<![CDATA[ALANNA E. COOPER PH.D. - Blog: Jewish Present Tense]]>

<![CDATA[ALANNA E. COOPER PH.D. - Blog: Jewish Present Tense]]>Mon, 29 Dec 2025 07:36:47 -0800Weebly<![CDATA[digitally re-installing a world war II memorial designed by arthur szyk]]>Sun, 07 Dec 2025 03:08:25 GMThttp://www.kikayon.com/blog-jewish-present-tense/digitally-re-installing-a-world-war-ii-memorial-designed-by-arthur-szyk

Exciting news! I’ve received a grant from Case Western Reserve’s Experimental Humanities Initiative for my project, “Digital Re-Installation of a Sacred Memorial" This project explores how digital technologies can be used to preserve sacred sites of memory.

What happens when Extended Reality technologies are used to bring sacred history and contemporary space into simultaneous view?

The focus is on a World War II memorial dedicated in 1947 at Temple Tifereth Israel, Cleveland’s largest Reform synagogue. The installment featured a stained glass series designed by the renowned Arthur Szyk (who happens to be featured in a new exhibit at the Museum of Jewish Heritage), which inscribed the names of the congregation’s 22 fallen sons. Complementing these fifteen remarkable windows, was a bronze pedestal in the form of an American eagle, created to hold a weighty, hand-crafted leather-bound book containing the names and service records of the 700 congregants who had served in the war effort.

Temple Tifereth Israel held a public ceremony to dedicate the memorial during Hannukah of 1947. Seventy years later, the congregation faced a dilemma. Having relocated to a new building in the eastern suburbs, closer to where most of its members now lived, the group gifted their historic golden-domed edifice to Case Western Reserve University. The building would soon be reborn as the Maltz Performing Arts Center. But what of the memorial? Did it belong to the architectural envelope in which it was situated? Or to the community that had commissioned it decades prior?

Recognizing its significance as a touchstone of congregational history and identity, the decision was made to move the ensemble to the new synagogue building in Beachwood. Designers and architects collaborated to reinstall the memorial in a way that honored its original intent, while adapting it to its new spatial context.

Meanwhile as the University building was repurposed into a performance hall and all trace of the memorial disappeared.

What might be the implications of entering this space as it stands today, while simultaneously witnessing its past? Through the affordances of extended reality technology, it is now possible to digitally overlay historic imagery, sacred objects and architectural elements onto contemporary environments, enabling users to experience both temporal layers at once. This project investigates how such a digitally mediated encounter might reshape our understandings of the relationship between space and history, and their intersections through time.

The first phrase involves creating a prototype of the digital memorial.

I will be doing this together with students in my new course “Embodied Religion, Mixed Reality.” We will use extended reality software, Meta quest headsets, and 3D scanning apps, combined with historical research.

The project will culminate two years from now (Hannukah 2027) in a performative “re-installation” of the memorial to mark the eightieth anniversary of its dedication.

]]><![CDATA[A STRANGE REUNION]]>Tue, 12 Feb 2019 01:58:21 GMThttp://www.kikayon.com/blog-jewish-present-tense/a-strange-reunion The largest reunion of Torahs in history occurred this past Tuesday, when 73 scrolls came together in Manhattan. What is a Torah scroll reunion? And how did it come about? I explain with a story.........READ MORE

About 40 years ago, a New Jersey synagogue acquired an old, damaged Torah. Decades prior – long before the scroll had arrived in New Jersey – it had belonged to a Czech Jewish community, which had perished in the Holocaust. In the 1970s, when the New Jersey congregants agreed to take in the Czech scroll and care for it – they designed an elaborate welcoming ceremony, attended by synagogue members, young and old.

Because of its worn-out state, the scroll could not be used for chanting during regular services. So, rather than placing it in the ark with the synagogue’s other scrolls, the congregation had a beautiful display case built. Here, the Torah scroll stood, upright, facing all those who walked by.

Years passed. Some congregants died. The rabbi retired. A new rabbi was hired, and some time later he retired too. The children who had been in religious school when the Torah was welcomed into the congregation, left for college. In the meantime, new people moved to town and joined the synagogue. When they walked by the glass case – that by now had faded – they did not stop to look. The Czech Torah stood silent, unnoticed.

Of course it did. When an object is not touched, when stories are not told about it, when it is not engaged in the life of the people to whom it belongs, it goes dormant. This is true not only of a Torah, but of any heirloom that may have once held important meaning for its owners; an old trinket or tool, a crystal vase, a worn desk. If it is not cared for and used, it loses its vibrancy.

The tale of the New Jersey Torah scroll is just one piece of a much larger story. The scroll belongs to Memorial Scrolls Trust (MST), a London-based organization that serves as custodian for 1,564 Torah scrolls that were owned by Jewish communities in Czech lands prior to World War II, most of whom perished. When MST acquired this massive collection in 1964, the organization inventoried them, then sent them out to living congregations in the United States, Europe, Australia, and New Zealand.

When the congregation in New Jersey – and others like it – took in their Czech scroll, MST stipulated that it was on “permanent loan.” This meant the congregation could keep the Torah for as long as it wished, but only under certain conditions: The scroll could not be given away or sold. If the congregation wished to repair the scroll, the work had to be authorized by MST. Finally, the congregation agreed to pay regular dues to support MST.

As the scrolls were sent out across the world, a database was created to keep track of the receiving congregations. Originally, this information was recorded on handwritten index cards. Eventually, it was digitized. But, by the early 2000s, MST had fallen technologically behind. Its website was unsophisticated and electronic communication had not been established with the congregations that housed the scrolls. In the meantime, the congregations themselves had lost institutional memory of their connection to Memorial Scrolls Trust.

In recent years, MST has worked to re-engage relationships with the scattered congregations, over 1,000 of them in the United States. A new website has been designed, their database has been updated, their archival records are in the process of being digitized, and connections with the congregations that received their scrolls decades ago – like the one in New Jersey – have been reinstated. This task is not always straightforward. In the years that have passed, some congregations have merged, or even disbanded, making it difficult to track down the scrolls.

To address this change, Memorial Scrolls Trust is creating interesting opportunities to enliven the scrolls, and re-engage their history. One way is by making virtual connections. Every congregation with an MST scroll is requested to post their Torah’s story on their synagogue website, and to provide a link back to the MST site.

In turn, every congregation with a “reciprocal links” is placed on MST’s world map. The interactive graphics are impressive. See here. Virtual connections, though, are hardly sufficient. MST has also created opportunities for congregations that house the Czech scrolls to gather together for events referred to as “reunions.” The first documented “reunion” was held in 1999. In this case, Holocaust survivor Hana Gruna flew from her home in Pennsylvania to Santa Monica, California. There, she met Congregation Sha’arei Am’s MST scroll, which had come from Susice (a town southwest of Prague) where Hana herself was born and raised. In her chilling remarks, Hana related that upon encountering the Torah, all those who perished - her family members, together with the whole Susice congregation – suddenly appeared before her “in their best clothes.” Later that night, she dreamt of them, their names and faces. For a brief moment, Hana said, “I saw them all.”

Over the years, as survivors have passed on, reunions between the Torah scrolls themselves have been organized. At such events, the scrolls become stand-ins for all those people who had once read from them, and gathered to hear them chanted – and then later perished.

The largest such reunion occurred this past Tuesday, when 73 scrolls, together with a crowd of over 500 people who now house them, converged at Temple Emanu-El in Manhattan. Insinuating themselves in the lives those who tend to them, the scrolls tugged at the people, bringing them to sit beside one another and tell stories of their pasts - and now of their Torahs’ regained vibrancy.

]]><![CDATA[a synagogue on wheels]]>Fri, 25 Jan 2019 15:45:56 GMThttp://www.kikayon.com/blog-jewish-present-tense/a-synagogue-on-wheels

We generally think of buildings as immovable, connected to the land upon which they are built. On occasion, though, architectural structures can be lifted from their foundations, and moved to another locale. That’s what happened earlier this month with Washington DC’s oldest synagogue. All 273 tons were wheeled

This was actually the third time the structure has been moved. Constructed in 1876, the building housed Adas Israel until the congregation outgrew it just a few years later, and moved into a new, larger space. The little brick building the congregants left behind was converted successively into a church, offices and retail space. But in the late 1960s – decades after the structure had last been in Jewish hands – when the city announced plans to raze it to make way for urban development, local Jewish community-members would not accept its end. They reclaimed it, arranged to lift it off its foundation, moved it, and turned it into a museum that tells the story of Washington DC’s Jewish history.

In 2016 again, a large-scale urban construction project threatened the building’s destruction. And again, rather than accept its demise, the local Jewish Historical Society arranged for its move; this time to a temporary spot in the middle of the road, atop a massive platform, where it sat for about two years. (I visited it in 2017, when I took the photo above). Now, with this latest in early January, and the museum's planned expansion, the building will finally rest from all its wandering.

While it’s highly unusual to move an entire building, it is not uncommon for a synagogue to be turned into a museum once its congregation no longer inhabits the space. This past summer, I visited one such building in Brookhaven, Mississippi, (right) where the modest synagogue now serves as a museum to the history of the town. Likewise, in Phoenix, Arizona, the city’s first synagogue (built in 1920) now serves as a Jewish history museum.

Perhaps most well known is the Museum at Eldridge Street (below) in New York’s Lower East Side, which is housed in the structure built in 1887 as a grand house of worship to serve the area’s Eastern European Jewish immigrants.

Old synagogue buildings can wind up morphing to serve many other functions as well. Most common, perhaps, is the conversion of synagogue buildings to serve church communities. But that is hardly the only solution. Artist Hillel Smith has created a fantastic new website called, “Jewish Traces,” which is devoted to documenting what has happened to buildings that were once homes to Jewish congregations. Today, the collection on his website includes: a squash club, an apartment building, a multi- cultural arts center, and a stunning furniture showroom. Have a look. The site is interactive and growing. You can add information to it too! https://jewishtraces.tumblr.com

]]><![CDATA[what is "Jewish Studies" anyway?]]>Thu, 20 Dec 2018 04:17:56 GMThttp://www.kikayon.com/blog-jewish-present-tense/what-is-jewish-studies-anyway

I am often asked how I find the engaging, articulate scholars who come to visit Cleveland to share their work with the public. The simple answer to this question is AJS! For folks studying Judaism, Jewish culture and Jews in one form or another, the Association for Jewish Studies is the premier learning society in the United States, if not the world.

It boasts some 2,000 members, and holds an annual conference each year (attended by over 1,200 scholars, this year). And I’m proud to share that I’ve just been voted on as a board member, and looking forward to serving the organization.

As I write this, I am currently at the AJS annual meeting in Boston. As usual, the breadth of topics under discussion is astounding. Here are a few, just to give you a sense:

Biblical Prophets as a Source of Philosophical Inquiry
Humor and Play in the Talmud
Ottoman Jews and the Emergence of Modern Psychiatry
Free Love in Yiddish Popular Fiction
Being Jewish in Soviet Siberia
and American Jews in the Military

Generally, more than 10 sessions run at any given time. This means that you can attend the conference, and be an active participant without attending any panel outside of your specific area of interests. Scholars of the Bible, for example, are not necessarily in conversation with sociologists studying contemporary problems. Somehow, though, the fact that we all appear in the same program-book, and are all invited to take part in a common plenary meeting, gives me the sense that everyone here – regardless of what they study – is part of a common group, even if broadly defined.

I'M HERE WITH
WARREN HOFFMAN,
EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR OF AJS

The conference offers an important forum for sharing intellectual ideas. But it’s so much more than that. It’s also a place for academics to discuss the goings-on at their various campuses, and ways to think about teaching the midst of current, challenging trends (How does one teach the history of Israel in the midst of campus agitation? And how does one teach the Holocaust in an era of extreme nationalism?).

The AJS also offers a place for scholars to think about how they might “translate” their work for audiences that reach beyond the academy. By their nature, universities, academic journals, and conferences that are organized by learned societies offer space and resources for high-level thinking and writing, which is so critical for understanding history, culture and current trends. But academics' work might also be presented in forms that are accessible and relevant for a wider public.

Recognizing the importance of this project, this year AJS convened a group to share ideas and resources for Public Programming. I will surely benefit from this newly-formed network in my own work running Jewish Lifelong Learning at CWRU. I’ll start here by sharing this new podcast the AJS is producing, “Adventures in Jewish Studies.” Have a listen (and let me know what you think!)

]]><![CDATA[a bumpy definition of academic freedom: conversation with jewish studies director at temple University, mark leuchter]]>Wed, 12 Dec 2018 22:39:04 GMThttp://www.kikayon.com/blog-jewish-present-tense/a-bumpy-definition-of-academic-of-academic-freedom-a-conversation-with-jewish-studies-director-at-temple-university-mark-leuchterOn the recent occasion of International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People, Professor of Media and Communication at Temple University, Lamont Hill, spoke at the United Nations. Hill’s 20-minute speech focused on the “plight of the Palestinian people,” as well as the “ethical, moral, and political implications of their struggle for freedom, justice and equality.”

His remarks, and his subsequent firing from CNN as a commentator, have generated much media attention. I’ve been interested in discussions about (1) the relationship between academia and political activism and (2) the relationship between critique of Israel and antisemitism. I’ve asked Mark Leuchter (pictured left), Director of Jewish Studies at Temple University, to weigh in.

AC: How do you see the relationship between scholarship and activism? What challenges are presented in navigating these two spheres, and what are the positive potentials?

ML: Scholars’ research should be rooted in critical methodology, fact-gathering and evidence irrespective of where that leads. It should not be guided by activism - because having a political or social agenda creates biases and can lead to flawed outcomes. That said - what we learn from scholarly investigations often sheds light on contemporary social, cultural, political and religious issues. So, a scholar’s area of research can presumably lead to him or her to take an activist stance.

AC: In Hill’s case - how might you characterize the relationship between his scholarship and his recent remarks?

ML: Scholars can sometimes make the horrible mistake of thinking that because they’re academically accomplished in Field X, they can express authoritative opinions on issues related to Field Y or Z - especially if they are passionate about those subject areas. But expertise in one area doesn’t equal authority to speak about another. That’s the case with Hill. I think he misjudged the range, depth and scope of what he knows about the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, Israel, Jewishness and Judaism. That said, I do not think that he is an antisemite.

AC: This issue - about whether his comments were antisemitic - has been at the heart of the storm in the Jewish media. Hill seemed to be calling for Palestinian use of armed force by saying, “We cannot endorse a narrow politics of respectability that shames Palestinians for resisting, for refusing to do nothing in the face of violence and ethnic cleansing.” How do you understand this statement?

ML: I think the question is whether Hill’s use of the term “resisting” insinuates “resistance to Israel’s very existence.” Is he adopting the argument forwarded by Hamas, Fatah and others, that Israel is an illegal entity that has wrongfully claimed Palestinian land, that all Israelis are complicit in this, and thus violence against all Israelis is warranted? I don’t believe so - based on his public statements and comments on social media over the past few years.

In fact, in a CNN debate with Alan Dershowitz, Hill made a similar statement about Palestinians’ right to defend themselves. But in that case, he explained further, saying that he was in no way arguing that Israel does not have a right to exist or defend itself against terrorist attacks -- only that Palestinian civilians have a right to defend their homes and families against Israeli threats, be they military or settler oriented. This statement, and other similar ones, demonstrate that Hill is not calling for terrorist violence against Israelis.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from studying ancient biblical texts -- intent and context matter in determining the range of a statement’s meaning.

AC: How about the call for a “free Palestine from the River to the Sea,” which Hill made at the very end of his recent UN speech?

ML: I listened to the speech, and I have read his public statement of apology. I have also participated in conversations he has had on social media where it became ABUNDANTLY clear to me that he is very, very ill-informed about the issues. This leads me to believe that he actually did NOT understand that the “river to sea” locution has genocidal overtones and is profoundly hurtful to Jews. I thoroughly disagree with his use of the slogan, which is charged with such loathsome and violent overtones. But, I also believe he didn’t realize exactly what it meant to so many of us who heard it.

AC: Can you give a counter-example, where an academic who criticized Israel did, in fact, cross the line into antisemitism?

ML: Yes. Recently Tim Anderson, a professor at the University of Sydney in Australia, who has a history of antisemitic conduct, showed an image of the Israeli flag with a swastika on it in class. When confronted, Anderson refused to apologize, and went on to spout even more hatred about Israel and Jews. Despite holding the Australian equivalent of tenure, he was fired from the University, and he deserved to be.

Hill has done pretty much the exact opposite of this Australian scholar: he has apologized, he has expressed a desire to learn and grow, he has stated he wants to reach out and listen to his Jewish brothers and sisters -- all things that a contrite and sincere person should say, and I believe he means it. When you compare Hill’s conduct with that of Tim Anderson, it is clear that one of them is a Jew hater and the other is not.

AC: I understand your distinction, but am still perplexed by the fact that Hill is a Professor of Media and Communications. How can it be that he did not know the implications of his statement?

ML: That question gets to an important point. The REAL issue we should be thinking about is this: How could it be that someone who is not an antisemite comes to use that phrase? How have the Jews’ true enemies been so successful in getting their language and ideas to be adopted and normalized by reasonable people? What are these groups doing to win the hearts and minds of broader audiences, that Israel and Israeli advocates are failing at? We should be thinking of Hill’s comment as a symptom of a big problem rather than as an isolated problem that we can fix with enough righteous anger.

AC: Practically speaking, how should Temple University respond (or not) to Hill’s statements? What do you think about the statement of Board Chair Patrick O’Connor, who characterized Hill’s remarks as “hate speech,” and went on to insinuate censure, even the possibility of firing?

ML: If you don’t like what Hill said, flexing your political muscle to get him fired doesn’t demonstrate that your position is credible. The only way you do that is by arguing the merits, critiquing the language, and making a moral case based on facts and evidence. And THAT’S a conversation that Hill should be part of.

Canning him would just bring an angry, non-intellectual, and legally-questionable sledgehammer down on the issue. And if you imagine that there would not be damaging fallout from that for Jews across this country (and certainly on my campus), then you’re living in Fantasy Land.

AC: So, how far do we extend the principles of academic free expression? Are there red lines that cannot be crossed?

ML: I guess we’ll find out, won’t we? In my opinion - based on my experience of being a university professor for 20 years - academic freedom is bumpy, ugly, frustrating, and anger-inducing very, very often. But it’s essential. If we say “screw it, Hill’s an antisemite, fire him!”, then we eradicate something very valuable, something that we have fought long and hard for in this country (and indeed in democratic societies the world over), and something that provides tremendous power for good.

]]><![CDATA[in manitowoc, WIsconsin jews gather to pray in Presbyterian church]]>Wed, 05 Dec 2018 19:55:05 GMThttp://www.kikayon.com/blog-jewish-present-tense/in-manitowoc-wisconsin-jews-gather-to-pray-in-presbyterian-church

This past Saturday morning, members of Anshe Poale Zedek (APZ) – the only Jewish congregation in Manitowoc, Wisconsin – gathered together in their new sanctuary. The hired hazan, who travels to town every other week to lead the services, sang familiar prayers in Hebrew. Sitting on a warm wooden pew, facing the ark that holds three Torah scrolls, I almost forgot where I was....

I could have been in any little American shul. The aesthetic of the memorial plaques at the back of the room, and the fringed- velvet covers on the reading tables were all familiar. Yet, these Shabbat services were actually taking place inside the sanctuary of a Presbyterian church. The tiny APZ congregation, which numbers somewhere between nine and twelve members (depending on how you count), has been meeting in this space since they sold their building just a few weeks ago.

The congregation, founded by thirty individuals in 1900, grew over the years, reaching its peak in the 1970s with 65 families. Looking back on that vibrant period, a member writing for the Times Herald Reporter recalled “A large number of children attended Hebrew as well as Sunday school classes. There were many Bar Mitzvahs and a number of Bas Mitzvahs.” But most of these children did not stay in Manitowoc.

As early as 1981, member Dora Graff wrote (in Manitowoc County Historical Society’s newsletter) “the local Jewish population has not increased in size in recent years. As the third generation of young people leave for schools of higher learning, few decide to return to make Manitowoc their permanent address”

The story of APZ’s aging and declining numbers is much larger than a Jewish story. Manitowoc saw a steady population increase until 1970. At that point, the numbers plateaued at about 33,000 and began aging. The school district, which has been steadily losing about thirty students a year, recently decided to reorganize and vacate one of its facilities.

About six years ago, when APZ member Howard Zimmerman began pushing the synagogue board to put their building up for sale, he was met with resistance. “This is our heritage!” he recalled the response of a fellow-member who believed that selling the building would betray the early synagogue founders.

Howard himself was born and grew up in Manitowoc, and has long-time ties to APZ. He remembers the little brick building on the south side of town, which had been the congregational home from 1925 (when it was constructed for $16,000) until 1953. Then, responding to community growth in numbers and affluence, the group sold their brick building to a church, and purchased another building on the north side of town. This one too, happened to have been a church, which belonged to the local Norwegian Lutheran congregation. APZ refurbished it for a total of $100,000, adding a mikvah, expanding the kitchen so it could be used for both meat and dairy, and installing stained glass window panels with images of the Jewish holiday cycle.

Despite long-standing ties to this building, Howard – who has a business
background – understood the pragmatic implications of holding onto it. He did the math and realized that if the little group did not sell, they would not be able to afford the costs of maintaining and heating the building for much longer.

After four years on the market, and a few deals gone awry, APZ found a buyer. The people who purchased the building for about $90,000 will likely be converting the space into a family home. In the meantime, Pastor Matt Sauer, who ministers to the nearby First Presbyterian Church offered to rent out space to the congregation. Howard was quickly drawn to this neat solution. “I felt like we should go out like we came in,” he explained.

Buying and selling from local churches is an integral part of APZ’s
history. And now in their rented space, they seem quite at home. Pastor Sauer has worked closely with the group to help them settle in. In addition to bringing some of their furniture and fixtures with them, APZ members have used wood paneling to cover up a picture of Jesus, and they have affixed their ner tamid (eternal light) to the ceiling. Perhaps most telling, is that when speaking to the group, Sauer refers to the space they are renting as their “synagogue” (rather than calling it a chapel or a sanctuary inside the church).
Sauer understands well that challenges facing religious institutional life today, “transcend any single faith tradition.” This past Sunday, Manitowoc’s United Church of Christ congregations voted to merge. The two groups (that belong to Manitowoc Cooperative Ministry, which Sauer serves) will be downsizing into one building and will have their own challenges as they move towards actualizing their new arrangement. In this sense, Manitowoc’s long-standing religious communities – Jewish and Christian alike – share a common story.

]]><![CDATA[potato latkes and a goat: A hanukah story]]>Fri, 30 Nov 2018 15:44:46 GMThttp://www.kikayon.com/blog-jewish-present-tense/potato-latkes-and-a-goat-a-hanukah-story

Long ago, in a far-away village lived a simple family with few resources. Shortly before Hanukkah, the mother and father realized they had no money to purchase potatoes or oil for the holiday. This is how Isaac Bashevis Singer’s “Zlateh the Goat” begins.

It’s one of my favorite children’s stories. . . .

I often reread it around this time of year, as the holiday season approaches. It’s a great reminder of how Jews celebrated Hanukkah before they came to America, and their holiday observance began competing with Christmas consumerism.
These days, as Hanukkah draws near, I find it nearly impossible to escape all the marketing messages – on the radio, in the malls, on the web, and even in the grocery stores – beckoning me to buy. My kids’ consumerist habits only make it worse. Sometimes I catch them combing through the shiny catalogs we’ve gotten in the mail, circling what they like, generating wish-lists, and hanging them up on the fridge. I have the urge to buy for them, to make them happy, and give them a feeling that they lack for nothing.
The family in I.B. Singer’s story gives me a healthy perspective. Here’s what happens to them: When they realize they can’t afford to purchase the things they need to celebrate Hanukkah, the father tells his son to take Zlateh – their beloved goat – to the butcher, who had offered to buy her for eight gulden. Reluctantly, Aaron puts Zlateh on a leash, and leaves the house. His sisters remain behind weeping, as they watch the pair head to town.
As it happens, Aaron encounters terrible trouble on the way, and through a serendipitous turn of events, Zlateh the goat saves him. When the two return home safe, the family decides that – despite their needs – they simply cannot sell her. In the meantime, another miracle occurs. The family fortune takes a turn, and they suddenly have enough to purchase everything they need for the holiday. They make potato latkes, they light the menorah, and play dreidel by the candles’ dancing flames – all with their goat Zlateh beside them.
This Hanukkah, as always, I know my children will be waiting to open their shiny wrapped presents. And I will oblige. At least on most nights. But I’ll also set aside a few nights without presents and hope a Hanukkah miracle visits my family, just like the one in I.B. Singer’s story. I’ll read “Zlateh the Goat” to them, we’ll light the candles, play a few rounds of dreidel, eat potato pancakes. And we’ll realize – in spite of all the consumerist calls outside – that inside the warmth of our cozy home, we already have everything that we need.
You can read “Zlateh the Goat” here.

]]><![CDATA[an unusual burial and unveiling for a synagogue congregation]]>Wed, 14 Nov 2018 20:37:43 GMThttp://www.kikayon.com/blog-jewish-present-tense/an-unusual-burial-and-unveiling-for-a-synagogue-congregation

Much like living organisms, synagogue congregations are born, flourish, decline, and die. But it’s not often that they
self-consciously acknowledge when they are at the end of that life cycle. The 125-year-old Jewish community in New Castle, Pennsylvania has.

Almost one year ago, members of Temple Hadar Israel closed the doors of their building, disbanded, and held a burial service for the sacred objects that they were not able to pass on to others.
(I published a story about that event here).

This past Sunday, I attended the unveiling, where a modest salisbury pink granite gravestone was revealed. Each of those gathered for the short service placed a stone upon the etched words, which read, “Final burial of books and artifacts of Temple Hadar Israel.”

During the years and months that the congregation carefully and deliberately prepared for their synagogue’s closing, they worked hard to find new homes for their ceremonial possessions. Their ten Torah scrolls were donated to congregations across the world.   Many of the yahrtzeit plaques were given to family members of the deceased.  And the magnificent Lions of Judah sculpture that once stood above their Holy Ark was given to Congregation B’nai Abraham in Butler, Pennsylvania, which raised funds to refurbish the historic piece, and mount it in their sanctuary.  Today, the lions watch over B’nai Abraham congregants, reminding them that they are now part of New Castle’s Jewish legacy.

Despite efforts to find new owners for all their community items, the closing down of many small congregations across the rust belt, combined with a general glut of material culture, has meant that new homes could not be found for everything.  Some books, prayer shawls, dedicatory plaques, and yahrtzeit plaques were simply orphaned.  Rather than throwing these out, the congregation took solace from the Jewish tradition of burial, as a respectful way to dispose of honored, sacred items.

While burial of holy books is a prevalent Jewish practice, installing a gravestone to mark the spot, and holding an unveiling for it is not.   Rabbi Howard Stein who conducted the service in New Castle, and Sam Berstine, who served as the congregation’s last president and who organized the service, both told me that they had never heard of any synagogue holding such an event.  But it offered the group a sense of closure. “We hold unveilings for our parents who are buried here in this cemetery, we thought we should do it for our congregation as well.  We did it out of respect," Bernstine explained.

The event was also a way to gather together the city’s few Jews – many of whom have joined other congregations in Youngstown and Pittsburgh – who no longer have a regular opportunity to meet.  With quivering lips, and a tissue to catch her tears, Sybil Epstein, one of the elders who grew up in New Castle, explained, “When we are gone, and people come here to the cemetery to visit their ancestors, they will see this marker here. And they will know that we were a group that really cared, and mattered.”

]]><![CDATA[We have to make pragmatic decisions in the wake of pittsburgh]]>Wed, 07 Nov 2018 18:01:29 GMThttp://www.kikayon.com/blog-jewish-present-tense/we-have-to-make-pragmatic-decisions-in-the-wake-of-pittsburgh

This past week, America’s Jews mourned together in the wake of the attack on Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh. Yet despite unifying rallies meant to bring comfort, I feel deep unease. . . .

Within hours of the attack, my friends (and friends-of-friends) took to blogging, emailing, Facebook posting and article-writing, in an effort to make sense of the murders and explain the implications. But here’s the thing. All the stories I’ve been reading hardly line up. The very same event has been understood in vastly divergent ways.

Some construe it as a random act of terror. While others view it as a single point in the Jews’ very long history of persecution.
For some, it signals the need for stricter gun control laws. While others call for Jewish self-defense and the freedom to carry arms, even in houses of worship.
For some, the event highlights the consequences of rhetoric emboldening white nationalists and the alt-right. For others, it highlights the dangers Jews face when they align themselves with the far-left.
For some, the event serves as a warning that another Holocaust is possible - even here in this country. While others explicate the differences that distinguish America from pre-World War II Europe.

It is not the widening chasm between these divergent stories that worries me so much. Instead, it’s the fact that it has become so difficult to engage with those whose narratives don’t align with our own. In the recent past, our political differences have become so charged, that it is now much easier to invoke unifying slogans like, “Together We Are Stronger Than Hate,” than to risk losing a friend, or alienating a family member.

This time, though, we don’t have a choice. We need to talk and listen, because the way we are making sense of Pittsburgh is going to inform very real, pragmatic decisions about how to move forward. Particularly for those who belong to synagogues, who will have to decide:

Are we going to keep our synagogue doors open during services, or use keypad combination locks to keep out strangers? Are we going to raise money to hire more security personnel, or devote our energies and funds to beefing up our own ability to defend ourselves? And what are we going to teach our children? Will we explain that we Jews are - and have always been – targets, or will we shelter them from the discussion, to avoid fear about the consequence of difference.

Let’s address these questions together. The conversations are necessarily difficult. But they are urgent. We have a lot at stake.

Join us this Sunday evening, November 11, for Tribe Talk: New Jewish Conversations, where CWRU-Siegal provides an open space for community members to engage one another and share diverse perspectives. With featured guest, Jeremy Pappas, Regional Director of ADL and moderators Brian Amkraut and Alanna Cooper.

The event is free. Please register to help us appropriately prepare for the event. For details call 216-368-2091, or visit our website here.

]]><![CDATA[PARENTING MY TEEN IN THE MIDST OF OHIO'S DRUG-ADDICTION CRISIS]]>Wed, 31 Oct 2018 15:40:50 GMThttp://www.kikayon.com/blog-jewish-present-tense/parenting-my-teen-in-the-midst-of-ohios-drug-addiction-crisis

I’ve been working with my colleague Sheryl Hirsh since shortly after her daughter Melissa died of an accidental drug overdose in 2013. Through many conversations, Sheryl has given me a rich picture of Melissa, and the events leading to her death. But this past week, she shared a new surprising detail with me. . . .

She told me about one of the legal agents assigned to Melissa’s case, who was unable to wrap his mind around the challenges of parenting a child who is suffering from addiction. Because Melissa lived with her mother – this particular judge reasoned – it was impossible that Sheryl did not know about her daughter’s addiction.

As a parent of a teen, this detail struck me particularly hard. New technologies have given me the ability to monitor so many aspects of my own daughter’s life: her screen-time, her snap-chats, her physical whereabouts, and her grades on every single school assignment. Still, I cannot – and should not – know everything going on in my daughter’s life.

First, because I must give my teenager freedom to explore the world and navigate it on her own. Second – and perhaps most relevant to the judge’s comments – we parents simply cannot hear and see everything our children are doing and with whom.

It seems trite to say that “it takes a village.” But this pithy statement is relevant now more than ever. Despite social media and all sorts of new surveillance technology, we parents need our children’s teachers, counselors, spiritual leaders, youth mentors, and even their friends to help us with the task of raising them.

We need these various people in our communities to interact with our teens, to look them in the eye, to have a sense of how they appear when they are happy and healthy, and how they look when they are distant and preoccupied. We need you to speak with each other, and with us when you see signs of trouble.

I thought deeply about the importance of this support while attending a workshop last week, which was called, “It Happens Here: Addiction and Mental Health Issues in the Jewish Community.” Sheryl organized the event at CWRU-Siegal as part of the important work she has done over the past few years to address the opioid epidemic here in northeast Ohio.

Thirty Jewish community leaders attended the event. They came from across a broad religious spectrum, and from various local Jewish community organizations. Under the guidance of visiting workshop facilitators (Jory Hanselman of BaMidbar Wilderness Therapy and Marla Kaufman of Jewish Addiction Awareness Network) the group discussed how to reduce the stigma against mental illness and drug addiction in Jewish institutions, and how to create religious, spiritual and communal spaces for addressing the issue.

Sheryl told the group that when she lost her daughter, she did not think of seeking support in her synagogue. “If however, it was discussed more openly in the prayers, or in sermons,” Sheryl explained, “it may have seemed more familiar and less like something I should be ashamed of.”

Slowly, this is changing, and I am personally grateful for that. I need to know that when my daughter is out there in the world and not under my watch, there are other caring eyes looking out for her too. And that if my husband and I fall short, a friend, teacher or community leader might just help to catch her.

To learn more, attend “Addiction and Suicide: Correlations and How a Community Responds." FREE.
Thursday, December 6 at 7pm. Further details here.

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