The name of Rabbi Jonathan Kligler is so well-known in the mid-Hudson Valley — even among non-Jews — as a source of wisdom and comfort during trying times, and his association with the Woodstock Jewish Congregation went on for so long, that it may come as a surprise to many that the congregation has been managing without a “permanent” rabbi for years now. That uncertain state of affairs finally came to an end in July, when longtime member Karen Levine was officially ordained as rabbi of Kehillat Lev Shalem, also known as the Woodstock Jewish Congregation (WJC).
Not so surprisingly in a world where female rabbis didn’t exist until the 20th century, the process by which Levine came to be acknowledged as the congregation’s official leader was what one might call “unorthodox.” During her ordination ceremony, or smikha, Rabbi Kligler recounted a parable from Martin Buber’s Tales of the Hasidim about a man who goes on a long journey, inspired by a dream, to find a treasure, only to discover that the treasure is buried underneath his own hearth at home. It’s a fitting metaphor for how WJC realized that the leader they were seeking was already in their midst.
Levine takes up the tale of Kligler’s repeatedly thwarted efforts to move on to other projects: “It was a little over ten years ago that he retired for the first time. He founded the Lev Shalem Institute and wanted to put more of his efforts into that. A national search was done, and a rabbi was hired, but it wasn’t a good match. The person only lasted about a year-and-a-half. So, the board approached Rabbi Jonathan about coming back as full-time congregational rabbi and extended his contract.”
To enable Kligler to transition out gradually, it was decided to hire an associate rabbi to learn the ropes from him for a couple of years. “The search was underway in March 2020, when it had to be aborted. With the pandemic, we were doing online everything.” Levine had been wearing many hats as a volunteer since joining the congregation in the 1990s: Family School tutor, Torah chanter, designer of furnishings for the sanctuary, preparer of bodies of deceased congregants for burial, musician accompanying services, member and later chair of the Ritual Committee. But it was her background working with digital media and computers that made her value to the congregation shine brightly during the Covid emergency.
One of the doctrine-driven decisions that the Ritual Committee had made was to ban cameras from the Kehillat Lev Shalem sanctuary at 1682 Glasco Turnpike. But when compulsory social distancing during the health emergency came between the congregation and their ability to gather for worship services, the policy had to adapt to the times. Levine, like her mentor Kligler, sees this ability to evolve to meet the practical needs of the community as one of the intrinsic strengths of Judaism as a religious tradition, and especially of their congregation, which describes itself as “draw[ing] from all streams of Jewish practice.” “We’re less doctrinal here,” she says. “I think the Torah supports more creativity with the tradition. We’re grounded in tradition, but adapted to this moment.”
So it was that WJC jumped with both feet into holding services over Zoom — a practice that continues expanding the congregation’s reach today. In describing Levine’s history with WJC at her smikha (ordination) ceremony, Kligler paid tribute to her leadership during that challenging period: “I relied heavily on Karen’s prodigious technical and computer skills, but also on her keen aesthetic sensibility and trusty intuition.”
WJC weathered the storm of the pandemic, and Kligler once again signaled his wish to move onto other roles than presiding rabbi. Once again the search for a replacement got underway. A cantor, Raechel Rosen, was hired to take over the musical aspect of Kligler’s duties, which made it possible for the search committee to consider a broader pool of candidates.
“We were ready to hire an interim rabbi, but he changed his mind and took an academic job,” Levine recounts. “The directors looked at each other and said, ‘Now what do we do?’ We decided that we have enough resources in-house for now, so a four-person clergy team was put together and shared the job of one rabbi.” Levine was one of the four.
“After another full year of search, two people were offered contracts. Both took different jobs,” she continues. “It’s hard to recruit to Woodstock. Young families don’t want to move here on account of the high housing prices and lack of educational opportunities.”
There were occasions, Levine remembers, when people said to her, “You could do this job.” But she doubted her qualifications, especially considering that she had never attended a yeshiva for formal rabbinical training. (In some traditions of Judaism, academic training in the scriptures, commentaries and Halakha law is considered essential to taking on the role, while others rely more heavily on a one-to-one apprenticeship model.) There was also a piece of her that resisted taking on a “patriarchal” role. “I was proud to be a non-ordained spiritual leader. It seemed most consistent with my anti-authoritarian, feminist self,” she told the congregation after her smikha ceremony.
According to that ancient sage Wikipedia, “The Talmud also relates that one can obtain the title of rabbi by those to whom he teaches or counsels.” It was in her work presiding over funerals, as part of the clergy team, that Levine began to experience hearing the words, “Thank you, Rabbi,” from congregants. “This was where the door opened a crack,” she says. She began to give serious consideration to putting her name forward to the search committee, and when yet another candidate for the job turned down the offer, she tossed her hat into the ring. The committee deliberated, and a few weeks later, invited her to become WJC’s permanent, full-time rabbi.
One deciding factor for Levine was the discovery, in consultation with Kligler, that a Jewish tradition of rabbinical ordination exists that is actually much older than the academic model, which developed in Renaissance Europe in competition with the Church-run universities. Up until Roman persecution put a halt to the practice of smikha (or, some say, drove it underground) sometime between the fourth and fifth century CE, it had involved a “laying on of hands” ceremony symbolizing a formal transmission of authority that began with Moses — regarded as the “first rabbi” — receiving the Torah. In his old age Moses passed the leadership on to Joshua, who passed it on to the elders, prophets and the Great Assembly. The Hebrew root for smikha means both to “lean on” in a literal sense and to “rely on.” During this early period, hands-on apprenticeship was the way in which aspiring rabbis were trained.
This “classical” model of ordination, in which a new rabbi is entrusted with the care of a congregation based on less academic factors than encyclopedic recall of religious law, is being popularly revived in many contemporary Jewish congregations. So, it was decided that when Karen Levine was ordained, there would be a literal “leaning of hands,” symbolizing that she had been found reliable and trustworthy through her actions. At the same time, the ancient ritual is a reclamation of the tradition that authority in Judaism has been handed down in an unbroken chain for more than three thousand years. Five rabbis — four of them women — leaned their hands on Levine as they ordained her as rabbi “in the sacred capacities of teacher of Torah, leader of prayers, pastoral counselor and spiritual and ethical guide, with the right to officiate in all rabbinic matters.”
The ceremony brought Levine’s destiny full circle, in a way, since she felt from an early age that she had a “calling.” Born in Queens, she grew up in the Long Island community of Merrick, learned to play clarinet as a child and then switched to art in high school. She got her undergraduate degree in Philosophy and Religion at Colgate University. “Colgate was originally a seminary. I went there because it was a pastoral place. Some children are born religious,” she says. “We were only the tenth class of women at the school.”
Her career took a more eclectic and meandering path, however. “I learned to be a pastry chef in Madison, Wisconsin,” Levine says. “I thought I was going to be a baker my whole life.” She married a native Kingstonian, moved to Kingston in 1989, had a daughter, worked at Carol’s Incredible Edibles in Rosendale making wedding cakes. Later she went to work for Woodstock Physical Therapy, where she honed her computer and tech skills and got to know everyone in the local physical and spiritual healing communities.
Levine’s interest in music resurfaced and she began taking lessons in frame drumming from Glen Velez and Layne Redmond. “It did not come easily,” she says; but she persisted, even learning to make drums and xylophones by hand. Eventually she took up the clarinet again, learned bass clarinet and began playing in “a couple of bands,” including about a decade performing “Eastern European village dance music” with Caprice Rouge. They were the on-call band when an opening act was needed at BSP in Kingston, but gave up the act when the pandemic hit. Today Levine is a member of the Red Hook-based Klezmer Berl’s Hotsie Totsie Orkester.
Her boss at Woodstock Physical Therapy, Ellie Kramer, was an active member of the Woodstock Jewish Congregation and today serves as board president. Levine began attending High Holy Day services and joined a group called Rosh Chodesh that meets in a tent on the new moon to celebrate women’s spirituality. She got more involved as a volunteer when her daughter reached the age to prepare for her Bat Mitzvah. “I started in the mailroom,” she jokes. But her feet were then set in the path that led to a role that she had never anticipated becoming real.
The past year, as she prepared to serve as full-time rabbi, has been a painful time for Jewish people. Levine was offered the rabbi position just a few days before the attack by Hamas on Israeli Jews on October 7, 2023. Her congregation has had to struggle to balance conflicting feelings of fear, anger, pain, indignation, compassion, solidarity, the need for healing and the craving for peace and reconciliation. “There has not been a more challenging time in my lifetime to be a Jewish leader,” she says. But in her experience, religious gatherings can serve as a profound source of comfort and community bonding: “The calm, nurturing presence of Shabbat brings respite from the griefs and anxieties of world events.”
As she plunges into her new official role, one of Levine’s first tasks has been to prepare the rituals for this year’s High Holy Days, which will overlap with the somber anniversary of October 7. “We’re now in the season of forgiveness. How do we forgive others, if not ourselves?” she asks.
Rosh Hashanah, Jewish New Year 5785, begins at sunset on Wednesday, October 2, launching the Days of Awe that end with Yom Kippur on Saturday, October 12. This year’s celebrations will take place mostly in the Sanctuary, instead of in the outdoor tent, as has been customary at WJC. But the end-of-harvest festival of Sukkot that follows, from October 16 to 24, will be staged outdoors with the traditional building and decoration of booths. “In Israel, Sukkot is the holiday, but it gets short shrift in this country,” Levine notes.
For details on upcoming events at the Woodstock Jewish Congregation, including what High Holy Day activities are open to non-members, visit www.wjcshul.org/hightlighted-event/high-holy-days-2024-5785. To watch the video of Rabbi Karen Levine’s unusual smikha ceremony, visit https://youtu.be/-w1MS-vX5wY.
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