Each year, thousands of Jews gather in Uman to celebrate Rosh Hashana. Uman is a city in the Ukraine, the burial site of Rabbi Nachman of Breslov. One of Rebbe Nachman’s teachings has become a popular song in Jewish schools and camps. Kol haolam kulo gesher tzar meod: The entire world is a narrow bridge. V’haikar lo lfached klal: “What is essential is to not be afraid.” When I hear this prayer, I am reminded of my rabbinical school classmate, Rabbi Reuven Stamov. Reuven was born in the Crimean region of the Ukraine in a secular Jewish family where practicing Judaism was forbidden. In the 1990s, while other families were leaving, Rabbi Stamov stayed in the Ukraine and became involved in Jewish and Zionist activities, including the Ramah-Yachad Camp for Jewish Children in Ukraine. I will never forget sitting next to Reuven in Talmud class while we studied together in Jerusalem. Our paths were completely different. I was a Rabbi’s son who grew up surrounded by a loving Jewish community who would return to the United States and build upon an already thriving Jewish world. Reuven knew what he wanted. He was going to start the Conservative Jewish community in Ukraine after finishing his studies in Israel. I have watched from afar the work of Reuven and his family. Yet, this week, I have watched up close as Jewish monuments and Jewish communities were dispersed and destroyed in an instant.
Honorable Mensch-ion
Wisdom, Insight, and Knowledge
I must admit, I fear holding a paintbrush or pen in my hand. Send me a song, and I can play it on the keyboard by ear, but ask me to draw, and it is difficult for me to go beyond drawing a stick figure.
You Count
As Jews, we count numbers. I will never forget the first time I counted for a minyan after my bar mitzvah. While nothing changed besides one day on the calendar, everything changed. As our good friend Rabbi Jason Fruithandler would often say to our b’nai mitzvah, “You will now be an adult in the eyes of God, not in the eyes of your parents.” The daily minyan is a place where numbers count most. During the last few months, as the minyan has returned to our sacred Kohn Chapel, we have struggled to get the required 10 people to say the prayers of the barchu, kedusha, and the blessings of the Torah. This morning, we reached the number 10. As one of our daily minyan attendees looked at me and said, “Rabbi, we always make it!” This optimistic approach does not happen by itself—it is a partnership between us and God. In an ironic twist, Jewish tradition sees human beings as being too sacred to be counted like sheep. We count dollars and cents, we count a flock, but we do not count human beings. So when do we count? We count when we are present, we count when we show up, we count when we add the quality to our families and communities.
Refilling Our Sanctuaries
Yesterday, I had the honor of being in conversation with Father Gil Martinez, of St. Paul the Apostle, in Los Angeles.
Sustainability
A UCLA sociology student interviewed me recently about the sustainability of synagogue life. She asked how our community lives out the Jewish values of sustainability. My answer came from this week’s parsha, Terumah: “Let them make Me a sanctuary, so that I may dwell among them.” The Torah does not tell us that God will dwell within the actual sanctuary. Rather, God will dwell among us. God does not need a sanctuary; we need one. Jewish sustainability begins when we create a sanctuary for our community to dwell within. I explained to this college student that we are obligated to pray within a community, and only then do we create a sanctuary of souls.
We Remember
On my three trips to Poland in the early 2000s, I walked through the gates of Auschwitz for a historical tour. It was difficult to fathom the amount of hate that was in the world to consciously build a place like that.
Ambiguous Loss
Pauline Boss, in her book “Ambiguous Loss” explains healing requires some measure of clarity. “Only when things are made right again can people put their losses to rest.” How could it be that last Shabbat, I attended a beautiful Bat Mitzvah, celebrated with a family at their moment of utmost joy, and just minutes later, glued to the news for the next ten hours, praying for the safety of the hostages in Congregation Beth Israel in Colleyville, Texas? Questions flowed through our minds; could it have been us? Our worship spaces are intended for our safety and our refuge, not…
Trees
The Song of The Sea tells us “This is my God and I will enshrine God.” Onkelos, who translates the Torah into Aramaic, elaborates on the idea of enshrining God in our lives. We must build places for God to dwell in, but we also must bring God’s splendor to the inhabitants of the world. What an appropriate lesson as we also celebrate Tu Bishvat this coming week, the New Year of the trees. So many of our most formidable moments of Jewish prayer and spirituality take place in nature, under God’s canopy of trees. Ask a child to name a favorite place they have celebrated Shabbat, and most will say, “I love being at camp.” It is in the natural beauty of the world where God is enshrined, and we our tasked to grasp hold of that splendor to bring inside our homes, our communities, and our hearts.
Pa
My grandfather was known as Pa. He was born in Poland, came to the United States in the 1920s, and was a tire salesman in the Philadelphia area. Pa loved his Judaism and he loved people: A cashier, a store clerk, his doctor, his rabbi, his family, and strangers. He could never meet someone and not ask them a question or tell them a story. Our family named this extroverted characteristic “Pa-itis,” and we like to say this trait does not skip a generation.
New Year’s Freedom
I would always challenge myself as a child to stay up until midnight and watch the ball drop in Times Square each New Year’s Eve. With the advent of DVR and a 9pm ball drop on the west coast, the challenge does not feel as urgent these days.
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