Hineni - "Here I am!" - Rosh Hashanah Morning 5783

Thirty-six years ago, on a Rosh Hashanah morning similar to this one, a small group of families assembled at the Masonic Temple on Eutaw Place[i] to welcome the New Year for the very first time. The congregation didn’t yet have a building of their own, but as they gathered, prayed, and celebrated those first High Holy Days, they dreamed about the synagogue they one would day become.

 

Almost a year later, in the summer of 1987, Marvin Steinberg, the second president of the newly named Bolton Street Synagogue, asked in the second issue of the newly named Chavarim,[ii] four questions, or as he called them in Yiddish, the fier kashes:

·        Where will we be this time next year?

·        How many members will we have?

·        What will we be doing?

·        Most important, what will we be?

As Mike Green, our resident historian,[iii] shared recently: “It’s the Fourth Question that seemed to have defined us for the past 36 years.”  That question: “What will we be?” is central to our identity as a synagogue.  It is my belief, that this question can only be answered, when all of us stand up, when all of our voices are heard, when all feel called to act!

 

One who felt called to act, was a shepherd who lived long ago! [iv]  That shepherd was tending his sheep, minding his own business, when across the way he saw that a fire had sprung upon an old bush.  The shepherd ran over to put out the fire, when he heard his name reverberate across the hills, “Moses, Moses.” To which he uttered one of the most powerful phrases in our entire Torah: “Hineni.  Here I am.”  Moses was called to serve his people; to take them out of Egypt.  It was his time to stand up and act. 

Now, it's hard to translate Hineni into English.[v]  Hineni is not being physically present.  That is Ani Po, “I am here,” a phrase often uttered during attendance taking at religious school.  Hineni means much more: “I am mentally, spiritually, and emotionally present.” Hineni is significinat because it only occurs 14 times in the entire Jewish Bible.  Hineni isn’t a flippant answer, it means “Here I am, ready to serve”

 

Our synagogue’s foundation is built upon Hineni.  We would not be here today if our founders, many of whom are in this room, did not stand up and proudly proclaim, Hineni, “Here I am.”  From our very beginning, Bolton Street Synagogue was all about sweat equity.  We are who we are today because members of our congregation stepped up and did their part to help us flourish. 

At our founding, we had no religious school.  Cathy Lyman Fox, Donna Speer, and of course Mike Green, answered the call to create our very first classes, Aleph Blue and Aleph White.  Dozens of you, then and now, Jewish and non-Jewish, adults and teens, experienced teachers and those who had never entered a classroom before, heard the call to teach our kids.  You proclaimed: “Hineni, Here I am.”

 

In our early years, services were often led by members of the congregation.  Someone like, Mark Giuliano, who has joined us monthly for years playing piano, guitar, and banjo, adding so much joy to our services.  There so many of you, then and now: who lend your voices, play your instruments, lead our services, or give divrei Torah.  You proclaim, “Hineni, Here I am.”   

 

We could name dozens of others who pitched in with their time, energy, and talents.  I can’t name you all or we would be here for an hour!  For thirty-six years, you proudly stated: “Hineni. Here I am.”  We are better for it, we are stronger for it, because of each one of you!

 

As you can imagine, Hineni isn’t always easy.  And some of our Biblical examples are down right challenging.  Take the most famous, the first utterance of Hineni.  God calls Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac and Abraham answers, “Hineni, Here I am!”  Like me, you are probably angered by a God who would ask a parent to sacrifice their child.  You might also be dismayed by Abraham’s actions or inactions.  So lets look at this story differently, through a modern midrash told by Rabbis Rachel Bearman and Paul Kipnes.  This story is told through Sarah’s eyes:[vi]

“My heart began to pound as I realized Abraham had misunderstood.  God was commanding an offering to help transit leadership to Isaac.  A sacrifice of the finest of our flocks was called for, not a sacrifice of Isaac…

 

I hoped Abraham would figure it out himself.  But in case he did not, I had to intervene.  So I went back to bed and with my eyes closed, I planned my next step.

 

Abraham got up early, gathered his supplies, and took off with Isaac.  He didn’t even try to wake me.  No explanations; not even a kiss goodbye.

 

As soon as they were gone, I gathered my supplies and took our finest ram.  I followed carefully, hiding in the shadows.  At dawn on the third day, as they slept, I hurried up the mountain, releasing the ram into the bushes.

 

The rest happened so quickly.  Abraham was holding the knife, about to sacrifice Isaac.  He seemed to be in a trance.  So in my voice that he often called ‘angelic,’ I called out, ‘Abraham, Abraham.’

 

That broke the trance.  Realizing what he was about to do, he dropped the knife.  He looked up, saw the ram that I brought for him to sacrifice instead, and stepped toward it.”

Sarah takes matters into her own hands.  She recognizes quickly that Abraham has made a terrible mistake, misunderstanding God’s command.  What moves me is the interplay between Sarah and Abraham.  What we miss in this modern retelling is Abraham’s response.  When Sarah calls out in her angelic voice, it is Abraham who responds to her with: “Hineni, here I am!”  That is the power of relationship.  Abraham hears Sarah.  It is her voice that helps him change direction.  It is Sarah who awakens him to act!

 

For Hineni centers on relationship.  We answer Hineni when our family, our loved ones, our friends, and community call out in need.  When we are in deep relationship, we answer Hineni.  When we can make an impact on the people and community that surrounds us, we answer Hineni, Here I am!

And yet, living through this pandemic has been so challenging.  We’ve seen how difficult it is to connect and to reconnect!  So many of us feel separated from community. Perhaps you’ve run-into a member of the synagogue and realized that you haven’t seen each other in months?  Maybe you came regularly for services, study, or volunteering, but now with covid, you don’t enter the building in the same way.  You once knew how to get involved, how to share your talents, but now you might feel unsure.  Maybe you joined our community during the pandemic and are still figuring out what it means to say, Hineni!

This summer, in response to these questions, we launched Gesher – the Bridges Project.  Fifteen members of our congregation said Hineni and stepped up to become Bridge Builders.  They have begun to reach out to new members and older members for a one-on-one conversation.  Perhaps you’ve already gotten together over a cup of coffee, or a walk in the park?  We know how busy we all are, how much we have on our plates, and it might be a stranger who reaches out, but we hope that you will answer Hineni to that invitation.  These conversations, hopefully dozens this year, are not and I repeat are not, to pressure you to join a committee!  Gesher is about building relationship, learning about one another, creating connections, and together to answer Marvin Steinberg’s most important question: “What will we be?”

 

For we Jews, know what it’s like to live through some difficult times.  Some 2,500 years ago, the country of Judea was defeated by the Babylonians.  The society was decimated, the Temple destroyed.  It was at this moment, at the lowest of the low, that the Holy One shared these words with our ancestors: “I responded to those who did not ask, I was at hand to those who did not seek Me; I said, ‘Hineni, Hineni,’ ‘Here I am, Here I am,’ to a nation that did not invoke my name.”[vii]

Our people were fragile, worried, pessimistic.  They didn’t know where to turn or what to do, and yet the Holy One who reached out.  That’s what so powerful about these words.  Twice God answered “Here I am, Here I am” to a question that was never asked.

 

Now, I’m not asking you to be God.  I am asking you to emulate this act of courage.  It’s hard to stand up.  It’s difficult to put ourselves out there!    Too often we wait to be called. Too often we wait to be asked.  This passage from Isaiah asks, no demands, that we step-up through our own volition.  Don’t wait to be asked, share your self, your passions, your skills, your talents! 

 

For we are a congregation that stands up and helps.  Dinah Winnick recently shared that once without being asked she brought a homemade challah to the oneg and dropped it off in the social hall prior to services.  Afterwards, she was dismayed to see another challah on the table, until she realized proudly that it was her challah that was being eaten!  To all of you who provide your gifts without being asked, you too proclaim: “Hineni, Here I am”

From the very beginning, we hve striven to do the work of Tikkun Olam, repair of the world.  I think of the fierce passion of so many of us, then and now, who work to provide food for the hungry, a home for the homeless, who tirelessly spend your energy fighting for racial justice or Marriage equality, who without being asked stepped up to advocate for a better world.  You proclaim: “Hineni, Here I am.”  

Thirty-six years ago, a small group of families gathered for our very first Rosh Hashanah service.  They dreamed about the congregation they hoped to become!  This dream continues to become a reality because so many answered, then and now, “Hineni, Here I am!”

Just as our founders were called, just as year after year, decade after decade, each member of Bolton Street Synagogue was called, so too today, on this New Year, are each of us called.  Perhaps you are called by God, perhaps you are called by tradition, perhaps you are called by guilt, but hopefully you are called by this community, and by the still small voice that is found deep within your own soul.  As you are called, may you answer that deeply powerful word: “Hineni, Here I am!”

We know that it’s not easy.  We know that we are tired, busy, and scared.  We know that life today is different than it was before.  And yet, we need you, each one of you, young and old, new member, and old member, to stand up and once again say Hineni.  We need you to share yourself, to share your passions, to share your presence, and to volunteer.  We need you to answer Marvin Steinberg’s most important question: “What will we be?”  Don’t wait to be asked, don’t wait to be called.  It is time for all of us to say, “Hineni, Hineni, Here I am, here I am!” 

 

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[i] I’m in much gratitude to Michael Green, Ken Karpay, Sharon Krevor-Weisbaum, and Elaine Richman for sharing their memories about the founding of Bolton Street Synagogue and our first Rosh Hashanah

[ii] “Message by the President” by Marvin Steinberg, Chavarim July-August 1987, ed. Elaine Richman

[iii] Chavarim January – February 2022

[iv] Exodus 3:1-15

[v] I’m in much gratitude to Rabbi Norman J. Cohen, my teacher and mentor, for his reflections found in his book, Hineini in Our Lives

[vi] https://www.midrashicmonologues.com/post/where-was-sarah-during-the-akedah (Based Upon Genesis 20)

[vii] Isaiah 65:1-2

Hold the Torah Close - Erev Rosh Hashanah Sermon 5783

 

Shana Tova!  As has become our tradition, I’d like to begin these High Holy Days with a story as told by Rabbi Edward Feinstein with my own twist.  Sit back, take in a deep breath, and relax!

Long ago, there was a city with two synagogues.[i]  The first synagogue was gigantic, a gorgeous Moorish building of beautiful granite with very large windows.  Most breathtaking was the Ark.  Two magnificent gold covered doors sparkled in the sunlight.  Inside that Ark were two dozen Torah scrolls covered with the finest blue velvet.  And they were crowned with silver breastplates and ornaments that would befit royalty.  The building was lavish, yet there was a problem.  There were no people.  No one came for services.  No one gathered for Torah study.  No children frolicked in the classrooms.  Not a soul descended upon that stately building, except for the rabbi.

Each Shabbat, the rabbi would enter the sanctuary, open the Ark doors, peer inside, and make sure everything was where it should be.  And then, the rabbi would gaze at the empty sanctuary and quietly whisper, to no one at all, Shabbat Shalom.

The other synagogue was the complete opposite.  Across town sat a small, old, decrepit building.  It was dark and dank.  The roof was always leaking.  It was too hot in the summer, too cold in the winter.  No one would call that building beautiful.  But, unlike that shul across town, this synagogue was filled with people.  The sanctuary was overflowing during services.  Standing room only during Torah study.  A swarm of children in the religious school.  The community felt real devotion to each other and to the Torah.

Yet, there was a major problem.  The congregation could not afford a Torah scroll.  They were embarrassed that they didn’t possess the needed funds to purchase a scroll of their own. Instead, they created a fake Torah scroll of two wooden dowels with a small piece of parchment in between.  It was kept in a very small threadbare ark.

No one, and I mean no one, loved Torah more than this congregation.   Each Shabbat, the fake scroll would be pulled out and an older congregant who was almost blind would read from memory the words of that week’s portion.  Afterwards, the community would debate!  They would discuss every word of Torah and make relevant connections to their lives.  Torah was their essence!

As happened every week, the rabbi of the large synagogue entered the sanctuary one Shabbat morning and heard a noise coming from the Ark.  “Oy!” said the rabbi.  “Is it a mouse?  Or a snake?”  The rabbi slightly cracked open the Ark doors and was thrown backwards.  Out of the Ark poured letters, thousands of letters.  Alephs and Bets, Gimmels and Dalets, even Shins and Tavs.  The letters began to line up like Army troops ready for battle.  A very large Aleph commanded the other letters!  “Left, right, left right, left…” The letters of the Torah began marching out of the Sanctuary!

“What’s happening?  Wait, STOP!!!”  The letters of the Torah turned back towards the Rabbi.  “Why are you leaving?  We’ve given you everything!  We made sure you were protected in the Ark.” 

“Yes,” said the Aleph. “You protected us.  But rabbi only YOU did!  There are no people here.  No one reads our words.  No one grapples with our text.  No one dances with us.”   

“Rabbi, you locked us away in that Ark.  We aren’t meant to be locked away. We are meant to be studied. We need a community that will love us!  

“Don’t leave us!”

“Rabbi, your community left us a long time ago!”

The letters turned and marched out of that large, beautiful synagogue.

The last letter, a little Tav, beckoned the rabbi to follow, and so the rabbi did.

Across town, the small, little synagogue, was just finishing the Torah service.  As the older congregant lifted the Torah scroll, the doors of the sanctuary burst open!  Thousands upon thousands of letters spewed into the synagogue and jumped into the fake Torah scroll.

The older congregant felt that something was different.  “It’s a miracle, our Torah is real!”

The congregant scooped up the scroll and held it close.  Then the congregation started singing and dancing with the Torah.  They were filled with such joy!

“STOP!  STOP!”  The entire community turned towards the rabbi.  “This, this is too much!  First the letters fly out of the ark, then they march down the street, and now, this!  You have stolen my Torah scrolls!”

“Rabbi, look around!  Look at this community and how much they love Torah!”  And so, the rabbi looked around and things looked strangely familiar.  The rabbi remembered, long ago, when the big congregation was overflowing with people!  As a young rabbi, the community would gather to listen closely as the Torah was read, grapple with its teachings, and seemingly dissect its every word.  Each Shabbat, young and old once danced with the Torah!  What happened?  Where did the people go?  When did Torah get locked away? 

The old congregant placed the Torah in the rabbi’s arms.  It had been a long time since the rabbi held the Torah close.  And it felt right.  The Torah needed to live and to be loved!  And so the rabbi, filled with joy, began to dance and so did the congregation.

The following Shabbat, the congregation arrived to see the rabbi sitting in the center of the front row.  The rabbi listened diligently to every word of the Torah reading and participated during the rich discussion that followed.  And when it was time for someone to lift the Torah scroll, the congregation called upon their new rabbi.  The Torah was lifted and then the rabbi and the congregation began to dance and held the Torah close! 

This evening, we as a congregation welcome the New Year for the 36^th time!  It was thirty-six years ago, that our little shul, Bolton Street Synagogue, was founded.  Our congregation’s first building was in so many ways, like that little synagogue in this story.  The building was dark, damp, too hot or too cold, yet it was filled with people who needed and yearned for community.  And like that small shul, we too didn’t have a Torah scroll of our own.

It was Wally Orlinsky, past president of Bolton Street Synagogue, who helped us acquire our first Torah scroll.  That Torah scroll came from Europe.  It was once lovingly read and cared for by a synagogue in Czechoslovakia.  It was the Nazis who forcibly took this Torah scroll and thousands of others, boxed them up, and transported them to 40 warehouses in Prague.  The Nazis wished to create a Museum of an Extinct Race.  After the war, Holocaust Scroll #605 was rescued and later provided to us as our first Torah scroll.  Its words are badly damaged that we are unable to read this scroll during services.  And yet, at every Bar, Bat, or B’nai Mitzvah we share this story.  We ask our young people to proudly carry this Torah, reminding us of l’dor va’dor, from generation to generation.

And yet, how often does the Torah seem locked away behind the Ark doors?  The Torah might seem inaccessible, an innate object removed from your daily lives. The Torah might be lovingly cared for by me, your rabbi, but seem out of reach for most of you.  How often do you get to pick up the Torah, look at its words, let alone dance with it?

Torah is not easy.  Its words are centuries old written by people who lived in a very different time from our own.  Torah can seem patriarchal, xenophobic, violent, and its focus is on a God which we might or might not believe in.  Perhaps you feel that the Torah is irrelevant or so far out of reach from your own life.

As a rabbi, that breaks my heart.  Jewish tradition believes Torah is everything.  The mitzvah to study Torah is so important that it is considered equal to every one of the other commandments.  The Talmud teaches that a synagogue (a place of prayer) can be destroyed in order to build a beit midrash (a place of study).  The Torah provides us with a link to our past and a path to our future.

Torah must be our own.  We are taught that our generation stands upon the shoulders of the giants who came before us.  These students and teachers provided us with the foundation, but we stand on top.  Our opinions, our interpretations, are equal to theirs.  We must grapple with Torah, question Torah, and add our perspective of Torah, just as they did.

Thirty-six years ago, our founders birthed a new synagogue centered on community, justice, and Torah.  Thirty-four years ago, we acquired our first Torah scroll, reminding us of both the connection to our dark past and the journey towards the future.  Today, we have a choice: to keep Torah locked away behind the Ark doors, locked away from our hearts and minds or to commit to Torah: to learn Torah, to teach Torah, to question Torah, to love Torah.  This year: sing and dance with us on Friday evenings.  Study Torah during services.   Join us for Simchat Torah to see the Torah up close.  Grapple with its words on Saturday mornings as part of Taking Hold of Torah.  Read a book, take a class, delve into the sea of Torah!  For Torah must not be locked away.  It must live in each one of us.

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[i] This story is my own interpretation based upon two versions of this tale, “Lifting the Torah” as retold by Rabbi Edward M Feinstein in his book Capturing the Moon and a sermon written by Rabbi Jason Rosenberg “Dancing with Holiness”