The Westboro Baptist Church of Topeka, Kansas, is best known for their charming “God Hates Fags” campaign, but apparently they needed to spice things up with a new target and a vacation:

They brought their moronic minions out to the Jewish Federation of Los Angeles this week, where a reporter named “Brick Stone” confounded even their most articulate representatives with his brave questioning:

Just who is this “Brick Stone”? Would he be interested in a shidduch with a cute L.A. shayna maidela (I know several)? And how fantastic would it be if he actually worked for the Jewish Federation? Things to ponder this Shabbos–a tolerant, peaceful, loving one to all, even the sadly bassackwards souls of the WBC, who should be glad that Jesus loves them because it’d be hard for anyone else to.

Last week on Tablet, Jeremy Gillick wrote a piece about the kohanot, or Hebrew Priestess movement:

Kohenet is part of a growing, grassroots Jewish movement to reclaim the divine feminine—female aspects of God represented in Jewish texts—and reintroduce earth-based traditions to Jewish spiritual seekers.

Yes, please.

This notion of reinventing tradition to create something new and based in (what I, and apparently others, believe is) the original worship of our Creator fills me with a vim and vigor to jolt me out of an afternoon Yom Kippur service nap. While I don’t know if I’d ever call myself a Jewitch (though I am intrigued by the term and could be convinced, especially if broom-riding is part of the deal), bringing back the Goddess to shul is something I can get behind.

Obviously, pitching such an idea to mainstream Jews has a looooong way to go, even though Rabbi Gershon Winkler, a former ultra-Orthodox rabbi, argues that Judaism was originally closer to Native American Shamanism than to Christianity–’cause you’re always gonna have your yeshiva-stalwart Rabbi Moshe Tendlers, who snort that earth-based Jews are “perverts” who should be ignored.

Anyone want to meet me in the woods for Rosh Hashanah?

Even if you’re not ready to break out the Stevie Nicks goddesswear just yet, read the article and let me know your thoughts.

Milton Berle as rabbi? Priceless. Thank you to DSK for sharing this!

I had the privilege of hearing and watching the McIntosh County Ringshouters perform last night at Second African Baptist Church and I swear, sometimes I wish I was Baptist.

Not that I could ever be anything but loud, proud Jew or abide that whole “no drinking-no dancing” rule. But I deeply desire some more clappin’ and shouting in my worship. A little hallelujah and Gah-bless. Some “Thank you, Lord!”s and a bunch of “mmm-hmm, say it again!”s. Praising our Creator ’til I’m moved to my feet – as opposed to an atonal reminder to the congregation that it’s time to rise.

Judging for the emails I got from last week’s post about wanting more for my money out of my synagogue dues, I’m not alone. I love the Jewish traditions – the way the prayers feel in my mouth, the concrete wisdom of the Hebrew script, the covenant between humanity and Divinity. Yet in practice—with many exceptions, of course—it has about as much spiritual juice as a prune. To quote my own poem, sometimes I just wanna kick back my chair and shout out “Glory Hallelujah!” to my fellow Jews who know all too well the dangers of drawing attentions to themselves…

Standing in a white clapboard church stomping with a multi-ethnic crowd (I promise, no one said a word about Jesus, which is where I draw the line for interfaith worship,) I felt full-up of Love with a capital “L” for God and people, the seams of whatever holds our souls inside our bodies bursting. I long for such an experience at shul. Those of you who have it — in Chicago, in Winston-Salem, NC, in Berkeley — clap out one for me, brothers and sisters.

Those of us that don’t have it yet, well, we’ve got to keep up the Kosher Gospel somehow. I recommend lobbying for a visit from Joshua Nelson to our communities to show the dried-up prunies how it’s done:

To learn more about how the McIntosh County Shouters have preserved their Gullah-Geechee traditions for hundreds of years, read Dana Clark Felty’s excellent article in the Savannah Morning News.

I’ve often kvetched about the high cost of being Jewish. From synagogue dues to the JEA membership to Sunday School tuition to tzedakah to summer camp, it adds up to many thousands of dollars a year, and don’t get me started on the projected costs of hosting a bar mitzvah in a few short years. Sometimes I add it up mentally and fantasize about the fabulous vacation the family could take (to Israel, even!) or what I could contribute to the kids’ college funds.

Living in a community where it’s clear from the plaques on the walls that the generations who came before paid for entire wings of buildings, I often wonder how the institutions will survive. While there are several generous families around here upon whose philanthropy the Jewish community depends, it seems like most people grumble when membership goes up ten bucks. Us Yentas pay our bills and keep the children clothed, but we’re not really in an income bracket that gets our names etched in stone on the walls of the synagogue.

But that’s how it is, right? We’re all used to High Holiday speeches from the temple president, even if visitors are appalled (read an account of the outrage expressed at Yom Kippur a few years back.) If we want to participate in communal Jewish life, we’ve got to “pay to play”—a phrase borrowed from Lisa Miller’s column in Newsweek this week.

Miller points out that these giant, ornate synagogues and community centers were built at a time when Jews, “in a very real sense, nowhere else to go. The country clubs wouldn’t have them; their community, religious, and social life revolved around the temple. Today, American Jews have all kinds of choices about where to spend time and money—Jews no longer need a Jewish pool to swim in—and the buildings have become a burden.”

Many JCC’s are trying to offset the burden by welcoming non-Jewish members to the pools and fitness centers and day camps to keep them going, even opening on Shabbat to accommodate them (please tell me—where do YOU weigh in on this?), so let’s leave that aside for a moment. What about synagogues? One person in Miller’s articles suggests that Jews will band together to “reduce costs to families through something like corporate downsizing: making alliances across denominations, sharing spaces, rabbis, and staff.”

Huh, maybe, but I’m don’t want to sit in on that board meeting. But I’m all for it if it means getting back to the basics. Mostly, I’m frustrated with the high cost of temple dues because I haven’t been particularly thrilled with the return—I want simple, meaningful rituals sung in tunes I can follow led by a compassionate, thoughtful, learned person. Unfortunately, the politics of synagogue life have overshadowed my experience of spirituality there—the factions, the whispering, the lashon hora (gossip, negative speech-of which I’m totally guilty), the lack of focus on, well, God.

Miller mentions the “wild success” of Chabad, which uses the church-y business model of “come pray, come eat” before anyone asks for cash. I’ve never been to a Chabad house, but I’ve met couples who run them and have always been impressed by their generosity and enthusiasm. You may not agree, but I would gravitate towards this if it was available—which it’s not, perhaps for territorial reasons. Savannah’s a small place and there are already three synagogues, none of which I feel particularly comfortable in.

I find the most fulfillment (and believe my children do, too) in creating a Jewish home, which costs less and El Yenta Man doesn’t have to wear a tie. Yet that’s incomplete for us fast-and-loose Jews who need a rabbi to teach us the stories and rules (even if we’re not going to follow them.) On the other hand, who wants to shell out thousands of bucks for mediocre spiritual leadership when you could be on a Disney cruise?

It’s a big subject. Please, read Miller’s column here and let me know your thoughts.