JoelNothman.com

On Wednesday morning in Vegas, I printed out a list of Bay Area synagogues, and looked up some maps to show me that I only had a few options approaching downtown San Francisco. So I called “Young Israel San Francisco” (I guess “young” sort of appealed) first from Vegas, and later from a public telephone in Oakland airport. In three 50c phonecalls from the airport to a woman who answered with “Hebrew Academy”, I had arranged a place to stay, eat and pray on shabbat, and public transport there. I thought that was pretty good-going.

Still, when I arrived on the doorstep of Rabbi Lipner a little late (public transport instructions didn’t match reality too closely) at 6:30pm on Friday afternoon, I didn’t know what to expect, nor what anyone answering the door should expect of the hairy youth on their doorstep carrying three large bags. I was welcomed in a European accent by a moderately tall man wearing a white shirt and long white beard who led me to a bed and to a shower after a sweaty hot afternoon. As one does, I first had a glance through the spines that graced the house’s bookshelves.

As sunset approached and the rabbi (whose wife was away in Israel) had too prepared himself for shabbat, it surprised me as it has before the enormous presence made by someone fit and neatly dressed in suit and hat. Unlike others, it didn’t just seem like a uniform to Rabbi Lipner, but more a careful sign of discipline and respect. And still I felt only a little shamed to be wearing my shirt collar open, and the same white shoes on my feet that I have been wearing most days of the week (there wasn’t space in my bag for shiny black ones).

As a few other youth arrived—some of the rabbi’s students—we did the evening prayers at home and had a very pleasant dinner, with some singing where I again didn’t know the American tunes to familiar words. In the morning we went out to a small synagogue, which in this vacation period only attracted 12-or-so men and 3 women. Nearly all returned to the Rabbi’s for lunch. In the afternoon I walked some of the guests home and to the beach on San Francisco’s west (here SF bears similarity to Sydney’s Eastern Suburbs, as a peninsula between the Pacific and the bay).

Over the day I discovered much about the San Francisco Jewish community—or at least from the perspective of my hosts. Rabbi Lipner—a survivor of the holocaust from Moldova—has now lived in San Francisco for 37 years, founding and directing the Hebrew Academy. A lone or rare Orthodox institution in San Francisco, he has found continuous struggle in this endeavor, largely from the Progressive-dominated community in the area. While receiving record numbers of shlichim from the Jewish Agency (10 will be helping teach in the coming year), he claims that the school survives in this community by no natural force, but only through the rare miracle.

Around the table were many of the Academy’s former students, mostly from Former Soviet Union backgrounds—Jewish, but devoid of and often resistive of Jewish tradition. All very intelligent individuals, most were preparing for the coming year at a yeshiva (YU, Stern, Ohr, Aish…). The Academy is known to be very high achieving, with a lot of admittances to prestigious universities, but the rabbi could tell story after story of youth who have come from empty backgrounds, who have been given a love for Judaism and torah. It is a strange and wonderous feeling to hear a person declare at age 15 or 18 or 22 their desire to have a brit milah (ritual circumcision for males in Judaism, usually performed at 8 days old). This rabbi has been through many.

As George Bush had told him when he was surprisingly invited (one miracle) to a Whitehouse Chanukah party: “one at a time”. Despite the difficulty they find in a community such as San Francisco’s, the marvel of education is seeing the fruit—any fruit—of your labour, and I met a ripe handful over shabbat.

I had a thoroughly enjoyable experience this shabbat in very friendly, intelligent and interesting company. I also got my first job offer in the USA—while singing Moroccan tunes at the lunch table, I was told I should be a shaliach at the school. I said “we’d think about it” and another voice added “bli neder”.

Through the rabbi’s stories, the sun slipped away and Saturday night had long fallen when we took shabbat out. Although I then packed my bags to travel to the hostel room I had reserved (and would be charged for), I decided I would instead take the opportunity to sleep on a firmer bed, stay another night, and take a bus back downtown in the morning.

Maybe, sometimes, spending $20 on something free is worthwhile.

PS: Thanks Gary. When the lights suddenly went off here at 12:30 tonight (Saturday) the torch came in quite handy getting down some irregular steps…