Here He Is: Larry Kaufman talks about his Jewish Journey

I first heard about Larry Kaufman in the summer of 2010 when we launched this blog.. We were thinking about congregants who might be game to respond. “Ask Larry Kaufman if he’d like to chime in,” I was urged. And when I did, and he did, I saw why.

Turns out, though Larry and his wife Barbara are relative newcomers to Beth Emet (they became members in 2007), Larry is no newcomer to thoughtful close scrutiny and response to a myriad of threads of Jewish text and thinking.

Sure, his degree in English literature from the University of Chicago and a career as a marketing and communications consultant are partial explanations for his engaging blog reflections on aspects of Torah and Jewish life. But the engine in his voluminous writings is his Jewish journey.

After growing up in an observant Jewish household in Cleveland (more on that later), and moving to Chicago, Larry tells about receiving a letter from his mother alerting him to expect a call from a man named Sidney Berkowitz. Berkowitz was moving from Cleveland to Chicago to become the executive director of the Jewish Family and Community Service. His mother knew Sidney through serving on the family service board in Cleveland.

Berkowitz called and invited Larry to Fred Harvey’s in the LaSalle Street Station. It turned out to be a hugely important day in Larry’s life because, in the course of lunch, Berkowitz asked him, knowing of his parents’ activism, “What do you do in the Jewish community?”

To which Larry replied, “Nothing.”

Berkowitz looked at Larry with surprise and said, “Why not?”

“Nobody ever asked me.”

“Where is it written that you have to wait to be asked?”

That afternoon, Larry called the Jewish Federation and got involved in the Young People’s Division.

He views that lunch with Sidney Berkowitz as life-changing, as was an exchange with his boss at the temple where he taught Hebrew as a high school senior, who prodded him to choose a college that offered active Jewish life on campus. Larry recently wrote about the bit players who change our lives on the Reform Judaism blog.

http://blogs.rj.org/reform/2010/05/the-bit-players-who-change-our.html

Larry’s call to the Jewish Federation led him full blast into Jewish organizational activity, including presidencies at the Young People’s Division and Schwab Rehabilitation Hospital, and vice-presidencies at what is now Spertus Institute and America-Israel Chamber of Commerce.

However, he was not part of the synagogue world until he married Barbara in 1974 and became involved first at Temple Sholom, and in 1978, in the Reform Zionist movement. Rabbi Polish and others had just started the Association of Reform Zionists of America (ARZA) and Larry was an early recruit, eventually becoming Chicago regional president and a “lifer” on the ARZA national board (ARZA’s mission, for those who don’t know, is to connect Reform Jews to Israel and to the establishment there of religious pluralism.)

Larry says he tuned in to the idea of religious pluralism because it was exemplified in the household where he grew up. His grandmother was Orthodox, so their home was kosher and “reasonably shomer Shabbat.” His mother, Rose’s, primary expression of being Jewish was in Zionism. As a young matron, she was recruited into an organization called Pioneer Women by Goldie Meyerson, (later known as Golda Meir). Rose eventually became national president of Pioneer Women (now known as Naamat U.S.A.), and spent the last ten years of her life in Tel Aviv. And his father, Louis, was active in the local Jewish community – the Anti-Defamation League, B’nai Brith, Jewish Big Brothers, and the synagogue Men’s Club.

Witnessing the differing ways that his grandmother and each of his parents acted on their Judaism, while giving respect and support to one another’s choices, instilled in Larry the idea that there are many legitimate and valid ways to be “a good Jew.”

So what has kept him deep in Jewish organizational life and learning?

Not surprisingly, he had more than one answer:

“Number one,” he says, “I was taught to give back.”

And number two?

“It’s been an opportunity for personal growth, particularly in leadership positions. I have been free to push boundaries and take the kind of risks that I might not have been comfortable taking in business. ”

Since 1979, Larry’s primary organizational focus has been in the Reform movement, locally, nationally, and internationally. He currently serves on the Boards of the Union for Reform Judaism and of ARZA, and is on the North American Council of the World Union for Progressive Judaism

Through ARZA, he became involved in the American Zionist Movement, serving as chair of its Chicago board, as a national vice-president, and as a delegate in 2010 to the World Zionist Congress in Jerusalem.

While a student at the University of Chicago, he also attended the College of Jewish Studies (now Spertus Institute), and taught for more than a decade in the adult Jewish education program at Temple Sholom, including courses on the history of Reform Judaism and Comparative Judaisms. At Beth Emet, he is currently leading a class in Pirke Avot.

Larry is a regular attendee of Rabbi Knobel’s Talmud and Rabbi London’s’ Torah classes and Kahal. He is also a well-known voice in the Jewish blogosphere, where he regularly writes for www.rj.org . His web name is hinneni@aol.com. Hinneni means here I am. And we are glad that he is here indeed.

Interview conducted by Ellen Blum Barish, April 2011

Letting (Some) of My Passover Expectations Go

Passover - my favorite of all the Jewish holidays.

No other gathering offers up as sumptuous a meal with as much symbolism and metaphor, conversational heft, range of aroma, song, and spirit as this celebration of freedom.

This is the part I get enthusiastic about.

The angst, however, comes from my expectations: I not only want everyone’s belly to be satisfied but their spirits must be lifted as well. I want historical significance. I want all five senses engaged. I want a high-definition Passover with large Loop musical theatre production values.

But I’ve got a tough audience: A family that prefers to do without the long meaningful fireworks version. They’d rather get right to the eating business.

Oh, the religious school teacher bag of tricks that have gone unappreciated! Like the Seder I wove a long red ribbon around everyone’s wrists, representing the bloody shackles of slavery, and then pulled on the ribbon when the Israelites were freed. The flim clip I showed from Disney’s “The Prince of Egypt.” The animated finger puppet plagues. The handmade haggadahs with covers illustrated by my kids.

During these, Mother-in-Law leaves to check on the soup. Daughter excuses herself for the bathroom, but I suspect it’s to text. A conversation between Brother and Uncle-in-Law starts in the far corner.

My husband tells me that our Seders have an impact, that our family just isn’t admitting it. But that’s easy for him to say: The filmic spoof on Passover that he made with his Hebrew School buddy got a great reception. He used Little Tykes figurines for Hebrew slaves, Captain Picard as Moses and a Klingon for Pharaoh. A stovetop set the stage for the burning bush, then on to the parting of the kitchen sink and finally, the Hebrews leaving Egypt to Bob Marley’s “Exodus.”

That was a hit, but those were his efforts, and not my style. All of these years I’ve been desperately trying to bring the heart of the holiday to the table – to conjure up the smallest sense of being enslaved and what it might feel like to be freed. Sure it’s a little bit force-fed, but it’s my table.

My grandfather, who fled Germany just before Hitler came into power, led my growing-up family Seders. He was not a religious man but he led us through every page of the Haggadah, even the songs at the end. I didn’t think about it at the time, but like many immigrants, he knew firsthand what it meant to leave home and set down roots in a new country where freedom was celebrated. There was something poignant about listening to his German-accented Hebrew as he read.

Since I moved from my hometown and became this holiday’s hostess, I’ve been trying to resurrect this Passover of old at my present table.

But I can’t. My grandfather is gone and I have a lousy German accent. So I’m letting my Passover people go. This year, we'll definitely host a true Seder, even if it is a bit modified to suit the audience, but I'm releasing my guests – and myself - from having to feel something that a plate of brisket and a bowl of matzoh ball soup just can’t evoke. But right next to Elijah's seat, I’m going to set a place for Grandpa Kurt.

Photo of Kurt Blum is courtesy of the Blum family archives.

A version of this essay aired on Chicago Public Radio-WBEZ in April 2009.

A Short of History of Hava Nagila

Nine-minute history of "Hava Nagila." Sure to bring a smile to your face, at least once.
Enjoy.

Passover: It's All in the Telling

by Larry Kaufman

A recent post on the Reform Judaism blog (www.rj.org) described the experience of someone newly converted to Judaism who attended his first seder at his congregation, and found himself seated next to a Christian divinity student who was there to gain insight on the roots of his own religion. The blog post went on to describe their conversation, and it was interesting to read about a seder with the perspectives of an outsider and of a newcomer.

As it happened, I just taught a one-session class on Passover as part of Beth Emet’s adult education program. I had no idea who might attend, and thus was at a loss as to how to prepare. Remembering that Passover is about "zaicher litsias Mitzrayim," remembering our departure from Egypt, I decided to focus on memory.

When the class convened, there were only three students, and I quickly learned that all three were Jews by choice – who therefore had no Passover memories of their own. Rather than impose my memories, I let them set the agenda; and it was interesting to listen to the range of their questions and to observe the depth of their interest.

In many ways, the simplest question was the hardest to answer: how do I choose a Haggadah for my family's seder. Rabbi London happened to drop in to say hello, and, on request, showed us a number of interesting haggadot from her personal collection. We talked about the three Reform haggadot (Union, Bronstein, and Elwell), and about special-agenda haggadot, and they seemed particularly fascinated by the story of the Maxwell House haggadah.

Not to totally lose the memory theme, I told them about the way family traditions develop, resulting in things that aren't on the haggadah's printed page, but might as well be -- as when my Tante Anna would serve the soup, invariably accompanied by her apology that the (light-as-a-feather) matzo balls were a little heavy this year.

Another question dealt with the historicity of the Exodus story, which we decided after brief discussion didn't really matter very much, but that what mattered was the importance of the re-telling of the story, whether it was fact or fiction.

Perhaps most important, we talked about freedom, including examples of personal liberation. We compared the Passover celebration with that of Independence Day -- where the one retains its symbolic significance, whereas the other is a day for hot dogs and lemonade, where only if we turn on the radio are we likely to hear the Star-Spangled Banner.

Did my students get out of the class what they were looking for? I don't really know. But echoing the story of the rabbis who pulled an all-nighter in telling the Passover story until their students interrupted because it was time for morning prayers, we were still there long after the scheduled time for the class to end, until the building staff reminded us they needed to lock up and go home.

So to my store of Passover memories, I now add this experience -- which, among other things, will add to the table conversation when my family gathers around the seder table to learn, sing, eat, and wait for Elijah.

Jews Under Construction

It’s a Sunday morning in early spring and the fifth graders enter the classroom, one at a time.

The substitute is waiting to greet each one with a smile and name exchange.

The first walks through the door, acknowledges the teacher, and sits down quietly.

The second bursts in doing cartwheels.

The third, half asleep, walks in … slowly.

One sits down, and taps tzedakah coins on the table.

Another heads right to the teacher, handing her an assignment from the week before. Another heads to a chair and asks if he can stand instead of sit.

They all come into the room on the second floor of Beth Emet The Free Synagogue, in various states of consciousness. But they come.

Conversion is the conversation for the day. On the board is the line from Leviticus’ about how to treat the stranger. The substitute points out that the word “ger” in Hebrew means convert. A student is asked to read it. He reads it very slowly, on purpose. There is much giggling. He is giggling. It makes the substitute giggle a little. But then a question. And then another. Soon it is a discussion. A student asks to get a drink of water. Yes, but come right back. Another asks to go to the bathroom. After he returns.

Students are asked to pair up and read together. There is more giggling.

Some clarifying questions. There is a writing assignment. They write, except for one student who is still playing with tzedakah. The teacher asks for tzedakah. Then he writes.

The cartwheel-doing student asks if there will be any playacting today. The substitute asks her to read one of the conversion stories as if she were the person who wrote it.

The gymnast does a great job. So does the quiet one. And the one who read Leviticus, really slowly.

Then someone asks, “What does it really mean to be Jewish, anyway?” The substitute asks students to offer their thoughts on that. There is some discussion about how Jews treat others and interpret Torah and their direct relationship to God. The substitute notes that this is a fairly high level of discussion for pre-Bar and Bat Mitvahed 10-and-11 –year-olds. She is very pleased indeed.

It’s time for services. The substitute escorts her students to the sanctuary and then takes a bathroom break. In 30 minutes, another group of fifth graders will enter her classroom. She will be ready.

(With thanks to Benjamin Goldberg for his lesson plan and students on Sunday, March 27.)

Make Some Noise

When Purim came around during the years I taught religious school, the question of how to address the many moments of “bad behavior” would regularly pop up among my fellow teachers.

After all, the story of Purim focuses on a king who threw decadent parties; a queen who was executed because of her defiance; a Jewish woman named Esther who has to hide her faith and is chosen to marry against her will and an uncovered assassination scheme.

It’s an epic tale, and every year it posed a challenge to those of us wanting to unpack it for the younger souls in the congregation. We’d usually come up with reenacting the self-sacrifice of Mordecai or the bravery of Esther. We always found something meaningful to extract.

Sure, most kids got the message about Purim from our readings and play-acting. But every year, more than anything else, it was the costumes and the groggers that left an impact. It was about noisemaking and laughter.

Which is also true for the grownups at Beth Emet. Sure, there’s the service and the music and the reading of the Megillah. All good. But Purim has also come to mean spiel-making. Purim reminds us about the importance of funny. Wacky. Nonsensical. And loud. And chaos. (Just a little.)

For those of us who work hard and take our lives seriously (most of us, right?) we need this reminder once a year. To lighten up a little, even in the face of tough stuff. There will always be tough stuff. But finding the humor in the midst of tough stuff – now that’s something to make some noise about!

To get you in the mood, click here for a music parody of Purim by The Fountainheads:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A9HbULd67sE

And then, consider this:

Purim @ Beth Emet 5771: That 70's Spiel!

Shake your grogger on Saturday, March 19 and Sunday, March 20

Do a little dance, read a little megillah...it's Purim time! Boogie with the best of them beginning Saturday, March 19 from 7:00-9:00 p.m. at our annual Megillah reading and Purim Spiel! Experience all that the 70's had to offer (without all the pesky side effects) as the Beth Emet Purim band brings the funk and the noise to the classic story of Mordechai, Esther and...Haman (boo!)

The groove fest continues on Sunday, March 20 with a Beit Sefer Megillah reading and tefillah at 9:30 a.m. and Megillah reading/skit and costume parade for children under 5 at 10:30 a.m, followed by early access to the most funkadellic Purim carnival around. At noon, the Purim carnival will open to all for boogying until the wee hours (or 1:30 p.m.)

So get ready for a fun-filled Beth Emet Purim March 19-20. It's going to be DY-NO-MITE!!

The Story Catcher Becomes a Story Teller

When I’m not blogging in this space, I teach writing. I work with middle, high school, college and graduate students on their academic writing; business people on workplace writing and, more recently, adults of varying ages who want to write stories from their lives.

The life story writers may not always come into one of my workshops with a specific idea. That’s part of my job: To get them to resurrect scenes and sensations. I provide prompts to help jigger their memories loose: Draw a map of a neighborhood you once lived in. List 10 life-defining choices and five pivotal people. Dig up old photographs and write a profile of a family member. Start writing with the opening line, “I remember…” It doesn’t take much. Or very long. Memories – and even storylines – always rise to the surface.

So it’s interesting to me in retrospect that when I heard, and reported here, about the Jewish Journey Story Booth project at Beth Emet, I wasn’t compelled to be one of the first to sign up. Little else compares with being present when someone accesses a story from their past. One that bubbles up with rich details, like it was yesterday. To hear them! To read them! To help people shape them into artful forms like personal essays and memoirs! Such joy.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested in contributing to this noble project – it’s a mission I can get behind - it’s just that I didn’t think my story was all that interesting. What could I possibly talk about for 20 minutes that would hold anyone’s interest, much less my own? Which is, I now realize, what a lot of people first think.

Some gentle nudging from members of the Story Booth team (thank you, Susan Fisher and Debbie Render) and a cautious yes from my husband David Barish (thank you, David) to record with me - got me to sign up. David wrote down some of his memories to prepare. I didn’t. I was hoping, praying, that something would “come to me.”

On the way to Beth Emet for our appointed recording time yesterday, after some back and forth, we decided to treat this like a conversation.

It’s amazing what can happen when you are asked to do something a little different in an environment that is so familiar. The synagogue was bustling with religious school activity. Parents were reading the newspaper, eating bagels and drinking coffee in the front hall. The copy room was turned into “The Green Room” - for preparation and contract signing. (Thanks, Nina Kavin.) The library was turned into a recording studio, in which Heidi Goldfein, who in her radio-ready position as director of production at Chicago Public Radio, made us feel so comfortable. (Thank you, Heidi!)

After the sound levels were approved, we got the go ahead to start. I think I threw out the first question. Something like, “What are some of the defining experiences of your childhood that make you feel Jewish?” Off we went.

The next thing I remember is Heidi putting her hand up to signal that we had only a few minutes left. Oh the parts we hadn’t gotten to yet! So much more to say!

Tonight is the last night of taping, so if you read this after Monday, March 7^th, you have missed the chance to speak your story.

That doesn’t mean, however, that there isn’t an opportunity to tell your story in other ways. I know you think your story isn’t that interesting. I did, too. But I urge you to take a look at the questions below. See if something sparks you. Find a comfortable position at your laptop or on your couch with a tablet and writing utensil in hand. Start writing. For just 10 minutes.

You may reintroduce yourself to your self. You may rediscover how interesting you are.

Questions for reflection:

What path led you to Beth Emet?

How has being part of Beth Emet influenced your Jewish journey?

Who has been the biggest Jewish influence on your life? What lessons did they teach you?

What are the most important Jewish/spiritual lessons you’ve learned in life?

How has your spiritual life been different than what you’d imagined?

What is your earliest memory of something religious or spiritual? Your happiest memory?

What makes you feel Jewish?

Has there been a particular turning point or event in your Jewish or spiritual life?

Is being Jewish something that’s difficult for you or easy for you? Why?

Has being Jewish always been important to you? How has that changed over the years?

What would you like your children/grandchildren to know about your Jewish journey?

What does God mean to you?