A New Year in the Drama of Life

Phyllis Beim searched for God when her son was in teenage turmoil. For Jerry Rabow it was the dawning realization that his life as a high-powered tax attorney was out of balance. Jeff Levine was stirred when his 3-year-old-daughter ogled the Torah scrolls in delight.

All three share a search for meaning--one that millions of Jews the world over will be invited to join beginning at sundown today with the ceremonial blowing of the shofar, or ram’s horn.

Tonight is Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year 5758. It begins a 10-day period of penitence and spiritual renewal that culminates at sundown Oct. 10 with the beginning of Yom Kippur--the Day of Atonement, the most holy day of the Jewish year.

Beim, Rabow and Levine will mark the holiday tonight at Valley Beth Shalom, their Encino shul. So will multitudes of Jews not seen at synagogues since last year.

Indeed, although only 5.6% of Los Angeles-area Jews attend weekly services, 53% attend High Holy Day services, according to a new survey by the Jewish Federation Council of Greater Los Angeles. Nationally, the 1990 Jewish population survey found that 11% of Jews attended weekly services, but 71% turned out for the High Holidays.

Jewish tradition recounts that on Rosh Hashana, God inscribes each person’s fortune for the coming year based on conduct in the year past. Thus it is a time to reflect and seek forgiveness before God seals the Book of Life on Yom Kippur.

Many of those who turn out tonight bring high expectations for finding meaning.

“People show up and they say, all right, inspire me,” said Rabbi Daniel R. Shevitz of Congregation Mishkon Tephilo in Venice.

To be sure, the rabbis are more than welcoming. The High Holy Days are an important port of entry for Jews who are returning to their faith or seeking insight into it for the first time.

Despite some synagogue holiday advertisements that hold out the promise of relevance and vision, most rabbis agreed there is no quick fix on spirituality.

“It’s the difference between dating and marriage,” said Shevitz, who this year offers how-to High Holy Day services for beginners at his Venice synagogue. “There’s nothing wrong with dating, but it’s just not the same thing at all.

“I don’t mind a little spiritual flirting, but that’s not going to give people any lasting tool to really help them navigate serious religious concerns.”

On a recent morning, Beim, Rabow and Levine, active congregants at Valley Beth Shalom, recalled High Holy Days of years past that became turning points in their search for meaning and community.

Unlike biblical accounts of burning bushes and a thunderous voice from on high, their stories speak of an unfolding human drama of harmony and dissonance, questions and belief, inner conflict and concord.

Beim, a 57-year-old retired family counselor, said she grew up in a religiously observant home but realized as a teenager that he didn’t believe in God. She continued attending services. She prayed in Hebrew. But she felt like a hypocrite.

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She married and had children. Her family continued to observe the forms of her ancient faith. But she said God remained an elusive idea. When her 15-year-old son had some difficulties 12 years ago she didn’t know what to do. She now realizes that his behavior was simply a passing phase. But at the time it seemed like an insurmountable problem, made more stark by the approach of the High Holidays and her seeming failure to deal with life’s daily frustrations, much less the riddle of God.

“I thought, ‘I can’t manage this world anymore,’ and I remembered thinking I have to do something,” she said.

In the stillness of the early morning, she slipped out of bed and picked up her prayer book in the living room. The word “repentance” leaped from the pages.

Repentance in Judaism, she said, means more than atoning for one’s sins. It also means returning.

“It was like a moment of epiphany,” she said. Inexplicably, she knew there was a cause that made the universe work, something more powerful than her problems, something “real.”

“From that moment it became easy,” she said. “Now it was only a matter of time before finding it.” The journey continues, she said, but her realization led to an adjustment in attitude.

“You don’t have to try and control the world,” she said. “You can only try for your own little piece and hope that something else is taking care of the rest of it. It was relief--and it was belief.”

For Jerry Rabow, the contrast between the High Holidays and the relentless routine at his law office was stark evidence that his life was out of balance.

Something had been tugging at Rabow for years. It became apparent six years ago as he and his family left the synagogue after High Holiday services. He loved the liturgy, the cantor, the sonorous sound of Hebrew, the rich symbolism, the sense of community. “This really is terrific,” he said.

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But why was his praise so effusive? “I concluded that my life was very unbalanced for a such a day to have this depth and this fascination. . . . Yet, you go right back into the business world and fill up your time--and there was just something wrong with that.”

With encouragement and prodding from his children, Rabow finally made good on a promise he made after every High Holiday service. He was going to retire early and devote more time to spiritual and intellectual pursuits. He retired this year at age 60.

Two weeks ago his oldest daughter, Victoria, and her husband presented Rabow and his wife with their first grandchild, a girl.

Shortly before baby Madelyn was born, Rabow took scissors and paper in hand and cut out a paper doily. In Jewish folk wisdom, such a paper cutting is supposed to protect the soul of a newborn. Rabow said he didn’t really believe in the doily’s supposed magical qualities. But on the day his granddaughter was born, Rabow carefully bent down and placed it next to her. “It’s been with her ever since,” he said.

“There is some kind of connection, an aspect that deeply relates to me that I can’t articulate yet because I don’t know what it is. But I am very comfortable that it’s authentic,” Rabow said.

For Levine, it was his toddler daughter who helped bring him closer to his faith.

Levine, 47-year-old president of United Container Corp., said he had slipped between involvement and apathy with Judaism--until a Yom Kippur 12 years ago.

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His daughter, Deborah, was 3 years old as he held her in his arms inside the sanctuary. She wore a green velvet dress. At the end of the Havdalah service marking the distinction between a holy day and a regular day, the sanctuary lights were turned out, leaving only the ornate Torah scrolls illuminated.

“I remember picking her up and she was pointing at the Torahs. She was in awe,” Levine said. She just loved the beauty of the Torahs, the atmosphere of the service, the music, the organ and all the people.”

It was at that moment, Levine said, that he began to contemplate the future of sharing Judaism with his daughter. He knew that as she grew, as they grew together, he would have to delve deeper into his faith.

“It’s like peeling an onion. There’s just another layer and another layer. It gets more and more challenging, and more and more interesting the more you get into it.”