A Yom HaShoah Reflection for Our Times

This is the 2025 iteration of a message I post annually on Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day). If you can read only part of it, jump to the last paragraph.

In July of 2007, I volunteered to accompany a group of 48 NFTY-ites (the Reform Movement’s youth group in North America) on a L'dor v'Dor journey to Poland, the Czech Republic, and then on to Israel. (Crazy, I know.) One of our many visits to significant sites was a mass grave in the woods in Tikochin, three hours from Warsaw and two hours from the Lithuanian border. The time we spent there was, for me, perhaps the most difficult of the entire trip—and there were many difficult moments.

But those in the forest were personal.

My paternal grandfather, Abraham Charmatz was born in Lithuania, one of 19 children (yes, 19!). He was the youngest, and only a handful came to this country. (We originally believed that his name was changed to "Herman" at Ellis Island, but I have since learned from Dara Horn, author of "People Love Dead Jews," that it is a fallacy that names were changed there. According to Horn, they were changed afterward, and there are court records that prove her assertion. I have not searched court records for my grandfather's name change.)

To hear my father tell this part of our family's story, when he was growing up on Mapes Avenue in the Bronx in the 1930s and 1940s, his father frequently received letters from his brothers and sisters in Lithuania. Until the letters stopped.

I lit a yahrzeit candle at the mass grave in the woods in Tikochin, and today, once again, I remember all those unknown aunts and uncles and cousins. May they rest in peace in the shelter of the Eternal.

And while we're remembering, it would be wise to remember, too, that the current administration's efforts to "protect" Jews from antisemitism, especially on college campuses, are nothing more than a facade that tramples the civil rights of immigrants, many of whom are living and studying in this country legally and have the right—just like the rest of us—to assembly and free speech. In America, when those freedoms are denied to anyone, we all lose, and no one, including Jews, is safe from the forces that wish to see us gone—from this country or from the world.

This Memorial Day I'm Remembering Major Stuart Adam Wolfer, z"l

I first learned about JWB Jewish Chaplains Council^® (JWB) early in my tenure at the Union for Reform Judaism (URJ). From time to time, its then-director, Rear Admiral Rabbi Harold Robinson, would call to invite URJ President Rabbi Eric Yoffie to fly with him on a fighter jet that would then land on an aircraft carrier at sea—or at least that’s what I remember hearing about those calls in the executive suite at the URJ! Not surprisingly, Rabbi Yoffie always had a conflict.

More recently I learned that the Jewish Welfare Board, the forerunner of JCC Association of North America, was formed in 1917 as a coalition of organizations to support young Jewish men headed off to fight in World War I. Over more than a century, it has stayed true to its founding, and today its Jewish military chaplains and trained lay leaders bring Jewish life and opportunities to Jewish military personnel and their families wherever in the world they are working to protect Americans and our many freedoms.

Last Thursday, JWB hosted Beverly Wolfer, who spoke to the staff of JCC Association about her brother, Army Major Stuart A. Wolfer, z”l. A Jewish day school graduate, ROTC-commissioned Army officer, and a respected soldier, leader, and friend, he was active in “B’nai Baghdad,” the military’s Jewish community where he served, until he was killed in action there in April 2008. Major Wolfer was 36 years old and left behind his wife and three children, his sister and her family, and his parents.

Throughout his military service, Wolfer’s family regularly sent him care packages, and following his death, they established the Major Stuart Adam Wolfer Institute (MSAWI), a nonprofit organization that works to ensure that his legacy of leadership, commitment to his country, and community service lives on and inspires future generations of children, adults, and leaders. In addition to continuing to send care packages to troops with help from volunteers of all ages, MSAWI raises awareness about the sacrifices troops and their families make to serve our country and recycles the stars on retired American flags (those no longer fit to fly) into tokens of honor for members of the armed forces and veterans.

Just days before Memorial Day, I was honored to learn about the life and legacy of Stuart Wolfer, chat briefly with his sister, and join my colleagues in putting together care packages that will bring some small comforts of home to Jewish-American and American troops stationed on bases, ships, and elsewhere around the world.

Today—and every day—may the soul of Stuart Adam Wolfer and all those killed in service to our country find perfect rest in the shelter of God’s wings and may their memories be for a blessing, now and always.

Bless These Hands: Creating a Reform Chevra Kadisha in NYC

In 2010, our family spent 11 days in hospice, accompanying our mother and wife to the end of her life as the body that had held her soul for more than seven decades succumbed to disease after an excruciating seven weeks of illness. After she died, our rabbi asked if we wanted to arrange for shmirah—individuals to watch over her body until burial. Without missing a beat, my father, my sister, and I said “yes.” We knew, deep in our own souls, that our beloved “The Mums” would have appreciated the presence of shomrim during this liminal time. 

What we did not know, was how comforting it would be for us. As we completed the necessary arrangements at the funeral home, we could hear, in a nearby room, the familiar voice of a longtime family friend reading Psalms as she sat with the body of our beloved. With the details handled, we returned home to wait out the time until the funeral. Throughout those long hours of disbelief and breath-stopping grief, we were consoled, knowing that shomrim were with The Mums. 

Recently, when the rabbis of two New York City congregations—Temple Shaaray Tefila in Manhattan and Congregation Beth Elohim in Brooklyn—joined forces with students from the Reform Movement’s seminary, Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion (HUC-JIR), and Plaza Jewish Community Chapel to create a chevra kadisha to serve Reform congregations in the five boroughs, I signed on. Intrigued and open to the possibilities, I welcomed the opportunity to be in on the ground-floor formation and launch of the first sacred community that will not only prepare and guard bodies of the deceased before burial according to Jewish tradition but also will have the freedom and expertise to do this work in ways that extend beyond the customs of Orthodox chevrot kadisha (plural of chevra kadisha), which currently are the only option in New York City. 

After an introductory meeting at Plaza in late October, I thought often about what we had seen and heard that evening, finding renewed appreciation for the Jewish rituals around death and burial and the ways they so intentionally honor the deceased and offer compassion to the living. Earlier this week, our fledgling group participated in hands-on training at HUC-JIR led by staff and volunteers from Kavod v’Nichum. Hebrew for “honor and comfort,” this non-profit organization provides education, support, and training around end-of-life rituals and practices in our tradition. For more than three hours, we learned about and then practiced the rituals to prepare a body for burial. We did so without water or the necessary equipment but with help from gracious volunteers who served as—meit (masculine), meitah (feminine), and meiteh (non-binary)—the deceased. 

We began with the physical washing of the body, reciting passages from Song of Songs to remind us that we are created b’tzelem Elohim, in the Divine image, beautiful in body and spirit. Physical washing was followed by ritual washing. Known as taharah, purification, this spiritual cleansing restores the soul of the deceased to the state of purity it was in when the person entered this world. A prayer that highlights the power of water to purify and sanctify, Amar Rabbi Akiva, is recited as part of taharah. In addition, when the purifying waters washed over the body, we repeatedly recited, depending on the gender identity of the deceased, t’hora hi (female), tahor hu (male), or t’horeh heh (non-binary) to mark the moment of transformation to a state of ritual purity. 

Finally, we dressed the body for burial in tachrichim, loose-fitting, white linen or cotton garments, including a kittel or burial shroud, a ceremonial, collared, knee-length jacket without pockets that some observant Ashkenazi Jews, mostly men, wear on Yom Kippur, when leading a Passover seder, or under the chuppah on their wedding day. The tachrichim are designed to replicate the clothing of the Kohen Gadol, the High Priest during Temple times, and to show that all are equal in death. 

Although the how-tos of caring for the body and performing taharah are certainly important, the most valuable lesson in our training concerned our intention or kavanah in carrying out this holy work. Because none of the rituals performed by a chevra kadisha is rooted in halacha or Jewish law, it is not possible to do anything the “wrong way.” Twice during the process, once before the group begins its work and once after it has finished, the members recite the mechilah prayer, speaking directly to the deceased, to ask forgiveness for anything they might do or might have done that falls short of bringing honor and respect to body and soul. For these reasons, those who were present from Kavod v’Nichum assured us that we are ready to begin. (Initially, the Reform chevra kadisha will focus on preparing bodies for burial and will add shmirah later.) 

In the coming weeks, as we move toward February 15, the projected launch date, our chevra kadisha will continue to solidify itself by compiling a manual of readings and prayers to codify our own customs; organizing a notification system for members; and training individuals as leaders (rosh, rosha, rosheh) to ensure the physical and emotional safety of the entire team and that its members show honor and respect to the deceased; follow Jewish customs; and adhere to the desires and practices of the funeral home. 

Our training session closed with this blessing of the hands: “Bless these hands for the kindness they show, for the holiness they embody, for the mitzvot they enact.” I am honored to participate in this sacred undertaking but am not without trepidation. My heart is fully in, and with time, experience, and the camaraderie of others, I believe my hands, too, will faithfully enact the mitzvah of taharah.

A Rundown on My New Job

Dear The Mums,

Remember when you taught nursery school at the JCC in Rockville, Maryland, back when it was still called nursery school and not, as it is today, early childhood education? I was reminded of that long-ago family connection to “the field,” now that I’m working as a senior writer for JCC Association of North America, the membership organization of JCCs, YM and YWHAs, and a network of summer camps across the continent.

It’s only been two weeks since I started, but the welcome I’ve received has been overwhelming and began almost from the moment I accepted the position, which I’d applied for right before Thanksgiving and accepted just before Christmas. From the signs and balloons that awaited me in my office to a first-day lunch out with my team, I have been bowled over by the warmth of absolutely every single person I’ve met thus far. What’s more, within a few days, all the new-employee paperwork was done, I was enrolled in a pension plan, my medical insurance card arrived in the mail, and my business cards were printed. Lest I forget, I have a complimentary membership to the 14^th Street Y, and I can’t wait to go swimming.

I’d met the president and CEO, Doron Krakow, during my interview, but he was out of the office traveling until well into my second week. When he returned, I heard him greeting people by name, asking how each person was doing, catching up on projects, and demonstrating a warm, leadership-by-walking-around style. When he stopped into my office (which, it seems, someone vacuums nightly), I received a most enthusiastic, warm welcome—including a hug—and we chatted for a few minutes. I told him, as I have repeated so many times in the last two weeks, “I’m thrilled to be here!”

As far as the work and my team goes, it’s all good. We meet weekly around a table, face-to-face, to review the status of all our projects, which are managed by Angela, the marketing administrator. Joanne, the chief marketing officer, heads up the team, and the other members include Loraine, the graphic designer; Morgan, the digital media marketing manager; Ben, the photographer/videographer; and Michael, who is a marketing consultant to JCCs. (His wife is a Reform cantor, and the Jewish geography as I am getting to know my new colleagues and they’re getting to know me has been fun. One woman, Yuliya, has a Gratz diploma on her wall, which sparked a great point of connection for us. She loves Dr. Davis the way you did!)

The marketing department functions as a service unit for all the other parts of the organization, and in addition to reading lots of materials to get up-to-speed, I’ve contributed to a few projects, including an update about JWB Jewish Chaplains Council activities. (JWB—Jewish Welfare Board—was established to support Jewish servicemen at the time the U.S. entered World War I and eventually merged with The Council of Young Men’s Hebrew and Kindred Associations, founded several years earlier, becoming the national association of JCCs and YM-YWHAs.) I’ve helped with Doron’s “Shabbat Shalom,” his weekly email message, drafted a joint letter from him and the board chairman to Federation executives, urging them to register for JCC Association’s upcoming biennial gathering, and also drafted an article for a lay leader that spells out the importance of attending this biennial event, known as JSummit. It’s scheduled for early May in Milwaukee, and I’m looking forward to being there.

A few more details to paint as full a picture as possible about my new gig: The offices, located on the fourth floor of an office building on Eighth Avenue, halfway between Port Authority and Penn Station, are lovely – with lots of oversized scenes from JCCs decorating the walls. It’s nice to be surrounded by joyful images of kids at summer camp, seniors in water aerobics classes, and preschoolers enjoying juice and challah in anticipation of Shabbat. (Yesterday, the staff had its once-a-month oneg, which, not unlike the pre-school celebrations, included a bit of singing; a micro d’var Torah; blessings over the candles, juice, and challah; home-baked treats; and a few minutes of collegial schmoozing.) There’s a beautiful conference suite; a number of offices leased to tenant organizations, including two in which the executive directors are former URJ/RAC employees; and a designated staff lounge, where people gather for lunch—and, again, someone cleans the refrigerator every single week.

All this by way of assuring you that I’m quite happy with my professional life these days—the work, my colleagues, and the mission and values of the organization—and, truth be told, proud of myself for (finally) having made this much-needed change. I think you would be proud, too.

Miss you…xoxo.

P.S. If Brian’s name sounds familiar, you’re right. He and I were classmates at Laf Coll, and he preceded me as president of Hillel. When I told the now-retired Bob Weiner about my job and that Brian and I would be colleagues, he wrote back, “So happy and proud. Good Shabbos. Hugs and love, Bob.”

P.P.S. The JCC in Rockville is now the Bender JCC of Greater Washington, and from what I can see online, it appears to be an amazing facility.

Why It’s My Business to Comment on the World Around Me

Nearly two weeks ago, somewhat tongue in cheek (but with no malicious intent), I posted this photo that I’d taken during the hottest part of the day, when the heat index in New York City hovered around 110 degrees:

The accompanying text said:

I think God would have forgiven this man if he'd decided to take off his jacket today.

Update: Actually, I think he just should have taken off his jacket. It's not God who commands him to dress as though he's still living in 19th century Poland. Get with the weather, dude.

A flurry of likes, loves, and laughs followed the post, along with comments – some online and others by text.

By text, one friend asked: “Would say the same thing about a Muslim woman in full garb?”

I responded: “I’m not sure. I don’t know enough about the ‘why’ of Muslim dress.”

To which my friend said, “This feels to me a bit like MYOB.”

Is it?

Part of the reason I don’t know much about the "why" of Muslim dress is because I’m not Muslim. I am, however, Jewish and this guy is one of “my people.”

A proponent of talking openly and honestly about what we see, my sister noted, “The ‘why’ of Muslim dress is modesty, which is not the case for this man.”

So why do Hasidic men dress the way they do?

According to seeker.com:

Hasidic Judaism was founded in Eastern Europe, primarily the Poland and Ukraine regions, in the late 18th century. The traditional clothing stems primarily from Polish nobility standards of dress during this time. Contrary to popular assumption, Hasidic garb comes more from historical context rather than specific religious texts like the Torah.

As MyJewishLearning.com notes:

The Torah says little about clothing, either descriptively or prescriptively. Without explanation, it prohibits blending wool and linen in a garment (such garments are known as shatnez), in the same verse forbidding “mixing” different seeds and species of cattle (Leviticus 19:19). It forbids men from wearing women’s clothes and vice versa (Deuteronomy 22:5), without specifying the characteristics of either. It also requires Jews to put fringes on the corners of a four-pointed garment (Numbers 15:37-41), both as a way of identifying the Jew and reminding the Jew to observe the mitzvot commandments].

According to this Aish.com video, there are four reasons religious Jews dress the way they do: 1. It effects the way other people see them; 2. It effects how they perceive themselves; 3. It identifies them as members of a specific group; and 4. It expresses their honor and dignity as humans, distinct from animals.

These explanations are all well and good, but none of them expressly prohibits the man from removing his jacket if he’s bothered by excessive heat and humidity – a likely scenario on the day in question.

Perhaps it’s not for me to suggest that he do so – and, of course, I meant no offense in my observations – but, in these difficult times, it most certainly is my business to observe and reflect upon what I see around me.

I Wasn’t Sick, But the Community Helped Me Heal

Tonight’s Shabbat service at Temple Shaaray Tefila used bibliodrama and storytelling to explore the themes of illness, healing, loneliness, and community associated with this week’s Torah portion, Tazria-Metzora. I was honored to share my personal story of healing as part of the service.

Thank you, Rabbi Lenza… I’m honored to speak to you tonight. 

As I was thinking about how to share my story of illness – which wasn’t really illness at all – and the healing that followed, I realized it’s not only my story. It has everything to do with how this community responded and so, this is really our story...and it goes something like this…

In the spring of 2010, my mom died from aggressive breast cancer that ravaged her body in seven weeks’ time – literally from Pesach to Shavuot. During those weeks, even before my story began, Rabbi Stein called me regularly, just to check in. 

That summer, my sister and I got genetic counseling and testing for BRCA mutations. Indeed, a genetic mutation had been lurking in our family for generations. And, it had been passed along to me – significantly increasing the chance that in my lifetime, I would get breast, ovarian, and/or pancreatic cancer, as well as melanoma. 

An emotional roller-coaster ride ensued. At each turn was another doctor’s appointment, more reading and research, and intense loneliness. Still mourning my mom, suddenly I was a member of a club I never even knew existed – and I didn’t know anyone else who belonged. 

I wasn’t sick, but if I wanted to stay that way, I needed to educate myself and make some tough choices, choices that were made more difficult precisely because I was healthy. I was playing Russian roulette...and I’m no gambler.

I’d recently been attending the chapel minyan to say kaddish for my mom and I shared my news with a few people in the group. (It’s here that my story and the congregation’s story became one.) 

Four months later, I had the first of several preventive surgeries, skipping minyan for about five weeks while I recovered. During those weeks, Jesse Berger, whom I didn’t know well, called to see where I’d been; Brigitte Sion, challah in tow, came to visit on a Friday afternoon. 

With their acts of kindness and those of others in this community, I felt anything but isolated. Even now, all these years later, recalling those gestures warms my heart.  

Again, in July 2011, I disappeared from minyan – this time for more extensive preventive surgery that kept me in the hospital for five nights and out of commission until the fall.

As before, calls, visits, and well wishes, from the community and clergy helped sustain me. I was pleased to join what I dubbed (and this is a little PG-13) the “Sisterhood of the Traveling Bras,” whose comfy, post-surgery under-things were loaned to me by a Shaaray staffer who, as a fellow mutation carrier, had already been down this path. She knew exactly what I’d need while I recovered. When I returned to minyan after weeks away, the welcome I received fed my soul in ways that have stayed with me. 

It’s been almost seven years since my most recent surgery. Although physical and emotional scars remain, I am healthy – and doing everything I can to stay that way. I’ve recently enrolled in a clinical surveillance study designed to advance early detection of pancreatic cancer among those at highest risk. 

My experiences have made me an activist in the hereditary cancer community, particularly committed to raising awareness about inherited genetic mutations, especially in families like mine, where flawed genes often remain hidden until somebody dies. 

If you remember nothing else from this story, please remember this: BRCA mutations are considered rare, present in the general population in approximately one in every 400 to 800 people. In the Ashkenazi Jewish population, though, one in 40 of us – both men and women – carries a mutation, and 90 percent of carriers are unaware of their status. 

If you want to know more, let’s chat during the oneg Shabbat.

In the meantime, I’m so grateful to this community, and especially to the members of the minyan, for the concern, support, and kindnesses they showed me during my “non-illness” and recovery – and for the caring, kindness, and camaraderie I believe we show each other from week to week as we deal with the ups and downs in our lives.

Thank you and Shabbat shalom.

#BlogExodus: Thank

Dear Alex,

I’ve experienced my fair share of “small Jewish world” stories – especially given that I work for Judaism’s Reform Movement – but nothing quite like what happened this week. So, I want to thank for being the catalyst that made the planets align in my world.

It started with your Facebook post:

"I am so grateful for all the Lafayette students I've worked with over the years. One of my favorites just stopped by my office and it was awesome to hear how well she is doing as a young professional in Chicago.

Shout-out to Laf alums who are my FB friends! Please comment with what year you graduated and what you are doing now."

I commented with this:

1985. Senior writer and editor at the Union for Reform Judaism, where I manage blog content and curate Ten Minutes of Torah, a featured blog post sent daily to a subscriber base of between 20,000 and 60,000 individuals.”

And then the conversation continued:

Alex: “Love it.”

Me: “And probably your ‘alumna of longest standing’ FB friend!”

Alex: “I think that honor actually belongs to Liza Roos Lucy!"

Liza: Class of '74 P '12 P '15”

Me: “Liza Roos Lucy Excellent....you win! :) Happy Friday!” 

Liza: “Jane E. Herman to be fair, I didn't know Alex from the time I was a student. I know Alex through my daughter, Elizabeth Lucy class of ’15 and because my cousin, Susan Katz is her friend.

Alex: “I think I am fortunate to know all of you!”

Me: “Liza Roos Lucy I don't know her from my student days either. I met her about five years ago when I spoke on campus as part of the Madame de Lafayette speaker series.”

This might have been the end of the conversation and the story, but for some reason, I went to Liza’s FB page to see a bit more about her and this is where the story gets a little, um, bizarre… because she’s from Honesdale, PA.

See, I have a longtime friend who is the once-a-month rabbi at historic Congregation Beth Israel, the Reform congregation in Honesdale. During the last few months, I’ve told him a few different stories, to which he’s always responded, “All roads lead to Honesdale.”

In fact, it seems they do. A while back, at a bus stop in New York City, a woman asked me about the boots I was wearing. We struck up a conversation while we waited, and I learned she has a home in Honesdale. When Gene Kelly had surgery a few months back, I saw on FB that he would be recovering at his parents’ house…in Honesdale.

And now this.

So, I sent this message and snippet of information from Liza’s FB page to my friend Elliott, who is not on FB:

Don't ask, but I'm in a FB conversation with a few people, and one of them has these "stats":

Studied at Lafayette College

Went to Wyoming Seminary Upper School

Went to Honesdale High School

Went to Wyoming Seminary Prep School

Lives in New Hope, Pennsylvania

Married

From Honesdale, Pennsylvania

All roads… 

He responded immediately: “Liza!”

Me: “You know her???”'

Elliott: “She’s a very good friend and president of the congregation.”

Me: “OMG....I'm going back on FB...this is the best small Jewish world story. OK if I share that we had this convo?”

Elliott: “Sure.”

That’s when I went back to your post and wrote this to Liza: “When I saw that you're from Honesdale, I reported in to my friend, Elliott, with whom I echat nearly daily, and, alas, another great small Jewish world story is born...Honesdale, Elliott, Laf Coll....wow!”

Here's the rest of the conversation that took place on FB Messenger.

Liza: “Whoa! You are Elliott's friend! I am president of Beth Israel in Honesdale where Smitty was rabbi for 44 years and now Elliott.”

Me: “I know!! Small, small world! I work at the URJ, where he used to work...and we've been friends for 15 years!”

Liza: “Did you speak a few years ago at a genetic counselor event?”

Me: “In Honesdale? No. At Laf Coll... yes, as a Madame de Lafayette speaker. I am a BRCA mutation carrier and very active in the hereditary cancer community, committed to raising awareness about these mutations, especially in the Ashkenazi Jewish community.”

Liza went on to tell me about her daughter, Alex, also a Laf Coll alumna and a genetic counselor specializing in breast cancer. She said that when Alex lived here in NYC, she and I spoke at a hereditary cancer event and according to Liza, “she will remember you.”

In the meantime, I was having a simultaneous conversation with Elliott…and anyone who knows me well knows that multi-tasking is not my forte.

Me: “Liza just asked me if I spoke at a genetic counselor event a few years back...the world is getting smaller by the minute!”

Elliott: “I had told her about you. Her daughter is a genetic counselor – specializing in breast cancer.”

A little while later, I connected on FB with Liza's daughter, Alex, who now lives in Philly, but we haven’t yet figured out at what event in NYC (or perhaps in Philly) we met.

Liza and I chatted a bit more before I had to get back to work, but I’m sure we’ll talk again – either on FB or perhaps even in person.

Sharing all this convoluted connectedness is not to demonstrate FB’s tremendous power of relationships, but really to thank you for expanding my Lafayette network, my genetic counselor/hereditary cancer network, and most of all, for giving me perhaps the best small Jewish world story ever!

Wishing you and your family a wonderful Easter,
~ Jane.

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this post is one in a series marking the days of the Jewish month of Nisan leading up to Passover, which begins at sundown on Friday, March 30, corresponding to the Hebrew date 15 Nisan 5778. If you want to play along, check out this year's #BlogExodus and #ExodusGram prompts.

Welcome Back, Hallway Kiddush

Dear Hallway Kiddush,

Back in January, our minyan was so sad when you abruptly stopped being part of our Shabbat minhag so we could instead go downstairs to the sanctuary at the end of our chapel service and greet Shaaray Tefila’s newest b’nai mitzvah and their families.

We missed the Manischewitz (yes, it’s true!), our schmoozing, and linking up to touch someone who was touching the challah before we recited haMotzi. Without these rituals that we all know and love, our Shabbat felt incomplete and…a little bit empty.

Thank goodness you’re back!

Now, we once again get to spend time with you each week and – if we want – also go downstairs to join the other part of the synagogue community. It helps to have a reserved row in the sanctuary, where we can sit until it’s time to ascend the bimah. And, it seems we’ve already started our own “downstairs minhag,” pointing out to each other young girls’ dresses whose hemlines are, as my grandmother would say, “up to her pupik,” and so tight around they can take only teeny-tiny steps. While we wait, it’s also interesting to see the families’ color choices for the yarmulkes. Having always enjoyed “assigning” names to particular hues, I dubbed yesterday’s yarmulkes “Shrek green,” with no malice intended. I call ’em like I see ’em -- and I love Shrek!

In any event, it’s nice to have you back and perhaps, with practice, we’ll get as comfortable with the downstairs part of our Shabbat as we are with the upstairs part.

Shavua tov…see you next week,
~ Jane.

No Good Tweet Goes Unpunished

Today’s  Shavuot. As I have done every year for the past few, I’m participating in a collective social media effort to post enough tweets that include “#Torah” – pronounced “hashtag Torah” – that we “ tweet #Torah to the top ,” meaning it appears on the Twitter home page as a trending topic.

As far as I know, we have not ever achieved the goal. And this year, I’ve encountered a few stumbling blocks of my own…

Everything started out smoothly. Using  Hootsuite, a social media tool, I scheduled 80-some tweets to go live between 9 p.m. last night and midnight tonight. Because they appear as both tweets on Twitter and posts on my Facebook feed, I put this message on Facebook last night after two or three tweets had appeared:

It appears that all my #Torah tweets scheduled for the next 27 hours or so are going to show up in my FB feed.

For my FB friends who aren't familiar with Shavuot, it's a Jewish festival (The Festival of Weeks) that occurs seven weeks -- 49 days -- after the first day of Passover and commemorates the giving of the #Torah atop Mt. Sinai. According to legend, every Jewish person from every generation was there to witness the pivotal event in the life of the Jewish people. Today, the holiday is celebrated with late-into-the-night #Torah study sessions and dairy foods -- cheesecake and blitzes, most notably -- which serve as reminders of the Promised Land, which flows with milk and honey. It's also the season for confirmation, when young Jews (generally 16- and 17-year olds) who have continued their studies for several years after b'nai mitzvah commit to lead a Jewish life and help ensure a bright Jewish future.

OK, rabbi, cantor, and educator friends, did I leave anything out?

And then I went to sleep.

I awoke to this message from my sister, which she’d sent at 7:09 a.m.: “Why a million Torah posts?” It was followed quickly by this: “I just saw your explanation. You need to delete them. They filled everyone’s feed…message after message after message…”

Um, yes, that’s precisely the point.

Two hours later, when I hadn’t responded (because I slept in and then went to services), she sent another, less contemptuous message: “You look like a Jewish scholar who drank too much slivovitz and pressed ‘Post.’”

Meanwhile, in response to a tweet that appeared in my feed at about 1 a.m., a friend, who thought I was live-tweeting, commented with this: “Jane, I love you. I’m awake with you for at least an hour…” (I set her straight in the morning, sending a link to Hootsuite by way of explanation.)

When I returned from temple, I spoke to my sister and, concerned that I might indeed be looking like a schicker (Yiddish for drunkard), I reposted the explanatory message from last night.

Convinced all was then well, I was dismayed to receive another message late this afternoon – this one from a friend who, although not Jewish, is well-versed in Jewish holidays and traditions. She wrote: “I think you have been hacked… Twitter keeps giving the same status update over and over again…”

Yes, at that point, all the scheduled tweets had the same beginning – Blessed are You, Adonai, Sovereign of the universe who has… -- but ended differently. I responded to her with this: “LOL! They’re different. It’s Shavuot and I’m one of the people who is posting things with the #Torah hashtag to see if we can get Torah to trend in Twitter. Hope all’s well and you’re enjoying Ramadan.”

Thank goodness for Caroline, a high school friend, whose gracious response to one of my many tweets today made it all worthwhile: “I have enjoyed reading these posts.”

That Time I Did Hagbah at Minyan

Dear WilliamtheTrainer,

Since I don’t speak Spanish and as an immigrant from Ecuador, you probably don’t speak much in the way of “Jewish worship,” I’ll do my best to explain this thing that happened on Saturday morning that you helped make possible.

In the middle of Jewish worship services on the Sabbath and festivals -- and on Mondays and Thursdays in more traditional congregations – Jews read from a Torah scroll, which contains the Five Books of Moses – Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. The text is handwritten in Hebrew by a specially trained scribe on animal skin parchment and considering its contents, the scroll is treated with the utmost respect.

After the Torah reading has been completed, it’s customary for one person to come forward to “do hagbah,” which entails lifting the open scroll overhead so the congregation can see the text that was just read. This custom derives from a verse in the Book of Nehemiah that says: “And Ezra opened the book in the sight of all the people.”

So, back to last Saturday…

We were all standing around the lectern where the Torah had just been read and my friend Roz had finished her first-ever aliyah (reciting the blessings before and after the Torah reading itself), which she’d done in honor of her husband’s 93^rd birthday, coming up in a few days. Then, the rabbi invited me to help with hagbah, an honor usually reserved for a strong man because some scrolls are extremely heavy – and the last thing anyone wants is for a Torah scroll to fall or be dropped.

Thinking about those Hoist weight machines, the free weights, the rowing machine, the treadmill, the crunches, the running, the jumping, and all the other hard work I’ve been doing with your help throughout the last six weeks, I hoped I was up for the challenge. With guidance from the rabbi, I took hold of the bottom handles of the scroll, bent my knees to get some leverage, and to my incredible delight, lifted it and turned so everyone could see the text, although it wasn’t open very wide at all (and the rabbi was “spotting me” to ensure nothing bad would happen).

Returning the Torah to the lectern, I helped tie the two parts of the scroll together, replace its velvet cover, silver breastplate, and  yad (literally “hand”), the pointer that the Torah reader uses to keep his or her place while reading. Once it was safely on the shelf where it would remain for nearly the rest of the service, I returned to my seat in the pews, but not before the rabbi said that the expression on my face during hagbah was “worth the price of admission.”

Indeed, it was an incredibly exhilarating and powerful moment-- not only for the chance to give honor to the Torah in a way I never had done before, but also as a reminder that hard work, commitment, and pushing yourself in new and different directions often have unexpected, wonderful rewards.

Thanks for the reminder…see you in the gym!

~ JanetheWriter

"Never Again" Means Never Again for Anybody

Some days I get so annoyed with our people – especially when we  kvetch, we groan, we complain.

Today wasn’t one of those days.

Today, I was proud to stand in the sleet and freezing rain, alongside thousands of others at Castle Clinton in Battery Park, the very spot through which many of our parents and grandparents passed on their way to the American dream: a better life for themselves and their families.

As the hail pelted us, we stood in solidarity with immigrants and refugees who seek that same American dream today.

In the cold, we stood to oppose the administration’s efforts to extinguish Lady Liberty’s lamp by slamming shut our country’s golden door. Our people has a long memory and we remember all too well the fate of the passengers aboard the MS St. Louis, turned away from our shores during another dark time in our history.

Soaked to the skin, we listened to words and music from elected officials, community and religious leaders, and recent immigrants – ever cognizant that once upon a time, we were refugees, too.

Today we stood on the shoulders of those who came before us, unwavering in our commitment that “never again” means never again for anybody.

Sure You Count, but Not for the Minyan

On my way to a break-fast tonight, I walked past what used to be Vintage Irving, a Union Square wine bar. The bar/restaurant, it appeared, had been converted into a shtiebel, at least for today. A kittel-clad man stood out front asking passers-by if they were Jewish; it seemed they needed one more for a minyan.

The man a few paces ahead of me said, no, he wasn’t Jewish, but wished the man a shana tova.

“You seem to know the lingo,” came the response.

“I’m not Jewish, but my mother was,” said the passer-by.

“Your mother was Jewish; you’re Jewish. Come on in.”

The man refused, politely, but stayed rooted to his spot on the sidewalk.

By now, I’d stopped, too, and without thinking said, “But you won’t count me…”

“Sure I count you,” the kittel wearer told me, “but not for the minyan.”

“Shana tova,” I said, continuing on my way.

Nine Great Things to Celebrate About Shabbat Sh’lach L’cha

The Jewish calendar traditionally includes four new year celebrations: Rosh HaShanah (1 Tishri),  Tu BiSh’vat (15 Sh’vat), Passover (15 Nisan), and the fiscal new year (1 Elul). 

In Reform congregations, there often is a fifth new year: July 1, the inaugural day for clergy in their new pulpits, otherwise known as Yom Hadash HaRav (and if I didn’t get the order or syntax of these Hebrew words quite right, I’m sure one of my rabbi and/or Hebrew-speaking friends will let me know -- and I'll fix them).

Welcoming the newest member of the clergy team, Rabbi Joel Mosbacher, and his wife, Elyssa, last night and this morning, coupled with the long Independence Day holiday weekend, made my own Shabbat feel infused with more than the usual joy and celebration. Here are nine things I enjoyed this Shabbat:

1. Watching the reenactment of conversations among the 12 spies, which was provided by 12 volunteers from last night’s congregation. 


2. Hearing the beautiful arrangement of Shehecheyanu, offered by the congregation's cantors at this special moment in the life of the Shaaray Tefila community.


3. Learning from my newest teacher, Rabbi Mosbacher, that, except for requests for peace, we don’t offer petitionary prayers on Shabbat – for the simple reason that God is resting, and so should we. 


4. Meeting Elyssa Mosbacher, only to have her say, “Jane Herman – I read your pieces all the time…and I recognize you from your photo.”


5. Singing “America the Beautiful” – much better than “The Star-Spangled Banner” -- as the service’s closing song.


6. Meeting Lori Greenberg at the oneg Shabbat and giving her a dollar bill to ensure her safe travel to Israel for her first visit there!


7. Wondering how some Jews can reconcile this despicable behavior – executed with yarmulke and tzitzit in place? – with the commandment from this week’s portion: to

“look at it [the fringe] and recall all the commandments of the Eternal and observe them, so you do not follow your heart and eyes in your lustful urge. Thus you shall be reminded to observe all My commandments and to be holy to your God.”

I didn’t have the chutzpah to ask the question in Torah study, but would like to know...


8. Basking in the glorious weather – and some rosé on the roof deck of my sister’s apartment building. Yes, sure, it rained last night (OK, it poured), but today dawned sunny, clear, and bright, with wonderfully low humidity and a perfect breeze.


9. Reading, writing, and resting. (’Rithmatic isn’t my forte, and I generally don’t enjoy it, least of all on Shabbat!) 

What did you enjoy doing this Shabbat?