Navigating Diversity (Editorial), Amala Levine p.3 Diversity and Inclusion, Audra Zuckerman p.4 A Catholic’s Experience of Central Synagogue, Katherine Parker p.6 A Multifaceted Introduction to Israel,
Jackie Weiss p.8 The Messiah Wore A White Bow Tie, Eric Levine p.10
Building Bridges, Rosalyn Harber p.12 Lessons Learned, Jake May
p.13 Meeting in Melody, Cantor Mo Glazman p.14 Sight, Sound, and
Weather, Rabbi David Kalb p.16 Up With People, Rabbi Maurice A. Salth
p.18 One In A Thousand, Melissa Zinovoy p.20 The Agony of Agunah,
Steve Klausner p.22
SPRING 2015 “...my father’s final
gift to me was a
Jewish community
and friendship.
We live in New York
City, 5 boroughs,
8.4 million people,
more than a thousand synagogues,
and we found the
right one.”
Melissa R. Zinonoy page 20
THIS ISSUE: DIVERSITY
DIVERSITY
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INCLUSION
INCLUSION
2
Words
of
Wisdom
Ours is a country built more on people than on territory.
The Jews will come from everywhere:
From France, from Russia, from America, from Yemen.
Their faith is their passport.
David Ben-Gurion
We must learn
to live together
as brothers
or perish together
as fools.
Martin Luther King, Jr.
I do not want my house
To be walled in on all
Sides and my windows
To be stifled. I want all
The cultures of all lands
To be blown about my
House as freely as possible.
Mahatma Gandhi
As Jews we are called upon to create
‘hearts with many rooms’
where we can hold many stories,
many narratives, many viewpoints.
We must rediscover the great Jewish
ability to hold multiple truths
in the same hand.
Rabbi Ari S. Lorge
3
EDITORIAL
Navigating Diversity
N
ew York is an epicenter of cultural, ethnic,
racial, and religious diversity, teeming with 8.4
million people trying to live their lives in this
whirlpool of potentially conflicting interests.
A compass is needed to set a course that will
be the unwavering lodestar of navigation. Herein lies a
choice: to embrace diversity as enriching, exciting and
mind opening or to reject diversity as frightening and
threatening our identity. This debate is currently playing
out nationally and transnationally with regard to immigration, but that is not the only issue. How we stand on
inclusion or exclusion of diversity defines us as human
beings: whether we are for or against equality, ethnic,
racial or religious bias really does matter.
Central Synagogue has firmly planted its flag on
the hill of inclusion through outreach, advocacy, interfaith dialogue, and the warm welcome extended to anyone attending services in the Sanctuary or via streaming.
In this issue of HaShiur, Audra Zuckerman, Katherine
Parker and Melissa Zinovoy emphasize in their accounts
of personal experiences this core commitment to inclusion and diversity.
English in Action, a national organization furthering multicultural understanding, also extends into
Central Synagogue, where Rosalyn Harber has spearheaded the program for decades. Here she tells of her
engagement with students from different countries and
many faiths. In this group, no one is marked as outsider.
Rabbi Salth sees the biblical precedence for this
kind of understanding across ostensible boundaries in
the book of Genesis. There he finds the blueprint for
peaceful coexistence and models of reconciliation. The
biblical passages demonstrate that infighting, strife and
exclusion are not the inevitable human condition, but a
choice. We equally have the option to reach out and coexist by accepting our diversity as humans individually
and as groups.
Rabbi Kalb offers an argument for theological
pluralism by looking at the atmospheric conditions at
Mount Sinai when the Torah was given to the Jewish
people. This is not biblical whimsy but God’s intentional
design to encourage theological debate of a God Who is
infinitely ungraspable by the finite human mind. Therefore, sectarianism is part and parcel of religious debate;
the mistake is to pit one against the other, to reject rather
than accept.
Cantor Glazman provides a recent personal
story of just such a potentially explosive confrontation
with his former Orthodox rabbinical teacher to whom re-
ligious pluralism is unacceptable. His teacher’s position
is exclusionary, firmly closing the gate to anything other
than orthodoxy. Cantor Glazman defuses the situation
by breaking into a Sephardic folk song that reestablishes
a common bond between them. Citing various personal
examples, Cantor Glazman points to the unifying power
of music, and no matter who they are or what their
convictions are, Jews respond to the inclusiveness “Am
Yisrael Chai.”
Our historical fiction by Eric Levine reimagines
the First Zionist Congress of 1897, evoking the great
diversity of Jews attending: Ashkenazi, Sephardi, Liberal
and Orthodox, speaking different languages and in different garb. This multifarious crowd is united by the
common dream of a Jewish homeland.
Jackie Weiss in her account of her family’s recent
visit to Israel describes the present reality of that dream.
Israel emerges as a land of great diversity where immigrants from many countries with different languages
and cultures have come to live together. But not all is
harmony, as our Israeli film review by Steve Klausner
makes clear. Exclusion is not extinct.
Jake May, our youngest contributor, affirms his
commitment to Judaism because of its deeply held communal values. In his Confirmation class, he encounters
beneath a seemingly homogeneous veneer a great diversity of viewpoints and opinions, yet they are debated
with respect. One of the most significant Jewish communal values is the stipulation to honor “the stranger
within your gate,” rooted in the conviction that we are
bound together by the common bond of our humanity.
Lest we forget this, these words are inserted into prayers
and liturgy. They might serve us well as compass to
navigate diversity.
Amala Levine
4
ESSAY
Diversity and Inclusion
Audra Zuckerman
W
ith more than a thousand synagogues in New York City,
deciding which one to join can be overwhelming. Myriad
factors come into play, such as denomination, location
and size of the congregation. Also the balance of English and
Hebrew during services has to be considered as well as the character and personality of a synagogue, as reflected by its clergy,
members and services.
Do you feel connected to and inspired by the clergy? What about
music accompanying the liturgy and
what about the educational options?
The potential list is endless.
When my husband Mitch
and I began our quest for a Reform
synagogue in 2011, we considered
many of these factors. We were
eager to find the right synagogue,
as our son Max was turning twelve
and ready to begin his formal preparation to become a bar mitzvah. We
were looking for more than a place
for worship, learning, and celebrating. We were looking for a lasting
community. And we were extremely
concerned about the possibility that,
despite the hundreds of options, this
community might not exist. Why
such skepticism? Max has Down
syndrome, and we had seen many
doors unfairly closed to him in the
past—schools, camps, sports teams.
For our family, a single question
thus took precedence: how inclusive
is the synagogue?
With this prevailing question in mind, we reached out to
Central Synagogue. Without hesitation, our family was welcomed and
Max had Down syndrome,
and we had seen so many
doors unfairly closed to
him in the past...
Max was given a date for his bar
mitzvah. This, however, was just a
first step. Over the years, Mitch and
I had learned a few things about the
meaning of true inclusion—unable
to find a school where Max could be
educated with his typical peers, we
had co-founded a fully inclusive K
12 school. We knew that full inclusion meant more than mere admission to the congregation. It meant
acceptance, not tolerance. Would
Max’s strengths be recognized? His
challenges supported? His individuality valued? Would he have full
membership in the Central Synagogue community?
From the outset, Rabbi Salth
and Cantor Sacks gave Max every
opportunity to shine while making
adjustments to meet his needs. To
avoid putting pressure on him to
match the accomplishments of his
peers, Max was given a date when
he would be the only person becoming a bar mitzvah. He studied with
a handpicked tutor who was able
to modify the instruction appropriately for him. Max had always felt a
deep connection to Judaism and had
been looking forward to becoming a bar mitzvah for years, and he
embarked on his studies with great
enthusiasm. He studied rigorously
with his tutor, met with the cantor
to rehearse chanting his Hebrew,
and worked with Rabbi Salth to develop his d’var Torah. To ensure that
the congregation fully understood
Max’s d’var Torah, we planned also
to distribute it in writing. As a result
of this unconditional encouragement and support, Max flawlessly
chanted two portions of the Torah
and one from the Haftarah, as well
as the associated blessings; assisted
in leading the Torah service; and
delivered a beautiful d’var Torah.
By recognizing Max’s potential while offering support where
necessary, the clergy honored Max’s
identity. This unflinching acceptance, notwithstanding his disability, is evident in Central Synagogue’s
members as well. Max loves to at-
5
Art by Christina
Mattison.
(Max read the
story of Korach
for his
bar mitzvah).
tend Friday night Shabbat services,
where he sits in the front and sings
with gusto. His zeal is greeted with
smiles from both congregants and
clergy. He is a member of the teen
choir, where he joyfully joins his
peers to perform at High Holy Day
services. Central Synagogue has
become the second home for which
we were looking.
Indeed, last month our family joined Rabbi Buchdahl, Rabbi
Lorge, and eleven families on the Central Synagogue family trip to
Israel. Max, our daughter Isabel,
Mitch and I were immediately
embraced by the parents, grandparents, children, and our tour guides.
Max was not defined by his disability, but by his joy, humor and
kindness. The last night, he stood
up and sang a song he had written
about what a great trip it had been.
Friendships and fellowship, shared
attitudes and interests, an extended
family—all four of us felt so grateful to be part of this k’hilah kadoshah,
holy community. And at the end of
the trip, several people told us of
the impact that Max had had on
their families, how grateful they
felt to have met our family. And it
is this fact, that everyone benefits,
that is the true magic of diversity
and inclusion.
Audra Zuckerman was a lawyer prior to
becoming one of the founders of the
IDEAL School & Academy, the first fully
inclusive, independent K-12 school in
New York City.
6
ESSAY
A Catholic’s Experience
of Central Synagogue
I
can’t recall the exact moment in time that I decided to join
Central Synagogue and raise my children Jewish. My journey
to that decision started the moment I met my husband Bret, a
quintessential New York City non-practicing Jew who had never
had a bris, never a bar mitzvah and rarely went to synagogue.
In contrast, I am Catholic with
a Catholic father and a Protestant mother descended from the
Pilgrims. My grandfather was a
founder of a Presbyterian Church,
my uncle a professor at Harvard
Divinity School, my aunt a nun, and
my family goes to church every Sunday. For Bret, God was not real and
religion suspect. For me, God was
always present and church had been
a place of community and support.
Despite these differences,
when I met Bret at Fordham Law
School, we shared many values: a
passion for justice, for community
engagement, and the “Golden Rule.”
Before we got married—easily the
best decision of my life—Bret and I
did not discuss how we would raise
future kids.
Our marriage ceremony
was performed jointly by a Catholic
priest and a rabbi. Few rabbis were
willing to marry a Christian and
a Jew unless I converted to Judaism, which would have meant a
betrayal of my faith. In contrast, I
did not have to “shop around” for a
Catholic priest or ask Bret to convert; rather, the priest told me that
as a Catholic I had to honor Bret’s
religion but also expose our children
to Catholicism, but not necessarily
raise them in the faith.
When I got pregnant with
our first son, Bret and I decided not
to baptize him or give him a bris
so we could remain “neutral” on
religion. We made the same decision for our second son. However,
once my children were born I realized that I could not in good faith
deprive them of a relationship with
God. I would be failing them as a
mother and failing God. I wanted
our boys to learn the Old Testament stories, the Ten Commandments, and about Judeo-Christian
values. I also wanted them to have
a religious identity. I could teach
them Christian beliefs, but neither
Bret nor I could instruct them in
Judaism, which I thought was very
important. I decided Hebrew school
would be essential and we could
I felt the same spiritual
uplift and connection to
God as in church, even
though I did not know the
Hebrew prayers. I told
Bret that we had to join
Central Synagogue and
he agreed.
raise them Jewish.
Finding the right synagogue
was daunting. Many Reform synagogues accepted families like ours,
but still did not truly welcome the
non-Jewish parent or their children.
For example, the non-Jewish parent could not participate in a bar
mitzvah ceremony and could not be
a member of the synagogue. Also,
some held that if a mother was not
Jewish (or a convert), that her children could not be Jewish.
Then a friend invited us to
Central Synagogue’s Mitzvah Day
and, after attending a service, I was
hooked. I felt the same spiritual
uplift and connection to God as in
church, even though I did not know
the Hebrew prayers. I told Bret that
we had to join Central Synagogue
and he agreed.
I felt welcome from the
start. Rabbi Rubinstein was inclusive and respectful of my beliefs. Rabbi Buchdahl said that our
children could be Jewish even if I
remained Christian. Rabbi Salth
did not have any problem with our
not keeping kosher. We could still
celebrate my family traditions of
Christmas and Easter. This made it
much easier to feel comfortable joining Central Synagogue and raising
7
Katherine Parker
my children Jewish. I did not have
to give up anything. Rather, I could
celebrate my husband’s heritage
and ensure my children felt an affinity to Judaism, its rich culture
and history, while at the same time
teaching them about my religious
beliefs.
Each year my children attended Hebrew school and with
every service I attended, I learned
a little more. I began to learn the
prayers and songs. I came to love
Yom Kippur, a communal confession that felt more cleansing to my
soul than individual confession
before a priest. I turned to Rabbi
Buchdahl when I underwent breast
cancer treatment and struggled to
comprehend Bret’s diagnosis of
Above: Church in Jerusalem seen through
Star of David on a Synagogue.
early onset Parkinson’s disease. She
gave me a Jewish prayer for healing
that I keep to this day. I began to
feel that Central was my religious
home even though I am not Jewish.
At the pre-bar mitzvah retreat I realized there was no turning
back... my children were growing
up Jewish. The family retreat was
a wonderful introduction to the
process and meaning of this rite of
passage. I recall parents discussing
the Holocaust and the importance
of ensuring the survival of Judaism
and the Jewish people. I thought
there are many people in this world
who pass down Christianity, but
only a small number who can pass
down Judaism and that it was
important for our boys to be Jewish. I felt I was fulfilling what the
priest asked of me when Bret and I
got married: cherish the religion of
my husband, a religion that is also
the foundation for Christianity. I
was glad each of our sons elected to
continue their studies, became a bar
mitzvah, and joined the Jewish
community at Central Synagogue.
My family was welcomed
to participate in their bar mitzvah
ceremonies, something that shattered any views they previously
held of Judaism as being insular and
exclusionary. I felt proud that this
synagogue welcomed my Christian
family as much as it welcomed my
Jewish family and remain honored
to be a member.
Katherine Parker is a partner at Proskauer
Rose LLP, practicing employment law.
She enjoys spending time with her family
and, together with her husband, volunteers
to raise funds for Parkinson’s research.
8
ESSAY
A Multifaceted Introduction to Israel
F
rom the
moment Rabbi
Buchdahl
announced she
would lead a trip
to Israel for
families with bar
or bat mitzvah aged
children, we were
in.
We wanted to give our kids a great
introduction to Israel, one that
incorporated a variety of aspects
—ancient and modern, cultural and
natural, somber and silly. In December 2014 we arrived in Tel Aviv and
met up with the group.
On our first morning we
visited Jaffa, a vivid cross section of
Israel’s many juxtapositions. Jaffa,
an ancient city, is today a center
of bohemian chic surrounded by
poorer neighborhoods. I stayed on
the sidelines in Shuk HaPishpishim
while my daughter negotiated the
price of a pair of earrings like a na-
tive. At the Arab bakery Abouelafia
we shoved our way to the front of
the “line” to buy pita with za’atar. I
had a moment of panic after my son
brought pizza into a kebab restaurant, thinking he had unkoshered
the place, but then noticed the name
was Haj Kahil Express. We said
shukran on our way out.
By afternoon we were
squatting in the dirt inside the Beit
Guvrin caves, armed with pickaxes
and shovels unearthing pottery and
animal bones that had rested undisturbed for 2,200 years. The group
was starting to bond, with teams of
9
Jackie Weiss
kids digging and sifting together
and cheering each other’s finds. An
ancient wine vessel with lettering
took the prize.
Given Israel’s size, the
sacred and profane are in regular
contact. In Tzfat the next day we
gathered on a stone landing to sing
L’chah Dodi and listen to musicians in skullcaps, forelocks swaying. Then we hurried to the Golan
Heights where a member of the IDF
drove our jeep to the Syrian border.
We heard gunfire in nearby Quneitra between Syrian Army forces and
the local Al Qaeda affiliate. “For
a change they are not paying any
attention to us,” our guide noted, assuring us that the neglect was only
temporary.
On our way to Jerusalem we
stopped at Genesis Land, a Biblethemed tourist attraction that I had
committed to grinning and bearing.
It proved to be a highlight for many,
including my son who, dressed in
an Canaanite smock, vanquished
his fear of animals and mounted
a camel for a guided ride. Genesis
Land is inside the West Bank and
one senses the political undercurrent in the biblical playacting. The
camels were a hit, though, and at
dinner in Abraham’s tent the young
people clamored for a separate kids’
table.
Christmas in Jerusalem. It
was easy to forget what day it was,
despite our visit to the Church of
the Holy Sepulcher. Most observant
Christians had gone to Bethlehem
and the only Santa I saw was loitering outside a pub smoking a joint.
My family had dinner with Doug,
Everyone shops at the popular Machane
Yehudah market in Jerusalem.
a former classmate of mine from
high school. During college, he had
become observant and now lived
with his wife Batsheva and four kids
in Efrat, a West Bank settlement.
That very day Doug’s oldest son
had received his acceptance letter
to a prestigious pre-army religious
preparatory program. “Most of the
graduates go on to join elite commando units,” Batsheva said. “
I will be a nervous wreck.” Efraim
looked much like his father did in
high school, the toned physique and
hint of a swagger —except for the
kippah.
By afternoon we were
squatting in the dirt inside the Beit Guvrin caves,
armed with pickaxes and
shovels unearthing pottery and animal bones.
Masada was the emotional
high point of the trip. We left Jerusalem before dawn and by sunrise
were driving through the moonlike
desert. Masada’s strange history
has been interpreted as a symbol of
choosing one’s destiny in the face of
terrible odds. We climbed the steep,
rocky snake path. At the top, we
created our own beit k’neset inside
a stonewalled enclosure. A prayer
shawl served as canopy. The Torah
came from New York. We passed it
around to represent all the people,
the generations that had brought
us to this moment. And then our
service started. Each of the children took their turn chanting from
the story of Joseph, as he revealed
himself to his brothers. After the
b’nei mitzvah service, we walked to
the edge of the mountain, shouted
the kids’ Hebrew names into the
distance, and listened to them reverberate back.
I am always captivated
by immigrant stories: the woman
who came to Israel from Ethiopia
as a child and now helps troubled
youth integrate into Israeli society;
our guide Lana who left Russia at
age nine and recently gave birth
to a sabra daughter; and our hosts
for Shabbat dinner, members of
Modi’in’s Reform Jewish congregation, who emigrated from South
Africa and Argentina. Nancy had
moved to Israel from Buenos Aires
without ever having visited. It was
just that Israel was there, she was
Jewish, and it seemed like a reasonable choice.
We returned home with
great memories and a lovely sense
of community. Many from our trip
attended Shabbat services in January on the eve of Carly’s bat mitzvah. Religious school pickup felt
like a reunion. As for our kids’ relationship with Israel, we are eager to
see how it will inspire and challenge
them in the future and are grateful
to have had the chance to give them
such a rich introduction.
Jackie Weiss and her family have recently
returned from Central Synagogue’s b’nei
mitzvah trip to Israel.
10
FICTION
The Messiah Wore A White Bow Tie
I
n going through some papers belonging to my great-grandmother, I came across the following letter my grandfather
had sent her from Basel, Switzerland when he attended the
First Zionist Congress in August 1897.
Basel, Switzerland
B’ezrat Hashem, 2 Elul, 5657
Mama dear,
To tell the truth, I am so excited
by what is happening that I have
to calm myself in order to write to
you as promised. I only wish you
could be here, Mama, to experience
this marvelous occasion for yourself. For it is, surely, the answer to
our people’s long yearnings and
prayers.
When Chaim and I arrived
Friday morning after a long and
tiring journey, we were immediately directed to the Stadt-Casino,
which we easily identified by the
blue and white banner over the entrance bearing the words ZionistenKongress. We had to fight our way
inside to the reception desk through
a buzzing throng of Jews of all manner of appearance and dress, talking
boisterously in so many languages.
They were so different from one
another it was hard to realize they
were all fellow Jews gathered like
exiles for a homecoming.
Chaim and I were given
lodgings in Leimingstrasse, close to
the shul, with a balabatische family who welcomed us as long-lost
mishpachah. I got my first glimpse of
the great man next morning at shul
when he was called to the Torah,
declaiming the brochas in a very
cultured voice. But I mustn’t dwell
on this because there is so much to
tell you about the Congress itself.
Next day, we arrived
early to be sure of a good seat. If I
thought there were Jews from many
different places on our arrival, I
was amazed at the greater variety
swarming at the conference hall.
We were all speaking different lanStadt-Casino, the building where the first
Zionist Congress was held .
(Right) An etching of Theodore Herzl by
Hermann Struck.
guages but as the initial strangeness
fell off, we seemed to find a common tongue, all fired by the excitement of the occasion. You could
hardly believe, let alone imagine,
the variety. There were Ashkenazim, Sephardim, Orthodox, Reform,
non-religious, bourgeois, Socialists,
business men, artisans, intellectuals, students, all brought together to
witness a great historic event.
The ground floor was mostly taken up with all the delegates,
but as I looked back, I could see that
They were so different
from one another it
was hard to realize they
were all fellow Jews
gathered like exiles for
a homecoming
the rest of the hall and balcony were
packed with hundreds of onlookers, including members of the press
from many different countries.
There was a tremendous sense of
excitement in the air.
A hush fell over the hall
as the secretary gave three raps
of the gavel to begin the proceedings. Dr. Karl Lippe, head of our
Hovovvei Zion movement, gave
the opening address. Then came
the great moment we had all been
11
Eric Levine
We have been reproached, we have
been attacked, but Zionism, he went
on, is a homecoming to the Jewish
fold even before it becomes a homecoming to the Jewish land. When
we Jews have come together from so
many lands let us remember that the
hopes of thousands upon thousands
of our people depend upon our deliberations here today. We Jews, he
said, have dreamt this kingly dream
all through the long nights of our
history. “Next year in Jerusalem” is
our old phrase. It is now a question,
he concluded, of showing that the
dream can be converted into
a reality.
Even repeating what he
said fills me with such powerful
emotions that I must rest. So I end
this letter with prayers for your
wellbeing.
Your loving son, Moshe
waiting for. Theodore Herzl took
his place. He stood there glowing like a king, tall, dignified and
handsome, with a long, square-cut
black beard, dressed in full evening
attire with white bow tie. The hall
erupted in long and thundering applause. Mama, it was so electrifying
that I turned to Chaim and whispered: Could you ever imagine the
Meshiach would be wearing a white
bow tie?
He spoke calmly with
great dignity in a nobleman’s High
German. He began by explaining
that the purpose of the Congress
was to lay the foundation stone of
the house that would one day give
shelter to the Jewish people, an
ingathering after 1,800 years of exile.
On Herzl’s return to Vienna he
wrote in his diary:
“If I were to sum up the
Basle Congress in one word which I
shall not do openly it would be this:
at Basle I founded the Jewish State.
If I were to say this today, I would be
greeted by universal laughter. In five
years, perhaps, and certainly in fifty,
everyone will see it. The State is
already founded, in essence, in the
will of the people to the State.”
The State of Israel was declared on
May 14, 1948, just some fifty years
after the First Zionist Congress.
Eric Levine is a transnational corporate
lawyer and a founding principal of
Millennia Capital Partners, an investment
advisory firm.
12
ESSAY
Building Bridges
Rosalyn Harber
E
nglish in Action is a program where adultstudents from
around the world are paired with volunteer tutors for
one-on-one conversational practice. The program is
organized under the auspices of The English Speaking Union
of the United States.
I have been fortunate to chair this
program here at Central Synagogue
for close to 30 years.
Many people have asked me why
I have devoted myself to this
program. I think the best answer
would be because of my mother,
Irene. She told me the story how
she was placed in a first grade class
to learn English when she arrived
from Hungary at the age of 15. How
embarrassing it was for her to sit
on a small chair with all the other
students thinking she was dumb.
Luckily, that no longer occurs. At
English in Action, students learn in
a relaxed, comfortable environment,
where there are no mistakes made,
only corrections needed. No one
needs to feel embarrassed.
Our students come from
Africa, Asia, Europe and North and
South America, representing the
major religions of the world. They
learn about life in the United States.
Tutors and students exchange ideas
about their cultures and countries in
English. No subjects are taboo. We
speak about food, childcare, politics,
The Japanese tea ceremony, also called the
Way of Tea, is a Japanese cultural activity
involving the ceremonial preparation and
presentation of matcha, powdered green
tea. Shown are some of the implements.
No subjects are taboo.
We speak about food,
childcare, politics,
religion, business
practices, art, and music.
religion, business practices, art, and
music. Tutors learn as much from
the students as students do from the
tutors.
Sometimes close relation-
ships develop between student and
tutor. Frequently tutors are invited
to the homes of students to share
their food and meet their families.
Once I was invited to the home of
a young Japanese woman whose
mother was visiting from Japan.
Together they performed a most
wonderful tea ceremony, kimonos
and all. Many tutors invite their students to their homes to experience
an American family dinner as well.
continued on page 19
13
ESSAY
Lessons Learned
Jake May
A
s I have grown older, Judaism has become increasingly
important to me, though not in a religious sense.
I have never really connected with the spiritual aspect
of Judaism.
Growing up, I attended important
services with my family, and I
did become a bar mitzvah. However, these things were never very
meaningful to me. They were just
something I did, like many other
Jewish children my age. Now that I
am eighteen, I have come to realize
the value of being an involved member of my Jewish community. For
me, this value lies in its deep-seated
communal values.
I attended religious school
through tenth grade, though at the
time I was unaware how much I
would come to cherish the experience. The relationships I built there
are some of the strongest personal
connections I have. Many of my
closest friends are from religious
school. Not only did I form strong
peer relationships, but I also found
some of the most important adult
role models in my life. Both clergy
and teachers have shown me that
Judaism is not only about sitting
through services or reaching milestones like a bar mitzvah. More than
that, Judaism offers a welcoming
community to anyone who seeks it.
This sense of community
manifested itself in many ways
during my time at Hebrew school,
but one event stands out. In tenth
grade, my Confirmation class went
on a weekend retreat. It was meant
to enhance our bond as a class, and
I think it succeeded greatly. In particular, there was one activity where
we all sat in a circle and were given
the opportunity to share something
personal with which we were struggling. At first it was slow going, as
it is certainly daunting to share an
emotional story with your peers.
However, by the end of the evening,
each of us had shared an intimate
moment with the entire group. It
wasn’t about what we had shared,
but rather the fact that we all felt
comfortable sharing, which brought
us closer together as a group than I
would have ever imagined.
The trip turned out to be
crucial in establishing a relationship
between the members of my Confirmation group, because for each class
meeting, Rabbi Rubinstein would
assign one student to share his or
...despite this ethnic and
cultural uniformity,
there was still an incredible ideological diversity
her family history, Jewish observance, and to posit a “thought of
the day.” These exercises could get
fairly personal and, depending on
the topic of the day, fairly controversial. However, after the personal
level of trust we had reached on
the retreat, we were all comfortable
participating.
These discussions were
especially interesting because our
group lacked diversity in many
respects but simultaneously showed
significant diversity. In general,
the Confirmation class is not a very
diverse group of people racially,
continued on page 17
14
REFLECTIONS
Meeting in Melody
A
s a child I was very confused about which denomination of
Judaism I belonged to. I am the descendant of two grandfathers who attended a pre-Holocaust Lithuanian Yeshiva
and parents who were not formally religiously educated in postHolocaust Lithuania. I am the child of two parents whose vernacular was Yiddish and whose Jewish life was steeped in Yiddish
language and song.
Many decades later, my family
moved to Halifax, Nova Scotia
where we had the choice of joining
either the Orthodox synagogue or
the Conservative synagogue. The
Reform movement did not have a
presence in Nova Scotia. Though
we were not observant Jews, my
parents decided to join the Orthodox synagogue and I spent every
Wednesday and Sunday studying in
our religious school cheder.
I remember being completely captivated by our charismatic rabbi who taught us to love our
religion. He was a great pedagogue
who made Torah study a thrilling
storytelling journey. Unfortunately, there was
one lesson that has remained acutely present in my memory. It was the
day that the Rabbi tried to convince
us that our neighboring Conservative Jews were inadequately Jewish.
In an emotionally tyrannical rant,
he made us believe that everything,
from the way THEY wore their
tallitot as “scarves” to the way that
men and women sat together during
prayer, was a delegitimized practice
of Judaism.
I could not reconcile how I
felt about this man because he pos-
sessed contrasting character traits.
On the one hand, he was a dedicated teacher who went the extra mile
for my family. When he learned that
my parent’s ketubah, an illegal document in communist Lithuania, was
scribbled hastily on a piece of paper,
he asked to borrow the paper and
returned the following week with a
beautifully framed ketubah, which he
had painted himself. On the other
hand, he drew very clearly judgmental lines in the Jewish sandbox.
I left Halifax in 1993 and
had not heard or seen the rabbi until
July 1, 2014, my first day of work for
Central Synagogue. As fate would
have it, our senior staff retreat at
the Renaissance Hotel in Westchester coincided with the Union of
Orthodox Rabbis’ annual convention, and after 21 years, my rabbi
and I were reunited in a ballroom in
Westchester.
Our reunion included warm
embraces and reminiscing about
our time in Halifax. Our reunion
also included a very heated debate
about liberal Judaism. In fact, when
he insisted that I should not let
my children marry other Reform
Jews, our debate escalated into an
impassioned shouting match. We
were both losing our cool and this
was not going to end positively.
Realizing that this was a futile
conversation, I needed to diffuse
the situation. I tried to deflect the
conversation to different topics
but he was relentlessly passionate
in his disdain for liberal Judaism.
Remembering his proud heritage as
a Sephardic Jew, my last diffusion
attempt included interrupting his
outburst with a well-known Sephardic folk song entitled “Cuando
El Ray Nimrod.” The result was a
remarkable lessening in aggression:
he sat back in his chair, closed his
eyes and was seemingly anaesthetized with musical nostalgia.
I don’t believe that we was
placated because of the quality of
my singing. I think that the particular melody I chose resonated with
him and instantaneously brought us
to common ground in Jewish song.
I do believe that though there were
clearly delineated differences in our
religious beliefs, music became the
meeting place in our dissonance.
I have experienced Jewish music to
be a successful ambassador among
Jewish sectarianism. This is in part
what has drawn me to the cantorate and what fuels me as a Reform
15
Cantor Mo Glazman
cantor. Time after time, I have
witnessed the bridge building that
Jewish music affords us and
I am certain that music brings us
to common ground for K’lal Yisrael,
the unification of the Jewish
community.
...music became the
meeting place in our
dissonance.
I have experienced the
unifying power of Jewish music
on many occasions; for example
during the March of the Living.
This trip takes high school students
on a tour of pertinent Jewish sites
and concentration camps in Eastern Europe, followed by a trip to
Israel. On one important day, we
visited Auschwitz, the work camp,
and then walked the short mile to
Birkenau, the extermination camp.
Though this “march” historically
was a guaranteed death sentence,
for thousands of Jewish teenagers this modern-day march was an
affirmation of Jewish life. Though
we came from different countries,
spoke different languages, identified
with different streams of Judaism,
our common
melodies bonded
us in a song session in which five
thousand students
fervently sang
“Am Yisrael Chai,”
the people of
Israel live on.
I experienced
a similar sense of
oneness when I
joined the Great
Synagogue
choir in Jerusalem. Though the
synagogue was a flagship Orthodox
institution, they hired Reform and
Conservative cantorial students
to join them for Shabbat and for a
European tour. Here too, we found
otherwise disparate Jews coming
together through the love of Jewish
choral music. Fifteen years since
this experience, three of us have
become senior cantors for three
Manhattan congregations affiliated
with different movements. We often
get together and discuss synagogue
life through the lens of Jewish worship.
Our worship experience
at Central Synagogue is enriched
with musical influences that cross
denominational lines. Drawing on
a spectrum of musical genres, our
talented clergy and musicians are
skilled at taking a traditional chant
in a traditional mode and creating
an arrangement that honors the old
but feels fresh and new. Perhaps
this is why our membership reaches
beyond Reform Jewry and extends
to individuals who identify as
Conservative, Reconstructionist
and even Orthodox.
I hope that you love Jewish
music as much as I do. I hope that
you, too, see the value in bringing
our communities together in song
and worship. As the psalmist writes:
“kol han’shamah t’hallel Ya,” Let every
soul praise the Eternal, Halleluyah.
16
REFLECTIONS
Sights, Sound, and Weather
I
Mount Sinai and Jewish Theological Pluralism
have spoken and written about the issue of pluralism from
a sociological and ethical perspective, as an important value for the Jewish community, but I have not yet articulated
a theological understanding of Jewish pluralism.
This is challenging because there are
different, and potentially conflicting, theological interpretations of
Judaism, each the result of intense
intellectual engagement by rabbis
and scholars. Can they all be equally
correct?
To answer this question,
let us look at the moment when the
Torah was given at Mount Sinai,
Exodus chapters 19–20. What I have
always found particularly fascinating about this story are the sights,
sounds, and weather. There are descriptions of clouds, thunder, lighting, smoke, fire, and the mountain
shudders to the sound of the shofar.
Why does God give the
Torah in such dramatic circumstances? Looking at the narrative,
many automatically assume that the
reason for the atmospheric conditions is to make the people fear God.
That would be the case if the experience at Mount Sinai had been solely
for the purpose of giving the Torah.
However, the event was also the
occasion for God’s self-revelation
to the Israelites, so that they would
have a personal, direct spiritual
communion with God.
Rashi, in his comments on
Exodus 19:17, puts it very beautifully when he describes the interchange between God and the people
at Mount Sinai: “the presence of
God went forth to meet the people
like a groom who goes forth to meet
the bride.” It was not simply an
experience of God giving us laws.
Therefore, if the second purpose of
the revelation at Mount Sinai was
for the Israelites to encounter God
as groom and bride, why would
God choose to announce the divine
presence with clouds, the shofar,
thunder, lightening, smoke, fire,
and the mountain shuddering?
Imagine if this were your
wedding; it would not seem to be
the most intimate experience. Yet
this is what happens at Sinai. I
17
Rabbi David Kalb
would have thought that such intimidating sights and sounds would
hinder divine revelation. Why is this
intimate moment between God and
the Israelites accompanied by such
a cacophony of sounds? What is the
reason?
For an answer, we need to
look closely at the circumstances.
When people are in the midst of a
storm with thunder and lighting,
they have to make an enormous effort to hear and see. Add to this the
sound of the shofar, clouds, smoke,
fire, and a shuddering mountain,
and they need to struggle even
harder to understand what is happening. I believe that this was precisely God’s intention for creating a
tumultuous atmosphere at Mount
Sinai to accompany God’s selfrevelation. God wanted to make the
experience complex for the Israelites
because God is complex to understand. God is infinite and we as
human beings are finite. Therefore,
trying to have a relationship with
God who is infinite is both daunting
and challenging.
... why would God
choose to announce the
divine presence with
clouds, the Shofar,
thunder, lightening,
smoke, fire and the
mountain shuddering?
In addition, such distracting
weather conditions and sounds had
the effect of making the experience
at Mt. Sinai different for everyone
present. This was not only true for
each individual interaction with
God then, but is true anytime and
anywhere we interact with or try to
gain a better understanding of God.
This point is well illustrated by the
following story.
There was once a school for
blind children that went on a class
trip to a farm where they let the
children feed and play with the animals. A teacher with sight accompanied three blind children. They
all went to the pen where the goats
were kept. After the children played
with the goats for a while, the
teacher asked, “What is a goat like?”
The first child said, “It’s soft and
furry.” The second child answered,
“No, it’s hard and scratchy,” and the
third child said, “No, it’s wet and
slippery.” How can we explain the
children having such different experiences with a goat? The first child
petted the goat’s fur, the second
touched the goat’s horns, and the
third child’s face had been licked by
the goat. Each child gave a correct
answer, but it was only partially
correct.
The same is true for the way
we experience God. We, as finite
human beings, can only give incomplete answers about God. Therefore,
we should try to collect as many
partial answers as possible. It is
important that spiritual communities give their members different
views of understanding God. Those
that try to limit the way people look
at God limit the spiritual growth of
their members and worse yet, they
limit God. This is why pluralism is
not only a Jewish ethical value but
also a theological necessity.
Rabbi David Kalb is director of learning and
innovation at Central Synagogue.
Lessons Learned continued from page 13
diverse group of people racially,
ethnically or financially. Most students, at least from my experience,
are white, comparatively well-off,
attend mostly excellent schools
in New York, and are, of course,
Jewish. However, as we discussed
many complex topics ranging from
religious discrimination to our
beliefs in God, it became very clear
that despite this ethnic and cultural
uniformity, there was still an incredible ideological diversity. Previously, I had never thought of Hebrew
school as a place to think critically
about contemporary issues, but in
Confirmation class, I found myself
learning from my classmates just
about every week.
This wonderful experience
in Hebrew school led me to apply
for the Madrichim Fellowship and
I was accepted. This fellowship
allows high school students to gain
experience in planning lessons and
assisting a teacher. For me, though,
it was something more. It was a
chance to show younger children
the value of the Jewish community,
which is what my time at Hebrew
school had taught me. My goal was
to show them that being an active
member can have a profound effect
on your life, that it isn’t just the
means to an end of becoming a b’nei
mitzvah, but rather a place where
one can have a diverse and meaningful experience. I owe this awareness to the teachers and friends
whom I met at religious school,
and I know these relationships will
remain strong well into adulthood.
Jake May is a senior at Fieldston High
School where he is president of the student
government. He also plays varsity baseball
and is in several school jazz bands.
18
REFLECTIONS
Up With People
T
he first book of the Torah, B’reishit or Genesis, contains
our people’s stories about the creation of our world and
the life that inhabits it.
In the initial chapters of B’reishit
and beyond, a divine editorial
thread accompanies these stories,
such as God commenting “it’s
good,” even “very good.” Light,
darkness, water, sky, earth, vegetation, sun, moon, sea monsters, birds,
and animals are all deemed “good”
after their creation. Perhaps most
surprisingly to us who know humanity and its long violent history,
humans are reckoned “very good.”
Despite tales of tragedy and loss—
Cain and Abel and the flood come
to mind—a fundamental optimism
prevails in Genesis that extends also
to the tribes surrounding ancient
Israel. In later books of the Torah,
different agendas take hold. Certain
clans are singled out for blistering
critiques in order to champion ideas
like monotheism, but overall Genesis attributes very little negativity
to those considered “the other.”
In the beginning there were
simply no other people—there
was only Adam. The rabbis of the
Talmud (Sanhedrin 38a) teach that
Adam was created first so that no
one could boast that they came from
a better family. A mishnah connected to the Talmud’s Sanhedrin tractate
adds that only a single human being
was created in order to teach us that
to destroy even one human soul is
equivalent to destroying the world,
and to sustain a single human
soul is equivalent to sustaining the
world.
Aside from Adam and Eve,
the natural world and animals, there
is also a group called the Nephilim.
Genesis verse 6:4 reads: “the Nephilim appeared on earth—when the
divine beings cohabited with the
daughters of men, who bore them
offspring. They were the heroes of
old, the men of renown.” Our greatest commentators have wrestled
mightily to explain who and what
these Nephilim and divine beings
actually were. But the Torah has
no qualms with this story since it is
contained within the text without
much fanfare, simply stated as fact.
Everyone seems kosher and welcome in Genesis—even the Nephilim.
19
Rabbi Maurice A. Salth
The same applies to the
description in B’reishit of the origins
of the tribes neighboring ancient
Israel. After Hagar and Ishmael
are separated from Abraham and
his clan because of her conflict with
Sarah, Hagar is promised that God
will make a great nation of Ishmael
(Genesis 21:18). While there is tension between Sarah and Hagar,
God’s predictions of greatness for
Ishmael and his children are entirely positive. Ishmael and Isaac
eventually reunite amicably when
Abraham dies. In this particular
section we learn Ishmael has been
blessed with twelve sons who become tribes that settle close to Egypt
(Genesis 25:12). Later in the Torah,
Esau, though once Jacob’s rival,
and his family become the people
of Edom. In fact the entire chapter
of Genesis 36 is devoted to naming Esau’s children and explaining
where they dwelled. Edom’s family
tree is listed without any commentary or concern, just their detailed
names. This occurs numerous times
throughout Genesis. The neighboring tribes are described as one
might introduce other children to
one’s own with whom to play nicely
in the sandbox of the ancient Middle
East.
Ironically, the story of our
own Jewish family is filled with
much more dysfunction and problems than those of the Arameans or
Moabites. There is fratricide, jealousy, hatred, favoritism, conspiracy,
horrific passive aggressiveness, and
so much more. It takes the dramatic
transformation of Judah, Jacob’s
fourth son, and the heart-wrenching
forgiveness of Joseph to free our early ancestors from their constant patContinued on page 24
Building Bridges
continued from page 12
Once a semester we have a
luncheon. Students bring a favorite
dish from their country to share with
each other. As you might imagine,
this is one of the highlights of the year.
Another highlight is a tour
of our beautiful Sanctuary. Many
of our students have never been in
a synagogue before and are very
interested in hearing about the
architecture and religious symbols.
They usually come away wanting
to know more about Judaism and
some even come to attend a Shabbat
service.
English in Action welcomes
students from all countries
and all religious beliefs.
One of my closest students
was an Iranian Muslim. We spent
many of our sessions discussing
how Abraham was the father of
both of our religions. We shared
many of the same customs. Our
moral and ethical principles were
the same as were our family values.
Both of us prayed for peace in the
world. Whenever she comes to the U.S.,
we meet and the discussions continue.
I have a lovely young Korean student who became pregnant
while here studying to be a pharmacist. Her husband was completing
his third year of his medical residency and was very busy most of
the time. Feeling lonely being so far
away from her mother, she looked
to me for guidance, friendship and
comfort. One day I brought her
home to meet my ailing husband,
who was totally blind. After speaking to him for a few minutes she
asked him if he would like to feel
her belly. He gently placed his
hands on her, which brought out a
big smile on both.
When she told her husband
about the encounter, he promptly
looked up my husband’s credentials
and was surprised and impressed
to discover that my husband was an
esteemed physician, known worldwide in his field. Both he and my
husband were very interested in an
academic career.
What a surprise I had when
I asked what they were planning to
name their unborn boy. Somehow
her husband thought that it was an
omen that my husband, Leonard,
had placed his hands on his wife’s
belly. He hoped that by this act
perhaps his son would be as accomplished as my husband and experience the wonderful life he had.
My husband, who was
called “Big Len” by his grandchildren, passed away a few months
ago. But there is an adorable “Little
Leonard” crawling around who will
soon celebrate his first birthday.
What a blessing!
Here at Central, English in
Action welcomes students from all
countries and all religious beliefs.
We hope that students’ lives are
enriched not only by their English
conversations, but also by the sharing of ideas and customs. Speaking
for all of our tutors, we feel that
meeting these students enriches our
lives as well.
Prior to her marriage, Rosalyn Harber was
an elementary school teacher. Since then she
has been a tutor in various educational programs in New York. She has been a member
of Central Synagogue since 1972.
20
ESSAY
One In A Thousand
W
e lived in New York City—5 boroughs, 8.4 million people, more than a thousand synagogues. As newlyweds,
we sought a Jewish community and spiritual home.
A year later, we stood on the bimah of Central Synagogue at
the baby naming of our younger daughter.
As I looked out into the sanctuary,
I felt the love of my parents and our
family—most of whom had traveled
for this event—and friends. In the
midst of our loved ones were the
many faces of those who had joined
the Friday night service to witness
other simchas during that Shabbat: a
conversion, three b’nei mitzvah, the
Shabbat mishpachah family service,
our teen choir, and congregants
and guests in attendance simply to
celebrate the first night of Chanukah
or Shabbat. Our family and Margot’s baby naming was a tiny star
in the sky of Central Synagogue’s
universe. Under the glowing candle-
light of the menorah, we celebrated
the miracle of our family. Rabbi
Buchdahl blessed Margot while
embracing my husband, two yearold daughter Alexa, and me in my
father’s tallit. Yes, we were technically part of the community. But
quite frankly, it just didn’t feel like
our home, or our community—at
least not yet. Sadly, too soon after the
baby naming, my beloved father’s
health rapidly declined. Despite
being a physician and a mother, I
was at a loss how to navigate the
inevitable, difficult discussions
with the children in our family. In
a moment of panic, with my mind
swirling, I called the clergy office for
direction. Rabbi Buchdahl helped
provide me with the vocabulary to
contextualize his illness and frame
this tragic loss for both my children
and me. Although I was several
hundred miles away in my childhood home, Central Synagogue’s
clergy, whom I had just met, supported me through this time.
My childhood synagogue
overflowed on the day of my father’s funeral. My father was the
quintessential older brother, a true
friend and pillar of the community. Our shivah house was filled
with friends, family, colleagues, and
the many relationships you accumu-
21
Mellisa Zinovoy
late spending your life living in and
serving your community. I returned
to New York, not sure what to expect. Would the last day of shivah
at my home feel as warm and as
full as our Boston versions? Where
would I say Kaddish, and how
would I navigate this year alone in a
huge and unfamiliar synagogue? The next morning, I timidly
attended my first morning minyan
in our Community House to say
Kaddish in my father’s memory. The morning minyan crew did their
thing, as I anonymously took a
chair. But over the course of the
first month, I became embraced
by the early morning regulars and
especially took to the more senior
members of the community who
showed their fatherly concern.
The year was long on
many levels. I was emotionally
exhausted—working a taxing job, a
mom to two babies and trying to be
a wife, daughter, sister, friend, and
colleague. My emotions were raw,
and I was struggling to maintain
any sense of balance. I began to
look forward to minyan as a protected time to sort my emotions without
other obligations. I learned that one of the
greatest purposes of saying Kaddish in a minyan was to reach out
to your community. In the most
traditional sense, Kaddish cannot be
said alone, you need ten people. It
seems curious, as you would think
the rabbis would have some mercy
on the grieving and let them pray in
the convenience of their own home
on their own schedule. Only after
joining the daily minyan did this
law make any sense.
In many ways, the year
was both the darkest and the most
beautiful. I became acquainted with
the clergy on a much more personal
level. When asking Rabbi Rubinstein for some insights into the nursery school, he warmly invited me
into his office to sit down and have
a chat. And this was a springboard
to many opportunities to integrate
into this large, and up to this point,
unfamiliar community. Through
the nursery school I formed close
friendships and adopted new family
traditions.
The year was both the
darkest and the most
beautiful.
The following year I was
honored to read Torah on Yom Kippur. As I ascended the steps at the
Waldorf Astoria, I panicked. My
father’s bar mitzvah tallit, the one
present at my wedding and most
recently at our baby naming, which
I had planned to bring up to the
Torah with me as a good luck charm
was missing. Quickly my husband
volunteered to return home to look
for it. Just as Yizkor was concluding
and right before my father’s name
was read aloud to the congregation,
my husband handed me the tallit. Our cab driver had found it and
returned it to our home. Somehow,
I knew I could not lose that valuable
talisman treasure on Yom Kippur
while praying at Central.
Now when we attend
Shabbat services on Friday nights,
we feel comfortable in the community that contains so many friends.
As the congregation rises for the
mourner’s Kaddish, I still look at the
place where my dad sat at Margot’s
baby naming and remember the
love I felt that night. As I shared
with fellow congregants at a Yizkor
service this past fall, my father’s
final gift to me was a Jewish community and friendships. We live in
New York City— 5 boroughs, 8.4
million people, more than a thousand synagogues, and we found the
right one.
Melissa R. Zinovoy, M.D., is a radiation
oncologist at Memorial Sloan Kettering
Cancer Center.
22
FILM
The Agony of Agunah
I
“Gett: The Trial of Viviane Amsalem”
srael has always been a heavenly place to visit. But for those
who live there and are also in need of a religious divorce, it
can be a kind of matrimonial hell.
“Gett: The Trial Of Viviane Amsalem,” a feature co-written and codirected by the Israeli brother and
sister film-making duo Ronit and
Shlomi Elkabetz, aptly demonstrates
the agony. An obstinate and resentful Elisha Amsalem refuses to grant
his estranged wife Viviane a gett,
and neither heaven nor earth has the
power to change Elisha’s mind or
soften his heart.
In this clash between religious tradition and modern practice, the female lead Ronit Elkabetz
stands in for the legion of Israeli
women who find themselves in a
state of agunah, or marital limbo
when their spouses—for whatever
reason—refuse to grant them a
religious divorce. As portrayed
on-screen, both parties are FrenchMoroccan Sephardim. Indeed, the
actors speak their parts in equal
parts Hebrew and French.
“Gett” is a series of vignettes, taking place in the bland
offices of a typical beit din (rabbinical court, literally “house of
justice”). A panel of three Orthodox
judges, clearly taking the husband’s
side, listen to testimony from both
husband and wife, extended family,
neighbors, and assorted acquaintances. As months eventually drag
into five years, it becomes clear that
the couple have nothing left in common. Nevertheless, neither logic,
nor cajoling, nor even a court-imposed jail sentence serves to weaken
the husband’s intransigence.
As the trial continues at a
snail’s pace, the courtroom adversaries and their lawyers do battle.
The rabbis alternately infuriate,
obfuscate and procrastinate. Elisha
wavers on the brink of surrender,
only to retreat. Viviane goes from
stony silence to sad resignation to
cynical laughter to ultimate despair,
leaving us, the audience scratching
our collective heads over the seeming insanity of it all.
In a recent interview, Ronit
Elkabetz had this to say: “Every
day I was in shock working on this.
It’s difficult to understand, in the
democratic way we live in Israel,
that this is still the law.”
Her brother Shlomi added,
“I hope it will evoke a serious
conversation, and of course we will
be acting on it when the film is out
in Israel. It will put it into people’s
awareness.”
Despite (or because of) the
infuriating behavior of the characters, “Gett” offers a fascinating
look at Sephardic Israelis who walk
the tightrope between Orthodoxy
23
Steve Klausner
Ronit Elkabetz and Shlomi Elkabetz,
with the former also giving a powerful performance as the desperate
wife Viviane.”
and secular society. More than a
simple battle of the sexes, “Gett” is
a clash of cultures and generations.
When the parties finally approach
an accommodation, the words that
remain unsaid are those that speak
the loudest. Much like the Oscarwinning Iranian matrimonial drama
“A Separation,” the final outcome
plays out not on the screen but
rather in the hearts and minds of
the audience.
Reviews of “Gett: The Trial of
Viviane Amsalem”
“Elisha’s cold intransigence, Viviane’s determination to fight for her
freedom, and the ambiguous role
of the judges shape a procedure in
which tragedy vies with absurdity,
and everything is brought out for
judgment, apart from the initial
request.”
Director’s Fortnight synopsis,
2014 Cannes Film Festival
“The plight of Israeli women who
want to break free of marriages under the orthodox rules to which they
are beholden is forcefully dramatized in “Gett: The Trial of Viviane
Amsalem,” a deeply involving but
sad import written and directed by
William Wolf, New York Calling
“Viviane’s determination to fight
for her freedom, and the ambiguous
role of the judges shape a procedure
in which tragedy vies with absurdity, and where everything is brought
out for judgment, apart from the
initial request.”
RottenTomatoes.com,
100% (highest rating)
“Gripping cinema from start to finish, almost implausibly so.”
The New York Times
“Almost all of the film takes place
inside a courtroom, at irregular
intervals over five years, but there
is no sense of drag or slump; on
the contrary, the action quivers
with tension, impatience, comic
heat, and, beneath it all, an irrepressible rage.”
The New Yorker
“The divorce-centered drama is so
provocative it’s become a lightning
rod for debate inside the country.
Even watching from a distance is
unnerving.”
Los Angeles Times
“In the hands of sister-brother codirectors Ronit Elkabetz (who also
co-stars) and Shlomi Elkabetz this
patriarchal legal loophole becomes
the wellspring for densely rich
drama, told with stringent austerity but also humor and judicious
empathy.”
Hollywood Reporter
“The acting, especially from Menash
Noy as an ineffectual attorney, is
phenomenal, resulting in a feminist
knockout told in inverse.”
Time Out New York
“Every shot, cut, line, performance,
indeed every moment in this feature
is perfectly judged, always conveying precisely what it needs to convey in to define its characters and
move the story forward.”
RogerEbert.com
“Siblings Ronit and Shlomi Elkabetz
bring their blistering trilogy of male
domination in an Israeli family to a
rewarding close with “Gett, the Trial
of Viviane Amsalem.”
Variety
“Quite simply, it is a brilliant film,
a rare mixture of laughter, rage and
helplessness, such as any woman
would face in the religious courts of
Israel.”
New York Jewish Week
Awards and Honors
Nominee, Best Foreign Language
Film, Golden Globes
Nominee, Best Foreign Language
Film, Academy Awards
Best Film, Best Supporting Actor,
Israeli Film Academy
Best Screenplay, Chicago
International Film Festival
Best Narrative Feature, Hamptons
International Film Festival
Best Actor, Best Feature,
Jerusalem Film Festival
Steve Klausner is an advertising copywriter
and an award-winning screenwriter and a
longtime member of Central Synagogue.
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Up With People
continued from page 19
tern of family angst. When they do
finally reconcile, it does not happen
in Israel but in Egypt. Pharaoh and
Egypt, our future nemesis, welcome
us with open arms and provide us
with shelter and food during one of
the greatest famines the world had
seen. For a biblical moment, all is
right in the world. The neighbors
are peaceful, even nurturing; our
family has stopped their infighting and instead embrace each other
lovingly, unconditionally. It is this
combination of internal love and
external support that propels us to
grow from a family of hundreds
into a nation of millions.
We know the events in
Genesis are not the end of our story;
we know what happens in the next
chapters and beyond: they are filled
with challenge and tumult. Such is
our history and our life, even today.
Yet, the book of Genesis’ optimistic
opening narrative leaves me hopeful. It reminds me that our tradition
holds that people, those we know
and those we don’t, can be “very
good,” as God had pronounced
them in the beginning. The heart of
our remaining biblical texts provides us with a roadmap—guidelines that one day may help us exist
in the same spirit of inclusion and
nondiscrimination as we did at the
close of B’reishit.
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H AS H IUR A Journal of Ideas
Honorary Trustees
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is published twice a year by Central Synagogue
123 East 55th Street, New York, NY 10022-3502
Honorary Presidents
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Editorial Committee:
Rabbi Maurice A. Salth, Amala and Eric Levine,
Steve Klausner, Elizabeth Brown, Rudi Wolff
Clergy
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Buchdahl
Cantor Mo Glazman
Cantor Julia R. Cadrain
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Editor: Amala Levine
Designer and Picture Editor: Rudi Wolff
Production Editor: Elizabeth Brown
PICTURE CREDITS
Cover: Graphic R. Wolff
p.2 L’ecriture. Prima edizione, Milan 1962
p.3 No credit available
p.5 Christina Mattison, mixed media,
The D’rash Design Project
p.7 Photograph, Miriam Alster / Flash90 Agency
p.8 Courtesy, Israel Tourist Agency
p.11 Etching, Hermann Struck, Courtesy,
Liveauctioneers
p.12 Credits not available
p.13 Shutterstock, photo agency
p.15 Guitar, Wikipedia
Music, Tara Jewish Music Publications
p.16 Postcard Lithograph, 1920’s
p.18 Drawing, Ben Shahn, The Alphabet
of Creation, Spiral Press
p. 20 Aerial View Manhattan,
Wikimedia Commons
p. 22-23 Courtesy, The Jerusalem Post
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