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SINCE MOVING FROM MUNCIE, INDIANA TO BROOKLYN, NEW YORK, this summer, I have
had ample time to reflect on my previous environs. I had worked hard there
--- creating a Hillel, developing Judaic Studies classes and working to bring
tradition to a community that, largely, had lost touch with Jewish tradition.
Regrettably, after I left, much was not continued. So whom did I affect after
all? Should I have bothered?
I thought about all this as I began to prepare for my first Passover in New
York. One evening, my husband told me, "Check your e-mail. You have an
interesting letter from a former student. Do you remember 'Allison'?" I did
remember her from when she had been in Hillel at Ball State University. She
attended a few Friday night services when I offered to bring her, and she,
like so many other Jewish students, came to my house for our Hillel Passover
Seder --- but she had never really been that active. I did not think that Allison
cared that much one way or another, about Hillel or Judaism.
I should have known that we could never make assumptions about others in this
way. Her letter reminded me of this.
"I don't know if you remember me. I attended Ball State from 1990-1994. You
and your husband helped me get through my college years. I knew you both were
there for me and always helped me get to services when I wanted. I am from
Detroit and always had many Jewish friends. I never felt out of place there
because of my religion.
While my struggles becoming a religious Jew in Indiana contributed to my own
growth as a person, I have wondered if all the turmoil were necessary. The
lay services I organized for so long, the students I encouraged to learn about
Judaism and the issues I fought for, in and out of the Jewish community-now
that I am gone, had there been any lasting effect besides character building?
I am reminded of a wonderful Chassidic teaching that I have mentioned before
in my column: That we are created for our
effects on individuals during certain moments. However, we do not know in
advance when those moments are. We must wait until the time passes, and even
then, we often do not learn about the effect we had on others.
When I receive letters like the one from Allison, they remind of this wise
lesson. Five years have passed since this student graduated-even more since I
have seen her. Frankly, I hadn't thought about her in years, and I assumed
that most of the Hillel students don't think about me either. That's just the
way it is.
I spoke my mother about the letter from Allison. She told me how many Jewish
congregation leaders are now doing what I had done in Muncie during the last
15 years. Most liberal congregations have added Hebrew to services. Their
rabbis often wear kippas, encourage congregants to keep kosher, observe
Shabbos and learn more about Judaism and Torah. They try to reach out to the
unaffiliated by inviting them to Shabbos services or dinners. A board member
of a Zionist organization my mother belongs to refused to fly on Shabbos
because as the leader of a Jewish organization she didn't think it looked
right. All the things I had been saying.
"So what went wrong for me in Indiana?" I asked her.
"You were just 15 years too early," was my mother’s reply.
I began to realize why it had taken Allison five years to write to me. Like
many other Jews today, she is beginning to remember traditions that should
never have been discarded. I hope she is incorporating them into her life as
I did, over a decade ago.
I may have been 15 years early for the Muncie community but for me, the timing
was just right. Those years in Muncie, Indiana, honed the process of my
return to Jewish tradition. There were many difficulties being religious in a
town that had lost touch with the mainstream of traditional Judaism. In
looking back, I understand now that there were also many joys.
Like anyone who challenges the old, I was confronted in Muncie with those who
were resistant to the changes that today seem commonplace in even the most
liberal congregations. Those who argued against wearing prayer shawls or yarmulkes in
synagogue, against Hebrew in the services, against eliminating non-kosher food
at congregational events, against having only Jews on the Board of Directors-
it seems another world. In fact, it is another world-the new world of most
Jews now includes recognition that the traditions of Judaism bind us not only
to our faith, but also to each other. Rav Kook, the beloved first Ashkenasic
Chief Rabbi of Israel once wrote, "The old becomes new and the new becomes
holy."
One recent Sabbath at synagogue, a woman behind me peered at the Siddur (prayerbook) that I was
reading. She wanted to see where we were. I held it up to her. "We can
share," I told her. She shook her head. "No English. No Hebrew. Russian."
I could tell that she felt awkward. "I am immigrant, " she told me. I nodded
in sympathy. I wasn't able to convey to her that I understood that it was not
easy to be in a new country, with a new language and new customs.
I had also
emigrated, not only from Muncie to Brooklyn, but in a journey of more than 15
years, from assimilation to
Jewish World Review March 22, 1999 / 6 Nissan, 5759
Back to the
Jewish Future
By Susan R. Weintrob
"My parents were nervous with me going to Ball State for that reason. Being
Jewish in Indiana was terrifying for me. I had many problems with prejudice.
You and your family offered support to me and all of the other Jewish
students. We always knew you were there to help if we needed it. When I look
back on college, it was a good experience, but the prejudice I found was
horrible. I only got through because of people like you and your husband who
took care of me. I will always remember what your family did for me and other
Jewish students. Thank you for caring."
JWR contributor Susan R. Weintrob is the Principal of the Yeshiva of Manhattan Beach in
Brooklyn, NY.
12/28/98: Brooklyn Cousins
12/04/98: A birthday in Brooklyn