People are surprised when I tell them that I grew up in a secular Jewish home; that often, we celebrated the High Holy Days with a trip to the mall; that Congregation Beth Shalom is the first synagogue I've ever belonged to, not just as an adult, but in my entire life.
My father grew up in an Orthodox home, keeping kosher, attending synagogue, and observing holidays and Shabbat. My mother grew up a child of Russian immigrants for whom "Jewish" was a race, not a religion. When they married, both wanted to distance themselves from traditional observance, but still kept a strong Jewish identity. We would take off from school and work for the High Holy Days (as I mentioned, often spending the day shopping), not because we were celebrating, but because my parents felt it was important that we "observe" the day, so that others may be allowed to do so. My mother explained to me that if she were at work on Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur, another Jew who was taking the day off might be considered a shirker, falsely taking a day off as a "religious holiday". She said, "As a manager, if I'm at work, it's obviously not an important enough holiday, and other managers might not allow more observant Jews the day off. Just as many Christians celebrate Christmas but don't go to church, we are celebrating the holiday our way."
My family did not belong to a synagogue. When I was born, my baby naming was celebrated at my grandparents' synagogue. My mother jokes that I attended church more often than synagogue, as we were invited to Christian friends' life cycle events much more often than Jewish family events. My parents had no intention on joining a synagogue for long. When I was 11 years old, they asked me if I wanted a bat mitzvah. It was made very clear to me we would join the synagogue for the time leading up to my bat mitzvah, and then afterwards we would quit the congregation. My parents clearly did not wish to affiliate. For this, and other reasons, I declined.
So, how did I learn Hebrew? Tefilah? Jewish music?
I attended Abrams Hebrew Academy - the finest Jewish Day School in Yardley, PA.
The obvious question arises - if my family didn't care about affiliating, why in the world was I attending a Hebrew Day School?
The answer - I got myself expelled from public school in first grade. (This is why nothing your children do in my classroom will ever surprise me.) My schooling choices were Hebrew Day School or Catholic School... It really wasn't a choice.
And so, I spent the next 5 years learning Hebrew, Torah, prayers, holidays, observances, etc. I joined the choir, Jewish theater club, Israeli Dance, and learned Krav Maga from my crazy former Israeli Army captain gym teacher. Like most kids, I enjoyed some of it, and trudged through the rest. My two biggest issues were that observances I was being taught in school were never mirrored at home, and girls were not treated the same as boys.
I was repeatedly told that being Jewish meant you had to do everything exactly the way my teachers told us, and if you didn't, then you weren't Jewish.
My classmates had the benefit of being members of a synagogue, and so they had competing messages from their clergy that taught them about the ladder of observance. I had no such comparison. All I knew was that I was being told my family wasn't Jewish, and had no one to tell me otherwise. I was also being told that, now that I had developed some Judaic skills, I wasn't allowed to use them, because I am a girl. My job was to learn these skills so I can teach my future children, but that I was not allowed to use them in public. And that I should not be so Hermione-ish in class, because it shamed the boys that a girl knew more than them. Add to that a regular dash of Anti-Semitic harassment and vandalism, and by sixth grade I asked to switch schools.
I attended a secular private school from 7th grade on. If you had asked me then, in private, and guaranteed me that my parents would never know I said it, I would have told you I wasn't Jewish. I was done. I was fed up with a religion that insisted that my favorite subject of science was wrong - my beloved dinosaurs were not "leftover materials from previous creations used by God to create the Earth". I was not interested in a religion that told me my loving parents were bad people. And I certainly was not planning on limiting myself to the role of housewife when I grew up. Boys are stupid & gross and I don't want one telling me what to cook for dinner.
My secular school was very careful to observe and respect many cultural and religious holidays. Despite being one of 4 Jewish students in the school, over 50% of the faculty were Jewish. I experienced less anti-Semitism in my new school than I had attending my Hebrew Day School! If I had my eyes open more, I probably would have noticed that all my Jewish teachers were not highly observant, yet still considered themselves Jewish. But, I had shut the door on that part of my life and did not anticipate ever opening it again. It would take me until college to return to my Jewish roots.
I was accepted to Muhlenberg College, and my mother immediately signed me up for Hillel, without my consent. She made me promise to attend the welcome BBQ, for her. Anything beyond that was up to me. My parents made it clear that my involvement in Hillel was to make sure I found myself a Jewish boyfriend, because I was not allowed to marry a non-Jew. Even if my family rarely did anything Jewish, it was of utmost importance that I was Jewish, that I stayed Jewish, and that I married a nice Jewish boy.
Hillel did not disappoint. Within the first hour of the BBQ, I, quite literally, ran into Hayim, made him dump his lunch down the front of his shirt, and the rest is history.
I had grown up _knowing_ that there were different streams of Judaism, but I hadn't ever _understood_ what those designations meant. My experience was so limited that I thought the difference was how much English was used in the service. Being a part of Hillel exposed me to the wide range of observance that existed in Judaism. It showed me that my teachers had been speaking from a minority opinion, and that, while Jewish leaders may disagree, they are, for the most part, not in the business of judging who is and is not a Jew. I was not going to be excommunicated from the Jewish people for being non-observant.
I also learned the lovely term "egalitarian", and was all around accepted as a headstrong feminist! Win!
I quickly found a niche as the cantor to Hayim's rabbi... During services at Hillel, Hayim was in the practice of often delivering the D'var Torah. As one of the few students with strong skills in the cantorial triad of Hebrew reading, Tefilah, and singing, I became the go to service leader. I would go on to hold several different roles, including following in Hayim's footsteps as PR secretary, and becoming the "head chef" cooking Shabbat dinners for 120 students single-handedly. I later earned the B'nai B'rith leadership award for my contributions to Jewish life on campus.
Fast forward to the turn of the millennium. Hayim & I were married, here at Beth Shalom, on July 9th 2000. It was then I became an official member of CBS, my first, and only, Synagogue home. The first service after returning from our honeymoon was a Shabbat under the stars, where I presented myself to the cantor as her newest choir member. "Hi, I'm your new Alto! When are rehearsals?"
I must have one of those faces, because during my first years of membership, congregants often confused me with other people, most frequently, Amy Burr. When we welcomed the arrival of Hazaan Michael Horwitz, congregants kept referring to me as his wife. Luckily we both have a good sense of humor, and we ended up becoming fast friends. Michael saw my passion for Jewish music, and was the first person to ask me why I hadn't gone to cantorial school. Despite my Jewish renaissance in college, no one had ever mentioned to me that becoming a cantor was a viable career option. Up until coming to CBS, I had never met a female rabbi or cantor. The existence of female Jewish clergy had escaped my notice until it was too late.
I think Michael wanted to make up for my lost opportunity, and he became my mentor in filling in the gaps in my Jewish education. He taught me Torah trope, skills to lead Shabbat services, about nusach, and the structure of services and the annual cycle. He nominated me to attend the USCJ's IMUN program; a one week lay leader boot camp at Camp Ramah in the Poconos. While there, I was placed in the "advanced track" and learned so much, including ALL the trope systems, how to lead Shabbat & weekday services, how to write a D'var Torah, and even a primer on leading High Holy Day services. My egalitarian heart was thrilled that women were encouraged to wear kippot all day, every day (leading to some of us accidentally washing them along with our hair in the shower), and I learned to lay tefillin; my set, a gift from Mel Pell, who accompanied me to IMUN.
All of these skills would quickly come in handy, as we learned that Hazzan Michael would be on paternity leave at the same time that we were waiting for Rabbi Michael to arrive. For six weeks, 13 years ago, I would be the cantor. Hazzan Michael prepped me to lead Friday night, and Saturday morning services. Mel took on morning minyan. We lined up Torah readers. I was taught Hallel, announcing Rosh Chodesh, and other random skills that would end up being needed. We rescheduled life cycle events.
I was all set. My biggest fear was that someone would die, and I would have to co-officiate a funeral. Michael & I had reviewed El Male Rachamim, just in case... I prayed over and over that no one would die on me... And no one did... Until, 6 weeks later, Rabbi Michael joined us, and his first two weeks on the job were punctuated by quite a number of funerals. (Sorry)
Since then, as you all know, I have added to the laundry list of Weiss involvement here at CBS; teaching in the Hebrew School, leading Family Services during the High Holy Days, starting a Jewish Girl Scout troop, and being the percussionist in our klezmer band.
So, what's the point?
I believe when Rabbi Michael asked me to speak, he was thinking that my story was inspirational because I went from rejecting my Judaism to becoming highly involved in my Jewish community. My mother would certainly agree, as I've become known as "the observant one" in the family.
But, I think there's something more in play here.
My first passion will always be music. My spirituality is bound up in it. For me, prayer is song. The world is held together by melody, harmony, and rhythm.
While participating in my first passion, I discovered my second - teaching. And I think it's directly due to the fact that my early Jewish education, while excellent in most ways, was lacking in a key component.
I was taught to read and write and speak Hebrew. While I honed my Tefilah skills as an adult, I rely heavily on the foundation built in my childhood. The majority of my knowledge of Torah, Midrash, Talmud, & Jewish mysticism was taught to me in elementary school. I was a sponge. I learned it. I remember it to this day. It stuck.
But it didn't connect.
I received the Torah, but it's taken me my lifetime to understand what I have been given.
As a child, I didn't see a place for me in the Torah. As an adult, I see not only my place in the Torah, but also places for all my students. It's my job to teach them the building blocks of Jewish knowledge AND to make sure they recognize that, no matter what, they will always have a place within the tribe.
Chag Sameach
