Mooch wants to go to Hebrew school, so I’ve been doing some research. (Lazy, couch-based research: looking online and talking to the few Jewish moms I know out here.)
Last year, I enrolled her in kind of a trial class — a “let’s have fun being Jews!” once-a-month class that didn’t require us to join a temple. I figured we’d test out Mooch’s resolve. Let her dip her toe into the kiddie pool of Judaism, as it were. If she wanted to get into the big kid pool, well, then we’d have to join up somewhere.
As you might have guessed, this is all new to me. Phin grew up observant, but I didn’t. I am the one who can’t read hebrew, the one who doesn’t sing along or recite the prayers on the holidays. I once wrote a post, “Oprah Winfrey Saves My Immortal Soul,” about a quiz I took that determined that my beliefs most jibed with Unitarian Universalism, not Judaism at all, but Moochie knows the rest of the family (at least on Phin’s side) went to hebrew school, had bat or bar mitzvahs and she wants to go too.
So, great. I started looking for reform temples in the area, because Phin’s old temple was conservative, and that doesn’t sit well with me. If I’m going to find us a tribe, I want to feel comfortable, and that means female rabbis, gay couples… equality, damn it.
A friend recommended a family cooperative hebrew school nearby, and I just contacted them for more information. The classes are held in the nearby Presbyterian Church on Saturday mornings. Even I know that’s supposed to be the Sabbath, though. Right?
If we end up signing Mooch up for classes, we may have to keep a few details from her paternal grandma. Because secular Saturday hebrew school at the local church? That ain’t kosher.