To Be A Sephardic Jew -- From The Synagogue Balcony, Fond Recollections Of Faith

During the early part of the 20th century my grandfather, Morris Scharhon, left Rhodes and came to Seattle via Ellis Island. He was a Hazan, a chanter of prayer melodies. He was also a Shohet, a person who ritually butchers poultry according to Jewish tradition. My grandfather and his wife, Esther, raised a family of 12 children. Azaria, my father, was the fourth child and the youngest son.

As a young girl growing up in Seattle, I was greatly influenced by my Sephardic upbringing at home, synagogue, and camp experiences. In preparation for the Jewish Sabbath, which is from sundown Friday until sundown Saturday, my mother would spend hours in the kitchen preparing a wonderful Sabbath meal, while my father would arrive home early from his kosher butcher shop on Jackson Street. Soon he would rush off to Sabbath services at the synagogue. My brothers would accompany him, but mother and I would stay home. Our role was to light the Sabbath candles and prepare the meal.

I nostalgically remember Saturday mornings. As a family we would walk to Sephardic Bikur Holim Synagogue (driving on the Sabbath is forbidden by Jewish law). At the synagogue my mother and I would walk upstairs to the balcony, where the women were seated separately. The men were seated on the main floor of the sanctuary, since only men could conduct the services. Women were not allowed to read from the Torah (the ancient Jewish scrolls). It is still this way in our synagogue today.

In the Sephardic Orthodox tradition, the male gender is held in the highest esteem. Now, don't misunderstand me; girls are also highly regarded, but in a very different way. The Sephardic woman is an essential partner in keeping the traditions alive in the Sephardic Jewish home.

My generation was the first that allowed girls to get a formal Hebrew education in a day-school setting. I attended the Seattle Hebrew Day School, now known as the Seattle Hebrew Academy. The school had a mix of Sephardic and Ashkenazic children, but Sephardim were definitely a minority.

(Most American Jews are Ashkenazic, from Eastern European countries.)

My generation also was the first to experience a Sephardic overnight camp held on Vashon Island. It gave many of the nonreligious children their first taste of Orthodox Sephardic living. I carry fond memories of those days. One wonderful picture in my mind is the Sephardic women who volunteered their time as the camp cooks and baked some of the most delicious ethnic delicacies. Fortunately, the tradition continues to this very day.

In 1970 I married my husband, a descendant of Ashkenazic heritage (in my mother's day this would be considered a mixed marriage). His grandfather came to Seattle from Russia at the turn of the century. My husband relishes the Sephardic culture and has encouraged me to keep our home in the tradition of my Sephardic heritage. In blending both Jewish cultures (we do a lot of that!), Ashkenazic tradition says that an infant should be named after someone who has passed on. Sephardim, on the other hand, are named after the living. When our oldest daughter, Brianna, was born, we named her after my husband's grandmother, who died in 1950. Our next daughter, Rachel, was named after my mother, Rachel Scharhon, who was a very young and much-alive grandmother of under 50 at the time of Rachel's birth.

As a newlywed I joined Hadassah, a national Jewish women's organization. Hadassah was founded in 1912 by Henrietta Szold, and it is dedicated to maintaining two of the finest hospitals in the world, in Jerusalem. Hadassah, the largest women's Zionist organization in America, traditionally had not been an organization supported by Sephardic women of my mother's generation.

Times change. Twenty years later, I am now the president of the Pacific Northwest Region of Hadassah, leading both Sephardic and Ashkenazic women who share a common goal in Hadassah. My role in the organization has allowed me to become involved and educated in many other aspects of my faith, as well as in Jewish women's issues.

Orthodox Judaism is based on oral and written law. It is also heavily based on tradition. According to these teachings, laws of religion can never be changed, but sometimes tradition can be modified.

Today the women in my synagogue are still upstairs looking down at the men on the main floor, and we still are not allowed to participate in the services. However, I see change on the horizon. Within the past 10 years my daughters' generation is able to have a bat mitzvah, becoming of Jewish age for religious obligations. Today I sit with pride on the synagogue's board of directors and have a more contributory voice as to the synagogue's future policy.