A Dvar Torah on Vayikra

This morning I shared some brief words of Torah with the Jewish Legislative Caucus of the California Democratic Party. (Many thanks to my dear friend, Claire "Rainbow" Conlon, for the opportunity!)

I present them here to you, faithful blog-followers:

Shabbat Morning with the California Democrats - Jewish Caucus

Parshat Vayikra – March 8, 2014

Good Morning and Good Shabbos!

Yesterday … many of us in the Jewish professional world shared and spread around a Facebook post on this week’s Torah portion, Vayikra … in the form of a blog entry from “Punk Torah,” an unaffiliated, independent, mostly online community run by Rabbi Patrick Beaulier in Atlanta.

The title of the post was: “Is Judaism Programming Itself to Death?”

When I clicked on the link, the image that popped up was one with which I am all too familiar: a completely packed, all-blocked-out, weekly Google calendar snapshot. Lots of color, and events, and things going on … and very limited blank space.

I would imagine that many of us in this room know the image of the packed calendar all too well – whether we use Google or Outlook or … even … an old-school, actual, handwritten paper calendar. We know that image because … our lives are busy, our schedules meticulous, our “free time” not really that “free.” (pause)

Rabbi Patrick suggests that today, we who work in and serve the greater community structure our entire careers around “the calendar,” and specifically: programming and promotion … getting this person in the door, or reaching out to that segment of the population. We set a date, pick a location, promote the hell out of something, and put on an event … whether it’s Israel Advocacy, a Young Democrats breakfast, or even Election Day.

Now, back to Torah. Punk Torah, that is. Rabbi Patrick reminds us that at first blush this week’s Torah portion, Vayikra, is a horrifying read. It’s all about animal sacrifice. We go from the grandiosity of Exodus – the crossing of the Red Sea, the giving of the Ten Commandments, the building of the Tabernacle … to fire and brimstone and bloody, burned animals.

Of course, sacrifice here serves a greater purpose … it reminds us to draw near to God and community … the Hebrew word for a sacrificial offering, korban, is the same root as the verb, “to draw close,” likrov.

Rabbi Patrick suggests that the modern-day parallel of sacrifice … is the calendar. It’s the schedule that we so protect and keep. The endless programming we put ourselves and our communities and our families and our careers through … that’s our modern-day version of bloody, burning animal parts. It’s death by scheduling … and the worst part? It ignores the very reason people are drawn to Judaism … and progressive politics … in the first place…

Change. Relevance. Meaning. Making daily life a little bit more secure … ensuring that the future is a little bit brighter for the next generation.

And at the core of all that? People. Relationships. Connections. (pause)

Our imperative as modern Jews is to repair the world, not dominate it – to mend what has been broken. That is the essence of tikkun olam and it is a hallmark of social justice.

But tikkun olam at its best isn’t really about the olam – the world. It’s about the anashim – the people – who reside within it, utilize its resources, help it to grow and flourish and progress … people are at the root of this endeavor that we call life. (pause)

When we begin to lose sight of that … when we become so dependent on our highly developed programming and our terrifyingly complex schedules … then, we lose sight of our real, authentic goals. We forget for whom we’re programming and scheduling in the first place… and we need a Shabbos … a respite … a re-fresh … to remind ourselves who we’ve committed our lives to and why. 

So this Shabbat morning, take a breath. Take a moment. Look around you. Look at the faces of those who are our future – the next generation of progressive politics in this state. Put down your smart phone and your Google calendar app … and I promise to do the same.

Remember that time – our time - is an extraordinary gift. A gift we must use wisely.

To paraphrase the philosopher Abraham Joshua Heschel, “six days a week we wrestle with the world, wringing profit from the earth. On the Sabbath we care for the seed of eternity planted in the soul. Six days a week we seek to dominate the world; on the seventh day, we finally attend to the self.” (pause)

In the coming weeks and months as we in this room head into our respective busy seasons, let us remember … to take that breath. To connect – or reconnect – with the people for whom we do the work that we are so privileged to do.

Let us not be so bold as to throw away our calendars entirely … because then it might actually throw the world off its axis … but let us at least try to wean ourselves from that meticulous planning …  sit a little more comfortably in those blank spaces … and instead look up, lean out, and reach toward those whose hands meet ours.

Imagine the possibilities. Imagine the connections; the conversations. Imagine the power in those exchanges – however brief they may be. (pause)

It is my hope … and my prayer … that these breaths, pauses, and reconnections will enhance the work that we are already doing, and the people we already are. That they will make us even better at dancing with the busy-ness that rules our lives.

Then, and only then, will we truly work towards the California of our dreams – a California of dignity, strength, and promise.

Kein Yehi Ratzon. Shabbat Shalom.

-Jaclyn 

February 2014: A Retrospective

My, what a long, strange month it's been!

February 2014 has been the longest, most fascinating, challenging, eye-opening and soul-stirring month of our lives. And I cannot believe that tomorrow it finally comes to an end.

At the beginning of February I began the Placement process to determine where I will wind up next year as a full-time rabbi. From the speed-dating-style initial interviews (on Super Bowl Sunday, no less) with wonderful congregations to exciting callbacks to the busy yet fulfilling site visits themselves; each aspect of this process was a phenomenal learning experience for me. 

What a privilege it has been to see what Judaism looks like through the eyes of these communities I have visited. To hear people articulate why their community matters to them. To meet senior rabbis and associate rabbis who love what they do and are passionate about building community. To teach people, and speak openly with people, and do my best to share a little bit of myself with people. 

And, most importantly, to see these communities excited, passionate, and invested in what will be the next chapter in their congregation's life. 

Yesterday I read through this week's parsha, Pekudei. I noticed that it was yet another Torah portion about the building of the mishkan; the tabernacle. When I looked back a few chapters, I was reminded of the first charge concerning the tabernacle God speaks to Moses in Terumah: build me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them. (Exodus 25:8)

I did a little math and saw that Terumah was the portion we read at the beginning of the Placement process. And this week, Pekudei is the conclusion of that narrative. It's the final parsha in the book of Exodus. It closes out the discussion on the structure, content, and sanctity of the tabernacle itself. The sometimes repetitive descriptions of God's vision for the mishkan conclude beautifully in Pekudei.

The significance of this timing struck me. How apropos to this Placement process; this long, arduous, at times repetitive, beautiful, poignant, taxing, and meaningful month.

Each congregation that has interviewed us emerging rabbis was immersed in the building of their own mishkan; their own holy space. Additionally, each of us students has searched for the right mishkan in which to create holiness, meaningful relationships, and bring people closer to Torah. As I have said throughout this process, it's all about fit. It's about match. It's about rabbis feeling that they can bring their gifts and talents to a congregation and congregations feeling that same energy; that same excitement.

I do not know what will happen tomorrow morning, or the next day, or in the weeks and months and years ahead. But I do know that the Placement process has taught me so much about myself, about my peers and colleagues, about who I am as an emerging rabbi, about the family and friends who love and support me endlessly, about congregational life, and about what it means to be a Jew in America in the 21st century.

Finally, to my mishkan - the dwelling inside my heart in which my friends and family reside - I thank you for bringing me to this place and to this moment. I love you.

B'sha'ah Tovah,

Jaclyn

30

I remember turning ten.

Vaguely.

We had an ice skating party at the Culver City Rink (z"l). It was special. I was hitting double digits! What a thrill! At the party my mom recorded Uncle Peter congratulating me on turning ten: I can't believe you're ten years old ... it's only three more years 'til your Bat Mitzvah and it's like, blowing my mind! 

(You better believe that played on the montage video at my Bat Mitzvah)

I remember turning twenty.

I was living in the sorority house at UC Davis. My boyfriend at the time arranged a huge day for me. The whole time I kept thinking, holy mackarel, I'm twenty. TWENTY!? How did I get this old?

Today I'm thirty.

30.

Three decades. Unbelievable.

What a fantastic ride the past decade has been.

Ten years ago I was nervous about the transition from teenager to adult. Ten years ago I was so ambivalent about stepping further and further away from my youth; my childhood. Who was I going to become? What was I going to become? I had some degree of clarity about my career path and knew I wanted to become a member of the clergy. But I had no idea what the next decade of my life would look like.

Now, here we are. Thirty. I'll be an ordained rabbi in about four months. I just completed my first round of interviews for my first job out of rabbinical school. I'm married to the most patient, loving, delicious, and supportive human being alive. My amazing parents are healthy. My brother is soaring. My grandfather is still kickin'. My big, vibrant, newly expanded family is family. My friends keep my heart beating strong. I am doing something that I love so deeply.

Seriously, who could ask for anything more?

I know that this next decade of my life will bring extraordinary triumphs and unimaginable challenges. I know that I have so much ahead - so much to learn, so many new and exciting people to learn from, so many relationships to form and mentors to seek and horizons to explore. So many ways to grow into the person I'm continuing to learn how to be.

I cannot wait.

So 30, it's nice to see you. I'm so glad you're here.

Jaclyn

Wading in the Pool of Mindfulness

A few weeks ago I was talking with Rabbi Jill Zimmerman about how psycho-busy this time in my life is. She stopped me and said, "you have to come to this mindfulness retreat I'm doing in a few weeks."

"No way," I responded. "I've got X on my plate and Y on my plate, I've got this thing and that thing and then I've got to think about W and Z. And oh, don't forget about A, B, and C!"

"Exactly." she said. "You need this. Now more than ever."

So, begrudgingly, I agreed to think about it. When I mentioned it to my mother, she jumped. "Let's do it together," she said.

And so, on Saturday morning I found myself at Leo Baeck Temple in yoga pants. I came with few expectations, an open mind, and declaration to myself, mom, and husband that I would take a day to root myself in myself. I promised I would learn a little bit about this mindfulness and spirituality movement. I brought a recently-acquired journal to take notes. I was as prepared as I could be.

And the day went something like this:

I hadn't planned on bringing a watch, so I already felt naked when I walked out the door. It wasn't until I was in the car about a block away from our apartment that the Bluetooth failed to connect and I realized I'd left my cell phone on my nightstand.

Some colorful language ran through my head. And then I said, No! This is good! This is good! I shouldn't have my cell phone anyway! I resisted the urge to turn around and grab my phone. And I gently scolded myself for being so dependent on that thing.

When I arrived, it became clear to me very quickly that the whole day would be out of my comfort zone. And that's okay! I thought cheerfully. It's just one day! One day of discomfort, Jaclyn! You can do it! You might learn something! Be open! 

My mother and I sat down in the sanctuary and prepared to pray. It was Shabbat morning, after all. We donned our tallitot - both of which were made by yours truly on the occasion of each of our B'not Mitzvah - and sat together, prepared for a different kind of prayer experience.

It was slow and deliberate and gentle, focusing on breath and pause and reflection and awareness. It was very pretty - the beautiful voice of Cantor Linda Kates was our guide, as were the teachings of the extraordinary Rabbi Sheila Peltz Weinberg - but it was also very hard.

I am so accustomed to a style of worship that is very different: one where the sh'lichei tzibbur (prayer leaders) are engaged and engaging, where prayer and song are stimulating and powerful, and where gentleness often doesn't really show itself. So to sit and pray for two and a half hours at about half-speed, listening to the soothing voices of these women ... it was just so different. It was challenging. Not impossible, but definitely challenging.

Following prayer we had about forty-five minutes of yoga. My favorite part was looking around at a room filled with older Jews curled into balls with blankets wrapped around themselves. It looked like a giant slumber party. I wish I'd been able to take a picture! The yoga itself was fine; it wasn't the stretch-out-your-body kind of yoga with a name I can't pronounce; it was more of a thinking yoga class with lots of breathing and mentions of intention.

Lunch was held in silence, which was probably the hardest part of the day. A natural extrovert, having to turn inward and meditate on the food I was eating and its path to my mouth was a challenge. However - it was catered by Chipotle. And Chipotle, my friends, is one of my favorites. To be able to slow myself down and actually savor the flavor was a very different experience. I appreciated it. It was nice.

(I also learned that I am an abnormally loud chewer of tortilla chips)

By the time we left the retreat later that day, mom and I were both ready to re-engage with the world we know. We took from the retreat some really solid tools on mindfulness and being present. We had a different appreciation for Chipotle. (Or, at least I had it; mom doesn't do Mexican food, so it was good she brought her own lunch!)

The most important message I gleaned from this experience was the act of being mindful. Mindfulness takes a whole lot of different forms, but it's also quite simple. As Rabbi Peltz Weinberg stated, the idea of mindfulness falls into three categories: pleasant, unpleasant, and neutral. As she guided us through this teaching, she spoke of the difference between reaction and response, developing compassion for our thoughts, and recognizing the hindrances or blockages that keep us from doing or being our best. She also made a really brilliant link with parshat Yitro and the giving of the Ten Commandments, speaking to the dark cloud in which the divine resides.

All in all, I walked away from the retreat grateful that I was able to participate in it and take away a few tools. I'm proud I made it through the better part of the day without my cell phone. I'm thrilled that I never eat my lunch in silence because, honestly, I think eating is an opportunity for connection, not reflection.

All in all, being out of my comfort zone ain't exactly a bad place to be, especially now.

And you know what else? I'm glad I listened to Rav Jill. Even though I resisted at first, throwing every excuse of "busy-ness" at her, I ultimately realized that being mindful and present and aware is exactly what I need for myself going into this next phase of my life; this transition from rabbinical student to rabbi.

Looking forward to the next adventure!

Jaclyn

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes

Good grief ... it's been a long time since my last blog post.

I don't even know where the last three weeks have gone. I mean, it was winter break, but it was far from a break for me. While there was definitely some quality time spent with quality people doing quality things (and, typically, eating quality food) it was most definitely a busy, productive, exhaustive time. 

I've had so many blog-worthy thoughts over the past three weeks that never made it to the blog itself. Thoughts about the future, about the present, about hopes and dreams I have for myself and my family in this new secular year. I've thought a lot about the closing of one very large chapter in my life - time spent as a rabbinical student at HUC-JIR - and the soon-to-come beginning of the career I've worked towards since around the time of my Bat Mitzvah. 

Maybe it's the season, or maybe my good friends and I are just really cosmically connected, but each of us seems to be in a state of transition in our lives. People I love are attaching or detaching from their partners, preparing to welcome their first child, transitioning from one profession to another, or pondering moving to another country. People are engaging with change in such deep and visceral ways. Through each lunch date, phone call or FaceTime chat it becomes more and more apparent just how much we are each poised at pivotal life moments right now. 

Somewhere in those thoughts on change is the funny little fact that I will be turning thirty the same week as Placement, the kickoff for the job search. And I'm actually feeling surprisingly good about entering this new decade of my life. I don't feel nervous or intimidated or fearful of the big 3-0. I feel excited. I feel hopeful. I feel ... good.

My thesis is all about lifecycle rituals: the way we rabbis and cantors "do" them, the way communities engage with them, and the way we clergy innovate them to fit life's moments that fall outside the traditional categories we know. So it really does feel like every day I'm talking about transition, change, and moving from one identity to another. Every day I'm talking about what it means to honor the cycles of our lives in holy ways. I think it would be totally exhausting if it weren't so cathartic and necessary.

So, looking ahead to these next few weeks I know that there's much to come. I know there's plenty I can prepare for and a whole heap I won't anticipate. Luckily, I have my outlets for processing and coping with the uncertainty. I have a thesis that, while consuming, is completely apropos to what I'm going through right now. And, I have a fantastic birthday celebration to look forward to, as well.

Until next time,

Jaclyn

Mourning Superman Sam

Yesterday an eight-year-old boy was laid to rest in Glencoe, Illinois. A boy I never met, never spoke to, and yet ... like countless others around the world I felt connected to this boy. I read about his battle with acute myeloid leukemia through blog posts by his parents, both rabbis in the Chicago area. I followed his mother on Twitter and Facebook. I listened and read as mutual friends in the Reform community posted and shared and retweeted Sam's trials and triumphs. My heart ached and swelled with every one. And yesterday, my heart was heavy with grief knowing that over 1,000 mourners had gathered together to say a final goodbye to this beautiful child, Superman Sam.

Am I allowed to grieve, though I did not know him? Am I allowed to feel the pain of such a horrific loss, even though I was not present at that funeral? Can I mourn from afar, through a computer screen, though I never met Sam, or his parents, or his beautiful young siblings, face-to-face?

I cannot begin to fathom what his parents, his siblings, his grandparents and cousins and friends and loved ones, his doctors, his community - those who actually knew him - must be feeling. I cannot comprehend their grief, their pain, or their anguish. Nor can I try to wrap my head around what their lives will be like in the days, weeks, months, and years to come.

But I can raise my voice in support of this family, and the countless others fighting for increased funding of pediatric cancer research.

The rabbis of the Reform Movement are many, but we are all connected to one another. And among the mourners physically present at Sam's funeral were dozens of rabbis and cantors from the Movement, several of whom left Biennial early to stand in solidarity and mourn in person with Sam's family.

Many of those incredible rabbis are currently involved in this fundraising effort: 36 Rabbis Shave for the Brave. The campaign, run through the organization St. Baldricks, has grown and spread and tweeted and Facebooked and blogged and exploded around the country and the world. Rabbis are shaving their heads at the CCAR Convention in Chicago this March in memory of Sam, and I encourage you whole-heartedly to support their effort to raise awareness and funds.

One of the most moving things I read about Sam shortly before his death was that he made sure his money was going to tzedakah; that his legacy would outlast his short eight years. Now, our extended community has an obligation to support his family and his community, Am Shalom in Glencoe, Illinois. (Where my amazing classmate Andrea Rae Markowicz serves as cantor) Please visit their page here to extend your support.

And finally, Jewish tradition teaches us to remember the life and the legacy of those who physically leave us. Judaism teaches us to tell the stories of those we mourn; to remember them not in their death but in the life they led.

Read Sam's story. Be inspired by who he was and what he did in this short time on earth. Connect with and follow the words of his parents, Rabbi Phyllis and Rabbi Michael Sommer, here. Read the countless articles and obituaries written on Sammy.

Ensure that his story lives on.

Each of us is only one person; one tiny speck, one grain of sand, within something so much greater than ourselves. Yet so many of those grains of sand were brought together throughout Sam's illness - through social media, through words and stories and acts of compassion. Through a brave rabbi (my dear friend Rabbi Rebecca Schorr, who you can find here) stepping forward and offering to help organize the fundraising efforts with St. Baldrick's. Through the rabbis of the Reform Movement wearing Superman pins on their lapels throughout Biennial in honor of Sam. Through the mentioning of Sam's passing at Shabbat services on Saturday morning, before 5,000 people.

Though we may only be one, we ones must connect. We ones must multiply. We ones must tell those we know and galvanize our circles to act, to remember, and to care.

Then and only then do we keep Sam's memory alive.

Superman Sam, I did not know you. But you inspired me. Your parents inspire me. And I will share your story, and I will care, and I will mourn - even from afar - to ensure your memory lives on.

Zichrono livracha, may his memory be for blessing.

-Jaclyn

Unpacking Biennial

Wow.

That's not a word I use often enough. But I will use it to describe the past four days, which I spent in San Diego along with about 5,000 others at the Union for Reform Judaism's 2013 Biennial.

Every two years the URJ gathers together thousands of Reform Jews - lay leaders, synagogue employees, clergy, entertainers, NFTY-ites, and more - to connect and reconnect, pray, learn, network, and altogether grasp the movement of the Movement.

The first Biennial I attended was in 2001, just a few months after 9/11. I was the president of my temple youth group, I was seventeen years old, and up until that summer I had no concept of NFTY or a greater Reform Movement. Then my home synagogue, Stephen S. Wise Temple, rejoined the Union and I was asked to represent them at Biennial. The experience was unforgettable.

Twelve years ago, my mind exploded with the excitement and energy - the ruach - of the Movement and especially its youth. And this weekend in San Diego, I felt that same ruach as I participated in the most exciting, stimulating, thought-provoking, and innovative programming and prayer I have witnessed in a very long time.

Biennial is a bit of a blur. There are so many people and so many things happening simultaneously. You're constantly running into people you haven't seen in years. You want to catch up, but you also want to make it to a session, maybe two! The programming is overwhelming in the best way possible; it feels a little bit like Jewish Disneyland with all the stimulation and the taglines. Some people - and I tried VERY hard not to give myself a hard time about this - get serious FOMO: Fear Of Missing Out. Because, truly, there's just so much going on. And you want to do Every. Single. Thing.

Some of the programmatic highlights for me included:
-Learning best practices for young adult engagement from synagogues and communities that are doing it right
-Observing a case study in the URJ's Campaign for Youth Engagement taking place at Congregation Beth Israel in San Diego
-Participating in a workshop for Reform California, led by many of my friends and colleagues
-Discussing the synagogue of the future with Rabbi Sharon Brous and Rabbi David Stern
-Reconnecting and connecting with HUC alumni and students from all four campuses and hearing the outgoing president - Rabbi David Ellenson - bless incoming president Rabbi Aaron Panken on his journey

Then there were the services. Friday night was a stunningly beautiful service led by the clergy team of Temple Beth Elohim in Wellesley, Massachusetts - a synagogue whose innovative educational programs were often used as case studies during my Jewish Education Master's program. Saturday morning I participated in hands-down the most creative and exceptional Torah service of all time primarily led by Cantor Andrea Buchdahl of Central Synagogue and Amichai Lau-Lavie of Storahtelling and Lab/Shul.

What made the Torah service so amazing? It was creative, it was fun, it was engaging, and it had serious depth. The best way I can describe it: thirteen platforms were set up around the giant plenary hall. Each platform served as a bimah, and those who had been asked to stand there (representatives from various URJ organizations) had a Torah with them on their bimah. The 5,000 person plenary chanted the Torah blessings together, and then each platform had a reader who read for each separate aliyah within earshot of their section. It gave me chills. It was beautiful. And it was interspersed with stellar sTorah-telling, a particular highlight being Shira Kline acting as the biblical character Dinah.

It reinforced so very much all that is possible when we think outside the box.

And then, Saturday night I had the most incredible opportunity to introduce the plenary program: an event honoring 100 years of the Women of Reform Judaism and celebrating 75 years of NFTY. The program was a celebration of amazing female musicians, role models, educators, and social activists. It honored Anat Hoffman, the fearless director of IRAC, and it blessed the generations of old and new in sweeping musical tributes. It was just so good.

If you didn't catch it live, please do yourself a favor. Watch the replay, celebrate and dance and sing with the women, and enjoy it:

Part 1: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VpEH9-pFUZc

Part 2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8MIjJ03r1IE

The Biennial experience got me so energized, so pumped, about all that lies ahead for us soon-to-be rabbis. It made me see so clearly how the Movement is growing and shifting, how its leader Rabbi Rick Jacobs is a visionary who practices what he preaches, how committed and passionate so many of its constituents are, and most of all, the evolution to which the Reform Movement is committed and in which it is invested so deeply. That includes opening our arms to change, embracing that which we do not know, engaging with all those who are "othered" to us, and being exemplars of "audacious hospitality."

To the next chapter, for a new day is dawning ...

Until then, time for sleep!

L'shalom,
Jaclyn