May 22, 2003
The Frozen Chosen
Although my rabbinic colleagues will always go the extra mile to serve their communities, I believe I actually cover the most miles in my commute: Every other month or so, I start my journey at 4:30 a.m. in the North Valley and end it some 10 hours later in a small airport in Juneau, Ala. Outside the gate, a member of the Juneau Jewish Community (JJC) smiles and waves to me -- a weekend of serving the Frozen Chosen begins.
Through many years of rabbinic traveling and teaching, I've been blessed to serve congregations from Long Island to Maui and from Canada to Australia. I've prayed in shuls from Transylvania to Argentina, and I've discovered that in all the world Juneau's community is unique. The fusion of Alaskan life and Jewish tradition never ceases to amaze me.
The JJC presently has about 40 core households and no permanent building. We often pray in local senior centers, churches or members' homes.
I began learning about Alaskan customs during my first Shabbat morning service in spring of 2001. I sat in a cozy, rustic living room, and as I prepared to sing an opening nigun, I looked around the crowded room and realized I was surrounded by a circle of smiling faces and wiggling toes -- I was the only one wearing shoes. I then noticed the mountain of rubber shoes and winter boots piled near the door.
"It's always snowy, slushy or just plain muddy in Juneau," the president said. "We don't wear shoes in our houses."
So I quickly added my black dress heels to the pile, and now know how to lead home-based services in stocking feet.
Jews initially arrived in Alaska in the mid-19th century as whalers and traders. Eventually, Jews began to settle in the territory, teaching their traditions and learning about native ways. Over time, Jews married natives and Jewish family names are not uncommon among native peoples. An unexpected name emerged among the natives of a Northwestern tribe, which resides in the area around Bethel. The tribe is known as the Yupiks, and numerous marriages have occurred between Yupiks and Jews. The offspring actually call themselves "Jew-piks," proud of each culture and welcome in Bethel's small Jewish community.
Of course, Juneau is Alaska's capital; this year, when the legislative session began, the Jewish population swelled, because four Jewish legislators and their families joined the JJC. Juneau is a very political little town, and many JJC members serve the government in some capacity. Before one of my last visits, one of the members unexpectedly arranged for me to open a session at the state House of Representatives. Although I was ambivalent at first, because of church-state issues, I realized that my participation was important to the Jewish community.
"A rabbi hasn't opened a session in years," they told me, "and most legislators have never even heard of a female rabbi."
With some hesitation, I accepted the honor, viewing it as a unique opportunity to teach and to offer a context for making the decisions of governing. Careful to avoid explicit reference to God and phrases such as "let us pray," I offered these words to open the legislative session on Jan. 27:
"In ancient days, the sages of the Talmud -- who compiled Jewish law and lore -- taught that 'every deliberation conducted for the sake of heaven will ... have lasting value.' As it is said in the ancient tongue: Kol machloket she'he l'shem shamayim, sofah l'hitkayem. (Pirke Avot 5:19)
"May your deliberations, in these honorable halls, truly be for the sake of heaven. May your discussions genuinely be for the sake of the men and women who depend on you, as well as the innocent children and the wild creatures whose care is entrusted to you. Through your debates, may you honestly pursue the best interests of those who dwell in the cities, towns, villages and untamed places of this great state. May you also fulfill your sacred obligation to protect this precious land itself.
"May you continue to be a privileged partner with the Eternal Holy Source of Life to protect and promote the well-being of those you serve -- and may all your deliberations truly be of lasting value. Cain y'hi ratzon, so may it be."
While remarkable opportunities like addressing the House make serving in Juneau exciting, unexpected daily activities and conversations make it unforgettable. In the winter, it was amazing to sing "Shechecheyanu" as congregants and I stood beside an iceberg that had frozen in Mendenhall Lake in front of Mendenhall Glacier. An equally memorable moment occurred on an earlier visit, as I discussed a bar mitzvah project with a 12-year-old Alaskan student; he wanted to make a shofar.
"Great," I said, "what kind of horn will you use?"
He replied "Dahl sheep -- they're all over."
"And how will you get the horn?" I asked.
"Well," he said matter-of-factly, "Dad and I will go hunting."
Only in Alaska, I laughed to myself, feeling, again that the commute is always worthwhile.
Sheryl Nosan is rabbi of Temple Beth Torah of the San Fernando Valley in Granada Hills. She will be returning to Alaska on May 30.
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