by Crystal Huff
In a Jewish temple, the aron hakodesh (“holy ark”) is where sacred scrolls are kept. The cost of a Torah scroll can range from $30,000 to $70,000 USD apiece, depending on assessed calligraphic artistry. We do not touch the parchment while reading a Torah, for fear of damaging it with a fingerprint. At the end of each Torah reading, there is a ritual for rolling up the parchment and returning it to the aron hakodesh. Typically, the scrolls are housed in an ostentatious cabinet on the side of the building that faces Jerusalem. An ornate curtain often draws close around these treasures, pulled tight with golden cord.
The Torah scrolls of Havurat Shalom, carefully unrolled and lovingly chanted each week, are stored in a wicker-woven laundry basket that (according to legend) one of the founders rescued from a dumpster some 50+ years ago. Hung from the wall on its side, what was once a hinged basket lid is now the door to the ark. A red velvet cloth is draped over the wicker, and a hand-crafted Star of David macrame is slung across all.
The Torah scrolls of Havurat Shalom, carefully unrolled and lovingly chanted each week, are stored in a wicker-woven laundry basket that (according to legend) one of the founders rescued from a dumpster some 50+ years ago. Hung from the wall on its side, what was once a hinged basket lid is now the door to the ark. A red velvet cloth is draped over the wicker, and a hand-crafted Star of David macrame is slung across all.
The main davening (prayer) room of Havurat Shalom, with the laundry basket aron hakodesh on the left
After five years of interviewing members of Havurat Shalom, I have yet to discover which of the founders’ dumpster dives resulted in this laundry basket, and one interviewee suggested that might not have happened at all. Regardless, it almost assuredly saw better days before arriving at the Hav – the bottom has been reinforced several times, mended by a soft-spoken retiree, Meredith, who is the head of the building maintenance committee (and sometimes its only member). By now, the glory of the item may rest more on its endurance than its luster.
Does rescuing the basket from the trash symbolize an important text to havniks, such as Psalms 118:22, “The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone”? I have never heard anyone argue thus, but it’s certainly plausible. “Cornerstone” would aptly describe the importance of the aron hakodesh and its contents for a typical shul.
Does the wicker material and its frequent mending remind members of their commitment to environmental conservation efforts together? Perhaps. There’s certainly much evidence of reduce/reuse/recycle/compost efforts at the Hav and amongst the membership. The Havurah has perennial bouts with fruit flies due to some members saving compostable materials but forgetting to remove the same from the building in a timely fashion. No complaints about this have reached my ears, but I know there have been several iterations of it.
Be that as it may, it is the explicit consensus of the community that this worn old wicker basket symbolizes “The Havurah” in some way that is essential. Havurat Shalom decides all important matters via consensus vote, and the laundry basket has withstood several vote challenges over the decades. One longtime member described the most recent trial to me, in fact, as an example of consensus process (or its failure) at the Hav:
“Ages ago, there was a woman who was a member of the Havurah [Joan Friedman] who made beautiful things out of wood. She said, I will make a new ark for the Havurah and we'll retire the laundry basket. We'll put it in the children's davening room. It's a historical thing, you know. This completely divided the community! People were like, yes, we should have this nicer thing instead of having this laundry basket. And then the other half said no – this IS the Havurah. It's history. We've always had this basket. It's from the founding members. We couldn't come to consensus. So you see, the laundry basket is still there.”
To my interlocutor, the repurposed basket also represents continual efforts toward consensus, even when those efforts have also included strife and not resulted in a change for the community. After our conversation, to me, the basket is also an illustration of the community’s dedication to its own quirky history. Havurat Shalom, the first havurah of the US, is committed to making decisions together – even the weird ones.
(Note: I wrote this as an assignment for my Ethnography course this semester, but given it’s now being republished on the Hav’s blog, I wonder if we’ll hear more commentary and/or clarification as to the history!)
Does rescuing the basket from the trash symbolize an important text to havniks, such as Psalms 118:22, “The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone”? I have never heard anyone argue thus, but it’s certainly plausible. “Cornerstone” would aptly describe the importance of the aron hakodesh and its contents for a typical shul.
Does the wicker material and its frequent mending remind members of their commitment to environmental conservation efforts together? Perhaps. There’s certainly much evidence of reduce/reuse/recycle/compost efforts at the Hav and amongst the membership. The Havurah has perennial bouts with fruit flies due to some members saving compostable materials but forgetting to remove the same from the building in a timely fashion. No complaints about this have reached my ears, but I know there have been several iterations of it.
Be that as it may, it is the explicit consensus of the community that this worn old wicker basket symbolizes “The Havurah” in some way that is essential. Havurat Shalom decides all important matters via consensus vote, and the laundry basket has withstood several vote challenges over the decades. One longtime member described the most recent trial to me, in fact, as an example of consensus process (or its failure) at the Hav:
“Ages ago, there was a woman who was a member of the Havurah [Joan Friedman] who made beautiful things out of wood. She said, I will make a new ark for the Havurah and we'll retire the laundry basket. We'll put it in the children's davening room. It's a historical thing, you know. This completely divided the community! People were like, yes, we should have this nicer thing instead of having this laundry basket. And then the other half said no – this IS the Havurah. It's history. We've always had this basket. It's from the founding members. We couldn't come to consensus. So you see, the laundry basket is still there.”
To my interlocutor, the repurposed basket also represents continual efforts toward consensus, even when those efforts have also included strife and not resulted in a change for the community. After our conversation, to me, the basket is also an illustration of the community’s dedication to its own quirky history. Havurat Shalom, the first havurah of the US, is committed to making decisions together – even the weird ones.
(Note: I wrote this as an assignment for my Ethnography course this semester, but given it’s now being republished on the Hav’s blog, I wonder if we’ll hear more commentary and/or clarification as to the history!)
Crystal Huff is the Havurah's newest member.
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