Gardens of Community

When I was a senior in college, the chair of the Religion department gifted each student a packet of plant seeds that best represented them. It was a new personalized twist on an annual tradition to recognize members of the Religion department. I received watermelon; a social plant with long and curly vines connecting it with other watermelons. A specific breed of beans was given to Kaitlin, representing her strength, resilience, and her hometown Boston (“Beantown”). Lynn received a Cosmos plant for her penchant for the mysterious and mystical. As you can probably tell, these gifts had more quirky resonance rather than true horticultural meaning. Regardless, I still have that packet of seeds.

I am fond of the metaphor that we are all plants, organisms that blossom at different times with a myriad of blooms. If we are plants, then our synagogue can be our garden. A garden of watermelons would be dull as would be a garden of only blue hydrangeas (my mother’s favorite). One only has to look to Rodef Shalom's Biblical Botanical garden to know that it is the variety in a garden that makes it magnificent.

The Jerusalem Talmud tells us: “It is forbidden to live in a town that does not have a green garden.” (Jerusalem Talmud,Kiddushin 4:12) We, as a community of members, are that garden, and therefore are committed to making it lush and green. So, next time you find yourself sitting within the synagogue walls, look to the person to your left and take a moment to appreciate his or her sunflower-esque confidence. Stop and admire the prickly succulent in our midst. For only together do we make up the beautiful garden that is our community.

A Religion Major Moves to Pittsburgh

As a Religion major turned synagogue membership director, a few musings.

I have to admit I was a little nervous packing up and moving to a new job in a new city; moving away from my family, who all live within driving distance. Though just as quickly as my nerves began, they melted away as I played Jewish geography. Etan Diamond’s definition of Jewish geography serves best: “This ‘game’ of "Jewish geography" follows a simple pattern. One person asks, You're from [insert name of city here]? Do you know [insert person's name here]? The other one usually responds something like, Sure, he sits behind my uncle in synagogue..." Pittsburgh and the synagogue I work for proved to be full of uncles and people who sit behind them.

My 86-year old grandmother calls and lets me know that two of her close friends, both named Marlene, grew up not only in Pittsburgh, but within the walls of the synagogue. In fact one Marlene, makes it a point on every return visit to stop by. There is a long email chain between acquaintances in New York and their childhood’s best friend’s mother in law who has been going to the synagogue for years. And of course, there is my mother’s former business partner who grew up in Pittsburgh, worshiped here in his 20’s, and whose sister still belongs. Pittsburgh felt familiar even before I packed up the u-haul and headed west on I-76.

Theodore Herzl once wrote that one must “build your home in such a way that a stranger may feel happy in your midst!” It is wonderful, reassuring, and fascinating to this Religion major to finally end up in a workplace that reflects those values.