This past summer, Temple President and historian, Alexandra Hochman, and I went on a fascinating archaeological dig. We embarked on a journey to the second floor archives closet to sift through buckets full of newspaper clippings. 

As the articles flew past my eyes, I read some highlights here and there to just get a sampling of the rich history of Greenwich Jewry. How we were excluded from so many things in this town either through legally sanctioned means or just by virtue of a long history of antisemitism. But the articles also showed our evolution from the 10 family strong Greenwich Hebrew Institute on East Elm Street to Temple Sholom on Putnam Hill.

Then I pulled out a newspaper clipping that make me stop what I was doing and read the entire article. The title: Rabbi cites role of women in Judaism. The date: January 30, 1978. The rabbi: No, it was not Rabbi Mitch.

So let’s all get in our time capsules and hear the words of Rabbi Malcolm Thomson for his reasons behind supporting the enhanced roles of women in synagogue life 41 years ago.

Lauding a successful Sisterhood shabbat with 24 active participants engaged in all areas of the service he stated,“Until now women have received equality of treatment but now we are moving toward full participation”

He refuted the claim that Judaism expects a rigid formulaic lifestyle for women, “Judaism has always been protective of women. In the past, society said that women belonged in the home. Talmudic citations tell of women taking part in the service, though, and women allowed to receive Torah honor–but this was the theory that had never been put into practice.”

Pointing to the changing roles of women in light of the feminist movement, he emphatically stated, “You can’t weed out one half of the family and still perpetuate tradition.”

In 1978, I image that statement being radical. In fact, in a not so veiled reference to backlash he might receive he said, “Some people may view this as radical.”  And yet it is still radical because there are times when just by existing as a female identified rabbi I, to use the vernacular, have blown people’s minds. 

I can’t count the number of times in my short career that I have been the first female clergy member that someone has met. I have been corrected, You are a rebbetzin!”

I get this response so often because when female clergy aren’t present, communities don’t know that the possibility exists. We have seen how vital women’s inclusion in this temple has been in all areas of temple life, and especially to the youngest members of our community. 

I have been told by preschool parents that their young daughters go home and play dress up as Rabbi Chaya and Cantor Sandy and sing shabbat songs.When these little girls have a personal connection to women role models, they feel the world open up just a little bit wider. They see a bit of themselves included in what could be, and they feel a connection, a sense of belonging.

Inclusion is belonging. Inclusion is an act of love. 

Belonging is the ultimate goal of this project that we call “inclusion”. 

Inclusion basically means creating opportunities for all to be full members of society. However, just creating opportunities is not in itself the goal. Rather it is an important step on the long journey to belonging.

Speaking of journeys, let’s get back into our time capsules and go to Babylonia in the 3rd century CE to see what inclusion looked like to the rabbis of the Talmud. 

In Kedushin, the tractate on betrothal, we get to know Rav Yosef, who is blind. He is trying to figure out how he fits into the world of mitzvot, of commandedness, given his disability. If he can’t see his Shabbat candles or his tzit tzit, both things which have a very specific visual element, is he still obligated to light candles and wear a tallit?

He can easily find out an answer! After all, he is a rabbi! A member of the elite class. He is a part of the conversation. At first the rabbis rule that blind people are excluded from mitzvot on account of their disability.

Rav Yosef is so excited that he decides to have a party to celebrate the fact that no matter what, he will still light Shabbat candles or wear tzit tzit out of his love for God. He reasons that perhaps it is better to do something out of love without being asked!

And the other rabbis stop and think. They know him. They respect him. They love him. How could they not give him anything but equal status? So they rethink the status quo. Blind people are of course commanded by God. Rav Yosef then throws another party to celebrate. The rabbis realized that making the tent a little wider benefits everyone.

Inclusion is belonging. Inclusion is an act of love. It fosters new and enriching relationships. It makes a stronger Judaism. 

Dr. Erik Carter, Professor of Special Education at Vanderbilt University describes the importance of belonging. He writes, “Contemporary conversations about inclusion in houses of worship tend to be limited in two ways. 

First, they frame inclusion as a construct primarily concerned with physical location. Such a narrow lens neglects the primacy of relationships, which can still be limited or altogether absent even when people with and without disabilities navigate the same spaces. 

Second, they do not place the personal perspectives of people with disabilities and their families at the forefront of these discussions. Such an omission can inadvertently lead congregations to adopt practices that ultimately do not lead people to feel welcomed and valued.”

While he is writing specifically about disability inclusion, his words reflect how to value all members of the community who might be pushed to the periphery. 

It’s not just about the physical space, although that is important. It’s about whole heartedly caring for each member of our kehillah kedosha, holy community, and listening to the individual needs of people.

Similar to the 10 Commandments, Dr. Erik Carter developed 10 dimensions, 10 steps to belonging. Are those people in the margins: Invited, present, welcomed, known, accepted, supported, cared for, befriended, needed, and loved? 

The most important step is of course love. Yet any misstep along the way of these 10 dimensions can act as a barrier to those who feel outside of the community.

Are those people we are trying to reach personally invited? 

After they have been invited, are they actually present in this house of worship? 

If so, do I actually know such a person or are they just off in a separate space? 

Have I accepted that they have as much a right to be here as I do? 

Do I actively support more ways of them getting involved? 

When they are here, are they cared for pastorally, ensuring that they are actually getting the support they need? 

Have I befriended such a person because I genuinely like them? 

Does that individual feel needed by others in the community? 

Are they loved, purely and simply?

To illustrate this point, let me tell you a bit about my dog, Isaiah. He isn’t always welcome in places that other dogs might be welcome because of his large size. When I look for new places to take him, I make sure the website clearly states that large breed dogs are welcome. 

If it just says “dogs allowed” that doesn’t always mean that he is welcome! Even if the website says “large dogs are welcome” I still will look for presence of other large dogs either through images or calling in advance. Just because the website looks welcoming doesn’t mean that large dogs and their people feel welcome in that space.

Isaiah is Canine Good Citizen certified. Which basically means I spent money to have him pass a series of tests for the American Kennel Club to tell me what I already know–that Isaiah is “a good boy!” 

During his training sessions, he was singled out by the teacher as the example dog for demonstrating good manners. Yet, there were many times during the class that other dog owners would make comments about how intimidating he was and how we should not be in this class with the other small and cute dogs. 

Isaiah was invited. Isaiah was present. But he was not welcomed by the other attendees. 

They didn’t bother to get to know his sweet disposition. They didn’t see that he had overcome a hard start to life as a rescue and was trying his best to do the right thing. They didn’t accept that, yes, he is a big boy, and he can’t change that. 

They didn’t support his presence by recognizing that while they have some prejudices against big dogs, they would do their best to build a relationship, and to see that he is cared for. They never got the chance to befriend him and see that after knowing you for one afternoon, Isaiah would mourn your absence for the next three days. 

They didn’t think they needed him, despite him being the example dog that showed them how to train their own dogs. He simply wasn’t yet loved. And Inclusion is belonging. Inclusion is an act of love. 

Belonging at Temple Sholom already looks like:

Sisterhood board members getting to movie night 3 hours early to make sure the English subtitles are working so everyone can enjoy the movie together without barriers to access.

Bnei mitzvah students having accommodations made in order for them to feel a sense of pride at their life cycle event.

The directors of the Selma Maisel Nursery School ordering books that challenge gender stereotypes and show diverse family structures so that every preschool student sees their family represented.

My wife chanting haftarah on Yom Kippur and the only comments made are just how amazing she is at chanting!

People carpooling to lunch and learn, Shabbat study, and services so that their friends don’t get left behind.

Temple Sholom Learning Center teachers disclosing their own struggles with disabilities to their class so no learner has to feel alone.

Our amazing BBYO teens having the practice of Good and Welfare to share their stressful burdens together for the sake of better collective mental health.

My family, composed of Jews and non-Jews, feeling embraced by this community in our times of joy and held by this community in our times of grief.

A new person walking in the door and saying,“this is home,” regardless of their race, ethnicity, political beliefs, marital status, socio-economic status, age, gender, sexuality, or ability.

On Rosh Hashanah it is written and on Yom Kippur it is sealed.

What will this new year bring for you? 

I challenge you to actively engage with your own prejudice. We all have them. It is human nature to fear the unfamiliar. Just notice it and help move yourself along the 10 dimensions of belonging. Many people get stuck in the “accept” phase. Accepting can often be theoretical. 

“I accept that people who make me uncomfortable might also find community at Temple Sholom.” Let’s move beyond accepting to supporting and caring for others.

What would it look like for you to advocate on behalf of someone or something unfamiliar?

Just by interacting with them, a new and enriching friendship might develop. That also is human nature.  Some people may view this as radical. However, we are all a family and you can’t weed out any member of the family and still perpetuate tradition.

Making the tent a little wider benefits everyone. It makes a stronger Judaism and a stronger Temple Sholom. L’shana Tova! May you have a sweet, healthy, growth-filled new year with many new experiences, and many new things to love.