Standing Together in Covenantal Community - Yom Kippur Morning Sermon 5787 / 2026

 

On a Friday evening, earlier this summer, Scott Wiener entered Dolores Park to attend San Francisco’s Annual Transgender Pride.  That’s nothing new for Scott who hasn’t missed a Trans Pride since it began in 2004.  Scott, a Gay Jew, and a self-described Progressive Democrat, represents San Francisco in the California State Senate.  He’s currently running for Nancy Pelosi’s house seat. 

This year was different.  When Scott arrived, a group surrounded him and began to taunt him.  They screamed: “Scott, you do not belong here anymore.”  Feeling unsafe, he left. 

Scott Wiener is one of the most supportive politicians in the country on LGBTQ and Transgender rights.  You’d think he’d be welcomed to Trans Pride with open arms.  But that wasn’t the case.   

Scott is no right winger.  He’s about as left as they come.  He’s been outspoken against the war in Gaza and doesn’t believe in further military aid for Israel.  Even those beliefs didn’t insulate him from attack. 

The protestors accused Scott of endorsing genocide and for being a Zionist handler.  Why?  Why did they scream, “You don’t belong here anymore?” For one simple reason: Scott Wiener believes in Israel’s right to exist.

This is truly a scary time to be a Jew.  We watch powerless from afar as violence flares up in Israel and in the Palestinian territories.  We see the rise of antisemitic attacks in America and around the world that are without modern precedent.  We navigate fractured relationships with many liberal allies who view Israel as a litmus test.  We even witness our Jewish community breaking apart at the seam.  The dividing line is Israel: right versus left, Zionists versus Anti-Zionists.

This struggle isn’t just happening in San Francisco.  It’s playing out right here in Baltimore.  Last year, Bolton Street Synagogue co-hosted a peace program held at Baltimore Hebrew Congregation which brought together Palestinian and Israeli peace makers.  A local right-wing Israel group tried their best to shut down this program.  They forced many synagogues to cancel their co-sponsorship.  They sent thousands of spam emails to every BHC employee from their rabbis down to their preschool teachers.  They interrupted the program by screaming at Jewish and Palestinians speakers: “Bushah… you are an embarrassment...  You do not belong here!”

This type of fear mongering, in San Francisco and in Baltimore, is wrong.  We condemn all intimidation or any type of verbal or physical attack.  Our community has become so tribal, so loyal to our fixed positions, that we can no longer talk to each other.  The temperature has risen to such a boiling point that every single issue becomes an existential battle for our safety or our future.

This problem of tribalism is not new.  Our Torah reading this morning describes a Jewish community as diverse as our own:  young and old; rich and poor; conservatives and liberals, the entire spectrum from the water carrier to the tribal chief.  As I’m sure you could imagine, 600,000 Jews traversing the wilderness did not always see eye to eye.  The Torah describes many disagreements and even rebellions that occurred during that forty-year sojourn in the desert

It sure seems like nothing was strong enough to keep the community from tearing itself apart, but that was not the case.  The glue that held our ancestors together was a simple one, a brit – a covenant.  Earlier we read: Atam Nitzavim HaYom Kulchem.  “You stand here today, all of you… to enter into the covenant of the Eternal Your God.”[i] 

A covenant might sound so old fashioned to our modern sensibilities, but not to our ancestors.  They believed that the covenant affirmed our commitment to one another and to God.  They believed that the covenant committed each of us to uphold the mitzvot, the responsibilities of our Jewish tradition and our ethics and morals.  A covenant is the great unifier that diminishes our tribal instincts and bridges our divisions.

No modern thinker has been more committed to this idea of covenant than Rabbi Donniel Hartman.  In his book, “Who are the Jews – and Who Can We Become,” he shares that there is not one, but two covenants in Judaism.  He calls them The Genesis Covenant and the Exodus Covenant.  Many of our biggest rifts as a community come about because we aren’t speaking about the same covenant.

Let’s dig deeper.  The Genesis Covenant began with Abraham and Sarah.  Whether born Jewish or Jews-by-Choice, each of us inherits this covenant solely because we are the spiritual descendants of the first Jews.  The Genesis covenant relies on mutual loyalty as the essential part of Jewish identity.  As Jews, we have the same fate for we are “stuck” with one another.  We are obligated to each other’s welfare, solely because we are Jews.[ii]

The second covenant is quite different. The Exodus Covenant is based upon the Torah.  The Exodus Covenant casts Jewish identity as a mission and a lifelong project of self-improvement.  We enter the Exodus covenant to become Holy like God.  We commit ourselves to fulfill the mitzvot, the commandments around Jewish rituals and halachah as well as our ethical and moral responsibilities.[iii]

Most of us do NOT live on the extreme like the protestors in San Francisco or in Baltimore.  But most of us DO center our lives around one of these two covenants.  Some spend more energy on the Genesis Covenant: on Jewish loyalty.  Others center their time on the Exodus Covenant: on Jewish responsibility and morals. 

That’s a mistake!  Donniel Hartman believes that both the Genesis and the Exodus covenants are needed for Judaism to flourish.  Without the Genesis Covenant we become fractured into competing communities losing any larger sense of Jewish peoplehood.  Without the Exodus Covenant we lose our sense of mission and purpose.[iv]  Today, both these covenants are splintering as we become more tribal AND as we lose our moral compass.

Luckily, our tradition provides us with an answer to a fractured covenant!  The Hasidic Rebbe known as Shem Mi-Shmuel[v] expresses confusion about our Torah reading this morning.  The Rebbe points out that the original covenant was conferred to the Jewish people forty years earlier on Mount Sinai.  “Why then,” he asked, “was there a need for this second covenant just before they were to enter the Land of Israel?” 

The rebbe shares this analogy: when friends make a covenant, it’s not for the present, but for the future.  Sometimes as time passes their feelings of closeness dissolve.  The covenant is meant to help them maintain their closeness even after the events which brought it about no longer exist.[vi]

Like our ancestors, our community’s closeness has also dissolved.    We are not the same Jewish people we were forty years ago, let alone ten years ago.  Israeli Jews and American Jews have grown further apart, while our Jewish community here in America is more tribal than ever before.  Like our ancestors, we too must redefine what it means to be in sacred relationship with one another.

I believe we begin with our similarities.  We must ask the question: “What do we all believe?”  Here’s my answer, but think about your own answer as well.  In a covenantal relationship, we have an obligation and a responsibility to the Jewish people.  In a covenantal relationship, we believe that our safety and our people’s safety is paramount.  In a covenantal relationship, we believe it is our Jewish obligation to act ethically and morally so that our neighbors can flourish just like we do.

Now that we’ve set the parameters: peoplehood, safety, and ethical responsibility, let’s address the Genesis Covenant.  During the 20^th century, the Genesis covenant became central in the consciousness of American Jewry.  “We are One” became the dominant Jewish slogan, while “Jewish unity” a vital communal directive.  Caring for Israel and remembering the Holocaust became central to what it meant to be an American Jew.[vii]

That’s much harder today.  It’s almost impossible for us to stand together in lockstep on anything.  When Israel’s actions are so troubling and much of our Jewish community has moved further to the right and the left, it’s quite difficult for us to say that “We Are One.”  I believe that standing together does not mean that we walk together in lockstep with one singular voice.  That’s not what it means to be a Jew.  We stand together in covenant by talking, listening, and being in sacred relationship with one another. 

A few months after the Baltimore peace event was disrupted, the planners of that event courageously reached out to the head of the protest group to get together for coffee.  I wasn’t there but was told it wasn’t the easiest or the friendliest of conversations.  It was, however, a brave conversation because it allowed the two groups to express their concerns and to recognize that each in their own way were committed to the Jewish people and for a better future for Israel.

When we stand together in covenant, we must recognize the diversity of our opinions, left and right, Zionists and Antizionists.  We don’t always have to agree, but whether we like it or not, we are part of the same Jewish community.  We must treat each other with curiosity and respect.

I challenge you, and I also challenge myself, to further our conversations with people whose viewpoints are different from our own.  That’s why I’d like to invite you to join me for a series of conversations that we’re planning for this fall.  These will be opportunities for productive conversations on topics like Tikkun Olam, Jewish values, Jewish loyalty, safety, and antisemitism, in which we will create a space for people to share their opinions about Israel and Palestine, humbly and openly.  I guarantee that you will not be the only one with your viewpoint, but you will also hear opinions different from your own.

Finally, the Exodus Covenant has become so central to our Jewish consciousness.  Over the last few decades, our liberal Jewish community has been a steady voice for a Two State Solution while also decrying the attacks on Israeli democracy.

This has become much more difficult.  As Israel continues to move further to the right, many of us can no longer remain silent about the occupation, settler violence, or the unimaginable destruction in Gaza.  We must write letters, speak out, and attend rallies.  But the thing that keeps me up at night is how the conversation has changed.  We no longer just decry Israel’s actions, but now, the discussion centers on Israel’s very right to exist.  As Rabbi Josh Weinberg teaches, “Can a Jewish State itself ever be morally legitimate and accepted?”[viii]

Today, on Yom Kippur, our prayers remind us that every person can change and move in a different direction.  So too, for Israel.  We Jews believe in teshuvah, in repentance, in repair.  We must hold Israel to account whenever its actions are immoral or unethical, but at the same time, we must believe that Israel has the capacity to change, to be better.  We American Jews do have a stake in this game.  Our responsibility is to push Israel to be “that light amongst the nations.”  That’s what it means to be in covenant with one another.

Two days after Scott Wiener was accosted in Dolores Park was San Francisco’s Annual Gay Pride Parade.  I was in California on vacation and stood on Market Street with my husband Brian.  In bated breath, we waited to see if Scott would attend the Pride Parade.  He did, proudly holding a sign that said, “Trans Kids Matter.” 

After the initial protest at Trans Pride, Scott Wiener could have stayed home.  He didn’t.  He stood strong and upheld his covenant, committed to his values, his relationships, and his belief that he and others have the capacity to change.  Scott Wiener showed those protestors that “I do belong here.”

Atam Nitzvim HaYom Kulchem.  Today, we stand together in covenant.  May we live our Jewish values.  May we take care of our Jewish brethren.  May we navigate difficult conversations.  May we recognize that we have the power to change.  May we reaffirm our covenant and work tirelessly to better our community, Israel, and the entire world.  Amen.   

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[i] Deuteronomy 29:9-11

[ii] “Who are the Jews – and Who Can We Become?” by Donniel Hartman, p. 12, 19, and 24

[iii] Hartman, p. 31-37

[iv] Hartman p. 78-79

[v]  Rabbi Shmuel Bornsztain

[vi] Shem Mi-Shmuel, commentary on Deuteronomy 29:11, Torah Gems edited by Aharon Yaakov Greenberg,

[vii] Hartman p. 128

[viii] https://arza.org/the-zionism-test/

Sitting in Sadness While Donning My Dancing Shoes - Kol Nidre Sermon 5787 / 2026

 

One year ago, I stood on this bima leading our Kol Nidre service.  I was physically present, sharing words of Torah, leading you all in prayer, but my mind was elsewhere.  In a hospital room in Toledo, Ohio, my father was dying.  I wasn’t sure how much time he had left.  Would it be a day, a week, a month?  That wasn’t clear.  But I knew he was in the midst of leaving this world.

Kol Nidre is the moment each year when we are most reflective about life and death.  Our rabbis teach that today is a rehearsal of our death.  Some wear a kittel, a traditional burial garment.  Many don’t eat food or drink, the sustenance that gives us the strength for living.  Even our ark is emptied to be reminiscent of a coffin.

Our prayers this holiday are hauntingly beautiful and describe the fragility of life.  The Unetaneh Tokef serves as a stark reminder: “Who shall live and who shall die?” while the Book of Life summons us to change our ways in order reach our highest potential.

Throughout that long day of Yom Kippur, I continued to reflect upon a date on the calendar, just four months in the future, February 21, 2026, my son Caleb’s Bar Mitzvah.  I knew on this holiest of days, with certainty, that my dad wouldn’t be physically present at the simcha.  How then could I celebrate and be filled with joy if my dad wasn’t there?  My dad was so excited about his eldest grandchild chanting Torah and leading the congregation in prayer.  How could I, how would I, navigate these mixed emotions?

I’ve always been moved by the words from Ecclesiastes:[i]

To everything there is a season,

A time for every experience under heaven:  

A time to be born and a time to die,

A time to plant and a time to uproot the planted;

A time to kill and a time to heal,

A time to tear down and a time to build up;

A time to weep and a time to laugh,

A time to wail and a time to dance. 

These words are so poetic, so moving.  They speak so poignantly about the ups and downs of living.  They remind us of our journeys from sadness to happiness, anger to consolation, tearing down to building up.  But what happens when both emotions occur simultaneously?  How do we sit in sadness while also donning our dancing shoes?

Just hours after break-the-fast, I received a midnight call from my mom.  My dad was actively dying.  It was imminent.  It was time to say goodbye and to let him go.  A few hours later, in the darkest hours of the night, I received a second phone call.  My dad had left this world.

Step one.  Mourning.  Flights were made.  Meeting with the rabbi.  Shiva food ordered.  Eulogies written.  Burial, sitting shiva, minyanim.  Walks, hugs, phone calls, texts.  Tears, sadness, and remembrances.

Our rabbis teach us that life should always precede death.  Celebration should always occur before mourning.  I’ve always lived this dictum in my life and in my rabbinate.  Joy is central to my Judaism, to my community.  But what happens to joy when one is in mourning?

In our Talmud[ii] we learn that when a wedding party and a funeral processional arrive at the same intersection, it is the wedding party gets the right of way.  Life should precede death.  Joy should precede mourning.

But traditionally that’s not the case when we are the mourner.  Our rabbis teach that during shiva and sheloshim, those first 30 days of mourning, we should refrain from celebrating.  We should abstain from attending celebrations, simchas, or even listening to live music.  Our rabbis weren’t trying to be meanspirited or cause us to suffer.  They believed, and rightfully so, that each of us needs time to grieve before we can move forward.  Mourning must come first.

I’m grateful that I had the opportunity to mourn.  I know that many people don’t always have this luxury.  A death and a wedding might occur at the very same moment.  They need to make the difficult choice of which space to be in.  Luckily, I had the gift of time: time to mourn, time to grieve, time to be comforted in my sadness.

As I moved forward, day by day, I began to feel a little bit of light.  I began to glimpse small amounts of joy amidst the sadness.  Rebbe Nachman of Bratzlav, the famous Hasidic Master, lived an extremely difficult life.  He lost several of his children when they were in their infancy and he battled severe depression throughout adulthood.  His mantra throughout life was to search for and find happiness in everything that he did.  As he taught: “It is a great mitzvah to be happy always. Strengthen yourself to push aside all depression and sadness. Everyone has lots of problems and the nature of humanity is to be attracted to sadness. To escape these difficulties, constantly bring joy into your life—even if you must resort to silliness.”[iii]

Now, I don’t know about you, but I have always found this teaching to be very problematic.  We can’t just push away our sadness and be joyous.  We can’t just pretend that all is fine and put on a good face.  Too many of us spend our lives navigating depression and mental illness.  We might have the support of therapy, medication, treatments, as well as loved ones and dedicated professionals that surround us.  But we can’t just “Be happy.”  That’s not how it works.

What I believe Rebbe Nachman is teaching is that even in sadness there can be glimmers of happiness.  Even in our darkest moments, we can achieve a sense of wholeness, gratitude, and community. 

Judaism believes that at certain times, joy can follow sorrow.  Throughout our calendar, the most challenging moments are often followed by laughter and love.  Tisha b’Av, the 9^th of Av, is the saddest day on our Jewish calendar.  Just six days later is Tu B’Av, the 15^th of Av, our Jewish Valentine’s Day.  While we sit shiva for the destruction of Temple in Jerusalem, we are already looking for love!  It is mind blowing!  While today’s commemoration of Yom Kippur, a day of deep introspection, is followed just five days later by Sukkot.  We will gather in our Sukkah for one of the most joyous celebrations of our year.

In our Torah, in Parashat Chayei Sarah, our patriarch Isaac mourns the loss of his mother Sarah.  By the end of the portion, he’s newly married to his wife Rebecca.  Here, grief moves towards comfort and love.  Our Jewish response to grief is not to overcome it, not to pretend it doesn’t exist, but to look for solace, for community, for love.

As the fall turned towards winter, Brian and I were in full Bar Mitzvah planning mode.  It kept both of us busy with all the “to-do” lists and the responsibilities to prepare for the big day.  As the Bar Mitzvah was almost upon us, I thought deeply about a teaching by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks.  “Joy, happiness, pleasure, and the like are all states of mind, emotions. They belong to the individual. We can feel them alone. Simcha, by contrast, is not a private emotion. It means happiness shared. It is a social state, a predicate of “we,” not “I.” There is no such thing as feeling simcha alone.”[iv]

At the Bar Mitzvah I recognized that I would not be alone.  In my joy and in my grief, I would be surrounded by so many others.  The Bar Mitzvah was meant to be celebrated not as an individual, but by a community.

Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav shares a beautiful analogy about a mourner who is about to celebrate a simcha.  He explains that sometimes there are people at a simcha who are happy and dancing.  They see someone outside their circle who is saddened.  Against the person’s will, they bring that person into the circle of dancers to force the person to be happy with them.  It is the same with happiness.  When a person is happy, gloom will stand aside.[v]

Now, that statement might seem a little bit aggressive to you!  That poor person who attends a Bar Mitzvah or a weddingand wishes to remain alone in their grief.  Suddenly, they are bombarded by partygoers who force them into dancing the hora!

But Nachman so beautifully shares his reasoning.  He says: “Greater is to gather courage to actually pursue sadness and introduce it to joy, such that sadness turns into joy.  A person should transform sadness and suffering into joy.”

Rebbe Nachman realized that we each hold multiple emotions at once.  He’s not downplaying our grief, sadness, depression, or gloominess.  Instead, we should recognize that joy can occur amidst sadness.  Sadness can be transformed into joy.  Maybe not forever, but perhaps for a moment.  This occurs when we’re amongst others, perhaps in a group of dancers.

At the Bar Mitzvah, I felt that mixture of sadness and happiness.  As the hora began pumping, I thought about my dad, and how much he loved to dance.  How proud he’d be to watch his grandson be lifted into the chair.  I was a little bit teary-eyed.  Sadness filled my heart, but I also felt joy, simcha, overflow as well.  In the Talmud we are told: “Happiness has been turned into sorrow; joy and suffering have become joined together.”[vi]  At that moment, I recognized, that this is life.  Sadness and happiness together.  Joy and suffering fused as one.  And so, I donned my dancing shoes, gathering with my fellow dancers, to fill my heart with joy, knowing that the sadness was still there too.  I danced and I cried.

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[i] Ecclesiastes 3:1-4

[ii] Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Semachot 11:6

[iii] Likutey Moharan II, 24

[iv] https://rabbisacks.org/covenant-conversation/reeh/collective-joy/

[v] Likutey Moharan II, 23

[vi] Babylonian Talmud, Moed Katan 25b

Turning Memories into Action - Celebrating the 40th Anniversary of Bolton Street Synagogue - Rosh Hashanah Morning Sermon - 5787

 

 

Shana Tova!  Today, on Rosh Hashanah we wish each other a Happy New Year.  You might not know but this holiday has many names.  Among them is Yom HaZikaron – the Day of Remembrance.  Today, the shofar awakens us to remember our past actions.  As Rabbi Karyn Kedar teaches, “The Day of Remembrance asks us to turn around to look into the past for its lessons, its mistakes, its greatness.”[i] 

That’s why I think it’s appropriate this morning for us to remember who we’ve been as a congregation and all that we’ve accomplished.  Today is our 40^th High Holy Days!  40 times Bolton Street Synagogue has gathered to welcome the New Year.  This morning, we’ll reminisce on 40 years of memories.

It was 1986,[ii] when Baltimore’s newest synagogue gathered in a meeting room at Brown Memorial Church.  I was told that room was small, and so, those first High Holy Days were held at the stately building on Eutaw Place, the former Oheb Shalom Congregation.  A few years later, a small group gathered in our first building in Bolton Hill.  There was no custodian, so members fixed up the building and bonded over the cleaning of toilets.  Children set up the chairs, leaving just one foot length and one foot width between each row making sure to pack everyone in.  Those first years were special because that building was ours.

But I was told it wasn’t always so pleasant!  When Rosh Hashanah was early, it would be unbearably hot in a building without A/C.  In 2004, the first High Holy Days were held here on Cold Spring Lane. We might have lost the breezes, but our new building was accessible to all, and we never worried about the weather!

Over these last 40 High Holy Days, countless lay leaders and rabbis, educators and cantors have led the congregation in song and celebration.  Children danced “at high tide, low tide,” Tots sang the Shofar Song, congregants chanted Torah, musicians shared their talents, while a multitude of adults and kids blew shofar.   At our High Holy Day Food Drive, kids would weigh the donations and excitingly announce when we beat last year’s numbers.   In Roland Park, a new tradition was born where picnic dinners would be set up across the Meadow as we welcomed each New Year.  On Yom Kippur, we offered a blessing for all our non-Jewish family members.  We weathered a pandemic participating in services through our computer screens.  Over the years, we noshed, we learned, and we prayed.  Today, we remember 40 years as a congregation! 

Memory is at the heart of what it means to be a Jew.  The word Zakhor, to remember, appears 197 times in the Bible.  Each year at the Passover Seder, all of us, even the wisest amongst us, must retell the story of the Exodus.  Our Torah reminds us that we cannot move forward unless we remember where we’ve come from. As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks teaches: “History is his story – memory is my story.  History is information.  Memory, by contrast, is part of my identity… Memory is the past as present, as it lives in me.”[iii] 

That’s why we as a congregation, on our 40^th Anniversary, decided to share our Bolton Street Synagogue memories. On a Friday evening earlier this April, we kicked off our House Meeting Campaign. Over 100 congregants assembled in the Social Hall as each person shared their “Bolton Street Story.”  From April until August, we gathered an additional fifteen times, where groups of 6 – 12 congregants met for a House Meeting to share their stories as well as their hopes and dreams for the future. 

We want to celebrate this incredible endeavor.  Dozens of congregants led this House Meeting Campaign.  Thank you for your hard work.  Please stand if you organized, hosted, led, or were part of our House Meeting Campaign!  In addition, over 130 member units, half of our congregation, joined us for at least one conversation.  How amazing that so many of you took time out of your schedule to join us!

By far the most repeated theme that came up during these conversations was around belonging.  At every meeting, congregants shared stories about how welcoming our community is to non-Jewish family members, Jews-by-choice, LGBTQ people, Jews of color, and those who don’t feel welcome in other synagogue.  Bolton Street Synagogue was described as a place where you could come as you are, where you felt you belonged, and where there was no-judgment.  We aren’t perfect as a congregation, but that is something we should celebrate!

These stories illustrate who we are.  They communicate our identity and our vision.  They remind us of the values that we hold most dear, as shared in our mission statement, “To be an inclusive Jewish home for the diverse Baltimore community engaging in spirituality, friendship, learning, and social justice.”[iv]

We know memory serves as a building block for Jewish identity, but according to our rabbis that’s not enough.  Our memories should also spur us to action. In a few minutes, we will hear the blast of the shofar.  The second section of the shofar service, Zichronot,[v] Remembrances, includes a long list of verses in which God remembers.  In every single example, God first remembers and then acts.  After God remembers Noah on the Ark, the flood waters disperse.  After God remembers our ancestors groaning under bondage, the Israelites are freed.  After God remembers Rachel navigating infertility, her womb is open. 

That responsibility for turning memories into action applies to us too!  Dr Ellen Umansky teaches: “The obligation to remember cannot be separated from the obligation to observe.”[vi]  We remember our loved ones by lighting a yahrtzeit candle.  We remember the creation of the world by resting on Shabbat.  In the Torah, each time we are commanded to “not oppress the stranger” it follows with “for you were strangers in Egypt.”[vii]  It is the memory of our slavery that propels us to act.  Memories are never enough unless they lead us to action.

On this, our 40^th Rosh Hashanah, we too should remember all the good work we accomplished as a synagogue![viii]  We served meals at homeless shelters on Christmas Day.  We marched for women’s rights, marriage equality, and our immigrant neighbors.  We welcomed homeless families into our building providing them with a place to sleep, meals to eat, and entertainment for their children.  We were advocates for better public education for our kids.  We wrote postcards encouraging people to vote.  We wrapped Christmas presents for families in need. We baked casseroles.  We did mitzvot on Good Deeds Day.  We dropped off food for immigrant families. The building might have changed, the people might have changed, even our actions might have changed, but the foundational values have remained the same.

Memory helps form our Jewish identity.  Memory spurs us to action.  But memory must also serve as a bridge to connect us to the future. Becca Leviss the founder and director of the Judeofuturism Project reminds us that at its best Jewish storytelling is both past and future oriented. In Deuteronomy, we retell our story while preparing to move into a future promised land.  At each Passover seder, we collapse time and imagine that we are in the story.  We were slaves, but at the same time fully liberated.  Our memories highlight our past while allowing us to dream of our future.[ix]

The House Meetings this spring and summer were not just an opportunity to reminisce or to be nostalgic.  That would not be enough.  Like the Passover Seder, these gatherings spurred us to hope and dream of our future.  There were three overarching themes that came up during our conversations:

First, Maintaining Intimacy – We heard how excited you are to welcome new members to our community!  As we continue to grow, you’re thinking about the best ways to maintain that intimate “everybody knows you” feeling for our newest and long-term members alike.

Second, Building Community – we heard how you are looking for more informal small get togethers as well as intergenerational gatherings.  You are also thinking about our long-time members as well as seniors and how we can support them, especially as they grow older.

Third, Opportunities to Engage – we heard of your willingness and interest to be more engaged in synagogue life.  You want to get more involved, but you don’t always know how.  You wish to further our acts of Tikkun Olam and create new opportunities for learning and adult engagement.

These three big themes: maintaining intimacy, building community, and opportunities to engage, will drive us as a congregation in the year ahead.  This is only the first step!  Please join us for a further conversation in October when we share more of our findings and work together to achieve these dreams.

Why wait until we gather in October?  Let’s start right now with something a little bit different!  We’re going to have a short, four-minute conversation!    Hopefully with someone you don’t know.  At the end of each row are postcards that can now be passed out.  They list the themes that I shared as well as these questions: “Which theme is most important to you?  Why is it important to you?”  Turn towards those around you, in groups of 3 to 4, introduce yourselves, read the postcard, and answer the questions!  When we start singing, please stop your conversation and rejoin us.

[After four minutes of conversation, we join together with the singing of Hashiveinu]

The prayer we just sang, Hashiveinu,[x] ask the Holy One to “renew our days as in the past.”  On this, our 40^th High Holy Days, may we find a sense of renewal as we did in the past.  May our memories strengthen our identity.  May our memories spur us to action.  May our memories build community.  May our memories link our past to our future.  Amen.

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[i] “Fragments of Memory” by Rabbi Karyn D. Kedar found in Rosh Hashanah Readings edited by Rabbi Dov Peretz Elkins, p. 202

[ii] Thank you to many of our Bolton Street Synagogue founding members as well as those who joined in recent years for sharing their favorite Bolton Street Synagogue High Holy Day memories.

[iii] Rabbi Jonathan Sacks Haggadah, p. 38

[iv] https://www.boltonstreet.org/welcome/mission-vision-values/

[v] This second section of the Shofar Service, Zichronot, Remembrance, can be found in Mishkan HaNefesh Rosh Hashanah on pp. 262-269

[vi] “Zakhor” by Rabbi Ellen Umansky found in Rosh Hashanah Readings edited by Rabbi Dov Peretz Elkins, p. 198

[vii] Multiple examples found in the Torah including Exodus 22:20, 23:9, and Leviticus 19:34

[viii] Thank you to our many long-time members and Social Action Committee members who shared their memories of the Tikkun Olam work that we’ve accomplished over 40 years.

[ix] Rebecca Leviss, “Who We Are and Who We Can Become: Jewish Storytelling and Democratic Imagination,” in Sources: A Journal of Jewish Ideas, Summer 2026, p. 118-120

[x] Lamentations 5:21