Part of a solidarity blog series for Women of the Wall. Each piece is written by a member of the Rosh Hodesh group of Congregation B'nai Israel. Tonight's blog is by Heidi Gassel.
My first memories of Temple
are sitting high in a balcony with other children and women during Purim. I
remember being sad that I couldn't be with my daddy who was sitting below with
all of the other men. I looked at my bright polka dotted grogger but it just
wasn't fun. Even though I was just three years old, I still remember crying
"Dada" and my mother comforting me. My father died unexpectedly of
pneumonia just five months later.
My mother continued to bring all four of us to the orthodox
synagogue. She made sure that her three daughters and son were involved in the
Orthodox Synagogue and part of the community. She encouraged my then teenaged
sisters to be active in the youth group and they ran for office. My sisters ran
for Treasurer and Secretary and won. Even though they were active in their
jobs, they still had to sit up away from the men. I continued to ask why we
were not allowed to sit on the main floor. I remember feeling left out and not
as important as the men.
One night, after a youth group meeting my mother noticed
that some teenaged boys from New Haven
were about to head home during a giant snowstorm. We lived near Mystic, CT and
this is not a short ride especially for an inexperienced driver. My mother insisted
that the boys stay with us where they could be safe - she probably saved their
lives. The boys had guitars, sat by the fire and had a sing a-long with all of
us. I was only four but I remember feeling very spiritual about the jewish
melodies they sang.
The boys slept downstairs, the girls slept upstairs; it was
very innocent. The snow was cleared by the morning and the boys got home safe
and sound. Shortly after, my mother got a call from the Synagogue. She was
called a brazen hussy, she was told she was no longer welcomed in the orthodox
synagogue and that her daughters were no longer elected officials for the youth
group. My sisters were devastated.
I didn't know about this until some years later when my
sister Michele, alav hashalom (may she rest in peace), was on her death bed. She told me the entire story,
from her perspective. We had just had an argument about organized religion. I
then realized that the day the orthodox community denounced her and our family,
was the very day that she no longer wanted to practice Judaism. That was the
day the jewish community lost my sister. Two very strong, smart and spiritual
jewish people were lost due to such sexist standards and that's really a shame.
My siblings are much older than I am. My mother joined a
Conservative temple. I was happy sitting with everyone else. A year later, a
reformed temple opened up in Groton.
It was at the Reform temple that I felt connected for the very first time.
The Rabbi was young and funny. I remember waiting for each of his sermons...I
remember sitting on the edge of my seat and then falling off in laughter as he
performed puppet shows. His sermons challenged me, provoking thought...I was
only six or seven years old! The cantor played guitar, it was wonderful.
We stayed with this Temple
till I was 12. We were very poor in a rather wealthy community. I found
acceptance from the Rabbi. One day he announced that he was moving away. I
remember crying. One day, shortly after he had gone I was attending hebrew
school. My teacher was female and a mother of one of the other children. She
made a callous comment about my clothing and snickered at the fact that I wore
the same clothing last week. We didn't have money for a big wardrobe and it was
bad enough that I got these comments at public school but to receive it from a
grown woman from our congregation...was humiliating.
I told my mother I wasn't going back. And I didn't. I was
not to be Bat Mitzvah-ed. I would not be wearing the tallit. I remember seeing
my brother's Tallit and Tefillin when he was Bar Mitzvah-ed in the conservative
temple. The Tallit was passed down to him. It was my understanding that I would
not get to wear a Tallit in the conservative temple; my brother told me how
special the tefillin was and told me not to touch it.
When I was 18, I moved to Chicago on my own. I did not know a soul
there. I was lonely and yet one Friday night I walked into a synagogue. I
didn't know anything about the synagogue but I just walked in. And, I was home.
The music was universal...it didn't matter what sex I was...it didn't matter
what denomination it was. I was home when I was there. I would go from
synagogue to synagogue. And I always felt like I was home when I heard the
music.
I met my soulmate a few months after moving to Chicago. One day I was
talking to his niece. She told me of her Rabbi and how he inspired her. She
told me he was funny and thought provoking all at once. As I was about to tell
her that he sounded like my childhood Rabbi the words "Rabbi Knobel"
flowed out of both of our mouths simultaneously! Over a thousand miles away,
and there he was...my childhood rabbi!
I went back to hebrew school and started to learn again.
Unfortunately I had just joined a touring post alternative band and wasn't able
to continue. I do plan on going back someday. I do want to read Torah and I do
want to wear the Tallit. I feel fortunate to be in a day and age when I will
have the opportunity to wear a Tallit and that our daughter will be able to as
well. I have seen many beautiful tallitot and admire the art.
Rabbi Peter Knobel and Cantor Jeff Klepper,1983
In 1997, Rabbi Knobel married us and Cantor Klepper played
melodic guitar at our wedding. It was the same music I remembered from
childhood. My very favorite memory of our wedding is when the Rabbi wrapped the
tallit around me and my bashert. We were soul-mates, foreheads touching,
wrapped in beautiful judaic culture, wrapped in history, wrapped in a tallit I
felt safe and at one with my bashert. It is a beautiful memory.
It wasn't until we had our daughter that I realized some
things about being a Jewish girl in 1960's America. We had a really nice
naming for Madison Michele who is named after my late sister. But I found out
that in the 50's and 60's when my sisters and I were born, just my father went
to the synagogue to name us. It's kind of sad to think of the birth of a
daughter as being less significant than the birth of a son. I'm happy to be a
part of a community where I can sit where I want, wear what I want, and to be a
mother who can tell her children that we all have these opportunities. Our
daughter and son can sit with us and wear what they want and enjoy the
sermons and music of a male Rabbi, a female Rabbi and a female Cantor.
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