Keeping the faith behind barsRabbis fight for religious rights of Jewish prisoners in Arizona facilitiesRANDI BAROCAS
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 Rabbi Yossie Shemtov visits the Central Unit of the Federal Correctional Institution at Florence with his Sukkah Mobile. He brings the mobile holiday unit to state prisons every year when permitted by prison officials. The mobile gives inmates the opportunity to celebrate Sukkot and have contact with some Jewish ritual items such as the lulav and etrog (palm branch and citrus fruit). |
That's why the Board of Rabbis of Greater Phoenix many years ago contracted with the Arizona Department of Corrections to provide chaplain services to Jewish prison inmates. Those services, according to Rabbi Ayla Grafstein, who was hired by the board to serve the Jewish prison population from 1989-1992, included monthly visits to each of the 10 Arizona state prison complexes.
"The main focus of the visits was to provide the broadest range of Jewish services to the inmates," Grafstein says. "Sometimes I went to prison on Shabbat and stayed over. I did Friday night services. I was in prison every Pesach doing a seder somewhere. Whatever holidays would come up, I'd try to make sure I did at least one holiday or one Shabbos in every prison, so prisoners could actually celebrate the holiday at its real time instead of a week later.
"I also taught about holidays, Shabbat and life-cycle rituals. There were a lot of interactive classes. There were a lot of questions," she says. "Prisoners were looking at Judaism as a path to healing ... the past and getting back
on track with their life and doing teshuva (repentance). They were taking a more spiritual route."
'A bit of hope'
Grafstein's visits "brought a little Judaica into the prison life" and "a little bit of hope into a place where there was none," says Sam, a former state prison inmate who asked that his last name not be used.
Raised in an observant Jewish home in Philadelphia and active in Jewish youth activities, Sam was convicted on drug-related charges and sentenced to about seven years in prison. He lived within the confines of five different state prison complexes between 1987 and 1994, he says.
Sam credits Grafstein with "making sure we had everything we needed to observe the holidays."
"She went that extra step others would not go. She tried getting community support to make sure we had matzo and things for Hanukkah and other holidays," he recalls. "She'd bring the shofar (ram's horn) and blow it for Rosh Hashana. She'd bring in literature, get volunteers to come in and visit. She tried to bring a different dimension to the program."
Such items of familiarity were important to Sam during his incarceration, he says, explaining that non-Jewish inmates "want to convert you. They want to save you."
"Being a Jew in that situation, you're not considered white, so the Aryans won't accept you. You're not considered Hispanic. You don't fit into any of the groups, so you are by yourself," Sam says.
During his incarceration, "keeping Judaica alive" meant the most to Sam. He lit Sabbath candles "every Friday night"
The impact Grafstein's visits had on Sam while he was in prison were so profound that when released, he became involved as a volunteer in the Maricopa County jail system, assisting Ernest Michel, the Jewish chaplain who serves that population. Sam now visits inmates regularly and works as an advocate for their religious rights, he says.
Sam is a prime example of how the Jewish Prisoners Program works, Grafstein says. Now married and the father of an 8-month-old baby, Sam has re-established his life and is giving back to others.
While there are other inmates like Sam, who truly want to maintain a connection to their Jewish roots, overall attendance at services and classes were low when Grafstein held the contract, and have remained low since Rabbi Yossie Shemtov of Chabad of Tucson took over the job six years ago.
Shemtov says that many of the Jewish prisoners who request special religious concessions do so for non-religious reasons
No food allowed
"The wheels that squeak get oiled more often," Shemtov says. "There are some Jewish inmates who don't want anybody to know that they are Jewish. They want absolutely no visits. There are some inmates who become very upset if you don't spend a certain amount of time with them every single month. Then there are just inmates who like to be Jewish just when there is food coming in to them from the outside. You have all kinds."
In recent years, however, the state prison system has prohibited religious leaders of any faith from bringing food into the facilities unless it is cleared at least one month in advance and is for specific ritual purposes. Jewish inmates are allowed to have special kosher-for-Passover food packages once each year, Shemtov says, explaining that even Christmas care packages that used to be sent to inmates by family and friends have been banned.
Special requests for holiday services or even a sukkah (Sukkot booth) usually are accommodated by prison officials, provided they are made in writing at least one month in advance and don't cause any security concerns, Shemtov says.
While Jewish inmates have been permitted some special concessions, they still are not receiving three kosher meals a day, despite requests, Shemtov says.
A recent court ruling that a federal prisoner in Arizona must be granted his request for three kosher meals a day has spurred state prison officials to work closer with Shemtov in approving a kosher diet for prisoners in Arizona facilities. (Irene Piechota, public information officer for the Federal Correctional Institution at Phoenix, says the three federal prison complexes located in the state of Arizona structure religious chaplain visits much like the state system. The main difference, she says, is that each federal prison contracts individually with a Jewish chaplain to provide services to their inmates.) In the meantime, however, prisoners requesting a kosher diet must resort to cold fruits and vegetables and one hot kosher meal a day, Shemtov says.
When Grafstein had the contract, Jewish inmates who requested kosher meals received one kosher meal a day. The other two meals were non-pork meals and thus were deemed acceptable by the prison system as part of a kosher diet, she says.
"It may have been prepared in their kitchen, which was not kosher, but looking at it halachically (according to Jewish law) and under the conditions we were operating, we felt it was better for them to eat a totally vegetarian meal ... verses a non-kosher meal with meat," Grafstein says.
Despite the obstacles Jewish inmates face when trying to live an observant Jewish life in prison, both Sam and Shemtov say the prison system is as fair as can be expected under the circumstances.
"Obviously, I think there is more that they could do. I would like to bring in food every time I come visit (because) I feel that if I were to bring in some food for them, I could have a higher attendance and therefore be able to serve the inmates better," Shemtov says. "But they don't allow that. And it's not something against the Jewish people; it's for everybody. There is not one law that is written against the Jewish inmates."
Grafstein, however, contends she consistently ran into opposition from prison officials, and that services she had planned to conduct were often forbidden when she arrived at a prison with ritual items for the inmates.
"On the one hand, the Department of Corrections was trying to say, 'We give all inmates equal religious rights.' On the other hand, something would always come up to prevent a very well-planned service or ritual from taking place," she says.
"I felt there was not enough support for the minority religious program in the prison system, such as Jewish, Native American and Muslim," she adds. "I consistently had those inmates coming to my services and begging me for help."
Community support
While those who have served Jewish prisoners have different opinions about the inmates' religious rights, all interviewed for this story agree that the Jewish community generally is not supportive of Jews who commit crime.
Grafstein says society in general has a negative attitude toward prisoners and does not give them the chance to turn their lives around once they have served time.
"Part of being Jewish is the belief that we can heal and transform our lives no matter how low we've sunk," she says. "It's very rewarding to see somebody who is at the bottom rung of society get out of prison and rebuild their life. You have to look deep into the soul to see that."
Grafstein knows firsthand that such transformations can occur. Her work with Sam is proof, she says.
Many other religions place a "big focus" on volunteering to visit prison inmates, Shemtov notes.
"Jewish people don't want to face the fact that, unfortunately, there are some very bad Jewish people in prison," he says. "There are people who have been convicted of rape, murder, child molestation and a whole bunch of other not nice things.(The Jewish community) thinks that Jewish people do not commit crimes. At least that's the way we would like to believe."
Shemtov says Jewish community volunteer programs that reach out to prisoners
