What if…

… hospital chaplains could wear scrubs like nurses and surgeons?

I actually had this thought while working on my last final.

It's probably never going to happen since most people expect clergy to be dressed in a serious, professional manner, and there's no practical reason for chaplains to wear scrubs.

On the other hand, scrubs are so much more comfortable than suits and dress shirts. Almost to the point where, if I had an infinite amount of time to go to college/grad school, I would finish up my Jewish Studies major, get a Bio degree, and try to get a combination rabbinical ordination/nursing (or medical) degree.

How cool would it to be "Doctor Rabbi (your name)" or "The Reverend Doctor (your name)"? Actually I know a minister with a non-medical doctorate whose title is the Reverend Doctor.

Women's Tallitot (Prayer Shawls)

A short history of the tallit: A tallit (pl: tallitot) is a shawl-like garment traditionally worn by Jewish men during daytime prayer (with the exception of evening Yom Kippur services). The main requirement is that at the four corners of a tallit there be fringes (tzitzit) which are tied and knotted in a manner that reminds one of the 613 mitzvot (commandments).

Starting in the 1970s, some liberal Jewish women have started adopting mitzvot from which they were traditionally excluded, and one of the more popular mitzvot to adopt has been wearing a tallit in synagogue. Part of it, I think, is that wearing a big tallit makes a clear visual statement. Another is that since the body of a tallit can be made in any fabric that isn't a wool-linen blend, and with any design that is appropriate for a religious garment, it can be highly individualized.

At my synagogue, most of the women who attend regularly wear tallitot, and all the bnot mitzvah (bat mitzvah age girls) are given a tallit by their parents for their bat mitzvah. 

Most of the women's tallitot I've seen in synagogue are quite beautiful, but I have seen certain categories of tallitot:

The Blue (or Black) Striped Wool Tallit:

Most tallit-wearing men tend to have a simple white tallit with blue or black stripes, but I've also seen them worn by middle-aged women. They (the tallitot) have a quiet dignity, and I think help prevent the synagogue from becoming a tallitot fashion show.

The Pastel Striped Wool (or Silk) Tallit:

A "feminized" ode to the traditional royal blue or black striped tallit, sometimes incorporated with flowers and butterflies. Often seen on bnot mitzvah. 

The Semi-Sheer Silk Tallit:

Often comes with a matching yarmulke, in shades of light purple, pink, or blue. I've only seen these on bnot mitzvah, and think of it as a young woman's tallit.

The Wool (or Silk) Tallit with a Jerusalem Skyline:

These tallitot come in many different colors, all depicting the Old City, and I've seen more subtle ones on men and bnai mitzvah. Their wearers seem to have a wider age range than those of other tallitot. Some of them have doves, which can be connected to the story of Noah and a hope for peace in Jerusalem.

The Tallit with Matriachs and/or Prophetesses:

Often made of painted or embroidered silk, these tallitot celebrate the women of the Bible. One popular variant has the names of the matriachs on the four corners.

My Mommy Made This:

Many bnot mitzvah (and bnai mitzvah) receive tallitot made by their mother or another close female relative. These tallitot are the most personalized, often featuring the child's name and symbols pertaining to the Torah portion they read for their bar/bat mitzvah. Seeing these tallitot gives me a warm fuzzy feeling, partly because my mom and I made my tallit together. 

I Made This:

Many women have also made their own tallitot, sometimes choosing to incorporate something from the past, such as a grandmother's shawl or a father's old neckties. A lot of times there's a interesting story behind the design and making of their tallitot, and you can learn a lot about the seamstress from her tallit.

Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, What?

Part of my conversion study was to nominally learn about the distinctions between the modern Jewish movements, which were neatly categorized into Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform. The Reconstructionist movement got a brief sound byte; the main focus was the former three groups. Since I studied with a Reform rabbi, the main focus was on the Reform movement — how it was different from the other movements, and how it had changed since 19th-century Germany. Taking Jewish studies classes at Brandeis, I've gotten to hear the secular-academic story of the significance of the Enlightenment several times. I've also heard an assortment of comments, some nicer than others, about the movements and their members from my peers. About how Reform Jews weren't committed enough, or how Orthodox Jews had their priorities wrong. 

None of the movements' ideologies are perfect, but I've also found that there is so much variation in terms of people's practices and beliefs that it's difficult to use such broad labels. Especially in the case of Orthodox Judaism, there is so much variation, that I've grown to prefer the modifiers of "she's shomer negiyah" or "he wears tzitzit but shaves." But you still can't assume where someone wants to be headed in their religious journey, and what they feel in their heart. You can wear a floor-length skirt and be less modest in your heart than someone  who wears jeans.

When I was studying to convert, I saw Reform Judaism as a natural step from going to an urban UCC church which is well known for supporting same-sex marriage and social justice. In many ways, I was right at the time, and my synagogue welcomed me with open arms. But at the same time, I had little exposure to different variations of Judaism, and thought it would be difficult for me to become friends with Orthodox Jews. I had bred an unfounded fear that I would be rejected for having a non-Orthodox conversion. Instead, I found the exact opposite.

Now, I'm not sure what to call myself, other than Jewish. 

Every other Jew is a convert or baal teshuvah…

The title for this post comes from something one of my neighbors said about our generation of Jews. It may not be literally true, but some days it does feel like everyone on our floor is a convert or baalat teshuvah (a woman who became religious later in life).

I don't know what the experience of religious conversion is like for Christians or Muslims (other than the ritual requirements being somewhat more simple). Prospects for Jewish conversion, including myself, are reminded that we are not only joining a group of believers, but we are also joining an am, a people, a family of sorts bound by a tradition and history going back thousands of years. While most communities, I think, are very welcoming of converts, there are still awkward gaps between born Jews and converts.

Except for cases in which the convert has a Jewish father and a non-Jewish mother, or was adopted by Jewish parents, the convert usually doesn't have a family history of Judaism or the experience of living Jewishly as a child. Sometimes, they come with an entirely different set of social standards (Protestant Time vs. Standard Jewish Time) and religious experiences.

There are some blessings in these gaps, like the [sometimes] privilege of being an interpreter to one's relatives and friends, as well as shortfalls. Sometimes it becomes tiring to explain why you're Jewish but you're family isn't to Jews and non-Jews, or to hear what people say when they assume your family is Jewish ("we have to watch out for [insert non-Jewish group]").

On the other hand, I certainly won't forget the time I was talking to a Lubavitcher chassid about the generational differences within my family. I told him that the custom of marrying young in many chassidic and Orthodox communities reminded me of my grandparents and parents, who married in their early 20s, and noted that my brother is 29 and unmarried.

He replied, "that is because your parents' and grandparents' generations really cared about the tribe." (Well, they do, I thought, but not like that…)

Unrelated to the Other Posts

This afternoon I went to the campus art studio to work on my final painting since there are no classes there on Thursdays. I set up my supplies, turned on my iPod, and started pulling together my paintings from the semester so that they could be graded.

There are two other painters in the studio. One is seated in front of her painting, nothing unusual about her appearance. The other, a guy, is shirtless.

I suppose that if you're a guy, painting without a shirt could be more comfortable, and one wouldn't have to worry about paint splatters on a favorite t-shirt. But who wants to spend time scrubbing paint off their arms and/or chest? It's enough of a chore to wash off it off your hands, and sometimes you still miss a spot and look like you have a knuckle bruise or paper cut.

Who knows. Maybe it's just a guy thing.

On a More Serious Note

In the middle of reading a Jewish blogger's entry about his interest in going to a mega-church* I noticed a series of comments basically saying that Jews should never enter churches because of all the wrongs that Christians have done to Jews (i.e. the Spanish Inquisition, the blood libels…) One commenter said "I personally spit every time I see [a church]."

It reminded me of an incident in which I was talking to someone about religion and he suggested that even today, Jews have to be cautious around Christians, especially Catholics. I told him that I have a Catholic aunt and reminded him that my whole family is Christian.

Perhaps I've been fortunate to know so many Jews and Christians who not only get along peacefully, but are close friends. Perhaps I'm also fortunate that the ministers from the church in which I was raised were understanding of my decision to withdraw my membership shortly before I converted to Judaism.

Even knowing the horrible tragedies that Christians have inflicted on Jews in the past, I know that I cannot deny the goodness most Christians have, especially the goodness in my family.

I hope and pray that my religious and blood kin will stop misunderstanding each other.

* Here's the link: frumsatire.net/2008/12/03/i-really-want-to-go-to-a-mega-church

One More Thought

I think I heard at least 3-4 covers of "Frosty the Snowman," "The Christmas Song," "Baby It's Cold Outside," and "Walking in a Winter Wonderland" during my 5-hour shift tonight.

I wonder why I haven't heard "Jingle Bell Rock" at least once at work; we've completely switched to Christmas-themed music (that is, 95% secular-ish Christmas songs and 5% secular winter songs) but we seem to be lacking some of the better pop Christmas songs.

I'm sure, for example, that there are more people who like "Jingle Bell Rock" than "Little St. Nick" ("Little Deuce Coupe" with minor, but not very good, lyric changes).

With that, I bid you all a good night, and hope that the Christmas music you hear in stores/elevators/people's leaking headphones etc. is at least tolerable.

Christmas is Coming

Coming from a good ole' semi-traditional Protestant family, one of my first visual memories is the shadows a Christmas tree makes on the wall behind it at night. The silhouettes of pine needles in duller hues of the lights on the tree all mingled together in the frigid silence of a New England December night.

My first Christmas after I had started going to synagogue junior year was, needless to say, kind of awkward. The childhood memories of Christmas and family traditions of selecting a Christmas tree and decorating it were still strong. Though the religious significance wasn't there for me, I wasn't blind. My parents still wanted to have Christmas, and I still lived at home, so I agreed to sort of keep the family aspect. On Christmas morning there was a dreidel in my stocking and I didn't have presents marked "from Santa."

The following year was easier, since I had studied more and my parents gave me a menorah and dreidel-shaped cookies. So, for eight days we had a lit menorah in the living room window and a fully lit and decorated Christmas tree in the background. 

The year after, I had been Jewish for nine and a half months and was at school for Chanukah, so I got a freebie menorah and candles from the semi-off campus Chabad house and celebrated in the midst of finals.

This year, I've ending up working retail during the ever-growing "holiday" (do you think you're fooling anyone, PC-ish stores?) season. I realize that I can't really view Christmas as a "national" or "secular" holiday, yet I can justify enjoying Christmas songs on the radio by telling myself that there are, indeed, secular-ish aspects of the holiday and that, well, Jingle Bell Rock is *really* fun to listen to.