My congregation is a congregation that has as part of its Vision Statement a pillar that proclaims, “Embracing Diversity.” It is the hardest pillar to describe and to meet its invitation. I believe when it was conceived it was about welcoming interfaith families. But it actually is about much more than that and I have challenged the community to live up to it—or to live into it.
Diversity also means that we welcome people with physical and mental disabilities. We have recently completed the remodel of one of our bathrooms so that it is accessible. We partner with Keshet so that our teachers can better handle a ranges of special education needs. We welcome members of the LGBT community. We welcome members who were not born in this country and in fact have individuals who were born in 17 foreign countries!
Diversity also means we welcome a wide spectrum of Jewish thought and practice. As our president is fond of saying “We are all just Jews.” Sometimes navigating that range of practice is challenging. We have some members who always stand for Kaddish and some who rarely if ever do. We have some members who love instrumental music on Shabbat and some who feel its not Jewish. We have some members who like to wear a kippah and some who never have had that practice. And with lots of discussion and lots of reminders from me—it is all within normative Judaism. It is like the old joke, “Two Jews, Three Opinions.”
This week I participated in a funeral for the mother of a member. The funeral was held in Skokie at a Jewish funeral home and the service was Orthodox. I spoke both at the service and at the graveside. The rabbi officiating called me rabbi. The rabbi had been the family’s rabbi for many years and knew Sharon long before she got sick so it was most appropriate for this rabbi to take the lead. In actuality there were at least four rabbis present representing a diversity of Jewish expression.
The family elected to do seven days of shiva—the most traditional option. And the minyanim would also be Orthodox. That meant that there would be a mechitza, the dividing line between a men’s section and a women’s section. In order to say Kaddish we would need 10 Jewish men over the age of 13. This took some people out of their comfort zone. Why are we doing it this way instead of the way most of our members are used to? Why is the daughter not saying Kaddish?
Shiva allows a family to grieve. To tell the stories of their loved ones. To have their needs taken care of. To not have to think about what the next meal is. To pray–in a community–and to recite Kaddish for their loved one. To experience the deep pain of mourning. Unfortunately it can also be exhausting and stressful. That’s where community steps in.
Our congregation would be handling the logistics. Now our congregation is really good at at shivas. We know how to bring baked goods and deli platters. We have several people who can lead a shiva minyan. We know how to show up.
And that’s what we did. Each night. Some nights were harder than others. One night the recent Bar Mitzvah boy had to call his friend, another recent Bar Mitzvah boy to make the minyan. And he goes to another congregation entirely! In the process, we comforted the mourners, because that is what it is about—comforting the mourners–even if sometimes some were not comfortable. And in the process, we built even deeper connections in our own community.
We are a small congregation, about 120 families. Counting on people to show up four nights in a row when it is the end of summer, the first few nights of school, lots of people had prior commitments, or are out of town, is tough. But that’s what people do. That’s about community. That’s part of what community is for—to share good times, like a Bar Mitzvah, and hard times, like a funeral and the subsequent shiva.