This Jewish Life:  Matzah, Matzah Everywhere

It seems like my trips home are gradually getting shorter and shorter.  I flew to Phoenix for Passover and was there for about 72 hours-not quite enough time to feel relaxed.  Between Seders, family members, errands, and high school friends, I barely had time to sit down. 

But, it was worth it to be able to spend Passover with my family.  My parents and all four of my grandparents reside in Arizona, so going home truly allows me to see the most important people in my life.  It's wonderful. 

And Passover is definitely one of my favorite holidays.  I love the rituals of the Seder and the ways that different families incorporate their own quirky traditions into their evenings.  In my family, we put an orange on the Seder plate to represent the people who have been excluded from full participation in the Jewish community because of gender, sexual orientation or some other characteristic. 

This practice in itself is an aberration from the classic Seder model, but the "quirky" tradition in my family is that someone always behaves as if this is the first time that an orange was seen on the Seder plate.  Despite the fact that we have put the orange there for as long as I can remember, someone always asks (in an overly dramatic tone), "What is this orange and why is it here?"  or "Is this one of those feminist things?"  These comments generally make me and the rest of the women at the table roll our eyes at whoever is talking, but it's our tradition and it does, on occasion, give rise to substantive discussion. 

The best part about this year's Passover was returning from home to an office where everyone (to some degree) was keeping Kosher for Passover.  There were boxes of Matzah on nearly every available countertop-desks, tables, kitchen counters, etc.  And there were crumbs everywhere.   It was a mess-but, it was a wonderful, constant reminder that we were celebrating Passover. 

In the past, Passover has always made me feel different from my peers-with my special meals and my inability to participate in certain events because of my observance.  But this year, for the first time, Passover was a reminder of the religious/cultural connection that I have to the people around me.  It was a welcome change. 

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This Jewish Life: Down in New Orleans

I have never experienced such a diverse array of emotions as when I was in New Orleans this past week.  From excitement to disappointment, devastation to hope, exuberance to exhaustion, hopeful to discouraged, inadequate to useful-every ephemeral emotion was overwhelming.

The main purpose of my trip was for a meeting of the Commission on Social Action (CSA), the Union for Reform Judaism's policy-making body. My co-workers and I also managed to clear our schedules for a couple of days so that we could have a mini-vacation before the meeting actually started.

These first two days were a great taste of New Orleans culture.  We sat in the warm Louisiana sun listening to zydeco music, walked along Bourbon Street with fruity drinks in our hands, and ate beignets at various cafes throughout the city.  Like many people have described the city, it certainly felt like a European enclave in the middle of the South. 

During the CSA meeting, we explored the parts of New Orleans that were most affected by Hurricane Katrina and the rush of water that broke through the levees.  We took a bus tour around the city visiting sites of devastation and meeting incredible people who were taking part in the efforts to rebuild.  Despite the large numbers of people who seem to be involved with rebuilding, progress is happening incredibly slowly.

Certain neighborhoods and communities, especially those close to the levees, are still completely devastated and abandoned.  They almost seem like ghost towns.  As you drive down the streets, you can't help but imagine the people who used to live in the gutted homes.  Where are these people now?  What did they lose?  Who did they lose?

The most powerful stop on our New Orleans tour was at a modern orthodox synagogue that had been submerged under 10+ feet of water.  Every religious object in the building, including hundreds of tallitot and three sacred Torah scrolls were drowned and destroyed by the waters.  For some reason, I was particularly struck by the devastation in the synagogue.  It felt personal.  The synagogue could easily have been my synagogue and the Torah scrolls could have been the ones that I carried at my Bat Mitzvah. 

I didn't have the same feelings when I was driving through the neighborhoods looking at homes.  I was shocked, angered, disappointed and disheartened, but I didn't feel like I was able to empathize.  Only in the synagogue could I envision the incredible spirit of the community before it was devastated. 

To be honest, I am still processing all of the emotions that I had on this trip and figuring out now to translate my thoughts and feelings into actions.  I know that I want to help--somehow.  But, I haven't yet figured out how.  We as a country have not yet figured out how.   And we must.  In the words of Mitch Landrieu, Lieutenant Governor of Louisiana, saving New Orleans is not just a question of saving the people affected by the hurricane, it is a matter of redeeming ourselves.

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This Jewish Life:  Thank you, Jefferson

On Saturday night of L'Taken, a weekend long social justice seminar for high schoolers, we bring our students to the Jefferson Memorial to celebrate Havdalah.  With 250 students sitting on the marble steps, holding candles, and singing, the experience is often a highlight of the weekend for the kids.

This past Saturday, our Havdalah ceremony coincided with the start of the DC Cherry Blossom Festival.  The Cherry Blossom Festival is an annual, two-week long event, marking the blooming of the cherry trees with various concerts, performances, and community projects.

 For example, on Saturday afternoon, every inch of the National Mall was covered with people flying kites as part of the Smithsonian Kite Festival.  Singing verses of "Let's Go Fly a Kite" from Mary Poppins, my fellow Legislative Assistants and I spent one of our precious few free hours during the weekend enjoying the beautiful day and watching the crazy kites fly through the sky.  We mused that we would probably not be conducting Havdalah at the Jefferson with so many more people than usual wandering around. 

A few hours later, we found ourselves standing on the steps of the Jefferson, practically begging our Program Director to find a new location for the service so that we wouldn't have to wear our Judaism on our sleeves in front of the hundreds of people who were visiting the Memorial. But the students began to arrive and we proceeded as planned.

It ended up being an incredible experience.  Amidst hundreds of DC tourists and locals who were enjoying the day, we sang Debbie Friedman's Havdalah tunes and welcomed the new week together.  Some onlookers were taking pictures of us, others were asking questions about what was going on, and I even think I saw a video camera among the crowd. 

The situation was vaguely uncomfortable at first, but once I was able to shed my embarrassment, it was amazing.  We were standing at the "feet" of Jefferson-- the man who championed the separation of church and state, understanding that it is the key to religious liberty --and we were publicly exercising our right to practice our religion, in any way that we pleased.

Every time that we have Havdalah at the Jefferson, we read quotes about his legacy and his efforts to ensure religious freedom, but the readings were never as poignant as they were last weekend.  With more daylight than usual (thank you daylight savings time) and more people watching us, we were exposed, vulnerable, transparent, and completely protected by our First Amendment Right to the Free Exercise of religion. 

I am surprised that it took me seven L'Takens to understand the power of that moment, but I am certainly glad that our Program Director (in his infinite wisdom, I guess) made us stay, despite our protests, to embrace the moment.

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This Jewish Life: Perceptions of America

I traveled to Oxford, England last week on a much-anticipated and needed vacation.  I was excited to step away from my desk and leave behind my daily tasks and stresses.  I was especially looking forward to having some time off from the typical political beltway conversations. 

While I definitely reached the level of rest and relaxation that I was hoping to obtain, I was unable to escape the political discussions-- especially about the Presidential race.  I was genuinely surprised by the number of people (Americans, Europeans, and Australians alike) who seemed to be following and felt invested in the outcome of the 2008 election.

Unfortunately, I am not an expert on Presidential politics and I am far more interested in talking about policy issues (particularly the ones in my portfolio) than about individual politicians, so I was a bit out of my element when questions were posed. 

But it was interesting to engage with people who were so geographically removed from the election and yet were deeply interested in its results.  Being in DC, it's easy to forget that this election isn't just one of the wonky DC topics of discussion-it's being debated, discussed, and followed around the country and around the world.

The most interesting comment about the U.S. that I heard from someone in England (completely unrelated to the election) was--"Oh you're from the US.  They don't care about the environment over there."  While said partially in jest, this comment was a clear indication of the perception that people around the world have about U.S. environmental policy. 

And their perception isn't skewed.   Compared to what I saw in Oxford, we are certainly lagging behind.  There were various books with titles like "The Green Guide to Oxford" and informational signs and cards everywhere advertising the environmentally-friendly aspects of businesses and events.  I was impressed.  And ashamed-- to be from a place that was not prioritizing environmental protection to nearly the same extent.

Throughout the trip, I alternated between being proud to be an American and embarrassed of being associated with some of our less-progressive policies.  Perhaps the results of the election will make my odds of feeling proud even better…

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This Jewish Life: A Haircut and More

I went to get my hair cut after school today. I drove myself to the agora of Teaneck, Cedar Lane, to visit my regular barber.

Cedar Lane is an anthropological gem in itself. The street boasts at least eight separate nail salons, more banks than I can count, the Teaneck library,  myriad Jewish eateries, two CVSs, and (my favorite) a kosher and non-kosher pizza place that are adjacent to on another.

I parked and ran through the rain to Hair Master West where I was pleased to see the owner, Frank, sitting reading the paper; there was not a customer in sight.

Frank is not Jewish. That is apparent upon first meeting him. His raspy voice, no doubt altered by decades of smoking, has a distinctly—well—non-Jewish tone. He is a schmoozer nonetheless.

We began talking about the nascent NCAA Basketball tournament (I like UCLA over Kansas in the finals, if anyone was wondering), but soon started one of my favorite conversations of all time.

He asked me if I’d be back to get my hair trimmed before Pesach. He even pronounced the chet of Pesach with a distinctly Jewish-American sound.

He proceeded to explain that he knows that after Passover, some Jews don’t cut their hair for thirty-three days. “He know about Lag Ba’Omer?” I thought, puzzled. I was having trouble understanding how Frank the non-Jewish barber knew about that custom. He continued: “All I know is that on that 33rd day, every Jew in town comes in to get a hair cut. It’s crazy in here!” I laughed. It got funnier.

Frank moved on to discussing how his barbershop essentially functions on a Jewish calendar. He knows all the holidays and pronounces their names with a nonchalance that made me giggle. I half expected him to ask me about the parsha. 

I don’t know what to make of this right now, but I do know that it was amusing, and I hope you found it a fun read too.

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This Jewish Life:  A Tribute, On The No. 35 Bus / Sharon Millendorf in Jerusalem

Every morning I take the 35 bus line to work. It's a quick ride and usually takes no more than 12 minutes.  The third stop after I get on by the shuk is directly in front of Yeshivat Merkaz HaRav.

This morning I found myself a bit anxious, unsure of what I was going to see as we passed by.

As I looked around, I saw death notices pasted all over the street and flowers that had been brought lined the entrance to the Yeshiva.

When the bus pulled up to the stop, the driver shut off the engine and stood. With tears in his eyes he  told everyone sitting on the bus that one of the boys killed on Thursday night was his nephew. He asked if everyone on the bus would mind if he spoke for a few minutes in memory of his nephew and the other boys that were killed.

After seeing head nods all over the bus he began to speak. With a clear and proud voice, he spoke beautifully about his nephew and said that he was a person who was constantly on the lookout for how to help out anyone in need. He was always searching for a way to make things better. He loved learning, and had a passion for working out the intricacies of the Gemara. He was excited to join the army in a few years, and wanted to eventually work in informal education.

As he continued to speak, I noticed that the elderly woman sitting next to me was crying. I looked into my bag, reached for a tissue and passed it to her. She looked at me and told me that she too had lost someone she knew in the attack. Her neighbors child was another one of the boys killed.

As she held my hand tightly, she stood up and asked if she too could say a few words in memory of her neighbor. She spoke of a young man filled with a zest for life. Every friday he would visit her with a few flowers for shabbat and a short dvar torah that he had learned that week in Yeshiva. This past shabbat, she had no flowers.

When I got to work, one of my colleagues who lives in Efrat told me that her son was friends with 2 of the boys who had been killed. One of those boys was the stepson of a man who used to teach in Brovenders and comes to my shul in Riverdale every Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur to be a chazan for one of the minyanim.

We are all affected by what goes on in Israel. Whether you know someone who was killed or know someone who knows someone or even if you don't know anyone at all, you are affected. The 8 boys who were killed will continue to impact us all individually and as a nation. Each one of us has the ability to make a profound impact on our world.

This coming wednesday morning, I will be at Ben Gurion airport at 7 am with Nefesh B'Nefesh welcoming 40 new olim to Israel. We will not deter. We can not give up. We will continue to live our lives and hope and work for change, understanding and peace.

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This Jewish Life: Making Terrorism Personal

The massacre at the Merkaz Harav yeshiva in Jerusalem last week is the killing in Israel that has affected me most in my entire lifetime.

My generation is unique. Having grown up with the Intifada, September 11th , and the Genocide in Darfur, my generation is all too familiar with tragedy and death. My mother always tells me that the first death that she experienced (that is outside the realm of grandparents or elder relatives) was when she was in her early twenties; I have attended numerous funerals of my friends’ parents, witnessed 9/11, and hope every day that there won’t be a terrorist attack in Israel.

All in seventeen short years. Tragedy is almost common. I hate saying it, but I expect bad things to happen in the world.

Last week in Jersualem, when eight Jewish teens were murdered, I felt tragedy in a new way. For the first time, I thought “That could be me.” I had never identified with the victims of an attack like that before.

Yes, Americans’ lives had been claimed in years past, but I wasn’t identifying with Americans. I was identifying with teens. Seven of the victims were between the ages of 15 and 18. That’s me. Those are my contemporaries. Next year I will be 18 years old at a Yeshiva in Jerusalem. Can it get any more similar?

This has not changed my mind about next year. I still intend on going to Israel for the year and studying at the Conservative Yeshiva. What this attack has changed, however, is how I look at the terror in Israel. For so long it has been a foreign tragedy; now it seems familiar—yet another familiar tragedy

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This Jewish Life: Growing Up

I guess this is growing up…
 

I can't think of anything in the world that I love more than being at Camp Swift.  Yesterday, I received an application to be a member of the Camp support staff and, unlike in the past, I didn't immediately print it and fill it out.  Instead, I came to the jarring and upsetting realization that, for the first time in five years, I won't be there.

Last week, on a Congressional lobby visit with students from my home congregation (Temple Chai in Phoenix, Arizona), I heard a student give a speech on immigration in which she told the story of a kid she had met at Camp Swift whose family was deported very suddenly.  When we left the office, she said to me, "I saw you smiling when I started talking about Camp Swift." 

It was true. I loved hearing her talk about the experience that inspired me to become an advocate and knowing that the lives of a new generation of high school students are being touched by the kids that they meet at Camp Swift.

Camp Swift is a week-long retreat for inner-city Phoenix students, where we give them "all the food that they can eat and all the love that they can handle."  It's an incredible thing to be a part of.  We build a safe, supportive, and fun environment for kids whose home lives are often less-than-ideal.  High-school aged students serve as their counselors and everyone else helps to run fun activities like swimming, rock climbing, cooking, canoeing, etc.  It is the only time of year when I forget all of my other responsibilities, commitments and stresses and focus completely on giving back to my community. 

At least I know that, even though I won't be with them this summer, I haven't abandoned my commitment to improving the lives of these kids.  When I am advocating for more effective schooling or better health care coverage, the faces of the kids I have met at Camp are always flashing before my eyes.

But it's not the same as being there.  I won't get to watch a kid's face light up as he realizes that, for the first time in his life, he can eat as much food as he wants.  I won't get to give a hug to a kid who just overcame his fear of heights to scale a 15-foot rock wall.  I won't get to hear a counselor sing camp songs while walking around with one camper on his back and one holding each of his hands.  And I won't get to see a kid cry as she realizes that the best four days of her life are over. 

It's a sacrifice that I had to make in order to move across the country to take on a new life and job.  As much as I wish that I could stay involved and connected with everything (and everyone) that had an impact on my life in the past, I am quickly learning that it is simply impossible.  I have to abandon certain passions in order to make room for others.  While this is a reality that I am beginning to understand, I have a long way to go before I will be able to accept it.

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This Jewish Life:  A Transformation and a Conversation

We often talk about the "transformation" that our students undergo during the course of a L'Taken Social Justice Seminar.  By now, I have witnessed the transformation many times-students who come to Washington DC with little or no interest in politics leave with an understanding of a variety of social justice issues and the ability to articulate their thoughts and viewpoints on at least one of these issues. 

Generally, it's during the meetings with Congressional staff on Mondays where the participants speak confidently about the issues that have inspired them over the weekend-long program that I get the chance to kvell about their accomplishments.  This past weekend was no exception.  But, I also got another, unexpected chance to witness a student in action.
 

On Monday morning, I hopped into a cab going to the Hill with two students.  The cab driver asked the students why they were going to speak with their Representatives.  One of the students eagerly (with no apprehension) told the cab driver that he was going to talk to his Senators and Representative about gay and lesbian rights.  Almost immediately, the cab driver shared his thoughts on the topic.  They weren't exactly in line with the views that the Reform Movement (or any other liberal-minded person) would espouse.  But, to my surprise, one of the students in the car was ready to respond immediately.  In summary, the conversation went as follows:

"Why do you want to do that?" asked the cab driver. 

"Because gay and lesbian people do not have the same protection as others in the workplace and I don't think that's fair," said the student.

"People aren't supposed to be like that. Man and woman were made for each other and that's just the way it is," said the cab driver.

"I don't believe that.  And I think that we need to respect people no matter what…"

It continued for a few minutes-with the cab driver offering his thoughts and the student replying with intelligent and informed answers.  It was an amazing conversation.  The student had enough confidence in his understanding of the topic to engage in an informal dialogue with a cab driver.  I was totally impressed with his courage and, frankly, his chutzpah!  The conversation made me wonder if I would have responded as clearly and self-assuredly if the questions had been directed toward me… especially when I was 16.

It's moments like these-when students wear their transformations on their sleeves-that I realize why working 40 hour weekends (with very little sleep) is my favorite part of my job.  

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This Jewish Life:  Eli's Back

I guess I kinda left you all with quite the cliffhanger.

In my previous blog I vented about the frustrating, agonizing, and anxiety provoking event of finding out whther or not I got into Cornell.

I got in.

So my hiatus from blogging was probably—no, most definitely brought about by an early onset of senioritis. I apologize.

So what’s been going on in the mind of your average teenage, Jewish kid?

Well there’s the obvious: Obama-rama, gleeful witnessing of Mets’ off-season wheeling and dealing, and the formulation of my plans for next year.

And the less obvious: Opinions on a family trip to Vegas, rediscovering my love for Simon and Garfunkel, and an overwhelming sense of accomplishment, now being able to grow a real pair of sideburns.

My life has been simplified and complicated at the same time. For the first time I have a sense of what my future s going to look like. And not just an idea, but a real picture. I know I’m going to be in Israel next year. I know that I am going to Cornell after that. That knowledge, realism not optimism, is both soothing and startling. There is an undeniable feeling of relaxation that accompanies this kind of “knowing,” but I also feel like Peter Pan. I don’t want to grow up. I won’t grow up. But I cannot deny the inevitable, after all, I have sideburns.

It’s odd. I’ve always wanted to be able to grow sideburns, but who knew that these hairy face-frames would have, implicit within their presence on my profile, a message about my life, heralding the eventual demise of my youth. Now I know college is still technically part of this epoch of youth, but it’s all so evanescent. I feel like I just started high school. 

But I have to leave high school, my house, and Teaneck some time, right? I just hope I’m ready.

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This Jewish Life:  Blast from the Past

I didn't think that I was old enough to have flashbacks to my past.  But last weekend, when I attended the North American Federation of Temple Youth's (NFTY) mid-year board meeting, I was flooded with memories of my term as Communications Vice President on the NFTY-Southwest regional board in 2002-2003. 

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This Jewish Life:  We're All In This Together

A few weeks ago, my roommate asked me if I would ever consider joining a synagogue that was not Reform. 

My response was that I couldn't rule out the possibility, but I know I would have a hard time leaving the Reform Movement because of its long tradition of commitment to social justice and tikkun olam, both of which are central to my Judaism. 

While I did not mean to imply that the other denominations within the larger Jewish community are devoid of social conscience, I clearly revealed my bias and (to an extent) ignorance about other Jewish groups.

Although, among the major denominations, the Reform Movement has the largest number of staff working full time on social justice advocacy, congregations across the country from all denominations are involved with this work. 

Yesterday I was reminded of how central social action and justice are to Jews across the spectrum when I accompanied Rabbi Saperstein as he spoke to the attendees of Rabbinic Assembly's yearly conference.  The Rabbis were preparing for a lobby day on Capitol Hill, learning from inside-the-beltway experts, and members of congress before visiting with Senators and Representatives to voice their opinions on important domestic and foreign policy issues. 

In that room, there was no "Reform social justice agenda" to contrast with a "Conservative social justice agenda."  There was simply an understanding of the need for change in the world and a desire to work together to make a difference.  It was inspiring and grounding-and, most importantly, a great reminder that the Jewish denominations can work together to pursue social justice.

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This Jewish Life: Time Travails and Issue Overload

With a portfolio of upwards of 15 legislative issues, it's often difficult to determine how to allocate my time.  And with there only being 24 hours in a day, some of my issues are inevitably put on the back burner or deemed momentarily "less important." 

In general, I accept this reality and work on the issues that are moving quickly in Congress or those that become priorities in our office for one reason or another.  But recently, I realized that I have temporarily lost sight of some of the issues that I was excited to work on when I came to Washington. 

My lack of background in policy meant that my attraction to specific issues was largely driven by my academic and direct service interests.  So, in August, when the issues I'd be working on this year at the RAC were decided on, I was incredibly excited to have both mental health and education in my portfolio because these were issues I was already involved with and passionate about .  But almost immediately, these two issues were forced to take a backseat to the immediate pressures of the SCHIP battle and our various fights to preserve First Amendment rights. 

While I have loved the new knowledge and insight that working on health care and church/state separation have provided, I feel a little bit like I have lost my roots.

For example, my passion for education led me to apply for Teach for America last year, but I gave up a job with them to work at the RAC.  Part of my justification to myself while making that decision was that I would still be working to provide students with better, more effective schooling (an interest I was not willing to forfeit), but I would simply be doing so from a new, different, and hopefully more effective angle.  This hasn't exactly been the case-largely because advocates for education reform seem to be waiting until we have a new President to fix the No Child Left Behind Act, but also because I have not actively pursued opportunities to be involved with education reform. 

Similarly, in the interview for my position at the RAC, I remember saying I was most excited to work on mental health issues because I wanted to apply my academic background in psychology to politics.  So, I was excited to have mental health issues in my portfolio until I realized that the lack of moving legislation about this issue would force it to be low on my list of priorities.

I came to this realization this week because, for the first time in a while, information about legislation related to mental health came across my desk.  I was excited to hear about the passage of legislation that will create a limited extension of the ban on health plans setting stricter lifetime or annual dollar limits on mental health care than on care for other illnesses.  This step in the right direction will hopefully open the door for members of Congress to push more comprehensive parity legislation, namely the Paul Wellstone Mental Health and Addiction Equity Act of 2007. 

Hearing of the recent successes has reminded me how much I want to be involved (and get the Reform Movement involved) with the fight for parity.  I had forgotten how much I wanted to work on mental health care until I was reinvigorated by this exciting news.

I also received an email about a coalition meeting to discuss the effect of Bush's budget and State of the Union proposals on our educational system.  Despite previous commitments, I am hoping to move my schedule around and attend because education is such a personal priority and something that I truly miss focusing my energy on.

So, this week may be the start of some new priorities… or at least, a re-adoption of some old ones.

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This Jewish Life:  Debates With Myself

I have no idea what I want to do with my life.  Well, that isn't entirely true.  I have a lot of ideas about what I want to do with my life, I just haven't made a decision about which of those ideas is the "best" idea. I thought my year at the RAC would provide some clarity, but, in general, it has only complicated the question even more.  This past week has exemplified and intensified the ongoing debate I've been having with myself.

Last weekend, I worked at one of the RAC's L'Taken Social Justice seminars, which bring Reform Jewish High school students from across the country together in Washington D.C. to learn about Jewish values and public policy and to lobby their Congressmen on issues of importance to the Reform Movement.  These weekends are my favorite part of my job.  I enjoy developing educational materials and creating fun, intensive programs that teach students about important social justice issues.  Most of all, I love empowering students and giving them the chance to articulate their concerns about our world.  "OK," I often think, "Maybe I should become an educator."

But as I watch the students interact with their rabbis (who chaperone their trips to L'Taken), I see what a positive influence these religious leaders can have on their congregants, and I'm often tempted to head off to rabbinical school.  I relish the idea of taking the time to delve into the teachings of the Jewish tradition and learn more about the various interpretations of the texts that I have studied only briefly in Hebrew school and college courses.

Then, on Monday morning, I joined the Coalition Against Religious Discrimination at a lobby visit with Congressional staff to raise our concerns about the charitable choice language in the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration reauthorization.  The struggle that I described in my previous blog posting resurfaced and I was reminded of my deeply held, longtime desire to work in social services or to devote my life to some form of direct service.

On Monday night, as I watched the State of the Union, I waffled again, wondering how I could walk away from the health care and church/state advocacy work I've been doing all year.  When President Bush talked about his desire to expand charitable choice and his willingness to allow Americans to remain uninsured, I thought it would be a good use of my time to remain an advocate and lobbyist in order to combat efforts like these. 

And this morning I attended a briefing about the Department of Justice's efforts to protect religious freedom.  I considered the possibility of going to law school to learn the nuance and details of law related to the First Amendment.  Interestingly, this is the only one of my options that I never contemplated before coming to the RAC, but I've realized that having a law degree would allow me to be more fully involved in the political process or participate in litigation that would set precedents and parameters related to religious freedom.

In conclusion, I have no conclusion.  I'm being pulled in so many different directions and unfortunately, I'm not sure how to resolve this internal debate.  I know the answer isn't going to simply fall into my lap and I want to be proactive about making a decision, but I am also enjoying having so many opportunities at my fingertips and I hate to choose one over another.

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This Jewish Life:  Reauthorization and Restraint

The policy issues I work on seem to encompass a lot of programs that need reauthorizing- The State Children's Health Insurance Program (SCHIP), No Child Left Behind (NCLB), Head Start and now, the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA). 

With an educational background in mental health, I know the benefits that programs like SAMHSA and Head Start can bring to communities across the country.  At the same time, as a student of Jewish history, I know that the preservation of church and state has been the chief guarantor of religious freedom for Jews and other religious minorities in United States.

So it has been a challenge to weigh the benefits of programs that meet essential needs against efforts by some elected officials to use those programs to weaken the First Amendment. 

I know that the Reform Movement's adamant and unyielding defense of the separation of church and state has in the past put us in the difficult position of having to oppose reauthorizations of programs that we support.  For example, for 5 years, Head Start reauthorization proposals included provisions that would have allowed religious groups that sponsor Head Start chapters to discriminate in their hiring.  This situation forced the Union for Reform Judaism to oppose attempts to reauthorize a fabulous program.

Luckily, this year, these stipulations were removed and we were finally able to  support the legislation to reauthorize Head Start.  I admit that I am relieved that I came to the RAC in the year that Head Start was uncontroversial because as a student of community psychology and education, I learned about all of the positive outcomes of the Head Start program and I imagine that it would have been quite a challenge for me to keep silent about my support.

This year I am faced with a similar issue-the SAMHSA reauthorization proposal has "charitable choice" provisions, which would allow direct government funding of pervasively sectarian (solely religious) organizations. Among other concerns, charitable choice allows government-funded religious discrimination and threatens a pre-emption of local civil rights laws.  The direct violations of the separation of church and state involved in charitable choice have long been a concern of the Reform Movement.  Rabbi Saperstein has even testified in Congressional hearings on this very issue. 

So, in association with the Coalition Against Religious Discrimination, I am spending time in the next couple of weeks trying to convince members of the Senate Health, Education, and Labor (HELP) committee to remove the charitable choice provisions before advancing the legislation.

I have realized that the RAC's willingness to oppose objectionable provisions within legislation that is overwhelmingly positive, such as SAMHSA, reinforces and strengthens our voice advocating for religious freedom.  As unsettling and uncomfortable as prioritizing the separation of church and state over the possibility of reauthorizing great government programs may be, these decisions gives legitimacy and power to our advocacy on church/state issues.

To read more about Head Start Reauthorization, check out this 2005 New York Times Article

To learn more about the Reform perspective on Charitable Choice, read excerpts from Rabbi David Saperstein's testimony to the House Judiciary Subcommittee here.

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Today, the House of Representatives voted whether or not to override President Bush's (second) veto of the reauthorization and expansion of the State Children's Health Insurance Program (SCHIP).  And, yet again, Congress was unable to muster the two-thirds majority necessary to provide 10 million children with affordable, accessible health care.  This bill would have created a $35 billion increase in funding for this essential program, which serves families whose incomes are too high to qualify for Medicaid, but too low to allow them to purchase private health insurance plans.  The failure to override the veto was disheartening, disappointing, unconscionable, and not at all surprising. 

Since the day that I learned I would be the Health Care Legislative Assistant at the RAC, I've been elbow-deep in the fight to pass a comprehensive SCHIP reauthorization bill-- using action alerts, press releases, phone calls, and lobby visits. 

At the beginning, it seemed like a no-brainer-of course Congress will pass and the President will sign a bill that gives 10 million children health care! (Did I mention that I was politically naïve when I took this job?)

 

But, as time progressed, I realized the enactment of this bill was not at all a given and I became part of a nationwide effort to mobilize public opinion and put pressure on Congress and the White House.  We hoped to change minds (and votes) to get this bill passed.  While public opinion certainly leaned in our direction, Congress would not be swayed and we saw SCHIP proposed, passed, vetoed, and our hopes dashed twice over the past 6 months.

 

The uphill battle for SCHIP reauthorization has been my introduction to partisan politics and the many roadblocks that can prevent progress.

 

For months, the Democrats and Republicans have been debating about provisions that seem to be minutia, but are largely reflections of the long-standing, philosophical question of the appropriate role of government in our society.  This SCHIP fight has displayed fundamental differences between the political parties, with the Republicans strongly advocating individual autonomy and the Democrats championing communal responsibility.

And, in the end, we are left with a reauthorization of the SCHIP program sans expansion.  Six million children remain covered by SCHIP, but we make no progress toward covering more of this country's 9 million uninsured children.  A severe disappointment and, in my opinion, a moral failing on the part of our country.

But, a good lesson for me to learn: progress in politics happens very slowly.  And more often than not, morality is not the prevailing factor in political decisions.  More accurately, morality is complicated by the desires and goals of battling political parties.  I've tried hard not to let the SCHIP experience destroy my faith in the political process or my optimism about the potential for change, but I admit that this has been a challenge.

 

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This Jewish Life:  Introducing Jessie Weiser 

Looking back, my major problem with college was that we spent so much time analyzing what was wrong with the world and so little time trying to change it.  Now, as an Eisendrath Legislative Assistant at the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism (RAC), I spend every day advocating for a better world.  It's certainly a full-time job--and a welcome change of pace.

I never took a politics class in college and my chosen medium for tikkun olam was generally direct service, so working at the RAC has come with a steep learning curve. 

At first, I asked questions like, "Who is Harry Reid?" (Senate Majority leader) and "How many votes does it take to override a Presidential veto?" (two-thirds majority in both chambers).

But I've quickly become engaged, informed, and enthralled with the political process and the issues that I advocate for every day.  I find myself making political jokes (that I would not even have understood 6 months ago), seeking out conversations about health care and religious freedom, and answering questions from friends about what's going on in Washington.

Many of my friends who recently graduated from college are stuck in jobs where their days are monotonous, their work menial, and their responsibilities minimal.  I am on the other end of the spectrum.  I am constantly busy-- shifting between tasks and political issues and maintaining a largely self-directed to-do list that is pages long.  I lobby Congressmen, attend coalition and working group meetings, draft press releases and action alerts, write educational programs, teach students about the intersection between public policy and Jewish values, and call Rabbis across the country to encourage them to get more involved with the RAC's work.

And, I can only be a legislative assistant for a year, so I get to throw myself into the experience completely, without being too worried about burn-out or exhaustion.  Though, I have to admit, all of this work can be quite tiring at times.

Every year, the RAC entrusts recent college graduates with the responsibility of conducting the RAC's legislative and educational programs.  Each legislative assistant is given a portfolio of issues and full responsibility for the RAC's work in those areas. After negotiations with my fellow legislative assistants, I ended up with the fitting portfolio of Church/State separation, Education, Children's Issues, Bioethics, Health Care, and Mental Health.

This diverse portfolio allows for many wonderful opportunities, including the chance to work closely with Rabbi David Saperstein, Director of the RAC and a leading expert on the separation of Church and State, and the responsibility of being the coordinator of a major new Union for Reform Judaism initiative to promote state-level advocacy for health care reform.

So, I've transformed in the past four months- into a passionate and informed advocate speaking on behalf of the Reform Movement.  I've retained my love of community service and the academic scrutiny of social issues, but I've added political activism as a dimension of my social justice pursuits.  My blog posts over the next few weeks will be reflections on this new focus of my life--- politics and life in the beltway.

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This Jewish Life:  Judgment Week / Eli Grossman

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Hoops for the Heschel Heat / Eli Grossman in Teaneck, NJ

I play varsity basketball for the Heschel Heat (we are currently undefeated). Our team is a member of the Metropolitan Yeshiva High School Basketball League (MYSHBL, for short). MYSHBL has twenty two teams, twenty one of which are Yeshivot. My school, the Abraham Joshua Heschel School, is the lone non-yeshiva team in the league.

This league is more than basketball, in fact-for some-it is the most important thing in their school life. I love my team. I love my coaches. As a senior, I am truly enjoying my final year (potentially) of organized basketball.

At the beginning of the year, my coach, the illustrious Adam Melzer, organized a pre-season basketball tournament in memory of Freddy Hirsch, a Jew murdered by the Nazis. This tournament brought together eight different teams for various games during the week, a Shabbat in Teaneck, and a pair of weekend games.

In my three years in the Yeshiva league, my opponents have always been faceless-in the interest of alliteration-frummies. I have known nothing about them as people, anything about how they are off the court.

The Shabbat in Teaneck showed me that even though Heschel is alone in being a non-Yeshiva, the kids across the Yeshiva league are eerily homogenous. We all love basketball and we all love Judaism, even if we express it in different ways: HANC could be seen singing z'mirot loudly during lunch, Heschel thought deeply and challenged the standards in Shabbat-afternoon discussion groups, and a Frisch player layned from the Torah. The tournament was a huge success, even though Heschel came in second place, losing a close one to HANC.

This league is populated by Jewish basketball players. Now I don't want to belittle the talents of the likes of Max Feldstein, Gavriel Feld,  Eddie Gindi, or Steven Ritholtz-the premier players of our league, but I'll always have this thought in the back of my mind telling me that this is a second tier league. But, in fact, it doesn't matter. MYHSBL is not meant to be a top league with Division I recruits. It's supposed to be a unifying force-a force that unites Jewish teens with a common love for the sport.

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Introducing Eli /  Eli Grossman in Teaneck, NJ

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