Sara Schwartz Chrismer’s Kallat Bereshit Speech 5787

Thank you Fran, for that wonderful introduction. It was through Fran, Jeremey, and the girls that we came to Society Hill Synagogue, just over 15 years ago. Fran has been a mentor and friend for almost two decades. She is the consummate servant leader — the embodiment of everything good at the School District of Philadelphia and beyond. Fran has provided an example and has allowed me to grow as a person and District leader at my own pace, pushing me and supporting me in just the right proportions, asking me — to use a phrase that Society Hill Synagogue and the Newberg family are quite familiar with — “to make a joyful stretch.” And so it was a no-brainer to ask her to introduce me today, and in doing so, I get to share in this honor with her.

It’s also great to share this honor with Bruce, who has done so much for our synagogue. We met Bruce shortly after we joined, when we hosted a “Guess Who’s Coming to Shabbos” dinner. This is a fabulous Society Hill Synagogue initiative, organized by Bonny and others, where members host a meal, without knowing who will attend. What fun! Bruce, along with Stan and Judy, and Avi came to our house for a Swedish-themed Shabbat dinner that Noah curated. Bruce had recently lost his wife, and what I distinctly remember (other than that our kids were remarkably and unusually well-behaved) is how sweetly Bruce spoke about his wife and his son. Bruce, it is good to be here with you tonight.

This honor is a special thing that our synagogue does. I have always felt so privileged to worship alongside and to work with previous recipients. I have to admit that while I was surprised to get the call, I have never been surprised when previous recipients’ names were announced — each and every one of my predecessors embodies what Society Hill Synagogue is all about and has devoted so much time and love to making it the shul where, to borrow another Newberg phrase, you can be the Jew you want to be.

And tonight I am going to talk about my Jewish journey. To channel my father-in-law, Bob, I will not let the truth get in the way of a good story. I may not have all the facts straight, but what is important is how I remember my journey and the feelings that come with that. I will also attempt to honor my dad, by being brief and speaking slowly (advice he never himself took).

So let’s go!

I often think that I would have been happily engaged in whatever religion I was born into. I think I would have been a good Catholic or Muslim. Following the rules, attending the services, feeling part of the community in a way that gave meaning to who I was and how I lived.

In fact, I don’t think I have engaged in a Jewish journey so much as being Jewish is engrained, even written, into me. It’s not that I take it for granted; I just never questioned it. I never had any reason to. Judaism and my Jewish identity and community have always been part of who I am.

And I think this is because my grounding in Judaism comes from my family — the love for my family and our traditions and observances. My little family growing up — mom, dad, Julie, and Adam. Watching my parents help push cars up the hill after Shabbat services during snow storms while Julie, Adam, and I added way too much sugar to our tea at Oneg. My extended family of aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents where we were, and still are, always eating, arguing, celebrating. And the broader Jewish community of my youth, primarily Beth Am Israel, coupled with too many to count Shabbat and holiday meals around our dining room table with friends, family, and sometimes even strangers (my dad usually did the inviting, and my mom provided the rice krispie chicken and rice pilaf).

Engagement in Jewish ritual and practice felt natural, an extension of my family and my being. And for me, this is an extremely powerful connection; one that I almost do not have complete understanding or control of, but that fills me with deep joy, renewing enthusiasm, and meaningful purpose. It is my place.

And so, given all of this, I think it’s fair to say that I never expected to grow up and celebrate Christmas with my in-laws. Nor could I have envisioned just how much richer my Jewish life would become through Noah’s family. For those of you who don’t know, Noah converted to Judaism before we were married, and I have spent the better part of the last 20+ years trying to explain, first to him and then to my in-laws, why eggs can be eaten with dairy, but chicken cannot (we all know it makes zero sense; to me it’s the tradition versus the logic). But kashrut craziness aside, the Chrismers are fully part of my Jewish journey.

Having Bob, Alice, Jesse, and Katie and their families participate in Jewish simhahs and rituals and share their enduring traditions with me and our family has at once enhanced and stabilized our family’s Jewish life. As Noah and I grew our family, we wove in beautiful traditions from my childhood and Noah’s. From having a kosher turkey at Christmas dinner, to saying Sheheheyanu when Bob and Alice moved into their new home, to making Raggmunk (Swedish potato pancakes) on Hanukkah, to having members of both families participate in our kids’ b’nei mitzvah.

For so long, I had garnered my faith and joy about Judaism from those who were older and taught me. Then I expanded my faith, first by sharing it with Noah’s family, and then from seeing our kids engage with the traditions, the practices, the observances. Our kids take all of my Beer-Schwartz past and all of Noah’s Isoz-Chrismer past, mix it with our Society Hill Synagogue community, and manifest their own practice.

In her book, The World To Come, Dara Horn — my first friend on my high school trip to Israel — wrote an interpretation of an old Jewish concept that explores the deep ties between memory, family history, and continuity.

“I believe that when people die… they get to help make the people in their families who haven’t been born yet. They pick out what kinds of traits they want the new people to have — they give them all the raw material of their souls, like their talents and their brains and their potential. Of course, it’s up to the new ones, once they’re born, what they’ll use and what they won’t, but… they get to decide what kind of people the new ones might be able to become.”

I come back to this passage a lot — at services, simhahs, and certainly when thinking about important people in my life who I’ve lost. When Emma (our first) was born, I had the distinct feeling that she did not belong just to Noah and me. Emma belonged to our entire extended community. She was a part of them and not just present “thems,” but past and future “thems.”

One of the things that makes me so proud as a mom (among the many ways I am proud of our kids, whether I express it often enough or not) is that I see the connection our children have to their heritage and Judaism. It is engrained in them — in their make-believe, in their making sense of the world, in their ways of being.

Emma kashering her play kitchen for Passover as a little girl, and now as a college student, arranging her classes so she can go down to the Chabad house on Friday mornings and help cook Shabbat dinner. Next semester, she will truly blend our two families as she goes abroad to Sweden (Alice’s family is Swedish), doing a course of study — “Europe and the Holocaust,” which will include a trip to Poland (where most of my family is from).

Josie’s profound connection to being Jewish, feeling it important to get and wear a Star of David necklace, seeing and articulating the importance of passing our family’s traditions from generation to generation. Her ability to at once feel a deep love for and connection to Israel while also seeing, speaking out about, and not excusing real problems.

Evan, a few years ago, expressing how powerful it was to be able to carry the Torah for the first time on Simhat Torah and watching the true joy and pride with which he pursues learning and chanting Torah.

And from the start, Society Hill Synagogue has been the perfect home for our family. Noah and I remember how when we were called for our first aliyah here, Cantor Bob didn’t flinch when Noah recited his name as “Noah ben Avraham v’Sara and also, Bob and Alice.” He got it almost immediately and turned to the congregation and with one small phrase honored all of Noah, all of us.

Society Hill Synagogue is a huge factor in our kids’ love of Jewish tradition and ritual — the people and the programming. How Jessi pulls us into the service with music and tunes that allow us to transcend into the spiritual. How Nathan guides us through the service — how its structure relates to the meaning of key prayers, and how he engages in his own journey of making sense of Jewish practice. Hearing Marty’s deep voice reverberate across the Sanctuary, seeing Terry, Marc, Fran, and Neil chant and reflect on what they are reading. These are seminal experiences for our kids and meaningful experiences for Noah and me.

So being part of Society Hill Synagogue was and is easy for us. It’s our place, it’s who we are. It just makes sense. It never feels like a leap, more like a joyful stretch that allows me to work with people who I respect, give back to those who give so much to us, and tinker together toward making ourselves, our community, and dare I say, our world, a better place.