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 36th 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.
[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”
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