Today is the 49th day of the Counting of the Omer. It is also the day that we begin the reading of Bamidbar…In the wilderness. Or in English—Numbers. This is the Book of Numbers. It begins with taking a census. G-d tells Moses to count every male 20 years and up. Everyone who is eligible to bear arms.  

It is a measure of the strength of the community. Later in the portion they count the Levites, everyone over a month in age. Every male counts. 

Even today, we Jews count. Not one, not two, not three…up to at least 10. Here at CKI we have been very fortunate. When I first arrived 10 years ago, it was often touch and go—would we get to 10, would we have enough for a minyan? A minyan is a measure of the strength of a community. If there is a minyan, then the community can do parts of the service that are for public worship only. Kaddish, Barchu, the public proclamation of the Amidah and reading the Torah itself.  It leads to a full, complete service, marked by doing Kaddish Shalem, the full Kaddish that puts a punctuation mark on the service. 

As I said, we have been very fortunate here at CKI. We have not missed having a minyan since well before the pandemic. And I am grateful. 52 weeks a year. At least 2 services a week. Not bad for a small congregation. Other, much larger congregations are struggling to achieve a minyan week in and week out. 

Traditionally, communities would count only men over 13, past their Bar Mitzvah, the age of responsibility. This was due to the idea that women, children and slaves were exempt from time bound mitzvot. Exempt—free from the obligation—but that didn’t mean they couldn’t do them. If they chose to take on the mitzvah that was OK, but it didn’t count in the same way. We see examples of that like Michal and later Rashi’s daughter’s who took on putting on tefilin. And their actions, I believe, counted. 

At CKI we’ve been counting women in the minyan since the 1950s. Men and women have been sitting together. Women have had aliyot, since the 60s. Blossom, who just turned 101 this week, had the first one. This has strengthened the CKI community. 

And still, I can remember waiting at a shiva minyan for someone to go get the neighbor boy.  As we were waiting, the father who isn’t Jewish was trying to understand. He didn’t count. Correct. His wife, who was the primary mourner, didn’t count. Correct. I didn’t count as a rabbi, because I was a woman. Correct. But this kid. He counted. True. 

I have women here at CKI who didn’t know that women could pray. They can. In fact, they are obligated to, whatever that means. Just not necessarily to Sh’ma, because that is considered time-bound. 

Once, when leading services as a rabbinic intern at an assisted living facility, a woman came up to me after I made Friday night kiddush and said, “That was very lovely, rabbi, but can Bob now do it, so it counts?” In her mind it didn’t count unless a male did it. Since I was a woman, and hence exempt, my making kiddush did not fulfill her obligation—or maybe the whole kahals, the whole group’s obligation to make Shabbes by making kiddush. It was an uncomfortable moment.  

Currently, in most Jewish seminaries preparing people to be rabbis and cantors, the classes are 50% men to 50% women. I am proud to be the third woman rabbi here at CKI. Most of you probably never think twice about this reality. But it wasn’t always so. 

There are several who claim the title of first woman rabbi. Rabbi Sally Priesand, first woman ordained by the Reform Movement was ordained June 3rd, 1972, 50 years ago yesterday. Rabbi Regina Jonas, a rabbi ordained in 1935 Germany (and my study partner’s mother’s Hebrew teacher in Germany) who then was murdered in Auschwitz. Her young student reportedly told her mother that she liked studying with her teacher Regina, but “she’s crazy. She thinks she is going to be a rabbi.” Some people describe Bruiah in the Talmud, wife of Rabbi Meir as a rabbi. Recently there was a new book that came out, Osnat and the Dove, who sounds a little like Yentl or Rashi’s Daughter’s, except this isn’t fiction, it is real. The artwork is stunning in this short children’s book making me hunger for more! Osnat most certainly was a teacher. But here is the tale of a woman born in 1590 in Mosul, Iraq. Her father, the rabbi, taught her. Her husband became the head of the yeshiva and she taught their boys. Then when he died, she became the head of the yeshiva! She was the rabbi! 

This weekend, yesterday, June 3, 1972, as I mentioned, Sally Priesand was ordained as the first woman rabbi in the United States. It was groundbreaking. Rabbi Bob Alper describes the moment this way:
“Sally was among the last of our 30 or so classmates to be ordained (alphabetical order) that day. We all sat quietly, watching each one of us ascend the bema. But when Sally was called, we all stood. What a magnificent moment that was.”  

There was much debate about whether women could be rabbis. The arguments that I outlined above were definitely debated. My rabbi, Rabbi Neil Kominsky chaired a taskforce on women in the rabbinate during some of this volatile period for the Central Conference of American Rabbis. Yet, after she was ordained she was the last member of her class of 36 to be hired as a rabbi.  

Nonetheless her rabbinate has counted in so very many profound ways. Now we have women rabbis in all the major movements. Rabbi Sandy Sasso in Reconstructing Judaism, Rabbi Amy Eilberg for Conservative Judaism, Rabbah Sara Hurwitz in modern Orthodoxy. Yes, there are now some Orthodox women rabbis. I am grateful for each of them. 

However, there are still those who question a woman’s right to lead. There are still pay discrepancies. And perhaps the most haunting of all, there is still sexual harassment.  

For me, Rabbi Priesand’s ordination was life changing. In 8th grade I told my English teacher that I was going to be a rabbi. It was after my Bat Mitzvah and just two years after Rabbi Priesand was ordained. No one in Grand Rapids thought it was possible. I don’t even remember the conversation. I moved on to other career ideas. In college, my freshman year as part of Jewish Women’s Week at Hillel, I read Torah—but not as a full Torah service. It was done not with the aliyah blessing but with the blessing for Torah study. 

Later that year I went back to my dream of becoming a rabbi. It seemed the best way to make my life count. It still didn’t seem possible. Then Hebrew Union College didn’t accept me. Neither did Leo Baeck in London or Reconstructionist Rabbinical College. I didn’t think Jewish Theological Seminary was right for me. I wasn’t ready for tefilin, which was a requirement, now that they were prepared to ordain women. I became a Jewish educator. A Girl Scout leader. A marketing and strategy consultant for technology companies. I did a lot of volunteer social justice work. A minyan leader. It didn’t seem like I was making enough of a difference in the world. After urging by a dear friend, an Episcopal priest, I found a program that worked for second career people who needed a part time option. I am grateful to Rabbis Neil Kominsky and Albert Lewis, Dr. Rev. David Ferner and so, so many at the Academy for Jewish Religion.  

Later tonight we will begin to explore another verse, “Teach us to number our days that we may attain a heart of wisdom.” That will be the study topic for the year. It is another way to ask Mary Oliver’s question, “Tell me, what do you plan to do with this one wild and precious life.” Come explore it with me as we begin to celebrate Shavuot with havdalah, study, Yizkor and cheesecake. It is said that each person has their own Torah—their own story to unfold, unfurl. Come find your own unique purpose, your own unique revelation.  

Our job, the way to make our lives meaningful, is to make everyday count.

Update: After two Shavuot services, a hike to “Mount Sinai” and the reading of the 10 Commandments outside, it has been a very powerful weekend. I am tired but revellilng in Torah, in nature, in life itself. No longer wandering in the wilderness, I know this: My life counts. Thank you, all.