Rabbi Gurevitz' creative works: Podcast, blogs, videos and more

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Prayer by a Jewish Woman: In solidarity with Women of the Wall

Tonight, our last blog in solidarity with Women of the Wall is a prayer, written by Becca, created last week at our Rosh Hodesh group program.

Dear God,
I am a Jew and I celebrate my life as a Jew.
Dear God,
I am a woman and I celebrate the joy of being a woman,
and dear God,
I am both Jewish and a woman and can only imagine embracing both passionately.


I want to draw closer to You, to learn more about how to learn Your truths, Your love, Your trust in the people of this world.  I want to understand more and cannot get enough of Your Presence.


Dear God,
I am a Jew and a woman and I want all of that, and I celebrate becoming that Jewish woman, growing and blossoming in Your love.


I am thrilled to know that I, and my Christian male bell choir director, and my Conservative daughter, and my atheist son, and all the other people who I have not yet met – that we are all loved by You.


And I sing Hallelujah!

My Bat Mitzvah Miracle: In solidarity with Women of the Wall

Tonight’s blog, in solidarity with Women of the Wall, is written by Barbara Levine:

Most of my life I was religiously non-observant.   Born Jewish, growing up in Brooklyn NY, I was connected Jewishly in my heart, but not ritualistically.  After marriage and children, we moved to Connecticut and eventually joined B’nai Israel. I almost never went to services – not even on the High Holy days. My children grew up at B’nai Israel since we wanted them to have the Jewish education I never had.  Each  had a Bar or Bat mitzvah. I was then, and remain to this day, very spiritual  in my outlook.  
After Rabbi Prosnit became our Rabbi, I began to study with him and questioned ‘why should I be Jewish’ as a faith.  I already believed strongly in God and prayer. But I hadn’t felt a comfortable fit within any worship community.  I felt challenged by Rabbi and committed myself to attend Friday night services every week for a year, no matter what.
I remember feeling uncomfortable and afraid, thinking people would notice and question, ‘why is this woman coming here all of a sudden?’  I thought they knew each other  and would see me as the outsider – the interloper.  Instead, after less than a month, I realized that I was a regular and loved services.  The clergy and others saw me as one who could be counted on to be there.  For over 10 years morning or evening I rarely missed a service or weekly torah study. I belonged and people knew me.  It was a good fit!
After much time and study, I decided I would attempt to have a Bat Mitzvah.  Cantor Gilbert believed I could do it even though my paralyzed vocal cord inhibits my ability to speak loudly, much less chant.  My portion in Vayetze – Jacob’s dream meant a lot to me.
Before the Friday evening group Bat Mitzvah service, I went to the local mikvah for the ritual of purification by immersion in water. I had wondered what the mikvah experience felt like.  This was a perfect time to do it.  Basya, a very pregnant busy mother with many children, was the mikvah attendant.  I was overwhelmed (in a good way) by the loving, caring attention I received from her. We spoke about my expecting a miracle that my paralyzed vocal cord would be healed, in front of the congregation, when I got to chant my Torah portion. I believed God might  heal my voice from weak and gravelly to strong and melodic thus inspiring whoever was there.  She disavowed me of that belief in a very loving way and showed me that just because Ithought God would want to use me for a miracle, that might not be God’s plan.  Her words of wisdom astounded me.
The Bat Mitzvah was wonderful and many of my loved ones – family and friends were there.  My voice remained the same.  But I was overjoyed and uplifted, not disappointed.  Over time I recognized the many real blessings I received.  I had my miracle.
Later, I wrote about the mikvah experience and my Bat mitzvah for the Jewish Ledger and Reform Judaism magazine.  Still later (perhaps 2 or 3 years on), I was at a lecture sponsored by Ahavas Achim (the local Orthodox synagogue).  I got to talk with the guest speaker and somehow she heard that I had written the article about the mikvah experience.  I was really surprised she was so excited to meet me.  She then shared that she and others had read my article about the kindness and wisdom of the mikvah attendant and the Many Blessings of my experience.  She used my article to convince many Orthodox, and other women, to go to the mikvah.  And she thanked me!

The power of inclusion & exclusion: in solidarity with Women of the Wall

Part of a solidarity blog series for Women of the Wall.  Each piece is written by a member of the Rosh Hodesh group of Congregation B’nai Israel.  Tonight’s blog is by Heidi Gassel.

My first memories of Templeare sitting high in a balcony with other children and women during Purim. I remember being sad that I couldn’t be with my daddy who was sitting below with all of the other men. I looked at my bright polka dotted grogger but it just wasn’t fun. Even though I was just three years old, I still remember crying “Dada” and my mother comforting me. My father died unexpectedly of pneumonia just five months later.
My mother continued to bring all four of us to the orthodox synagogue. She made sure that her three daughters and son were involved in the Orthodox Synagogue and part of the community. She encouraged my then teenaged sisters to be active in the youth group and they ran for office. My sisters ran for Treasurer and Secretary and won. Even though they were active in their jobs, they still had to sit up away from the men. I continued to ask why we were not allowed to sit on the main floor. I remember feeling left out and not as important as the men.
One night, after a youth group meeting my mother noticed that some teenaged boys from New Havenwere about to head home during a giant snowstorm. We lived near Mystic, CT and this is not a short ride especially for an inexperienced driver. My mother insisted that the boys stay with us where they could be safe – she probably saved their lives. The boys had guitars, sat by the fire and had a sing a-long with all of us. I was only four but I remember feeling very spiritual about the jewish melodies they sang.
The boys slept downstairs, the girls slept upstairs; it was very innocent. The snow was cleared by the morning and the boys got home safe and sound. Shortly after, my mother got a call from the Synagogue. She was called a brazen hussy, she was told she was no longer welcomed in the orthodox synagogue and that her daughters were no longer elected officials for the youth group. My sisters were devastated.
I didn’t know about this until some years later when my sister Michele, alav hashalom (may she rest in peace), was on her death bed. She told me the entire story, from her perspective. We had just had an argument about organized religion. I then realized that the day the orthodox community denounced her and our family, was the very day that she no longer wanted to practice Judaism. That was the day the jewish community lost my sister. Two very strong, smart and spiritual jewish people were lost due to such sexist standards and that’s really a shame.
My siblings are much older than I am. My mother joined a Conservative temple. I was happy sitting with everyone else. A year later, a reformed temple opened up in Groton. It was at the Reform temple that I felt connected for the very first time. The Rabbi was young and funny. I remember waiting for each of his sermons…I remember sitting on the edge of my seat and then falling off in laughter as he performed puppet shows. His sermons challenged me, provoking thought…I was only six or seven years old! The cantor played guitar, it was wonderful.
We stayed with this Templetill I was 12. We were very poor in a rather wealthy community. I found acceptance from the Rabbi. One day he announced that he was moving away. I remember crying. One day, shortly after he had gone I was attending hebrew school. My teacher was female and a mother of one of the other children. She made a callous comment about my clothing and snickered at the fact that I wore the same clothing last week. We didn’t have money for a big wardrobe and it was bad enough that I got these comments at public school but to receive it from a grown woman from our congregation…was humiliating.
I told my mother I wasn’t going back. And I didn’t. I was not to be Bat Mitzvah-ed. I would not be wearing the tallit. I remember seeing my brother’s Tallit and Tefillin when he was Bar Mitzvah-ed in the conservative temple. The Tallit was passed down to him. It was my understanding that I would not get to wear a Tallit in the conservative temple; my brother told me how special the tefillin was and told me not to touch it.
When I was 18, I moved to Chicago on my own. I did not know a soul there. I was lonely and yet one Friday night I walked into a synagogue. I didn’t know anything about the synagogue but I just walked in. And, I was home. The music was universal…it didn’t matter what sex I was…it didn’t matter what denomination it was. I was home when I was there. I would go from synagogue to synagogue. And I always felt like I was home when I heard the music.
I met my soulmate a few months after moving to Chicago. One day I was talking to his niece. She told me of her Rabbi and how he inspired her. She told me he was funny and thought provoking all at once. As I was about to tell her that he sounded like my childhood Rabbi the words “Rabbi Knobel” flowed out of both of our mouths simultaneously! Over a thousand miles away, and there he was…my childhood rabbi!
I went back to hebrew school and started to learn again. Unfortunately I had just joined a touring post alternative band and wasn’t able to continue. I do plan on going back someday. I do want to read Torah and I do want to wear the Tallit. I feel fortunate to be in a day and age when I will have the opportunity to wear a Tallit and that our daughter will be able to as well. I have seen many beautiful tallitot and admire the art.

Rabbi Peter Knobel and Cantor Jeff Klepper,1983 

In 1997, Rabbi Knobel married us and Cantor Klepper played melodic guitar at our wedding. It was the same music I remembered from childhood. My very favorite memory of our wedding is when the Rabbi wrapped the tallit around me and my bashert. We were soul-mates, foreheads touching, wrapped in beautiful judaic culture, wrapped in history, wrapped in a tallit I felt safe and at one with my bashert. It is a beautiful memory.
It wasn’t until we had our daughter that I realized some things about being a Jewish girl in 1960’s America. We had a really nice naming for Madison Michele who is named after my late sister. But I found out that in the 50’s and 60’s when my sisters and I were born, just my father went to the synagogue to name us. It’s kind of sad to think of the birth of a daughter as being less significant than the birth of a son. I’m happy to be a part of a community where I can sit where I want, wear what I want, and to be a mother who can tell her children that we all have these opportunities. Our daughter and son can sit with us and wear what they want and enjoy the sermons and music of a male Rabbi, a female Rabbi and a female Cantor.

Touching the Torah: In solidarity with Women of the Wall

Part of a solidarity blog series for Women of the Wall.  Each piece is written by a member of the Rosh Hodesh group of Congregation B’nai Israel.  Tonight, Beth Lazar reflects on meaningful moments drawing close to the Torah.


My cousins are Reconstructionist Jews and I went to services with them.  They sang some of the same tunes that we sing at B’nai Israel and they also have a Saturday morning Torah study group that meets before Saturday morning services, to study and discuss the portion of the week.  I felt very at home at my cousins’ temple.


My cousin also took me to a gathering of Conservative and Orthodox Jews who rented space to have Shabbat and Festival services.  We went to pray with them for a Passover Shabbat service.  The leaders of the service noticed that I was a new face, and asked me to dress the Torah after the reading.

I have a T-shirt with a picture of women dancing with the Torah at the Western Wall.  It is my hope that someday that drawing become a reality.  And all Jews can pray together here in the USA, and Israel.

My First Tallit: In solidarity with Women of the Wall

Part of a solidarity blog series for Women of the Wall.  Each piece is written by a member of the Rosh Hodesh group of Congregation B’nai Israel. Tonight, Rabbi Gurevitz shares a reflection:

I grew up in an Orthodox synagogue.  As a young teen, I watched the boys in front of the mechitzah with envy.  I wanted to be fluent in reciting prayers that no-one ever taught me.  I wanted to wrap myself in a tallit and cover my head to have intimate conversations with God.  I was not permitted to partake, and so I chatted with friends, I yawned, I ignored the hushes when our voices rose too much – what did they care?  Our voices didn’t count anyway.


Fast-forward 13 years.  In adult bat-mitzvah classes with a woman rabbi.  We studied texts and made tzitzit.  We talked about wrapping ourselves with the presence of the Shechinah.  We talk about the tzitzit connecting us to the covenant and our heritage.  Our heritage.  I am invited to reclaim my heritage.


In an ethnic arts and crafts store in Swansea, Wales.  Hanging on the wall – a large cloth, banded with stripes, like a Tallit.  But these bands are fire orange and black.  And, at the boundaries of the fire and the black, the colors merge – not hard, firm boundaries, but blurred, permeable boundaries.  This is my tallit – my first tallit.


It transforms my prayer and, soon, it will transform my life.


To be Holy in the sight of God: In solidarity with Women of the Wall

Part of a solidarity blog series for Women of the Wall.  Each piece is written by a member of the Rosh Hodesh group of Congregation B’nai Israel.  Tonight’s blog is written by Marjorie Freeman, who grew up in a Reform congregation.


As a school girl, I attended – participated in – services every Saturday morning.  All the adult women wore hats, the men were bare-headed, in order to show respect.  I studied Jewish history, the holidays, ethical teachings, and the bible – with more intensity each year.


In my senior year of High School, our class read key portions of the Torah each week, coming together ready to present our own view of the meanings.  After heated discussions, our teacher present the ‘official’ Reform interpretation, which we sometimes respectfully disagreed with.  But isn’t that the Jewish way?


At the end of the year, four of us, two girls and two boys, were chosen to give ‘sermonettes’ the Friday evening of our graduation ceremony.  It was such an honor to be chosen, but also so scary!  What topic to choose, how to write something worthy of the congregation and the rabbi’s attention? How to stand up in front of so many people and speak the words?


Never once did it occur to me to question why two boys and two girls.  We were the top students in the class; it was obvious why we were chosen.  Yet this was 1962 – none of us had ever heard of a bat mitzvah, let alone a woman rabbi.


My sermonette was on the first commandment – everything follows from ‘I am the Lord your God.’  All the other commandments, all the ways of righteousness, of helping others, of doing good.  “I am the Lord Your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.’


Now it is for us to do the same for each other, and to worship God together and to be Holy in the sight of our God.



My first experience at the Kotel: In solidarity with Women of the Wall

Part of a solidarity blog series for Women of the Wall.  Each piece is written by a member of the Rosh Hodesh group of Congregation B’nai Israel.


My first experience seeing the Kotel was after sundown on a Yom Kippur.  We were on our way to a Break Fast with a very close friend from home – a kid I grew up with who was like a brother.  I was to have been visiting and traveling with him but, after making Aliyah, he went into the army.  So when I arrived I went to his apartment and was staying with his roommates.
He came home for the holiday and we went to his friends for Yom Kippur.  Of course, I didn’t even get to sit with him in Shul either.  So after sundown we went to Yerushalayim and the Old City before joining other friends to eat.  I actually was on the rooftops looking down, and then we went into the plaza of the Kotel.  I’m glad I was with ‘family’, even though he didn’t come in the women’s side, but was waiting when I was finished.
Yom Kippur services, Yizkor (memorial), my prayers, and the notes at the wall, and being with a person who is family, was the perfect first time to have this incredible, moving experience.  It was still early, and the Kotel was quiet and still, and fairly empty.

To Pray in a Tallit. In Solidarity with Women of the Wall

Part of a solidarity blog series for Women of the Wall.  Each piece is written by a member of the Rosh Hodesh group of Congregation B’nai Israel.


Wrapped in the ‘arms’ of God
Embraced in love and intimacy …
Easing into the secure comfort
I am free to pray with all my heart …

God’s voice pours out of me
as I feel the Breath fill my body …
Sometimes there are tears of joy or sadness
But always there is a feeling of ‘coming home.’

One of the most powerful times of prayer was in the beautiful space of a chapel at a Christian Retreat Center.  This was clearly a sacred place.  God was in this place and, yes, I did know it.  Freedom to be who I am, a Jewish woman of faith … welcoming sisters.

How ironic that Jewish women do not have that freedom to pray so safely in ‘our homeland’, at one of the most sacred sites of the Jewish people.  How sad to realize that ‘my people’ would not honor my right to pray, abuse me and treat me as less than human.  Maybe they are not ‘my people’.  Does God listen to and answer their prayers?

Praying with Women of the Wall, Rosh Hodesh Tevet, Dec 18, 2009

Lisa Grant is a member of Congregation B’nai Israel, and Associate Professor of Education at Hebrew Union College, New York.  Lisa is currently in Israel and, after seeing last night’s blog entry dedicating the coming week to solidarity blogs with Women of the Wall, she sent me this eye-witness report of being one of the women praying this Rosh Hodesh, on Friday morning at the Kotel.

I arrived in Israel on Thursday night and woke up early Friday morning to attend Rosh Chodesh Tevet services with the Women at the Wall.  In the pouring rain, we were well over 100 strong, with women of all ages, students, mothers, grandmothers.  We gathered at the back of the Women’s section at the Kotel, clustered tightly under umbrellas and joined together in prayer surrounded by a chorus of voices shouting out bitter epithets ranging from the rather mild “Shame” and “scum” to the more shocking “Die” and “You’re the reason why the Intifada happened.”  We were not deterred by either weather or curses and managed to raise our voices together in prayer.  There were a number of police in our midst, who mainly kept telling us to keep our tallitot under our coats.  When we finished Hallel, we began a slow walk out of the Ezrat Nashim towards Robinson’s Arch for the Torah service.  On the way, we sang songs of faith and strength in support of our right to freely express ourselves as Jews in the Jewish state.  We were joined by a couple dozen men who walked with us in solidarity.  Other men continued to shout at us and spit on us while the police looked on.  

I shared my umbrella with two young women who kept saying “this is so sad. It just makes me want to cry.”  A sad statement indeed, that there were men (and some women) who found it more important to throw insults and slurs our way than to direct their hearts into their own prayer. On this 7th day of Hanukkah we sang out for religious freedom and the right to pray peacefully and respectfully in this most holy of sites that belongs to the entire Jewish people. 

Lisa D. Grant
Associate Professor of Jewish Education
Hebrew Union College – New York

A week of blogging in solidarity with Women of the Wall

In the coming week there will be a new blog each evening from a member of the Rosh Hodesh group of B’nai Israel.  Last night, at our Rosh Hodesh program, some women wrote a response to the recent arrest of Nofrat Frankel last month at the Rosh Chodesh Shacharit service of Women of the Wall.  Each woman was asked to reflect on a range of experiences: the experience of being at the Kotel, the experience of praying in a tallit, or a time in their lives when they were aware of their inclusion or exclusion from Jewish community as a woman.  Each woman shared something personal, spiritual and deeply moving.  Below is the sermon, delivered on Shabbat, December 18, dedicated to standing in solidarity with Women of the Wall this Rosh Hodesh Tevet.  Please visit us each night to read another solidarity blog.
Rabbi Rachel Gurevitz


Standing in Solidarity with Women of the Wall
Last week, a call went out Israel, the USA, and Europe, to make yesterday, Rosh Chodesh, Tevet, a day of solidarity at venues around the world in support of the right of women to pray at the Western Wall in “dignity, in safety and in shared community.”  Why did such a call go out, and what was the response?
First, a little history, courtesy of Phyllis Chesler, an American, Jewish feminist:  21 years ago for the first time in history, 70 Jewish women prayed together out loud as a group at the Western Wall (or “Kotel”) in Jerusalem. Women have always prayed at the Kotel, often silently, and alone. What made this service radically different, certainly transcendent, was that we not only prayed aloud but we also chanted from the Torah.  The group consisted of women of every Jewish denomination, but many of the founding leaders were Orthodox women – educated Orthodox women, and the group’s way of praying, including their Torah reading among a group of women only, was then, and has remained, entirely within the remit of halachah – Jewish law.
Phyllis Chesler, describing that first time, tells us: Some of us donned tallesim (prayer shawls) and head coverings, many of us did not. We were radiant, overwhelmed, humbled, united.  However, once the ultra-orthodox men and women understood that Jewish women were chanting from a Torah, they began hurling unholy and terrifying curses at us which fouled the very air. Threats of physical violence quickly followed. We made it out safely: this time, the first time.
As the group continued to meet, early morning, once a month, every month, at Rosh Chodesh, the response of the ultra-orthodox who have claimed the Wall as their own, personal synagogue, became increasingly violent.  Metal chairs were thrown over the mechitza at the women, curses were shouted out.  Women of the Wall, as they called themselves, decided to go to the Israeli Supreme Court, asking for permission to conduct their women-only service, on the women’s side of the mechitza, and read from the Torah, for 11 hours a year – one hour, once a month, on Rosh Chodesh.  Women around the world rallied in support.  Artists created tallitot to help raise money for the cause (and tonight I wear the Women of the Wall Tallit), tambourines for Women’s Seders, and much more.
Phyllis Chesler tells us: The Israeli Supreme Court would ultimately render three decisions. The first decision, in 1994, sent us to the Knesset where, I kid you not, the guys tried to banish our prayer group to rubble-strewn Arab areas of Jerusalem. We returned to court and, in 2000, rejoiced over a unanimous three judge decision in our favor. The state immediately appealed this decision. We then faced nine judges. In 2002, four judges were in our favor, four opposed us–and the fifth and decisive vote against us was cast by none other than the great liberal and humanitarian, Chief Justice Aharon Barak, a man who has been able to find justice for Palestinian Arabs, both Christians and Jews but not for Jewish women.  This 2002 decision ordered the government to build a prayer site for us at Robinson’s Arch, which is mainly an archeological and tourist site.
I have attended a Rosh Chodesh service at the wall – about 5 years ago, when I was in Israelfor a summer program.  Even before we left for Robinson’s Arch for a beautiful Torah service where a young woman had her batmitzvah (and her grandmother came up for an aliyah for the very first time in her life), as 70 women began to quietly sing the Hallel prayers at the Kotel, I witnessed a bearded man stand on a chair and start hurling abuse at us – ‘You are worse than the Christians!’  ‘You are prostitutes!’ he hollered in Hebrew.  Two soldiers came over to our group and told us we had to lower our voices.
Things have been pretty quiet for the Women of the Wall in recent months.  So quiet that, last month, they wondered if perhaps the ultra-Orthodox at the Wall had stopped paying attention.  And so, when they’d reached the end of the morning prayers without hearing any abuse, they thought they’d take out the Torah and see if they could continue without moving to Robinson’s Arch.  It became evident in moments that they could not.  As they packed up and started to walk away from the Kotel to continue, as usual, at Robinson’s Arch, Nofrat Frankel, an Israeli medical student and Masorti/Conservative Jew, holding the Torah, was surrounded and taken to the on-site police station, apparently for wearing a tallit which, they claimed, was forbidden (incidentally, halachah states that women are not obliged to wear a tallit but absolutely does not state that it is forbidden).  She was told that a criminal file was being opened on her, and that she was banned from the Kotel for two weeks.
And so, once again, women of every Jewish denomination, as well as men, are rallying to stand in support of Women of the Wall.  Last night, we dedicated B’nai Israel’s Rosh Hodesh group program to Women of the Wall.  After studying the history, and the recent events, each of us wrote a personal reflection that related to the issues at hand.  Tonight I want to share just the topics.  But each piece was powerful and moving, and needs and deserves to be seen and read in its entirety.  And so, beginning Saturday night, for 8 days, in echo of the 8 days of Chanukah that we complete tonight – our festival that celebrates and remembers our reclaiming of our Religious Freedoms – one of these pieces will be posted on our congregational blog, shma koleinu (which, if you still haven’t found yet, can be easily accessed via the link on the front page of our temple website).
There is a beautiful piece on the experience of praying with a tallit.  It begins:
Wrapped in the ‘arms’ of God, Embraced in love and intimacy… Easing into the secure comfort, I am free to pray with all my heart…

Another woman writes of a moving experience at the Kotel on a quiet evening, on the way to break fast at the end of Yom Kippur.
Marjorie Freeman writes of her experience, growing up in a Reform temple, with new-found appreciation for a sense of inclusivity she felt from childhood.
Barbara Levine reflected on her experience of an adult batmitzvah, and the powerful ritual of mikvah that she chose to have before that special day.  Highlighting the beauty of existing in a pluralist Jewish community, she tells of the day that she met an Orthodox woman who had been so deeply moved by the article she wrote about her mikvah experience.  So much spirituality from a willingness for all of us to open up to the God-moments that we can find in each others’ expressions of Judaism.
Beth Lazar writes about visiting synagogues of different denominations in the USA, and the bond of connecting to the Torah rituals in each one, praying that all women everywhere will one day be able to feel that connection.
Heidi Gassel shared some deeply moving parts of her biography, and some of the life-changing moments of inclusion of exclusion experienced by her and members of her family in the context of Jewish community.
Becca writes a powerful prayer, celebrating the fullness of being Jewish and a woman, calling on God’s presence, and singing praises to a God that embraces and loves all of us.
And I wrote about my first Tallit, how I came to wear one, and how it transformed my prayer and, subsequently, transformed my life.
Nofrat Frankel, and all the Women of the Wall, we stand with you, we rededicate ourselves to support the cause of Women of the Wall, and we rededicate ourselves as Jewish men and women to embrace and celebrate a pluralist Jewish community, committed to being mindful of when we are guilty of erecting unnecessary barriers of exclusion, wanting to see the day when all of us, every part of Klal Yisrael, is able to explore and express our Jewish spirituality without fear.

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