Erev Rosh Hashanah Sermon: "That's Water, Not Wine!"

Shana Tova!  As we gather in the Meadow on this Erev Rosh Hashanah, our dress and even our surroundings are a world away from the usual High Holy Day formality.  And so, in this vein, as has become our tradition, I’d like to share a story with you this evening.  It’s a Chasidic tale, retold by Rabbi Steven Leder, with my own twist.  Sit back, take in a deep breath, and relax!

Long ago,[i] in a land far away, nestled in the mountains, was a small little village.  This village was filled with hard working, good people.  The village was small enough that everyone knew each other, and everyone took care of each other.  Now this village didn’t have much, it wasn’t known for its business, its food, or its culture, but it was known, for one reason; its claim to fame was its mayor. 

Now this mayor was wise and caring.  For many decades, the mayor governed with kindness and compassion.  The mayor brought prosperity and optimism and so the mayor was beloved by the denizens of that village.

The mayor had just one child.  The child was born in the village and the child grew up amongst all the citizens.  From a cute cuddly baby, to a tottering toddler, to a pimply faced teenager, everyone cared for and loved this child.  

And now, in a blink of an eye, that cute cuddly baby was now grown-up and had found a loving partner.  There was going to be a wedding!  The feeling of excitement permeated every corner, every shop, and every house in the village.  For, there was only one mayor, and that mayor had just one child.  It would be the celebration of the year, no, the celebration of the decade!

As word sprung like wildfire, the murmuring began.  Where would the wedding be held?  What gifts could they provide?  How to make this the most joyous event the village had ever seen?

As the murmuring increased, the villagers decided that they, as a group, could provide the wine for the celebration.  This would be the perfect gift!  And so, a proclamation was sent out by the Chief Steward to each and every citizen:

“Hear ye, Hear ye, each member of this village is asked to fill a bucket with your best wine and bring it to the Town Square.” 

“Hear ye, Hear ye, a huge barrel should be built in the town square, alongside it, a ramp that will lead up to the barrel.  Each villager should pour your bucket into the barrel!” 

“Hear ye, Hear ye, on the evening of the wedding, the wedding couple and all in our village will tap the barrel and we will have the most glorious celebration our village has ever seen.”

 

And so, they all began diligently getting ready.  The Chief Carpenter and all the workers began to construct the biggest barrel you’d ever seen.  They set the barrel on top of tall poles in the very center of the town square.  Next to the barrel and the poles, they made a large ramp, leading right up to the barrel.

Over the course of the next month, every citizen, young and old, rich and poor, climbed the ramp and poured the contents of their buckets into the barrel.

Days before the wedding, the people could see the level of the liquid rising to the top of barrel and watched as the moisture began to seep through the wood.  As the barrel began to fill up, the people became more and more excited.

Finally, the wedding day arrived!  It was a beautiful sunny September day, perfect weather for a wedding.  The mayor walked the child down the aisle, and everyone oohed and awed!  The wedding couple was so happy, so filled with love, they were a perfect match!  Their vows were beautiful and everyone, and I mean everyone, commented on the rabbi’s astute and meaningful wedding address!  Excitement began to build as the couple smashed the glass and everyone yelled out: Mazel Tov!

As the wedding couple danced down the aisle, everyone in the village followed after them!  They grabbed hands and began to dance the hora.  The couple was lifted on chairs and everyone yelled out: Mazel Tov!

And now, the moment that they had all been waiting for!  The entire village gathered around the big barrel.  The Chief Steward grabbed the mallet and climbed up the ramp.  In everyone’s hands, was an empty glass, ready to be filled with sweet delicious wine!

The Chief Steward stood on top of the ramp and gazed out at the village below.  He yelled: “Mazel Tov to our mayor, Mazel Tov to the wedding couple, and Mazel Tov to our village, as we celebrate the happiest day ever!

The Chief Steward grabbed the mallet, tapped the barrel and placed a glass underneath the spigot.  And everyone yelled one final: Mazel Tov!

The village stood silent as the Chief Steward turned the spigot and they all watched as the liquid poured out.  And what flowed from the barrel?  Nothing… but… water.

What?  How could this be?  For weeks, each villager had filled their bucket and poured the content into the barrel.  Each citizen thought, “Well, there are a lot of people filling up this barrel!  One bucket of water won’t change the taste of this delicious wine.  No one will know the difference!”

Except, that each and every person did that exact same thing.  Instead of the barrel being filled with sweet delicious wine, there was only water.  Instead of being the happiest day, that celebration turned out to be the saddest moment in the village’s history.

Now, I know the wine lovers out there are horrified that anyone would even think of mixing together different styles and vintages of wines; a Malbec with a Pinot Grigio, what a disaster!  We know that it’s not about the mixing, it’s about our bottles, yours and mine, and the way we fill them up.   I use the metaphor of wine, but choose your drink of choice, whether it’s juice, soda, or chocolate milk!

For in the Talmud, our rabbis teach: “A person must not fill up a jug of wine with water because it misleads others.”[ii]  I firmly believe that most of us, most of the time, are good people.  We aren’t trying to mislead each other, we aren’t trying to commit fraud, we aren’t trying to get away with murder, but sometimes, it’s just easier to fill up the jug with water, not wine. 

For we know: we’re tired, we’re busy, we’re a little strapped right now; we know that someone else will do it!  What’s a little white lie here or there, it’s not really hurting anyone?   Why put in the time when we can get by with just a little less?  Why not cut a corner especially when it seems like everyone else does?  No one will know the difference so why put forth the effort?

When we tell a friend that we’ll help, knowing that we won’t follow through: that’s water, not wine!    When we complain about the state of Baltimore, yet never do our part: that’s water, not wine!  When we’re out to dinner with loved ones and barely glance up from our phone: that’s water, not wine!  When we share our “thoughts and prayers” and fail to make any change at all: that’s water, not wine!   When we tell our children we’re too busy and can’t find the time: that’s water, not wine!

As Rabbi Steven Leder teaches: “If one partner in a marriage tries to add water because he or she expects the other will bring the wine, the couple will have a watered-down marriage.  If you try to parent according to that principle, you’ll have a watered-down family.  If you behave that way as an employee, you’ll have a watered-down business.  If you put nothing into your Judaism, what do you expect to get out of it?”

Our tradition recognizes the good in us.  We are told that our cups at Shabbat and Passover should be overflowing, so that the grape juice and wine spills over the edge.  When the Mishkan, the Tabernacle was built, the people brought so much gold, jewels, and precious possessions that Moses had to say: “Stop!  We have enough!”  And our rabbis discuss the limits of tzedakah because individuals in their community were giving too much money as charitable gifts. 

Rosh Hashanah is the opportunity for us to ask the question: “What’s in your bottle?”  Are you filling up your bottle with water or wine?  It’s our choice: we can pretend, act like a fraud, sit back and lets others step up in our stead.  We can complain or kvetch and mail it in!  Or we can bring our entire selves into relationship with others.  We can be present for loved and friends, we can volunteer, we can do our part to better the lives of others, we can live openly, truthfully, and honestly in word and deed.  

So, take a moment to imagine a different ending to this story…  Imagine that as the spigot turns, out… comes… sweet delicious wine.  Imagine the celebration that ensues, imagine feeling that you are a part of something greater than yourself, imagine the pride you feel in following through with your commitments and responsibilities.  We can’t control the actions of others, but we can control what’s in our bottle.  So bring the most precious, sweet, delicious wine wherever you go.  “That’s wine you say, never water!”  

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[i] There are many versions of this Chasidic story, but my version is based upon the storytelling of Rabbi Steven Z. Leder entitled “The Barrel” found in Three Times Chai ed. Laney Katz Becker

[ii] Babylonian Talmud Chullin 94a

Solidarity Shabbat: Remembering the Victims of Tree of Life Synagogue

This has been a tough week.  I’ve personally been in a cloud from the moment my Shabbat joy was shattered last Saturday.  I’ve been filled with utter sadness at the loss of precious life at the Tree of Life Synagogue.  I’ve been filled with fear.    Fear for myself.  Fear for the Jewish Community.  Fear for the future of our country.

I know that I am not alone.  The Jew’s heart is breaking.  All in our wider community are hurting.  All of us are in grief, in mourning.  That is why we are here together.

Each week, we gather to read a section of the Torah, the five books of Moses.  We began a few weeks ago with the very beginning of Genesis.  And now, we are in the midst of the story of Abraham and Sarah.  It completely confounds me that no matter what is happening in our lives, no matter what is happening in our world, the week’s Torah portion seems to fit perfectly to our communal mood and mindset.  This week is no exception.

Our Torah portion, Chayei Sarah, begins with death and mourning.  Sarah dies suddenly, and Abraham mourns the loss of his beloved wife.  The Torah teaches that Abraham grieves for Sarah in two distinct ways: he wails, and he remembers her.

We are in the midst of shiva, the seven days of initial mourning, for the eleven souls of Pittsburgh.  We’ve cried.  We’ve grieved.  We’ve wailed.  We Jews also mourn by sharing stories of the dead.  Abraham remembered Sarah by reflecting upon her very essence.  We too need to remember the dead: what they believed, what propelled them in life, and what mattered most in their world.  You may have heard their stories, but they bear repeating.

Joyce Feinberg was a research specialist at the University of Pittsburgh Learning Research and Development Center for more than 25 years.  She was an elegant and warm person who was enormously caring with a huge personality.

Richard Gottfried was a dentist who along with his wife shared a dental practice.  Richard and his wife were fixtures in the community and they volunteered together at the Catholic Charities Dental Clinic.  He was an avid runner who had recently been attending services at Tree of Life Synagogue.

Rose Mallinger was spry, vibrant, and full of life.  At 97 years old, she was the quintessential bubbe (Jewish grandmother) where family was everything.  She was mother of three, grandmother to five, great-grandmother to one.  Rose attended services every Saturday, sitting next to her sister in synagogue.  She was always quick with a friendly greeting, a hug, and a smile.

Jerry Rabinowitz was a primary care physician.  During the early days of HIV treatment when stigma was high, Jerry was known to hold patients’ hands without gloves and to embrace them.  He was known for wearing bow ties to help make people laugh.  Jerry escaped the initial assault on Saturday. and turned around and ran inside to see if anyone was hurt or needed a doctor.

Cecil and David Rosenthal – were two incredible brothers.  Cecil was a gentle giant who greeted everyone with a smile and a strong handshake.  He had a youthful exuberance and a laugh that was infectious.  He had developmental challenges and was a beloved member of the community.  David was quieter, but no less beloved.  He was a greeter, standing in front of the sanctuary handing out prayer books.  The brothers were inseparable.

Bernice and Sylvan Simon were married at the Tree of Life Congregation more than 60 years ago.  A neighbor shared that they were the sweetest people you could have imagined.  They were always giving back to people, they always stepped up, and were kind and generous. 

  

Daniel Stein was a simple man who didn’t require much.  He had a dry sense of humor and was a great guy.  He was a former president of the New Light Congregation and is remembered for his kindness.

Melvin Wax was known as Mel to everyone.  His greatest passion besides the Pittsburgh Penguins was his grandson.  Mel was generous and a sweet man who would help anyone.  At almost 88 years old, he’d always park his car a few streets away from the synagogue to leave closer spaces to those who needed them.

Irving Younger greeted each member with a big smile and a handshake.  He liked to make sure that everyone knew what page they were on in the prayer book.  He went to synagogue every day, he never missed a day.  He felt a true responsibility and a role to serve the community.

These eleven precious souls are us.  They are young and old.  They are singles, couples, siblings, and friends.  They are Jews, interfaith couples, Jews-by-choice, those with disabilities; the rainbow of our Jewish community.  They are the greeters, the Torah readers, the prayer leaders, and the board members.  They are the regulars and those who come every once and a while. They are us.

As I read their stories this past Monday, I began to cry.  I know the Rose Mallingers, the Jerry Rabinowitz’s, the Cecil and David Rosenthal’s.  I know the Bernice and Sylvan Simon’s and the Joyce Feinberg’s.  Pittsburgh is us.  Squirrel Hill is us.  We are Squirrel Hill.  I cried because we are one big family.  We lost precious lives.  We are all in this together.

As we mourn, I’m cognizant that our shiva, our initial seven days of mourning, is almost complete.  As one rabbinic colleague shared: “Today we mourn, tomorrow we act.”  What happens tomorrow?  Where do we go from here?

I find my answer by going back to the Torah.  Halfway through our portion, we meet Rebecca, the matriarch, for the first time.  Rebecca sits by her town’s well.  When Eliezer, servant of Abraham, appears, she welcomes him with open arms.  She provides him with water and also draws water for Eliezer’s many camels.

Rebecca’s quintessential feature is kindness.  She welcomes Eliezer, a stranger, into her home.  She goes out of her way to help him through his troubles.  It might seem like a small thing to provide someone with a glass of water but remember she didn’t have a tap or a sink!  The well was far away.  And camels after a long hot journey drink much water.  This was a big moment and a lot of hard work.  Rebecca lives her every moment with kindness and with a welcoming personality.

There is real fear in our community.  There is so much hatred and anger in the world.  We wish to guard ourselves by building a fortress around our community.  There is an urgency to protect ourselves with ever greater walls, doors, guards, and guns.  After this attack, the trauma, pushes us to look inward, to circle the wagons, to protect our own.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  We must keep our community safe.  With our President, Melissa Zieve’s leadership, we have already begun conversations about security and safety.  New protocols and new procedures have been implemented and will be implemented to make our community secure in the days ahead.

Yet, it’s not just safety procedures, it’s also outlook and prospective.  Do we look inward?  Do we close the door?  Or do we look outside our walls?  As a community, Bolton Street Synagogue has always stood for warmth, welcoming, and community.  Our new tagline is: “Doors Wide Open.”  Our identity is about opening ourselves up to the broader Jewish and non-Jewish community.

It’s more than us, it’s also the lives who were lost in Pittsburgh.  I shared their stories because each person whose life was lost, lived his or her days with kindness and compassion.  They focused their days living life with: generosity, kindness, caring, giving, warmth, laughter, smiles, and love.  As Rebecca’s essence was kindness and a welcoming personality, so too did the eleven who died at Tree of Life Synagogue.  We can’t put up barriers.  We can’t turn in the wagons.  We Jews need to live our lives with kindness in our hearts and with our doors open to the world.

Our Torah portion begins with mourning.  Abraham grieves with wailing and remembrance for his beloved wife Sarah.  But, our Torah portion ends in an entirely different light.  It ends with comfort.  Isaac, the son of Sarah, also grieves.  He finds comfort in his new wife Rebecca.  We learn in the Torah that: “Isaac loved Rebecca and finds comfort after his mother’s death.”

Isaac finds comfort not through vengeance and anger, not through rage and resentment, but through kindness, love, and togetherness.  It’s through relationship and friendship, that Isaac finds peace.

Even more powerfully, our Torah portion ends with the burial of Abraham.  We learn that Isaac and Ishmael, Abraham’s two sons, come together to bury their father.  Jewish tradition teaches that Ishmael is the patriarch of the Arabs and Islam.  How powerful that two brothers, of two different religious traditions, come together, to bury their father.  To comfort each other.  To support each other.

Tonight, I’m overwhelmed at the number of non-Jewish friends, family members, and allies who are here to support us.  In addition, we have a dozen members of the clergy: pastors, reverends, priests, and ministers, who are here with us in solidarity.  We know that we as a Jewish community are not here alone.  There are so many of you, who have our back.  You are here to comfort us, support us, and be our friend.  There is fear for the future, but there is also great optimism that together we can make a difference.  Together we can help change this world for the better. 

I firmly believe we do that by getting to know each other better, by building deeper relationships across religion, ethnicity, race, and community.  That’s why we invited you to be here with us tonight.  Don’t just leave after the service and never see us again.  Let this be the moment to renew our relationship with each other.  As Rebecca opened her home to Eliezer, we too open our home to you.  After the service, lets join together to talk, to get to know each other, and to break bread together.  Let this moment of sadness and grieving, lead us to comfort, to friendship, and to peace.

The Jewish View: Many Types of Leadership

This week, we begin the Book of Deuteronomy which is a retelling of the previous four books.  It is a reflection of the forty years in the desert.  Moses remembers all of the successes and challenges of leading the Jewish people.  At first, Moses was sole leader of the people.  From sunrise till deep into the night, the entire community came to him to solve their problems.  With this responsibility, Moses became tired and burnt out!  His father-in-law Jethro goaded him to find others who would lead alongside him and be his partners in strengthening the Jewish people.

Forty years later, Moses reflects upon this moment and tells the people which characteristics he looked for in a leader.  A leader would be a Chacham – a wise person, a Navon – a discerning person, and a Yaadah – an experienced person.  We know how to define experienced; that is a person who possesses prior moments of leadership!  But what is the difference between wise and discerning?

The rabbis answer that question as they often like to do, with an illustration.  A Chacham, a wise person, is a banker who would examine customers’ money when they arrived at the bank.  However, when no one came to the bank, the Chacham would take out her own money and examine it instead.

What about the Navon, the discerning person?  In this illustration, the Navon was also a banker.  This Navon would also examine customers’ money when they arrived at the bank.  Yet, when no one was in the bank, the Navon would wait anxiously and do nothing until the next customer would arrive.

The rabbis believed that the Chacham and the Navon, the wise and the discerning person, were quite different, not in knowledge, but in temperament and outlook.  A Chacham, a wise person, had plenty of internal resources.  She could achieve action on her own.  She was self-motivated and always willing to go the extra mile!

A Navon, a discerning person, was different!  She is the person who possesses deep intellectual knowledge and enjoys spending time with others, interacting with others.  The Navon cares deeply about those in our community.  She is a people person!

Moses reminds us that there are many traits of leadership.  Our community possesses the Chacham and the Navon.  We must recognize these different leaders in our community and honor them for their successes and their personalities.  Whether we work better with others or achieve success when we are alone; whether we think about the details or focus on the broader vision, whether we have street smarts or book smarts, all these characteristics are needed to make our community stronger.  May we honor each of us for the aspects that make us unique and make us a blessing.

This D'var Torah was published in the Baltimore Jewish Times.

This is Not Normal Times. We Must Unite Against Hatred.

I’m not sure about you, but these last few days have been the most depressing, discouraging, and upsetting of the past year.  It has been a year of lows, but this past week’s events in Charlottesville, were the most searing of all.

We watched as Neo-Nazis, White Supremacists, and avowed Racists marched openly in army fatigues, carrying torches and semi-automatic weapons.  We saw Heather Heyer, a young woman who cared deeply about others, murdered while marching for justice.  We lost two Virginia State Police officers, H. Jay Cullen and Berke Bates and many others injured in the attacks.

The scene was vicious and the remarks by our president were bewildering, utterly lacking clarity, and horribly damaging to the future of our country.  Yet, it was words by another man, an ordinary man, that truly moved me and made me reflect upon the horrors of this last weekend.

AlanZimmerman, is the synagogue president of Congregation Beth Israel, the Reform and I believe the only synagogue in Charlottesville, Virginia.  I apologize if you already read his words which were shared widely, but it bares repeating.

The congregation knew for weeks that a protest would occur this past weekend in Charlottesville.  Yet, the police refused to provide them with an officer during services.  Luckily, they were able to hire a security guard, for the first time in their existence.  During the service, three men dressed in fatigues and armed with semi-automatic rifles stood across from the street.  Parades of Nazis passed his building, shouting, “There’s the synagogue!” with chants of “Seig Heil!” and other anti-Semitic language alongside swastikas and other Nazi symbols. 

Alan’s heart broke as he advised congregants to use the back entrance instead of the front and to please go out in groups, for their safety.

Later that day, Nazi websites posted a call to burn his synagogue.  He and one of his rabbis wondered, “Should we go back to the temple to protect the building?” What could they do if they were there?  In precaution, they had already deemed an attack within the realm of possibilities and had removed their Torahs, including a Holocaust scroll from the premises.

Throughout his poetic and haunting article, Alan kept coming back to the same phrase:  “This is America in 2017.” 

As a Jew growing up in Ohio, I experienced small amounts of anti-Semitism.  Jokes and pokes by so-called friends or others.  Yet, I always believed that the Jewish community went overboard on calling out everything as anti-Semitism.  It was our “sheep calling wolf” moment.  Yet, this moment is not the years of my youth.  This is not normal times.  This is 2017 in America.

Our Torah portion, Re’eh, speaks about this issue directly.  The Torah describes the existence of false prophets.  These are individuals (and groups of individuals) who will lead us down the wrong path, who will turn us away from our morality and ethical behavior.  They are powerful because of their charisma.  They have power because of their many followers and of their message which deeply impacts people’s thinking.  Yet, we know that they are false prophets; they will lead us astray.

What should be our answer in combating these false prophets?  The Torah provides one line, one answer:  “You shall walk after Adonai your God and fear God.  You shall keep God’s commandments and obey God’s voice, serve God, and cleave to God" (Deuteronomy 13:5).

This doesn’t seem like a powerful response.  When there is a false prophet, when there are those who actively seek to hurt us or destroy our very being, our answer is to walk after Adonai and keep God’s commandments?  It seems too passive, too meek.

Yet, yesterday, a rabbinic colleague, Rabbi Alex Kress, shared an incredible gem written by Rabbi Avraham Mordechai of Gur, a Chasidic rebbe from the turn of the last century.   The Gerrer Rebbe teaches that this phrase, “You shall walk after Adonai, fear God, keep the commandments” appeared previously in last week’s Torah portion.  Last week, the statement was singular.  When you, each of you, walk with God…  Yet, this week’s phrase in the plural, “When all of you walk…”

The Gerrer Rebbe teaches that in normal times, each person can be God-fearing alone in our own homes.  We don’t need each other; we can do it by ourselves.   Yet, (And these are his words), yet, when heresy and anarchy prevail in the world, the power of the individual is insignificant, and there is need for good people to combine, to form a mighty force, which will defend against our detractors. 

When the Torah speaks about the false prophets, it is writen not in the singular but in the plural.  When they (and they are always a they), when they come together, we are insignificant by ourselves.  We must unite together against those who wish to destroy us.

This is not normal times.  This is America in 2017.  We can’t do it alone, we are insignificant.  We must do it together.

And together we will.  These were some of the brightest moments of last weekend:  It was John Aguilar, a 30 year Navy veteran, who took it upon himself to stand guard over the Charlottesville synagogue.  It was dozens of strangers who stopped by the synagogue and asked if they could stand alongside them. It was their wonderful rabbis who stood on the front lines with other Charlottesville clergy opposing hate.

This is not normal times.  This is America in 2017.  We can’t do it alone, we are insignificant.  We must do it together.

And so we will.  On Monday August 28^th, I alongside others from Bolton Street will caravan down to Washington for the 1,000 Ministers March on Racial Injustice (it’s not just for rabbis!).  Alongside the interfaith community and the Religious Action Center for Reform Judaism, I and others will march.  If you are able, please join me!

We will reach out to our interfaith allies.  We will continue to work on justice issues around education, racism, and anti-Semitism.  Our Social Action Committee is gearing up and we need your help.  Let us know if you wish to help.

And I urge you to make donations of tzedakah to Jewish and non-Jewish organizations that are working for justice.  We need people and dollars, to make systematic change.

In a few days, the Solar Eclipse will occur on the shores of our country, for the first time in many years.  There will be darkness across our country, yet only for a few minutes.  The sun will shine again; the rays of light will be a beacon to us all.  This is now a time of darkness, yet together, we can bring light into our world.  One candle at a time will bridge the darkness towards light.  Together, our light will shine.  Amen.

Saying Shalom...

This past Friday evening, was my first service at Bolton Street Synagogue in Baltimore, MD as the new rabbi.  This lovely congregation in the heart of Baltimore City is my new congregational home!  The words below are adapted from my first sermon.  This was my opportunity to say Shalom... to introduce myself and my vision!  Lech Lecha, may we go forth to ever greater strength... together!

Shabbat Shalom!  I’m sure there are a ton of thoughts going through your head right now...  Who’s this new Rabbi?  What’s his story?  What’s he like?  And what about Bolton Street Synagogue?  Is the congregation going to change?  Will it be different?  Will I not feel at home anymore?  But really… who is this new rabbi?

Believe me change and transition are hard!  Tonight, we begin anew.  A new rabbi for you, a new congregation for me!  As I thought about this first sermon, it thought about what I wanted to share with you.  About my vision, about my hopes, and about me!  My rabbinate and my life revolve around relationship and stories.  So what better way to start than to share some stories.  About the moments that impacted me and more importantly changed my rabbinate.  So here we go!

Picture it, a classroom of fifth grade students!  About a dozen students.  In front of you is a rabbi.  Not me, I’m only in fifth grade!  It’s Rabbi Ed Garsek, one of my rabbis.  He was teaching my class that day and we were studying Torah.  I’m not sure what I said or even what I did, but I do remember Rabbi Garsek’s response.  He looked directly into my eyes and he said to me: “You’ll be a great rabbi one day.”  And those words changed my life.

Rabbi Garsek saw something in me.  A spark and he pulled it out of me.  From that day, I wanted to be just like him: a teacher, a friend, a mentsch.  My rabbinate is based upon the lessons he taught me.  To live Judaism.  To guide others.  To truly know a person, their thoughts, their passions, their fears, and help them live a better life.  My rabbinate is built upon transformative moments.  It’s these small moments, face-to-face, that transform not only our lives, but the lives of our community, and the greater world.

About ten years later, I’m now a college graduate.  I’m living in Boston, working in the Jewish community.  And I’m searching, searching for a spiritual home.  A couple friends and I shul shop.  Each Friday evening, we travel to a new synagogue to experience worship and look for a community.  Reform, Conservative, Reconstructionist, Renewal, Non-Denominational.  We try it all… yet nothing sticks.  Nothing feels right. 

That’s when we decided to create our own service.  We called ourselves the Minyanaires and over the course of a year, twice a month, we joined together for services and a potluck dinner.  It was informal, it was filled with singing, and it was brimming full of community.  I knew everyone there, a dozen of us, or so.  We prayed, we studied Torah, and we ate!  Since that day, I’ve never found a community that felt the same as that one.  I’ve been searching for that community.  A place to call home, a place where others feel comfortable.  A spiritual community that is built on relationship, where we study, grapple, learn, pray, eat, and join hands to change the world.

Now move ahead with me.  I decided to follow Rabbi Garsek’s advice and I enrolled in the Hebrew Union College, the Reform Rabbinical School.  I spent five years in Israel and New York City.  My student congregations were in Rocky Mount, NC; Williamsport, PA; Mount Sinai Hospital in the Palliative Care Unit.  I was ordained as a rabbi and became the first Assistant Rabbi at Scarsdale Synagogue.  Later, I moved to Long Island to become an Associate Rabbi at Temple Sinai of Roslyn. 

I love being a rabbi.  I loved teaching, lifecycles, hanging out with the kids, and studying with adults.  But, there was one moment in my rabbinate that changed my life.  It all began through an e-mail.  A rabbinic friend and colleague from Chicago, Rabbi Seth Limmer, asked if I would join him for a 40 day march from Selma Alabama to Washington DC.  This was a march coordinated by the NAACP during the summer of 2015.  This was Black Lives Matter.  This was Police Shootings.  Ferguson.  NYC.  Baltimore.  This was about justice and making our world a better place.   It would be a 40 day journey, a walk across the south.  And they needed a rabbi each day to carry the Torah.  I would travel for one day, but the Torah would travel all forty.

And so, there I was, in the deep south, a small town in Georgia about 2 hours from Atlanta.  It was powerful to march and carry the Torah, but even more importantly was the relationships.  Hearing the stories of my fellow African-American marchers.  Learning about the injustice, the fear they had for their kids, the challenges they went through.  This was about making a different.  Praying with our feet.  Our world was in turmoil and my role, our role, is to make a difference.  To do our part with the interfaith community, to change our world for the better.

These three stories are just small moments in my life and my rabbinate.  There are plenty of others, but these three express who I am and my vision of Jewish life and of Bolton Street Synagogue.  That vision is to create sacred connections through study, prayer and tikkun olam, in order to bring about transformative change in our lives and our world.  Transformative change is the key.  And that only exists through relationship.  We must know one another, be comfortable with one another, and trust one another.

We build sacred connection through study.  We learn Torah because these ancient words impact our lives for the better.  But more importantly, we learn from one another because each of us has Torah to teach.

We build sacred connection through prayer.  There is power when we pray together, sing together, and join together face-to-face.  It’s how we recharge, how we hope, how we dream of the future.

We build sacred connection through tikkun olam.  When we join hand-in-hand, we have the ability to transform hearts, advocate for change, and rebuild a broken world.

You’ve already learned a little bit about me.  I’m excited to learn more about you.  Together, through study, prayer, and tikkun olam, we’ll build stronger relationships.  Yet, these Jewish actions must do something more, they must transform us into better people, a better community, and a better world.  I’m looking forward to doing that with you for a long time to come!

I'm too busy...

One of my favorite things about living in New York is the energy, the feeling that pervades everything we do.  As a person who grew up in the Midwest, New York just feels different.  There’s always so much to do; so much to see.  Broadway plays, the Opera, the Museums, an incredible meal… the world is our oyster.  And New Yorkers never slow down.  We’re constantly moving and going, running from place to place.  Yet, with all on our plate, I often hear these three most dreaded words: “I’m too busy!”  Let’s go to a show: “I’m too busy.”  Let’s grab dinner: “I’m too busy!”  Let’s get together, “I’m too busy!” 

This week’s double Torah portion, Vayakhel-Pikudei, is perfect for the busy New Yorker!  Over the course of five chapters in the Book of Exodus, we have a to-do list to rival any other!  Our ancestors worked together to build the Mishkan, the sacred prayer space that existed in the wilderness.  The Israelites built the furniture for the Mishkan: the lampstand, the altar, the Ark of the Covenant, and the planks for the sides and the doors.  

They wove tapestries of all colors that formed the walls.  And they fashioned the clothing of the Cohenim, the priests of Israel: the headscarf, the pants, the coat, and all of their accoutrement.  This was serious work.  Our ancestors with the help of Betzalel and Oholiab, the chief architects, spent hours upon hours creating this sacred prayer space for the Eternal One.  There was no time to do anything else… they were just “too busy”!

Yet, what I find most inspiring is the first two lines of this week’s Torah portion.  We begin with this address from Moses: “These are the things that the Eternal One has commanded you to do: On six days work may be done, but on the seventh day you shall have a Sabbath of complete rest, holy to the Eternal…”  Prior to sharing this massive to-do list, prior to the doing and making, the creating and designing, Moses reminds the people that they must rest.  You can’t work, work, work without Shabbat.  You can’t keep going, without a moment to pause or a day for renewal.  Even when creating sacred space, our ancestors put down their tools and rested.

This is truly a lesson for our age.  We spend far too much time at work.  We focus much too much of our energy and our thoughts on all that we must accomplish.  It’s almost impossible to unplug; we are tied to the world around us 24 hours a day, seven days a week, with no real ability to break away.  We are just “too busy!”  Moses reminds us that in order to be our best, we need to turn on the OFF button.  We need one day out of seven, to stop, rest, and refresh.  

The Holy One commanded us to focus on the world around us, to fulfill our responsibility to act and do and work.  Yet, God also commanded us to focus on ourselves, to transform ourselves for the better.  So, let’s work hard, but let’s also take some time to renew ourselves… to unplug, to sleep-in, to study some Torah, and read a book; to spend time with loved ones, to go out to dinner, to see a show, have Shabbat dinner, and to just rest.  Shabbat Shalom!