“But She Persisted” (1935 / 1999): Ordination Address
Rabbi Regina Lys Sandler-Phillips, May 27, 1999 / 12 Sivan 5759
Esther Broner said in the name of Virginia Woolf: “A woman writing thinks back through her mothers.” And a woman being ordained, I believe, can do no less. But I would be remiss in thinking back through my mothers, if I did not also acknowledge and honor my fathers—Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Irving—Irving being my own father, Irving Samuel Phillips, my most immediate link to the chain of patriarchs. And with him I also wish to honor my grandfathers of blessed memory: Max Phillips, whose name my brother Max now bears, and Rubin Sandler—the oldest son of Regina Sandler.
A woman being ordained thinks back through her mothers, and our tradition recognizes two kinds of mothers—the first and most familiar being the mother of children, the mother of tribes. I would like to begin by honoring seven such mothers, and my friends, colleagues and congregants should already know six of them (“Who knows six?”): Sarah, Rebekah, Leah, Rachel, Bilhah, Zilpah and Constance—Constance being my own mother, Constance (Harriet) Sandler Phillips, my most immediate link to the chain of matriarchs. And with her I also wish to honor my grandmothers of blessed memory: Jennie Phillips, whose face and body live through mine, and Mary Sandler—from whom I inherited my commitment to service, whose side of the family is represented by my sister Anna, and whose birthday—probably her 100th birthday—is today.
And yet there is another kind of mother in our tradition. She is the em biYisra’el, the “mother in Israel.” She is Deborah the prophetess, known as eshet lapidot—a fiery woman, a woman of torches. She is the wise woman of Avelah, known in rabbinic tradition as Serah bat Asher—the granddaughter of Zilpah. The em biYisra’el is known to express her prophecy and wisdom through song. She is typically not married, and she has no biological children of her own.
So today it is fitting that I “think back” through two particular mothers—the first a mother of children, a mother of my own tribe, and the second an em biYisra’el, a mother in Israel—both of whose names I consider myself to bear, and by whose merit I stand here.
I know my great-grandmother, Regina Sandler, the woman my mother calls Bubba, primarily through a few old photographs. She looks stern. She does not look happy. I know that she bore and raised nine children; I know that two of those children died in her own lifetime. I know that she made the long and uncertain journey across the ocean from Lithuania and Latvia in search of a better life for her family. I know that I am alive and safe today because of that family journey.
She was not learned. Her husband was the melamed, the itinerant scholar who taught and wrote and published. And yet my most tangible link to Regina Sandler is a book—her prayerbook for Rosh HaShanah which I hold in my hands as I speak to you. The pages are yellow and brittle; the Hebrew liturgy is accompanied by a running Yiddish commentary below the line. This book was given to me by Regina Sandler’s youngest daughter, my great-aunt Emma Gorelick of blessed memory—she who recited Modeh Ani to thank God every morning of her life; she who said, sitting in a wheelchair on the terrace of a nursing home after 89 years of independent living: “How beautiful God’s world is. And how beautiful it is when there’s no pain. I was in so much pain yesterday, but I’m not feeling any pain today.” My aunt Emma died the day I was accepted for matriculation at the Academy for Jewish Religion, and I promised myself that if God spared me to be ordained, I would carry this prayerbook with me to ordination.
Regina Jonas—mother in Israel—was born in Germany in 1902, and began her professional career as a religious school teacher. She studied for six years at the liberal rabbinic seminary in Berlin, the Hochschule für die Wissenschaft des Judendums, and in 1930 submitted a halakhic thesis entitled “Can A Woman Hold Rabbinical Office?” She received a special transcript, signed by Rabbi Leo Baeck, which attested to her skills in homiletic exercises and preaching. Although her halakhic thesis was accepted by the faculty, she was denied formal ordination.
But she persisted, and in 1935—one month after the Nuremberg Laws revoked Jewish citizenship—Regina Jonas was examined and ordained privately by a prominent liberal rabbi in Offenbach, at the request of the Association of Liberal Rabbis. Jonas found her rabbinate primarily as a chaplain in nursing homes and hospitals, and as a teacher of children. Herta Shriner, the mother of our administrator Linda Shriner-Cahn, remembers Regina Jonas as a private tutor for a group of young girls, and recalls that Jonas used to come in singing to their lessons in Herta’s home.
In 1942 Regina Jonas was deported to Theresienstadt, where her stature as a spiritual leader grew among ghetto inmates. She worked in cooperation with the psychiatrist Viktor Frankl to provide support for new arrivals at the ghetto train station. She gave sermons in the ghetto; a list of 23 of her lecture topics as well as the text of one of her sermons have survived in the Theresienstadt archives. In the sermon she wrote:
Our Jewish people have been sent by God into history as “blessed.” To be blessed by God means, to give wherever one steps, in every life situation blessing, kindness, faithfulness—humility before God, selfless and devoted love to his creatures sustain this world. To erect these fundamental pillars of the world was and is Israel’s task. Man and woman, woman and man have taken on this task with the same Jewish devotion. Toward this ideal our grave, trying work in Theresienstadt caters. We are God’s servants, and as such we are moving from earthly to eternal spheres. May all our work which we have tried to perform as God’s servants, be a blessing for Israel’s future and humanity.
Regina Jonas’ transport number to Auschwitz was 722. She did not come back. When she died, she was two years older than I am now. And today, more than fifty years after her death, we are just beginning to learn about her life—the life of the first woman ever to be formally ordained as rabbi, whose name is not even recognized by most Jews.
But we are learning. And if I speak of these things today, it is not—God forbid—to spoil anyone’s good time. Zeh hayom asah HaShem; nagilah venis’mkhah bo—This is the day that God has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it. But we are the people of the shattered glass; we do not go into our celebrations without the awareness of what has been broken, and what has been lost. There is a reason that we break a glass at a wedding. There is a reason, at the height of rejoicing for the birth of a child—for the bringing of new life into the world—that we give that child the gift of memory, the gift of one or more names of those who no longer breathe upon this earth.
And there are those who teach us that the shattering of vessels release the sparks of holiness into the world, and that it is our task to gather those holy sparks together for our ultimate redemption. And there are those who teach us that it is the broken heart which is capable of opening wider and loving more deeply. And as I stand here today, by the merit of all of my fathers and mothers, with the love of my siblings and friends, and in the name and special merit of Regina Sandler and Regina Jonas, I pray that we not be too frightened to let life touch us deeply. May we not use our celebrations as blinders, to avoid facing the pain and suffering of our broken world. May we rather be strengthened by our seasons of joy to open our own hearts wider and to take up the work of tikkun, of repair—to seek justice, to pursue peace, to turn toward each other every day with greater lovingkindness—now, while we're alive; now, while we're free; now, while we remember.
“May all our work which we have tried to perform as God’s servants, be a blessing for Israel’s future and humanity.”
Please help me close by singing a song of redemption—a Yiddish song which has survived the Holocaust to give hope and courage to a broken people:
Zol Shoyn Kumen Di Geule (Let Our Redemption Come)*
Lyrics by Shmerke Kaczerginski / Melody attributed to Rabbi Abraham Kook
TRANSLATION: When troubles weigh upon your heart, make a toast! If sorrow persists, sing a song. If there's no whiskey, let's drink water! Living water is truly life; what more does a Jew need?
Let our redemption come! Messiah should come already!
This is truly a guilty generation, and from the sinning Messiah will come more quickly. Oh, you little Father in heaven, the children of the compassionate beg you: See to it that Messiah does not come a little too late!
Let our redemption come! Messiah should come already!
Trees are dancing in the forest, stars in the heavens. Reb Yisro'el, the father-in-law, whirls in their midst. The Messiah will awaken from his deep sleep when he hears our prayerful song.
Let our redemption come! Messiah should come already!
* In the recording by Sidor Belarsky, the second and third verses are transposed.
