It
was the Tiki Torches. Those Tiki Torches
signified that everything had changed.
The news coming out of Charlottesville was horrific. The violence, the bigotry, the brazenness of
the protesters was deeply troubling. I
couldn’t believe that this was America in 2017.
In the past, the protesters would have worn hoods; they would have
gathered in the darkness of night. Here
they were, marching proudly in the midday sun, yelling, “Blood and Soil,” “Jews
will not replace us.” The Tiki torches
looked almost medieval; a nod to the past, to the Third Reich and to
“Pitchforks and Torches” – vehicles used to scare us and put us in our place.
Charlottesville
shook me to the core.[i] There always was and will always be
bigotry. Anti-Semitism, racism, hatred
of all kind, has been a part of our country’s dark history since our very
founding. Yet, this moment just feels
different. This year just feels
different.
So
let us be unequivocal. We firmly deplore
these and any acts of anti-Semitism, Islamophobia, racism, or bigotry. We stand firmly with our interfaith
allies. We will always speak out against
hatred of any kind. We deplore all who
were ambiguous in their condemnation of these acts. There is right and there is wrong. We stand together and when there is no moral
voice, we will be that moral voice.
Yet,
I keep coming back to the Tiki Torches.
Last night, I began these High Holy Days with a story of how each of us
must be a light. We need you to light up
a corner of our synagogue and a corner of our world. The Tiki Torches were used to bring
light. They were there to scare us,
frighten us, shock us. We will not be
scared. We will not be frightened. Instead, I urge us to reclaim the torch, to
reclaim the light.[ii] We will transform fear into hope. We will transform hatred into love.
The
bigots and the White Supremacists entire wish is to extinguish Judaism; to eradicate
our proud religion. And our response
will be: to create a proud and vibrant Jewish future. Today, I’d like to share with you my vision for
the future of Bolton Street Synagogue. How
will we transform our synagogue. How
will we journey forward together. How will
we build upon our past and create a proud and vibrant community.
Open Doors
Long
ago, there was a question about why Saul, than an ordinary man, merited the
great honor of being named King of Israel.
In a wonderful midrash,[iii] a
parable, the rabbis share that Saul was chosen as King of Israel because of the
merit of his grandfather, a man known as Ner (meaning lamp). What did Saul’s grandfather, Ner, do? Ner lit lamps for the public. There were always dark alleyways between
people’s homes and the Beit Midrash, the House of Study. In the darkness of night, without a torch
guiding the way, many didn’t come to the synagogue to study, pray, or gather together. It was too frightening and there were too
many barriers to venture out into the darkness of the night. Ner lit lamps to banish darkness. The torches allowed all to be together.
This
leads us to the first aspect of community, which I’d like to call: Open Doors. Bolton Street has always been a community
that is known for its openness. It
doesn’t matter our age, our sexuality, our skin color, our background, how we
define family, or even our religion. All
are welcome to enter these doors.
Yet,
we know that we can always do better. Open Doors means everyone feels welcome. What about the new guest that fails to be
welcomed? What about the person who sits
alone waiting for an invitation? What
about the visible and invisible barriers that prevents those from joining us,
engaging fully in Jewish life? Open Doors means we do our best to
knock down all obstacles that drive us apart and create new pathways to bring
us together.
Open Hands
A man[iv]
was travelling from place to place when he saw a castle aglow in flames. The man said, “Is it possible that this
castle lacks a person to look after it? Who
will put out the fire?” The owner of the
building looked out and said, “I am the owner of the castle.” Similarly, Abraham, looked out at the world
and said, “Is it possible that this castle, our world, has no one to look after
it?” And God said, “I am the Master of
the Universe, and he replied to Abraham, “Lech Lecha… Go forth…”
In this Midrash, a man
sees a castle ablaze and searches for the owner, in order to extinguish the
fire. And Abraham, the first Jew, looks
out at the world on fire and asks, “Who is responsible for all of this?” And God answers: “From your question, I know
that you are the one! Lech Lecha, go
forth, for it is now your responsibility to care for my world.”
That
is the essence of what it means to be a Jew, of what it means to be a part of
the Jewish community. It’s what I’d like
to call Open Hands. Our responsibility is to reach out to those
in need. Whether we call this Tikkun
Olam (Healing of the World), Tzedakah (Charity), Social Action, or Gemilut
Chasadim (Acts of Loving Kindness), our first responsibility is to care for and
heal the world.
The
man looked out and saw a palace on fire.
He didn’t wait until his house was burning down in order to act. No, he first reaches out to help those in
distress. That is our foremost
responsibility as a synagogue community.
We are guided by the Jewish past.
We are reminded that we were slaves in Egypt; that we encountered
hostility and bigotry; that we were the downtrodden, the stranger, and the less
than human. Yet, we don’t turn our backs
to the world. We reach across faith
lines to assist all who are in need. Our
past guides us; as the prophets remind us, we must open our hands to all who struggle, all who are challenged,
here and everywhere.
Open Hearts
Almost
seventy years ago, the German and Austrian Jewish Community was devastated
during Kristallnacht, the night of broken glass. On that fateful evening, thousands of
synagogues, Jewish businesses, and homes were destroyed! Arsonists burned down buildings, while
windows were broken. Shards of glass
were everywhere. The Jewish community laid
in ruin just as the Holocaust was about to begin.
One
young man, Walter Schwarz, lived through this horrible ordeal. In the aftermath of Kristallnacht, Walter swore
that if he survived, he would one day learn to rebuild the shards of glass into
something beautiful. What was broken,
would one day become whole.
Walter
survived and Baltimore became his new home.
He became a founding member of our congregation and fulfilled his long
promised vow. Well into his 70’s, Walter
learned how to make stained glass windows at the JCC; he had never worked with
stained glass before. He took pieces of
broken glass and created the breathtaking stained glass window that was located
in Bolton Hill and now sits prominently in our lobby. The window serves as a reminder of where we
came from and a symbol of our past. A
Jewish star remembers the 6 million while the 10 commandments proudly
recognizes the essence of who we are as a Jewish community. As sunlight shines forth, a spectrum of colors
shines down upon our lobby.
The
stained glass window and Walter’s story symbolizes the third aspect of
community: Open Hearts. Walter took something which was broken and
helped build something new and vibrant.
As we begin the next chapter of Bolton Street Synagogue, what do we wish
to build, together? How will we maintain
our progressive Jewish values, yet not lose our vibrant Jewish past? How will we keep tradition alive, but also
change with the times? How will we
define “Jewish community” when many of our members and loved ones aren’t Jewish? Open
Hearts mean that we open ourselves to the diversity that is our
community, yet continue to delve down the path of modernity and tradition.
Another
aspect of Open Hearts means strengthening our relationship
with each other. Jewish community has
always been built upon a brit, a
covenant. A brit means that we have
responsibility for each other. That we
look out for each other, embrace each other, care for each other. Part of creating a brit, a covenant with one
another, means opening our hearts to each other’s strengths, but also each
other’s weaknesses. Open Hearts means being forgiving
and empathetic. We must recognize that
all of us make mistakes, none of us is perfect.
Let us open our hearts to our entire persona and to our entire community.
As
a rabbi, I’ve been blessed to serve many communities, from the tiny chavurah to
the largest synagogue. I love being a
rabbi. I love leading services, teaching
Torah, guiding young and old, leading my community. Yet, I’ve always searched for something more;
yearned for a community that truly felt like home. This past winter, when Brian, Caleb, and I
visited Bolton Street for the first time, we knew we were home. We felt warmth and love permeating
everywhere. We loved the dedication to
tradition and the willingness to think differently. We saw the stewards of the past and the
builders of the future. Brian and I
wished to find a community that we’d join even if I wasn’t the rabbi; a place
where Caleb would grow up and feel loved and supported. We found it, here, at Bolton Street.
As
your rabbi, I promise to be by your side, to guide you, and nourish your
souls. I promise to teach, but also to
learn; to lead, but also to listen. I
promise that I’ll push us forward, but always remember our past. I will be there for you, but I need you to be there for me too.
I need you to support me and guide me on this new endeavor, together.
On
the start of this New Year, I ask you again to roll up your sleeves. I ask you: come to services, attend a class, volunteer
around the synagogue, give back to the community. I ask you: share your passion, give of
yourself, meet me, and join with old faces and meet new faces too. In this New Year, we will respond to hatred
and violence by building upon our proud past and creating a vibrant Jewish
future. May we open our doors, open our
hands, and open our hearts. Together, we
will transform our world, transform our synagogue, and most importantly transform
our lives. Ken Yehi Ratzon, May it be
so. Amen v’Amen.
[i]
Much appreciation to the Central Conference of American Rabbis (CCAR) for its
webinar “Post Charlottesville from the Pulpit.”
Thank you to Rabbi Amy Schwartzman, Rabbi Mari Chernow, and Rabbi David
Stern for their thoughts and reflections as I prepared for this sermon.
[ii] Gratitude
to Rabbi Adam Allenberg for his commentary and thoughts about Charlottesville
in the HUC-JIR Podcast “Bully Pulpit” collegecommons.huc.edu/bully_pulpit/charlottesville_huc/
[iii]
Leviticus Rabbah 9:2
[iv]
Genesis Rabbah 39:1. Many thanks to
Rabbi Dvora Weisberg for her thoughts in the HUC-JIR Podcast “Bully Pulpit.”
