Finding a Spiritual Home at Gan HaLev

by Suz Lipman

My family and I are currently in our sixth year as members of Gan HaLev. My daughter attends Sunday School, where I am active on the Education Committee.

I'm tremendously grateful to the people who started the congregation, to those who were instrumental in rescuing our beautiful Torah from the Czech Republic and giving it new life here, and to the congregants and the teachers who continue to provide a great deal of warmth and guidance and community — so much so that when my family found Gan HaLev, we settled in and committed to drive from Mill Valley to the San Geronimo Valley for weekly classes and for services and events. Nothing nearer our home offered what we found at Gan HaLev.

What is it that we found? What is that thing called spiritual community? And why do we choose to make ours here?

Of course, we are all Jews. By birth, by choice, because of the trail back to our roots, or because of another path that makes us identify, to whatever degree, as Jews.

We could certainly be Jews alone. We could pray alone. We don't need an intermediary to talk to God. But jews, and indeed humans, are a communal people. We belong to something greater than ourselves, and our gathering together serves as a a powerful reminder of that fact. As a community, we bear witness for each other. We are here for each other's lifecycle events. We rejoice in the blessings of baby namings and marriages, swell with pride as new congregants are welcomed as adults, and comfort one another in times of need, as the cycle continues and loved ones pass on. When wee call out the names of those in need of healing into the group, there is a a tremendous energy to that simple act. An energy that is greater than the sum of its parts, the energy of the community taking on more than can or should be borne by one person alone.

During the High Holidays, the community held sacred space for prayer and atonement, in a way and on a level that would be difficult to achieve on one's own.

I did not have a conventional Jewish upbringing. My knowledge of Hebrew and ritual is spotty, to say the least. But what is there is certainly heartfelt. There is a pride and a sense of identity and belonging that stretches back generations. Much of that feeling is tied to the music, and to the sounds of prayer that are familiar even if I don't know all the words, and that take shape precisely because a group hold the collective memory and history and pass it on to our younger members, who will grow up with pride and in their turn pass it on.

My father was a master storyteller, so his favorite holiday was Passover, when he could hold a large group of us spellbound with his telling of our people's exodus from Egypt. It's such an exciting story, and no I try to tell it each year in the way he did, and now our personal family memory is bound up in the story of our people.

I didn't belong to a synagogue growing up because my parents didn't feel at home at any of the ones near us. A spiritual home is an elusive thing. You know it when you find one.

We have certainly found ours here, and hope that you feel the same. L'shana tova, and continued wishes to all for health, happiness, and peace in the new year.

—from our November-December 2005 Newsletter

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