Poetry: Rain Song, p.2 The Power of Transformation, (Editorial),Amala Levine p. 3 Transformation Through Healing, Howard F. Sharfstein p. 4 The Transformation of Judah, Rabbi Maurice A. Salth p. 6 Being Jewish,Paul Bennett p. 7 The Wall, Robert N. Chan p. 8 Following the Call of Judaism, Cantor Elizabeth K. Sacks, p.10 Mikveh Gleanings, Joanne W. Prager,p. 12 Divine Intervention, Kerry B. Rubinstein p. 14 The Spy Who Dared to Love, Eric Levine p. 16 A Trip to Israel, Jamie Goldstein p. 18 Profiles of Transformation, Rabbi Michael S. Friedman p. 20 New York Jewish Film Festival, Steve Klausner p. 22

Fa l l 2 0 1 0 T H I S I S S U E : T R A N S F O R M AT I O N

It was a transformation years in the making. With God’s gentle prodding for more than three decades and His final, more dramatic intervention, I had found my way home, when I emerged from the waters of the mikveh as a Jew. Divine Intervention, Kerry B. Rubinstein p.14

The Power of Transformation

EDITORIALPOETRY

2 3

Rain Song The days of summer are gone. TheRainy season is here. Its showers willGather, they pour themselves, more andMore upon the earth. Grain, wine, andOil will flourish quickly. The cloudsWill send down rain, and urge the earthTo bring forth grass. Seeds and budsWill grow in beauty. Voices of thunderWill herald: ‘Those who sow in tears shallReap with songs of joy!’ Anonymous (9th-11th Century)

Change is good—transformation is awesome! In our current culture of cool where anything, from clothes, parties to surfboards is pronounced

“awesome,” the word has lost the value of its coinage. This issue of HaShiur reconnects us to the original source of meaning—awe and wonder—describing experiences so fundamental, so intimate, so moving that their emotional core exceeds the grasp of language.Religious conversion, adopting a new spiritual identity, must count as one of the most awesome kinds of transformation. As three of our feature stories reveal, conversion is not undertaken lightly; it marks not only the end of a long process of reflection, soul searching and study, but also the beginning of a new life—as a Jew. Kerry Rubinstein describes the journey as finding “my way home,” Joanne Prager feels “a higher sense of purpose and community,” and Paul Bennett marvels at the difference between studying “to become a Jew” and being a Jew. Central to their experience is the transitional moment of transformation—the immersion in the waters of the mikveh—where powerful feelings may overwhelm speech, yet the emotional affirmation of the Shehecheyanu becomes the cornerstone of a new path. This is truly awesome. Transformations are at once encounters with oneself and with something beyond oneself; they trigger a shift of perception. Howard Sharfstein’s journey through illness and healing is supported and nurtured by the love of his family, the clergy and community, and a singular nun. Their contact is both tactile and verbal. Though the content of the conversations has faded from memory, its healing comfort has not, nor has the touch of an outstretched hand. “I know,” he writes, “that my cancer might return. But now I face that possibility not with fear, but with strength and resolve.”Robert Chan admits, “I barely have faith in faith,” yet he feels “the spiritual power of the Western Wall… and the presence of God.” Fully aware of the fragility of human resolutions, Chan nonetheless is moved by this intimate personal encounter to commit himself to do good as best he can. Like Joanne Prager, he realizes that mitzvot beget mitzvot, setting in motion a chain reaction of transformations that may ultimately repair the world.Jaime Goldstein “can still smell the air” when he first disembarked on the tarmac of the Tel Aviv airport as a teen, “It seemed so different and yet so familiar.” That is one of the secrets of transformation—the core experience

is a shift of perception that is at once a recognition of something new, yet old and familiar, because it taps into the wellspring of our essential being. Yochanan Ben Zakkai, Rachel Adler and Theodor Herzl, the focus of Rabbi Friedman’s historical reflections, harness their own core strength to courageously transform Judaism as a religion into the kind we are familiar with today, with women’s active participation, and to envision a Jewish state that would embody the precepts of Judaism. Cantor Sacks shows how the Independent Minyan Movement may offer not only a deeply personal, emotional immersion in religious worship but also stimulate institutional transformation throughout the denominations. The stories of transformation in this issue, however individual and personal they may be, all imply a shared quality of redemption. Everyone is given a new chance: to make good, to chart a new course, to re-commit, to grow. Rabbi Salth’s discussion of Judah highlights this redemptive aspect of the journey. Judah’s encounter with Tamar opens the door to self-reflection and the feelings of others so that, by the time he re-encounters Joseph, he can act with magnanimity. He has truly redeemed himself—a callous boy has turned into a selfless man. Likewise, “The Spy Who Dared to Love,” a short story written especially for this issue, captures the redemptive and transformative power of love. Before Rabbi Rubinstein left on sabbatical last spring, he requested that this issue of HaShiur address the question of transformation and his mandate was: “Make it powerful!” Amala Levine

54ESSAY

Transformation Through Healing Howard F. Sharfstein

I was born on July 13, 2000, though, I guess, I don’t look my age. It must have been my

birthday since I was surrounded by those I love, and everyone was sing-ing “Happy Birthday” in my honor. But there were no candles—I was on the transplant floor at Memo-rial Sloan Kettering. I had been in the hospital, in isolation, for a few weeks—and would remain there for many more as I slowly recovered. I had lost almost 70 pounds—I was sustained by two intravenous drips, one for chemotherapy and sedatives, one for hydration and nutrition. I was truly in the depths, physically and emotionally— facing my mortality.

The birth celebrated on July 13, 2000 was the first day of my re-covery from cancer as my stem cells, harvested many weeks previously, were being re-infused into my body in hope of creating a new immune system. The preceding months of high-dose chemotherapy and radia-tion treatments had intentionally destroyed my old immune system, which had proved ineffective in preventing a recurrence of my non-Hodgkins lymphoma that had been originally diagnosed and treated in 1992. On July 13, 2000, prior to the infusion, I had no immune system left, no defense against illness and certain death. But the transplanted stem cells gradually created a new and healthy immune system, al-lowing me to resume my life—a life transformed, with clearer perspec-tives, guided by two remarkable individuals. I learned from them that as one is cured, one heals.

In July 2000, I was faced with my mortality in no uncertain terms. If the stem cell transplant

did not work, I would die. If I contracted an illness or infection during my hospital isolation, before my body grew its new immune system, I would die. But I survived. Looking back, I now know that this crisis was a turning point and the beginning of my transformation. Once a traumatic event is faced, acknowledged and comprehended, once we are touched by people who understand that healing can be truly transformative, then a new outlook on life, loves and values is born.

During my illness, hospital-ization and recovery, Rabbi Rubin-stein was at our side at all times. He was there, unannounced, in the sur-gical recovery room. He visited the hospital, day and night, to be with me and Jill. He presided at Jill’s bat mitzvah in our apartment since, with my compromised immune system, I could not travel or be with others. He showed his limitless care and love, which sprang from his faith and his soul. I do not recall if we ever discussed religious mat-ters. But I do know that our times together were spiritual and critical to my recovery.

Prior to our time with Rabbi Rubinstein in the hospital and dur-ing my recovery, Jill and I knew we were Jewish. We were married by a rabbi, and our children became bat mitzvah and were confirmed at Central Synagogue. But that had been merely participatory Juda-ism, not faith. Peter’s care and love taught us to realize the importance of the values that guide the Jewish

faith. Now our need to pray, learn and participate as Jews became an integral part of our transformed lives.

I remember a particular mo-ment before the surgical procedure at Memorial Sloan Kettering that would confirm the recurrence of my cancer. I was sitting in a hospital gown, in a wheelchair, in a cubicle, separated from the other patients by a curtain. Jill was with me—we were both terrified, unable to speak as our tears flowed. Unexpectedly, a person carefully pushed open the curtain to ask how I was. She was a petite, older woman, speaking in an assuring tone. She asked if we wanted to share our thoughts, our fears. Without hesitation, we entered into deep conversation with Sister Elaine Goodell, a nun and Roman Catholic Chaplain at Sloan Kettering. She recognized and understood our fears, and although I do not recall her exact words, her healing, comforting words and consoling presence meant so much to us. During her short visit, we realized that healing was possible—a healing beyond the recovery of health, a healing that, as Sister Elaine said, reconciles the spiritual, mental and physical dimensions of being. Our encounter lasted only a few minutes, but it truly trans-formed my life.

My recovery and healing made me reconsider my priorities and aspirations. What was truly im-portant? If my life was to end in the near future, what did I want to say to those I cherish? If I recovered, what paths would I follow in my remaining years? I know, but for my illness and my experiences with Rabbi Rubinstein and Sister Elaine,

I never would have considered such matters at age 55. It was just so easy to “sail on,” not confronting the direction of one’s life.

Now I consider myself fortunate to have had cancer. My treatment and recovery made me reflect on life’s purpose. My many blessings came into clearer focus; my priorities were altered. My dedication to my family, my faith

and to Central Synagogue became the pivotal centers of my life. Work and its financial benefits were no longer the main concern. Before my illness, they had consumed so many hours of my time and thoughts, now I realized that they do not prompt recovery, healing, transformation. A loving family did. They were there for me, offering a hand to hold, someone to hug, someone to cry with. Faith provided solace and a source of strength and resolve. The

Central Synagogue community supported my recovery through words, actions and our shared Jew-ish heritage, with its emphasis on faith, life and redemption. Central Synagogue, its incredible clergy and staff, and a slight Roman Catholic nun, in an encounter that lasted only a moment, led me to re-assess my focus in life, my reflections and aspirations. I know that my cancer might return. But now I face that possibility not with fear, but with strength and resolve. Abraham Joshua Heschel describes transformation as a meet-ing with God: Godis unwilling to be alone,and mancannot forever remain imperviousto what He longs to show.Those of us who cannot keep their striving backfind themselves at timeswithin the sight of the unseenand become aglow with its rays.Some of us blush,others wear a mask.Faith is a blushin the presence of God.1

A powerful transforma-tion can emerge from the darkness of illness. I know; I have lived it; I blushed—I am truly blessed.

1. Heschel, Abraham Joshua, I Asked for Wonder: A Spiritual Anthology. Crossroad Publishing Co. (New York: 1983), p. 5

Howard F. Sharfstein is a partner at Schulte Roth & Zabel LLP. He was president of the Board of Trustees of Central Synagogue from 2006-2009. He and his wife Jill have been members of the Synagogue for more than 25 years.

Above: William Blake, The Ancient of Days, 1794

... I was faced with mortality in no uncertain terms.

...a new outlook on life, loves and values is born.

■

Rabbi Maurice A. Salth Paul Bennett

6 7

The Transformation of Judah Being Jewish

REFLECTIONS

We learn that Joseph is Jacob’s favorite child and that Joseph’s siblings hated him because of his father’s attention. Among his many mistakes, Jacob gives Joseph gifts, including the infamous coat of many colors. We can just picture Joseph’s brothers turning an angry red, as he walked among them in this garment. What did the other brothers receive from their father? Bubkus—the Yiddish word that translates to “nothing!” Early in the tale, Joseph is sent to shepherd with his brothers. After considering fratricide, the brothers throw Joseph into a pit without food or water, while they feast nearby. The text describes an approaching caravan of traders and Judah suggests to his brothers that, instead of killing

Joseph, they sell him into slavery. A hint of pride can be detected in his voice as he suggests, “Let us not do away with him ourselves. After all, he is our brother, our own flesh.” This is how we first hear Judah speak. His awful, twisted reasoning is accepted by his brothers and Joseph is sold for twenty pieces of silver. Later they lie to their father, telling Jacob that Joseph was attacked and killed by a wild beast. For good measure they have dipped Joseph’s multicolored coat in goat blood and present it to their father so that he may identify it. It is one of the bible’s most terrible scenes. Strangely, just eight verses later, the Torah pauses in the telling of the Joseph saga and highlights instead a brief tale starring Judah and his daughter-in-law, Tamar. This story, in chapter 38, is difficult to summarize but its conclusion reveals the beginnings of Judah’s transformation. He publicly takes responsibility for behavior that only he and Tamar, his accuser, knew was inappropriate. He could have used his powerful position to protect himself and punish the innocent Tamar, but he does not because he is contrite.

Chapters 39 through 45 complete the story of Joseph and his brothers. Joseph, now the second in command in Egypt, creates an elaborate test to determine if his brothers are worth saving from a region-wide famine. He frames Benjamin who, except for Joseph, is Jacob’s favorite son. Joseph tells

Our Torah’s first book, Genesis, through its stories teaches us a number of

lessons. Transformation is, no doubt, one of its thematic priorities. Our forefather Jacob undergoes such dramatic change; he is physically altered and renamed Israel. And Joseph, Jacob’s son, transforms from a teenage tattletale to one of our people’s greatest models of fortitude and t’shuvah (repentance and forgiveness). The Rabbis focused their attention on both Jacob and Joseph and their words are recorded in the pages of the Talmud. But the Rabbis also centered upon another, less known Biblical figure, Judah, Jacob’s fourth son. Chapter 37 of Genesis begins to tell the story of Joseph and his relationship with his family.

Above: Tintoretto, The Meeting of Tamar and Judah, 1555

CONVERSION

I didn’t know quite what to expect when it came time to go into the mikveh. I had memorized

the Shehecheyanu and the rabbi had explained what would happen. But for me, a 46-year-old man with a wife, two kids, a home, and a job, to strip naked and get into this tank of warmish water seemed surprisingly mundane, yet so natural and el-emental. I recited the prayer, dried and dressed, and Rabbi Rubinstein did some things and said some things and signed my certificate. I was officially a Jew.

A lot had lead up to that moment but the decision to convert had been the most important. When Nancy and I met and fell in love, and as we stayed in love and decid-ed to marry and have children, she was strongly determined that our children should be raised as Jews. That was fine with me since no one was pressuring or even asking me to convert. So, for the first fourteen years of our marriage, conversion was just not an issue.

We felt comfortable at Cen-tral Synagogue, which we joined right after we got married. The

rabbis knew I wasn’t Jewish and, I imagine, so did most of the people we met and became friends with in the congregation. When our older daughter, Laura, became a bat mitz-vah, I could see how much it meant to Nancy, and I also felt how much it meant to me. But as a non-Jew, it was not appropriate for me to fully participate in every aspect of the service, even the one my daughter was helping to lead! In particular, I could not read Torah—perhaps the most important thing. I had been a member of the synagogue for over ten years and had gone to services fairly regularly. But clearly, some-thing was incomplete. When my younger daughter, Rachel, began to study to become a bat mitzvah, it finally dawned on me that I wanted to participate fully, to be fully united with my wife and children, and to join the Jewish people.

The preparatory study process was not very difficult. I took some classes and, very super-ficially, learned a bit of Hebrew and a few prayers. I read the Torah, in English. I read some other books and wrote an essay about a biblical

passage. I memorized some facts, like the names of the twelve tribes, and regurgitated them at a gentle beit din organized by the rabbis; I “passed,” which allowed me to go to the mikveh.

But it was not until af-ter I officially became a Jew that I realized you don’t just study to become a Jew. You study to be a Jew. Most of my (still limited) Jew-ish knowledge has come to me after my conversion. Now I have really learned the prayers and I can feel their emotional significance. Now I really experience the joy of praying in the synagogue surrounded by other Jews.

Only after my conversion did I begin to take a deeper inter-est in Judaism. Now that it was my world, I felt free to explore it, no longer as an outsider but as part of the extended Jewish family. I trav-eled several times to Israel, ostensi-bly on business, but always with the desire to deepen my ties and better understand my new religion and people. Over time, I grew closer not only to my fellow congregants but also to other Jewish friends and acquaintances. My college room-mates, work colleagues, neighbors, and others I had known for years as a non-Jew were uniformly happy and welcoming as I joined the tribe.

Now I am 60 years old. My little Laura, whose bat mitzvah had prodded me, is married to a won-derful man and has a family. Her two-year-old is beginning to recog-nize Hebrew letters and really loved

Continued on page 9Continued on page 11

... you just don’t study to become a Jew. You study to be a Jew.

Judah offers himself as a slave instead of Benjamin.

ISRAEL

9

Robert N. Chan

I’m hardly the ideal candidate for spiritual transformation. Some might rate my chances as only

little better than Sarah Palin’s being elected President of the Union for Reform Judaism. As a litigator, I convey the impression that the ob-ject of life is to kill your enemies and enslave their women and children. Not a pose I adopt with friends and family, but it comes more naturally than it should. My idea of a vacation had always involved beautiful beaches, well-maintained tennis courts, and fine dining. I joined the Central Synagogue trip to Israel for families with bar mitzvah aged children, in part, to give my son—whose bar mitzvah lit an eternal light in my heart—a sense of tradition and heritage. If I’d set a better Jewish example all along, I might not have felt compelled to do so. Sure, I was interested (there’s no Jewish soul so dead as not to hear Israel’s siren song), but a temple trip wouldn’t normally be my first choice for spring break. Life often being a Möbius strip continuously recapitulating junior high school, our group quickly fractured into cliques, based on perceived status. By trip’s end though, we had morphed into a happy band of brothers and sisters. Unexpected interpersonal bonding often feels magical and particularly so when surrounded by four millennia of sanctified history. Toward the end of our time together, Rabbi Rubinstein asked each of us two questions: Which sites we visited had made the most profound impression? And to what extent the trip had changed us? Not yet comfortable publicly discussing

the intense feelings I experienced at one extraordinary place, and being a sufficiently adept cross-examiner to realize that his first question was a lead-in to his second, I copped out with “the Yad Vashem Children’s Memorial.” Yad Vashem moved me, but my feelings about the Holocaust’s young victims are too unambiguous for the experience to have been really spiritually transformative.

Although the trip stimulated healthy introspection, it didn’t initially inspire sufficiently revelatory thoughts to presage transformation. Tel Aviv, Independence Hall, the Golan Heights, the underground bullet factory, the sublime cemetery overlooking the Sea of Galilee (apparently neither a sea nor in Galilee), and Jaffa at sunset were thought provoking in their own

ways. Masada was a powerful and potent symbol, even if history’s twists leave some to question what it’s a symbol of. Safed, one of the four most holy cities in Israel and a Kabbalistic spiritual center since the 17th century, featured a resplendent setting, ambrosial Yemeni pizza, and scrums of black-clothed Hassids with their hands out. But the Old City of Jerusalem operated on a more profoundly recondite level. No other place reverberated with the spiritual power of the Western Wall and, I suspect, that for me no other place in the world would have. I felt the presence of God. Not the impersonal catalyst of creation in whom belief or disbelief is of such shrunken practical consequence as to be little more than intellectual whimsy. But rather the God in whom I didn’t believe and still don’t—the One who maintains a personal interest in all our doings, answers our worthy prayers, and takes umbrage at our failures to

further His holy purpose. What to do in the presence of such a One? Well, at a place where you can write Him notes and stick them in the Wall’s crannies, where He’ll be sure to get them, the answer is obvious—ask for stuff. With no health problems worth complaining about and my wife and son doing fine, what I ache for is inspiration. Before I go gently into that good night, there’s more I must accomplish. But what coin did He demand in exchange? That I be a better person, control my ungodly temper (having grown Himself beyond His early Pentateuchal excesses, He now expects the same from me), let go of anger over past slights, and look for opportunities to help those who cross my path. While I might get the occasional opportunities to perform significant mitzvot, He focused on quotidian acts, such as assisting a mother struggling with a double-stroller on subway steps. Small, anonymous deeds might inspire others to also do good for other strangers, whose deeds would in turn inspire additional acts of kindness. Being in Eretz Yisrael with a great teacher stimulates and amplifies religious thought. Responding to Rabbi Rubinstein’s second question, most of our group said the trip brought them closer to their Jewish roots, inspiring them to study Hebrew, keep the Sabbath, attend synagogue more frequently, and the like. Sure, we realized such resolutions have a tendency to fade. Exposed to the chopping and dicing of the Cuisinart of daily New York life, we revert to old routines. Previous futile attempts to change have taught us that efforts to escape the quicksand of life often suck us further into the mire. But I had another problem with such

resolutions; I don’t believe ritual has the power to liberate us from well-worn ruts. I barely have faith in faith. As one perpetually tuned to a high, bleak, ironic frequency, I’m acutely aware of the child-like nature of the deal I made with a nonexistent God; but at the Western Wall that wasn’t clear and still isn’t. If Schrodinger’s cat can be simultaneously alive and dead via quantum indeterminacy, then surely a God who doesn’t seem to exist can perform miracles. The good news is, so far I’ve been resolute in my resolution. Not without some backsliding but, hey, children learning to walk tend to fall. My to-do list is still filled with ever mutating sticky notes reminding me to do good, and I do—at least more than I used to. Does that qualify as transformative? Yes, possibly. But, in any event, I’m grateful.

Robert N. Chan, a founder and head of the litigation department at Ferber Chan Essner & Coller, LLP, has written and published four novels. His most recent title is The Bad Samaritan. For more information about the author, please refer to his website www.robertnchan.com

The Wall

the brothers they may leave without punishment, as long as they give him Benjamin as a slave. Remarkably, Judah offers himself as a slave instead of Benjamin, in order to protect his younger brother and his fragile, old father. He pleads with Joseph, telling him, “If I come to my father and Benjamin is not with us…my father will die in grief…therefore please let me remain as a slave instead of the boy…let me not be witness to the woe that would overtake my father.” This is Judah?

This is the brother who proudly offered up Joseph into slavery years ago? Yes, it is. Joseph’s condition has offered Judah a second chance, an opportunity to redeem himself. Judah is one of the great biblical stories of transformation that begins with his generosity to Tamar and culminates in his selfless response to Joseph. And because of his ability to change so significantly, the Rabbis teach, the tribe of Judah was rewarded with success and status. His achievement, some say, was so profound that we, as a tradition and religion, became known as Judaism. We Jews are the people capable of transformation, such as Judah’s in the Torah. Judah’s journey of transformation is instructive in a number of ways. First, it took time, at least 30 years. Secondly, over this period Judah became more aware of himself and those around him. Such awareness took significant inner work; he had to become truly open to his own feelings and those of others. And finally, Judah’s transformation occurred in stages. Would he have been able to say what he said to Joseph without the lessons he learned from his encounter with Tamar? I doubt it. We, in our modern world, are constantly bombarded with products that promise quick “transformation,” such as books, seminars, pills, surgery, and more. It is tempting to think that some of these might work. But those of us who are skeptics can take heart in the wise lessons taught us by Judah’s experience. Transformation takes time; it occurs in stages, and requires hard work of becoming self-aware and sensitive to others. Most importantly, each of us, yes even those of us as lost as Judah once was, are capable of transformation.

TRANSFORMATION OF JUDAH: Continued from page 6

...I felt the presence of God.

■

■

Kehilat Hadar (Community of Joy), Shira Chadasha (New Song), Kol Zimrah (Voice

of Music), Darkhei Noam (Ways of Pleasantness), Kol HaKfar (The Voice of the Village), Techiyah (Re-birth)—these are the names of just a few of the many new Jewish com-munities formed in New York and other major cities during the past decade. However, these are not synagogues, but independent min-yanim—small prayer groups unaf-filiated with any particular denomi-nation, founded by Jews in their 20s and 30s. They meet in apartments, church basements, school gyms, and increasingly, synagogue social halls. They host prayer services, learning sessions and community social action events. Currently there are more than 80 independent min-

yanim, serving thousands of young Jewish adults throughout North America and Israel.

Much has been written about the impact such independent minyanim might have on the organized Jewish community. Reactions range from positive—they are rejuvenating a “lost” population of Jews—to dire—they drain synagogue membership and view clergy as obsolete. While it may be too early to definitively assess the effects of independent minyanim on the larger Jewish world, these groups have already begun to change the way Jewish leaders think and speak about the Jewish community.

To begin with, the Independent Minyan Movement, as some call it, has transformed

our demographical structure. For many years, Jewish population surveys have noted a “lost” generation—Jews between the ages of 22 and 40. These young Jews, post-college and pre-children, are not included in surveys that measure the Jewish population by synagogue membership and financial contributions to Jewish organizations. The needs and desires of this unaccounted “Odyssey Generation” are increasingly met by independent minyanim. Their success and rapid growth indicate that young Jewish adults clearly want to engage and connect with Judaism, but they want to connect differently at this time in their life.

The Independent Minyan Movement has also transformed the denominational framework of the Jewish community. Unaffiliated with any official denomination, these groups have the flexibility and freedom to push boundaries and experiment with particular structural combinations, such as separate seating by gender but inclusion of women as prayer leaders, or mixed seating but waiting for ten men and ten women before declaring a minyan. The more liberal minyanim define themselves through structure of the service and overall aesthetics. They may combine a traditional liturgical format with the use of musical instruments, or traditional prayers interspersed with yoga, meditation and ecstatic chant. Many members of these independent minyanim consider themselves

post- or non-denominational, recognizing that neither they nor their minyan fit into the existing major Jewish denominations. The very availability and unconventionality of these highly specialized minyanim blurs the distinctions among the established denominations and allows people to define themselves according to their particular community rather than by the generally accepted divisions of Judaism.

However, I am most struck by the independent minyanim’s success with a different type of transformation—the growing of Jewish souls, one individual at a time. Independent minyanim depend on each of their members to help organize and create their forms of worship and educational experience. Therefore they must foster the Jewish development of their participants. For example, if no one in the group can lead a Friday night service, the group simply cannot hold a service—so someone must learn how.

As prayer educator for Kehilat Hadar, an independent minyan on the Upper West Side, I have the opportunity to observe first-hand how profound these personal transformations can be. In my class, I teach participants how to lead services on their own. I watch them progress, gaining confidence and growing appreciation for the liturgy and Judaism in general. I saw a young woman with little Jewish background cry with joy,

the giant blow-up plastic frog my wife hauled out for Passover. This year, we celebrated the Passover Seder at their house. Rachel flew in from Berkeley, where she is a first-year law student. Nancy helped Laura cook recipes passed down through Nancy’s family for genera-tions. Both my daughters are now beautiful women, committed to Ju-daism and carrying on the tradition in their own families.

My transformation into a Jew has transformed into a pro-cess—that of being Jewish. Wheth-er it is visiting the synagogues in Prague, attending a nephew’s wedding, attending High Holy Days services in Israel, or reading my favorite regular columns in The Jewish Week, there are many, many delights. Of course, there are also obligations one might not otherwise seek; but, in truth, I love these too. The deep wisdom of the Jewish tradition is unsurpassed in help-ing us as individuals and families deal with the stresses, sorrows and disappointments of life. Above all, Judaism for me is a religion of hope and joy, of faith and striving, of profound satisfaction and happiness with the gifts of life.

Laura is expecting again, and Nancy and I are awaiting the gift of a second grandchild, another little Jewish face, if God so wills it. It will be a cause for great joy and many, many thanks to our Creator, Who, as it turns out, made me a Jew.

Paul Bennett is Professor of Finance and Economics at Rutgers University. He and his wife, Nancy Rankin, have been members of Central Synagogue for 30 years.

after she had led her community in prayer for the first time. Through interaction with their Jewish peers and emphasis on the power of the individual, these independent minyanim help young adult Jews realize that Judaism can be an anchor at all stages of life. By focusing on the importance of individual experience, they are transforming a generation of young adult Jews, one person at a time.

Of course, independent minyanim are not the only source offering the potential for individual transformation. Synagogues have and will continue to help Jews of all ages shape and enrich their Jewish journeys. However, the success of independent minyanim reminds us of the importance of personal experience and involvement by highlighting one effective method for a particular age group. Ultimately, synagogues and independent minyanim must be partners in the quest for transformation of the larger Jewish world.

At the most recent Independent Minyan Conference, held last April at Central Synagogue, Rabbi Shai Held challenged a joint group of minyan and synagogue leaders: “We have to join hands and commit to one fundamental project…the emergence of a Judaism that says morashah kehilat Yaakov, that Torah is the inheritance of the entire Jew-ish community—all of us.”

Reading Suggestion:Kaufner, Rabbi Elie, Empowered Judaism: What Independent Minyanim Can Teach Us about Building Vibrant Jewish Communities. Jewish Lights Publishing: Vermont, 2010.

REFLECTIONS

Cantor Elizabeth K. SacksFollowing the Call of Judaism

Mosaic floor of ancient synagogue, Hamat Tiberias, 5th Century

BEING JEWISH: continued from page 9

... the growing of Jewish souls, one individual at a time.

10 11

■

12 13CONVERSION

Joanne W. Prager

In this information age, a sense of wonder often eludes us...

■

din at Central Synagogue, followed by mikveh immersion. The beit din itself was a powerful experience; we discussed Jewish history, pinnacles of our culture and how to lead a Jewish life, both privately and com-munally.

“Eleven minutes late” said a smiling Gita, the mikveh at-tendant for converts, who looked every bit the perfect babuschka. The facility was immaculate, tiled in a kaleidoscope of blues. At the

My conversion was long in coming. In our 22 years to-gether, my husband and I

attended services wherever the holi-days found us, and a few times we visited Israel as a family. Our four children attended Jewish nursery school, had naming and b’rit cer-emonies, and consistently celebrated holidays. In the fall of 2004, our first child, Paulena, enrolled at Central Synagogue’s Religious School, to be followed by her brothers. In the last couple of years, the two eldest have become bat and bar mitzvah; my daughter’s d’var Torah expounded on the theme of welcoming the stranger in the story of Lot, and my son Max’s, on the Tabernacle and the nature of worship. Last year, Paulena chanted Torah on Rosh HaShanah. As our practice intensi-fied, I felt compelled to participate in the unbroken chain of Jewish tradition which Rabbi Rubinstein celebrates on the bimah. I took to heart his remark to my children, “No one can do this for you.”

Central Synagogue em-braces the core values I share and consider distinctly Jewish, so it is natural that here I would feel inspired to convert. I embarked on an eighteen month curriculum of several volumes of Jewish read-ing, Torah class, a weekly tutorial, and adult education classes. The reading, cultural immersion and human contact, which invigorated me throughout that time, made me more engaged as a parent and a Jew. I developed lasting relationships through Judaism, identification with the collective conscience of its people and a stronger connection to Israel. This transformation culmi-nated on April 14, 2010 with a beit

top of the steps, I handed over my robe, feeling my shower-dampened skin through the air. Where did I end and the water begin? Descend-ing the seven steps of Creation into the warm pool, I plunged. I was suspended, my waist long hair, rib-bons of time wrapping this moment between old and new selves. In the submerged silence of this reverber-ating chamber, I lingered. Water came into my nose. I resurfaced choking, startled by Gita’s drum-ming pronouncement, “kosher.” I collected myself enough to recite the b’rachah “…al ha-tevilah.” On the second immersion, I heard again, “kosher.” I looked at her neatly

tify me; I had brought those waters with me. I still do. I felt like the girl in Yehuda Amichai’s love poem:

Your hair dried last.When we were already far from the sea, when words and salt, which mixed on us, separated from each other with a sigh.1

I thought how powerful this transformation and ritual had been. I returned home to a bouquet of blue delphiniums and white roses and lilies—the colors of the Israeli flag. My husband’s card read, “… a generational gift.”

Conversion is a starting point for me, a state of preparedness and awareness of the Command-ments. Judaism enables me to artic-ulate and follow values and conduct for which I was searching intui-tively. It gives me a world view that finds meaning in even the smallest of interactions. I now look for ways to realize my kavanah, my intention. Since converting, I feel a higher sense of purpose and community, enjoying the support and affection of fellow Torah classmates. Many congregants have approached me to say that my journey has reaffirmed their own faith. One friend wrote, “Your achievement is so meaning-ful… the choices you made, the dedication you pursued in follow-ing through, the intelligence of your studies, your personal commitment, are all so powerful and significant,

you have made me more fully ap-preciate my own commitment and study.” Mitzvot beget mitzvot.

In this information age, a sense of wonder often eludes us and rituals, such as lighting candles, the Opening of the Ark, mezuzot, and prayer, can help restore a childlike awe for abstract but profound forces in our lives. For me, the mikveh was more than an ancient tradition reconnecting me with the four rivers of Eden, a time of innocence. While my daughter wrote me on the morn-ing of my beit din that I was “already Jewish in her mind,” my soul has been undeniably elevated by con-version. “Na’aseh v’nishma” speaks to the unconditional trust of a Jew doing first, understanding later, as the Israelites did in accepting the Torah at Sinai.

When we make the time to prepare for and perform ritual, and search for its meaning, we come closer to the Divine. To quote twelfth century poet Yehuda Halevi, “As I stepped out to meet God’s Presence, I found the Presence al-ready walking toward me.”2

Joanne Prager is a graduate of Harvard College. She serves on the Board of the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum and on the Advisory Council of the Center for Bio-diversity and Conservation at The American Museum of Natural History. She lives with her family in New York and Maryland’s Eastern Shore.

1. Amichai, Yehuda, Love Poems, 99. New York: Harper & Row, 1981.

2. Berkowitz, Miriam, Taking the Plunge: A Practical Guide to the Mikveh, xvi. The Schechter Institute of Jewish Studies, 2009.

Mikveh Gleanings

tied kisuy-rosh and beamed. I was a newborn gurgling in her first bath. The attending clergy waited behind the door, held slightly ajar by Gita. I could see their shadows leaning, like eager parents, toward the opening. By the third “kosher,” the ingested water had rendered me mute. My She-hecheyanu was barely audible when the clergy chimed in like a Greek chorus. By “…v’higianu,” I finally found my voice, and still coughing, laughing and crying, uttered an exultant “laz’man ha-ZEH!” I was breathless from the immersion, my vulnerability and struggle for mod-esty. I was torn between discompo-

sure and deep introspection.

Euphor-ic, clergy and I embraced in the anteroom, with heads together for one last bless-ing. My wet hair plus a few tears drizzled onto the floor and our shoes, soak-ing our tangled arms. Could I have brought so much mikveh out of the mikveh?! I continued to drip the “living” waters across Central Park, along the wind-ing footpath beneath falling cherry blossom petals. This was the symbol which would for-

I felt compelled to participate in the unbroken chain of Jewish tradition...

CONVERSION

Kerry B. Rubinstein

■

Divine Intervention

...God spent a lot of time meddling with my life...

14 15

I’m still not certain I believe in such things, but it seems God spent a lot of time meddling in

my life. Although it might seem that my conversion and marriage to a Rabbi were sudden transforma-tions that occurred in my forties, the truth is that improbable events and inexplicable circumstances had oc-curred all along.

I grew up a Presbyterian in Buffalo, New York in a small fam-ily—just my divorced mother and younger sister. My father left us when I was five years old and, soon thereafter, we didn’t have a place to live, so we stayed with relatives, and once even in a rooming house. When we qualified for an apart-ment in a public housing project, we were thrilled to finally have our

own home. The projects were in Riverside, a working class neighbor-hood, where the high school district straddled, what was then, a lower-middle class Jewish neighborhood. As unlikely as it seemed at the time, our move to the projects set the stage for my first exposure to Jewish families, culture and practice.

In Riverside, we became members of the local Presbyterian Church that soon turned into my home away from home. I loved going to Sunday School and became best friends with the minister’s daughter. I think the church made me feel safe and I spent almost

every afternoon there for various youth activities. On Sundays, my family went to church services, though these were not my favor-ite. Despite such immersion in the church, I had a big problem at the time of my confirmation. The cen-tral ritual of confirmation consisted of reciting the Apostle’s Creed—an ancient expression of Christian faith—in front of the altar and the entire congregation. My problem was that I didn’t believe—at least not in the Trinity. I resolved this moral crisis by going through the confirmation ritual with my fingers crossed behind my back, paradoxi-cally, a uniquely Christian gesture of

superstition.At Riverside

High School I was placed in an Honors track for advanced students. Although only a small percent-age of the student body was Jewish, in Honors classes, that percentage was reversed. Now my best friends were all Jew-ish. Their after-school activities were Hebrew School and the JCC. My girlfriends, Orthodox and Conservative Jews, invited me not only to hang out in their homes, but often also to cel-ebrate Jewish holidays. I fell deeply in love with cultural Judaism—the warm families, their food, music, and the land of Israel. Some

of my most vivid memories are of dinners in the sukkah on a friend’s balcony, watching men dance with the Torah from behind a partition in the women’s section of an Orthodox Synagogue, and eating my first mat-zah ball at Mastman’s Deli on Hertel Avenue. A friend’s older brother went to Israel at the outbreak of the 1967 War and sent photos of himself in uniform, posing in front of a tank somewhere in the desert. I absorbed my friends’ fears and longing for Israel. For a while, I dreamed of working on a kibbutz after high school, even though I had no clue how to make that happen.

High school ended and my friends dispersed. Most stayed on the East Coast, but I needed to get away from a difficult family life

and found my way to UC Berke-ley in the early 1970s. Organized religion was the last thing on my mind in those years. If we flirted with religion at all, it was with some exotic alternative like going to meditate at an ashram. After college, I stayed in the San Francisco Bay Area and threw myself into my career, married briefly and fell in love with sailing. The yacht club became my community center. I raced on the Bay and chaired the Jr. Sailing Program. After many years as a corporate Human Resources executive, I joined a consulting firm and traveled extensively, working with clients in Europe, Asia and the Middle East. It was an unabashedly secular life that was about to take a dramatic U-turn.

Or was it? When I think about it, a longing for faith, spiritu-ality, family, and tradition had been percolating in my mind since in my mid-thirties and had become more urgent as I approached forty. I had conveniently shelved deep thoughts about serious issues but now the idea that these issues must be dealt with by age 40 was fixed in my mind.

At this crucial juncture in my life, I boarded an early morning flight on Easter Sunday 1992, bound for New York. In fact, the previ-ous night, I had wondered, why I should take such an early flight and had even picked up the phone to change my reservation. So why did I put down the phone again? How was it that I found myself seated next to the recently divorced senior rabbi from Central Synagogue for a five hour cross-country flight? Peter has told the story of our con-versation on that flight and how the

events that followed miraculously changed both our lives.

On that Easter Sunday, it was as though God had decided that subtlety would no longer work. Surrounding me with Jewish friends and cultural experiences hadn’t been enough—my case called for more direct intervention.

Meeting Peter put me on a path that felt more like coming home than conversion or transfor-mation. I fell in love with Judaism all over again. On Saturday morn-ings, when I had work assignments in New York, I would sit in the back of the sanctuary and listen to music that lifted my soul. I became curi-ous about the prayers and began to study in California with an amazing young rabbi Peter had recommend-ed. I learned Hebrew and traveled twice on my own to Israel.

After three years of study, I was ready to convert, prompting the now infamous comment quoted by Peter in a Rosh HaShanah sermon, “Peter, I am more certain about be-coming a Jew than I am about you!” My Rabbis and Cantor from Temple Rodef Shalom in San Rafael presid-ed over my beit din. Peter flew out from New York to be a witness.

It was a transformation years in the making. With God’s gentle prodding for more than three decades and His final, more dra-matic intervention, I had found my way home, when I emerged from the waters of the mikveh as a Jew.

Kerry B. Rubinstein is currently enrolled in the Computer Graphic Design Program at Hunter College and she serves as a field volunteer for the Central Park Conservancy. She is married to Rabbi Peter J. Rubinstein.Above: Michelangelo, The Creation of Adam

(detail), Sistine Chapel, 1508

1716FICTION

Eric Levine

continued on page 19

On the day the State of Israel was born Iraq declared mar-tial law. Within a month,

article 51 (a) of the Iraqi Criminal Code was amended to add Zion-ism to Communism as a crime punishable by imprisonment or death. Trial was by military court. Hundreds of Jews were arrested, their homes and places of business searched. Soon afterwards, a young Jew was hanged in Basra for selling arms to Israel. That same day Ye-funeh Hallik returned home to his own personal tragedy. His preg-

nant wife, a prominent civil rights lawyer, had been brutally knifed to death, her face and body disfigured beyond recognition.

The Hallik family could trace their roots in Basra back before Babylonia was conquered by the Arabs and the country re-named Iraq. They had served as leaders of the Jewish community, producing a long line of eminent scholars, nasim and gaonim. They had prospered during the golden eras, providing the caliphs with doctors, finance ministers and diplomats, and had

managed to survive the bad times without having to leave the country, as many of their fellow Jews were forced to do.

The family had consolidated their prestige and fortune during the British Mandate, which was a calm period for the Jews. However, in 1932, following the country’s independence, hatred of the Jews began to fester, intensifying during World War II through Nazi influence, and turning more virulent after the 1948 Israeli War of Independence.

Despite his family’s long ties to the country, Yefuneh was so overcome by his wife’s death he could no longer bear to live there. Martial law prevented emigration, but Yefuneh was determined to leave, even if it meant losing his business and possessions. Soon after his wife’s shivah, he packed a small case and left on a business trip to Iran with no intention of returning.

His travels eventually took him to New York where he settled down and became a respected member of the Iraqi émigré orthodox community. Though the Hallik name was a passport to business success, his personal life remained clouded by his wife’s murder, and the loss of their unborn child. Beneath the veneer of success, Yefuneh was a hardened, embittered man.

Yet a prosperous, unattached man in an Orthodox Jewish community could hardly escape the attention of well-meaning friends who wished to find him a wife. After many unsought introductions, he finally succumbed to the charms of an attractive interior designer anxious to find a husband. It was less a marriage of love than of social convenience, but it was soon blessed with a baby boy. His arrival transformed Yefuneh’s life.

The boy was named Caleb, after the hero of the twelve spies who were featured in the Torah portion celebrating his b’rit milah.

His future became Yefuneh’s obsession; he would restore the family’s prestige. Though Caleb could no longer become a nasi or gaon, why not a Supreme Court judge?

Nothing was spared to prepare young Caleb for the fulfillment of his father’s dream. He was intelligent and quick to learn, excelling in all his secular and religious studies. He attended the best schools, always accomplishing the goals his father had set.

By the time Caleb graduated summa cum laude from Harvard, he had already been accepted by its Law School. Yefuneh left nothing to chance. But he had not anticipated the influence of Caleb’s professor of international studies and the introduction he had made. When Caleb told his father he was planning to defer law school to take the Foreign Service exam, a quarrel broke out. His father demanded he stay with their original plan.

Caleb refused: “Dad, for the first time in my life I’m going to do what I want to do, not what you tell me to do.”

“You listen to me, Caleb!” Yefuneh responded angrily. “I haven’t made all this investment in your future to see you throw it away, gallivanting around the world in a junior posting in some far-flung embassy.”

“If you really love me, Dad, you’d let me gain experience my way.”

“What’s love got to do with it!? We’re talking about your future…your future as a Supreme Court judge!”

After much argument and

recrimination Yefuneh reluctantly accepted Caleb’s decision, relying on the assurance that in two years he would return to law school.

However, such are the twists and turns of life that a chosen path sometimes leads to unexpected consequences. After passing the Foreign Service exam with flying colors, Caleb moved on to a rigorous training course which, in turn, led to a diplomatic posting at the US Embassy in Baghdad as a CIA under-cover agent. The Agency had quickly spotted the recruitment opportunity his Semitic appearance, intelligence and family connection afforded.

The news of Caleb’s posting to Iraq filled Yefuneh with dismay, bringing back memories he had tried hard to suppress. His trepidation would have been even greater had he known the true nature of the posting.

Caleb’s tour of duty took him beyond the perimeter of the Green Zone, traveling, often in disguise, deep into the local communities, many of them hostile to the US presence. He was captured by some Mardi soldiers, while talking suspiciously to a local barber. Shot in the stomach, he managed to escape, staggering into the main square where he was picked up by a US patrol. Rushed to the military hospital, he fell into a deep coma.

It took many weeks, but gradually he sustained a full recovery. He owed his life to the skill of the surgeon who had managed to extract the bullet from within a millimeter of his vital organs, and her devoted

The Spy Who Dared to Love

... his personal life remained clouded by his wife’s murder.

TRAVEL

1918

Jamie Goldstein

■

THE SPY WHO DARED TO LOVE: continued from page 17

A trip to Israel seemed like the logical next step in my young Jewish life. I was 16 and had

grudgingly made it through my bar mitzvah and continued on to con-firmation class. None of this would have happened, had it not been for the guidance of Rabbi Peter Rubin-stein. Now I had the opportunity to experience Israel through his eyes.

A month before our departure, I met some of the other kids from the region who were going to be part of the trip. We all were filled with excitement and anticipation for our big adventure. When our entire group met at JFK to board an El Al flight to Tel Aviv, there was also a contingent from Houston and a few other places, including a Jewish southern belle from Montgomery, Alabama. Until then, I hadn’t realized there were any Jews in Alabama.

Upon landing in Tel Aviv, the sound of “Hatikvah” playing

over the plane’s intercom gave me the first clue that I was about to experience something very special. I was so moved hearing the national anthem of the Jewish people proudly played for arriving visitors to the Holy Land. I can still smell the air as we de-planed on the tarmac. It seemed so different and yet so familiar. Later I learned that it was the aroma of the fields surrounding the airport. We boarded a bus and headed off on our six week adventure.

We crisscrossed the entire country and spent a few, very special days camping in the Sinai. We climbed Mt. Sinai in the dark to arrive at the peak just in time for sunrise. It was probably the most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen. We toured Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Haifa, and the North before ending up on a kibbutz outside Nazareth for the last two weeks of the trip. Peter and the rest of the staff made each

stop, whether it was an historical site, a museum or an archeological dig, meaningful and relevant for our group of teens.

At some point during the trip I remember realizing and being thrilled that everyone in this exciting and exotic place was actually Jewish. Our bus driver, the street cleaner in Tel Aviv, the cop in Jerusalem, and above all, most strikingly for me, the soldiers. Only many years later would I realize how greatly this would impact my outlook on life. I was also struck with the Hebrew language; it seemed to me so special that we had our own language. I wanted to learn it, I wanted to speak it.

As the end of the trip drew near, a friend and I would have liked to stay on the kibbutz for another two weeks. Neither of us was ready to go home just yet, but our parents wanted us back and promised another visit someday soon. I was fairly sure that visit would come sooner rather than later.

Upon returning to the United States and my daily life as a junior in high school, I always had Israel in the back of my mind. What was happening there? What was the security situation? How were world events playing out vis-a-vis Israel?

The summer after our trip, I worked at a Jewish camp in the Berkshires, together with some of my fellow Israel trip alumni. As a senior in high school, I became active in the Reform Jewish Youth Movement. In college, I studied Hebrew for two semesters before heading off to Hebrew University

in Jerusalem for the second semester of my junior year. I had a fantastic six months, living with an Israeli roommate in the dorms on Mt. Scopus and exploring Jerusalem.

During that time, I heard about a six week summer program conducted by the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) for young people thinking of making aliyah. It sounded just like what I was looking for, and a good excuse to stay in the country for another couple of months. The program turned out to be everything it was billed to be—and more. There was an ulpan [intensive Hebrew instruction] for part of the day, military-style training and lots of touring all across the country. I made some good friends, bonded by our deep love of Israel. By the time I left to return to Boston for my senior year of college, my Hebrew had greatly improved and my connection to Israel had grown significantly stronger. My taste of the military had strengthened my admiration for the concept of a Jewish army and further piqued my interest in serving in the IDF.

After graduating from

return home would coincide with Erev Shavuot. He was bringing a special friend to the festive dinner.

Caleb arrived, holding hands with the beautiful surgeon. “Dad and Mom, I want you to meet Amirah.” “That’s an Arabic name,” Yefuneh replied coldly. “Yes, Mr. Hallik. I’m an Iraqi, like you.” “No! I’m an American Jew. You’re an Iraqi Muslim!” “The same God,” she replied softly. “Dad, Amirah and I are engaged to be married. She wants to convert to Judaism.” “We don’t want an Iraqi Arab in the family!” “But I want her!” Caleb responded angrily. “I love her. She’s the first person in my life who really loves me. And she saved my life!” “Caleb, what are you saying? I love you. Your mother loves you.” “You don’t really love me, Dad. I’m just another possession, another trophy for you to polish and put on the shelf.” “How dare you!” Yefuneh shouted, raising his arms. “How could you say such a thing after all I’ve done for you? Get out of here!”

Caleb turned abruptly to leave, but Amirah held him back.

“Mr. Hallik,” she said in a quiet voice. “Caleb explained to me that tonight is the beginning of your Shavuot festival when you read the Book of Ruth. Doesn’t Ruth tell Naomi: wherever Naomi goes she will follow, that Naomi’s people will be her people, where Naomi dies, there Ruth will be buried? That’s how I feel about Caleb. He is the most wonderful person I’ve ever

A Trip to Israel

post-operative care. She was a US-trained Iraqi doctor who had happened to be on call when Caleb was admitted to the emergency unit. She was also very beautiful.

After his recovery Caleb called his parents. Much to their relief, he told them he was coming home. He had been given an honorable release for his valued service. Only then did they find out what had really transpired. His

It seemed so different and yet so familiar.

met. I love him so much and in loving him, I embrace his Judaism, for it is part of who he is.”

“I also know you have dark memories of Iraq. So do I. My father was a judge in Baghdad. When he refused to sentence one of Sadam’s opponents to death, they had him killed. Please, I beg of you, don’t let bad memories destroy your relationship with Caleb. He speaks so highly of you …He respects you. He loves you!”

Gazing at Amirah, seeing how she held Caleb, feeling their love for each other, brought back a flood of memories, of happy times in Basra. Suddenly a cloud lifted and opened his heart. Tears began to fall down his cheeks. Holding out his arms, he rushed towards Caleb and drew him into a tight embrace. “Caleb, forgive me. You too, Amirah. Forgive what I said for I spoke in haste. I had forgotten what it means to love deeply. But to see you together, ready to face the world, makes me rejoice in a way I had never thought possible.”

“So you do love me, Dad.” “I have always loved you

though I may not have shown it. But seeing you now, freed me from the past … lifted that weight, so I can express my love.”

Then, turning to his wife: “Bella, dear, maybe now I can show you that love.” Bella gave a warm smile, then drawing her arm through Amirah’s, she turned to Caleb: “You have brought us a great blessing.”

Eric Levine is a transnational corporate lawyer, a founding principal of Millenia Capital Partners, an investment advisory firm, and CEO of its inner-city redevelopment division.

Continued on page 24

21

Profiles of Transformation

REFLECTIONS

Rabbi Michael S. Friedman

20

Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai was one of the earliest rabbis. At the end of the tragic Jewish revolt of 66-70 CE, his beloved city of Jerusa-lem was under siege by the Romans. He knew that the Romans would eventually prevail and destroy the Temple, the seat of Jewish power. He could see that our people’s religious and political way of life was about to be destroyed. He also knew that under the rules of the siege, dead bodies were peaceably allowed out of the city for burial. So he convinced his students to enclose him in a coffin and they smuggled Rabbi Yochanan out. He imme-diately went to negotiate with the commander of the Roman legion, Vespasian (who would later become emperor), for permission to reconsti-tute the rabbinic academy of Jerusa-lem in the town of Yavneh.

With Roman permission, Rabbi Yochanan formed at Yavneh a great council of rabbis known as the Sanhedrin. This council had a difficult but crucial role. Led by Rabbi Yochanan and his disciples, the Sanhedrin set about to redefine Jewish life in an era in which the Temple had been destroyed and the priesthood rendered irrelevant. In an intentional act of transformation that many of us would find mind-boggling, the academy at Yavneh created the structures and rhythms of Jewish life familiar to us today.

THEODOR HERZLHerzl was certainly not

the first to propose the idea of an independent Jewish state. In fact, he needed to undergo his own transfor-mation in order to become a Zion-ist. According to historian Arthur Hertzberg, in his early adult life,

“Herzl held the conventional view of the westernized Jewish intellec-tual in the late nineteenth century, that progress was on the march for all mankind and that complete as-similation was both desirable and inevitable.”1 He believed that full integration into European society would put the Jew on perfectly equal footing with the gentile.

However, as he began to encounter increased anti-Semitism in the upper echelons of European society, Herzl started to question his own convictions. While working as a writer and journalist in Paris in the 1890s, Herzl came to the trans-formative conclusion that no degree of assimilation would appease anti-Semites. The only way Jews could live in freedom and safety, he argued, was to remove Jews com-pletely from European society and set up a Jewish state.

This personal epiphany

motivated Herzl to transform the Jewish world in which he lived. He united the disparate Zionist voices of Europe and initiated a formal, well-organized effort to “secure for the Jewish people a publicly rec-ognized, legally secured home for the Jewish people in Palestine.”2 In his writings Herzl envisioned a Jewish state in all its detail and formed both the relationships and the institutions necessary to make it a reality.

RACHEL ADLERIn 1971, Rachel Adler was

an Orthodox Jew who began to think seriously about the place of women in Jewish law. That year she published what is now recognized as one of the foundational works of Jewish feminism. In an essay en-titled, “The Jew Who Wasn’t There: Halacha and the Jewish Woman,” Adler exposed what she saw as the patronizing and oppressive attitude of traditional Jewish law toward women.

“Her major mitzvot aid and reinforce the life-style of the com-munity and the family, but they do not cultivate the relationship between the individual and God.

A woman keeps kosher be-cause she and her family must have kosher food… She goes to the mik-vah so that her husband can have intercourse with her and she bears children so that, through her, he can fulfill the exclusively male mitzvah of increasing and multiplying.”3

While the liberal Jewish world had already taken steps to place women and men on equal footing (the first female rabbi was ordained at Hebrew Union College in 1972 and the first female cantor in

1975), Adler’s work opened doors to those committed to remaining within the framework of traditional Jewish law. She boldly demanded that women be allowed to perform mitzvot which had traditionally been reserved for men, including Talmud study, reading from the Torah, leading worship, and wear-ing of ritual garments such as kippah and tallit.

Adler continued to pursue the inclusion of women in Jew-ish life. For example, in the 1980s, she was among the first to add the matriarchs to the text of the Ami-dah, and in the 1990s she created the first intensive Talmud study group specifically for women. Adler was certainly not alone in bringing a greater awareness of gender to the Jewish world; scholars such as Paula Hyman, Judith Plaskow and Judith Hauptmann also played important roles. However, Adler was particu-larly transformational in her incisive critique of traditional Jewish law and her creativity in expanding

women’s roles in Jewish life.In reading these stories, we

are reminded of the personal obliga-tion transformational work requires: If we do not take action, who will? And if not now, when? Each of these figures was prompted by personal experience to take decisive steps to transform the Jewish world. With-out Yochanan ben Zakkai Jewish practice, as we know it, simply would not exist. Without Theodor Herzl, the State of Israel would not have come into being the way it did. Without Rachel Adler, the role of women in the contemporary Jewish world would be far different. We are grateful for their bold vision, the risks they took, and the inspirational model they provide.

1. Hertzberg, Arthur, ed. The Zionist Idea, 201. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1997.

2. Excerpted from the platform of the First Zionist Congress, Basel, 1897.

3. Adler, Rachel, “The Jew Who Wasn’t There: Halacha and the Jewish Woman.” Reprinted in Response: A Contemporary Jewish Review. (Summer 1973): 79.

At critical points in Jewish history certain extraordinary individuals have stepped

forward to create transformational change within Judaism. I have selected the profiles of three remark-able characters who initiated mo-ments of transformation that mark a radical break between Jewish life as it existed before and Jewish life as it is today. Most importantly, we are moved to wonder whether our times also might not call for such radical transformation.

YOCHANAN BEN ZAKKAIJudaism as practiced in

ancient days— full of sacrificial blood, burning incense and focus on priestly purity—would be unrec-ognizable to us. More than anyone else, perhaps, Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai is responsible for the inten-tional and significant transformation of Jewish life in the latter half of the first century.

Flag of the State of Israel as envisioned and sketched by Herzl in 1905.

■

FILM

22 23

As a long-standing member of the Film Society of Lincoln Center, I’ve spent many

hours in the darkened theater, enthralled by the eclectic charms of independent (and international) film. Some of the most memorable have been the selections of the New York Jewish Film Festival, a presen-tation of The Jewish Museum and The Film Society of Lincoln Center. This year’s festival, screened in January 2010, was perhaps the best and brightest example to date. A mixture of documentaries, memoirs, short films and original feature-length dramas with global film stars, the event was reviewed by The Huffington Post as “…without doubt, one of the best of all of New York’s cinematic celebrations in any category is the New York Jewish Film Festival.”

I wholeheartedly agree. When the house lights came on at the Walter Reade Theater, fol-lowing a showing of the German language WW II memoir “Saviors in the Night,” an audience member remarked, “I will leave this theater a changed person.” I was similarly moved by the true story of prin-cipled German farmers who refused to give up their Jewish neighbors to the Gestapo, as well as by the power of the actors, the direction of Dutch-born Ludi Boeken, himself the child of Jews who were sheltered from the Nazis by righteous gentiles, and, not least, by the appearance of nonagenarian Marga Spiegel at the Q&A. Her harrowing ordeal, as portrayed on the screen, touched me deeply.

Given the transformative power of film in general, I thought it best to reach out to Aviva Wein-

traub, Associate Cu-rator at The Jewish Museum and Direc-tor of the New York Jewish Film Festival, whose considerable taste and talent have contributed greatly to this distinctive event, now poised to celebrate its 20th anniversary. Film lovers and film mak-ers alike have been fascinated, delighted and stirred.

HaShiur: How has the festival changed since its inception?

Aviva Weintraub: “We started small, showing 10 films over 8 days. The festival has grown to the extent that now we typically show an average of 25 to 30 films over two to three weeks.

When we began, the festival was thematic. Initially we focused on films from the former Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, where we found a remarkable output at an extraordinary moment in history—the fall of Communism. But in recent years, there have been so many films from so many places that we no longer hold to that parameter. I would say that the biggest change we have seen is the tremendous amount of productions on Jewish topics.

But in one regard, we

haven’t changed at all. The collaboration between The Jewish Museum and the Film Society of Lincoln Center represents the longest joint effort of any two art institutions in New York.”

HaShiur: How has the festival changed for the creators and participants?

Aviva Weintraub: “We are often told by directors how impressed they are by the level of questions from the audience when their films have screened. They are excited by this obvious interest in their work. In fact, sometimes the audience response is so extensive that the discussions run over the allotted time and continue in the lobby. So it has become an integral part of the festival to have as many filmmakers as possible in attendance. In effect, the whole becomes much greater than the sum of its parts.

For the filmmakers themselves, interacting with one another has been a very affecting

experience as well. The directors of “Saviors in the Night” and “Franz Weiss” saw each other for the first time in years and had a chance to watch each other’s films presented. It’s also very exciting for the actors when young talent appears for the first time.

With regard to directors, some are very nervous about how their films will be received. Of course, we believe in them, but there’s no guarantee the audience will. In fact, the highest compliment we can get is that the work is thought provoking. That’s what elevates our event from simply being a film series to a true film festival.”

HaShiur: How has the festival changed for you?

Aviva Weintraub: “I’ve been with the Jewish Museum for 20 years, since the festival’s inception. Our very first film was Hungarian, “Memoirs of A River”, directed by Judit Elek. Since then, every year we are afraid that we won’t have as good a crop of films as the year before. Will we have enough fantastic film? And yet, we continue to have more than enough exceptional films. That makes it even more challenging, not less, since we have to limit the material we can present. I wish we could screen more.”

New York Jewish Film Festival TwoDecadesofTouchingAudiences

Steve Klausner

Scene from “Saviors in the Night”

A great many films showcased at The New York Jewish Film Festival have gained global critical acclaim and been exhibited in theaters and broadcast on television. They include:

Saviors in the Night, 2009, director Ludi Boeken

Ajami, 2009, directors, Yaron Shani and Scandar Copti. Academy Award nominee, Best Film, Israeli Film Academy

Empty Nest, 2008, director, Daniel Burman. Academy Award nominee, Best Picture nominee, Argentinean Film Academy

Beaufort, 2007, director, Joseph Cedar. Academy Award nominee, Silver Bear, Berlin Film Festival

Max Minsky and Me, 2007, direc-tor, Anna Justice. Grand Prix de Montréal winner

Within the Whirlwind, 2009, direc-tor, Marleen Gorris, starring Emily Watson ... one of the best of

all of New York’s cinematic celebrations...

At Home in Utopia, 2008, director, Michal Goldman

Being Jewish in France, 2007, direc-tor, Yves Jeuland

Orthodox Stance, 2007, director, Jason Hutt

Praying with Lior, 2007, director, Ilana Trachtman

My Mexican Shivah, 2007, director, Alejandro Springall

The Rape of Europa, 2006, directors, Richard Berge, Bonni Cohen, and Nicole Newnham. Emmy Nominee

Live and Become, 2005, director, Radu Mihaileanu, César Award winner

Nowhere in Africa, 2001, director, Caroline Link. Academy Award winner, Best Foreign Language Film

The 2011 New York Jewish Film Festival will take place January 12-27. For tickets and information, visit www.thejewishmuseum.org/NYJFF.

■

Scene from “Beaufort”

Steve Klausner is an advertising copy writer, an award-winning screen writer and long-time member of Central Synagogue.

LEADERSHIP

President Kenneth H. Heitner Vice-Presidents Samuel Lindenbaum Juliana May Carol Ostrow Stephanie Stiefel Treasurer Frederic Poses Secretary Seth Berger

Board of Trustees Alan M. AdesKaren ChaikinDavid B. EdelsonEdith FassbergJanet H. FellemanRichard A. FriedmanJohn A. GoliebMichael GouldMarni GutkinPeter JakesCary A. KoplinJay MandelbaumClaudia MorseValerie PeltierLaura J. RothschildPhilip M. SatowMindy SchneiderWendy SiegelEmily Steinman Kent SwigMarc WeingartenJeffrey WilksJonathan Youngwood

Honorary TrusteesLester Breidenbach, Jr.Dr. J. Lester Gabrilove

Honorary PresidentsMartin I. KleinHoward F. SharfsteinMichael J. WeinbergerAlfred D. Youngwood

ClergyRabbi Peter J. RubinsteinCantor Angela Warnick BuchdahlRabbi Maurice A. SalthRabbi Michael S. FriedmanCantor Elizabeth K. Sacks

Senior StaffSenior Director Livia D. Thompson, FTADirector of Development Daniel A. NadelmannDirector of Lifelong Learning Yonni Wattenmaker, RJE

HASHIUR A Journal of Ideas is published twice a year by Central Synagogue, 123 East 55th Street, New York, NY 10022-3502

Editorial Committee: Rabbi Maurice A. Salth, Amala and Eric Levine, Steve Klausner, Rudi Wolff

Editor: Amala Levine,Designer and Picture Editor: Rudi WolffProduction Editor: Danielle Freni

PICTURE CREDITS

Cover: iStock Photo p 2: Barbara Wolff, drawingp 3: iStock Photo p 5: Relief etching & watercolor, Courtesy, The British Museump 6: Courtesy, Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, Madridp 7: Unknownp 8: Courtesy: “Life Collico”p10: Courtesy: “Goisrael”p12: Photograph, Erin Mulvehillp14: Courtesy: Abradale Publishersp16: Rudi Wolff, Collagep18: Courtesy, Google Earthp 20: Public domainp 21: Still photo from, “Prayer in Her Own Voice”p 22-23: Courtesy, New York Jewish Film Festival

123 EAST 55TH STREE T, NE W YORK , NY 10022-3502

No material may be used without prior written permission from Central Synagogue.

NON-PROFITORGANIZATION

U.S. POSTAGE PAIDNew York, N.Y.

Permit No. 8456

Letters To the Editor please emaileditorhashiur@censyn.org

A TRIP TO ISRAEL: continued from page 19

college, a good friend and I bought one-way air tickets and headed off to Israel. We travelled the country before landing at a kibbutz to participate in an ulpan. We both quickly embraced the kibbutz lifestyle, enjoying work in the banana fields and learning Hebrew in an intensive format. We forged close relationships with our adoptive kibbutz families. At the end of the ulpan, I decided to make aliyah and formally commit to my deeply felt connection with the country. I was drafted into the IDF soon thereafter and served for one year in an infantry unit. My service, although challenging on many levels, was extremely rewarding and gave me an increased level of maturity and self-discipline.

I lived in Israel for six months after my discharge from the IDF and then returned to the States to pursue various career options. Although I currently live in New York City with my wife and kids, I still travel to Israel two to three times a year, both for business and pleasure, and I maintain very close ties to my friends and adopted family.

Jamie Goldstein operates a luxury goods trading company; he enjoys playing softball, golf and skiing. He lives with his wife and two-year old twin sons in New York and attends Central Synagogue.