On Sunday afternoon, January 13th, I will be in Pasadena singing in a concert commemorating 20 years of women cantors in the Conservative movement.  I am thrilled and honored to be singing with other women from the Western Region of the Cantors Assembly, and I only wish that the concert was in Northern California so that you, my congregants, could attend the concert and hear the beautiful contributions that other women are making to the cantorate each day.

When I decided to go to cantorial school, I did so because I felt my heart calling me to become a cantor, urging me to fall in love with our ancient melodies and find a way to make them accessible to modern, progressive synagogues.  I felt directed on this path not as a woman but as a Jew, a singer, and a seeker.  The only time I really thought about the way in which my gender was contributing to this decision was when I was exploring cantorial schools, and I didn’t consider an Orthodox program because they would not accept me as a cantor.  At that time I loved davening at Orthodox synagogues, singing out with the women on my side of the room, and surrounding myself with other people who chose to immerse themselves in the beauty and complexity of traditional Judaism in the modern world.  It really never bothered me to hear only men leading services or chanting Torah.  I loved anything that felt authentic and that was fueled by integrity and pure intention.

All of that changed when I started cantorial school at the Jewish Theological Seminary.  My class was made up of 5 women and 4 men, all of whom are passionate and talented, but who are also—and perhaps even more importantly—deeply committed to egalitarian prayer.  I didn’t start the program as a defender of egalitarianism; in fact, I was initially uncomfortable with wearing tefillin, and I still can’t bring myself to wear a man’s kippah on the bima.  But after 5 years of learning to interpret our traditional hazzanut, our cantorial music, for women’s voices, and after hours and days spent falling in love with our liturgy and the myriad ways to interpret it, I found that I had been transformed by cantorial school.  I was not just becoming a cantor.  I was becoming a woman cantor, someone just as capable and passionate and committed as any of my male colleagues, and with the added benefit of being able to connect with the women of my congregation in ways that they likely had never connected before.

I still love davening with an Orthodox minyan on a Friday night.  It is hard to match the ruach (spirit) of a room full of people who are willing to sing out with their full hearts and voices, without any shame or fear of being judged for their reckless devotion.  The difference is that now I know that I could be leading that minyan with a voice as clear and strong as any man’s, and with the knowledge of our ancestry woven deeply into the fabric of my being.  I may not have started out on this path with the goal of continuing in the tradition of the brave women who first fought to sing our melodies and teach our texts, but that is most certainly the path I have chosen to embrace.  It is with great pride as woman and as a cantor that I will be singing in the concert on the 13th.  I wish you all could be there.