NOTE:
In a deviation from the norm, below is an entirely true post. It's also not angry or funny.
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My first experience with Temple Beth Sholom came one Friday night in February 2008. Justin and I had broken up for the second time and I was feeling lost in the world. I hadn't gone to synagogue since leaving Las Vegas because I was tired of the never ending battle between liberal Jews and Orthodox Jews. I embraced a theology somewhere in the middle, what with my kosher home and my Irish Catholic boyfriend.
I opened a phone book and found a place called Temple Beth Sholom. I liked the name because I went to a Temple Beth Sholom in Las Vegas. It was a conservative synagogue, something I was also used to at the previous TBS. I found out when Friday night services were and I made the decision to attend. I dressed up and found my way to Temple Beth Sholom. I cried through the services. I was hurting so deeply. After services, I went to the Oneg and sat at a table with a cup of lemonade, trying desperately not to cry. A man approached me and introduced himself as Rabbi Bryan Bramly. He sat down next to me and I told him I'd just moved to the valley from Las Vegas. He said he knew my previous Rabbi. I couldn't stop myself from tearing up. He wrapped an arm around me and whispered into my ear, "I'm leaving for Israel on Monday. Come back Sunday with whatever prayer you want and I will put it in the Kotel (The Wailing Wall) for you." He pointed at a paper and cardboard mock up of the Kotel. "Put it behind that," he said. I couldn't help myself. I started sobbing. He hugged me and said, "Whatever pain you're feeling must be deep. Know that you have a family here."
I snuck into the building the following Sunday with a prayer that read simply, "Make it stop." As I was sneaking back out of the common room, Rabbi Bramly saw me and waved. I waved back, and then walked to my car.
I returned to that synagogue and started making friends. The real reason I kept returning was Rabbi Bramly though. His warmth, compassion, and understanding made him take a primary role in my life as a father figure and a religious leader. While I love my dad and he's done his damndest to be there for me when I need him, my dad didn't get it the way Rabbi Bramly did.
Rabbi Bramly took me under his wing and we started meeting twice a month for one-on-one conversations. I vanished from the synagogue community for a brief period when I met Jeremiah. But in short order, I brought the man I fell in love with around my synagogue family and my rabbi. I called him "Rebbe" to his face, the Hebrew equivalent of My Teacher, as a sign of respect and a term of endearment. He was my Rabbi. When I lost myself to a haze of mania in October of 2008, Rabbi Bramly comforted me with scripture to prove this was not G-d's punishment but a challenge to step over. He was the second person I told when I was diagnosed with breast cancer (the first being Jeremiah who was there with me that day). In the two years since meeting him and my first visit to Temple Beth Sholom, Rabbi Bramly and I became very close. He was there at my mikveh as I was presented to the Jewish community as a Jew. He gave me my first aliyah. He was there to celebrate when I got engaged, he helped plan the wedding, he helped pick out the Ketubah, and he counseled me and Jeremiah whenever we needed him. From the dark times to the great times and right back into one of the darkest periods of my life, Rabbi Bramly stood beside me lock step, holding me up when I didn't think I could stand any longer, offering me a flashlight when I was standing in the dark, and always with a compassionate, listening ear as I navigated the terrain of life. He stood up to me when I was being bull headed and stupid. He never once treated me like an inferior. He called me out on my bullshit when I was trying to hide the very things that were costing me my soul. And he always... always had a gentle hug waiting for me when I needed to know I wasn't alone or that it was ok to be feeling a particular way.
Knowing Jeremiah and I were going through hell and on rocky terrain, as he had been counseling us in an effort to save our relationship, while I stood in front of the open Ark for my Yom Kippur Aliyah, Rabbi Bramly leaned over and whispered, "Pour it all out to G-d. That's why you have this aliyah." I faced the Torah scrolls and started sobbing. Jeremiah and I broke up within days of that aliyah. I cried in Rabbi Bramly's office a week later. "You should be trying on your dress, not preparing to move across town," he told me. I returned to services the Friday after the date my wedding was scheduled for. I desperately fought back tears. Rabbi Bramly embraced me and said, "I was thinking of you on Wednesday. I'm glad to see you tonight." I started sobbing, I sobbed the whole way through services. Various friends tried to comfort me but it was Rabbi Bramly who reminded me that it was okay to feel totally torn up inside. I raged. I sobbed. I screamed and wept and ran the gamut of emotions. He let me. He supported me. He helped me find my way through the tunnel. He offered wisdom and light when there was only confusion and darkness.
I was a sporadic member after the break up. A large part of me just couldn't take any more of the sympathetic looks as if I had recently given birth to a kid with a terminal illness. I was also constantly reminded of Jeremiah every time the ark was opened, every time I sang "L'cha Dodi," every time I watched Allen and Debora hold hands. People hugged me and said they understood where I was coming from but I felt like Rabbi Bramly was my only anchor in the storm. He was my life jacket. I started going less and less frequently, isolating myself more and more. Rabbi Bramly would passively email me if I hadn't been to shul in a while just to make sure I was ok. I took a Hebrew class with Rabbi Bramly and I occasionally went to services, though my attendance and membership fell off in the weeks following my breakup from Jeremiah. I knew he would never just show up, but everywhere I looked I was reminded of him. All I had after our breakup was Rabbi Bramly. I felt like if anything was ever wrong, I could always go to Rabbi Bramly and he would help me get through it. The people were always in flux for me. Sometimes there, sometimes not. He was steady, constant, and my only stability in an otherwise chaotic world.
Yes, I adore my synagogue friends. But for as much as I love and adore them, I loved and adored Rabbi Bramly more. He was MY Rabbi. He was the whole reason I went to Temple Beth Sholom. They say a synagogue is made up of the people who go, but, for me, the shul was made up of Rabbi Bramly.
He was arrested last week, accused of a crime so heinous I can't even talk about it. My WHOLE WORLD was shattered. This man I loved and knew and respected couldn't POSSIBLY have done that. I didn't know where to lean anymore. Normally, I would have leaned on Rabbi Bramly. I would have texted him and scheduled an appointment to rage on and on about it and he would have offered me wisdom and comfort. My synagogue friends all told me to lean on them. The Dude popped back up and offered his shoulder to lean on.
I tried to lean on a few people at the shul and was never once met with coldness. The community by and large knows that this is a tragedy and we're all deeply affected. But it just wasn't the same. I hate to be the greedy one but I needed more. I wanted to know I wasn't the only one who felt like a sheep without her shepherd. Everyone I talked to was very clear that the community will always open their arms to me and will continue on long past this tragedy. It became glaringly apparent that I would be the only one who didn't know if she could bounce back from this.
Nothing feels right anymore. My whole world has come tumbling to the ground in a matter of months. I have no more flashlight, no more life jacket, no more stability.
And now I'm at an impasse. I have stopped speaking to people who openly expressed anger at Rabbi Bramly. Loyalty runs deep with me and I was his devoted follower. To me, he was more than just a Rabbi or a spiritual leader. To me, he was the Rebbe. After years of not fully understanding why the Lubavitcher Jews felt so strongly that the 7th Rebbe was the messiah, I finally GET it. I GET why he is so important to them. Rabbi Schneerson (of blessed memory) was the closest we have gotten to a messiah like figure. He was a man above us, a conduit between the mortal and the immortal. He was G-d-like to them. His wisdom was timeless and his compassion knew no bounds.
Rabbi Bramly was G-d-like to me. He was the middle man between me and Hashem. He was holier than me and I was - for lack of a better word - a groupie. Rabbi Bramly MADE Temple Beth Sholom for me. The people were nice and welcoming. The friends I made will stay with me for a long while. But Rabbi Bramly was the whole reason I went to shul. I went there to see HIM. I went to commune with G-d and to be comforted by my Rabbi.
There is a large pressure for me to return to Temple Beth Sholom and lean on my synagogue friends in this time of trial... but the shul will never be the same for me. I knew long ago that if Rabbi Bramly left, so would I. Even if he's exonerated, he will never be allowed back to TBS. One person said to me that he'd kill my Rabbi if he ever saw him again. I just want to go to him and unload everything I'm feeling. I felt safe with Rabbi Bramly. He was the only Rabbi I have known in a long time who struck me as a genuinely good person. I left TBS Las Vegas because the Rabbi was arrogant. I left Or Bamidbar because the Rabbi never took an interest in me. I never felt at HOME in a synagogue until Rabbi Bramly embraced me that dark February night. And now I feel like I don't have a home. I am torn between wanting to find a new synagogue and with wanting to go back to TBS. Up until last Shabbat, I was firmly in the denial phase... Rabbi was just on vacation. He'll be back. Then it hit me - he's not coming back. I'm never going to see him again. And I'm not ready to move on from that. When Jeremiah left me, I leaned on TBS HARD. I felt so abandoned but I still had a home there. And now, I've been abandoned all over again.
I can't move on. I'm still grieving Jeremiah. I can't grieve Jeremiah AND Rabbi Bramly at the same time. TBS has grown so cold to me... like an old hangout that closed for business years ago. I know they need to get a new Rabbi and I think they're right to do so. There are kids to bar mitzvah, converts to convert, weddings and funerals to officiate. There's rabbi stuff needing to be done and no Rabbi to do them. But I don't know that I will be able to accept a new Rabbi. He could be the nicest guy in the world, an older gentleman with decades of wisdom to back him up. But it's not the same. He's A Rabbi. Not MY Rabbi. I miss Rebbe.
I know that if he had a choice, he wouldn't have abandoned me. And I know that he left more than just me. I don't want to minimize the devistation to the whole community. I pray that someone else out there feels the same way that I do and that we can reach each other amidst all this chaos. I know that some will seek comfort in "he was a man like you or I and he was imperfect" but I can't seek comfort in that. I hurt. I was abandoned by my mom... I was abandoned by my dad... I was abandoned by my fiance... I was abandoned by my rabbi. No amount of crying on anyone's shoulders will lessen the pain I feel. I feel like we had a special and unique relationship... a father-daughter kind of relationship. I keep cruising the online comments to read everything that people say about this man they didn't know. I'm waiting for news from New York about his first appearance. I need to feel like I'm still a part of his life. I wish there was a way to write to him because if there was, you can bet I would be writing him. I want to hide his wife and son in my apartment... to shield them from the scrutiny they are going to face as a result. I wish I had done more to befriend them the way I befriended my Rabbi. They were always so welcoming to me.
And so I am left in conflict. To stay or to leave. while part of me knows that I will always have a place among the members at the shul, I also know that Temple Beth Sholom will never be the same for me. My belief that I am a Jew is not shaken and my religious devotion has only deepened as a result of my many conversations with Rabbi Bramly. But my home at TBS is no longer a home to me. It is a strange building now, overgrown with ivy and no longer resembling the place where I once found such solace. The community will recover but I may not. This has shaken me to my core.
On the first night of Pesach... I find myself struggling with my identity. I was once such an active member at the shul. I knew the Rabbi, had his cell number, made friends with the other members, and I had a home. I defined myself as a Jewish woman with a Rabbi and a synagogue membership. But if I left, where would I go? There are a few other synagogues in the valley... some Reform, some Conservative, some Orthodox. If I left, would I stay with the Conservative movement? Would I go Orthodox? If I went Orthodox, I'd have to move and re-convert. I may have to move anyway. I may want to re-convert anyway. And I'm seriously considering abandoning this whole state in search of greener pastures. I just don't think I can take it anymore. First Jeremiah, now this. I'm at a loss.
** UPDATE **
After some of my daily googling, I am really glad I skipped out on services this week. In addition to my crisis of faith, it looks like the Aryan Nation took to the grounds to protest the allegations.
It should be noted that a man is innocent until proven guilty in this country.
*** UPDATED April 3 ***
Apparently word of this blog post has made its way to NYC as I just received a personal email from Rabbi Bramly thanking me for standing beside him in these trying times. The letter was incredibly long and intensely personal. It was meant for my eyes only so I won't be going into details other than to say that even in his darkest hour, Rabbi Bramly is still lock step with me. And I'll be doing what I can to show him that I'm staying lock step with him as well.
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