In the fall of 1989, I moved from the Fairfax/Pico area of Los Angeles to the Orange County Boarder, 35 miles and a world away. My boyfriend’s office was consolidating its Newport Beach & Culver City operations, and not only did we get to "play" house, but we got to live in a house of our very own.

In narrowing down a neighborhood, we consciously considered certain things, proximity to the freeway, close enough for access, far enough from noise. The flight path over the Long Beach airport. The parking around the city college. We unconsciously took into account a raised or slab foundation, a master bedroom in the front or back of the house . . . and something else, a Shul in walking distance. Not that it mattered to a 22-year old nonreligious female, it had the importance of a convenient mailbox and fire hydrant . . . but a Temple in Lakewood caught my attention. I may not be the only Jew on the block.

Fast forward a few years, and it was time to actually get married. I didn’t think twice. The wedding would be in "our" backyard, and our first choice was the Rabbi around the corner. We had been High-Holiday drop ins, and we both liked the Rabbi and agreed with his views on important issues. The congregation that was another story, generationally incompatible. We attended a few services, had family attend with us before the wedding, and on a potentially drizzly Sunday in Feb. 1991 we were married.

When we had a son, I turned to the Chabad for a Mohel, a traditional at home ceremony using the same table my parents used for my younger brother. (Some things you just want "G’latt Kosher") The following Friday night we went to the local services, the Rabbi greeted us warmly. My husband was uncomfortable going up to the Bimah with the baby. I walked him up & held him and oops took a sip of the wine following the blessing. The congregational gasp was unmistakable. I grew up with two forms of Judaism, all or nothing, not this conservi-dox high breed. (Men & women sit together, but not participate equally)

Shortly after we moved back up to LA. I was initially happy to be back "home", near family & old stomping grounds. I participated in an adult b’nei mitzvah class at an established westside reformed Temple and had a second child. A female Rabbi from B.C.C., my father’s old congregation, led her naming ceremony. Same table, this time for food. At the westside Temple, I felt like a financial outsider, and B.C.C. was just not a good fit for our young traditional family.

We returned to our house in Lakewood, joined the J.C.C. for preschool and made friends with other Jewish families in a nonreligious environment. Then we needed to make an "adult" decision. Our son needed to begin religious school. It was time to join a Temple.

T.B.D. was reformed and offered us the three things we needed, Temple, Sunday school, Pre-K. I loved the congregation, the diversity of ages, backgrounds & stages and joined before even meeting the Rabbi. Here we could fit in. We were welcomed by a really cool lady that reminded me of my father’s best friend in Israel. My feeling was if the congregation is good, the Rabbi can’t be half bad. I learned they had a female Cantor so no gasping if I went up on the bimah. Our children would have a full portion of Torah. We had a daughter to consider.

That first year, we had a preschool conflict that escalated to the point the Rabbi wanted us to leave. If it wasn’t for that really cool lady, we would have been out. My feeling about a good congregation was proven correct. The Rabbi decided to leave after 18 years and after a few temporary replacements the selection committee found his replacement. Her first Rosh Hashanah sermon was controversial. We may have considered "jumping ship" at that time, but we already had our son’s bar mitzvah date, besides . . . Rabbi’s can come & go . . . but the congregation stays.

Over the next few years, she toned down & we were locked in. Now we had both dates, one eminent & the other just two years out. The selling feature of women on the bimah was becoming a negative. The congregation was becoming more estrogen-based & Hebrew dominant. My husband, not growing up attending services, seemed more excluded. Our children were losing a healthy balance of male/female religious leadership. The pendulum had swung all the way.

I balanced the female dominance with taking our son to the Chabad to lay t’fillian for his bar mitzvah. I was lucky that Sunday was a minor festival day. I brought vodka, orange juice & cakes (triple checking the bakery was Chabad approved). I knew my role, and listened from behind the curtain as he was called for first Aliyah. The following Saturday he led our reformed congregation & had last Aliyah, reading directly from Torah. The luncheon following was fun, festive and co-ed, but not exactly kosher.

This past February we celebrated our 18^th wedding anniversary & daughters’ Bat Mitzvah. T.B.D.’s board renewed the Rabbi’s contract for another five years and it’s time for us to decide what to do. That little Shul around the corner seems very appealing. The Rabbi who married us moved on years ago. The old conservi-dox hyphenated name replaced with a new more progressive one. T.B.Z.S. became C.S.C.

I went into the office to buy tickets for the High-Holidays and had a feeling of being welcomed home. The memorial plaque bought after my father passed-away sitting proudly in the front of the sanctuary eye level, near the Cantor, I don’t even know if they have a choir.

I don’t know what this Rabbi will be like. I don’t know what the congregation is like. What I do know is this is home. This is where our house is, where my son walks to attend public high school, the same one my daughter will attend in 2 years. It’s adjacent to the local library. I can walk to services if I want or we can drive without apology or guilt. I am mature enough to accept what cannot be changed & strong willed enough to change what I cannot accept. If I want my children to have Jewish homes when they are adults, then as an adult I need to make sure Judaism is near my home.

I didn’t pay attention to living by a Shul, but took it for granted. Like the mailbox & fire hydrant. This past month the mailbox on the corner was pulled out. The vandalism and neighborhood mailing habits made it obsolete. It was a convenience I took for granted. I would watch young mothers walk down the block teaching their children how to mail a letter. Remembering field trips when my children attended kindergarten to send a letter to a pen-pal. Never personally using it.

Neighborhood Shuls cannot become obsolete. Like a fire hydrant they need to be available, accessible & in working order. Living in Southern California, we see the results of wild fires and the damage to neighborhoods when there is not enough water pressure. The congregation is the water, our individual involvement the pressure, the physical location the fire hydrant itself.

That means supporting and getting involved in my community, with my local congregation. It also means making it accessible for my kids, local, easy, convenient. I reread that and it sounds like a 7-11 or Am-Pm, always open, always available when your craving something, ok that may not be a bad analogy. It’s 20 years since we moved into our house, it’s time to introduce ourselves to our community.

End Note:

I have tried to leave out the names of the congregations involved, using initials instead. I have not written this to put anyone down or question any decisions, except my own. We all act in what is best for the community. I am merely sharing my own journey. I am leaving enough information for people involved with our family to understand our decision. I hope that the really wonderful woman who welcomed us and fought to keep us at T.B.D. knows how much I appreciate her.

I am always amazed at individuals that can label themselves reformed, conservative, orthodox. I few years back I used the expression Ashkafardic Ultrareformconservadox. I couldn’t figure out how to incorporate Progressive & Zionist. My grandparent’s generation just said Jewish.