Or should I say, ברוכים הבאים : B'ruchim Ha'ba'im. (Blessed are those who enter)
Some of you may be wondering, what's with this new blog? She had that whole J.Fro in WeHo thing going, and it was kind of witty and all about singledom and we liked it, so why is she doing something new?
Or maybe you're thinking, wait... Jaclyn's going to be a rabbi. She's my go-to gal for all things Jewish. What is she doing spending her year "living Jewish?" What does that even mean? And what has she been "living" the twenty-six other years of her life?
Please, allow me to explain.
The idea for this blog was born in the midst of High Holiday preparation. I was alone in my WeHo apartment, consumed with a desire to provide my congregants with a meaningful and poignant Rosh Hashanah message. As I hammered out a 2,600 word sermon with a charge to live Jewish in a non-Jewish world, I found myself captivated by my own words.
I spent this past summer at URJ Camp Newman, a mecca of Reform Judaism high up in the hills above Santa Rosa. It was a transformative summer for me personally and professionally. Camp introduced me to a massive, influential contingency of my movement, to the traditions and rituals of a very specific summer society, and the power of living in an isolated, saturated Jewish environment for two whole months. It altered in many ways the way I look at my own Jewish practice and caused me to re-examine the Judaism I want to create for others. It also got me to examine my own background and how I arrived at this point in my life.
My Jewish upbringing happened within a very large Reform synagogue in Los Angeles. It was and is an amazing place that offered my family a second home and a richly Jewish experience. It fostered in me a desire to become a member of the clergy. It infused my childhood and adolescence with meaning and purpose. So, in many ways it was fantastic. But it was also quite isolated from the rest of the Jewish world, and from the Reform movement. I grew up thinking my synagogue was the only one in LA.
I have since learned that it is not.
I went off to college and had a great experience at Hillel. Judaism became a positive space in which good things happened; in which connections were made and meaning was found. I went out into the world and joined a synagogue in San Francisco in which those same things occurred. I taught religious school, and worked as a cantorial soloist, and felt such a strong, passionate connection to what I saw as Reform Judaism. All that fused together into one very convincing series of admissions essays.
My vision of the religion when I entered rabbinical school was a somewhat unstructured, this-feels-good, I-love-being Jewish ethical and culture thing. I was captivated by the music and the prayers, the history and the traditions as I saw them. I didn't keep kosher or observe Shabbat, for these were things that just didn't matter when I was growing up. That's not how my family lived. I was completely unaware of the structural system; laws and mitzvot and modes of prayer. I had no idea that Jews prayed three times a day. I had never even seen a person pray with T'filin. In essence, I had absolutely no clue about "traditional" Judaism, or the foundation of the Reform movement. I was, simply, blissfully unaware.
It's been two and a half years since my first day of rabbi school in Jerusalem. In that time, I have learned a tremendous amount about Judaism; about Reform, too. Much of it has felt like a game of catch-up. I'm patching up holes in my practice and background, exposing myself to as much as I possibly can. I've become much more familiar with traditional Judaism and the centuries-old structure upon which my Movement was founded. But I still have a long ways to go.
As I learn, work, and expose myself to all this new-ness, I'm also figuring out who I am as a Jew while serving as a spiritual leader for others. And that experience is so rich, nuanced, and interesting.
So interesting, in fact, that I decided to write a blog about it.
As I charged my own congregants to spend their year living Jewish, I also charged myself. I decided to start actively patching up the holes in my curiosity, pushing myself even further out of my comfort zone and beginning to understand the various why's and how-to's of Judaism. I've decided to spend this year not merely taking Judaism for granted, but actively trying to understand the things I never did.
The first step in this process was confronting my diet. Now, I am someone who previously believed laws of Kashrut didn't apply to her. Rules on what and how and when to eat were meaningless to me and those around me, including the Jewish exemplars I learned from. I ate pork and shellfish with reckless abandon, more so when I lived in Jerusalem and it was like contraband. That it was so forbidden made it all the more tempting.
I now feel that, in setting one's life to the Jewish rhythm, keeping some semblance of Kosher is essential. Knowing what your faith says about how and when and what you should eat is important. So, this year, not only am I going to keep a form of kosher that goes beyond my lack of dairy, I'm going to do a better job of understanding why I should. The simplest, basic answer is: because that's the way Jews should eat. But the more complex answers are harder to figure out. They go to the root of living your life by a certain Judaic code; a structure which infiltrates your daily activities. They go to the heart of the matter; to what it means to observe the laws of Kashrut.
Beyond keeping kosher-style, I'm going to also start observing Shabbat in my way. I'm going to pray with T'filin. I'm going to visit the Mikveh, and go to more traditional synagogues, and talk to people with varied Jewish practices. I'm going to document my own experience of the holidays, and upload divrei Torah, and hopefully do much more. I'm going to explore what it all means to me personally; how it impacts me as a single woman, a Jew, and lastly as a rabbinical student. And I'm going to come back to my computer and document it all, for you and for me.
I recognize that to some - particularly, my peers - this whole experiment might seem a little ... bizarre? I mean, I'm a third-year rabbinical student. Shouldn't I know and observe the laws of Kashrut? Shouldn't I have already laid T'filin? Shouldn't I keep Shabbat now? Aren't all these things a given when you sign up for rabbinical school?
And my answer is, no. They're not a given. Everyone comes to Judaism from a different place. Everyone comes to the rabbinate from a different place. Everyone grows up in their respective communities with the leaders they gravitate toward and the practices they choose to observe. As you grow up, you create a Judaism that makes sense to you, and it's really hard to change it, even as your brain becomes inundated with new knowledge.
It's our responsibility as future Jewish leaders to recognize the missing links and do what we can to make the connections. That's how we become better at what we do. Hopefully, our own journeys can provide those we impact with ways of understanding their own selves; their own practices. That's all we can really hope for in this profession, isn't it?
The truth is, Judaism gives many of us the tools with which to live lives of meaning. It is a foundation for each of us to explore who we are in a vastly secular world. Judaism can be whatever we want it to be, and it can offer us so much. As Rabbi David Wolpe of Sinai Temple in LA recently wrote, "Judaism can both enrich your life and make you better. We are placed on earth to grow our souls and Judaism is the most ancient, proven, effective system for teaching people how to do just that."
I have no idea what this experiment will turn into. Perhaps in the end it will make me more observant, or maybe I'll run screaming towards the nearest Unitarian church. (Doubtful) Whatever happens, I will do my best to present these adventures honestly, openly, and with a smidge of humor. Hopefully, it will help my soul to grow.
So follow me on this journey. Check back often. Whatever it becomes, I hope it pushes you to understand who you are - however you identify yourself - this coming year.
L'shalom, to peace.
Jaclyn
