The story of the Jews, and a poem!

In last night's class, Rabbi Singer made an interesting statement: in modern times, the "story" of the Jews has become the tragedy of the Shoah (Holocaust). But that's not the story we need to tell. We need to reclaim the story of Exodus as our central theme.

And so we spent an hour and a half--not nearly enough time--delving into the major thematic elements of Exodus.

For me--on so many levels, Exodus embodies the Jewish soul: a release from bondage (literally and/or metaphorically, take your pick); the willing, communal acceptance of this unique covenant--embodied in a revolutionary, egalitarian code that's binding forever, for all generations for the children of Israel.

I think this is very relevant to the Jewish convert--the wandering in the desert, coming to a place when/where you're ready to accept all this, being brought to your knees in awe--and then standing back up with your people...

Sorry to get a little horsey, but... yeah. It's like that for me.

We also spent a bit of time discussion the representation/role of women at the Sinai event. The Torah writer(s) may imply that women were not present, but some Rabbinic commentary theorize they were there.

(Side note here for my non-Jewish friends: Judaism is not a "biblical" religion--it's a Rabbinic religion. We don't care so much what the actual text says--although it's important--but what the Rabbinic interpretation/analysis has to say about it. And for Reform Jews, its potential meaning in modern times is much more relevant. And the Rabbis' interpretations may be disparate--arguments and POVs literally spanning hundreds, if not thousands of years. Often times, stories were created to help fill in the gaps of understanding; sometimes literal, sometimes metaphorical in nature. This is called Midrash). OK, school's out!).

And so we read a poem: Merle Feld offers a bit of contemporary midrash regarding the role of women at Sinai in "We All Stood Together."

We All Stood Together
My brother and I were at Sinai
He kept a journal
of what he saw
of what he heard
of what it all meant to him
I wish I had such a record
of what happened to me
It seems like every time I want to write
I can't
I'm always holding a baby
one of my own
or one of my friend
always holding a baby
so my hands are never free
to write things down
And then
As time passes
the particulars
the hard data
the who what when where why
slip away from me
and all I'm left with is
the feeling
But feelings are just sounds
The vowel barking of a mute
my brother is so sure of what he heard
after all he's got a record of it
consonant after consonant after consonant
If we remembered it together
we could recreate holy time
sparks flying