[Student Profile] Deborah Galaski

Deborah grew up in Amherst, Massachusetts, where her family was active in a local chavura, as well as a Conservative shul. When Deborah was eight years old, her mother decided to attend the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College (RRC), and her family moved to the Philadelphia area. While studying at RRC, her mother also became very involved with Rabbis for Humans Rights (RHR) and specifically in protesting the genocide happening in Bosnia at the time. Although Deborah was somewhat resistant to active participation in the Jewish community, viewing Judaism more as her mother’s religion than as her own, her mother’s involvement with RHR had a lasting moral impact on her.

When Deborah was in tenth grade, her mother accepted a position as a congregational rabbi in Westfield, Massachusetts (which she still holds), and her family moved back to Amherst. Deborah found moving again quite difficult, and the fact that she perceived the upheaval as due largely to her mother’s position as a rabbi did not ease her already tense relationship with Judaism. Although she continued to be marginally involved in Jewish life during high school, she did so largely out of a sense of familial obligation, and intended to disassociate completely from Judaism once she went to college. And yet, despite this sense of disconnection, Deborah was consciously looking for meaning in life; her belief in God, and a need to understand how God could be operative in the world, drove her to continue exploring what role, if any, religion could play in her life.

In college, Deborah found a meaningful way to connect to religion: academia.  Due to an interest in environmental studies, she enrolled in a course on religion and the environment and found herself drawn towards the field of religious philosophy, although she avoided courses focused specifically on Judaism.  It was only during her final year of college, in a course on feminist interpretations of evil, that she began to explicitly engage with Jewish perspectives on the religious questions that motivated her.  Through that course of study, Deborah realized that her point of entry into the tradition was academic. Academia offered her a way to make the tradition her own, while maintaining enough distance that she did not have to accept all the traditional doctrines of the religion.  Her interest in Jewish perspectives on the problem of evil sparked a need to study further, this time with a Jewish focus in graduate school. It was at the University of Virginia, where Deborah is currently completing her PhD in Religious Sudies, that she stumbled upon Midrash as the perfect conduit.

Midrash is fascinating because it does not have a need to be systematic.  It is just people talking about their texts, about their lives and about God, though stories that often appear to be wildly inconsistent. And the fact that this apparent inconsistency is not a problem is what draws me to it, because I think it reflects something important about how we experience and engage with the world.”

Deborah was advised to come to Pardes by her faculty at UVA, because they thought it would provide the best environment to enhance her skills to enrich her PhD research.  While apprehensive about coming to live in Israel, Deborah was interested to see what kind of life traditional Jewish texts have outside of themselves, and their impact on different individuals who hold them to be centrally important.

Two classes have stood out as highlights of Deborah’s time at Pardes so far: Judy Kilstner’s Chummash class, which she likes because it walks a good line between being critical and analyzing the text closely and being open to bigger questions and personal engagement; and Levi Cooper’s Chassidut class, which has created for her the rare opportunity to really engage with and challenge her personal connection to Judaism, instead of retreating behind an academic lens.

Deborah also really loves the community Pardes creates. She finds the other students to be fascinating people worthy of respect both for how they live their lives and how they think. “Pardes would not be what it is if it were not for the other people who choose to come study here.”

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[Student Profile] Naomi Zaslow

Naomi grew up in a Modern Orthodox community in South Miami, where her family helped found a Young Israel. She was immersed in Judaism from a young age  – shul, day school, day camp – but rarely in a community as diverse as Pardes.

It is in a Modern Orthodox community that Naomi feels most at home, but that does not preclude serious issues of identifying within the community as bisexual.  Since she was in high school, struggling with trying to fit into the Jewish community has defined much of Naomi’s Jewish life.  While at student at the University of Michigan she affiliated with the Modern Orthodox community while heading Ahava, the Jewish LGBT group on campus; stitching together both identities. Her creative senior thesis was on being queer and Orthodox, and it was published in book form.

The year after graduating, Naomi worked as an AmeriCorps Service Member in the MAP program (Michigan AmeriCorp Partnership) for one year. As a service member she headed a division at the University of Michigan’s Ginsberg Center for Community Service focusing on interfaith dialogue and service work. Drawing on her own experiences, she was able to lead students in difficult conversations about the intersection of religion and social justice.

After considering exactly what aspects of her experience in AmeriCorps she liked best, Naomi applied to teach abroad and ended up spending the last two years in Seoul, South Korea.  (To see Naomi’s take on being Jewish in Korea, click here). After being constantly surrounded by very (Jewishly) well-educated friends and family in the States, Naomi didn’t think there was anything unusual about the level of Judaic education she received until settling in Korea. In Seoul, having a Jewish education at all was unusual in the Jewish community.  Naomi found herself as a quasi-leader/halakhic authority within the community, a position that she never thought she would be in.  Until her time in Seoul, she had never considered the Jewish education she had received particularly valuable, and it was then that she realized that if she wanted to be a leader in whatever Jewish community she was to end up in, she had better invest more in her own Jewish education.

After her Orthodox day school education, Naomi was looking for an open, yet serious environment to study in. She made the decision to study at Pardes to ‘fill in the gaps’ in her halahic and textual knowledge.

Her favorite classes are Hassidut and Intermediate Halacha, where her extensive knowledge of Jewish law is actually useful. Naomi’s day school background provides an ever interesting foil to learning at Pardes, where, for example she often has trouble untangling actual Chumash from Rashi’s commentary. With them being sometimes taught as one and the same in day school, Naomi often felt like she ‘knew the punch line’ to all the exegetical questions that arose in class.

I like Hasidut with Levi Cooper a lot, it’s the reason why I’m taking Halacha.  Levi Cooper reminded us to make sure we are getting what we want to out of Pardes, and since I came here to study Halacha I had to adjust my lens and make sure I was focusing on learning Halacha.

Next year is still uncertain, but Naomi is looking into programs in Jewish Education with a focus in Special Education, a program in Speech Language Pathology, or Drisha’s Artists Residency.

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[PEP Student] Dvar Torah: Guard Your Ears!

Dear Friends,

Today, I am inspired to write by two of my dear friends and beloved chevrutot (learning partners): Merissa Nathan Gerson and Dana Adler. Thank you Merissa and Dana!

Last week’s parsha, Vayishlach, is filled with a lot of difficult questions and interactions. To name a few: Yaakov wrestles with an angel and is consequently given a new name “Israel”; Yaakov meets his brother Esav after many years of hiding from Esav’s wrath for stealing the birthright; Yaakov’s only daughter, Dina, is raped by a Hittite (one of the Canaanite nations) man named Shechem; Shimon and Levi massacre Shechem and his city avenging Dina’s assault; Yaakov’s beloved wife Rachel dies in childbirth on the way back to Bethlehem. One of the threads that runs through the parsha is Yaakov’s uncertainty about his future; he cannot be sure that his family is safe, that he will settle (peacefully) in Canaan without external threats or internal familial feuds and that God will always be with him. Yaakov feels vulnerable and alone for much of his life, although he is almost always surrounded by other people, by divine “messengers” and sometimes by God Himself!

What are we to make of Yaakov’s anxiety? How can we relate to and learn from the obstacles he encounters?

In my evening Chasidut (Hasidism) class, our teacher Levi Cooper taught us about the concept of Shmirat HaOznayim (loosely translated as Guarding One’s Ears). Levi explained that in some Chasidic groups, particularly those who follow Rabbi Uri of Strelisk (1757-1825), there is an idea and practice of protecting one’s ears — not exposing one’s ears to speech or sound that could potentially cause spiritual damage. This practice of Guarding One’s Ears is especially difficult because unlike our eyes or mouths which we can shut, we cannot exactly block out what we hear.

In learning about this Chasidic teaching of Rabbi Uri of Strelisk (or Rav Uri, as we like to call him), my mind wandered to the difficult emotions and experiences that Yaakov carries with him, particularly hearing the news of his daughter, Dina’s rape, heeding his mother’s command to leave town since Esav discovered Yaakov’s usurping the birthright, listening to and wrestling with the divine messengers in the night and many more!

Continuing this Chasidic teaching, Levi explained to our class that Rav Uri recognized that we cannot always protect ourselves from hearing difficult words and harsh experiences. And so, when a person hears something “heavy, something that could be potentially damaging to one’s soul (I don’t really want to expand on that but try to think of that damage in its broadest sense), s/he should turn to God and pray. That person should pray that whatever s/he heard should be cleansed so that those sounds or words do not remain seared on his/her soul.

Sometimes we experience things in life which are incredibly painful, frightening and/or counter to the way we want to see the world. And we are all entitled and encouraged to share those stories with others whom we trust and who will love us regardless. And what about the listeners, those who bear witness to the painful experiences of others? We too are disturbed and upset by those stories.

And so, in an effort to maintain safe and appropriate lines of communication open between those of us who experience pain and those with whom we choose to share that pain, I think we can learn tremendously from Rav Uri, encouraging those of us who are wounded or upset by what we’ve heard to ask God to heal us and cleanse us so that we are not harmed spiritually by what we have heard. This does NOT mean that we ask God to erase what we have heard; we want to remain emotionally and intellectually sensitive to that pain and hardship. But I think Rav Uri intentionally chose the language of “damage on the soul” to teach us that we do NOT want those stories to scar us spiritually and cripple our ability to do good in the world and to find God in others and in the world.

Returning to the parsha, as we listened to the Torah reading on Shabbat and its recounting of the suffering and distress Yaakov experiences in his lifetime, and as we listen to the experiences and trauma of others….

  • May we be blessed to listen with resilience and empathy to their hardship and anguish.
  • May we be healed and cleansed of the potential spiritual damage of those sounds of anguish and hardship.
  • May we remain responsive emotionally and intellectually to the suffering of others.

May we listen well while we protect our ears!

Shavua tov,
Tamara

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Beliefs as Truths

Beautiful Sunset from Window of Pardes

R. Levi Cooper, my Chassidut (Chassidism) teacher, has consistently inspired me with his wisdom. I’ve heard some of my own thoughts echoed back to me in Levi’s particularly articulate and reasoned way, and other insights of his have seeded entirely new contemplations in my mind.

In discussing the history of the Chassidut, RLC taught us that the Baal Shem Tov (BeSH”T) was not truly the founder of the modern Chassidic movement, as many people have been taught (and as Chassidic tradition holds true). The BeSH”T put his own spin upon an already existing Jewish philosophy, but Chassidism as we know it was propogated by the students of his disciple the Maggid of Mezrich. RLC, as an academic and historian, recognizes this difference between Chassidic lore and historic evidence, and suggested to us that it is possible to accept multiple, possibly irreconcilable truths, particularly in our era of readily available information.

For me, the key here lies in the concept of ‘belief’, which necessarily transcends fact. I regularly struggle with being accepting of my beliefs. I often find myself questioning these, which rest in the pit of my stomach and pulse through my body and mind. It’s an ongoing personal challenge to be accepting of my connection to and sense of the Unknowable.

Some months ago I saw a sign that read [Gd is not what you THINK], which reminded me of our class discussion on conflicting truths, and came to serve as a reminder for me that I should be more gentle with myself. I feel that science will never be able to resolve all of humanity’s many existential questions, and many of us necessarily gravitate towards the irrational – towards unprovable beliefs – to make sense of our lives, of our universe, of our realities. [Gd is not what you THINK] reminds me that I necessarily cannot wrap my mind around every troubling question that I may have – my beliefs are not what I THINK – they simply ARE.

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