The featured photo doesn’t necessarily have ALL that much to do with my post, but it represents my excitement for Passover. I will be returning to be with my family for the week of Passover. On my father’s steering wheel is Korby, our Passover mascot. He gets a special place of honor on our Seder table.
This weekend, I did one of my favorite things: Take in the beauty of Central London on Shabbat. There were two reasons that this weekend was particularly whimsical. First, the temperature was climbing to 70 degrees Farhenheit, and the sky was a vibrant blue, with only a few translucent wisps of cloud floating by. Very unusual for London. Second, both synagogues we attended had visiting choirs that sang at the services, a rare phenomenon for an Orthodox service.
On Friday afternoon, I went about my traditional pre-Shabbat ritual. Though it sounds like quite a vain ritual, it prepares my body for Shabbat. The soul follows. I took my usual shower and blow-dried my hair until it was shiny. I pulled on a gray skirt, which flowed all the way to the floor, and a black top, a heap of golden bracelet bangles, patterned tights, and black shoes. I looked at myself in the mirror, puckered my lips and applied my crimson red lipstick and black mascara. Finally, I gave myself a generous spraying of sweet, fruity perfume. I was ready for Shabbat. I took a deep breath and hoped that this Shabbat would bring comfort to my ill grandmother. I hoped that it would bring peace to blood-stained regions. I hoped that it would restore peoples’ sense of respect for one another in a world full of conflict.
I walked downstairs and handed my ID to the guard (I can’t carry it around on Shabbat due to the Eruv), and we were on our way.
Friday Night, we (myself, Bracha, Chana, Bracha’s friend) were at the Western Marble Arch synagogue, which I very much enjoyed. Since I have been occasionally attending weekday services there, I am becoming to know the faces of the warm and friendly community. When I walked in to services, the Rabbi turned around and greeted me. The dinner afterwards was lively, as the whole choir joined us, along with the Rabbi, his wife, and a woman from Italy who was in the process of converting to Judaism. We sang and we laughed until the late hours of the evening, liberally sipping wine and eating piles of steaming, delicious, Shabbat food. The Rabbi and his wife constantly circulated around the table, making sure everyone was fed and comfortable, filling wine glasses and carrying on conversations. The sense of community was palpable.
After our long walk home, I ran into a familiar face in my building lobby on her way back from a night out on the town. She asked me what I did that evening. I told her we celebrated Shabbat, went to services. She said, somewhat sarcastically; “Fun!”.
But it truly was.
The next morning, I walked to The Central Synagogue on Great Portland Street. I greeted the security with a couple of high fives, and went into services. Just like last time when I posted, I was incredibly inspired by the choir. The tunes were so rich, that they vibrated the pews. They bounced off the high ceilings, and landed right onto my skin, making it tremble. The synagogue was filled with the usual eclectic mix, a selection of people from the area, the older regulars, and a large group of Swedish teenagers visiting and learning about Judaism.
During the Kiddush, the Rabbi and Cantor walked about greeting everyone individually, having conversations with every single person. There was no shortage of whiskey, chopped herring, sweets, hummus, fruits, and pastries. I tried to talk to the Swedish students, but they didn’t speak English. So I pulled over an older member of the Shul that I knew was fluent in German and introduced them to each other.
During the Kiddush, I praised the Rabbi for creating such a welcoming and spiritual environment. Initially, he told me, the board was genuinely concerned with his informal style. He told them that he would try it, and if they had a problem, he would try to be more formal. They haven’t said a thing in 16 years.
A group of us then went to visit a member from the synagogue at the hospital. He was staying at a private (non NHS) hospital. The room was beautiful, and we hung around for a half hour, singing some Jewish songs and telling jokes. He was Belgian and 25, but he looked way beyond his years.
We had lunch with a young couple from the synagogue who are active in youth planning, a few young shulgoers, and a member from the choir. We had a great time, talking about both serious and light matters. Afterwards, we headed over to Regent’s Park and we lay on our backs, looking at the blue sky and talking. Oh, and singing. I joined a random Frisbee game (injured my pinky a bit, but we won’t talk about that), and played with as many babies as possible. On our way back to shul for Mincha and Seudah Shlishit, we watched different species of ducks dip in and out of the water.
There is something I have always admired about spiritual leaders and their capability to bring people together. Their ability to build a community devoted to creating meaningful relationships and to doing incredible things in the world. They go about their work, creating a delicate balance of friendship, respect, and mutual understanding.
As I watched the choirmaster go about his work of conducting the group, I thought of all the leaders I know and admire–and the leader I eventually want to be. The choirmaster makes it look effortless, but you can see that he is practicing a precise science. The choir is meant to read into every aspect of his craft. His hands travel at sharp angles, his eyes and mouth change according to the varied mood of the arrangement. He takes audible, meaningful gasps of breath when he wants the choir to do the same. Each member of the choir has a distinct voice, and unique part, but they all come together under the choirmaster’s leadership to deliver a meaningful and rich tune.
This is why, I believe, faith is so intimately connected with community and grassroots organizing. There is a true sense of understanding and trust among the members of the congregation and the leader. I can only imagine how beautiful it would be if all the congregations in the world devoted themselves to social action and building bridges of understanding.
Last night, I had a strange nightmare. I was trying to organize, to do activism, and something wasn’t working. I was in an impoverished area, and one of the people who I was working with shot me in the chest with a gun. I asked why they did that. They looked at me blankly, and slammed the door on my face. I went to go get an agenda done for a meeting, so I went into a library. I was asked to leave. I went into a different library, and I wasn’t welcome there either. I continued entering libraries and being ousted from them.
There were other strange aspects too. A lot of people were wearing hats made out of different birds; there were penguins that were skimming the ocean’s surface like sharks. Eventually, I remember there being a lot of noise. Eventually, I lost my temper. I stood up and screamed at the top of my lungs. I said something like:
“JUST STOP! DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND? THE LEVELS OF SEGREGATION HERE ARE UNBELIEVABLE! CAN EVERYONE JUST SETTLE DOWN SO WE CAN WORK TOGETHER AND DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT?”
No one listened. The noise continued until I eventually woke up.
This dream hints about how much I have to learn about organizing. Of course you don’t stand on a bench and shout at people!
More importantly, though, I think this dream reflects one of my most prevalent anxieties about organizing. In the community I grew up in, my opinions on economic policy are too radical. Similar tensions exist in the activist community. Because I support Israel’s right to exist, I am not radical enough.
It’s not that I don’t have a place-there are many forums to organize with my viewpoints, but sometimes it can be challenging to feel like you fit.
Here’s to challenges turning into opportunities, and to my grandmother’s comfort and health. Keep her in your thoughts and prayers!