Rabbi's Column - Fall 2024 - Stop Yidn, What's that Sound?

 If one sounds a shofar into a pit, or into a cistern, or into a large jug, if they clearly heard the sound of the shofar, they have fulfilled their obligation; but if they heard the sound of an echo, they have not fulfilled their obligation. And similarly, if one was passing behind a synagogue,or their house was adjacent to the synagogue, and they heard the sound of the shofar or the sound of the Scroll of Esther being read, if they focused their heart, they have fulfilled their obligation; but if not, they have not fulfilled their obligation. Mishnah Rosh haShanah 3:7

For many years, the one thing that a congregation could be sure of was that pretty much everyone in the congregation would show up at least twice a year - for the High HolyDays of Rosh haShanah and Yom Kippur.  Whether or not someone was a Shabbat regular, or came to services for the various other holidays, there was still a sense that there were “High” HolyDays - somehow more important, or at least more crucial not to  miss.

Perhaps the reason was the theme of those HolyDays - which are the bookends for the ten days of repentance.  Jewish tradition teaches that as we celebrate a new year, we also take time to review the old year - for the purpose of t’shuvah - the process by which we reflect on our past behavior, make amends, and resolve to do better going forward.  Then, to seal it all, we afflict ourselves by fasting on Yom Kippur and receive atonement as the sun sets.  Catholicism has confession - and one can repent and be absolved on a regular basis.  Other religions have different methods of atonement, and one can, of course, engage in t’shuvah at any time of the year.  But, as a backstop, to make sure that we take time to catch anything that we may have missed on a regular basis, there is our once-yearly High HolyDays.

The Sages of old taught that there was one unique mitzvah for Rosh haShanah - and that was to hear the sound of the shofar.  That seems simple enough. For Chanukah, we light a menorah for eight nights. For Sukkot, we put up a booth. For Pesach, we abstain from leavened foods for a week (and have a seder). But, as is explicated in the quote above, just by chance hearing the shofar is not enough.  If you make the time to go to the synagogue, and you hear the shofar there, it seems that is ok.  I guess the hope is that, while you are stuck in the pews, some of the other stuff will sink in.  But, if you just hear the shofar in passing - as an echo, or while you are walking down the street nearby, it does not count - unless you have the right intent.  

The shofar is a reminder: Not just a celebration that we have made it through another year (and can start writing 5785 on our checks), but that we have to pause, take time to reflect, and decide consciously how we want to go forward. Have we done everything in the right way that we wanted to?  Have we gotten caught up in the day to day and forgotten about the long-term, about the deeper parts, about meaning and purpose?  The shofar is our wake-up call - to shake us out of our day-to-day slumber; a splash of cold water in the face.

This year, let us resolve not only to hear the sound of the shofar, but to focus our hearts as well.  Let us take the time to stop, to reflect, and then, and only then, can we go forward with (re)new(ed) purpose and truly celebrate a New Year.

L’shanah tovah tikateivu - may we take the time to write ourselves for a good new year.

Rabbi’s Column - March/April 2024 - Time to Tell Stories

You shall explain to your child, on that day [Pesach] Ex, 13:8

Consequently, these days [Purim] are recalled and observed in every generation: by every family, every province, and every city.  Esther 9:28

We are entering a season of Jewish storytelling.  Two holidays, a month apart, recall two different miraculous deliverances of our ancestors.  The first is described as more humorous - the holiday of Purim, when we remember our people almost being destroyed by the evil Haman and the way that Esther and Mordechai turned the tables and saved the Jews. We dress up in costumes; we send gifts of food (mishoach manot); we are commanded to eat and drink; and, of course, we read the story in the megillah.  A month later, we think we are more serious: we clean all the chametz out of our homes; we invite over friends and family; we have a special festive meal - the seder (which also has requirements of wine), and, or course, we tell the story in our haggadah. (Although Passover may seem the more serious holyday, there is as much laughter around the seder table as there is at the megillah reading, for many families.)

A focus of both these holydays, however, is the story that we have to tell.  In some ways, both stories are similar: The Jewish people are in danger.  A member of the community (Esther/Moses) needs to step up and speak to the ruler (Ahasverus/Pharoah) to rescue our people.  They each need a helper (Mordechai/Aaron). Things end up worse before they get better. In the end, however, there is a delivery so remarkable, that we write it down and put it on our yearly Jewish calendar to celebrate for all time.

There is also a principal difference between the two stories.  In the Passover story, God acts directly - bringing Moses back from exile, telling him what to say, creating miracles - signs and portents. In the Esther story, God is not mentioned at all.  (For this reason, the Sages almost decided not to include this book in the Bible.) Instead, it is solely human action that makes the difference- although there are a lot of fortunate coincidences in the story.

We also have a story to tell about our congregation - Temple Sholom.  We have been around for over a century - moving from North Plainfield to Plainfield to Fanwood to our current home in Scotch Plains.  There have been many ups and downs over those years - many people who have come and gone.  I like to think of our congregation as the lucky little congregation that could.  We were told that we could not survive a move out of our building in Plainfield, that we could not last as guests in a church, or that we could never raise enough money to build a new building - and, just barely, we did all these things.  Once again, like congregations - Jewish or not - all over, we are facing challenges: challenges not just about our finances, but about our community and our activities.  We were down an administrator - but we found Jill Brown. We are down a Director of Education, but our former Director, Michelle Shapiro Abraham, is helping while we find someone new.  Our leadership has been stepping up - all the way through COVID and the aftermath. But, we need the help of all of the members of our community - we need to tell OUR story, and we need to tell it loud.

We often contrast ourselves to other congregations - we are not them.  We need to tell our story with a positive spin. We are a small congregation, where everyone has the chance to know everyone else; where the only way to get a double-B’nei Mitzvah is if you bring your own twin or parent. We have wonderful social events - our Supper Club, Chili Cook-Off, and Casino Night - which are more about coming together as a community than raising money. Our congregants partner with clergy to create meaningful religious worship - whether our recent Jewish Disability Awareness and Inclusion Month service, which featured students going back 25 years; our Congregational Second Night Seder - prepared by congregants in our own kitchen; the beautiful Sukkah that we build together each year; our Potluck Shabbat Saturday morning services, or the thirteen year-olds showing how they can create “meaningful Jewish worship” as they become bet mitzvah. We support refugees, the homeless, families of transplant patients, other members of our community, and our family in Israel. Our youth groups throw a great Purim carnival for the younger children; and the younger children create a choir to sing at worship.  We are not a congregation where you can fall through the cracks. Instead, you will end up moving chairs, selling 50/50 tickets, figuring out how to maximize  your scrip contribution, or just joining with other congregants at a local restaurant for a quick meal that also fundraises for the Religious School.  We are a congregation where, when a former president and lifelong member dies, his Temple friends gather together to create a fund that will carry on his legacy of wisdom and leadership.

As we enter this season of Jewish storytelling, we encourage you to tell the story of our community as well. We are no less a link in the chain of Jewish tradition than Moses or Esther.  Let us find times to celebrate together, and to share that celebration with others - some of whom we have yet to meet.  Chagim s’meichim!

Rosh haShanah 5784 - A Time for Healing

 Rabbi’s Column - Rosh haShanah 5784 - A Time for Healing

עֲבֵרוֹת שֶׁבֵּין אָדָם לַמָּקוֹם, יוֹם הַכִּפּוּרִים מְכַפֵּר. עֲבֵרוֹת שֶׁבֵּין אָדָם לַחֲבֵרוֹ, אֵין יוֹם הַכִּפּוּרִים מְכַפֵּר, עַד שֶׁיְּרַצֶּה אֶת חֲבֵרוֹ

Regarding transgressions between a human being and the Divine, Yom Kippur provides atonement. Regarding transgressions between one human being and their fellow human being, Yom Kippur does not provide atonement, until the one [who transgressed] has satisfied their fellow human being.

Mishnah Yoma 8:9b

Happy New Year! In a few days, we will gather together as a congregation to celebrate another time that the earth has gone around the sun (or, more accurately by the Jewish luni-solar calendar, the 12 times the moon has gone around the earth). In our congregational family, this time is for many things - a chance for those who have not seen each other to meet and greet - either in person or on-line, to have some round challah, apples and honey, to hear from our Temple President about how things are going, to collect the flyers and plan out our Temple year, and/or to bring food for our annual drive.

Of course, there is another purpose to the Jewish New Year - t’shuvah. Our tradition reminds us that we might not have traveled exactly the path that we wished in the previous year, and we should take time to look back and make whatever corrections might be necessary.  Ideally, we self-correct during the whole year, but, as human beings, we often need to be reminded how important it is to stop and to take stock.

T’shuvah can take many paths. For some of us, we have made promises to ourselves that we have not fulfilled, and we need to re-evaluate, refocus, or recommit. We may have made promises to God - full of great hopes last Rosh haShanah of what impact we would like to make in the world.  Very often, we have not behaved toward those around us in the way that we should, or wished we could have.  We would like to imagine that, in the twenty or so minutes of the repentance part of our Yom Kippur service, we can make that right, but the text above from the mishnah reminds us that there is other work that we have to do first.  The Day of Atonement does not atone for transgressions between one person and another, until that other person is satisfied with their reparations.

As we approach this season of t’shuvah, let us take time to listen to those around us - not only to know what it is that they would have us do to make amends, but to listen to learn about grievances that may not even be on our radar.  In addition, as a congregation, we hope to listen to each member of our community and learn what it is that would strengthen and/or heal your relationship with the Temple.  But, we do not know what we do not know.  If there is some way that we can make things better, please reach out and let us know what that might be. We do not want to wait until there is such a rift that it would take miles of effort to heal. That is why we take this moment each year - to heal ourselves and our relationships.

May we all move forward in true t’shuvah and have a sweet and happy New Year.

Rabbi Abraham

July/August 2023 - It’s Because of the People...

 Rabbi’s Column - July/August 2023 - It’s Because of the People...

There is an enlarged poster-sized photograph hanging on the wall of the first floor common room at URJ Eisner Camp’s Emily and Kivie Kaplan Conference Center, where the faculty live in the summer, which says, “Eisner, it’s because of the people who come here.” To the great amusement of the faculty who hang out in that room, the picture is of Eisner’s lake and several buildings, but there are no people in it.

Over the past few months, I have spoken with a few families who have chosen to let their Temple membership lapse.  The reasons which they have shared with me are both diverse and similar.  One family said that they had hoped to find more of a community, but, perhaps because of COVID, they had not.  Another shared that they had been involved when their children were involved, but now they were less attached. Another moved to another congregation because that was where their younger child had more friends. 

A number of years ago, we convened a group to figure out how to increase Shabbat service attendance. To our surprise, most congregants appreciated the structure and content of our Friday night worship - that was not what was keeping them away.  Rather, the biggest draw for people to come to services was not the service itself, but rather, knowing who else was going to be there.  

The last service in June, we celebrated the centenary of Natalie Darwin - a long-time and dedicated member of the Temple, as well as an honorary member of our Board of Trustees.  One of the reasons that Natalie is an Honorary Trustee is that she shows up: she showed up to Board meetings, but she also has made a practice of coming to whatever Temple event may be on the calendar.  What made that so special was that Natalie made friends across all age groups and generations.  Although COVID has made showing up in person more difficult, when there is a Temple event that is on-line, Natalie will log on at least an hour in advance to make sure she is connected in time.

We have a beautiful Temple building, but that is not our congregation. What makes Temple Sholom special is the people.  Unfortunately, that is a secret best known by the Temple staff and leadership, and those few who make the effort to attend so many Temple events.  COVID made us reprioritize what was important, and where we made an effort. Many of us focussed on our families and our health, often outdoor activities. Once the doors were opened, we wanted to travel to all the places that we missed.  Below the radar was how much we missed being present at the Temple - seeing people that we already knew, meeting those we did not, and getting to know those who were just acquaintances.

Our Temple leadership is working hard to bring back those opportunities to build up our congreagation - but they need help.  Help in the organizing of any Temple events - large or small - is, of course, always welcome.  Sometimes, the most important thing you can do is just show up - not only put a Temple event on your calendar, but make the effort, when the time comes, to get off the couch, get in the car, and come to the Temple.  All I can say is that you probably won’t regret it and, if you do, tell us so we can make it better next time.  We are all trying.

Being a part of a strong and caring community not only takes the effort of its members, but also returns more than it requires.  Ask any of our members who have been ill and had meals made for them by fellow congregants; those who have lost someone close to them, and been comforted knowing that they are remembered not only in our sanctuary, but in the presence of those at shivah. The High HolyDays are coming up. They are not only a time for us to think back on our past, and imagine our future, but they are also the biggest reunion of the Temple year - a chance to check in with old friends and acquaintances, to see how children have grown, to share news with those who truly care.  Rosh haShanah begins at sundown on Friday, September 15th.

I hope to see you there.

March/April 2023 - עוֹד לֹא אָבְדָה תִּקְוָתֵנוּ We Have Not Lost Our Hope

לִבִּי בְמִזְרָח וְאָנֹכִי בְּסוֹף מַעֲרָב

My heart is in the East, and I am in the uttermost West Yehuda haLevi

[Normally, after returning from a sabbatical, I would use this space to share what I have learned over that time (for which I am very grateful to the congregation). However, with all that is happening in Israel at this moment, I feel compelled to share my thoughts on my post-Sabbatical trip to Israel last month.]

Judah haLevi, the medieval Jewish poet, who lived in the multicultural world of Muslim Spain, wrote the words above, as part of a longer poem about his ambivalence toward being a Jew living outside the land of Israel.  As reflected in Jewish prayer, since the exile in the early part of the first millennium, we have felt pulled toward the land of Israel, wherever we may be. That pull has changed over the years - reflecting a dream (עם תרצו אין זו אגדה - If we will it, it will be no dream - Herzl) and now a reality. And yet, the connection between the land and the people of Israel - scattered across the globe - may be more tenuous and more needed than ever.  

On the one hand, seeing the rise of vocal and violent anti-Semitism in places where it has lain hidden and dormant (while we had hoped it dead) and legitimized in places where it had always been whispered or even shouted, many Jews have not only seen clearly the importance of a state of and for Jews, which will not only welcome any Jew as a citizen, but will defend them abroad, but have personally decided to take advantage of that offer by making aliyah and taking up Israeli citizenship. On the other, looking at the make up of the current Israeli ruling coalition, seeing the legislations it has proposed, the xenophobic statements of its ministers, and the increasing civil resistance in Israel, and the death and persecution of Israel’s Arab population, many Jews have, if not washed their hands of any connection with the State of Israel, are resistant to any conversation or contemplation of what the phrase כל ישראל ערבים זה בזה - All Israelites are responsible, one for the other means to them.

I spent a little more than a week in Israel. I stood between my female colleagues and other Jewish women who wanted to celebrate the onset of the joyous month of Adar, by singing and praying together at the wall - and little children kicking them, teenagers shouting and blowing on whistles, and adults spitting on their Torah scroll. I marched with tens of thousands of (mainly) asheknazi Jews in Tel Aviv chanting “דמוקרסיה - Democracy”, desperate to stop a narrow coalition government from cementing its powers by undermining the power of the judiciary. I sat with Arabs (who called themselves Palestinians) and Jews (who called themselves Israelis) in a poor town on the other side of Israel’s airport, where individuals might get along, but communities could not cooperate, leaving them all the poorer.  

On the bright side: When I lived in Israel thirty years ago, I saw plenty of what were then identified as Arabs - whether Israeli Arabs or from the Territories.  They worked in the service and industrial sectors all over Israel.  Our feeling was that Israelis might be suspicious of Palestinians as a group (this was the year of the Oslo Accords), but everyone trusted “their” Arabs.  Over my visits since, those people had disappeared, and I was amazed - from the GETT driver at the train station, to the staff at my hotel - they had re-appeared. (Note - it is not that one can spot the difference between a Palestinian Arab and a Jew based on appearances, but I judged because people spoke Arabic to each other, or had Arabic rather than Hebrew names.)  On our various visits, we learned that this was both a sign of hope and of despair.  Since the barrier wall was completed 15 years ago, East Jerusalem was cut off from the Territories. In recent times, and especially in the younger generations, that population (mostly eligible for Israeli citizenship, but not registered) has started, out of necessity, working and shopping in West Jerusalem, and around the country.  I had lunch twice at Abu Shukri in the First Train Station, which is a second location of a famous Arab  falafel stand in the Old City, which has now moved to this trendy market (which was the old train station, 30 years ago). There is still not equality of opportunity, or of government services in Arab neighborhoods (which are shrinking, as Jews use biased laws to take homes from Palestinian owners), but at least there is daily interaction.

Fifteen years ago, I sat with a delegation to the Deputy Consul of Israel in New York, as we expressed our concern that, related to the government’s policies about the Western Wall, American Jews were feeling less and less welcome visiting Israel.  The Deputy Consul laughed at our concerns - he did not think that could happen.  Now I see, sadly, that Israel is rarely even a topic of conversation among the members of our congregation, let alone a source of pride.  We have completed one successful trip to Israel in my 23 year tenure, but did not have enough interest for a small delegation to attend the Federation’s upcoming Centennial Mission.

Rabbi Josh Weinberg (URJ Vice President and head of the Association of Reform Zionists of America (You can find him at ARZA.org) shared a powerful message.  The Reform Movement has decided that we dare not disengage from Israel at this critical juncture.  If we, as Jews, wish to see the dream of Zionism continue to be true, we need to double down on our support of our progressive (both religiously and politically) allies in Israel, and lift up our voices in protest when we see Israel doing wrong.  I encourage you to build or strengthen your own connection through our partners like the Israeli Movement for Progressive Judaism (IMPJ), or the Israeli Religious Action Center (IRAC).  Other organizations of interest are Rabbis for Human Rights, the New Israel Fund, Hiddush (which fights for religious equality in Israel), or Women of the Wall.  ARZA will be kicking off a campaign this year to build up for the World Zionist Congress elections in 2025, which are Diaspora Jewry’s biggest voice of political power.

I have a t-shirt that I received at the demonstration on Saturday night which says נאמינים למגילת העצמאות - Believers in the Scroll of Independence.  In the United States, we call our founding document the Declaration of Independence.  In the Jewish State, the founding document* is a megillah - a scroll. As we prepare to read another famous Jewish scroll - the megillat Esther - to remind us of our victories for freedom, let us gird ourselves for this fight as well. For, as Mordechai said to Esther:

וּמִ֣י יוֹדֵ֔עַ אִם־לְעֵ֣ת כָּזֹ֔את הִגַּ֖עַתְּ לַמַּלְכֽוּת 

Who knows, perhaps, just for this crisis, you have come to this exalted position. Megillat Esther 4:14b

* You can find the Israeli Scroll of Independence here. It includes the words, “THE STATE OF ISRAEL will be open for Jewish immigration and for the Ingathering of the Exiles; it will foster the development of the country for the benefit of all its inhabitants; it will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel; it will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race or sex; it will guarantee freedom of religion, conscience, language, education and culture; it will safeguard the Holy Places of all religions; and it will be faithful to the principles of the Charter of the United Nations.”

January/February 2023 - We’ll Leave the (Eternal) Light on for You

Al tifrosh min hatzibur - אל תפרוש מין הצבור

[Hillel would say] Do not separate yourself from the community. Pirkei Avot 2:4

How wonderful it was, and how nice, to gather together this past month to celebrate the ten years that Cantor Sharlein has spent as a member of our community.  Other than Rosh haShanah, it was the largest gathering of the congregation that we have had in over three years (and, it was pointed out to me, though there were more people for Rosh haShanah services, there were more cars in the lot for the Cantor’s celebration.). How meaningful it was to bring back Cantor Susan Caro (who served as student Cantor here in the 90’s, when she was known as Susan Dropkin) who also helped Cantor Sharlein on her path that ended up with us.

At the service, I told the story of when Cantor Sharlein first came to the Temple as a student Cantor.  In those days, congregations would send their detailed applications in to HUC and students would choose with whom they wanted to interview.  Cantor Sharlein did not want to interview with us, although we had seen her resume and thought she would be a great fit.  Our spies told us that she was afraid that if she met with us, she might fall in love with the congregation and end up having to commute all the way from Brooklyn to New Jersey and back - 2 or 3 times a week.  I was sent to chase her down and persuade her to interview.  She did, and she was attracted to our haimische congregation; and was our student Cantor for three years, before she moved on to a full-time job outside of Detroit.  Four years later, when the Temple decided that we needed to move from a student to a limited service (part-time) cantor, I ran into Cantor Sharlein and her very cute baby daughter at the URJ Biennial in DC.  I asked her if she had any colleagues who might want a part-time gig in New Jersey, and she said that she might want to come back.

Al tifrosh min hatzibur - Do not separate yourself from the community.

Cantor Sharlein came to us for the community that we offered, and she came back (or so she said in front of the whole congregation in December) because this was the community she wanted to be a part of, and where she wanted to raise her children. Not only did we get a chance to celebrate that decision, but we’ll have an opportunity to celebrate that child, as she marks becoming a Bat Mitzvah, this May.

A quick search of my Temple Topics articles and sermons might show that this quote - al tifrosh min hatzibur is one that I return to again and again.  What does it mean to be a part of a community, and what does distance matter?  When we were locked in our homes for COVID, we shared presence through Zoom - a medium through which many who are unable to be at the Temple as often as they like have adopted as a way to be present as much as they can.  Those of us who are traveling, and eating out, and seeing friends, have not been as present.  Recently, many old Temple friends gathered for a difficult purpose - comforting the Szeto family at Garrett’s passing. Many of those present remarked that they had not seen each other in quite a while.  At the dinner after the cantor’s service, I went from table to table to see members of our congregation that I had not seen in a few years, sitting together, chatting, laughing and catching up.  Sometimes, we forget what it is we were missing, and, just like our cantor, we need an invitation to return.

Let this serve as your invitation - come back to your Temple community.  Come to a service.  Come to a class.  Come to a bet mitzvah service. Come to a shabbat dinner.  Dust off the Dutch oven and make a chili for the cook-off.  You’ll see old friends and remember how you made new friends when you first joined us.  If there are people that you want to see - parents of your children’s classmates, people that you served on a committee with, Temple members you sang with in the choir, or built a house with on Mitzvah Day - they probably want to see you as well.  Find them again at the place you  first found them - the building may be different, and some of the faces may have changed, but the community is the same.  Waiting for someone to revive the group that used to try different restaurants?  Pick a restaurant, call the Temple, and set up a date for us to meet.  Looking for people to read a book with? Play Mah Jongg? Take the step to reach out to our current leadership and let them help you plan that event.

Al tifrosh min hatzibur - do not separate yourself from the community, for too long.  Even though I am away right now on a two month sabbatical, I look forward to coming back to my Temple family.  You can come back, too.  We’d love to see you.

Rabbi Abraham

November/December 2022 - The Best Laid Plans...

הַכֹּל צָפוּי, וְהָרְשׁוּת נְתוּנָה, וּבְטוֹב הָעוֹלָם נִדּוֹן. וְהַכֹּל לְפִי רֹב הַמַּעֲשֶׂה

[Rabbi Akiva would say] Everything has been fore-ordained and/but free will has been given. And the world is judged in goodness, and all [are judged] by the majority of their deeds. Pirkei Avot 3:15

Judaism is a religion that embraces paradoxes - and the Sages of the Mishnah and Talmud the most of all. In the statement above, Rabbi Akiva states two (for him) tautological truths - God is all-knowing, and therefore every action that will happen had been foreseen, and therefore, foreordained.  Human beings have free will and can make their own decisions.  The first is part of Akiva’s understanding of the God who created the universe, who would not have done so without knowing the result of that action.  Yet, that same God gives us mitzvot to follow.  There is no point in giving reward for following those mitzvot, for acting for the good in the world, if we do not have the choice to do good or not. The conjunction between these phrases in pirkei avot is a vav, which we often translate as the English word “and”, but there is much more nuance in that prefix, which can also mean “but”.  Contained in that letter is the paradox - is there a contradiction in there being both fate and free will?

We like to think that we can make the decisions in our own lives.  On the Monday before Yom Kippur, I reached out to my colleagues.  I had what I thought was a virus, and was running a fever.  I reminisced about the “good,old days” when a fever of 105 was insufficient to keep a clergy member from the bimah, hallucinations or no.  When I was fever free as of Monday evening (24 hours before Kol Nidrei), I breathed a sigh of relief.  Even though I was not feeling well, I could choose to lead services, and be there with my congregation.  A few hours later, fate stepped in, and the PCR test, which my wise wife, Michelle, insisted that I take, came up positive for COVID.  I was going to be observing Yom Kippur services from home.

Mostly, this letter is a thank you - to Cantor Sharlein, who barely blinked as she ended up having to deal with a lot more than she usually does (which is already a great deal) on one of the longest days of the clergy year.  Special thanks to Rabbi Mary Zamore, who had volunteered to help out when I might have had a fever, was relieved when I said I did not, and then stepped in again at 9pm - less than 24 hours before the first service.  Thank you to our Temple leadership - who stepped up to cover what they could, who provided Michelle and I support (as she got sick two days later), and who took care of themselves through COVID infection as well.  Finally, thank you to all the members of Temple Sholom, who took everything in stride, supported our Cantor and fill-in Rabbi, and made sure that we could complete the ten days of repentance as a congregational family.

It was an odd thing to watch the services that I had expected to lead, from my dining room, on line.  (However,I think I did a better job flipping the slides than I do when I am standing on the bimah, and often get carried away by the Cantor’s voice and prayer. It was very difficult not to unmute and boom out from the Temple sound system.)  I miss seeing many of you, whom I only get to see a few times a year.  It was so encouraging to see a crowd of over 200 congregants on Rosh haShanah morning - probably our largest gathering since the onset of the pandemic.  I had hoped that we would increase as the HolyDays proceeded.

“Mann tracht, un Gott lacht”, as they say in Yiddish - “People plan, and God laughs.”  We act with free will, but sometimes things are out of our hands.  There is no better lesson for our High HolyDays.  We must act as if we can make the world a better place, even as it seems that we can have no effect on the great whole.  Akiva reminds us - in the end, the world is judged in goodness, and our job is to, more often than not, do what is right.

Rabbi Abraham