I have a morning routine. I stroll past Banana Republic and engage in a solid seven seconds of window-shopping. When I walk into our office building, I say “shalom” and “boker tov” to our Israeli security guard, Itzik, and make my way to the fifth floor. After passing the words “tzedek, tzedek tirdof” – “justice, justice you shall pursue” – written on the wall, I walk to my desk and sit down. I open my email and prepare myself for the day ahead: a day during which I’ll plan countless educational programs, study traditional and modern Jewish texts to help develop curricula with our scholar-in-residence, and perpetually consider and reconsider my future graduate plans and whether they should or should not include law school. And I will make many, many cups of coffee. Free coffee.
On October 1st, the Pew Research Center, an American think tank based in Washington D.C., released a study entitled, “A Portrait of Jewish Americans.” The study uncovers many trends about the American Jewish community – synagogue affiliation, the critical importance of a Jewish sense of humor, and Jewish pride – and finds that 22% of Jews are what Pew calls “Jews of no religion.” That is to say, Jews who consider themselves Jewish by ethnicity or culture, but identify as agnostic, atheist, or simply not Jewish. On 59th and Lexington, at the offices of UJA-Federation of New York, my coworkers and I were abuzz with the news of this study. We clicked back and forth between our emails and the study’s data, putting our ears to this new information in order to hear the pulse of Jewish America. Every one of these professionals, from the planners to the fundraisers to the executives, is deeply concerned with the state of the entire Jewish people – in America and around the world.
I highlight these two experiences – my morning routine and my office’s experience of the Pew study – because it is through these two lenses that I wish to reflect upon my Stern experience. Once upon my teenage years, I was an eighteen-year-old woman who sent in a deposit to study creative writing at Eugene Lang, the New School for Liberal Arts. Then, bewitched and transfixed by my experience spending long hours in the beit midrash during my year in seminary, I told Eugene that he didn’t have what I was looking for and sent in a new deposit, to Stern College for Women. There, I would have the opportunity to continue studying religious texts and feel the warm embrace of a community of women who, like me, were passionate about Torah – both in practice and in study. When asked “Why Stern?” I found myself repeating a sound byte that I had carefully crafted for the curious: I applied to college as a writer, but I came to Stern as a whole person, interested in cultivating my role as participant and leader in the Jewish community.
And I did just that. I studied Paradise Lost and Malbim, Picasso and Shir Hashirim. I wrote articles for all the newspapers – both the Commentator and Observer – and composed my first piece of spoken word poetry for a V-Day celebration held in secret in the 35th Street dorm (if you’ve never heard of V-Day, please Google it). I spent a summer in Dimona, teaching English and learning about the world. I fell for feminism and Wittgenstein, tutored more students in the Writing Center than I can count, and accomplished one of my adolescent goals when I assumed the position of Secretary General at Model UN. But, most importantly, I was humbled. Humbled by the women around me. Women who were equally committed to their orgo test and planning events for the Women’s Studies Society. Women who sat into the wee hours of the night and discussed how we could change the world. Female teachers and administrators who told me I could do anything. These were not the “stereotypical Stern girls” that haunt Yeshiva University lore, they were smart, strong, and talented women. Women who were not simply the greatest women I have met, but the greatest people.
The lessons that I learned from these women, the unnamed benefactors of my resume, enable me to excel in my work. They did not only give me tangible knowledge and skills that enable me to be a successful Jewish Communal professional, but charged me with an unbelievable task: greatness. In exchange for their encouragement and aid, I signed an unspoken agreement that I would become a beacon of change, leaving the world better than how I had found it. It is upon me to seek equality for women, champion education, protect the values and religious beliefs that are central to my faith, and fight relentlessly against those who seek to threaten justice and kindness in the world. The very words that I read every morning – justice, justice you shall pursue – are engraved on the yolk that my fellow leaders and mentors put on my shoulders at Stern. Make no mistake about it, once you become a leader, particularly in an environment like Stern, you are changed forever, and complacency and passivity are eradicated from your vocabulary. I am now obligated, by both tradition and experience, to be a leader – in the Jewish community and beyond. And to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
There are some things about my Stern career, however, that I wish I could have experienced in a different way. This is where the Pew study becomes relevant. In an environment like Yeshiva University, tunnel vision when relating to the Jewish community is an all-too-pervasive epidemic. When we say “Jewish,” we don’t mean an individual who considers him/herself a member of the Jewish people, we mean “Orthodox Jews who practice traditional Judaism.” In short, as a comedian I once heard so succinctly expressed: on the totem pole of Judaism, everyone above us is “crazy” and everyone below us is “not really a Jew.”
Herein lies the problem. Just as an individual Jew cannot exist as an island – for whom will he bicker and argue with – the Modern Orthodox community cannot exist as an island, ignoring the other denominations and groups of Jews who are equally committed to and passionate about their Judaism; Jews who could teach us quite a bit about the faith that we claim to know like the back of our hands. On October 2nd, the day after the Pew survey was released, MK Dr. Ruth Calderon, whose inaugural address in the Knesset went viral on YouTube, spoke at UJA-Federation about the importance of Jewish tradition and Jewish text being the property of all Jews, not only the Orthodox. “You must come out of the gated communities that we live in. We live in silos,” she said, referring to the separation between Jews of different denominations and American and Israeli Jews.
Calderon’s plea seemed almost immediately addressed on October 6th during the installation of the new President at Yeshivat Chovevei Torah. Rabbi Asher Lopatin, brought in from his pulpit in Chicago, elected to invite fellow clergy members from other leading rabbinic seminaries to a roundtable discussion during this joyous event. Lopatin invited Dr. Arnold M. Eisen, the Chancellor of the Jewish Theological Seminary, Rabbi David Ellenson, President of Hebrew Union College, and Rabbi Arthur Green, a professor at Hebrew College (in addition to Rabbi Elka Abramson, the President of the Wexner Foundation). No Orthodox leaders, other than Lopatin, were involved in this discussion (President Richard Joel was invited, but unable to attend). While it appears that the importance of intrafaith dialogue was addressed by these two prominent figures – Calderon and Lopatin – I worry that this value has yet to permeate the walls of Yeshiva University, which often tend to shut out more than they let in. By allowing Jews – even if they do not dress, think, or act in the same way that we do – into our halls and our conversations, we can begin to strengthen the entire Jewish community. Together, we can address the myth that Centrist Orthodoxy has a monopoly on true Jewish experience and enhance this rich tradition for all those who sit at its table.
In my first week at Stern College, during my composition course, Dr. Joy Ladin presented me with Robert Frost’s poem, “Mending Wall.” The first line of this poem reads as follows: “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.” I spent the entire semester, and much of my Stern career, trying to understand this poem and its opening line. I believed that separation – a word that makes its way into so much of Jewish ritual and tradition – was certainly a positive reality. At the time, I was drawn to the final line of Frost’s work: “Good fences make good neighbors.” Separation begets holiness; holiness begets godliness. Surely fences do make good neighbors. During my tenure at Stern, and in the year and change since I have graduated, something has changed. Something there is that doesn’t love a wall: me. I find myself more inclined to break down both fences and walls, gerrymandering the Jewish community – the entire Jewish community – to include people of varying practice and belief. Frost’s words now resonate with me in a new way – neighbors are essential, the dividers are not.
As one of my colleagues, Anat Barber, a previous Stern Student Council President and current UJA-Federation employee, writes so eloquently in the Peoplehood Papers: “We need instead to understand Pluralism as the need to learn about the multiplicity of Jewish voices, including those who see themselves as ultimate truth and reject ours, as a means to help us further refine and deepen our Jewish understanding regardless of your own religious approach.” We need to pursue justice, appreciate the people and places that have enabled us to thrive, break down walls and stereotypes, and always, ensure that you work somewhere that serves free coffee.
Currently, Jina works as a Program Associate in the Office of Educational Resources and Organizational Development at UJA-Federation of NY.