by Aaron Brandes

In the beginning God separated light from darkness and stored away the darkness.
A diffuse light spread through the universe. God saw that the universe though, no longer chaotic, was too undifferentiated. God concentrated the light in the sun, the stars and the moon, and restored enough darkness to make the heavenly bodies stand out. The rest of the darkness was kept in reserve for later use.

Pharoah was a god to the Egyptians, who refused to let the Israelites go. Some of the plagues God sent were attacks on Egyptian gods. For the first plague, God turned the water of the Nile into blood.  This was an assault on the god Hapi, an incarnation of the Nile’s life force, and Osiris the god of the underworld, a god of regeneration and rebirth also associated with the Nile. After seven more plagues that demonstrated God’s control over nature it was time for the ninth plague - darkness. This thick daytime darkness annihilated the sun, a god to the Egyptians, the god Aten proclaimed by the pharaoh Akhenaten to be the only God.

Hashem said to Moses: “stretch out your hand toward the heaven, that there may be darkness over the land of Egypt, even darkness which may be felt” (Exod. 10:21).  R. Nehemiah (midrash Tanchuma, Bo 2) argued that it ascended from the darkness of Gehonim, the netherworld, as it is stated: “A land of thick darkness, as darkness itself, a land of the shadow of death, without any order, and where the light is as darkness” (Job 10:22). This midrash holds that Hashem drew from remaining darkness that had been locked up at the beginning of creation.

This was a pure concentrated darkness. At first Egyptians perceived what might have been an ordinary darkness, but when they lit a candle they could see nothing (Nachmanides). Even outdoors they couldn’t see anything.  Then movement became difficult. Those who were standing could not sit down and those who were sitting could not stand up (Midrash Rabbah). Total darkness was new and frightening. At night there was usually enough light from the stars and the moon to perceive the outline of nearby objects. They called to one another in their plight, but the darkness thickened, and no sounds reached their ears. They wondered if this was dream -  their legs couldn’t walk, there was no way home. But real nightmares end when most unbearable, and this experience seemed endless.

Only thoughts flowed. Perhaps this was a punishment, like the preceding plagues. If only Pharoah had let the Hebrews go. Some people bargained with their gods, then in desperation called on the unknown Hebrew God. Taskmasters vowed to drop their whips if they were granted the freedom to walk in light again. Egyptians who stood by when Hebrew boys were thrown into rivers, prayed for an end to their parents’ pain. This was a collective decision to change, we call it tshuvah. They dedicated themselves to act differently, accept Hebrews as fellow human beings who should not be enslaved.

What happened next requires a brief digression on quantum mechanics. The standard interpretation of quantum mechanics holds that just before the box holding Schrodinger's cat is opened there exists a superposition of an alive cat and a dead cat, and that opening the box forces it to be dead or alive. But the “many worlds” interpretation holds that when the box is opened the universe splits in two. In one universe the cat is dead, in another universe the cat is alive. In this midrash the everyday Egyptian people all do tshuvah, but then there is a split with Pharaoh fully repentant in one universe, while in the other universe as God slowly puts the darkness back into its box Pharaoh’s resolve to change weakens and he does not repent. In this latter universe God removes all the darkness but hardens Pharaoh’s heart. Because the people repented, the tenth plague brings only the death of Pharoah’s son. In the first universe the repentance of Pharoah and the Egyptian people make darkness the final plague. The Israelites leave unpursued carrying goods freely bestowed as reparations for their enslavement.

Sadly, in our universe outside the midrash “in the middle of the night יהוה struck down all the [male] first-born in the land of Egypt, from the first-born of Pharaoh who sat on the throne to the first-born of the captive who was in the dungeon, and all the first-born of the cattle.” (Exodos 12:29).  In this universe Pharaoh pursued the Israelites, his army drowned and Israel was ultimately exiled. Perhaps someday, through the power of tshuvah and tikkun olam, we draw we can draw closer to that universe in which the thick darkness had true healing power.

by Larry Rosenwald

This is a story about a scroll, a scroll containing Yehoyesh’s Yiddish translation of the book of Esther, calligraphed by his daughter Evelyn, purchased by me, and in the end, once we’ve worked out insurance and storage questions, to be given by me to the Hav.
 
Here’s what happened.  For some years now, on Purim at the Hav, I’ve been performing Yehoyesh’s translation of chapter 7 of the book of Esther, in a highly theatrical, exuberantly over-acted way, influenced by, though I think also independent of, Hav alum Dovid Roskies’s stunning recitation, in multiple voices and accents, of the whole megile, which can be found here.  Which is why fellow Hav member Todd Kaplan told me he’d come across the Esther scroll on Craig’s List, and maybe I should take a look.  And I did, and though I’m inclined these days to downsize rather than accumulate, I wrote the seller and said I’d like to buy the scroll.
 
Various events intervened between that moment and the moment of acquisition, but finally, on January 3rd, I met the seller outside a Roslindale coffee shop.  He had brought the scroll in a featureless brown paper bag, and had asked to be paid in cash, which made everything feel eerie, as if I were committing a crime.  I took the scroll out, had a look, saw that it was all there (and beautiful), paid the price.
 
It might have ended there, but it was an anomalously warm day, and the seller and I got to talking.  How had he come by the scroll, I asked?  He said it had been his father’s, and that he knew no more than that.  His father and mother had spoken Yiddish to each other and to their parents, but not – this is a common Jewish American story – to their children. So he had not grown up with Yiddish, though his high school German had sometimes helped him speak with his grandparents.  He said he wanted the scroll to go to a good recipient – “what there is shall go to them who are good for it,” as they say in Brecht’s Caucasian Chalk Circle -  and I told him I thought I was indeed a good recipient, and that his finding me, or Todd’s finding him and making the shidukh, or both, were bashert, destined, fated.  Then he gave me two Yiddish theater bills as a gift, and headed off, and I headed into the coffee shop.  A very nice man.
 
That might have been the end, but there’s this great Facebook page for Yiddishists, called yidforsh, and I asked there whether people knew things about the scroll.  And of course they did! – pointing me to, among other places a terrific article in In geveb by Shifra Epstein, in which we read the following:
 
The Yehoash megile is completely unique in the history of megillot published in the United States; it is the only known megile scroll printed in Yiddish. The Yiddish megile follows the traditional design of a Hebrew illuminated scroll. Each of the book’s ten chapters begins with an enlarged letter set within an embellished rectangular frame. Each page is composed of two columns, with forty-two lines per column, according to the traditional scribal layout required for the writing of a Torah scroll. The scroll was also reproduced in printed book form in 1936.

I bought a copy of the megile scroll printed above in early 1978 from Zosa Szajkowski, YIVO’s archivist at the time,11 while conducting research for an exhibition at the YIVO archives: Purim: The Face and the Mask. In 1979 the exhibit, including the Yehoash megile, went up. Images of the scroll were also reproduced in the exhibition catalogue. After the exhibit was dismantled, I donated the megile to the Yeshiva University Museum, where it is currently part of the museum collection. The megile can also be found in the collection of the Jewish Theological Library and at the National Library of Israel in Jerusalem.
 
And there’s a fine article by Shulamith Berger on the Yeshiva University website, from which we learn that:
 
"Although the Yiddish megilah is printed on paper, and thus not kosher for ritual use on Purim, the library’s copy has creases in it, as if it had been folded in the traditional manner.  Before the megilah is read in the synagogue on Purim, the scroll is folded to resemble a letter,  in recognition of the  igeret, the letter,  which Esther and Mordecai sent to the Jews about commemorating Purim.   Perhaps this Yiddish megilah served as a “people’s megilah,” a way for someone to participate in the experience of using a scroll while enjoying the mellifluous modern Yiddish translation rendered in spare, handsome lettering, evocative of the spirit of centuries of Jewish history and languages."
 
We are in good company, with the Yeshiva museum, the Jewish Theological Library, the National Library of Israel.  And there are stories about the scroll not yet told, having to do with the daughter who did the calligraphy, the gendered character of the scroll, the experiences women have had, and are now having, of that holiday and of this translation.  Not stories I can tell at the moment, but stories worth unearthing.
 
But I didn’t buy the scroll as something to classify and study and preserve, though those are fine things to do.  I bought it because I hoped that at some point, in what I trust will be the long history of Havurat Shalom, someone will come along who would like to carry on this tradition, which was David Roskies before it was mine, and which will, I hope be someone else’s when it’s mine no longer.

by Aliza Arzt

At Havurat Shalom, we often refer to ourselves as “The Havurah” (like when New Yorkers call their little 5-borough town “The City”).  After all, what other Havurah is around?  This way of thinking went out the window with the recent National Havurah Committee (NHC) New England Retreat which took place at Camp Ramah (Palmer, MA) December 15-17, 2023.  In truth, not everyone who attends this retreat belongs to a Havurah.  However, most of the people there considered themselves ideologically connected to the lay-led, alternative, study and prayer based Havurah movement.
 
The NHC New England Retreat has been taking place since 1986 or 1987 and I’ve attended nearly all of them.  We went to our first New England Retreat with our then 6 month old daughter and a huge carload of baby supplies.  In subsequent years we’ve traveled to the retreat with a growing family, with young teens who assisted with child care and ultimately by ourselves.  This year was especially meaningful since it was the first New England Retreat since 2019, due to the pandemic.  Many of the attendees were old-timers who have been coming for some 30 years, but we were pleased to include a number of younger people who not only attended, but also taught some of the classes. 
 
To my mind, what makes the retreat so wonderful is the relaxed atmosphere of the organizers and the participants as we study, pray and eat our way from Shabbat through Sunday at noon.  No activity is mandatory.  The environment is rustic (as are some of the beds!) and the kitchen staff does an amazing job of providing food which is tasty and includes vegetarian and gluten-free options.  There is an unusual number of study slots for a weekend retreat.  Two sessions on Friday night, two on Shabbat afternoon, one Saturday evening and one on Sunday morning add up to 6 engaging classes with a choice of 3-4 classes to attend per session.  A sampler of this year’s classes includes: “Pirkei Avot (Ethics of the Fathers): The Big Picture”, “Mother, Queen, Wife, Judge: The Severn Prophetesses of the Torah”, “What happens when you Die?”, “Yiddish Pulp Fiction (“Sound”): Guilty Pleasures from the Archives”, “Bible Stories you didn’t learn in Sunday School”, “Kissing in the Synagogue”.
 
Saturday night featured a “Shuk” (“marketplace”) where artists and authors could display their wares, and a talent show which was expertly curated by Havurat Shalom member Josh Shalem Schreiber, who led music events as well.
 
Since the majority of the 50 or so attendees had been coming to the annual retreat for many years and knew each other well, there was a concern that it might be difficult for a newcomer to break in. Not so!  One friend of mine who has never been to a NHC Havurah retreat told me she’d had a fantastic time.  Attendees are open to meeting new people and engaging in conversation about everything from their personal stories, to the class they attended and their hopes for the future.
 
My only regret about the weekend is that so few Havurat Shalom members choose to attend. I’m hoping that this article encourages more people to consider attending the NHC Havurah retreat in December 2024.

By R Feynman

Last month, I led the first of what it seems will become a series of “social hour” type events for members of the greater Hav community. 

A key part of the Hav is the community and the strong connections built within it. Since COVID, I’ve felt a struggle to build strong connections with anybody, especially as a disabled person with a respiratory illness. I was lucky enough to find the Hav well before the pandemic, but I only became a full member in the last year. I realized that while I know a good number of the people who go to davening on Saturday mornings, there’s lots of Hav folks who I just haven’t overlapped much with. We’re also moving into winter, when Hav services are split between in-person and Zoom participation, and it feels harder to maintain organic connections when half of the participants are behind a screen and the other half aren’t. 

We were discussing this issue in a meeting of the Membership committee, and I realized that I wanted to help solve it. The solution had to be on Zoom, so all the Zoom-only people could make it. It couldn’t be Shabbos related, so that shomer Shabbos people could attend. I didn’t want to make it something tightly focused on a specific topic, because then we’d learn more about the topic than one another. I also wanted to create the opportunity for small groups to break off, the way that schmoozing happens naturally after services, rather than maintaining one large conversation. I wound up creating an agenda that balanced all of these needs, seemed fun, and was adaptable whether we got 3 people or 30. 

The meeting started well! We had about 25 attendees; some who had been going to the Hav for several decades, someone whose first Hav event had been services the day before, and everything in between. We went around and did quick introductions, but then as is always the way, we had some tech issues! My plan for breakout groups was foiled by not having enabled them beforehand. Thankfully, while I was flustered, somebody (Bev?) recommended we all just do one of the activities together, and do the breakouts another time. 

The activity we did was “show us an object that represents something you’re proud of, or has a good story behind it.” I didn’t have a strong vision for what that might mean, and I’m glad I left it open. We saw family photos, kids’ art, ketubot, family heirlooms, important books, fiber crafts (including a huge quilt!), and a crested gecko. I feel like I learned a lot about everyone who shared - both the people I’ve spoken with a lot, and the people I’d never met. I certainly came away feeling like I’d have something to chat about with everyone who attended, and I hope everyone else did as well. 

SInce the last one was a success, we’re doing it again. Join us on Saturday, 12/9 at 6 pm for another super cool and fun community building hour! Expect it to last about an hour. It’ll be on a differen Zoom link than usual - please email [email protected] to get the Zoom link.

This time we will have a (loose) Hanukkah theme. We’ll start with lighting Hanukkah candles and doing introductions, and then move into a series of breakout groups to facilitate smaller conversations, which will probably follow the intended format for the last meeting.

If you attended the last one and have feedback, or if anyone has ideas about the future of these community-building sessions, please let me know at [email protected]

by Ruth Abrams

by Larry Rosenwald

I was, as often, abundantly involved in our services (leading, leyning), and as often found them deeply moving and beautiful.  I’m glad I was there for the ones I was there for, and sorry that other commitments, and my twenty miles’ distance from Somerville, made it impossible for me to be there for the others. 
           
But in a way that’s new for me, and that I’m trying to figure out, the experiences I was having at the services weren’t really about doing teshuvah, though that’s of course what we were all talking about, and what the chagim are about; nor were they – this might be going too far, but only a bit too far – really about my own moral conduct, which I have other and ongoing ways of thinking about and trying to change and purify.  (In particular I’d say that the traditional models for asking forgiveness and being granted forgiveness are remote from my own lived and shared experience.) 
           
What the experiences had to do with was rather the joys of community, in several forms.  First and foremost, there was the joy of singing in community, the uplift and almost out-of-body intensity that singing in community offers (that’s in fact what it feels like, my voice emerging from my body but freed from it, up there in the hills and the common air), the way that in such singing, deeply centered as I am in the details of texts, the texts almost cease to matter, and the tunes float free.  There’s the joy of seeing people I cherish but see only seldom, once or twice a year, maybe only during the chagim, which isn’t often enough but also is, and I’m reminded that what you say in Yiddish to people you haven’t seen for a while is sholem aleykhem, “peace be upon you,” and the answer is aleykhem sholem, “upon you be peace,” and that feels right.  There’s the, inextricable from the sorrow, of feeling close to people during yizkor, as they name the dead they are remembering, and we feel the presence of all of them. There’s the joy of the radiant light illuminating us in the tents, at Kol Nidre and Ne’ilah, the light making it possible to see the machzor but having its own independent vibrancy, this especially when one’s outside the tents, on one’s way in, seeing those already in the light glowing there.  There is the way in which all these feelings and experiences contribute to a sense that we belong together.
           
(There are of course more solitary experiences:  the feeling of prostrating myself on cold stone, the feeling of so many beautiful Hebrew words in my mouth.  There are of course less joyful experiences:  the cold, the rain, the unease about mistakes in Hebrew pronunciation, the occasional and inevitable moments of loss of kavanah.  We’re all human beings, after all.)
           
I said at the beginning that these intense, buoying experiences didn’t have to do with teshuvah, and that’s in most ways true.  In another way, though, it’s false.  Doing teshuvah requires some buoyancy in the one doing it, some trust, some hope.  These experiences of community nurture and stimulate those capacities.  At the end of the davening, when the shofar is blown, I’ve had those capacities stimulated.  What I do with them is up to me, of course, and whatever I do I’ll have to do within the moral frameworks that pertain to me and not that of the vidui.  But I’ll be better able to do whatever I do because of what I experienced during the davening. 

Nakhmen of Bratislav wrote, in a passage I quoted during Musaf on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, “you who give joy to the broken spirit, /help me to rejoice –/ for alone I am very low.”  He was appealing to the riboyne shel oylem, the teacher of the universe, but his words make sense in the context of my experiences.  Alone I am very low, in community I can rise.
           

by Aliza Arzt

During the High Holiday season, we hear a lot about two types of relationships that we need to deal with. I will use the traditional masculine terms here in the Hebrew and will rephrase them in a more gender neutral way later in the article: בין אדם למקום (bein Adam la-Makom) - between humans and God (literally “the place”) and בין אדם לחברו (bein Adam l’chavero) - between humans and their fellow humans. Traditionally we’re supposed to spend the time until Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement) dealing with our relationships with other people and asking for forgiveness from them. When we arrive at Yom Kippur, we spend the day dealing with our relationship to God and asking forgiveness from God. These relationships can be also phrased in Hebrew in as gender neutral a way as possible: (beini la-Makom)  ביני למקום - between myself and God; (beini l’chaveri/chaverti)  ביני לחברי/תי - between myself and my associates.
 
Recently I discovered teachings that consider another relationship that can be dealt with at this time, as well as at other times: בין אדם לעצמו (bein Adam la-atzmo) - between a person and themselves, or: (beini l’atzmi)  ביני לעצמי - between myself and myself
 
The more modern Jewish thinkers liked this 3-part model, and connected it with other triplets. In the Ethics of the Fathers, otherwise known as Ethics of the Ancestors or Pirkei Avot, the end of 1:2 reads: the world is based on 3 principles: תורה (Torah - study), עבודה ( avodah - worship), and גמילות חסדים (g’milut chasadim - acts of compassion). Accordingly, the relationship between ourselves and God is associated with avodah (worship), the relationship among humans is associated with g’milut chasadim (acts of compassion) and our relationship with our internal selves is associated with Torah (study). Another teacher connected our relationship with God to the laws of religious expression (“דת” - dat), our relationship with others to the laws of ethical conduct (“מוסר” - musar), and, surprisingly, our relationship with ourselves to the coming of the Messiah (“משיח” - mashiach).
 
What does study and the Messiah have to do with our internal selves? The lectures I read identified our internal selves as a version of ourselves which is more “whole” and in some way more “authentic.” Somehow, through study, we’re supposed to get in touch with this more authentic self, and as more of us succeed in connecting with this more authentic self, together we may be able to bring the world to a better place.
 
This still sounds pretty mysterious. Here’s my own midrashic take on it: The word for “self”, עצם (etzem) has a variety of meanings including “bone” and “essence.”  To me, these meanings express both the most concrete type of existence (as in “the bare bones”) and the most abstract type of existence. Somehow, throughout our lives, we need to get in touch with the physicality of who we are and what we’re capable of as well as the essence of who we are —what goals and plans express our authentic selves— in order to be as effective as possible in our world. This enhanced sense of self also informs our relationships with others and with God.
 
So where does forgiveness enter the equation? As many of us know, we often hold ourselves to a high standard with respect to our thoughts and our actions. Many of us feel that we will never meet our expectations for ourselves and we feel bad about this all the time. The High Holiday season is a time to forgive ourselves for ways we feel that we haven’t been true to ourselves. In the same way that Rosh haShana, the new year, is a renewal of opportunity and possibility, this is a time to rededicate ourselves to the continued development and evolving understanding of who each of us is and what we’re capable of. During the year we engage with others and we also may engage with God in some ways. The High Holiday season is a time to re-set these relationships and to try to increase the amount of them with which we are satisfied. This is a wonderful time to do that for ourselves as well.

by Shifra Freewoman

The story of Rachamaimah begins long before hueman or any life began, because She is the Compassionate Womb Mother Who Bore All.  This is how She came to bless our community Havurat Shalom.  Rachamaimah is now a part of our Siddur, Birchat Shalom, which includes female, male and gender neutral terms for God.  Though She birthed me, us, All Things, we helped bring Her into being.  We, a group of 8 Jewish women at Oberlin College in '84, Birthing a Jewish feminist Haggadah.  I was the last to join and had a hard time getting into the group, but I was most determined.  And I don't give up easily.
Oberlin had lots of Jews, but not lots of great Jewish stuff going on.  Most of the services lacked something - the right kavanah; whether traditional or not, something was missing.  So, because this group of women gelled and had that rare something, Miriam Bronstein, who is very inclusive, was not going to be quick to lose this rare sense of kavanah-rightness.  It was only when this group saw my "Crust of Bread at the Seder Lesbian Story," which they wanted badly for the Hagaddah, that they understood that I came along with the story, and so I was in the group. 

The day came when Miriam, an influential  and beloved former Havurah member and current associate member, and a very close friend of longstanding, and I were enjoined with a formidable task, to come up with Female Names for God.  We had one and a half hours to accomplish this awesome task.  

Actually, we had each been preparing for the entirety of our 23 years of life, so it was not as rushed as it seemed. 

The most obvious choice was Shekhina.  We included it, a lovely traditional Jewish name for the Female Divine.  Still, it came with traditional male understandings of the feminine - and we wanted a name for God from our feminist understanding.  So we kept searching. 
We tried Goaltanu, the feminine of Goalanu, Our Redeemer, clearly connected to Passover: redemption from slavery.  We used Goaltanu, still, it was just a feminization of the male word, not enough kishkes/guts, and we were not satisfied.  Time was passing and we thought/felt, what about Rachamim, Compassion a word often used in the traditional prayerbook?  Rachamim comes from rechem or womb.  A good place to begin.  This began to feel fruitful - we were on to something, some scent of what we were after or what was after us was coming.
While we were still in our heads trying to say the 'Compassionate One' in the feminine,  'Rachamaimah' took over.  Out of me came, Her Name, “Rachamaimah.”  Though I spoke it, Rachamaimah came from Miriam as much as from me.  She came from us or through us, and actually, we were only tapping into Something Greater..  Or maybe SHE was tapping into us and birthing HERSELF through us, though it is older than the most Ancient of Days.  “Rachamaimah.”

We loved how it sounded, earthy, womby, deep, rich, kind of like Mama.  This was what we came for.  We loved it and were not sure if it was a word; our grammar was not that good.  So off to the Judaic studies professor, Eliot Ginsberg.  We asked him, “Is this how you say The 'Compassionate One, ' in the feminine?”  He was very interested, present, helpful and proud of us.  "No, he said, “That would be Rachmonah, but what you did was put two words together, Rechem, Womb, and Emah, Mother, a compound word.  And this is totally valid and accepted in Hebrew.”

So there it was, “Rachamaimah”, Compassionate Womb Mother.  Wow!!  The Female Jewish God, The Goddess, the Jewish Goddess.  Here She was!!!  She came to Us!!!  Awesome!!!!  There was a sense of deep fulfillment, rightness, and it was Jewish, from 'Rachamim',  a word that is very much a part of  the traditional Siddur/Prayer Book.   

We were not alone, many Jewish and  feminist women of all backgrounds were tapping into the Female Divine the Goddess.  Kim Chernin had written a novel, “The Flame Bearers”, a novel about women who were connected to an ancient female tradition.  They were not Jewish women, but had attached themselves to Jews because of how much oppression Jews faced.  And Kim mentioned Womb, Compassion, and Mother, though not the word Rachamaimah.  Still the idea
of this FEMALE DIVINE was there. 

So we were excited and felt we had found what we came for.  Then there was the question.  What words would go with Rachamaimah in the brachot, certainly not Melech Ha-olam/King of the World!!  Ruach ha-olam, Spirit of the World, did not feel right, because Rachamaimah was so earthy/physical.  So Miriam told her sister Deborah, and Deborah dreamed we should say 'Chai Haolamim', Life of the Worlds.  The phrase, 'Life of the Worlds', went very well with Rachamaimah.  Furthermore, this is a traditional term used in Baruch Sheh-omar/ Brucha Sheh-omra.  So we had found what felt like an authentic Female Divine Name that had deep connections to our own Jewish tradition.
It was deeply gratifying to tap into, 'Rachamaimah', which was new, yet very ancient.  For me, as someone who grew up with exclusively male terms for God, in a very patriarchal, traditional Orthodox background, it was incredibly empowering.  Probably because I had faced so much sexual abuse of my female body, and had felt such a sense of total degradation, it was very powerful to tap into a positive expression of the Female Divine that was physical as well as spiritual.  It felt an affirmation of my body, that God was like me, and in a sense, I was like God.  God was female as well as male, and beyond all genders and categories; it felt right; I felt right, like I too was holy, my female body was holy, and women too were holy.   And that it was 'Rachamaimah', it was Jewish; that meant a lot to me and Miriam and other women and men and those In between- my term for transgender/ non- binary, intersex, queer etc..

I know that this is only one way to see the feminine; there are many ways, non-binary, trans, intersex, queer, etc., and this is one way that was powerful to me and many women who had our bodies so violated, to feel we too were and are Divine.  And beyond any sense of violation, to tap into, acknowledge, honor and Celebrate the Divine Feminine was deeply profound. 

So, I celebrate Rachamaimah, that Miriam and I and so many other women Birthed, How She Birthed Us, and How the Havurah, took Her in, How She Took Us In, How She became a part of our Siddur, Our Davening/Praying, along with many other names.  And that many of us at Havurat Shalom, so many years later, pray to Her, 'The Compassionate Womb Mother', who is also 
'Chai Ha-olamim, Life of the Worlds'.  Thus the historical or her/storical continuity from the Very Beginning of Life, of our Jewish Tradition, our feminist tradition and how they combine in beautiful ways, all the way back to the Very Beginning and moving into a more just and equal future. That is only one of the many reasons that I love and am so glad to belong to Havurat Shalom.  

by Aliza Arzt

During the third weekend in May, 53 current and former members of Havurat Shalom gathered at the Hexner Retreat Center in the Poconos of Pennsylvania to celebrate the 55th anniversary of the founding of the Havurah.  The weekend wasn’t without its challenges:  the retreat center was a 5 hour drive from the Boston area (my co-coordinator made me put “4 3/4 hour drive” on the registration form, but it was 5 hours!), we had to work out a COVID policy that would consider both safety and comfort, and we had to accommodate attendees who ranged in age from their 20’s to their 80’s. 
 
It seemed that everyone arrived planning to have a good time, and we did!  Havurat Shalom of the 1960’s is not Havurat Shalom of the 2020’s.  This turned out not to matter.  The davenning was sublime: a meditative Kabbalat Shabbat led by Nehemia Polen, a discursive meandering lovely P’sukei d’Zimra on Shabbat morning by Leora Zeitlin, and a melodious Shacharit by Shalom Flank.  There were numerous study opportunities including a talk by Havurah founder Art Green about what he’s up to now and 4 TED talks about very different topics.
 
I feel that I had a unique perspective on this reunion.  I’ve been at the Havurah for 45 of its 55 years.  I also, for the fourth time, was one of the organizers of the retreat, which has been occurring every 5 years.  All of our other reunion retreats have taken place on Memorial Day Weekend, which allowed us all day Saturday and Sunday, as well as part of Friday and Monday for programming.  Since Shavuot was on Memorial Day Weekend this year, the retreat occurred the previous weekend and ended Sunday at noon.  It was a challenge to fit in as many study and teaching opportunities as possible, but we did it.
 
I spent a lot of time during the weekend making sure everything was running smoothly and gently nudging people to get from one activity to the next, especially meals.  Here are the impressions that remain with me a month afterwards:
 

• There’s often some worry from the attendees about who’s going to come.  Former members worry that their cohort won’t show up; current members hope that they don’t feel excluded by the “old-timers”.  This definitely didn’t happen.  Through prayer, study, eating together and sharing the little free time we had, it was apparent as it has been at other Havurah reunion retreats that being part of Havurat Shalom is a wonderful common denominator.
• I’ve known some of the original Havurah members since they were graduate students and young professors in their 20’s and 30’s and I was an undergraduate.  Now, as they’re entering and motoring through their 80’s, they continue to be active and engaged in Jewish practice, Jewish thought and productivity.  The ideas they had in the 60’s have been modified by time, but the core imperatives continue to shine through.  In Art Green’s talk about what he’s working on and thinking about now, he was clear that he continues to address his goal of making it possible for all to connect with God through words, actions and ideas.  In particular, he has been working lately to make these ideas accessible to people in Israel through teaching, speeches and the translation of his books into Hebrew.
• Given the fact that 55 years is a long time, the number of former members who are no longer in the world with us has grown.  We spent Saturday late afternoon remembering them.   Interestingly, during the part of that memorial where people had a chance to talk about their memories of those who had passed, most people chose instead to talk about the tremendous degree to which Havurat Shalom had influenced their lives and their thoughts.
• We may change, grow and “evolve” during the decades of our adulthood if we’re fortunate enough to have them.  Despite this, to a large extent we are who we are.  It’s a powerful experience to see someone after a 30, or more, year absence and feel immediately that even though they may not look exactly as they had back then, their essence is the same and the connection remains.

Although I’m concerned that we may not be able to have a 60th year reunion (the number is daunting), it’s highly likely that we’ll find some way to gather again in the next few years to renew our connection to each other and to Havurat Shalom.