that I did my best thinking one morning around 3:00 A.M. while I was lying wide awake in bed, waiting for the baby to awaken and shatter the peace of the night. Interestingly enough, Allie did not wake up until a much more acceptable hour in the morning and it was two hours later that I realized I had never been back to sleep and was still thinking of things I should include today.
I found my answer to the question in images. Fragments of memories kept drifting to the surface of my thoughts and I will share some of them with you today. I find it difficult to pinpoint any specific impact that these scenarios have had on my life. I have found that Judaism is and has been so pervasive in my soul that at times I feel it is my life. At the very least, I must say that I cannot imagine living without it.
I tried to pinpoint my very earliest Jewish memory. The oldest one I can remember was as a small child of three or four years old. My grandfather had helped to create a Conservative congregation in the tiny town of Manchester, Vermont, and every year for the High Holidays, he served as Cantor. We would all trek to Vermont from New York. I recall getting restless during the long service. There was no such thing as babysitting there, so I wandered up to the bimah and started crawling around under my grandfather's feet. He was singing "Kol Nidre" at the time and certainly could not stop to usher me back down to my parents.
I also remember sitting on the floor playing with the fringe of his tallis, mesmerized by his beautiful voice. I do not truly know how long I was there. However long it might have been, I am sure that I had never sat still so long. To this day I am extremely moved by the singing of "Kol Nidre" and I have no doubt that my love for the melody and music in general has its roots in that day. I have kept his tallis for the memories it holds and the scent of him which still clings to it.
My next recollection is more lighthearted.
As a third grader who had just started Hebrew School, I felt that it was my duty to share
everything I learned with my Jewish best friend whose family was unaffiliated and who
repeatedly told me she wasn't sure she believed in God. One of our first lessons was that
of the Burning Bush. Basically we were told that God can exist anywhere,
even in something as lowly as a bush and that we were required to make room for God in our
lives. I dutifully noted this information.
When I went to spend the night at her house
the next weekend, as we were settling into bed, I told her she needed to scoot over. I
moved to the very edge of the bed on my side and I made her press up against the wall on
her side to, as I put it,
leave room for God. She still hasn't let me forget it! As I have gotten older, I have
certainly come to understand the meaning of that lesson with much more depth and I believe
that it was one of the most important things I ever learned in Religious School. We all
find our own ways to include God in our lives and I think it is one of the most important
manifestations of Judaism in my own existence.
I then recalled about a year later, in October of 1973, my family lived in Birmingham, Alabama, and we attended the Orthodox congregation there. It was the first Hebrew School class day after Yom Kippur. We were called out of class and all of the children were herded into the small chapel. None of us knew what was going on. I remember being personally pleased, since I had been about to be called upon by the teacher to recite some prayers that I was to have memorized for that class that I had not quite managed to commit to memory.
I remember Rabbi Stern very solemnly explaining to us that Israel had been attacked on Yom Kippur. He explained that he had called us all to the chapel because he believed that God would hear the prayers of the children more clearly than the prayers of adults. He called on us to pray for victory and peace for Israel. I remember feeling such a weight of responsibility. When the war was over shortly thereafter, I remember being amazed and I believed then and now that God had really heard our prayers. I have never found any reason to stop believing that God really does listen. I pray often, and, although I have never received a verbal response, I strongly believe that many of my prayers have been answered. Over the years, I have taken great comfort from that thought.
Whenever I think of the importance of religion in my life I cannot help but think of my grandmother. She was, to the roots of her being, the embodiment of what God intended when he conceived of the concept of tzedakah. Like all of us, she gave what money she could to as many causes as she could. More important than the mere donation of money, however, was her dedication of spirit to others. She gave selflessly and from a love of giving that defined her throughout her life. At a time when she had become so ill that I had to write out her checks for her, I asked why she was giving money to several different organizations of which I had never heard. I will never forget her looking at me in shock and saying, "This one was my mother's; this one was my Aunt Gussie's," etc. She held the belief that charities were passed on like any other personal effect. She was always a worker and, no matter what her personal circumstances, she always knew that there were those less fortunate that needed her help.
She used to volunteer her time with disadvantaged children when she worked in the school system in New York city. She was a regular volunteer at Jewish Family Service, Jewish Federation, and the JCC. When I once mentioned to her that I had never known anyone with such a sense of tzedakah, she commented with a question, "Is it really giving of charity if I take so much personal satisfaction from doing it?" To this day I am not sure of the answer. I have tried to live in a way that I know would make her proud of me. I have tried to do things that I know she would have done and I have come to understand what she meant about personal satisfaction.
The biggest challenge to my faith occurred when I was 16. My father, at the age of 37, had been in a coma for several months, and he passed away at the end of January in 1981. I remember storming heaven with demands for an explanation for his death. The child in me wanted to settle on the simple explanation that he had been such a wonderful person that God wanted to keep him close. Of course, I knew even then that this answer was a childish one. He had always told me that he did not think he would live a long life and I took his death as proof that as a father he always seemed to know things I did not. I have never satisfactorily answered the question of why he died. I do not believe that an answer exists beyond saying that we all have our time. Strangely enough it is the one upheaval in my life that I have not tried to explain through religion and I know that a profound sadness will reside in my soul for as long as I live.
This event also created my greatest regret. The father I adored never knew the man I love. Jonathan and I began dating during the time my father was ill and they never met. I know after much grumbling that "boys are all the same," Daddy would have agreed that Jonathan is extremely special. When the time came to decide which of my father's worldly possessions I wished to keep, I chose his lizard-skin cowboy boots and his tallis, too. The boots symbolize an outgoing, generous, and fun-loving man whose feet were always firmly planted on the ground. The tallis represents the man who was always humble before God, a man who took his responsibilities to his religion, his friends and his family seriously, a man who yet found the ability to dream great dreams and who always fulfilled his oaths to God. I believe that both items defined him.
I actually enjoy remembering these experiences. I pull these memories out from time to time and dust them off. I suppose my point is that you never know which traditions and events will stick in a child's mind, which memories will be the most meaningful or influential. I frequently remind myself of that as Jonathan and I begin to create our own family traditions with Allie. Which things will be the most special memories for her? As Rabbi Stahl said of the "Kol Nidre" prayer last night, that prayer takes you to a place that only an individual and God can go. So, too, those special memories.
I end as I began, not sure that I can define the "impact" of Judaism on my life. As I said in the beginning, I cannot imagine living without the benefit of my religion. Judaism, my belief in God and my love for my family are in my heart, my soul and my being. I do love God with all my heart. I have set these words upon my heart. I will strive to teach these concepts diligently to my children. I think of them when I lie down and when I rise up. I hold these things as a symbol before my eyes. I have inscribed them upon the doorposts of my house. I wouldn't have it any other way.
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