Last week, I wrote that I was really excited to check out Kahal Kadosh Beth Elohim in historic Charleston, South Carolina. It was so great to feel like I was a part of history by attending services there. The stately building was gorgeous and the gift shop definitely consumed a solid hour of my time in Charleston, and I’m still bummed I didn’t leave with a “Shalom, Y’all!” T-shirt. Next time!
Apart from the historical aspect of it, however, I was somewhat irked by its liberalness. They used the same siddur I use at my Reform synagogue at home, which made me feel at ease, but looking around at the backs of heads ahead of me, I was somewhat ill at ease. I understand that kippot are not necessarily the norm among men attending reform services, but I had never before met a rabbi in the pulpit who didn’t wear a yarmulke. Personally, I see kippot as a lasting, relatively simple symbol of our Jewishness as a people, and to see it ignored inside of a synagogue made me feel like perhaps I didn’t belong. This wouldn’t be the case at my Reform synagogue at home, I thought. And it got me thinking about how you can never know exactly what to expect from synagogue to synagogue, no matter how it is or isn’t affiliated.
When I settled into myself as a new Jew, I spent a lot of time worrying that I needed to pick a specific denomination to identify with. I nervously checked off “unaffiliated” or all the boxes for “reform” and “conservative” and “conservadox” on surveys and applications and the like. I was completely convinced that you couldn’t be a religiously-observant Jew without linking yourself to a specific denomination. I was so relieved to find out that it wasn’t the case at all.
I just finished a fantastic book by Jack Wertheimer called A People Divided, which deals extensively with bridging the gap between the denominations in Judaism, as well as the differences between many camps, from Zionist to feminist to secular Jews. And it made me realize that I’m not the only one who is constructing her own Judaism and Jewishness. In fact, according to Wertheimer’s book, which was released in 1993, 23 percent of New York Jews don’t identify with a denomination. Nor, in fact, do 28 percent of Los Angeles Jews, 30 percent of Miami Jews, 20 percent of Chicago Jews or 22 percent of Philadelphia Jews. Beyond that, only 44 percent of Jews overall claim any affiliation to a synagogue.
This was the most reassuring news I’d heard in a while. Because on Friday nights, at home, I attend a Reform synagogue. When I’m in Manhattan, I usually visit a Conservative synagogue for Friday evening services and one run by Orthodox rabbis on Saturday morning. No joke. When it comes to comfort and identification and feeling like I fit in, I’ve been hard-pressed to narrow my own affiliation down to anything more specific than “somewhere between Reconstructionist and Conservadox.”
Why? Because for one thing, synagogue experiences are different everywhere. In the little time I’ve spent shul shopping and visiting various synagogues for bar and bat mitzvahs, I’ve probably attended just under a dozen unique services. Some I have liked and some have made me immensely uncomfortable. My favorites have been through B’nai Jeshurun and the Manhattan Jewish Experience, both on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.
Some synagogues share songs, prayer books, traditions, aesthetics, dress code and programming, or some combination thereof. Others do their own thing, picking and choosing what works best for their particular congregation. There is so much out there for Jews today. There are scores of siddurim and haggadot, traditions, cuisines, and symbols through which we can express the kind of Judaism we feel personally. We can decide whether to wear a kippah (as a male or a female) all the time or only during Torah study. We can decide whether to place a mezuzah on our door post. We can decide whether to eat kosher, kosher-style, or bacon-wrapped scallops in cheese. It’s no longer about that which your particular denomination or synagogue has subscribed to, but rather what you feel is most important.
Me? I’ve got a mezuzah on my dorm door, a steady rotation of Magen David necklaces, a copy of the Artscroll Transliterated Siddur, a constant craving for chicken cheesesteaks, a Reconstructionist haggadah and a little bit of a shiksa flair. How about you?
