Perhaps for my parents, it would have meant a loss of dignity to request a scholarship. Perhaps it was simply that this education wasn’t “expected” or “necessary” for a girl growing up in a Conservative Brooklyn shul in the 1960s. For me, it was a deep loss that I could not comprehend. Why did I have to stop and my brother have to go? He would have happily traded places with me! I was a good girl, a “bright” student. After all, I earned 22% extra credit on my test! Didn’t I matter? My only consolation was that I would go to the Temple on Sunday mornings with my Dad. There I had a place at the table, nourished by the spirited chanting of prayers by male elders.

This denial of formal education did not make me turn away from the synagogue. Instead it seems to have been the start of an on-going yearning and struggle to feel a true sense of Jewish belonging with my family, my community, our God. I was able to find a rich connection in hearing the cantor, humming to myself the deep, penetrating Hebrew melodies. I also remember clearly the words above the Aron Kodesh, the Holy Ark: “Know Before Whom Thou Standest.” This command increased my sense of wonder and awe, pondering, “Was I the “Thou?” How indeed could I “know” “who” was before me?

No guidance to explore these questions was offered at this point in my life. Yet, the internal “knowing” of the Presence was indeed present in the innocence, mystery, respect, and deep thirst I felt as a child. She is here still…