Pioneers and Repentance

I've been going way too long between posts, and I have such had a lot to say every time I post. But such is the life of an HUC student. The last few weeks have been crazy. First, a trip to Haifa with my friend Dan for my one-week summer break (pictures are on Facebook). Then came the first week of school. I have ten classes this semester, read: at least twice as many classes as I took per semester in college. But I like most of them so far. In my musicianship class, one of the objectives on the syllabus is, "Have fun." And I really like my cantorial workshop too. We are learning weekday nusach, which means that hopefully I'll finally learn how to daven properly. We're going to be learning some awesome stuff this semester. I have the same awesome Hebrew teacher as last semester, and she basically just picked up where she left off, which is good.

I also have what is called Israel Seminar, where I learn about Israel. This past weekend, we went on a study trip up north for this course. I want to talk a bit about this trip. The trip started near the Yam Kineret, or Sea of Galilee in English. It was interesting, to say the least. We went to a lot of different sites that were somehow connected with the pioneers. A couple days ago, a friend told me that my Zionist camp didn't do it's job if I'm not sure whether I'm a Zionist. I don't know if I completely agree with that statement. If Zionism means that I care about Israel, I am definitely a Zionist. If Zionism means that I would make aliyah or work on a kibbutz, or that I would have aligned myself with Herzl back in they day, I don't know that I would call myself a Zionist. Or maybe I'm just unsure of myself because all of the right-wing organizations tell me I'm not a Zionist. Which, come on, anyone who seriously agrees with every single thing that Israel does has never been to the women's side of the Kotel. . . I don't think that makes me anti-Zionist. . . For the record, I criticize the US all the time too, probably more than I criticize Israel, and no one's ever questioned my American-ness. Anyway, if I was confused before, this trip confused me even more. When I was a little kid at Jewish day school, we talked a lot about how the chalutzim (pioneers) came to Israel, drained the swamps, and worked hard to make the land livable. When I was at summer camp, we learned about the Zionist spirit of communal living and helping one another. But here, next to the Kineret, I learned that none of this was like the perfect picture that it had been painted to be. For instance, when we were in the cemetery, we read a story about a woman who was too sick to work, so she was forced out of her g'vutzah (group), and ended up killing herself. Where's the community there? When we were at Tel Chai, an early Zionist settlement in the north, we learned about the shot that was symbolically the start of the Arab-Israeli conflict. It wasn't even clear whose fault it was. Before anyone starts taking sides here, I want to point out the the French actually owned the land at the time. The one thing that was not confusing was that the Kineret is GORGEOUS. We got to go swimming in it. I also got to lead a shacharit service right in front of it with my friend Danny. I need to find a way to spend more time up there. So beautiful.

The next day, we looked at a couple of other places in the area. We went to this town called Kiryat Shmonah and talked to some of the protesters there. Remember the tent cities from last summer? Those protests. The protests were supposedly the inspiration for Occupy Wall Street, but the protests here actually meant something. I am going to get a lot of flack for this, but I was honestly disappointed in Occupy Wall Street. I expected it to be a bunch of people who were sort of like me, people who were working but just could not afford to live. Or people who had lost their jobs due to the economy and  couldn't find new work. Or people who couldn't afford education or health care or even basic needs through no fault of their own. Basically, people who really did feel screwed over by the system. I found a few of those people, but I mostly found hippies in tents who had nothing better to do with their lives. In the case of the protests in Israel, it really was a bunch of Israelis of all different backgrounds (my group spoke with both a secular women and an Orthodox man) who couldn't afford to live and wanted the government to make changes. They've actually been able to make some changes on a local level. However, on a national level, it has been very hard for them. Apparently, when you have a multi-party parliamentary government system, and no one wants to go against any of the parties in their coalition lest the government fall apart, it's really hard to get things passed. And I thought things were bad in the US with politicians wasting our money on meaninglessly blocking legislation from the other side. That night, we stayed on Kibbutz Hanaton, which is a kibbutz with ties to the Masorti (Conservative) movement in Israel, but which is in effect pluralistic. And, from what I saw, it is proof that pluralism works. Maybe Jerusalem could take a hint from them.

That's all I'm going to say about the trip, because I also want to talk about what happened right after, namely Selichot, which can basically be described as a service with the purpose of preparing one for the High Holidays. The word "selichot" literally means "forgivenesses." In Ashkenazi communities, it traditionally happens on the Saturday night before Rosh Hashanah, somewhere close to midnight. Several of us from HUC went to the Great Synagogue. This was probably was not the smartest thing that I have ever done, as I was completely dead the next day, but it was totally worth it. I've never been quite sure exactly what the structure of Selichot is in the Reform movement, even though I enjoy going. We sing Hashiveinu three times, much of the Vidui (confessional) section is sung, and my rabbi tells a story. At the Great Synagogue, it was a bit different. They started out with Ashrei (a couple lines followed by psalm 145, traditionally sung in the morning and afternoon services), but this was much more drawn out. Then, there was some davening, and then they sang a piyut (post-Talmudic poem, for those of you who are Jewish the best example I can think of is Adon Olam). Apparently, there is a different piyut for each day of the week leading up to Rosh Hashanah, and this is the motzei Shabbat (end of Shabbat) piyut. If I remember correctly, it had something to do with rest, and also repentance, G-d looking kindly upon us, etc. Then, they do the Vidui section, which does start with Tavo L'fanecha and ends with Shema Koleinu but otherwise looks nothing like a Reform Vidui. . . though maybe the Vidui they actually do on Yom Kippur is closer to what I'm familiar with. . . I shall have to find out. It was, to say the least, amazing. The service was led by the Hazzan and accompanied by the choir. The music was gorgeous. I had never heard any of those settings before, but they were literally music to my ears. I was able to follow along for a large part of the service, but there were parts where it took me a while to find my place because I just didn't know some of the liturgy. I'm supposed to learn more about this stuff in my third year. I can't wait!

On Monday morning, some of us when to a Sephardic synagogue that my Hebrew teacher grew up at. The Sephardic tradition is to do Selichot really early in the morning (read: 5:30am) every weekday (i.e. not Saturday) during the month of Elul, which is the last month of the Jewish calendar. It is a very different service. First of all, the women's balcony has a curtain in front of it. According to my Hebrew teacher, this was a relatively recent development. There was never a curtain there when she was growing up. Sephardic synagogues used to be a lot more egalitarian but have been influenced by the Haredim. I can't comment if this is the case in the US. The rabbi who is the main rabbi for the Year in Israel program used to be the rabbi at a Sephardic congregation in LA, and he was ordained at HUC, but who knows if things have changed. In this case, I was still able to follow the service. It was completely different from the Ashkenazi Selichot. It did start with Ashrei, so that part was the same. There was what looked to be a rabbi leading the service, and he kept pointing to different men to lead different parts. There were a lot of acrostic poems, and in between, there was a line that is sung somewhere in the Yom Kippur service (I forget where), "Adonai, Adonai, el rachum ve'chanun, erech apayim, v'rav chesed v'emet," which means, "G-d, G-d, merciful, and gracious, long suffering, and abundant in goodness and truth." Every time this line was chanted, everyone stood up, and the shofar was blown. I think there was also some sort of Vidui, but I don't really remember because the liturgy was so different. Despite me being groggy for the rest of the day, it was an interesting experience, and I'm so, so glad I went. Afterwards, I went out for breakfast with two friends, and we discussed some very deep Jewish questions. What a way to start my morning!

And on that happy note, I'm off! Shanah tovah, everyone!