Today’s post is from Education Fellow Elaine Barenblat.
As a young girl, I was very involved in my home congregation, as many children with active parents tend to be. I embraced the role of active young member; it never crossed my mind that I had a choice to not be as active as I was. Everyone in my congregation knew me as someone who, at a very young age, was unafraid to lead her congregation in prayer, was a devoted member of the youth choral, and was also known to be a staunch supporter of the annual rabbi versus cantor capture-the-flag game. Since I was surrounded with Judaism in most aspects of my life, I always felt like ours was a robust community; I knew my congregation was amazing!
Now, as an adult, I have a little more perspective, and have learned that all things are relative. My home congregation is in San Antonio, Texas; compared to many other southern Jewish communities, ours is sizable. We have a full-time rabbi and cantor, a beautiful building, and my graduating Hebrew School class had about 15 students.
It is an amazing congregation, but it’s not as big as I thought it was when I was little.
On one of my first fledgling journeys outside of San Antonio, I found myself in Boston, Massachusetts. It was there that I began to suspect that my circumstances were not at all as enormous as I thought they were. I realized that what made my congregation seem so big and vibrant was not the actual size of the building or the number of people on our roster, but the connections I made.
I have since moved back to the South, and have had the wonderful opportunity to work with various communities across a 13-state region, where my new theory about congregational life has been reinforced time and time again: it’s not about the size of a congregation, it’s about the connections we find there.
The students with whom I work seem to feel the same connection to their communities that I felt to mine, particularly if, like me, they are active members at a young age. Children do not often think to compare their situation to others unless the connection is made for them by those who have had outside experiences. My takeaway is that while each community is bound to have its struggles, it is also uniquely attuned to helping their children make important lifelong connections.
In other words, no matter how large or small a congregation, the sense of community and the belief that “my congregation is amazing!” is something we can help instill and nurture in every child – and, yes, in every adult.
What makes your congregation amazing? Tell us in the comments below!
Recently, I have started my research into the Jewish communities of Kentucky for our Encyclopedia of Southern Jewish Communities. A few weeks ago I was all over western Kentucky. In Owensboro, I found one of the oldest synagogues in the United States. Adath Israel, dedicated in 1877, is the 12th oldest synagogue in the country still in use today. In the South, only Kahal Kadosh Beth Elohim in Charleston, South Carolina (built in 1840), and Temple of Israel in Wilmington, North Carolina (built in 1876) are older.
I visited with two members of the congregation, Stuart Spindel and Sandy Bugay, who gave me a tour of the small, but lovely building. When the synagogue was dedicated in 1877, the local newspaper ran a large account of the ceremony, calling the building “an enduring monument to the Enterprise and Liberality of Our Israelitish Citizens.” Though a social hall was added on much later, the Moorish Revival building is still remarkably intact.
The congregation has always been tiny. One of the reasons Adath Israel is still in the synagogue is because they never outgrew it. Owensboro never had more than one hundred Jews during the 20th century. In recent years, the congregation has dwindled, but the remaining members are dedicated to maintaining it for as long as they can.
You can read much more about the history of Adath Israel and Owensboro Jewish community when the Kentucky section of the Encyclopedia is completed (early next year), but in the meantime I just wanted to share some of my photographs of this remarkable jewel of a synagogue:
We hear a lot about “interfaith” and “outreach” programming. In fact, I spend a lot of my time promoting it. But why does it matter? If it might lead to some difficult conversations and such – why bother?
Well, my experiences not only as a director of programming, but also as a proud New Orleans native, have shaped my understanding of the value and vital need for these sorts of efforts.
“….Temple Sinai is a house of prayer for all people and all who enter our doors in the spirit of brotherhood and sisterhood are always welcome and that includes the members of Greater St. Stephens Ministries.”
These words were spoken by Rabbi Edward Cohn. Since becoming the Rabbi of Temple Sinai in New Orleans 25 years ago, Rabbi Cohn has made interfaith and outreach programming a priority for the congregation. His efforts have led to a strong New Orleans Interfaith clergy group which meets on a regular basis to discuss theological, ethical and political issues as well as forming strong bonds of friendship which have served all of these congregations well. Often times, our opinions or convictions may conflict, but there is always respect and love. In times of celebration and in times of tragedy, these congregations have stood with each other side by side.
In fact, when the Greater St. Stephens Baptist Church burned down, Rabbi Cohn reached out to Bishop Paul Morton and Senior Pastor Debra Morton and offered the Temple Sinai sanctuary as a … sanctuary!
I attended several of the services to see what it was like while the St. Stephens congregation was worshiping in my synagogue. Sitting in the back of that 1,100 seat-sanctuary (completely filled twice each Sunday while they were there), I was blown away by the full Gospel choir and the spirit. Whatever your faith, God was in that place, and I knew it.
That’s why interfaith and outreach programming matters. Because in times of triumph, and in times of trial, it enables us to be better neighbors and experience modern miracles … like when the trial becomes the triumph, and two communities can share one sacred space.
What has been your very best interfaith experience?