My Jewish (Sub)Communities
Since starting AVODAH, my individual Jewish experience, along with that within the New Orleans Jewish community, has been quite significant and, in some ways, unexpected. Coming into this year, I knew that these topics, explored through the lens of this unique city, would occupy many conversations and ultimately complicate my understanding of who I am as a Jew and what groups I am a part of. But I figured that my past experiences would serve as a pretty firm foundation that this new chapter would simply build upon. Instead, I find the circumstances I am in and the people that surround me to be posing a challenge (a good one of course) to that core of both belief and practice. Nowhere are these challenges more present than the plight of establishing a Shabbat routine.
Shabbat has always been my marker of time. Rather than have all parts of life melt into each other and repeat themselves, this day offers an opportunity to halt productivity and progress and reflect upon what we have created during our week. Instead of always looking ahead, it is a time to remain in place and look back at what contributed to where you are without focusing solely on what lies ahead. Borrowing a beautiful idea presented by Rabbi Shai Held, it is a time in which work is unnecessary, for Friday afternoon through Saturday evening offers a world that is already perfect, a world that requires no work, no necessary pursuit to make it better.
The manifestation of this understanding has adopted structural form throughout my life. I have constantly been in environments with lots of observant Jews who like to pray, eat, sing and play board games. Whether with my family, at camp, Brandeis University or other Jewish communities of which I have been a part, my Shabbat experiences has always fit this formula, this exact blueprint of a perfect world. After doing some research on Jewish New Orleans, I concluded that I would try to spend as many weekends as I could in Metarie, a suburb I had heard such wonderful things about and mirrored most accurately the image and experience I attached to the day. I was acquainted with the new, charismatic Conservative and Orthodox leadership that has revived parts of the community depleted both physically and emotionally by Katrina. I knew I wanted to be connected and contribute to this process of revitalization. I believed that this place was where I could continue observing Shabbat and seeking spiritual fulfillment in the manner to which I was accustomed. And I figured that most weekends I would participate in the intentional Shabbat community my housemates and I seek to create, celebrating together as a diverse collective with varied understandings of Shabbat and what dictates Jewish life in general. But I expected that plan would force me to sacrifice what feels most comfortable and perhaps even fulfilling to me.
Yet after spending Shabbat both within the AVODAH/Uptown (that is the area I live in) community, which included a wonderful, yet foreign Kabbalat Shabbat service at a welcoming Reform Temple close by followed by a beautiful communal dinner and a lonely experience at a quiet Orthodox shul not so close by for Shacharit, and additionally in Metarie, interacting both with the intriguing and welcoming Conservative and Orthodox collectives, I anticipate that my potential communal ties will become more tangled and difficult to negotiate than I had originally imagined. Though in different ways, both experiences offered opportunities for spiritual and communal growth; both exposed me to alternative interpretations and examples of a potential “perfect world.”
As a result of my first Shabbat experience spent at home, I am starting to question the monotony and institutionalized nature of my Shabbat formula. Though I did attend two shuls, the highlight was spending time simply appreciating my new community. I think that there is a great deal of merit to this day just being about rest and developing an awareness of what and who is in your life. While activities like prayer and refraining from different things will probably continue to be staples in my routine, perhaps it is not always necessary to be surrounded by mass amounts of people who share the same traditions. I want to know what it’s like to have an organic day of rest, not just play into the alternate universe sensibility of Jewish camp that Shabbat so often holds. Spending the day at my house, where people are confused at how following so many rules can help create an atmosphere of rest and feel that a walk through town, just lying down and listening to music or knitting would be more conducive activity in reaching this goal, is, in my mind, an important alternative to be exposed to and understand.
I want to get at the root of the value of a day of rest. Acquainting myself with the diversity of experiences without pinpointing a better or correct way to observe seems to be a worthwhile endeavor. I don’t just mean, let’s be pluralistic and entitle everyone to their experience; rather let’s grasp the very foundation that compels forms of practice that seem so foreign to us, yet lay at the very base of what we do. Perhaps, that mentality would even lead to some minor changes in our own thought processes.
Just as everyone else in my house has been challenged to use this year as an opportunity to explore their Jewish identity and perhaps how ritual fits into it, it is my responsibility to do that as well. Though I believe I have been attuned to this process for quite some time, it is certainly not complete. And being in a less observant environment than what I am used to does not make me exempt from this challenge. I will admit, with hesitancy and shame, some part of me entered this year thinking I will have to maintain my level of observance DESPITE my surroundings. Yet the countless lessons I have learned over the past three weeks have revealed the hubris of this fear. I now realize, I have much to learn, much to explore.
Exhibit B: I am the lone person in my house who identifies as a strict observer of Kashrut. While this has led to more moments of self-assertion than I would like or to which I am accustomed, the endless conversations about our kitchen and our house policies regarding food have been enlightening on many levels. Rather than being so concerned about the ability to hold to my own standards (which is sometimes an issue, but is confronted with a great deal of understanding from all parties involved), I have become fascinated by how my housemates relate to food, whether it be how they prepare it or what criteria it must fit. It has shed new light upon understanding the different dimensions of how food is produced and where it comes from. Arguably, I would say that Kashrut is very much founded upon the value of understanding the source of what we eat. Though that is reflected in details that often blur that purpose, I feel that my observance of this system has shaped how I view and demonstrate gratitude for what I eat. But isn’t that value also reflected in not consuming anything that includes unpronounceable ingredients, baking bread from scratch, or participating in a CSA (community supported agriculture)?
Though these experiences have exposed me to new dimensions of old practices I am intrigued to explore, thinking about how this will all coalesce into concrete beliefs and practices is overwhelming. How can I be a part of all of these communities at once? How can I hold to standards I set for myself while creating the room to learn from others? While anxious about the magnitude and complexity of these questions, I am quite excited to explore them in the coming year, both individually and as a member of various communities.
Entries (RSS)