Bound. because I Want to.

I’m leaving for Israel and my father hands me two bags. “Take these with you. The furrier, Shlomo, your great grandmother’s brother-in-law, left them to me. Find out if it’s meaningful for you.”

The first is black felt, light to the touch, with a golden Magen David embroidered in cord on its front. The Tallit inside is thin, composed of silky white fabric that is shifting towards an aged grey. Blue stripes run along its slender frame while an intricate latticework of linen falls away from the edges only to tangle up with the Tzitzit at the corners. It’s German Reform, classic and beautiful. So light I barely feel its weight when I try it on. So thin and delicate it barely covers my shoulders. It’s not my first Tallit.

The second bag is old and mustard yellow, fine prismatic threading has frayed across its front where it spells out the words “Tefillin” in Hebrew. The Tefillin inside are old with paper caps atop the Shel, each heavy with lacquer. The leather is cracked and aromatic, the black stain no longer present along the edges. The two bags go into my duffel, right next to my other Tallit, but as I put them down one Tefillin fall out of their yellow bag. The paper top tips off and the shin of the Rosh stares up at me like blurred eye still heavy with sleep. I stare back. What do I do with you?


Why does a Reform Jew wrap T’fillin? Continue reading

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[Alumni Guest Post] How is Kaddish related to mourning?

c1

Chanan Kessler (Year 1985-86) shares 
the following reflection with us in 
his mother's memory. Chanan is a NYC 
school teacher, and lives in The 
Bronx.

During the year that I recited the Kaddish after the death of my beloved mother, Hinda Yael bat Yosef v’Chaya, may her memory always be with us, I asked myself many questions. What was the purpose of saying Kaddish? For whom was I saying Kaddish (myself or my mother)? How was Kaddish related to mourning? In her honor and to help process my thoughts and feelings, I kept a blog in which I mused about these and other questions.

Nothing in life prepares you for mourning the loss of a parent. The idea that the person who gave you life is no longer in the world is incomprehensible. I had nineteen months after my mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer to get used to the idea, and I understood that I’d soon be a mourner. But there is an existential divide between the “regular” world and the one occupied by mourners.

Becoming a mourner and living without my mother was and continues to be uncharted emotional territory. One of my mother’s many life messages was to strive continuously for Continue reading

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[Alumni Guest Post] Coming Home

By Mira B. Shore [Summer '09 and '10, Year '12]

Mira at Pardes

It has been 7 months since I was in the Pardes Beit Midrash. 7 months since I walked the streets of Jerusalem, honoring my ancestors and being part of the Jewish story. 7 months since I actively and constantly questioned my religion, my spirituality, and my relationship with Hashem. 7 months since I watched the sun set over modern Jerusalem, personally fulfilling Biblical prophesies of our presence here forever. Walking down Rechov Rivka and in through the small and hidden front door of Pardes, I have never felt more like I am coming home.

Though the entrance code has changed and there are new faces, it feels like I never left. Exiting the familiar elevator and stepping into the narrow hall that is Pardes, I felt my heart swell and tears build up behind my eyes. I was welcomed with enthusiastic hugs and knowing glances from faculty, staff and students alike and I knew this was home.

After spending an academic year studying and living here (Sept 2011-May 2012), while it was difficult to leave, I was ready. I have since moved to NYC, Upper West Side, into a Jewish communal apartment and started graduate school at Columbia Teachers College to get my masters in Mental Health Counseling… finally pursuing my dream job of being a therapist. But gradually, as time went on, I could feel something was missing. I knew I missed Israel, Jerusalem and Pardes, but I also knew I’d be visiting in December-January with my family so I was not too worried.

Winter Break finally came and my family trip was beginning. My younger brother, Doron (18), is on his gap year program with Habonim Dror, living and volunteering in Israel. His being here gave my family and I an opportunity to travel and while we were coming to Israel eventually, we first had a week of touring Istanbul, Turkey. It was our first time there and it was very interesting, beautiful and inspiring. However, walking down the narrow streets, bargaining at outdoor markets and seeing some of the familiar walls built by Sulieman I, made me long for Israel in a different, deeper way.   Continue reading

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An Unexpected Israel Experience

A good family friend of our’s from Toronto asked me to do him a favour a couple of weeks ago. He is an architect and, as part of his work for a proposal for a Jewish cemetery in Toronto, is researching the signage and organization of different cemeteries. He sent one of his employees to Arlington National Cemetery to see how they help visitors navigate and asked me to go to Har Herzl to take some pictures and collect similar types of material for him. I said yes without even giving it a second thought, he has always been close to our family and I was happy to help.

Photo Credit:
Aviva Perlman (Year Program, ’10-’11)

I arrived at the cemetery early Friday morning so that I could run errands afterwards and get home in time to prepare for Shabbat. My plan was to go in, collect the information that I needed and then to leave. Before I walked in, I was humming a shabbat song to myself and remember thinking that I should not sing the song while wandering through the cemetery so that I could adhere to the principle of not mocking the dead by doing things that they can no longer do.

I first went into the dignitary section of the cemetery where Herzl and other political figures are buried. It was quiet, I only saw two school groups there. I didn’t take much notice of what was going on around me, only to note that it was calmer than the last time I was there, which was during the afternoon of Yom Hazikaron (Israel’s memorial day for fallen soldiers) last year.

I then decided to go to the military section of the cemetery, thinking that the information there would be much more useful for my friend’s presentation. I have never seen Har Herzl so empty. On the path on the way in, I only saw two other small groups of people – a few soldiers sitting at the entrance and a group of mourners saying kaddish at one of the graves in the distance. Even though I was there for specific purpose, I tried my best not to just run in and out. I stopped at one grave and read it to try to honour the person as best I could. Although I felt very much like I was running an errand, I didn’t want to disrespect the fallen.

As I was on the way out of the cemetery, I crossed paths with a group of young, uniformed soldiers who were there on a tour. There were over 20 of them and, solely by the way we were positioned on the path, I ended up walking with them the whole way out of the cemetery. I, a Canadian dressed in civilian clothing, was enveloped into the group of uniformed boys. All of a sudden the only thought that crossed my mind was that many of these soldiers will likely either know someone who will be buried at Har Herzl, or G-d forbid, may have to be buried there themselves.

I was overcome with emotion. I felt like an outsider. I felt grateful for their contribution to Israel and for their part in enabling me to live here. I felt inadequate in my contribution to life here. But most of all, I just felt sad.

I had expected to simply walk into Har Herzl, collect what I needed and to walk out. Instead, I was hit hard with one of the realities of life in Israel. I am still sitting with my sadness from my experience this morning and am still humming the same shabbat tune to myself. I will try to hold onto the imagery that each of these represent as I enter Shabbat tonight, hopefully with a greater appreciation for my time here and all that it entails.

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My Spiritual High at Zorba

Do you ever feel like there is a cage around you? Like you can carry it around but sometimes it gets heavy and tires you down. Perhaps it restrains you from moving in a comfortable way or running to what you really desire. I hadn’t really thought of myself in a cage at all before going to Zorba, a Festival in an Ashram in the Negev. I was unaware of this weight and constraint. Unaware of the energy I was wasting on thoughts and worries and food that are toxic to my being.

The music was pounding and my heart beat was in sync as my arms flowed freely and I felt my feet discover new bumps on the desert ground. I was blindfolded from seeing the outside world and forced only to look inside. To feel the music pulsing through my body, to feel the tension of being nervous and shy, to feel my muscles tense when I felt maybe I would bump someone. I looked deep inside myself as if my thoughts were separate from my rhythmic body movements. That is when I felt it, I swear I could even see it. My cage was opened and my body and mind were free and relaxed. Tension turned into excitement. Stiff calculated movements flowed as if I had been moving this way since birth. We did this dance practice for an hour. During that hour of dancing in the dark I dug deep and felt completely open to my emotions, good and bad as they rushed around. After the music stopped and we laid on our backs looking towards the sky I felt freer than I have ever felt. I felt connected and light. This was the true start of my spiritual high at Zorba.

Let me rewind a bit. Zorba is a festival that is held twice a year. The Ashram Bmidbar (In the Negev) also has other weekend workshops. Naomi Zaslow and I had heard from students last year how amazing the festival was so we excitedly signed up to go over Sukkot. The ride down rt 90 along the Dead Sea was breath taking. We arrived at the Festival set up our tents and went to explore.

Laura (L) and Naomi (R) at Zorba.

The grounds consist of a multitude of tents which they call “Olamim,” worlds. There is a Yoga world, a rebirthing world, a Buddah stage, a healthy eating world, a mystical world and many more. All throughout the day and night you are free to decide which lessons to attend. I was lucky enough to attend two amazing sessions at the healthy eating tent where I took lessons on the benefits of adding more raw food to your diet as well as having a love relationship with your hunger and food. I also took a few free dancing and meditation sessions as I described in the beginning. These were probably the most impactful because the was no real language barrier with dancing and I was able to just let go and feel uninhibited in front of strangers. It was in the dance sessions and the chakra breathing that I discovered what it means to be spiritually high. Our body and mind does not need any substance to feel incredibly good and free. After some of these sessions I felt such intense changes of being recharged spiritually and energetically. I think it is sad that our society runs so fast to using substances to achieve this feeling when there are natural and healthy ways to achieve it.

Lately I have been struggling with the intense sadness of loss because of the passing of my Uncle. It has been physically painful for me to recite the mourners Kaddish with meaning. Sometimes I feel like it comes out robotically and on these days I am grateful because I didn’t have to feel. During a music meditation I had a breakthrough with the mourners Kaddish and tefillah in general. I was standing eyes closed breathing to the music when I had the urged to recite Mincha. Under my breath I went through the service as best as my memory served me. Pausing from traditional text in my head and switching to personal prayer with ease. I was so grateful of the baby steps I have been taking to make prayer meaningful so I would be able to experience such a reward. I came to the time where I would be saying Kaddish in a minyan. A release shot throughout my body as tears rolled down my face and I recited word by word with each breath the mourners Kaddish. Though I was only whispering and no one was answering me I felt as though I was in the presence of a minyan that was also connected to themselves and G-d. I felt the pain more intensely and real than I had expected. When I finished I was out of breath and my body felt like it had run a marathon. I laid on the ground and felt my heart beat against the ground, as it soothed me into a meditative state.

On Shabbat I felt so connected to myself and to Israel. Naomi and I sat in front of our tent dressed in white flowy dresses and lit Shabbat candles that we placed in the center of a rock heart pattern. As people passed, some completely unaware that Shabbat was upon us, we wished them a Shabbat Shalom. There warm smiles and returned wishes were beautiful. The majority of people at the festival were very secular Israelis, but we were all still Jews with a spiritual connection to something. Some people gathered together to make Kiddush and we swayed to drum beats of Shabbat zmirrot. That night I layed out in the desert and stared at the expansive sky. I felt like I was lying amongst my ancestors who wandered the Negev during Biblical times. It was almost like that part in the Lion King when Musafa tells Simba that they can see their ancestors in the stars if they just look hard enough. I felt that laying there open to feeling the energy of the ground I was able to connect with generations of Israelites.

I have so much more I would like to share about this amazing experience. If anyone is interesting in going I would love to talk to you. I see though that recharges like this festival are needed in our busy lives. This was an extreme example, camping for three days at an ashram. In smaller doses though I think even going alone to the park and sitting with yourself and your thoughts can give you the recharge we need in our lives. I hope to take the idea of balance, openness and energy from my experience at Zorba.

I hope everyone had a very Happy Sukkot vacation and I look forward to dancing forward in life with you all.

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Kaddish for a friend and teacher – David Goldberg

David Goldberg z”l

Baruch Dayan HaEmet

I have just learned that one of my friends and teachers, David Goldberg, has recently passed away.

Given that he has thought me how to lead a prayer service in memory of my father’s yahrzeit, I thought that there would no better opportunity than say the kaddish for him here at Pardes in Jerusalem (which is what I did last night).

David, or Zaide as he was known to many, and I were one of the very few ‘Germans’ in the Edinburgh Jewish Community.  David’s life story was amazing and full of miraculous events.  He grew up in northern Germany and survived the Holocaust by being sent to England on one of the last ‘Kindertransport’ trains.  In fact, he was previously sent to Poland and thankfully his train was sent back to Germany.  He built up his life and business in Edinburgh, Scotland.

When I met him he was still a Gabai (person who helps to organise the running of a synagogue service) in the Edinburgh synagogue.

I also remember his stories of how, in the old days, the richer established part of the community was sitting near to the Bimah (the elevated platform in a synagogue which serves as the place where the person reading aloud from the Torah stands) and how the poorer immigrants were sitting further away.  When I joined the community things very clearly different and such a separation was not visible at all. In fact, David and others in the community were keen to include us ‘newcomers’ as much as possible.

Most importantly, David was a real ‘Mensch’. He was able to keep a pragmatic approach to most challenges and almost always saw the positive. He had a special charm mixed with a sharp sense of humor. In my class with Rabbi Landes yesterday we talked about the Torah being acquired by means of 48 qualities.  Menschlichkeit was one of the categories of  qualities and David represented all of the collective human qualities for such a level.

I was amazed about how David has kept his northern German accent even though he left the country at a very young age. When we studied Jewish prayers in the dark Scottish nights (and they can be pretty dark and cold!!) we used to talk about the old times in Germany and how Jewish life was back then before it was being destroyed. He was able to tell his stories in such a vivid way that I felt like having being taken back in time to pre-WWII time.

He represented what was called ‘the top of the top’ of Europe’s pre-WWII societies. Amos Elon describes in his book “The Pity of it All” the German Jewish society of having reached a high level of human sophistication just before having been targeted for elimination. I had the luxury of having been able to listen to these moving stories&memories. At the same time, he was very keen to hear my stories of modern times German Jewish community.  So, the teacher was learning from the student…just another quality by which the Torah is acquired ;-)

David also had a persistent way of explaining the smallest details. I remember how he used to test my patience on the theory of why I should let the kettle rest for a few seconds before pouring it over a tea bag.  Funny enough, I am thinking of David almost each time I make myself a tea and have shared this theory with many others.

I am sure that the memories of him will remain as vivid as he was.  I have known only few other men who have touched the souls of so many others. My thoughts are with all his family and I wish them a long life.

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Bring-your-Mom-to-Pardes Day

The shift from first semester to second semester started during our week off when half of Pardes went on a tiyul to the Arava desert. I’m not a hiking fan, but I love the desert in Israel and have always felt connected to it. This was a wonderful opportunity for me to reflect on my time so far at Pardes and my goals for second semester. The second day of the trip, I stayed on the kibbutz and enjoyed the amazing surroundings in the warm sun and towards the late afternoon, went with a friend out of the kibbutz borders to a little gazebo in the desert. There, we silently watched the sunset over the ancient, stoic mountains. After these three days in the desert, I was more ready than ever to return to Pardes, this semester as a full time student.

But then on the afternoon of our first day back at Pardes, I came down with strep throat. Being sick away from home and family continues to be a difficult experience. I spent the first week of second semester sick in bed and definitely felt it as a setback from the previous week of clarity in the desert. Luckily, my strep was cured (thank scientists for anti-biotics) the day before my mom came for her eight-day visit.

Having my mom, Carol, here to visit was such a wonderful experience that I know will continue to resonate throughout my life. My mom has her own personal relationship with Israel as she made aaliyah in 1973, six months before the Yom Kippur War. She volunteered during the war helping women pack First Aid kits for the soldiers and doctors. She lived on a secular kibbutz in the Negev called Kibbutz Ruchama for 4 years and then finished her BA at Hebrew University where she met my dad, Stephen, who was there on his college junior year abroad. After six years of living in Israel, my mother returned to America to be with my dad but her love never diminished.

Every time she comes back, she falls in love with the land, the history and the people all over again. She traveled all around the country and saw almost every one of our friends and family from Jerusalem to Haifa to Rosh Ha’ayin to Kibbutz Ein Tzurim near Ashkelon.

While she was here, it was my saba’s second yahrzeit, which was a special opportunity for us to remember him together in Jerusalem. My saba, Charles Swartz z”l, was a passionate Zionist who took his first trip to Israel (a 50th birthday gift to himself) in 1961. On that trip he found a distant relative of my savta’s who survived the Holocaust, Esther Ramiel, living on a religious kibbutz, Ein Tzurim. We constantly thank my Saba for finding Esther and her beautiful family of four grown children and ten grand children. Saba returned to Israel a total of twelve times including a long term stay in Bat Yam. Throughout my life I remember getting letters (yes, paper, snail-mail letters) from my Saba about how important it was that I visit Israel and understand that we are part of a bigger story.

This important day of memory for my Saba was made even more beautiful by the participation of the Pardes community. Not only was everybody open, warm and welcoming to my mom, but also created the comfortable space for her to say kaddish. For a special egalitarian Ma’ariv minyan the evening his yartzeit started, eleven people stayed after school, davened with us and listened to some short stories about my Saba’s amazing life. Honoring his memory at Pardes with my chevre, and with my mom, was such a blessing that he would have loved.

Having my mom come to my classes at Pardes for two days added a different perspective to my experience. After having been here for five months at Pardes, I have gotten complacent about living in Jerusalem and I thank my mom for reminding me how amazing it is. This was also her first visit to Pardes and she got to sit in on all of my classes, which was very special for us both. We worked as chevruta in all of my classes and she got a taste of how the system works here.

In “Relationships” with Tova Leah, my mother and I got to speak about how we listen to the different aspects of our souls… what a wonderful opportunity. In “Peace and Conflict,” my mom’s passion for current events and politics came out in a new light.  Studying Shemot with her in Levi’s class, she came up with interesting insights and relevant stories. In Meesh’s Talmud class we were able to catch-up on our lives, and our perspectives on Israel and Judaism. This experience of being chevruta with my mom opened a new kind of dialogue between us, and added a new level to our relationship.

Seeing Israel through her eyes reminded me what a blessing it is to be living in Jerusalem, studying at Pardes and having such a beautiful community at this very time in Jewish history. After this amazing week with my mother in Israel, I felt reinvigorated to really get as much as I can out of this amazing opportunity.

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[Student Profile] Carolina Rios Mandel

“What influenced me the most was how my parents acted toward others. Both of them were my role models. Both were black sheep… I like black sheep :)

After escaping from Hungary during the Holocaust, Carolina’s grandparents didn’t affiliate themselves with the Jewish community of Venezuela, and raised their children without much Jewish tradition… so it came as no surprise that her mother married someone outside of Judaism. Neither her mother nor her father were particularly religious, but both were very spiritual, and she grew up attending family events at both churches and synagogues… both Jewish and Catholic, and neither at the same time.

A tragic car accident took her father’s life when Carolina was 16 years old, and dealing with the loss changed her profoundly. She started looking at the world through different eyes, and enrolled in philosophy classes at her French high school. Then at age 17, Carolina left Venezuela because her private high school diploma was not accepted there. She could have gone to France, but instead she chose California.

At California State University, Long Beach Carolina’s diverse group of friends were into philosophy, political science, psychology, international studies, and religion… but she distrusted ideology, and had never really experienced religion in a meaningful way. At her International House Residence Hall, Carolina became friends with people of various faiths and cultures, but when pressed she insisted that she was simply Venezuelan.

“Maybe I didn’t want to connect to Judaism… in my family it had been a painful thing… first the Holocaust… and then my grandparents suffering in a terrorist attack before the Israeli embassy in Paris while they were visiting my uncle…”

After graduating and working for a year in Los Angeles, Carolina was accepted to the Columbia University School of Social Work, and moved to NYC for student orientation. Just then her mother, sick with emphysema, was informed that she needed a double lung transplant, and was only expected to live for a few more years… and Carolina quit her program to move back home with her mother.

While she had been studying and living in California, Carolina’s mother had developed an interest in Jewish mysticism and meditation, and had connected with a small, egalitarian Jewish community. Mother and daughter watched Jewish movies together like Fiddler on the Roof and Yentl, and her mother confided to her that perhaps she had  been wrong to raise her without a Jewish tradition. Two years later, Carolina returned to NYC at her mother’s behest, but continued to travel back and forth to Venezuela until her mother passed away during her 2nd year at Columbia.

Wanting to do the right thing for her mother, she began to read a book about Jewish mourning that a rabbi at the hospital had given her, and realized she wanted to perform the Jewish mourning rituals she was learning about. So Carolina decided to recite kaddish for her mother, and for the first time ever, religion made sense to her – the rituals and traditions of the Jewish people could honor her mother’s memory.

“I chose a Jewish name for myself: Liora. My mother’s smile and pride had been my light, and now I need to be my own light…”

In 2010, Carolina  graduated from Columbia, and received a grant through her International House in NYC to support the work of the African Refugee Development Center in Israel (ARDC). Having worked with the children of Ganean and Liberian refugees in Long Island, and having grown close to them, Carolina felt that working with refugees in Israel would be a good way for her to connect with the country.

When her work at ARDC ended, Carolina entered the WUJS Jerusalem Learning Program, and enrolled at Pardes for the semester of Fall ’11. She’d been impressed by reading about the Pardes ‘Social Justice’ and ‘Peace & Conflict’ tracks, but R. James Jacobson-Maisels’ class on the Aish Kodesh touched her in a way that she never expected.

“Even though I can’t compare situations, I can connect to the downs and the depressions of the context. And despite all the ugliness, and all the darkness and all the trauma, it’s incredible to find someone who can still inspire people in such a way… When you are in those situations you are pushed to the limits of what you can do… something about the Aish Kodesh transcends everything… he’s just amazing.”

After her semester at Pardes, Carolina is traveling to India for a good friend’s wedding, but she’s planning on returning to Israel in June… and making Aliyah to pursue social justice in the Jewish homeland.

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Music

When I drove down Whiskey Row, past the town square, someone was standing by the county courthouse, playing bagpipes. Part of my mind noted how odd that was.

I parked my car by the funeral home and got out. I walked with determination halfway to the door. Then I turned around and walked back to my car.

But there was nothing else to do, except go inside. And ask for my father’s ashes.

The box was heavy. It was in a paper bag. I didn’t carry the bag by the handles. I held the box tightly to my chest, both my arms wrapped around it.

When I drove past the square again, the bagpiper began playing “Amazing Grace.”

My brother, his girlfriend, and I scattered Dad’s ashes in the forest. No music. Just Kaddish. And the three of us, wordless.

After I returned to Israel, a song started going through my head; it’s obscure and I know it only because I love fiddle music. The melody and lyrics wouldn’t leave me, so eventually I opened my computer to listen to it. The version I’m familiar with is simple, just fiddle and voice.

I am a poor, wayfaring stranger,
Traveling through this world below.
There is no sickness, toil, or danger
In that fair land to which I go.
Wayfaring Stranger performed by Jack White
You can’t love fiddle music and blue grass without eventually stumbling across country gospel. Although the melodies are beautiful, the lyrics of those songs often rubbed me the wrong way. Now, though, this one seems perfect:
I was standing by my window on a cold and cloudy day
When I saw the hearse go rollin’ for to carry my mother away.
Will the circle be unbroken, by and by, Lord by and by?
There’s a better home awaitin’, in the, sky Lord, in the sky.
Lord, I told that undertaker, “Undertaker, please drive slow,
For that body you are hauling, Lord, I hate to see her go.”
Will the Circle Be Unbroken performed by Iris DeMent
And Vince Gill’s voice nearly erases any differences in theology.
I know your life on earth was troubled
And only you could know the pain.
You weren’t afraid to face the devil;
You were no stranger to the rain.
Go rest high on that mountain.
Son, your work on earth is done.
Go Rest High on That Mountain performed by Vince Gill
What comfort does Judaism have for times like this? Only this:
…lead us toward peace, guide our footsteps toward peace, and
make us reach our desired destination for life, gladness, and peace…
Blessed are You, Adonai, Who hears prayer.
Where are you now, Dad?
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