I've
always loved the High Holy Days. As a kid,
when the rabbi began his sermon, my friends would go outside to play in the
coatroom or run down the hallway. I’d be inside the sanctuary listening intently
to the rabbi's words (or at least making a wager with my sister on how long the rabbi
would talk)! I loved singing Avinu
Malkenu and hearing the blast of the shofar.
The High Holy Days were always a homecoming. There’d be lots of kibitzing and showing off
the latest outfit, but it was truly about being together, connecting with friends
and family after a long summer.
As
we welcome the New Year 5778, I’m thrilled to welcome you back home! As you probably know, this is my first High
Holy Days at Bolton Street Synagogue!.
From the first time I visited Bolton Street back in December, I’ve had
this date circled on my calendar. I
couldn’t wait to lead Erev Rosh Hashanah service outdoors in the meadow; and
here we are! Whether you are a first
time visitor or a long time member, welcome home!
At
my first service, back in early July, I shared a little bit about myself and my
story. I told you about my rabbi, Rabbi
Garsek, who when I was only ten years old, saw something special in me. As we studied together in my fifth grade
classroom, Rabbi Garsek looked into my eyes and said, “Andy, you’ll be a great
rabbi one day.” I’m not sure what he saw
in me. I wasn’t the loudest, the
cleverest, or the most gifted speaker.
Yet, my rabbi saw something in me that I didn’t see in myself. And his words changed my life.
Rabbi
Garsek was a special man. It was his
menschleicheit: his kindness and caring nature that drew me towards him. It was his love of Judaism and his big heart
that propelled me to follow in his footsteps.
He encouraged me to become the person I am today; to become the rabbi
who stands before you.
Rabbi
Garsek taught me many lessons, but one of the crucial lessons I took with me
was the centrality of COMMUNITY in Jewish life.
He believed that Judaism not only encourages, but demands that we form
relationship during the peak moments in time.
When we pray, we join together with at least ten people (a minyan). When we learn, we study with at least one
other study partner (a chevrutah). When
we celebrate holidays, at least three should join together at the holiday
table. Judaism believes in the power of
community. We can’t make change alone;
our lives, our synagogue, our world can only be transformed when we are in
relationship, together.
My
sermons during these High Holy Days will focus on that theme of COMMUNITY: on our
commitment to each other, on the importance of individual responsibility, and on
our relationship with those outside our walls.
Tonight, I’d like to share a story that illustrates my vision for our
beloved Bolton Street Synagogue. This
story expresses my hope for our future and describes who I am as a rabbi. So, sit back, take a deep breath, and enjoy
one of my favorite stories!
Many[i] centuries ago, in a faraway little village,
deep in the mountains, lived a wealthy man.
This man was getting on in years and began to reflect upon his
legacy. He had succeeded beyond his
wildest dreams in regards to business, wealth, and success, yet something was
missing. He wished to give back to the
community that supported him throughout his life, but what would be the proper
gift? After spending months reflecting
upon his dilemma, the man realized that his community lacked a proper synagogue. He and his fellow Jews would gather in
someone’s house to pray, but they didn’t have the resources to build a fitting
home for God.
And
so, he decided to construct a beautiful synagogue. His planning would be in secret. No one would know. He hired craftsmen and craftswomen from far
away to build his masterpiece. The
construction of the building took many years – much longer than he anticipated.
Finally,
the building was complete. The rabbi and
the man decided that the new synagogue would officially open its doors on Erev
Rosh Hashanah. The village was abuzz
with excitement for the first service in the new building. At 5:00pm, on the eve of the Jewish New Year,
the doors of the synagogue were opened for the first time. Hundreds of men and women, children and
babies, young and old, rushed into the sanctuary. They were awed by its magnificence. It was truly the most beautiful synagogue
anyone had ever laid eyes upon. The wood
of the bima glistened like gold; the Ark doors gleamed like rubies; the eternal
light sparkled like diamonds; the menorah, stained glass, and Torah, were truly
the most splendid in the world. The
congregants oohed and awed at the beauty that surrounded them.
Slowly
the sun began to set. As the sky became
darker, the hubbub began to die down.
The excitement and the energy that pervaded the building seemed to
vanish in an instant. Everyone looked around
the building with puzzled looks upon their faces. Finally, a brave little girl approached the man. “Excuse me, sir, there’s something
missing!” “Something missing! What do you mean?” said the man. “There’s a beautiful ark, a menorah, and a Torah
scroll. What possibly could be
missing?!” The girl looked up and
pointed to the ceiling, “The lamps! The
lamps are missing! There’s absolutely no
lights in here!”
“Ah,
yes,” said the man with a big smile upon his face. “If you look around the sanctuary, there are
brackets that cover the walls. These
brackets will hold up different lamps, one lamp for each person. Tonight, you all will receive a lamp. Each time you are here, the area where you
are seated will be lit and will be filled with light. But, each time you are not here, that area will
be dark. Part of the synagogue will be
darkened. Your community is relying on each
of you to be the light.”
Tonight,
on this eve of Rosh Hashanah, I’d like to remind you that you possess a light. Your light guides you. Your light shines out in the darkness. Your light provides warmth and comfort to
your loved ones, and especially to our community.
As
a rabbi, I too possess a light. My light
teaches our history and our past. My
light guides and supports our community.
My light leads us forward into future.
Yet, my light is just one candle flickering in the night. One candle is not enough to banish the
darkness. It takes hundreds of lights,
sparkling together, to create a beacon in the darkness.
My
vision of our beloved Bolton Street Synagogue is a community that comes
together, supports each other, cares for each other, and depends upon each
other. Our synagogue must be a
covenantal community, where we recognize and act on the needs, passions,
hardships, and dreams of those that surround us. We must know each other and work together to change
our lives and our world for the better.
We
each possess a light, yet we use our light in different ways. Perhaps, the spirituality of services
connects you to the Holy One. Perhaps,
studying our ancient texts helps connect you to our Jewish past. Perhaps, gathering together for a celebration
helps connect you to one another. Perhaps, reaching out to those in need, helps
connect you to our broader society. Whatever
the case, we need each of you to be the light in order to banish the
darkness. Your community is relying on
you to be the light.
Many
years ago, my rabbi saw something in me.
At the time, I might not have been the loudest or the cleverest, but I had
my strengths: I was kind, I was compassionate, I cared about my community and I
understood that it wasn’t about one person; it was about all of us working
together. It was hundreds of candles, coming together, shining ever brightly.
On
this eve of the New Year, I call upon each of us. Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to become a rabbi! No, I’m asking you to
be YOU. I look into your eyes and I say
to each of you, “You are great! You are
special! You are unique!” We need you.
We need your passion, your energy, your time, and your dedication. I ask you to be a light: to volunteer, to
pray, to gather, to learn, to teach.
As
we join together in song, volunteers will pass out a small candle to each of
you. When you receive your candle, turn
it on. This candle is my gift to
you. May it serve as a reminder of all
you have to give; may you bring light, goodness, kindness, and joy into the
world. Amen v’Amen. Shana Tova!
[i]
This sermon is based upon a story entitled “The Nobleman’s Legacy.” My story is adapted from many versions with a debt of gratitude to Rabbi Robin Nafshi for sharing this story with me.
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