Rachael Jackson Personal Statement

Finding Chemistry in Congregations

Walking into Congregation Har HaShem in Boulder, Colorado for the first time in my
early twenties, I felt shy and out of place. Shortly however my nervousness resolved when I was
greeted by a pair of older women, both in their late 80s, self-appointed representatives of the
congregation. Each invited me to sit with her, pleading her case as she did; I felt special and
appreciated. No person was safe from their warmth. Estelle preferred her seat at the back of the
sanctuary where she could smile and hug each person on their way out. Eleanor preferred the
front row, greeting and hugging her way to her seat in the sanctuary. I chose the front row my
first Friday night service at Har Hashem, though over the subsequent years I would alternate
between the two matriarchs.

In the short exchange that took place that night these women welcomed me into the
Jewish community, putting a face on the deep love and traditions of Judaism. In the years that
followed, they would continue to teach me about community, Judaism, and friendship.
One major lesson I learned at the time, and continue to practice years later, is that if someone
enters through the synagogue doors, we must all do our part to show them the community within.
People enter a temple for a reason, and it is our responsibility to help them realize their place in
the Jewish community. It is not enough to simply have doors to walk through.

Each person walking through the synagogue doors is looking for something. Though
another person might be guiding them into the Jewish community, such as a spouse, or as they
find themselves in a life-cycle, they are the ones who chose to walk through the door. We are
obligated to help them find what they are seeking.

Welcoming a person through the synagogue is more than allegorical to sharing our vast
traditions and strong bonds of community; it is a way of life. This means we welcome families of
all shapes and types, and includes people at every stage in their Judaism. This view encompasses
individuals whose opinions span the ideological spectrum and which might be radically different

from our own. It seems simple enough: the right people plus a building equals a community. But
the Jewish kehillah is so much more than this.
I recall my first lovechemistry. When I was eight years old in Mrs. Kjelgaards class,
she gave us a science demonstration. She took two beakers each containing a clear liquid.
Mixing them into a third beaker, a fluffy purple foam emerged. I was hooked on the magic of
chemistry. I spent nearly a decade working in the field. I may not be able to explain where that
foam came from, but I learned about the chemistry of mixing chemicals. I also learned that there
is so much more to chemistry than chemicals. There is the chemistry between a person and their
faith or with God; and chemistry between a synagogue and its local and larger community. To
facilitate these personal reactions is our role.

One way we can be facilitators is through asking questions. In Judaism we have the
youngest person able ask the questions during the Passover Seder because that sets the
precedence of life-long inquiry. Asking questions is something else about which I am passionate.
Asking them of myself, asking them of others, and helping others ask themselves. Rarely do
questions lead to answers, but rather they lead to more questions, and so continues the cycle of
knowledge. Learning is lifelong; it is formal and informal. It allows us to engage in a dynamic
Judaism, rather than be on the sidelines of a stagnant one.

Be welcoming, to everyone at all times. Be more than just a building with people inside,
but rather be a community of love and tradition. Facilitate chemistry within ourselves. Learn, ask
questions, and learn some more. These are some of the foundations of my rabbinate. I truly
believe, that if we do these things, we will leave the world, and the people in it, better.