My Turn: 'Chavurah' has withstood the test of time

Long-term relationships are hard! And it's estimated that nearly half of all marriages end in divorce. Nor does it help if you are rich or famous: Bill and Melinda Gates, Prince Charles and Princess Diana, Simon and Garfunkel, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis, The Beatles — The Beatles!

But there is hope. I know this because I am a member of a group of people who have met virtually every Friday night for more than 50 years. Through weather, deaths, pandemic — we have not missed more than three or four of these gatherings in more than a half-century.

It all started after one of the Friday night services at Temple Beth David in Commack. Two couples, the Schwartzes and the Glicks, were chatting after services, and they decided to continue over a couple of drinks at the Glicks’ home. The next week they met at the Schwartzes’ home after services. The foursome continued alternating hosts for several weeks until one of them suggested inviting another couple — the Stearns, to join them. They were followed by the Jumans, the Canins and the Sarlins over the next few months.

Not long after, the Schiffmans and Kaplans joined. At our peak we were 16 people. People of varied political beliefs, occupations, professions, income and more. We soon adopted the term chavurah — a Hebrew word for fellowship often used to describe a group that meets to share communal experiences.

A typical Friday night chavurah in our early times was mostly smoke-filled and fueled with alcohol; the host family provided snacks and a full bar. I recall a number of times having to put three or four empty wine and liquor bottles into the garbage after a chavurah at our home. And often the children of the host family would sneak to the top of the stairs to try to listen to whatever was being said, before being chased back to bed, scurrying in their feeted pajamas.

The 16 of us would meet to talk, argue, discuss, drink, eat, laugh, share our lives — the good, the bad, the joys and the heartaches. There were some arguments, usually patched over in a couple of weeks. The topics were varied. Early on, the temple was an important topic, but soon our children were the main topic. Politics, Israel, elections, baseball, finances — all were “on the table.”

As we and our children got older, some of us took vacations together. Europe, the Pacific Northwest, Israel, French canals, Catskills hotels, Auschwitz, etc. For a number of years, during the Christmas-New Year’s break, we rented a large van and drove to Washington, D.C., Philadelphia, Boston, Baltimore or Manhattan for extended weekends. These mini-vacations culminated in the chavurah celebrating New Year’s Eve together. Every New Year’s Eve.

As we have grown older still, “health issues” has reared its ugly head. There are gatherings where we discuss cholesterol, vision and hearing issues, aches and pains too numerous to mention — and the heavy-duty stuff: cancer, heart problems and more. We started referring to these discussions as our “medical hour.”

Because, eventually, several of our members were living alone, we decided to text one another “good morning” at about 9 a.m. and “good evening” at about 5 p.m. Just to make sure we were all OK.

A significant result of our long-standing commitment to chavurah over the years is that we often have been able to share our problems and happiness more fully with one another than with faraway family members who may only be reachable over the telephone.

So now we are seven. We still do a chavurah every Friday. During the pandemic, we Zoomed, of course, but now we’re back in-person again — with a few changes. The only smoking is on the golf course, the drinking is more water than vodka, the snacks are incidental, and the only yelling is because we are hard of hearing.

But we still meet every Friday, 50 years and counting.

Hal Juman,

Commack