Congregation Kol Shofar

My husband teaches at BHDS in Marin, and we recently attended a Bat Mitzvah here. The campus is beautiful, and at the luncheon after the service the doors to the reception area were opened up to the patio area — it was stunning.

If you are a vendor, be wary of doing business with this organization. They take forever to pay their invoices. I did some work for them on March 6, sent an invoice at the end of March which clearly states that it was due payable upon receipt of the invoice. Now, four and a half weeks later, almost 2 months after doing the work, I finally get a check from them. If it is important to you that business you do work for pay promptly, do not do business with this organization.

I was a Kol Shofar member from age 5 to age 23 (the last year I could go to high holiday services for free under my parents membership). My family has seen Kol Shofar change over the years from the leadership of Rabbi White to our current Rabbi, Rabbi Derby and now, Rabbi Levy as Co-​Rabbi.
High Holidays at Kol Shofar hold many cherished memories for me. Todd Silverstein’s soulful interpretation of the holiday melodies is a delight to witness. Rabbi Derby’s sermon’s are always powerful yet accessible. And even though there are many people in attendance, the atmosphere is still warm and familiiar (probably because my mom *always* insists on sitting in the front row, even when we show up late!)
There are truly some remarkable teachers here. Fred Cherniss, Rabbi Derby and Yetta Robinson to name a few. I’m not super fond of the Co-​Rabbi, Rabbi Levy, but Rabbi Derby is an amazing spiritual leader who more than makes up for Rabbi Levy’s shortcomings. If you are synagogue shopping in Southern Marin, I’d definitely recommend you take a look at Kol Shofar. Be advised that Rabbi Derby is on sabbatical for the next 9 mos.

Hold your horses… this review is in no way funny or Sassy. It’s somber, kind of how I feel today.
As I sat in the Marin Veteran’s Memorial Auditorium at the gorgeous and historic Marin Center, designed by the incomparable Frank Lloyd Wright on the holiest of days for Jews I couldn’t help but miss the comfortable warmth and haunting chants of my childhood synagogue.
Until the age of six I had minimal religious ties. The extent of my experience with Judaism were the two days a year I got to skip school to attend temple, where I ran around outside with the other children while my parents prayed for what seemed like hours for atonement or whatever the Rabbi, who looked like God (no, he really does look like God, no joke), was babbling about.
Then, my world changed. A young Israeli man who smoked like a chimney and pumped iron with my mother at the gym moved in with my family. All of a sudden our dishes and silver wear were unfit; our knowledge (and by our, I mean my parent’s) of Zionism and the State of Israel grew, as did our passion for the Jewish community.
My father took a temporary position at Hadassah, the primary hospital in Jerusalem, and my family uprooted and moved to the holy land for what seemed like years, but in reality was three months.
We kept a kosher home, we attended Israeli schools, we visited holy sites like The Kotel (Wailing Wall), The Dome of the Rock, and Yad Vashem (the Holocaust museum). We floated in the Dead Sea, we hiked Masada at day break, and we munched on warm falafel at Ben Yehuda Street.
And when we returned home, our devotion and passion for Judaism had bloomed. We joined Congregation Kol Shofar, a conservative synagogue that pushed us to embrace our religion by teaching us Hebrew, Torah, and the importance of community.
Although I was still too young to sit still during the two+ hour services on Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah, I remember peeking my head in while men from the community stood up and blew the Shofar (ram’s horn). I remember seeing men dressed in all white and women swaying back and forth with their eyes closed as their voices rose in hauntingly beautiful chorus. I remember welling up with emotion I didn’t know I had.
Now, I attend a reformed synagogue that holds its services in the Marin Center. They have a choir that wears white robes and sings the prayers in English. They have a cantor who I want to club every time he opens his mouth. They have generic white yarmulkes they hand out to all the non-​Jews at the front door. Their prayer melodies are unrecognizable and make me long for those days when the deep, haunting tones of my congregation gave me goose bumps… the good kind.