The past four years I have davened Rosh HaShanah at Congregation Emanu-El, one of the Reform congregations in San Francisco and what seems to be at times the unofficial synagogue of our school. The High Holidays at Emanu-El involve lipstick from MAC and suits from Ann Taylor, bag searches and metal detectors, and most of all being aware of the current and former parents sitting all around you and having to be on your best behavior as a result even when what you really want to do is hold hands with the person next to you and space out because the service is starting to drag on. Everything from people's clothes and jewelry to the rabbi's British sports car is quite fancy and I always felt like I was working even though I was not at school.
This year was so very much not like that and I did not realize until I was surrounded by people dancing barefooted circles in the aisles and waiting in line to meditate in the Torah Tent constructed on the bimah what a relief I felt at the difference. Chochmat is a colorful mix of everything from aging hippies who followed the Grateful Dead in their van to religious women in wigs and pancake foundation to gay lesbian bisexual transgender mixed-race interfaith couples who bring free-range organic snacks for their foreign-born, stateside-adopted children to eat when services get long. The community is both very inclusive and very respectful, something I noticed immediately upon entering the First Presbyterian Church where we were welcoming in the new year that night and the next morning. Signage everywhere informed me of pews reserved for families with young children, seats designated as scent-free for people with chemical sensitivies, areas of the sanctuary where noise from the lobby can be heard and might potentially be distracting, and the location of the meditation room if needed or desired during the course of the evening.
More than anything I enjoyed being anonymous, not being Ms. Kotleba for once but instead being Sarah, being just another person in flowy white Israeli-style new year's clothing chanting the Shema as the sun went down. As Erev Rosh HaShanah drew to a close and we made our way home for the night to put on our pajamas and watch Season One of Entourage, I looked out the window of the Volvo at the moon-free star-strewn East Bay sky and wondered about this brand new year 5768. In my mind I began to create my own version of the U'Netaneh Tokef, the prayer recited on Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur in wonder of what may take place in the coming year that unfolds after the observance of these ten Days of Awe. The traditional text asks us to consider these things:
On Rosh HaShanah shall be written...but as we drove north on MLK and the breeze blowing through the windows mixed with Mark and Rebecca's murmurs from the front seat, I sat back in silence and asked the new moon and the new year my own questions.
and on Yom Kippur shall be sealed
how many will pass from the world
and how many will be created,
who will live and who will die.
Who by water, who by fire,
who by sword, who by beast,
who by famine, and who by thirst.
Who will rest
and who will wander,
who will become poor
and who will become rich,
who will be lowered down
and who will be lifted up.
Where will I go and what will I see?Rebecca taught me once that to her, every new year is meant to become either one of questions or one of answers. This year seems like it will be both for me.
When will I depart and when will I return?
Who will I lose touch with and who will I meet?
What will I teach and what will I learn?
How will I love and how will I be loved?
Why am I traveling this year?
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