Blogroll | Congregation Darchei Noam

Shortly after I responded affirmatively to Liane's offer to be this year's Chatan Torah, I experienced a rather prolonged period of cognitive dissonance, denial, and buyer's remorse.  It wasn't just due to a lack of self-confidence in public speaking, but rather the realization that I had agreed to address this community on the subject of my spiritual journey.  Until now I've never used nor heard the pairing of "spiritual" and "my" in the same sentence or conversation.  Indeed someone very close to me rather insightfully suggested this could take no more than two minutes.

I've never before felt the need to define myself in terms of spirituality, nor seen myself as spiritual --  a romantic, perhaps, in the 19th century sense of the word, but not spiritual.  I had no problem, however, with the journey part, both literally and figuratively as I've lived in three places, each one a half a world away from the others, and have evolved as a person and a Jew over time and space.

But ever one for a challenge, I decided to seek out my inner spirituality or, at the very least, define it for myself, making the term meaningful to me.

What I have come away with is a deep and strong conviction that for me, my spirituality is measured in the day to day expression of who I am as a Jew, and those aspects of Jewish religion, culture, tradition, and civilization that I value and proudly and unapologetically wear on my sleeve.

The concept of Judaism as a civilization, my part as both receiver and contributor to that continuum and my ease and embrace of chosen aspects of Jewish ritual and expression within the context of our historical evolution is the spirituality I call mine.  Today, I am able intellectually as well as spiritually to identify as a Reconstructionist Jew.  Big on tradition, less so ritual, my Judaism, my spirituality, is indelibly shaped by my connectivity to Jewish history and social geography, Jewish culture, and peoplehood/nationhood.  It's a spirituality that has evolved through education and experience, that finds expression through active commitment, engagement, collaboration, and volunteerism. 

But at the core of my spirituality is a profound and authentic identification with the land, the people and the State of Israel; חיבת ציון & אהבת ארץ; proudly, liberal Zionism.  Looking backwards, for 10 years my spirituality was defined by my teudat zehut and Israeli passport, not a machzor or a siddur.  After a few short but intensive years I had achieved  הגשמה אצמית -- self-fulfillment through citizenship, military service, paying taxes, voting, and producing a Sabra.

I spoke of cognitive dissonance earlier -- and I've now come to realize I live in a constant state of spiritual tension -- one so eloquently articulated by the medieval Jewish Spanish poet Yehuda HaLevy before me, "My heart is in the east, and I in the uttermost west."  Mine is a journey within a journey as today geography and the Israel/Diaspora realities have redefined my spirituality of the passport.

It  wasn't always this way.  It's fair to say I came rather late  -- university years in fact -- into this wholesale and all-embracing Jewish identification....my  journey to get here is characterized by a series of significant iterative milestones.

The seeds were planted at age bar mitzvah.  I shot off a letter to the Jerusalem Post looking for a pen pal.  I don’t know what inspired me, encouraged but not directed by my parents.  Our lives were supplemented, not governed by our adherence to Judaism.  I was born almost 60 years ago in London, England, a middle child of three boys.  My father ז"ל was from Poland, not a Holocaust survivor per se but a survivor of a Soviet gulag and many other war horrors arriving in England at the end of the war having fought his way through the Middle East and Italy with the Polish Free Army under the command of the British army.  My mother ז"ל was a second generation British Jew, her father being awarded the Order of the British Empire for services rendered to King and Country during the war, having been responsible for housing bombed-out Londoners.  To say my parents came from two entirely different Jewish realities and experiences is an understatement.

We grew up and I was bar mitzvahed in a Conservative shul in Don Mills, never having more than a handful of other Jewish kids in my schools through to high school.  A year post bar mitzvah when the congregation outgrew its building we found ourselves in a group that joined the Reform congregation at Temple Emanuel, and we embraced the convenience of Reform Judaism.

But let me get back to the seminal event of my search for a pen pal.  Amongst the respondents, I was attracted to and replied to one Arie Talmi, a man my father's age, with three children of his own, who lived on Kibbutz Dan in the north of Israel.  His English was excellent and he was encouraging, engaging, and interesting --- not patronizing and genuinely interested in me and sharing with me his life and his Israel.  This was the beginning of a very unique and transforming relationship for me as Arie was simultaneously a madrich, teacher, parent, and, ultimately, friend.  It is a relationship  that was nurtured  almost uninterruptedly by mail every month over the course of nine years until I made Aliyah in 1977.  We continue, of course, to this day to correspond, albeit by email.

The next step in my evolution occurred during 1973.  I was graduating from high school and accepted to U of T in the fall.  Up to that point I was pretty much assimilated culturally and socially with my non-Jewish high school friends.  There was no Jewish summer camp in my experience.  I also developed an insatiable appetite for all things related to history, particularly, but not restricted to, ancient history.  Not something I had in common with many of my peers -- indeed, while most were playing hockey or football, I was usually holed up in a library or my room devouring encyclopedias and history books.  Not for me any kind of physical activity or exercise.  How times have changed.  I sense a journey here as well.....

My parents and younger brother traveled to Israel that spring.  They brought back incredible stories of a land and place full of history and archaeology and an intoxicating enthusiasm for the country and most importantly their own bonding and friendship with Arie and Martha, and stories of another family, Arieh and Aviva Shahar from Ramat Gan who offered them friendship and hospitality that has also evolved into a relationship spanning three generations.

And then came Yom Kippur, the war and the reaction of my parents to it.  They were devastated.  It was evident that something very powerful and emotional had taken place during and after their visit, and clearly I had to  experience Israel for myself to understand this reaction.

In June of '74, we all traveled to Israel, picked up a van and we set off up, down, and across Israel, literally from Dan to Eilat.  It was a sublime experience, a wonderful family time in an exotic, foreign, yet totally comfortable environment.  And I finally met Arie & Martha from Kibbutz Dan as well as Arieh and Aviva Shahar, Tal and Ron, from Ramat Gan my parents had befriended the previous year.  Arieh and Aviva opened their home to us then and always.

In order to stay the summer in Israel I had applied for and been accepted as a volunteer to the Tel Dan archaeological excavations beside Kibbutz Dan, entering its second season under the leadership of Dr. Avraham Biran of Hebrew Union College.

I was high for three months.  Call it indeed a spiritual high. Not only was I surrounded by history and archeology, I was digging into it, in a location of tremendous historical importance, Dan being a place of worship, complete with a Golden Cow statue set up by the Kings of Israel following the split with Judah to compete for people's alleigences with Jerusalem and the Temple of Solomon.  That season, with an international group of professionals and volunteers ranging in age from 18 to 70, we began peeling back layers upon layers of my heritage.  Amongst the many finds we uncovered bronze age gate houses and tombs, bronze and copper coins, table ware and mixing bowls, defensive ramparts and roadways, bones, both human and animal, a Hellenistic bath house and water system, and, most importantly of all, a four-cornered horned altar matching exactly the descriptions found in the Tanakh.

The following summer I volunteered on Kibbutz Dan, deepening my Israel experience by befriending and embedding myself into the pre-army kvutzah.  I felt so comfortable, so at ease, so at home, notwithstanding limited Hebrew proficiency.  My intellectual curiosities expanded, I saw a Jewish experience not reliant on a synagogue.  It was becoming clear that here was an enterprise that was calling out to me.  Israel was feeling like a second home.

I was on a mission when I returned to 2nd year at U of T in September of ‘74.  I broadened my university syllabus to include courses on medieval and modern Jewish history, archaeology, and particularly Hebrew language, so determined was I to live in Israel.  Yet it was now incredulous to me that I didn't know any other young Canadian Jews who had had any Israel experiences.  I was driven to find them.  I contacted one Benny Vidal, the shaliach for Canadian Young Judaea, a Zionist youth movement, for introductions.

It was here that I hit pay dirt.  Benny was most encouraging, explained that YJ ran a "Bayit" open every Friday evening for members across all ages to hang out, schmooze, reminisce about camp, and organize activities.  He invited me to drop in.  I connected and befriended Debbie Gilbert who readily offered to take me under her wing.  The rest, as they say, is history.  I dove in deep, became a permanent fixture, and "joined the cult".

These undergraduate days were also a form of spiritual blossoming, I don't believe I did anything that wasn't in some way related to this Zionist/secular Jewish renaissance -- academically, socially, and intellectually.  I had secured a pre-confirmation class teaching position at Temple Emanuel, taught Hebrew at Holy Blossom and, privately, began to learn Israeli folk dancing, attended every community Israel-related event, and even found myself hanging out on Sundays in the Negev bookstore or Haymishe Bakery for the ambiance.

I became a madrich at YJ's leadership training camp, Biluim, in the Laurentians and in '77 was one of the staff on Biluim Israel, a six-week Israel experience.  Oh, and during all this I worked on cultivating a relationship with Susie, that was soon suspended, but at the time, unbeknownst to us both, only temporarily.  I had decided to move to Israel and Susie opted to complete her degree.  I will admit I did have some difficulty accepting that Susie chose the pragmatic, rational, and appropriate response to my entreaties to drop everything and come with me to Israel.  We did catch up and match up a few years later, the how and why of that depends on whether it's me or Susie telling the story.

In September of '77, I finally traveled on a one-way ticket.  I made my way to the absorption centre in Kfar Saba to start a six-month ulpan.  I soon realized ulpan life was pretty artificial and entirely removed from Israeli reality.  I could have waited three years before joining the army, but at 24 simple math and what might later require interrupting a career helped me to decide to quit the absorption centre early and I enrolled in the IDF in February of '78.

It wasn't an easy decision but made quickly and resolutely.  At 24 I had only 18 months to serve and found myself a university grad enlisted with a bunch of 18-year-olds of dubious claims to high school completion.  At the induction centre I got my head buzzed, my clothes taken away and I became just another ill-fitted, khaki-coloured, homesick, starving, and exhausted recruit as our 18 hour days were filled with the most ridiculous make-work projects and bizarre discipline exercises until our military fates were determined.  I was determined to avoid the “Anglo Saxon new immigrant” units that were formed, preferring to throw my lot in with the more authentic sabra units.  And so I ended up in the Armoured Corps, in an armoured infantry unit whose role in times of combat was to support the tank crews and, when opportunity arose, attack on foot enemy bases and defensive positions.

It was, to quote Dickens, "the best of times and the worst of times"!  I had nothing in my previous life to relate these experiences to -- the physical challenges, the backgrounds, personalities, and behaviour of my comrades in arms, the ubiquitous nature of collective punishment in the army, the constant hunger and exhaustion, and, of course, military education and training.  There were periods of desolation, loneliness, and depression.

Through all this, I never faulted, never doubting I had made the correct decision for the right reasons and the ultimate goal to accept and be accepted in my new home.   Perhaps my age, my education, my attitude and maturity, my status as a "lone soldier"  secured for me a unique position of respect and acceptance amongst both my younger platoon mates and my commanding officers -- I enjoyed and gained privileges others didn't and didn't seem to expect or envy.  I was called out for distinction, upon graduating from a six-month training program in Sinai and again completing the commanders’ course in Carmiel.  I managed to skip a rank to that of sergeant, and declined the invitation to go to officers' training school and extend my service.  It was flattering but I was no military genius!

There are too many stories to tell, some inspiring, some ridiculous, some frightening and some too funny for words.  I met my goals and objectives and was released in August of '79, proud and entirely self-confident that my future was indeed in Israel.  If I had thought my army days were over I was entirely mistaken -- three months to the day of my release I received my first call up to my miluim unit which was the start of 8 years of 45 - 60 days annually of reserve duty based on the Golan Heights including several "visits" to Lebanon thrown in.

And so began my life as an Israeli, permanently settling in Jerusalem, finding an apartment and roommates, one of whom, Sharone, is with us today, finding work and beginning a career.  What a blast. And then Susie arrived, claiming to be fulfilling a commitment she had made to herself to spend a year in Israel, me believing otherwise.  We played, we worked, we hiked, beached, partied, attended lectures and study groups, plays, concerts, folk danced at the Hebrew University every Wednesday evening, fought bureaucracy and rampant inflation, succumbed to the monthly overdraft, and purchased everything on payments.  We became involved politically and were extremely proud Israelis.

The tensions, economic, political, religious, and military were always present.  Sudden call up as a result of the outbreak of the first Lebanese War in June ’82 being just one example.  It was tough, hard, and stressful, but there was a collectiveness and overwhelming togetherness I have never felt here.  Everyone, as we've seen only so recently, is touched, affected and impacted by these situations.  This is both the attraction and the heartache of Israel.

What was concerning us more than the political situation and rising Jewish religious tensions in Jerusalem was the economic reality -- the desire to jump ahead professionally through post-graduate studies but being frustrated by the high economic cost and years of going to school and the constant interruption of studies by miluim. But in 1985 our Sabra, Maya, was born in Jerusalem and so provided us with the "ultimate Israel experience".

Throughout my 10, Susie's 8, years in Israel we had next to no religious observant experiences.  It wasn't a conscious avoidance, Judaism for us was our nationality.  It was what we lived, it was all around us, we lived our Judaism daily.  We were Israelis. Rosh Hashanah was a national holiday, typically spent going on tiyulim in the country, hiking, visiting, barbequing, and beaching. Yom Kippur, an almost total national shut down.  Sukkot marked the annual Jerusalem parade and Sukkot competitions, Purim a 24-hour carnival for adults as much as children, Pesach national house cleaning and the welcoming of spring, Shavuot a festival of modern Israeli agricultural wonders, Yom HaShoah and Yom HaZikaron days of unparalleled communal mourning and commemoration. And then there was Yom HaAtzmaut, Independence Day, a day of true celebration the likes of which I've never experienced on July 1st.

Our decision to return to Canada was not easy, but a logical, rational one, though in hindsight likely made easier by naive promises to ourselves that we were only leaving temporarily to pursue the elusive post-graduate studies and to return after two or three years.  Once it truly dawned on us we were not returning any time soon, we worked feverishly to close a profound hole in our lives and come to terms with a different mode of Jewish expression.

The Jewish community we sought had to be found, of course, within a congregation, in this case a young, growing Reform community in Thornhill.  Our lives became inextricably interwoven with the social fabric of Kol Ami for many years, attending services, membership on committees, the Board and Executive.  It wasn't a religiosity we were seeking or committed to, but looking to find our place and means of expression within the context of Jewish diaspora.

We were determined, at significant economic cost, to provide Maya and Ilan the richness of a Jewish Day School education and the embrace, spirit, and Zionism of the Canadian Young Judaea camp experience.  We are proud in having provided you with the building blocks I myself had lacked growing up;  what you do with them and where you travel with them is your journey to plot and fulfill.

And so, I've come full circle, geographically and spiritually, adopting and adapting to a different way of expressing my Judaism and connection to the Jewish people.  Having found our way to Darchei Noam, I have found a place which enables me while nurturing me to express this Judaism in an authentic meaningful way.  I keep honest and open about my love for and desire to return somehow sometime and in some fashion to Israel, and so the internal tensions continue to play out.  I do not take my place in the continuum of Jewish civilization for granted.  I am motivated and driven by the need to take what I've learned and experienced and share it in whatever way I can -- participation in the wider Jewish community, chaperoning on March of the Living, raising funds for various causes, and, specifically here, through membership in the ICC, the LDC, contributing to Ner Noam, folk dancing after Shabbat services, and most recently, supporting the office.

In my studying the richness of Jewish civilization, enriched by visits to the ancient ghettos and synagogues of Cairo, Prague, Budapest and Cordoba, the death camps of Auschwitz and Majdanek to name but a few, and having spent a decade contributing in Israel have cemented for me my place in this amazing continuum, empowering me and demanding that I take a participatory role among my fellow Jews. Spiritual or not, it's my reality.

I am far from a three times-a-day dovening Jew but respect how rituals such as that are intractably woven into who I am.  And a little knowledge and appreciation of our holy texts are not lost on me.  My spirituality is best expressed in the words of T’hillim:

אם אשכחך ירושלים תשכח ימיני תדבק לשוני לחכי אם לא אזכרכי אם לא אעלה את ירושלים על ראש שמחתי

If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning; Let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I remember thee not; if I set not Jerusalem above my chiefest joy. 

Mark Adler was the VP Administration on the Darchei Noam Board from 2011-2014. He and his wife Susie have been members of Darchei Noam for almost ten years.