A Festival of a Different Light - December 2014

V’etzarcha v’etencha livrit am, l’or goyim

And I have created you, and I have given you to be a people of covenant, a light to the nations.

Isaiah 42:6

Chanukah is is called chag haneirot - the festival of lights.  We celebrate not only the story of the miracle of the oil that lasted long enough to rededicate the Temple in Jerusalem, but the light we bring into the world.  Hillel and Shammai, the ancient sages, argued over whether one should light eight lights on the first night of Chanukah and then diminish by one each day, or to start with one, and add a light each night until we reached eight.  The debate was whether we acknowledge the days getting shorter and go with the flow of nature, or resist by bringing our own light to brighten the dark nights.  Bringing light into the world won, and we therefore increase the glow of our menorot as Chanukah progresses.

We are commanded to be an or l’goyim - a light to the other nations. When we were an oppressed and downtrodden minority, this seemed an ironic injunction.  We sought to fulfill it by being the brightest and smartest.  Now that we have our own nation, we struggle to both be a normal country, like any other, and to be the exemplar of Judaism. Obviously, we are not seen so by a large portion of the world’s population.  In the United States, most children know about Judaism, because they know what a Bar or Bat Mitzvah is.  It’s that big party that Jews through for their children, with lots of food, fancy clothes, dancing and entertainment, and they expect everyone to wear a sweatshirt about it the next week in school.  Needless to say, these are not the ways that we would want to be a shining beacon.

Early in this month, there has been an attempt to make a national moment of donation - “Giving Tuesday”, to follow the Retail Holy Week of Black Friday, Small Business Saturday, and CyberMonday.  The idea is that after we have spent so much on our loved ones and ourselves, we might feel better if we took a moment to also remember those less fortunate.  Certainly, we too have become trapped in the excesses of the season.  We elevate the minor holiday of Chanukah until it is the most famous of Jewish holidays; certainly the favorite of our children.  Perhaps this cold war of gift giving we engage in with Christmas might be better fought as a duel of donations.  My alma mater, approaching its recent yearly rivalry of the Game, challenged its alumni to beat Harvard not on the football field (where we did not), but on the giving side - to see which college could raise the most money for its annual campaigns.  We, too, if we want to be a light to the nations, at this festival of lights, should think again about the fires we fuel.

Let us encourage the mitzvot that we do for others.  Each time, at this season, our congregation has adopted families at King’s Daughters’ school in Plainfield, helping those who would otherwise not be able to give to each other at Christmas to receive a small amount of holiday cheer.  I know of several members of our congregation who make a point of volunteering at soup kitchens, hospitals, and other necessary services in order to let Christians celebrate their holiday.  Let this be the light that we celebrate on this festival; let this be the light we shine to others, be what they know about Jews and Judaism.

Let us also consider this as a time to give what is needed to others.  As we receive new clothing, let us donate what we no longer need.  Let us buy a little extra at the grocery store to give to others who may be hungry.  Let us think about what we spend on gifts, and take a night to chose places to donate some percentage of those funds.

As we light our Chanukah candles this year, let us think about more than the light the menorah shines in our homes, but also the light we can shine all over.

It's Good - Thanks - November 2014

Give thanks (to God), because it’s good.

Hodu l’Adonai ki tov - Psalm 136

This month, Temple Sholom will host, for the first time in our own home, the Scotch Plains/Fanwood Community Thanksgiving service  - on Monday, November 24th.  Each year the celebration moves to different houses of worship large enough to hold the service, which includes prayers from different faith communities, a dedication of our CropWalk funds, and a special collection for a fund or cause of the year. As hosts of this occasion, we hope that you will be present to welcome the rest of the community to our new home.

Why is it that we choose this time of year for an interfaith service?  We also come together as a community at Memorial Day, September 11th, and other dates of national significance.  Thanksgiving, too, is an expression of our national mood, a declared holiday to pause and give thanks for all that we have.  Whether or not we view the survival of the pilgrims in the same way as the native Americans might, we do understand that there is value in taking a moment to give thanks- and we find this sentiment not only common in our faith communities, but across our culture.

In our regular service, we have many opportunities to give thanks.  Scholars of prayer have divided Jewish prayer into three categories - prayers of general praise, prayers of petition, and prayers of thanksgiving.  The clearest prayer of thanksgiving in our regular liturgy is the hoda’ah, which comes toward the end of the t’filah, just before the prayer for peace and the silent prayer.  In this prayer, also known as the modim, we publicly acknowledge what we have been given, take a moment to see each moment as a miracle in itself, and thus worthy of thanks.

Notice in the above paragraph that I did not say thanks to God.  That was on purpose.  The term “God” is a loaded one in our society.  No matter how much we talk about God being a concept, or a placeholder for theology, people hear “God” and immediately think of an old man with a beard peering down from the heavens.  To be more clear, one does not have to believe in a Theistic God - a God who hears everything and responds to personal prayer - to give thanks.  One can be grateful no matter what one’s theology may be.  Even atheists can give thanks - and should.

Not everything on this earth comes from the work of our own hands.  Where and to whom we were born have had more influence on whether we struggle to feed ourselves in our daily lives than how well we scored on the SAT’s.  A truly just world would have opportunity and food for all - not only for those lucky enough to be born in a developed nation, with free primary education, clean water, a social welfare system, and advanced medical care.  Modesty is also a virtue.  In acknowledging all that we have received through no fault of our own, we become better people.  When we realize that we can lead the lives that we do because of a web of people whom we may not even know, we are more grounded.  That might even be enough, but, hopefully, such modesty and a realization of how much we rely on others can spur us to do what we can for those who may depend, unknowing, upon us.

As Thanksgiving approaches; as we prepare to give thanks with our greater Scotch Plains and Fanwood community, let us resolve not only to be more cognizant of all the blessings that we have in our lives, but also resolve to bring those blessings and more to others.  Truly, the best way to give thanks is to provide something that others will be thankful for.

Those Who Keep It Will Call It a Delight - October 2014

Shomrei shabbat v’korei oneg

Those who keep Shabbat and call it a delight Yism’chu Shabbat liturgy

While on Sabbatical last winter, I had an epiphany about communal worship.  We as a congregation had always talked about how communal worship - our mode of prayer together on Shabbat and holidays - was about the community.  The assumption that followed was that communal worship was about compromise. Since we cannot meet everyone’s need in a service at every moment, we would strive to create a service that had the most meaning for the most people.  For example, someone who wanted a quiet service, perhaps because they were observing a yahrzeit, would have to sometimes endure the more raucous parts of the service intended for those present more for oneg shabbat - the joyous celebration of Shabbat.  The unspoken rule was that in order to get the benefit of communal worship (as opposed to private prayer) one must give up something to the good of the community.

While this rule may be true, I realized that there was a corollary as well.  Participating in communal worship also gives something, as well as takes.  The very fact that everyone is engaged in the same process, because they are coming from different places, with different needs, and in different moods, lends power to the experience.  While we realized the strength and benefits of communal prayer, there was a piece that needed to be brought forward - the building of community.  This benefit of feeling the power of a community at prayer works best when one feels a part of the community.  How then do we build community at each service?

For some it is easy. In previous studies, we have found that the single most influential factor in people attending worship services is whether or not they feel they will know the people who will be there.  Less important is the music, the words, or, dare I say it, the sermon.  SMH (as they say on the internet).  Of course, the most important draw to communal worship is the sense of community.  Again, how do we build that into the service?

Having engaged in many activities with organizations such as the Reform Movement’s Just Congregations, I have learned that the first step of community-based organizing is establishing the community.  The way this is done is by sharing.  As human beings, we feel closer to others when we learn about them, see things we may have in common, find a way to sympathize, or share something ourselves.  All such organizational meetings begin with people sharing a personal story.  Ask one of our recent Board members, who spent a year talking about why they personally became a part of the Temple, and they will tell you how close they felt to those people who shared, or with whom they shared.

We already have two methods to build community this way in our worship service.  The first is ancient - the naming of those whose anniversary of death occurs in that week, known as yahrzeit.  The second is more recently adopted in the Reform Movement - the Mi Shebeirach for those who are ill.  In both cases, we hear the names of friends or relatives, or friends and relatives of our friends, and we share the hope for healing or the comfort in sorrow.

Since last January, we have made two changes in the service that should we should have publicized before, but (as I still prepare for Yom Kippur) I apologize for not bringing it up in this space sooner.

1. Sharing Memory - Now, when we read the names of shloshim (those who have died in the past month) or yahrzeit, we ask those who have come to worship and remember someone in particular to rise and share just a word or two, or a sentence about that person.  Just as we share stories at shivah services, this moment of sharing brings that person into the sanctuary, even if just as a memory.  The person who spoke can remain standing, until we all join them in saying the Mourners’ Kaddish.  No one is forced to share.  If there is a name on the list of someone without someone who remembers them present, and they were active in the Temple when I had a chance to know them, I will often share a word about that person myself.

2. Bringing Light into Shabbat - We already bring forward moments of sadness - when we remember those who have died, or those who are ill.  It seemed that we needed to also bring in moments of joy to share.  Now, when the congregation is not so large as to make it unwieldy, we have a new ritual after we light the Shabbat lights at the beginning of the service.  Each person or family is invited to share a moment that brought them light during the week, and they want to bring into Shabbat with them.  Just a word or two, or a sentence, is enough to share that moment and help build the congregation at the beginning of the services.  Our hope is that Shabbat services will become a place where congregants come to share their joys as well.

Both of these practices make the service a little longer,  Again, no one is forced to participate, but I have seen the smiles on the faces of those who have shared, as well as those who reflect that feeling in their own faces.  Sometimes a comment leads to a conversation at the oneg.  More often, the moment is one small brick in building the community for that Shabbat.

So, come back to Shabbat worship.  Join the community that we create each week.  Without you, things are different.  With you, we strengthen ourselves, lift ourselves up, and feel what communal worship is all about - community.  What is the difference between praying alone and in community?  Having others around to support and magnify our experience together.   Let us celebrate our community as we celebrate Shabbat.

Rabbi Abraham

Time to Turn - September 2014

Hashiveinu Adonai, v’nashuvah. chadeish yameinu k’kedem.

Return us, O God, and we will return. Renew our days, as of old.

Each year, as we enter the month of Elul, we begin the process of repentance, of s’lichot.  At our s’lichot service, beginning after the last Shabbat of the old year ends, when we dress our Torah scrolls and bimah for the High HolyDays, we ask God to help us turn back in the process of t’shuvah. We translate t’shuvah as repentance, but the literal meaning is turn and return.  We take a moment to look back over the path that we have traveled, the habits that have gradually worn a groove in our life’s journey, and we make a conscious choice to continue in the same manner, or to set off in a new direction.

This year, as a congregation, we have set off in a new direction together. We have reached a physical destination - our new home - and now we can take all the energy that we have expended in getting us to this place, and use it to strengthen our community; to travel in other ways, firmly rooted in our new home.  Just as we feel rested and renewed when we put down a heavy burden, the hard task of building the building is over.  Now we can remember all the other tasks that are needed to build a community.

Perhaps the time has come for you to build yourself - to take a class at the Temple; to begin (perhaps again) the study of Hebrew; to re-engage in the adult meaning of worship; to read and meet with others to discuss books, see movies, or to try a new spiritual practice.

Perhaps the time has come for you to (re-)build your family - carving out Shabbat as time to be together; finding a way to celebrate a holiday; joining in Family Track to learn as a family; or reach out to an estranged relative.

Perhaps the time has come for you to help build your community - to volunteer for a Temple event; to join a committee; to attend a Temple fundraiser; to seek a seat on the Board of Trustees; to make a donation to a meaningful fund.

Perhaps the time has come for you to build up the world around you - to help the congregation as we once again prepare to house the homeless; to bake a meatloaf and serve it to the hungry; to bring in canned goods for the Yom Kippur drive; to add your voice to others in calling for meaningful societal change and tikkun olam.

The High HolyDays come every year so that we need make no excuses for changing our habits, turning to new paths, trying something different.  Indeed, we are expected to do so; to look again at our lives and make sure we living in the way that we wish to live.  As we approach this new year together, let us lend each other strength to change, that we may all be renewed, together.

Shanah tovah.

We Stand Again at Sinai - Summer 2014

"We will do, and [then] we will hear." Na'aseh v'nishmah - Exodus 24:8

Hopefully by now you have either just attended or will soon attend our Erev Shavuot service (Tuesday, June 3rd, 7pm at the JCC).  Shavuot marks one of the most important and unique events in our history.  Much of Jewish history happens to us - we are freed from Egypt, rescued from Haman, etc. - but on Shavuot we remember the moment when we took up the responsibility of being Jews; of freely entering into covenant with God.  For that reason, Reform Jews have chosen this holiday for the moment of Confirmation.  At this moment, we recreate the myth that all Jews, past and future, stood together at Mount Sinai and, together, entered into covenant.  As Jews who have individually marked the beginning of their responsibility by becoming Bar or Bat Mitzvah, our Confirmands confirm their acceptance of their link in the chain of tradition (shalshelet hakabbalah).  In and out of time, we, too, stand with them.

The covenental moment at Mount Sinai was not the end of a journey, but the moment that our people girded up their loins and prepared to move on in the next stage of our history.  The next step to a new home took an entire generation to complete, but in the end, they arrived in the Promised Land - a land both flowing with milk and honey, but with its own challenges as well.  This summer, we too prepare ourselves for a new stage in Temple Sholom's centennial journey, as we pack and move into our new home, where we hope to celebrate our 101st High HolyDays, and, next year, a centenary of Confirmation.

When asked to enter into this covenant, our ancestors said, "Na'aseh v'nishmah" - we will do and we will hear.  The Rabbis interpreted this odd formulation as meaning that we agreed knowing that we were not completely sure what we were in for.  So, too, with Temple Sholom's journey.  There are many things that we do not know: How much will our heating bill be? How will we set up the seats for Rosh haShanah? What will we plant in the Children Garden? How will the Purim Carnival fit? Will we soon outgrow our new space?  We will discover answers as we go along (and see if we were correct in our estimations), but there are many things that we do know, and that we recommit ourselves to today, as we prepare for this next stage of Temple Sholom.

We are a learning community - committed not only to the lifelong education of all of our members, but to experimenting and learning how to be a better congregation. (Please note the work and recent report of Nan Fechtner and our Long Range Planning Committee.) We are a welcoming community - not only to our membership (made up of all those seeking to build a meaningful Jewish life, no matter what their background, family structure, or income), but to their families and the greater world outside our new walls.  We are a spiritual community - offering meaningful and engaging worship experiences, a guided journey through the Jewish calendar, and a place to share sorrows and joys.  We are an engaged community - helping not only ourselves but also making the world a better place by going outside our synagogue home to help and once again inviting in those who have no homes.

Na'aseh v'nishmah - we are already doing, and we will continue to hear, as we enter into this new step on our journey, as we renew our covenant to each other - and to the generations yet to be.

Rejoice in the New Growth - May 2014

And there shall come forth a shoot out of the stock of Jesse - Isa. 11:1

Last month, before Purim, the Jewish calendar marked Shabbat Zachor - the sabbath of remembrance.  For that Shabbat, we are supposed to step outside the regular order of the parshiot and read the portion of Deuteronomy which recounts how the nation of Amalek ambushed us as we recovered from crossing the sea and escaping Pharaoh.  Later, in I Samuel, the first king of Israel, Saul, is commanded to completely wipe out the descendants of Amalek. His failure to do so is the reason he and his line are removed from the kingship, which is given to David.  Haman, the most bitter enemy of the Jews in the Tanakh, is supposed to be a descendant of Amalek.  About Amalek, about Haman, about Hitler, we are taught to say, “y’mach shmo” - may his name be erased.  In other words, may they be forgotten.

Ironically, who would remember Amalek or Haman, if we did not?  Ask any child who has attended a Purim service and the name they most remember is neither Mordechai nor Esther, nor even Ahasverus, but Haman - because they have to listen very carefully to hear that name, so they know when to make noise with their graggers.  Perversely, we say that we want their names to be erased, and yet we are the ones who mark Shabbat Zachor and make graggers for Purim.

As we move into the 21st century, memory is a growing concern.  The most traumatic event of our recent Jewish history is the Holocaust, yet the testimony that we heard first-hand from survivors will only be heard in recording or second-hand by our children.  The choice will be ours as to what we remember and what is forgotten.  What should be remembered?  We wish to remember the myriad European Jewish cultures created by our relatives in over 1,000 years of history - the works of art, of literature, the music, the texts and even the joy they celebrated.  Yet all of that memory is shadowed by the ashes of the Holocaust.  We want to rejoice in the accomplishments but we feel the encroachment of the Shoah.  We cry out, “Never Again!” - and we mean never again will we stand idly by while an entire people is slated for destruction, is pillaged, dehumanized, and sent to the gas chambers.  And yet, as we remember, we sometimes focus more on the destruction than on what was destroyed.

What a shame it would be if the only memory that our descendants carry into the 22nd century (or the 7th millenium on our calendar) would be the name of Hitler, y’mach sh’mo.  Our challenge, as we mark Yom haShoah is to remember why we remember - not to increase the infamy of our bitter enemy, but to create a world in which the very idea of such evil is inconceivable.  Because of the lives that were lost, we remember those who they were, where they lived, and what they brought to the world.  Our memory, in the 20th century, has been shaped by the survivors - the miniscule, too tiny minority of Jews who managed to escape the vast destruction.  Perhaps, in the 21th century, we will once again find the voice of the six million and realize that while we marvelled at the miraculous salvations, the mundane and banal slaughter defied our imagination.

We survive not in defiance of Hitler, but because we are Jews - because we have a millennia old tradition that pushes us to act in the world.  We thrive not because we are the lucky descendants of those who managed to escape (which we are), not because we use that history to ensure such destruction will not repeat (which we do), but because Judaism, in and of itself, is a tradition and culture worth passing on to a new generation.  This lesson is why we send our Temple Sholom Confirmands to Europe - to see what was, to mourn what was lost, and to rejoice with what still struggles to grow.  Join us at Shavuot on June 3rd, when they stand with our ancestors at Sinai and reaffirm their attachment to our sacred covenant.  Hear how they remember the past, but travel forward into the future.

Give a Little, Get a Lot - April 2014

Emor m’at, v’oseih harbeh - “Say little, do much” - Pirke Avot 1:15

Recently, I realized that I have been extensively involved with two very large fundraising campaigns in my life - the Bonim campaign to build a new Temple Sholom building ($2 million so far) , and the 36 Rabbis Shave for the Brave ($500,000 so far) to raise money and awareness for treatment of childhood cancer.  Both campaigns were very different, and I had very different roles in each, but from where I am sitting, I can see some common threads and common lessons I’d like to share:

1) Don’t be afraid to ask - again - This was advice shared by our fundraising consultant, Barry Judelman, years ago.  I would say that it is probably the least followed advice.  The advice is not for the giver, but for the person often called the solicitor - the one reminding people to give.  There are plenty of people who resent being asked for money. There are few people who do not feel rewarded by doing good.  The balance is to help people understand that it sometimes takes the former to get the latter.  Let’s be honest - very few people seek out opportunities to give before being asked.  Most people intend to give, but are put off by all the needs of the moment.  The person asking is there to gently remind that there is a long-term good, and that every donation is needed.

2) Don’t get frustrated - Surprisingly, this can be advice for donors as well as solicitors.  Sometimes, soon after the good feeling has started to fade, those who have given wonder if they have been chumps (friers - in Hebrew slang).  No one wants to feel that they have been taken advantage of, that they are the only ones who have given and everyone else is freeloading.  Human beings live in society. We judge our behavior by the conduct of those around us.  That does not mean we cannot occasionally take reward from the merits of our own actions, without worrying about whether others follow suit.

3) Say little, do much - Shammai’s quote from Pirke Avot has come to my mind as I watch hundreds of people click “like” on my St. Baldrick’s campaign, but only dozens donate.  At the beginning, I thought - “If you really ‘like’ the campaign, then why aren’t you giving?”  The reality is, I have no idea - perhaps they gave to someone else; perhaps they just wanted to be supportive.  It made me re-think the very quick “likes” that I give on Facebook - what promises am I assumed to be making that I did not intend to fulfill?

4) No gift is too small AND Don’t be afraid to give until it hurts - These may seem to be contradictory, but, in fact, they are not.  We have heard from the Bonim campaign that people have not given because they cannot imagine sparing $10,000.  For St. Baldricks, I’ve raised about $3,000 to date - but seventy other rabbis have been involved and raised more or less than that.  Together we have raised over half a million dollars - from gifts as small as $5 and $10.  The important thing is to give - to be a part of the project; to be able to know that some (even miniscule) part of the floor you will soon stand on, was paid for by you.  

And, a final Bonim plea, although the building is rising, and we have financing in place to pay for it - there is still more money needed. Every dollar pledged or donated now will save not only that dollar, but whatever we might pay in interest AND keep that money in our operating budget.  The rabbis teach that everyone should give tzedakah - even the poorest whose only income is tzedakah.  We are all commanded to look out for others, to help in the common good.  We are all stakeholders in the future.  So, whatever you can give $18/month, $18/year, even $18 for the five years of the new Bonim campaign, give it a shot.  You’ll feel better.

Rabbi Abraham

Wrapping up the Bible - March 2014

Sh’ma, b’ni, musar avicha, v’al titosh torat imecha.

Listen, my child, to the instruction of your father, and do not abandon the Torah of your mother.

Proverbs 1:5

This month, we are completing the four-year cycle of our trimester system as we study the third section of the Tanakh (the Hebrew Bible) - K’tuvim or Writings. To best understand how K’tuvim is put together, we might best take a step back and look at the whole Hebrew Bible.  One way to look at the Bible is not as an intentionally written series of texts, but rather as a collection of “the best (religious) literature of the Biblical period”.  

The process by which the Bible came to be the book that we know today is called “canonization”.  At various times, certain books, or groups of books, were accepted into the canon of the Bible - some because of their eternal message, some because their message was meaningful in that time, and some because it would be inconceivable to the Biblical audience for these books not to be included.  The Torah was canonized (into roughly its present form) during our exile in Babylon, after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in 586 BCE. Ezra the Scribe returned from exile and proclaimed that we would have a public reading of the Torah each year at Sukkot.  Next came the books of the Prophets, brought together, it is believed, when Antiochus and the Syrian-Greeks would not let us study the Torah.  The scholars of the time associated passages from prophetic works with each Torah portion.  The period of the prophets runs from Joshua (just after the death of Moses at the end of the Torah) to the end of the exile in Babylon.  

The last section - the Writings - is neither a chronological account nor even a coherent collection. We might call also call it “Biblical Miscellany”.  

• The first book - T’hillim - Psalms is probably a collection of the best known and loved 150 liturgical poems from the worship in the Temple in Jerusalem.  
• The next book Mishlei - Proverbs is often attributed to King Solomon (as many of the Psalms are attributed to his father, King David) and consists mostly of fatherly advice.  
• The book of Iyov or Job is a meditation on a problem that still concerns us today - why do bad things happen to good people?  The book takes place in the mythic land of Uz and is probably meant to be understood as a parable, not as historical.  
• Shir haShirim - the Song of Songs, is also said to be written by King Solomon.  This book of beautiful love poetry is one of the most quoted of Biblical texts and the Rabbis attempted to understand it as a metaphor for the loving relationship between God and Israel.  
• The book of Ruth (Rut) takes place in the period of the Judges and tells the story of the first convert to Judaism and eventual ancestress of King David.  
• Eicha is the almost onomatopoeic Hebrew name of the book of Lamentations - a series of dirges mourning the destruction of the first Temple.  
• The third book attributed to King Solomon is Kohelet or Ecclesiastes, sometimes seen as the jaded musings of a former intellectual, but which I view more as an instruction that wisdom must be acquired by living and learning, not by appropriating someone else’s experience.  
• The book of Esther is the most widely known - the basis of our holiday of Purim, where we read it each year, and it is set sometime after the return from the first exile.  
• Daniel tells the story of an Israelite child raised in exile in the Babylonian court and later in the Persian court as a tale of how we can hold on to our Judaism in exile.
• Ezra-Nechemiah is most like the Book of Kings in the previous section, in that it is a fairly straightforward retelling of the end of the first exile and the establishment of Jewish sovereignty under the Persian empire.  
• Finally, the book of Chronicles - Divrei haYamim - is a retelling of all of Jewish history, from the first human being to the anointed king (or mashiach) Cyrus of Perisia who fulfills the prophecy by allowing us to rebuild the Temple in Jerusalem.  

Each book has its own style and its own message. Open your Bible and study with us through May, as we explore the many different voices and answers that our tradition provides to questions we still ask today.

Rabbi Abraham

The answer to the question you may be asking in April -

Why does Rabbi Abraham have so much less hair?

On April 1st, at the rabbinic convention in Chicago, Rabbi Abraham will be joining more than 36 of his colleagues who are shaving their heads to promote awareness about childhood cancers and to raise money for research through St. Baldricks.  Rabbis Phyllis and Michael Sommer lost their son, Sam, to cancer in December.  Before he died, Phyllis and fellow rabbi Rebecca Schorr decided that one thing they could do to help kids in Sam’s situation was to get 36 rabbis together to raise money and awareness.

If you are interested in contributing, you can go to http://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/mypage/661199/2014 or to stbaldricks.org and search for Rabbi Abraham.

Thank You for the Words of Comfort - February 2014

Hamakom yinachem etchem b’toch sha’ar av’lei tziyon v’yirushalayim

May God comfort you, amidst the rest of the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem

- traditional words of comfort said to mourners

Thank you.

Thank you to all of the Temple Sholom community - members, extended family, staff and others (even including the custodial staff of the Fanwood Presbyterian Church) who have reached out to me and to my family in this time of loss.  It is one thing to preach about the importance of community in times of sorrow as well as in times of joy; it is another to experience that comfort first-hand.

Thank you to everyone - whether you were able to attend the funeral or shivah, or sent a card, a note or Facebook post, made a donation, helped to make sure the sanctuary was ready for the service, or who expressed your condolences when you saw me, or even sent a kind thought in our direction.  

Thank you to those who shared your own wisdom about loss. Most commonly I have heard that while grief may lessen, memory continues each and every day.

Thank you to the congregation for allowing me to sit shivah for a week, to not have to lead services that Shabbat, and to be able to do or not do as I needed to in my grief.  Thank you for providing for my continuing, segmented sabbatical.  On the one hand, it was a gift to be able to help my family with all the mundane tasks necessary after a death.  On the other hand, it was difficult to be separated from my community, when I was most in need of their support.

Thank you to the communities and congregations that welcomed me during shloshim.  The first Shabbat was with our Temple.  The second, I was at NFTY-GER’s Winter Kallah and, without any prompting from me, the service leader mentioned my father and all of his life’s work for youth (from his presidency of MAFTY in the 50’s, through his advising of JFTY in the 70’s and his work with HaBonim Dror in New Zealand).  The third Shabbat, I went to Temple Emanu-El in Westfield, and when I asked Rabbi Sagal to mention my father, he said they had already been doing so.  From the bimah, he noted that several of those leading the service that evening had been influenced by my father - from his welcome of Rabbi Sagal to his first pulpit in Connecticut, to officiating at one of the songleader’s wedding and advising the other in JFTY.  The fourth Shabbat, Ezri and I went to Temple Emanu-El in Edison, missing the wonderful tribute service to Shelly Freedman.  At each congregation, we were greeted by members, clergy, and active youth group members who had just been at Winter Kallah.\

The traditional words of comfort that we share with those in mourning, quoted above, may seem odd.  The idea is to help the mourner place themselves back in the community. They may feel alone and without any companions.  Truly, all mourning is unique, but just as each and every Jew once mourned the loss of Jerusalem and the land of Israel, we have all experienced loss.  We all know the awkwardness of condolence, the attempt in words to share feelings of compassion.  That feeling is what carries through.

Thank you again, in advance, for allowing me to share more memories of my father and what I have learned from him as I go forward.  Truly, much of what I have shared in my rabbinate so far comes from lessons that I have learned from watching him as a rabbi.  Now I find myself needing to make the footnotes explicit.

May the times be few and far between, but when you need such comfort, may you find such as I have found in this community.

Rabbi Abraham