Synagogue life

I had so many responses to Elana Sztokman's article "Why are women dropping out of synagogue life" that I decided to put them in a (lately rare) blog post.

I'm not dropping out of synagogue life, and it's not because I have not felt alienated at synagogue. I perhaps have a unique perspective having been a congregational rabbi, the wife of a synagogue president, and (if such a thing is possible for an ordained rabbi) lately a regular "Jew in the pew". I've regularly davenned at Reconstructionist, Reform, Conservative, modern Orthodox and lately Partnership minyanim, and felt alienated in every one of those spaces at different times. I completely understand the concerns of the women written about in the article.

I'm fortunate that my parents early on encouraged synagogue attendance and shopped around to find the shuls in which they (and by extension we, their children) had the best chance of feeling comfortable. I'm fortunate that my father set the stage for my synagogue life when he was a young man in the Navy and would visit local synagogues wherever he was stationed. I'm fortunate that the people at those synagogues welcomed him enough that he kept up the habit, and that on one of those overseas synagogue visits he met my mom at West London Synagogue. And I'm fortunate that they have lived a long time and I have had the opportunity to see the long term benefits that synagogue attendance has made in their lives.

When I was a congregational rabbi, I would often hear people tell me some version of "I had a bad experience in a synagogue and I stopped going." My (usually internal) response was this: I have bad experiences in supermarkets if not once a week, then definitely once a month. It has never stopped me from going to supermarkets.

Alienation is part of synagogue life because community is imperfect, because people inadvertently (and sometimes intentionally) hurt one another, but more than anything, alienation is part of synagogue life because it is part of spiritual life. Whether we call it hester panim or the dark night of the soul, feeling disconnected is part of spiritual life. So is feeling connected. When we have the disconnected feeling, we can easily blame it on community, on individuals within the community, on some way in which there is a lack of fit between where we are spiritually and the community. I choose, when it happens, and it happens frequently, to understand it as "where I am today".

The only book I ever read on economics was Exit, Voice and Loyalty a treatise written by Albert O. Hirschman. The idea was that when as consumers we are dissatisfied with a product, we have two choices, Exit or Voice, and that our choice is governed by Loyalty. I totally understand women and others who choose to exit synagogue rather than use their voices to make change, especially Orthodox women who (IMO) have been systematically silenced in many communities. But the question about loyalty or perhaps more the nature of our commitments is raised. What am I loyal to? What am I committed to?

Do I think my children will be Jewish if I stop going to synagogue? For many orthodox women whose children are in day schools, the answer may be yes. Those women may not see their synagogue attendance as having a bearing on their children's future observance, and they may be correct, though I would wager they are more correct regarding their sons than their daughters. For my kids this is not necessarily the case. They go to secular schools. If I stop going to synagogue, they will too. They may anyway, but certainly when they were younger, and even now, my example makes a difference.

Will my spirituality be impacted if I stop going to synagogue? What is synagogue about for me anyway? I long ago found spirituality in davenning, and made synagogue attendance part of my regular spiritual practice. Over the years of moving to Israel and moving to a community that most Shabbat mornings has no egalitarian minyan, I've had to ask myself what do I go to synagogue for? And I have decided that I go to shul to talk to G-d, not to talk to Jane (or Joe). I'm part of a religion that says talking to G-d is done best in community, and that by going I am giving and getting something, as I understand it. So I keep going, and I keep trying to talk to G-d, and I also talk to Yael (and Yossi). I go when it feels good, and when it doesn't feel good. I go when I feel alienated and when I feel connected, when it's easy and when it isn't. Some days I excuse myself from kiddush talk, but most days I make the effort, even when it's hard, which it usually is. I keep in mind a saying that I think is in the Reconstructionist prayerbook - that no sincere prayer leaves us where we began. I try to be someplace different when I leave shul than when I walk in.

I hope my sisters will keep coming. I know I will not abdicate. I know my order of preference in our town: egalitarian (Reform) - I go whenever there are services; partnership (I go whenever there are services and there are no Reform services); and last orthodox, in which women play virtually no liturgical role (occasional gomel blessing being the exception). I pray no one mistakes me for supporting that system, which I don't, but I go because the cost of staying away is higher for me than the cost of being there, and because I still believe in achdut am yisrael and in the value of prayer in community. In that space, without exit, I have a voice, the voice of one person, speaking my truth that is pretty different from that of others (both my background and my ideals) "quietly and clearly, and listening to others." That's what I can do.