Rabbi Sherman - Honorable Mensch-ion

Last week, I wrote to you overlooking Jerusalem’s Old City walls. This week, I write to you staring out into the Mediterranean Sea to my right and peering out to a view of Old Jaffa to my left.

Our hotel room overlooks the old city walls of Jerusalem, a view that never gets old. Last night, we planned for an early bedtime for our kids as we prepare for a sunrise trip to Masada and a float in the Dead Sea before Shabbat. As the kids recited the nighttime Shema, I looked outside and saw a bride and groom standing under a chupah as the band sang Im eshkachech yerushalayim, if I forget thee O Jerusalem.

We present ourselves uniquely dependent upon the circumstance we find ourselves. To many, I am a Rabbi. In my home, I am a husband and father. When visiting my parents and siblings, I am a son and a brother. And yet, no matter where I go, I am still myself.

We are in the midst of the nine days of Av, as we approach the saddest day of the Jewish calendar, Tisha B'Av. On Wednesday evening, we will sit on the floor of Kohn Chapel in darkness, reciting the entire book of Lamentations.

I miss the AAA TripTik. When I was in 4th grade, each student chose a place in the United States they wished to travel to. My sister was a freshman at Brandeis University, so I chose Boston. I went to AAA, they handed me a map, and I highlighted the must-see landmarks: Paul Revere’s Midnight Ride, the Boston Tea Party ship, Fenway Park, Faneuil Hall, and more. I prepared myself to know what I would see. When I experienced those places, they were much more than stops on an itinerary. Each stop had a deeper meaning, for its past history and what it meant to me as a young American.

It is a gift to sit at the foot of your teacher day after day.

As you enter the Knesset, Israel’s parliament building, you pass a replica of the Declaration of Independence. The first line states, “We hereby declare the establishment of a Jewish state in Eretz Yisrael.”

Our daily interactions with strangers are often mundane. Yet, when a scared moment occurs, we must stop and notice.

Do you recall the words to your high school alma mater? While I cannot recite all of the lyrics of mine, I do remember the concluding verse, “As we go on through the years, friendships hold whether far or near, as we sing, “Manner makyth man.”

The most nerve-racking job for a Rabbi is to walk into a pre-school classroom unprepared.