For Japan

This weekend I was up in San Francisco for camp meetings and planning sessions. I stayed with my dear friend Cantor B and spent most of Shabbat at her synagogue singing, working, and praying. On Thursday night we were settling down to drink tea and watch American Idol when news came on that a massive earthquake had struck Japan. By Friday morning, a terrifying tsunami had washed away part of the country, and all we could do was sit and stare at the television; horrified, deeply saddened, and unsure of how to respond.

When you work in any faith community, for many people you automatically become God's unofficial talking head; the representative for all things unexplainable. People come to you and demand answers they themselves cannot reach. Because, let's be honest, God only has a direct telephone line with the really important people. And ostensibly, I happen to be one of them.

When the going gets tough, many want someone to blame. The human need to make sense out of tragedy, or a desire for stability and/or sanity, leads many of us to seek a rational answer or cause for the unjustifiable. So we turn to our faith leaders and exclaim, "why is God doing this?"

Why. That word should be a curse. Why did the Holocaust happen? Why did my mother get sick when I was six? Why did I choose to take Crescent Heights this morning instead of Fairfax? Why did I order the steak burrito and not the safe vegetarian option last Thursday? Why is a three-letter word with a Pandora's box of responses. Why leads us in so many different directions, it's like a busted GPS in a crowded city at rush hour. Why - particularly when invoked in times of tragedy - is not the word to reach for.

The truth is, none of us can make sense of what happened in Japan. None of us can fathom how Mother Earth could become so angry that she would shake and rumble to such a violent degree, then send massive waves to wash away entire cities and towns, destroying lives and families and communities. How could there ever be an adequate answer?

The question at this moment shouldn't be why did this happen; rather, it should be: what can we do to help?

On Friday night, one of the rabbis at the congregation spoke beautifully just before the Mi Chamocha, our liturgical reminder of the splitting of the Red Sea. Rabbi M pointed out that the prayer praises God for the moving of the earth and the splitting of the waters, for it led to our redemption and freedom from slavery. Yet, this weekend we saw a sea split again, and it led to total devastation, chaos, and destruction.

She reminded us all of the power of aiming our thoughts and prayers in the direction of those in need. Prayers like the Mi Shebeirach involve us humble humans asking God to help heal the sick and the weak. Our prayers to God have the power to, at the very least, make us feel like we are doing something. By focusing our positive energy and wishes of well-being toward the people who need our help, we feel good. Or, at the very least, we feel better. We feel that we are doing our part as Jews in this strange and surreal cycle of events called life.

The trouble with this, though, is when one prays and prays for a healing that never comes. My dear friend Michael and I shared many conversations this past summer about his mother's tragic death from cancer several years ago. He explained that when she was diagnosed he became "super Jewish," (his words, not mine) praying three times a day, keeping kosher, and observing Shabbat. When she passed away, his faith went out the window. He felt it was all in vain.

Michael is not alone. In my own life I've witnessed so many people turn away from their faith or from God when the going got tough, when someone close to them died, or when they felt failed by a leader or an entire synagogue. I've also met with Holocaust survivors - extraordinary people who have been through things unimaginable in my own mind - who have absolutely no belief whatsoever in God. I cannot say I blame them. And if we're being completely honest here, I'm not sure my own belief in God would be as strong had I survived anything near as traumatic as the Shoah.

Yet, this is who I am: a young woman with an incredible amount of faith in God. I turn to God when the going gets tough like a person would to a best friend, a lover, or a spouse. I turn to God with my thoughts and fears and prayers for healing, not because I necessarily believe God can do something about it, but because that's the relationship I have with God.

This strongly echoes the exceptionally eloquent writing of Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson, dean of the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies at the American Jewish University. Rabbi Artson is a scholar of process theology, a "constellation of ideas sharing the common assertion that the world and God are in continuous, dynamic change of related interaction and becoming.*" For Rabbi Artson, God is an entity of constant evolution - one with whom a relationship is ever-forming, ever present, and ever loving.

This approach to God eliminates the idea that God is responsible for all that happens in the world; it erases the image of God as puppet master, controlling the goings-on of human life. It engages humans in a way of thinking of God in a different way, freeing us from the crises of faith that lead many of us toward anger, resentment, disillusionment, disappointment, or altogether abandonment.

Perhaps God wasn't the entity we all turned to when an 8.9 earthquake and giant tsunami trembled through the Pacific Ocean this past weekend. Perhaps it was family and friends, the warmth of community, a good cry, a house of prayer, or a telephone. Or, perhaps it was the internet. By Friday morning Google had already set up a web page for resources and donations to support victims of the tragedy.

No matter who or what each of us turned to this past weekend, the task is now upon each of us to ask ourselves: how can we help?

As citizens of the world, as human beings who care about other human beings, and at the very least as people who abide by a moral and ethical code which includes supporting the less fortunate, I implore each of us to reach into our pockets, our checkbooks, or simply our thoughts and prayers, and aim that energy toward Japan.

I ask that each of us consider the power of prayer, the impact of foreign aid, and the weight of a kind of support that comes through genuine care, love and concern. For through those very entities of help and hope and giving, we engage in what it truly means to live Jewish.

With love,

Jaclyn

For further resources on how to help Japan, please visit:

The Jewish Coalition for Disaster Relief: https://www.jdc.org/donation/donate.aspx?type=JCDR

The Jewish Joint Distribution Committee: https://jdc.org/donation/donate.aspx

The Jewish Federation: http://www.jewishfederations.org/page.aspx?id=238775

*Shavit Artson, Bradley. BaDerekh: On The Way - A Presentation of Process Theology, p. 1

Jewish camp: It's officially awesome

As many of you in the blogosphere may already know, I am a HUGE fan of Jewish camp. I never attended as a child but began to experience its magic at weekend retreats during the school year in college. Then last summer I worked as a Rosh Eidah (unit head) URJ Camp Newman in Santa Rosa and had the time of my life. I walked away from the experience a total camp convert and full-fledged member of the cult. I'll be returning to Newman this summer as its Education Director and could not possibly be more excited about it.

For me, camp was a phenomenal experience on so many levels. Spiritually, personally, and socially, it filled me with a certain joy and comfort that I had never experienced in my life. My consistent feeling of happiness, acceptance, and empowerment often shocked and moved me. I felt like I was bouncing around on my own cloud 9 nearly every morning and night. And, since I was surrounded by such like-minded and good, kind, passionate people, it felt as if each of us was a Mexican jumping bean, constantly hopping onto each others' respective clouds.

All that jumping does wonders for the soul.

Educationally speaking, camp altered my perception of what it means to teach Jews Judaism. Watching young children up through college-aged staffers experience the joy and passion of their own Jewish identity in a safe, nurturing environment was nothing short of inspiring. Day in and day out, campers and staffers were constantly filled to the brim. Nearly every activity was infused with Jewishness. This was a complete departure for me and my experience in religious school teaching. There were no separated time periods devoted to "Jewish education" and everything else. There was, simply, camp. And as the motto at Newman goes, "Camp is life. The rest is just details."

One of the things I pondered (and wrote about) upon my departure from camp last summer was the rate of Jewish involvement following camp's end. I wondered how Judaism would factor into the lives of campers and staffers once they left their safe summer enclaves. How active were these children and young adults in their respective home congregations or Jewish communities? Was Judaism something that was merely isolated to summer?

Recently the JTA (a news source on all things Jewish) published an article on the success of Jewish camps. Under a survey titled "Camp Works," generated by the Foundation for Jewish Camp, it was found that statistically speaking, those with camp experience have a higher rate of involvement and connection to Judaism and/or Israel. Children and adults with camp backgrounds and experiences are far more likely to embrace their religious identity in the greater world. Through this survey we now can identify that camp, with its myriad social and spiritual offerings, has the statistical backing to affirm its influence on Jewish identity.

Simply put, this article makes it official: camp is one big, lean, mean, successful, identity-forming machine. And for those of us lucky enough to spend summers beneath the redwood trees of Northern California (or Wisconsin... or upstate New York...) we now have proof that our time is time well spent. For the Jewish community to acknowledge the success rate of something so intrinsic to our very fabric is exciting, validating, and downright cool.

You can read the article here. Please feel free to post comments, etc.!

L'machaneh, l'chaim!

To camp, to life!

Jaclyn