Sister Mary Baruch: Vespers
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Sister Mary Baruch: Vespers
Fr. Jacob Restrick, O.P.
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To Sr. Maria Slein of the Holy Eucharist, O.P., in thanksgiving for her 75th Jubilee as a Dominican cloistered nun on the Solemnity of the Assumption, 2017
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Preface
Love songs, both contemporary and classic, are usually not addressed to Roman Catholic nuns, especially ones living within the silence and mystique of a cloistered monastery. But Sr. Mary Baruch has struck a chord with many people, and on her sixtieth birthday she received a musical card which featured a recording of this love song first recorded by Jimmy Dorsey and his Orchestra in New York City in 1941, but here sung to her:
In this world of ordinary people
Extraordinary people
I'm glad there is you
In this world of overrated pleasures
Of underrated treasures
I'm glad there is you…
In our world and the popular culture of our day, the life of a cloistered nun is indeed extraordinary. Most people never get to visit a monastery of nuns or get to know a cloistered nun in person. And then they met Sr. Mary Baruch.
Sister Mary Baruch was known as Rebecca Feinstein in the world. She grew up in a close Jewish family in New York City’s Upper West Side. Becky came out of the turbulent years of the 1960s not like most people did but, to the surprise and chagrin of her family, she became a Roman Catholic. We met her in these “early years” and followed her through the circumstances of her conversion and entrance into a Dominican cloistered monastery in Brooklyn Heights, New York.
Becky became Sr. Mary Baruch of the Advent Heart in 1970. In the early years and later in the middle years of her daily cloistered life, we see in her an abundance of grace given in times of crisis, death, and reconciliation with her family.
Her community at Mary, Queen of Hope Monastery is ordinary in many regards, living the spiritual life in its daily repetitious round of prayer, work, study, and community life. Because she and her monastic community are totally fictitious, they experience together some unusual happenings within and outside the regular common life of a contemporary monastic community. One meets the panoply of Sisters in her community, many of whom are quite extraordinary women!
The joys and sorrows, emotions and exuberances of these Sisters are the same human struggles we all experience. But, because of the unique circumstances of the cloistered life, perhaps they are lived more intensely.
Many thanks to the fine editors of this new volume: Sr. Mary Dominic, O.P. of the Monastery of our Lady of the Rosary in Buffalo, New York, and my two Dominican Brothers Reginald Hofer, O.P., and Nicolas Schneider, O.P. Their untiring help and expertise make it all possible! Special thanks to Br. Isidore Rice, O.P., who designed the covers and all who have contributed their support, suggestions, and fondness for the “life and times” of Sr. Mary Baruch and the Sisters at Mary, Queen of Hope Monastery. The cover photo is by Sr. Mary Baruch’s favorite photographer, Fr. Lawrence Lew, O.P., of the English Province.
In this third volume Sr. Mary Baruch finds herself again in the heart of her Jewish experience of Passover as a fulfillment of her union with Christ. The trials we all experience become something “blessed” because it is all God’s doing…His Paschal Mystery being lived out in our lives. In your living the life of faith, may you find a companion in Sr. Mary Baruch and hear God say to you: “In this world of ordinary people, extraordinary people, I’m glad there is you.”
Fr. Jacob Restrick, O.P.
Solemnity of All Saints, 2017
Dominican House of Studies
Overture
The Third Act of the Sister Mary Baruch story is set in late 2005. But our narrative opens years earlier, before the new millennium, when Pope John Paul II would lead the Church across the threshold of hope. In her prayers and avid journaling, Sister remembers those years in all their joy and sorrow. Like the theater masks of Comedy and Tragedy on the wall of her monastic cell, they speak loudly of the tragic death of her younger sister, Ruthie, and the exalting joy of reconciliation with her mother and older sister. That leaves only her older brother, David, with whom she is still alienated and for whom she prays.
As the new millennium approaches, Sr. Mary Baruch prays to find in herself the faith, hope, and charity which will carry her into the first decade of the twenty-first century. Looking back she realizes that despite the stability of her monastic life, there are lots of changes, new people, and new experiences that have filled these years with grace. There will continue to be lots of “pass-overs” from old to new. Is she able to hold it all together? Or does her life come crashing down like the Seder plate in the haunting dream of her childhood?
As the curtain rises…Sr. Mary Baruch is enwrapped in the Lord’s arms: in other words, she is sound asleep in her choir stall in the chapel…its 10:30 P.M.
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Part One
Chapter One
ChametzLeaven
Clean out the old leaven so that you may be a new lump, just as you are in fact unleavened. For Christ our Passover also has been sacrificed. (1 Cor. 5:7)
“Good afternoon, Miss Rebecca,” came the polite and friendly greeting of Eli our daytime doorman. His big white teeth spread across his round face as he opened the door and half bowed to us like Mama and I were royalty. He wore spotless white gloves and his shoes were big and shiny.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Eli,” I returned with a likewise broad smile for a six year old. “Tonight’s my night.” I blurted out as if he and the rest of the whole world knew that.
“Tonight’s your night, is it? Do you have a date?” Eli’s smile got even bigger than big. His front white tooth had a gold tip on it which sparkled when he smiled. I had never seen anyone with a gold tooth, right in front too.
“No, Mr. Eli,” I blushed three shades of red. “Tonight is Pesach, and I get to ask the questions.”
“And what questions might that be, Miss Rebecca, that has you all excited?” Eli was walking with us to the elevators being very inquisitive, Mama looking on with a kind of royal detached interest. The doorman usually didn’t accompany the residents to the elevator. But I figured he was genuinely interested in my stardom; besides, Mr. Eli always took time to talk to me, unlike some of the other doormen.
“You know. The question that begins our Seder, isn’t that right, Mama?”
“That’s right, Becky, now tell Mr. Eli what the first question is. I’m sure you have it memorized.”
“Oh, I do.” Looking up into Mr. Eli’s chocolate brown face, his bushy eyebrows arching slightly to show he was listening intently, I recited my line very professionally (as I thought): “Why is tonight different from all other nights?”
The elevator doors opened with its usual ping, Mama and I stepped in very quickly, and Eli waved to me.
“Everything will be just fine, Miss Rebecca, just fine.” And he gave his usual laugh as the doors closed, and we were riding up.
“Why didn’t Mr. Eli know the question?” I said out loud, somewhat mystified as I had been practicing the questions for weeks.
“Eli isn’t Jewish, Becky, he won’t be having Pesach.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” I was lost in my thoughts, as much as a six year
old can be lost, I guess. I thought everybody had Pesach. I felt sorry for Mr. Eli, at least as long as the elevator was moving up to our floor where I think everybody had Pesach. I couldn’t wait till sundown tonight. All the big holy days seem to begin at sundown; I wonder why? Sundown must be a favorite time for God. Rabbi Lieberman once told us in Hebrew class that the ancient Jews marked the time of sunset when the evening star appeared; it was called the vespera.
Tonight, when the vespera star would appear, Mama will light the Passover candles. I was so excited, not because I would be wearing a new cyclamen pink dress with a Chantilly lace collar and not because I got to sit next to Papa tonight, but because it was my first time to ask the questions. It always goes to the youngest child in the family, and it was my time now. I was not the youngest; my little sister Ruthie was only three years old and although she was capable of stringing words together in a pleasantly audible way, the nonchalant formality of the setting of the “Questions” called for a more grown-up questioner. Rebecca Abigail Feinstein could do it just right. Mama even said so when I practiced it for her. Next year I’ll sing the question in Hebrew, if I practice enough. That’s what Mama says: “Such a blessing our Rebecca who can sing the questions in Hebrew.”
My older brother, Joshua Hiram Feinstein, had done it for as long as I could remember, and now it was my time. I knew in my child’s mind that it was a question first asked in ancient times, like over a hundred years ago. It was Pesach…Passover. Poor Mr. Eli, I thought, as Mama lifted me up to touch our mezuzah, and walk into our apartment. It smelled so clean and everything looked so tidy.
Last night Joshua, Sally, and I searched the apartment for any food that had leaven in it. I wasn’t sure what “leaven” was, but we couldn’t have any of it in the apartment when Pesach began. Mama called it “chametz”. She always sounded like she was clearing her throat when she pronounced it: “Haaah-mets.” And we always found chametz in the oddest places. I found a whole bagel under the throw pillow on Papa’s chair. Sally, my older sister, found half a loaf of the challah from last Shabbat under the pillow of Mama and Papa’s bed. I wondered if they ate bread in bed every night, and why couldn’t I? Papa said we shouldn’t be surprised to find chametz because he prayed that we would before we went searching for it. And I knew that God always answered Papa’s prayers.
Papa always found crumbs on the kitchen counter, and would brush them into a wooden spoon with a feather, which he kept just for this night before Pesach. He said the feather used to belong to his grandfather – imagine!
This morning Mama had us put all our chametz with Papa’s crumbs in a brown paper bag, and we went with her to the trash cans in the basement where we threw it all away. She said next year if we’re in Jerusalem, we’ll burn all the chametz. Actually she would say that every year. And every year we’d still be on West 79th Street in New York, in the cellar. Some of our neighbors burned their chametz in the backyard. I don’t know why they didn’t wait to go to Jerusalem. We didn’t have a backyard, of course; but there were lots of trash cans in the basement, which was closer than Jerusalem. I think there was even one can marked “for chametz”. Maybe the super took it to Jerusalem.
Tonight was also different from all other nights of the year because tonight Mama would use our special china which only came out once a year, at Pesach. I learned when I was older and could understand these things, that it was porcelain china from Austria. All the plates and serving bowls were creamy white with a staggered trim in blue. Some had Hebrew words on them too. They once belonged to Mama’s grandmother; my great grandmother, whom I never met. She must’ve been very old when she gave her Pesach china to Mama, but I don’t remember. It was before my time.
I was also a little nervous. I wanted Papa to be proud of me. Papa would be sitting at the head of the table with his tallis on and his special yarmulke only worn for the eight days of Pesach. He was like our own rabbi. He could even sing the Kiddush, the blessings, in Hebrew, like Mama would do every Friday night when she lit the candles for Shabbat. After all these years, I can close my eyes and remember the sound of Mama’s voice praying with her eyes closed, and then she’d open them on the Sabbath, and greet us: “Good Shabbos.”
When I was six years old only David, the eldest, could help Mama set the table with her special porcelain china. There were even coffee cups and saucers and a gravy boat, and a special enameled pottery Seder plate with indented places for all the special foods. Even the matzah was in its own matzah tosh, or decorated bag. I love matzah – it’s like a huge cracker!
Then, like in an instant flash, I was twelve years old helping Mama and Sally set the table. I was nearly a teenager. I was wearing a cyclamen pink dress with a Chantilly lace collar, and saying, “I hope Ruthie doesn’t make a production out of singing the questions tonight.” Ruthie had been asking the questions at Pesach for four or five years. She could be very dramatic about it, which made Josh and me giggle till we saw Papa’s solemn frown telling us to be quiet and listen. The rabbi hath spoken.
Sally and I were setting the table. I had the large Seder plate, which was heavy even when empty. Our Seder plate was different from that of all our neighbors, and Mama was so proud of it. She said it would go to Sally when she got married. Sally was always afraid to carry it, but I wasn’t. I was just carrying it in from the kitchen, and I saw Eli sitting at our dining room table, big as life, smiling at me, his gold tooth flashing like a light. “Good evening, Miss Rebecca. Everything’s gonna be just fine, Miss Rebecca, just fine…” I jerked with surprise, and the plate slipped out of my hands and crashed on the dining room floor.
I suddenly jumped awake in my choir stall and scared poor Sister Mary Angela half to death. I must have hollered out loud when I jumped, hearing the smash on the hardwood floor. It was only a dream, only a dream. My pocket rosary was on the floor…again. I was dozing in choir and dropping my rosary a lot recently, or so it seemed. “Poor Sister Mary Baruch” they’d be thinking, “falling asleep during her rosary again.” The Sisters were used to it, but young Sr. Mary Angela was new. It was her first time to be alone with me in the chapel. She was doing her “hour of guard”, that is, adoring our Eucharistic Lord in the beautiful, but plain, weekday monstrance. It was close to 10:45 p.m. I had remained in the chapel after Compline. I liked that quiet time in the semi-darkness to pray a rosary.
It is so quiet at night. There’s a calmness that settles over the monastery in the evening, unlike the other times of the day. If I stay after Compline, I like to lean against the Heart of Jesus and just rest there in the silence. I don’t use a lot of words anymore to thank Him for everything that happened that day. He knows what’s in my heart; I just sit there and lean against Him. Most nights I’ll take my pocket rosary out because I know there is a special quiet presence of Our Lady with me at that hour too. And I like to hold my rosary in my hand; it’s like a “connection” to her. Sometimes I imagine her walking the hallways of all the hospitals comforting the sick and dying. She hears our “Hail Marys” over and over, and she knows each of us personally and individually. I surmise that it is a special gift given to her at her Assumption into Heaven. I suppose or wonder if it’s one way we will participate in the Divine Nature: being able to listen to people’s prayers and knowing each person on an individual basis, all at the same time. Our Lady not only listens to the rosary being prayed by children in every language all over the world, but also old folks in nursing homes (especially those who feel abandoned and alone), and even old nuns who fall asleep in the middle of the second decade. She is the Comforter of the Afflicted for every age and state in life. I still stay in choir and silently pray my rosary, and sometimes I fall asleep. But I remember that night years ago, maybe because Sr. Mary Angela still reminds me of it. I also remember that dream – which is unusual, as I don’t remember most of my dreams.
I also remember that I asked Our Lady to look after Mama who was still living alone in our old apartment on West 79th Street. She never made
it to Jerusalem to burn her chametz, and I doubted she would even try now. I was especially grateful to Our Lady that Mama came to visit me. After a few years she took to hiring a car service to come to Brooklyn Heights, which was so much easier than the subway. “Such a blessing, Moshe’s Car Service, they give an old lady a discount!” Mama was still sharp as a tack, and I think actually enjoyed being a regular at the monastery. The extern Sisters all made a fuss over her, and she would bring them pastries and/or chopped liver from Zabar’s, Mama’s favorite Jewish deli on Broadway and West 80th Street.
And I’d often pray for my agnostic brother, David, that he would find it in his heart to visit me. And I’d pray for my older sister, Sally, that she’d find her way to the Lord. At least she visited me when she was in New York. She lived on Lake Shore Drive in Chicago overlooking Lake Michigan. Mama, David, and Sally. Sometimes I’d give them each their own decade. And every night I’d remember my little sister Ruthie whose sudden and tragic death brought Mama back to me. Funny how that happens.
It’s also funny after all these years of praying the rosary, most times I don’t really meditate on the mysteries, but think of the graces of each day, or people, or “things” to pray about. And sometimes, I just lean against the Heart of Mary or the Heart of Jesus. After all these years, I knew our life—my life—was all grace. Grace upon grace, every day. And I know the graces come to me through Our Lady from Our Beloved Lord. The older I get, the more I realize how much she was part of my life, even years before I became a Catholic: Our Lady of Grace and Mother of Perpetual Help. And sometimes I’d fall asleep – like that night when I dreamed of Eli and the Seder dish and scared Sister Mary Angela half to death.
The Middle Ages of Sister Mary Baruch (Sister Mary Baruch, O.P. Book 2) Page 1
