There was one item in particular that caught my attention — a plaque given by the leaders and membership of Old North Church, honoring Rabbi Shapiro on the occasion of his retirement, which the family didn’t wish to keep, and which I felt carried no small amount of historical value as part of Judaism in America. The story of our two communities of faith sharing a covenantal bond of friendship for nearly half a century is the kind of story that could ONLY be told on these shores, and so along with a lengthy explanatory note, the plaque now resides in the American Jewish Archives in Cincinnati, Ohio.

Our covenant with Old North has, nearly from our establishment, been an important part of our very identity as a Temple community, and even though Old North preceded our founding by more than 300 years (!), that same covenant is looked at with both pride and seriousness whenever Old North tells its own story as a church and community. But to be both candid and direct, I believe that the strength of our relationship has diminished in recent years, and it is clear to me that, as a whole, our current membership seems to hold it with somewhat lesser appreciation than had been the case in the decades prior.

I have discussed my feelings quite openly with Rev. Calhoun, and he agrees that a combination of our Temple’s demographic changes and Old North’s period of several pastoral transitions are key factors to consider. But more importantly, we likewise both agree that the time is ripe to do something dramatic that will re-invigorate our precious and historic relationship.

And that is why we will be travelling to Israel together – Temple Emanu-El and Old North Church, and that, too, will be of historical importance, particularly for our two congregations. News of our plans have been slowly getting out (the trip will take place from February 13 – 24, 2011), and during Rev. Calhoun’s recent Friday night sermon, as part of our ongoing and annual “Pulpit Exchange”, he described most eloquently what this trip will mean to him as a pastor and even more, as a Christian. When I preach at Old North later this month, I’ll also be reflecting on the significance of the trip.
I am grateful that the Reverend gave me the opportunity, based mainly on my years of experience visiting Israel, to shape our itinerary, and I devoted a great deal of time during my recent “mini-Sabbatical” to do just that. As I’ve expressed in the past, I have always found great beauty and spiritual inspiration, not only from the “Jewish sites” in Israel, but from the Christian holy places as well. So for instance, a little over a year ago, during a break from my Convention activities, I took the opportunity to tour the grounds and gardens of Notre Dame de Tsion, a French monastery located high in the Jerusalem hills, dedicated to contemplation, hospitality, and interfaith understanding.

As part of our trip with Old North, I’ve arranged for us to share a lovely lunch up in those gardens – a place that the vast majority of Jewish tourists never venture. And it will follow immediately on the heels of our trip to Yad VaShem, the newly re-built Holocaust Memorial which can be seen from afar. Of course, on our journey we’ll see the ancient and contemporary Jewish holy places in Jerusalem. We will explore the fortress of Masada, dig for archeological treasures from the days of the Maccabees, and learn the story of Israel’s modern independence through the architecture of Tel Aviv. And of course, we will worship together on Shabbat.
But we will also worship together on the Sunday following, and we’ll do so near the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in the Old City’s Christian Quarter. We will follow in the footsteps of the New Testament Apostles, as we sail aboard a ship across the Sea of the Galilee, dine in the cellar of a hillside winery, climb the Mount Of Beatitudes (the site of the famous “Sermon on the Mount”), and walk inside an ancient synagogue in Capernaum, where Jesus himself used to worship as a Jew.

Designing this trip has truly been a “labor of love”, and I’ll admit that the days will be rather full, but still with enough free time for folks and families to explore on their own. In case you can’t tell, I couldn’t be more excited. More information will be coming soon. Feel free to be in touch with any questions in the meanwhile. As we’ve said for centuries: Next year in Jerusalem!

We are our stories.

While each of us has a unique identity that feels like it comes from inside us individually, we are not separate from our family, our community, our heritage. The stories about what our fathers and mothers did and what was done to them, how they lived and died, where they went and how they lived form the foundation of Jewish identity.

Jewish stories present archetypes and role models. They weave together thousands of years of history. We understand our place from what happened in ancient Egypt, in the kingdom of Judea, through Spain, perhaps Poland and Ellis Island, Israel and our own north shore community. That’s why it is so important to teach our stories to our children and grandchildren, so that they will know who they are too.

We all have stories about our parents when they were young and the pivotal life events that shaped them and brought them together. The small stories are as important as the big ones: the boyfriend or girlfriend who would never have become the spouse but for some incident or friend or lucky bit of timing. We don’t need to hear them often, but we do need to hear them.

We learn morality from stories, not from being told to be moral. We saw what happened when other people behaved in certain ways. The books we read and movies we watch immerse us in other people’s stories, where we pick up grains of truth or wisdom that we can apply in our own lives.

Elie Wiesel wrote: “Jewish history unfolds in the present… it affects our life and our role in society… Were it not for his memory, which encompasses us all, the Jew would not be Jewish, or more precisely, he would have ceased to exist.”

That’s why it matters that we stay in touch with specifically Jewish stories. When we study the same parashah from the Torah year after year, we find new insights and new connections. There are plenty of excellent non-Jewish writers and secular stories. But consider as you pick up that next book or choose that next movie that Jewish stories are often richer and offer greater rewards because we have an innate understanding of where they came from.

Jewish stories not only teach us. They reinforce our identity. They form a foundation for us to create our own stories, which become our own contribution to the endless Jewish narrative.

Kavannah refers to mindfulness, intentionality, full engagement. Used to describe religious participation, praying with kavannah means immersing one’s self in the practice and devoting one’s heart, soul and mind fully.

It sounds like a good idea. If we are going to make the effort to pray at all—in the Temple, at home, or elsewhere—it shouldn’t be an empty gesture. Why just mouth the words or go through the motions in a half-baked fashion? Put ourselves into it and we’ll get more out of it: it makes perfect sense. But it turns out to be not that simple.

As a Reform Jew, I don’t feel the need or obligation to immerse myself in prayer on a daily schedule as more observant Jews do. Since becoming involved with Temple Emanu-El’s board a few years ago, I started to enjoy attending Shabbat services once or twice a month. But ritual prayers remained more ritual and less prayer. I found the often-repeated language of our written prayers a challenge to take literally (though the new weekly prayer book, Mishkan Tefilah, is a big improvement). The language of traditional prayer also leads many Jews to prefer to pray in Hebrew: because we don’t have to negotiate the meaning of all the specific words.

I tried it to pray with kavannah, at least when I remembered to. I would focus on saying a prayer with full concentration to boost my level of spiritual engagement, at least for a few moments. It didn’t work very well. The problem was that in sharpening my focus, I ended up putting all the attention on focusing instead of on praying. In other words, the harder I tried to pray, the more I was caught up in the trying, leaving less energy for whatever praying was supposed to be about. It gave me a bad attitude about kavannah.

What caused it to change, I really don’t know. But at some point the whole idea of intentional prayer flipped completely on its head. My understanding of kavannah turned itself upside down.

Kavannah works not as focus and effort but as surrender: giving yourself over rather than pushing harder. It may be counterintuitive but it has worked to abandon the effort entirely.

Now, when I enter into prayer I no longer try to do it right. Instead, I open myself to the process. By surrendering myself spiritually in this way—which means temporarily giving up thought, judgment about content, and uncertainty about the whole idea of prayer—prayer feels much better. It brings me closer to the ineffable spirit that is at the heart of religion. It draws me in, in a fashion impossible to fully describe.

The words provide the structure, but the spirit of prayer is what yields the meaning. Whether praying the Shema, reciting Kaddish for my parents, or in silent meditation, the act of turning my consciousness over to that which is beyond my understanding and control makes all the difference.

It still doesn’t happen all the time. My mind is as busy as anyone else’s. Perhaps I lack the experience, or discipline, or desire to lose myself in prayer all that often. When it does occur, prayer becomes more meaningful and rewarding than I had ever thought it would be.

The key is giving up thought and judgment that are so highly prized in other areas of life. Prayer through willful immersion, even occasionally, provides a spiritual richness that is as rewarding as it was, for me, unexpected.

Though the two words are sometimes used interchangeably, belief and faith are not identical. For those who may be uncomfortable with believing, in a religious sense, the distinction is crucial.

Belief refers to holding an idea to be true, without consideration of evidence. Faith is different. Faith has more to do with trust, the willingness to commit to a principle or idea in advance and act as if it were valid without demanding proof. Jewish religious faith, at least here in the Reform movement, involves dedication to the ideals and tenets of Judaism. It circumvents the need to believe in the historic accuracy of Bible characters and events or consider the veracity of other stories in texts of the Jewish canon.

Judaism demands thinking as we interpret and reinterpret what we have been given. Through faith we agree to take the interpretation process seriously enough to find value and meaning, whether in the original writings, the commentaries, or the commentaries on the commentaries.

Reform Judaism gives us the latitude to look freshly and creatively at what has come down to us. It is entirely in keeping with who we are today to have strong faith that enriches our lives and binds us to our People without ever having to come down on one side or the other of belief. Faith also allows us to transcend the language of prayer when the words in the book seem anachronistic and unsatisfying.

Abraham Joshua Heschel, the great philosopher and theologian, said, “Faith always includes striving for faith.” It is an active process of reaching beyond what we know in the service of learning and spiritual depth. We use the term “leap of faith” because we never know for sure where we will land. In making the commitment to faith we open ourselves to discovery. But, of course, we won’t land anywhere—the promise will remain unrealized—if we do not first take some kind of step or leap.

Judaism encourages us to take that chance, to have faith that our efforts will be rewarded. The alternative is to stay put: we have the choice not to ask questions and pursue answers. Without a leap of faith we cannot be proven wrong. But we won’t get very far either.
Faith is the opportunity to engage in study and thought, to penetrate the limits of our knowledge. Temple Emanu-El offers a number of ways to engage Jewish learning and grow in spirituality and wisdom.

The benefits come to those who leap, or at least take the first step.

The years now having passed, beginning this November, I was to have begun another such sabbatical period of renewal and regeneration. However, as I assessed the difficult circumstances faced by so many of our members and families, and recognizing this as a time of both transition and transformation for our Temple, I decided that it was not in the best interests of our congregational community for me to accept the sabbatical period as previously agreed. Instead, I proposed to our leadership that the six months promised to me for spiritual and intellectual growth might be divided into somewhat more modest and manageable segments of two month-long interludes. And so, that is why I will be taking a brief, but most welcomed and appreciated sabbatical spell this January and February.

Looking back some eight years ago, I think back to all I was able to accomplish during that period, and how I tried to make each and every day meaningful. I began my Doctoral Studies at Spertus College with an intensive course on the History of Jewish Spirituality. I attended lectures on Pastoral Therapy at Hebrew College, studied Bible with Elie Wiesel at Boston University, and explored Jewish Mysticism at Brandeis. I also was invited to lecture on Jewish Theology to a gathering of over one hundred Christian ministers in the Midwest, and laid the groundwork of research for two papers that would later be published in national, scholarly journals.

Without a doubt, our congregation was equally the beneficiary of my own, personal learning and spiritual journeys. Upon my return in early 2002 from six months of sabbatical, we began a process of introspection and change that would result in the long overdue and thorough renovation of our patterns of worship, of study, of leadership and of communal outreach, which transformed, all for the better, the very face of our congregation.

So now looking ahead to the next eight weeks, even though the time away will be so much more fleeting, I am confident knowing that once again, my personal rejuvenation will bring seeds of transformation and growth for our congregation as well. I have already laid out a course of study to continue towards the completion of my Doctorate, and I also have a certain number of other goals in place – including becoming more proficient at chanting the nusach – especially Haftarah tropes, and experiencing modes of worship in different synagogue settings.

I know that the weeks will pass quickly — in the blink of an eye, and am grateful to our wonderful congregation for affording me these sabbatical moments. I am already looking forward to sharing with you all that I might learn and discover, as I continue growing intellectually and evolving spiritually as your Rabbi.

  4/24/10 Acharei Mot/Kedoshim & II Samuel 9-10 Leviticus 16:1—20:27  Matt Sagal 5/1/10 Emor & II Samuel 11-12 Leviticus 21:1—24:23   5/8/10 Behar/Bechukkotai & II Samuel 13-14 Leviticus 25:1—27:34 Rabbi 5/15/10 Bemibar & II Samuel 15-16 Numbers 1:1—4:20  Ellen Bresner 5/22/10 Naso & II Samuel 17-18 Numbers 4:21—7:89   5/29/10 Behaalotcha & II Samuel 19-20 Numbers 8:1—12:16   6/5/10 Shelach Lecha & II Samuel 21-22 Numbers 13:1—15:41   6/12/10 Korach & II Samuel 23-24 Numbers 16:1—18:32 Rabbi 6/19/10 Hukkat Numbers 19:1—22:1   6/26/10 Balak Numbers 22:2 —25:9   ]]> http://emanu-el-stage.org/2009/12/01/torah-portion-chart/feed/ http://emanu-el-stage.org/2009/11/28/trading-with-the-gods/ http://emanu-el-stage.org/2009/11/28/trading-with-the-gods/#comments Sat, 28 Nov 2009 17:06:32 +0000 Emanu-El http://emanu-el-stage.org/?p=627 Fisrt in a series

When you agree to become Temple president, you start to ask a different set of questions: What’s the meaning of all this? Why do we have a synagogue, and what should it be doing? How do we serve the members? Starting this month and over the coming months, I’d like to share with you some thoughts that have arisen in response to asking these kinds of questions.

Religion seems to be a universal impulse. For years I have been interested in how cultures hold themselves together, which generally means how they address the larger questions of existence. All the civilizations I’ve looked at, in both more developed and less developed places, have a cosmology and set of rituals that can be called a religion. Most recognize a power or powers of a higher order that gave rise to life on earth. In most systems, people are obligated to give back to that higher power in order for all to be well and life to continue.

This notion of exchange with God is especially intriguing. Judaism is full of such obligations: it’s part of the covenant at Judaism’s core. Yet, how many Jews in our community feel compelled to participate in exchange, in the religious sense, at more than a token level? How many of us think that spiritual devotion in the practice of ritual or the intensity of worship matters? Do you feel complete in fulfilling your commitment to Judaism if you attend High Holyday services, light Chanukah candles, and have a Seder at Pesach? Do you even think there is any such commitment?

Part of the difficulty here arises from living in a world aligned with values and assumptions of the majority religion. The Christian image of God is of a benevolent, non-demanding deity who forgives easily and asks little. Belief is the fundamental act: all you have to do is believe to merit salvation. Surrounded by this norm, many contemporary Jews—who of course don’t believe as Christians do—find little motivation to engage in religious exchange by participating actively in Jewish practice and ritual.

Is it any wonder that those who give little get so little meaning in return? Meaningful reward, in a Jewish sense, escapes them because their investment is so small. Our covenant requires engagement to work, just as a marriage requires effort to grow strong. If you don’t keep Pesach, the small sacrifice of not eating bread for a week, or acknowledge the weekly cycle of Shabbat, how can you expect the flame of Judaism to burn brightly in your heart and spirit? And how can you expect your children—even if you make them attend Sunday school through Bar/t Mitzvah—to care?

More and more I hear, especially from younger members, that they seek “spiritual” rather than specifically “religious” meaning. Well, they are one and the same. Through deliberately choosing to put ourselves into Judaism we make Judaism come alive in us, with all the wisdom, color and richness of thousands of years of shared history.

Engagement with Jewish practice is a great opportunity as well as the fulfillment of an historic obligation. The opportunity is to find more meaning and satisfaction through a pathway that has served humanity for millennia. It takes study and effort and offers rewards unmatched by more mundane pursuits.

The principle of exchange with God or the gods used to be simple: either we give back, through worship, rituals and sacrifices, or our existence will be taken from us by greater powers. Today, we don’t feel threatened in that way. The downside is much less. The upside, however, is still great. The meaning and spiritual satisfaction people have yearned for over the centuries is still available. Each of us has the choice whether or not to pursue it.

Temple Emanu-El, Marblehead, MA

We all expected that the substantial and consistent growth of this Jewish community that’s taken place over the past two decades would only continue, but the rather sudden and extreme economic downturn has changed all of that. Times are tough, but still, Jewish parents are continuing to encourage their children to pursue higher education with the hope of their finding upward, economic mobility. But some kids – a lot, actually — are choosing to stay in college and graduate school simply because they can’t find work in their chosen fields right now.

Because of the shortage of jobs, towards which neither the local government nor the Jewish Federation can offer much assistance, our local Jewish newspaper has begun to run advertisements so that out-of-work community members might publicize their available skills.

The American Hebrew and Jewish Tribune reads the situation more gravely: “Judaism is badly in need of a major operation,” it writes. “Send for the ambulance – or the undertaker.”

The year is 1935, and all of this is part of the historical record of our American Jewish community at the time. (1) Oh, and the Temple Emanu-El I mentioned is the one in New York City. Here in Marblehead, we hadn’t yet come into being.

But it all sounds frighteningly familiar, for we are now living through the most significant economic decline since the Great Depression of those 1930’s. And keeping the wise truism of historian, Santayana front and center, that if we don’t learn from the past, then we are condemned to repeat it, I think it is crucial for us to learn from the past. What happened to the Jewish community back in that last, Great Depression, and what were the ramifications for the succeeding generations? How did the Jewish community respond to the grim conditions, and how might we do better this time around?

Of course, the Jewish community of the 1930’s was still becoming integrated into mainstream American life, particularly here on the East Coast. During the Great Depression, Anti-semitism forced Jews into very specific, economic niches, and Jews, like many minority cultures of today, needed to form their own banks, professional alliances, and even schools of advanced learning.

When the first so-called “Jewish” bank in New York City went belly-up in 1930, its closure left thousands of Jewish families and businesses devastated. At the time, most New York Jews had little connection to Wall Street, and the previous year’s Crash had little immediate impact on them. But the failure of the Jewish-owned Bank of the United States, which held the savings of nearly 20% of New York’s Jews, transformed the community both economically and psychologically.

“When a non-Jewish bank falls through,” wrote the Yiddish newspaper, The Day, “it is said that only an individual or an individual institution did not act as it should have. But when a Jewish banker and a Jewish bank go bankrupt, people right away create the impression that it is the downfall of all Jewish bankers and all Jewish people.” (2)

Of course, our current economic depression is taking place within a much different set of realities for the American Jewish community. With the exception of the large influx of Jews from the Soviet Union that started taking place a quarter-century ago, we are no longer a community of immigrants or children of immigrants, and in intervening years, we have established a much more diversified presence both socially and economically on the American continent. Nonetheless, some rather dire predictions are already being pronounced looking ahead to the aftermath of this current economic downturn.

Dean of the Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, Steven Windmueller, a specialist on politics and American Jewish history, suggests that in the aftermath of the current economic upheaval, our American Jewish community will be forever changed. Looking forward, Windmueller believes that the political and economic clout of American Jewry will be seriously compromised as the result of the community’s being perceived as structurally and functionally weakened by the current crisis. He notes how the Bernie Madoff affair has not only caused the loss of anywhere between $600 million to $1 billion to our Jewish communal resources, but also the loss of confidence and trust in the management of our most essential philanthropic institutions. Windmueller believes that the impact of the global, economic downturn has already generated a significant increase in anti-semitism overseas, as seems to always accompany economic turmoil, and may be becoming more evident in the United States as well. He anticipates that many of our Jewish institutions will not survive this crisis, and many others will seek to merge or be acquired by stronger organizational partners. (3)

Our own community’s recent Task Force project, led by Carl Sloane and a team of Harvard Business School interns, has presented some of these same predictions, although their more hopeful reading of the landscape includes specific strategies that might result in healthier outcomes for our Jewish, communal future here on Boston’s North Shore.

In addition to surveying contemporary realities, I strongly I believe that we can and should learn from the past, as we make predictions and strategies for the future. There are three specific lessons from experience of American Jews during the Great Depression that, through my own studies, I think are crucial moving forward and through this most difficult time of recession.

First, it is recognized among all scholars and historians that as synagogue membership plummeted during the Depression years, and membership in Jewish Community Centers likewise dropped, Jewish education was left on the back burner of communal concerns. Historian, Beth Wenger, writes of the situation facing some of New York’s most prominent synagogues:

“During the Depression, student enrollments drastically declined. Without a steady income from tuition, synagogues had difficulty supporting programs and paying teacher salaries. In 1931, the Institutional Synagogue owed $9,000 in back salaries to teachers who remained unpaid for four to seven months at a time. Like many congregations, the Kane Street Synagogue could not fund a paid teaching staff and relied on volunteers (usually women) to serve as teachers in its Sunday school. Many professional educators denounced the practice of hiring unskilled volunteer teachers and were particularly incensed when congregations made school budgets the primary victims of money-saving efforts. Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox rabbinical organizations publicly protested the decisions of congregations and Federations to allot Jewish education secondary status in budgetary decisions…” (4)

Professor Jonathan Sarna of Brandeis University, one of the foremost experts on the history of American Judaism, suggests that the losses in the realm of Jewish education were never regained, and that the impact of years of Jews poorly educated in their faith and traditions is a deficit we continue to pay in this generation.

There is no doubting our own congregation’s ongoing commitment to maintaining a strong Religious School, Youth Programs, and continuing education opportunities, and every member of this Temple helps to support our school through our dues and other contributions. Our Temple budget will not be balanced on the backs of our children. But even as the Temple leadership is doing everything possible to help families who are hurting financially to maintain their memberships, even our school cannot be completely exempted from budget cuts and salary freezes.

That is why creative solutions, such as our groundbreaking collaborations with Congregation Shirat Hayam are so important going forward at least in the near future. Interestingly, our decision to pool resources with Shirat Hayam in the hiring of our new Youth Director, Darren Benedict, as well as the trial merging our 8th Grade Service Learning classes, was one of the few places where Temple Emanu-El was mentioned in Carl Sloan’s Task Force report. In the area of education, we were singled out as a model to be emulated moving forward through this difficult economic climate. Therefore, as a community, and as families, let us learn from the past by staying firm in our resolve not to let the Jewish education of our children become a casualty of this day, and thereby, a liability for the future.

Professor Sarna has also written of how the American Jewish community turned markedly inward during the years of the Depression. (5) Rabbis and other communal leaders struggled to convince the local Jewish population to maintain their support for world-wide Jewish concerns. And I have to wonder, how might history have been different if we, on these shores during the ‘30’s were paying greater attention to what was happening on the European continent, as the Nazi Party was rapidly gaining momentum?

Looking both backward and ahead, I worry that we might be seeing a similar trend happening again today. I think back to last December. The war Israel was fighting in Gaza to protect her civilians under fire by Hamas terrorists may have been the first time when Israel has been forced to defend herself, and American Jews failed to mobilize much in the way of support. Oh yes, we had our rally here on the North Shore. Maybe two hundred people showed up. And we sent some Ipods to the Israeli soldiers and Game-Boys to the kids of Sderot. But other than those rather negligible expressions of support, we, like most American Jews, for the first time ever, pretty much let Israel go it alone.

As a Board Member of our local Jewish Federation of the North Shore, I don’t think I’m crossing any boundary of impropriety by sharing with you that discussions and research are on-going to explore the possibility of Directed Giving as part of the Federation’s campaign strategy. I support the initiative, and hope that it will help increase giving by allowing donors more of a say in how their contributions will express their values and priorities. But as I have shared with Federation Director, Liz Donnenfeld, and President, Robert Salter, I am concerned that the pressing needs of Jews in Eastern Europe, in South America, in the former Soviet Union, on the African continent, and of course, in Israel may end up getting shortchanged as a result. We must be diligent in communicating the ongoing importance of looking to the welfare of our brothers and sisters in other lands beside our own. And I think that history provides the sobering reason why this is so true.

Finally, looking back to the lessons of the Great Depression, we can find certain, positive outcomes for the Jewish community, that we might also learn from and hopefully emulate. As Jews had always done, throughout the previous two thousand years while living in diverse lands across the globe, the Jewish community did its best to care for its own.

In 1654, newly arriving Jews met significant resistance from New Amsterdam’s governor, Peter Stuyvesant, who feared that the new arrivals would soon become destitute and would drain the limited resources of the fledgling colonies. Meanwhile, the Dutch West India Company urged Stuyvesant not to expel the immigrants, whom they believed would be of great benefit to enlarging the new, local economy. After some negotiation, the three parties reached a compromise: Jews would be allowed to settle in New Amsterdam, provided they agreed to take care of their own poor and needy. This agreement came to be known as the “Stuyvesant Promise”, and it evolved into an accepted Jewish norm to reject government support and establish their own philanthropic and social welfare agencies. (6)

Here in America in the 1930’s, the “Stuyvesant Promise”, which for some 250 years had guided the sense of mutual responsibility among American Jews, ironically did not survive the Depression. The Jewish community had nowhere the resources to meet the significant needs of the day, and many Jews were forced to seek help from state agencies and welfare programs. But of course, individual Jews and organizations stepped up their efforts to plug the gaps. Some Yiddish newspapers began their own relief funds, and as I mentioned at the outset, a regular column in one Jewish periodical provided space for unemployed men to list their qualifications, under the headline: “Do You Have A Job For Him?” (7) Interestingly, this past summer, our own Jewish Journal of the North Shore mounted a similar campaign, but it has yet to bear much positive result.

Our Jewish Family Services, which knew remarkable success in the historic re-settlement of émigrés from the Soviet Union back in the 1980’s, simply hasn’t the capacity to manage the enormous needs of the current crisis. Nearly a half-million dollars in accumulated debt, I expect our JFS soon to be absorbed or merged into some larger institution.

However here, within our own congregation, perhaps in an ironic twist on the idea of the Stuyvesant Promise, the imperative of member-to-member assistance in time of crisis continues to take hold. Recognizing the pressing needs, on the more micro-level of our synagogue community, you continue to answer the call for help through our Hineynu Initiative, which was imagined and spearheaded by our President, Stuart Cohen, our Board of Trustees and professional staff nearly a year ago. This became our opportunity to pull together resources as a community within a community, and as a family of families. And I personally want to thank every member of our Temple who has responded – either by sending grocery gift cards, offering transportation assistance, volunteering medical advice, legal counsel, and employment guidance. As we say in our weekly Shabbat announcements: “Do you need help? Can you offer help?” That is the way we say to one another: “Hineynu – We are Here.”

During the Depression years, the ethical obligation that one community member should care for and support another, history has shown, was key to emerging safely from those years on both the individual and communal level. And so we can look for it to be in our current situation going forward.

Who might have imagined, back in 1935, the scenario during which I began this sermon, that in the aftermath of the Great Depression, a powerful spiritual revival would take hold in America, and that our Jewish community, revitalized, would engage in a period of growth and expansion unseen even in the years preceding the Crash? Might that possibly be what the future holds for us, as well, despite the dire predictions of what lies ahead for the American Jewish community?

This past March, as we were announcing the formation of our Hineynu Initiative, I shared a parable in our monthly Temple Bulletin, that I would like to conclude with on this day of Yom Kippur.

It is told of two woodchoppers who felled a tree that was over one hundred years old. Looking at the growth rings to determine the tree’s age, the younger man noticed that there were five very narrow rings. He concluded that there had been a five-year drought, during which the tree had shown very little growth.

However, the other lumberjack, a wise, older man had a different viewpoint. He contended that the dry years actually were the most significant in the tree’s history. His reason: because of the drought, the tree had to force its roots down farther to get the water and the minerals it needed. With a strengthened root system, it was able to grow faster and taller once conditions improved.

So do we hope and trust that these “dry years” will find us strengthening the very foundations of our congregation and community. The power to make it so is in each of our own hands, and history will have the final word as to how well we do. Let us stay the course on our commitment to Jewish education. Let us keep our eyes open to the situation of Jews world-wide. And let us continue to look to one another, and be there for one another to our fullest capacity, to help withstand whatever storms we might face.

In so doing, may future generations look back to what we were able to accomplish, and perceive this as likewise a period of strength and promise. Perhaps some scholars and rabbis of the future will look to this time, this community, and especially, this congregation to help discover ways to weather their own generation’s unforeseen economic crisis. Looking to the past, perhaps they, too will learn its lessons, and not be condemned, but blessed, to repeat it.

(1) See Beth S. Wenger, New York Jews and the Great Depression. Uncertain Promise. Yale University Press, New Haven and London, 1996.

(2) Wenger, p. 14.

(3) Dr. Steven Windmueller, “The Unfolding Economic Crisis: Its Devastating Implications for American Jewry”. Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs, No. 47, 16 August 2009 / 26 Av 5769.

(4) Wenger, p. 191.

(5) Jonathan Sarna, “Reinventing American Judaism”, Reform Judaism, Fall 2009.

(6) Marc Dollinger, “Die Velt, Yene Velt, and Roosevelt’: The New Deal in the Jewish Community”, in Franklin D. Roooseveldt. The New Deal and Its Aftermath, Thomas P. Wolf, William D. Pederson, and Byron W. Daynee. p. 38.

(7) Wenger, p. 143.

Because we are Jews, we are here tonight. Something impels us to worship with our fellow Jews on this occasion. We may embrace it with enthusiasm, or we may not even be sure why we are here. Because we are Jews, we come, knowing that we belong. And being here honors our mothers and fathers and grandparents and all who came before us back into the dim corners of our collective past.

Our people have come down through history with a unique identity. Judaism stands for something: for justice, and for learning, because through learning we keep the flame burning as the civilization around us changes so rapidly. It stands for tikkun olam, making the world a better place. These are part of who we are as Jews. Whether you’ve come to worship here for decades or are in this sanctuary for the very first time, we all share a piece of this heritage. This is what we are obligated by covenant to pass on to our children, and to make sure this essence also lives within our children’s children.

Today, as we’ve seen in the recent Northshore Task Force report, our local Jewish community isn’t doing too well. Our institutions are struggling. Our loyalties are fragmented. Only one in four Jews in our area even belongs to a synagogue: one in four. But Judaism has survived for centuries not because of individual Jews like you and me but because of our institutions. Judaism is a religion not of me but of us.

While this poverty of participation flies in the face of our shared history, it is also easy to understand. We live in a world overflowing with diverse options and opportunities. That world is oriented to what we can get not what we can give. Our goals are spoken of in terms of things, activities, and experiences we can acquire and have.

And it has to do with money, because most everything we do is fee for service. The telephone bill is fee for service, as is the mortgage, even our children’s tuition. When the synagogue bill comes, it’s natural to ask what are we getting for our donation, and if the return is worth the cost. (By the way, you should know that the full family donation here at Temple Emanu-El, $1875, compares with dues at the Reform temple in Lexington, $2525, Framingham, the same figure, and Wellesley closer to $3000.)

But Judaism is not fee for service. There is a cost associated with belonging, not just as a member of this Temple but as an engaged being in the chain that goes back to Moses. When Judaism becomes fee for service, there will be no more Judaism. If we let go of the instruments and institutions of our Jewish community, our synagogues and community centers, we forsake what has brought us to who we are as Jews.

I’m not asking you for money tonight. The Fund for our Jewish Future presentation is tomorrow morning. It’s a compelling family story. I hope you’ll come hear it. We are also in the process of creating a bequest campaign; more on that in the coming months.

I am asking you to live a bit more Jewishly. Light Shabbat candles. It’s an addictive tradition. Collect tsedakah in your home and distribute it where it is needed. If we can’t be bothered to remember to live Jewishly, what message will our children and grandchildren receive? And make no mistake: living Jewishly is not a matter of juggling the schedule. It is a series of actions born of deliberate choice.

I have a vision for what Temple Emanu-El can be, with your involvement, and I’d like to share it with you. And I ask you to share it with your unaffiliated Jewish friends.

I see this temple as a vital expression of who we are as Jews, as a place that ripples with the passion for life that is central to what it means to be a Jew. I am especially keen to transcend generational boundaries. The more families with children and grandchildren, the more brimming with life the Temple will be.

I visualize weekly Shabbat worship vibrant with sacred meaning that comes not from sitting back and mouthing the words but from jumping in heart and soul first. Worship only works to the degree we invest ourselves in it. You can’t sidestep the leap of commitment and expect any meaningful benefit. I invite everyone here to attend Shabbat worship at least twice—Friday evenings or the Saturday morning round table minyan—within the coming year. And when you do, take a chance. Participate with kavanah, spirit. It may take some practice to get the hang of it. When you do, it’s got some juice.

I see our festival celebrations, including these High Holydays, as an anchor that grounds us in the sense for the ineffable that resides in our bones, inherited from time before knowing.

I see our education programs stimulating and rewarding for children and adults. Continuing learning is central to what it means to be a Jew. If you crave more Jewish learning and are not getting it, whatever your age, ask.

Mostly what I see in this vision is our engagement. Yours and yours as well as mine. We benefit from a lot of love in the form of lay participation here. If you’ve got some love you’d like to share, come talk to us. Serve this community and help shape it. Be counted.

And not just here: join the JCC; support Federation. This Temple and our sister institutions are nothing without you, and you, and you. Step up. Since the time of the patriarchs Judaism has been a religion of covenant, active engagement. Make Temple Emanu-El the Jewish community institution that touches you and feeds you as nothing else can.

And if you wonder why bother, why show up, why participate, just look inside. It’s because of who we are. We are Jews.