Jewish World / I am warmly disposed toward Reform and Conservative Jewry

Although both my maternal and paternal grandfathers, each in his own city in Poland, were rabbis, my parents were Zionists and Socialists, who immigrated to Palestine (making them the only survivors of their large families, whose other members perished in the Holocaust). When I was a child, secular Jews were called hofshi'im (free-thinkers), whereas religious ones were referred to as adukim (devout).

Although my parents were free-thinkers, they would never let a Friday night pass without their own unique version of Kabbalat Shabbat (welcoming the Sabbath). On every Jewish holiday, my mother would prepare a special dish (we did not observe the Jewish dietary laws) and would light festive, decorative candles. Since both my parents were musically inclined and had marvelous voices, our welcome of the Sabbath focused on singing - sacred and foreign songs, in both Hebrew and Yiddish. I do not recall whether my parents ever went to synagogue, but classic cantorial music could always be heard in our house.

When I was a little older, I discovered a record - one of those old vinyl discs that can be played on both sides. On it were the delightful performances of violinist Bronislaw Huberman, who founded the Palestine Orchestra in 1936. On one side of the record was an extremely touching rendition of Max Bruch's "Kol Nidrei," Opus 47, while on the other side was Franz Schubert's "Ave Maria."

Since my parents both served in the British army and I grew up in boarding schools - first in Ben Shemen, then in Jerusalem - I developed the habit of attending synagogue on the eve of Yom Kippur to hear the cantor sing "Kol Nidrei." I was always drawn to the synagogue to hear that melody. Even as an adult and then as a mother, I continued the custom of attending my neighborhood synagogue.

However, by that time, I had to come up with a moral justification for my love for this prayer, which dissolves vows and cancels solemn promises. I understood that "Kol Nidrei" was adopted during the period of the forced conversion of Spanish Jews to Christianity. The new converts became known as Marranos (Secret Jews); they lived during an era marked by persecution and harsh anti-Jewish decrees. To me, the prayer's moral justification remained in force as long as there were Jews whose basic human rights were being denied - including, for example, the Jews living behind the Iron Curtain.

I was also drawn to the synagogue because of our congregation's rabbi, Rabbi Shmuel Avidor Hacohen, of blessed memory - a cultured, learned and extremely intelligent individual. As long as he officiated, I followed the advice of Rabbi Joshua, son of Pirhiya, who is cited in Pirkei Avot as stating, "Choose a rabbi to be your guide, cultivate a good friend, and always give people the benefit of the doubt." Until his death, Rabbi Avidor Hacohen was my rabbi and I learned a great deal from him. Just as talmudic scholars learn how to reply to heretics, I learned from him how to respond to fundamentalist talmudic scholars, who treat women with derision and hate the "other."

All the rabbis I have chosen to serve as my teachers have departed from this life: my first teacher, the wise and cultured Rabbi Elimelech Bar-Shaul, chief rabbi of Rehovot, and, at a later stage, Rabbi Avidor Hacohen. I no longer attend my neighborhood synagogue and the local cantor no longer captivates me.

Nowadays, I feel warmly disposed toward Reform and Conservative Judaism, and when I travel overseas, I attend Reform and Conservative synagogues to hear the liturgy. I particularly love to hear female cantors. In these synagogues, families sit together and the members of the congregation participate in the prayer services in a beautiful, dignified manner. When they celebrate the Sabbath or a holiday, their joy is genuine. It is marvelous to meet in these houses of prayer people who are open-minded and not fanatics about the performance of commandments or about how you should pray. When they gather in the synagogue, they do so as members of an ancient culture that broadcasts a message of love and solidarity. The melodies there are beautiful and the sermons intelligent, and, when we drink wine after the prayer services and say Lehayim when toasting each other, the atmosphere of joyousness is heightened considerably.

Shulamit Aloni's new book, "Demokratia ba'azikim" ("Israel - Democracy or Ethnocracy?") has recently been published in Hebrew by Am Oved.