Carole Gould, a lawyer who for many years wrote a weekly column for The New York Times business section, grew up in a Jewish family that was religiously non-observant. But when her sons entered the religious school of our congregation, Beth Elohim, in 1993, she became active in the affairs of the congregation and, as she has written about herself, “the world opened up.” She began to study Torah. Five years ago she entered Hebrew Union College – Jewish Institute of Religion as a rabbinical candidate. Last Sunday, we witnessed her ordination at Congregation Emanu-El in Manhattan.
For the ten years of its existence, she’s led our congregation's Shabbat morning minyan – in our case from twelve to eighteen persons who meet for the service. Although my wife joined the minyan several years ago, I only started to participate two months ago and that’s when I began to know Carole. True, I had met her twice before. The first time was in Jerusalem, where she was spending a year as part of her studies, when she came to lunch at our home. When she saw our shelf of Trollope novels, she borrowed several, returning them to us later in Brooklyn. That was the second time I had met her.
But now that I’ve been attending the minyan every Shabbat, I‘ve been able to see her in action, so to speak, and to admire the pleasant but authoritative way she presides over our service. She’s a tall, trim, handsome woman, with a crown of abundant, curly gray hair, a strong melodious voice, and a commanding presence. She’s scrupulous in thanking everyone who participates in the minyan service, particularly the readers, whether these are accomplished or not.
Before the minyan meets, my wife and I attend a lesson with our rabbi, after which we participate in a small group that studies the weekly Torah portion. These sessions are enlightening and intellectually stimulating, but it’s at the minyan that I enter another world, a world not of intellect but emotion. Don’t get me wrong - I haven’t burned my atheist card – but the communal singing, repeated each week, the only half-understood Hebrew, the intimacy of our small minyan, and the intensity of the other worshipers, create for me an other-worldly atmosphere, one that exists on an elevated plane, one in which, for the space of the service, I willingly suspend my disbelief.
There was no need to suspend disbelief at Carole’s ordination, but I was nonetheless moved by the beauty of the ceremony, the music, and the grandeur of the ordination’s venue, the main sanctuary of Congregation Emanu-El. I was not a stranger to the congregation. My wife and I were married in its chapel, as were her sister and my brother. Her father was on its Board of Trustees and served as the long-time head of its religious school committee, so during the first years of our marriage, when we lived in Manhattan, we attended the high holiday services there. These services never moved me emotionally. I viewed them mainly as a social occasion, not a religious obligation, a feeling perhaps reinforced by the presence of so many of New York’s richest Jews. The difference between my ho-hum response to the grand Emanu-El high holiday services and my spiritual response to the small gathering every Shabbat at our congregation is remarkable.
I don’t know whether I’ve changed or my circumstances have changed, but one thing is certain: I’ve found that religious experience is available to atheists. I’m grateful to Carole Gould for leading the minyan in which this discovery was possible.
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