#BlogElul 5775: When the music brings you home

Kol Nidre... the anthem with which we begin Yom Kippur. We take the Torah scrolls out of the ark and they bear witness, as if a Jewish court of law - a Beit Din - while we hear these ancient Aramaic words chanted.  What, precisely, do they say? Essentially, that we regret any vows or commitments that we have made, we repent for having made them, and we asked that they be discarded, forgiven, and undone; that they no longer be regarded as valid and binding.

Why would we begin this Holiest of days with such a declaration? Is this one of these Jewish legal loopholes, by which we figured it was easier to just nullify promises we made than deal with the consequences of having made them and failing to live up to them? While that's not why these words feature in our liturgy, what is clear is that the power of Kol Nidre in our communities today has very little to do with the words themselves. But first, a quick history of this prayer.

"For all of Kol Nidre’s significance and power, its origins are shrouded in mystery. There are two “histories” regarding the prayer, one popular and the other scholarly. The popular version connects the wording of the prayer with the religious dilemma facing medieval Spanish Jews. In 15th-century Spain, at the hight of the infamous Inquisition, the Roman Catholic Church embarked on a determined hunt to seek out and punish all non-practicing Christians. In response to extreme anti-Semitism earlier that century, a sizable number of upper-class Jews chose to convert to Christianity in order to, at the very least, avoid social disdain. For a small number, their religious conversion was genuine; but for the majority, their “conversion” was in name only as they still found creative ways to practice Judaism in the privacy of their own dwellings. These Jews came to be known as “marranos” and became one of the foci of the Church’s inquistory offensive. The Kol Nidre prayer, according to this theory, was created in response to these Jews’ desire to nullify their vows of conversion...
        Scholars do not wholly refute this understanding of Kol Nidre, but they do contend that Kol Nidre has much earlier roots and probably pre-dated the marranos. According to their research, it is unclear exactly when or where the Kol Nidre legal formula was created. The wording seems to mimic other legalistic contracts of the Babylonian Jewish community of the 6th and 7th centuries. The first undoubtable citation appears in an early comprehensive siddur edited by Rav Amram in the 8th century. Over the next few centuries, the prayer became more widespread and a soulful melody became associated with it. Notably, there were some rabbis who disparaged the prayer as a superstitious attempt by Jewish mystics to nullify vows made by evil forces in the universe intent on hurting the Jewish people. These criticisms were muted by the majority of the people who cleaved to the prayer and aided its spread to other communities." (Rabbi Eric Solomon, 2000, 'Examining the Mystery of Kol Nidre')

By the late Nineteenth Century, as the Jews of Europe and the USA sought greater integration into the societies in which they lived, some felt self-conscious and embarrassed by the words of Kol Nidre. They were concerned that non-Jews might regard them as a people who could not be trusted because they would not keep their word.  In Germany, some early Reform Rabbis sought to remove Kol Nidre from the liturgy. But when a machzor (High Holy Day Prayer book) was published without it, congregations rebelled. They insisted that it be sung anyway. Already, for centuries, Kol Nidre was chanted to a haunting tune. Max Bruch, a non-Jewish composer, set it to the melody (in 1880) that we associate this prayer with today, and it is this that congregations across the world today listen for to announce the opening of Yom Kippur. Many congregations, my own included, begin with the sounds of Bruch's arrangement, played on cello or adapted for some other soulful sounding instrument.

I think there are few other liturgical moments or melodies in our tradition that is as emblematic and central to us as Kol Nidre. In Mishkan HaNefesh, this introduction conveys something of its power:

Rabbi Leizer survived the death camps and returned to his hometown, Czenstochow, Poland. For years following the Shoah, he roamed the streets playing a hand organ. At regular intervals, amid the numerous tunes he played, he would intentionally play Kol Nidre. As he did so, he would look into the eyes of the children who walked by, looking for a hint of recognition. In this way, he was able to bring many children back in contact with their people.

For us, too, Kol Nidre is a moment of recognition -

a sound that brings us back to our people. (copyright CCAR, 2015, Yom Kippur, p.15)

What other melodies are so part of your sense of identity that they bring you back home in a profoundly spiritual way? What melodies connect you to a sense of your people? When you hear the reverberations of Kol Nidre, what thoughts and feelings are aroused within?

Welcome Home.

Al Jolson in The Jazz Singer, 1927. 

#BlogElul 5775: Yizkor and Forgiveness

Photo by Roger Glenn

Why do we have a Yizkor (memorial) service on Yom Kippur? It is clearly a ritual that has great meaning to many people. In most congregations it is one of the services of the holiest of days with the largest attendance. There's an historical answer to the question, if we want to learn more about the original connection between remembrance and atonement. Certainly, some of us attend Yizkor because its just what you do, and it is what those before us did. But, like most things in Judaism, especially in progressive communities, rituals and times of gathering don't continue to be widely observed unless they have a contemporary meaning and value that is experienced by those who engage in them.

Yom Kippur is sometimes described as like a rehearsal for death. The Vidui (confession) that we pronounce several times over the High Holy Days is a ritual that is also meant for one who has the opportunity to say it if they are aware that they are close to death. There is also a nightly vidui ritual, precisely because most of us can never know when our last day will come. So there is something powerful, as we reflect on our own mortality, about turning our thoughts to those who have already died. They have shaped our lives, and we often see things in ourselves that we inherited from them. There are things that we do, and ways we behave that we are aware that we do because of them, or sometimes in spite of them.

Yizkor may be a time for appreciation. It may be a time for us to be inspired by our memories of others to seek to live each of our days so that others will have cherished memories of us at some time in the future. It may be a time to find a spiritual path forward to deal with unfinished business, pain or hurt.

As with each and every step of the High Holy ritual, our new machzor provides prayers, reflective readings, and insights that can help us with all of the above. Here is a piece written by Cantor Linda Hirschhorn entitled Forgiveness and the Afterlife (copyright CCAR, 2015, Yom Kippur machzor, p.581).
I do have an ongoing relationship with the dead, and I do think about the afterlife - my afterlife, that is - after someone I know dies: what happens to me afterwards, in my life.
Some deaths come too soon; some deaths are unexpected; some deaths we think we are prepared for, but really we are rarely ready: we don't usually know when a conversation is the last conversation, with so much that may be left unsaid, unresolved.
So in this afterlife of mine I am still in relationship with people who have died. I miss them, I talk to them in my mind, I ask them questions about our relationship that I wasn't ready to ask them when they were still alive. I show off my accomplishments, and wish they could witness them; and yes, I still have some of the same old arguments, still trying to prove my point of view. What helps me go forward? How do I resolve these lingering feelings?
Here is what makes the Yom Kippur Yizkor so special - this forgiveness prayer devoted exclusively to those no longer with us, that comes late in the afternoon when we are tired, hungry, vulnerable, and open. During this Yizkor I am given the opportunity to forgive myself for cutting off that last phone conversation with my father - I was always in a hurry; he always wanted to chat longer; and then he died. It's during this Yizkor that I have the opportunity to forgive my mother for her harsh ways; to let go of being angry - for my sake in this world, if not for her sake in the world-to-come.
For this Yizkor to feel honest and meaningful, I don't want to sentimentalize those relationships. I don't just want to remember the ideals and gifts they may or may not have passed down. I want to remember those relationships exactly as they were, and then be able to forgive myself and them for our failings, for what we never got a chance to repair or finish.

May our memories bring the light of loved ones into our hearts. May our prayers help us forgive and receive forgiveness. With remembrance, may healing come our way.

#BlogElul 5775: Let's get real

Speaking with a colleague the other night, I was hearing how it is not uncommon to hear from those training for the rabbinate that they struggle with liturgical prayer. While this does not surprise me, it may be something that surprises, and perhaps troubles our congregants.

I can only speak personally, but I've traveled my own path to making prayer work for me. It has taken time - years, in fact. I suspect that most people don't have the patience, but it seemed rather important to me, given my desire to serve as a rabbi to the Jewish community.  I've learned to love the 'back stories' (known and theorized) behind why our liturgical prayers came into being. Context and history provide one way in. But getting beyond the literal, and even getting beyond what might have been the original intended meaning, theology, and message, to recast liturgy to speak to us today, has helped me find moments of deep, thoughtful, prayerful experience in the midst of Jewish worship.  Music helps a lot too.

Perhaps more than at any other time of the year, the High Holy Day liturgy can be particularly challenging. In the Reform movement this year, several hundred congregations will be praying out of a brand new machzor, Mishkan HaNefesh (Sanctuary of the Soul).  I am so excited by the potential that lies within the pages of this new prayer book. Perhaps, more than any other single thing I can highlight about what makes it so special, is the opportunity to get real.

What do I mean, by 'let's get real'? I think the best way to illustrate what has been missing for me in some of the liturgy (especially the english language readings) of our previous high Holy Day machzor and what is now available to us in our new book is to share one of the new texts with you. Here is a new text that introduces the Vidui (Confession) on Yom Kippur morning.

Because I was angry
Because I didn't think
Because I was exhausted and on edge
Because I'd been drinking
Because I can be mean
Because I was reckless and selfish
Because I was worried about money
Because my marriage was dead
Because other people were doing it
Because I thought I could get away with it
Because...

I did something wrong.

Because I'm in pain
Because I wish I could undo it
Because I hurt him
Because I lost her trust
Because I let them down
Because I was self-destructive
Because I was foolish
Because I'm ashamed
Because that's not who I am
Because that's not who I want to be
Because...

I want to be forgiven.

God,
bring down my walls of defensiveness and self-righteousness.
Help me to stay in humility.
Please - 
give me the strength to do what's right.
copyright CCAR, 2015 (p. 293, Yom Kippur morning service)

I can't read this and remain on automatic pilot. I can't read this and coast through the ritual of reading words out loud in a room full of others, disconnected with the purpose of this holy day. I can't read this without being pulled out of my lethargy and denial and acknowledging that I have been so many of the things listed above. They ring true for me, and speak in a contemporary language that resonates with my experience in a way that some of the traditional words do not. There are other words that are part of the traditional vidui that are much easier for me to read as being about somebody else.  But Yom Kippur is not about somebody else. It is about me, what I have done, who I am and who I want to be. And for the ritual of spending designated time in extended communal gatherings and prayer at the High Holy Days to be useful and meaningful, I need tools and texts that will take me to the places that I need to go if I am to emerge at the end feeling like anything has changed (even knowing that I'll need another 're-set' next year).

This year my #BlogElul posts will all feature new texts or new translations from Mishkan HaNefesh. It is an opportunity to reflect on the meaning of moments within the prayer journey we take over these Holy Days, to familiarize ourselves with the gifts provided by new texts, and to begin to do the work of Soul refinement that can help us enter the New Year with greater intention.  I invite you to join me, and share your own reflections to add to the conversation in the comments section. Together, let's make it real this month of Elul.

#BlogElul 1: What are we doing here?

You are probably aware, if you've sat through High Holy Day services in years past, that these worship services run longer than most other days of the year. If you have not really studied or examined the words on the pages closely before, you may not be aware of all the 'extras' that are part of the High Holy Day liturgy. Of course, the Shofar service is one of the most immediately recognizable additions. And the singing of Avinu Malkeinu. And you may have spent many a year struggling with the medieval piyyut (poem) U'netaneh Tokef (that's the one that contains those uncomfortable lines, 'who will live and who will die'). We'll get to that one in a future posting.

But perhaps you don't remember a series of paragraphs that are inserted into the Amidah that extend the section known in Hebrew as k'dushat Hashem - the Sanctification of the Name. That is the section where we repeat 3 times, kadosh kadosh kadosh... holy holy holy is the Eternal God of Hosts.

The reason why this section of prayer is extended with some additional paragraphs is because the 'sanctification of God's name' was, historically, a big theme of the Jewish New Year. In ancient times there would be an official day of the year to celebrate and honor each year of a king's reign. Think of Queen Elizabeth II of Great Britain. There was a lot of fuss and fanfare as her Diamond Jubilee was celebrated back in 2012.  Something of this ancient ritual was borrowed in Jewish ritual - one day a year we recognize and honor the coronation of the King of Kings.  In our Rosh Hashanah liturgy we do this when we 'sanctify God's name.' But what does that mean exactly?

The three additional passages that become part of the sanctification prayer over the High Holy Days each begin with the word u'v'chen, meaning 'therefore.' What follows in the 3 passages are an ancient liturgists idea of what the world would look like if we all acted in ways that demonstrated our attempt to bring a sense of God's holiness into our world. First, all of creation would feel a sense of awe and reverence for God. Second, the Jewish people would no longer struggle because they would receive honor and respect and, third, we'd all be acting righteously and we would no longer be witness to evil.

Now, putting the history lesson and the ancient language of kings aside for a moment, what we have here, right in the center of one of the central prayers of our liturgy, are words that remind us that we've really failed to do much of meaning if we dutifully sit in synagogue and mindlessly recite words, unless the time we spend in reflection and connection remind and inspire us that, when we get up, we make meaning by doing.

That's why I love some of the alternative, contemporary readings that our upcoming new machzor, Mishkan haNefesh, has placed across from the three traditional u'v'chen passages emphasize the centrality of our actions if we really want to do honor to God's name and bring holiness into our world.  My favorite of the passages is one that I intend to make the focus of this section of our worship this year - it is an adaptation of a prayer first written by Rabbi Jack Reimer and published in New Prayers for the High Holy Days in 1971. It begins:

We cannot merely pray to You, O God,

to banish war,

for You have filled the world with paths to peace

if only we would take them.

We cannot merely pray

for prejudice to cease

for we might see the good in all

that lies before our eyes,

if only we would use them...

And, following additional passages in a similar mode, it concludes:

Therefore we pray, O God,

for wisdom and will, for courage

to do and to become,

not only to gaze

with helpless yearning

as though we had no strength.

So that our world may be safe,

and our lives may be blessed.

I know how easy it is to feel frustrated in the ritual of sitting and praying over the High Holy Days. I know how easy it is to look around a room and wonder how many of the people we see will leave the sanctuary after a couple of hours of reciting righteous words and exert themselves to live according to those words. I know how it feels because I have had those thoughts and feelings, sitting as a congregant in years past. But I have come to appreciate that with all things in life, I most often act and do with greater care and greater impact when I have first taken sufficient time to contemplate and consider all aspects of the task that lies before me - not only what needs to be done, but who needs to be included, what challenges face us, and how we can achieve something collaboratively.

So it is with the High Holy Days. There are a great many words on the pages that lie before us. But they are there not to numb us into mindless recitation, but to prod and cajole us into action. Action that, when we rededicate ourselves to our purpose each New Year, might be that much more energized, thoughtful, and effective, because we took the reflective time that the High Holy Days gift to us to do better.

#BlogElul: Sharing our Secrets #takeaseatmakeafriend

The video presentation above (if you are reading this via the email feed, click on the title above to be able to view the video on my blog) deeply touched my heart. So much shared humanity to be found on a website of people's secret sharings. Then I had a thought. When I take quiet time to sit on Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, or the days inbetween, how honestly do I reflect on my own self, and my own stuff? Sometimes I can get there, but sometimes I, as I'm sure we all do, just barely scratch the surface.

So how about this as an exercise this year. Take a little stack of postcards. Or it could be post-it notes. Imagine that the destination of what you write on those cards is a place where no-one will ever know that it was you who wrote the message. And then think about the 'secrets' of your own life that could be shared. They may be things that cause you embarrassment. Or perhaps it is something that is painful. Maybe its a little cute, if not altogether the highest expression of humanity. And maybe its something that you haven't been willing to own up to ... until now.

Whether you choose to submit your secrets to the project website or not, take a look at what you have written throughout the 10 days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. What can you learn from them? How might you inspire someone else who read them? If you shared them with God, how might this lift the weight, instigate a change, or lead to a reconnection with someone in your life?

If you want to post on Frank Warren's site, go to http://www.postsecret.com or follow the site's postings on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/postsecret

#BlogElul: Try something new for 30 days #takeaseatmakeafriend

30 days from now will take us past Rosh Hashanah and not quite to Yom Kippur (so that will allow for a few days of 'misses'). Is there something you'd like to try to make a habit? Is there a habit you'd like to leave behind? There's no better time to give this a go. And Matt Cutts makes it sound like so much fun! I've got some lazy habits at home. I can think of one or two that it would be good to break. Matt says you can do anything for 30 days, right? Right!

#BlogElul 25: Why Forgiveness is the key

Last Saturday night, for our pre-Selichot service study and discussion, I presented the animated shorts of Hanan Harchol, found at www.jewishfoodforthought.com  Not only are these charming, they are wonderfully thought-provoking, and generated a great deal of conversation.  We watched 'Forgiveness' first.



I will speak for myself when I say that, despite my understanding that forgiveness is creating an internal change that allows another person's acts to no longer keep a grip on my thoughts and emotions - to, as we hear in the animation, no longer let someone 'live rent free in my head' - it is an incredibly difficult thing to do in practice.  At times, often unexpectedly, I find myself replaying painful scenes from my life when someone's words hurt me, or I felt wronged, or someone acted in a way that was dismissive or condescending toward me.  I have no desire for these scenes to occupy space in my memory banks.  But they seem to have an uncanny ability to maintain their grip.

Mindfulness practices can help combat the power of these thoughts.  While I may not be able to neutralize them completely, a greater self-awareness can at least enable me to notice when my mind is in that place, and I can then consciously let it go and try to clear the picture in my head.  Sometimes that is as good as it gets.  I don't believe that forgiveness is a one-time thing.  It is a process that we need to repeat over and over when a particular moment of our past swims back into view, churning up old emotions with it.  And then, perhaps, over time, the more we find ourselves able to notice and dismiss the memory and observe rather than be drawn in by the emotions, the more we are able to neutralize the intensity of the memory when it arises the next time.

Why is it so important to forgive?  I've been thinking a lot during my preparations and sermon-writing for the High Holydays, that our entire orientation to life - our outlook, our motivation to engage in purposeful acts in the world that make a difference to the community we live in, and the ways that we engage with others on a day-to-day basis, are all driven by the things that we marinate our minds in.  There are many ways that we can marinate the mind in something that is burning with negativity.  Painful memories from the past are some of the ways.  And I know that, for me, when those memories arise, I feel myself get tense and my teeth grit, and my brow furrows, and I'm more likely to be sharp with someone or impatient, and I'm more likely to want to shut myself off from interactions and just hibernate in my own, private space.

But when I do those things, how can I make a positive difference in the world?  How can I contribute in a meaningful way to the life of my family, friends, or community? How can I be open enough to give and receive love, to act compassionately, to create space for a different kind of interaction next time around?

Forgiveness is the key.  When we read Jonah on Yom Kippur afternoon, that is the message.  Jonah wants to see strict justice applied to Nineva.  When we dredge up past scenes of hurt, isn't that what we want?  We want to know that person got their comeuppance.  We want to know that someone gave them as good as they gave.  We want to see them fail at something.  But what does that achieve? If we recognize that when we feel miserable we are less likely to do good in the world, why would we hope for someone else's misery?  Yes, there are times when acts are committed that require societal justice to be done.  But, on an individual level, forgiveness and legal justice are compatible and can co-exist, because one is an internal state of mind, while the other is a social system for maintaining some controls over the worst excesses of human behavior.

Forgiveness is the key.
Rabbi Rachel Gurevitz

#BlogElul 7: Shofar - the cry of compassion

One of the midrashim that seeks to explain the origins of the different calls on the Shofar that we sound out each Rosh Hashanah has had the most impact on my understanding of teshuvah and the call to action signified by the Shofar blasts.  It tells us that the shofar calls were modeled on the sound of Sisera's mother, wailing while she waited at the window for his return from battle.

Who was Sisera and who was his mother?

In the story of Devorah, the Judge, Sisera is the enemy.  He is the General that Devorah and her army general, Barak, are out to defeat.  There is a poignant line toward the end of the story, when we are told that Sisera's mother waits at her window for his return.  It is poignant because we, the reader, know that he has been defeated and has fled.  But his end is gruesome.  A woman, Yael, encourages him to rest in her tent.  She feeds him and gives him drink and, when he is asleep, she cuts off his head.

'Hurrah! The enemy is defeated!' might be our response.  But then we find a rabbinic midrash that suggests that the sounds of the Shofar, that most emblematic of sounds for the High Holydays, remind us of the cries of Sisera's mother.

In the midst of our season of return, when we are seeking forgiveness, when we are asked to find it in our hearts to forgive others, we struggle with our desire for justice in our world and the world's need for compassion.  That, after all, is the moral of the story of Jonah that we read on Yom Kippur.  If we are all Jonahs then cities will be destroyed and who could stand in judgment?  But if we are in the image of God, we respond with compassion, particularly when we see remorse in the words or actions of another.

The sound of the Shofar reminds us that even those that we regard as our enemies... even those who we regard as evil and have committed the worst atrocities - they have a mother.  And that mother cries out in sorrow when harm comes to them.

Framing our world in this way, I have found myself able to be less angry at wrong-doing in the world, and, instead, feel the emotions of deep sadness.  It doesn't make me any less desiring to act in ways that might help make this world a little better.  But instead of running in with sword unleashed, angrily battling the world of injustice, the sound of the Shofar asks me to see the world with greater empathy.  It calls me to unleash a little more love and compassion in the ways that I seek to make a difference.

And I can thank Sisera's mother for reminding me of these valuable lessons.
Rabbi Rachel Gurevitz

Wishing you Well over the Fast

May you delve deeply into the pages of your life, seeking understanding, love and compassion.
May you release yourself from the ink smudges, strike-outs, poor choices and long-winded yet aimless passages of past chapters.
May you weave deep and meaningful connections with others into the story you tell of your own life.
May you recommit to writing all that is essential and significant in your Book of Life.


Wishing you well over the Fast,
Rabbi Rachel Gurevitz

Blogging Elul 5771: Did you remember to set your alarm clock?

This piece was published by one of our local weekly newspaper consortiums, Hersam Acorn, and appeared in print this week in the Amity Observer, Bridgeport News, Milford Mirror, and Trumbull Times.

This entry is my closing posting for Elul 5771.  I wish you all a Shanah Tovah um'tukah - a Sweet and Happy New Year.  May we all experience fully the blessing of life, and offer blessings to others through our words and deeds.

Rabbi Rachel Gurevitz

Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, which begins on Wednesday, September 28 in the evening, is a very different kind of New Year to January 1^st.  ‘The Choosing’ is a recently-published memoir in which a Jew-by-choice and now Rabbi, Andrea Myers, tells the story of the first year her Italian-Catholic family encountered Rosh Hashanah.  She was living back at home with her parents and, after a long walk to a synagogue for evening services on the first night of the New Year, she returned home late, quite exhausted.  She was awoken at midnight from a deep sleep when her family, wanting so lovingly to help her celebrate, arrived in her bedroom clanging pots and pans, letting off streamers, and shouting ‘Happy New Year!’  The loud sounds more typically heard on Rosh Hashanah are the blasts of the shofar – the ram’s horn, and we usually hear those at the quite respectable time of late morning.  The shofar is, however, metaphorically, our communal ‘wake up’ call.

While the secular New Year is a time when many people make ‘New Years’ Resolutions’, the Jewish New Year marks a period of time when we first look back at our deeds from the past year.  Our worship liturgy speaks of God who holds us accountable, but the inner work that the New Year requires of us is really about how we hold ourselves accountable and take responsibility for our mistakes, the hurt we have caused others, and the ways we have behaved unethically or thoughtlessly.  If we really engage in this spiritual work, we can emerge ten days later, at the end of Yom Kippur – the Day of Atonement – transformed.  If we have the courage to speak to those whom we have hurt, and ask forgiveness, we can transform the relationships we have with others.

In the world we live in today, it almost feels deeply unfashionable to talk of a spiritual practice and a faith community that asks us to engage in a personal accountability inventory in this way.  There are those who speak in the name of faith, or offer spiritual paths, that emphasize what these things can do for you.  What about what we can do for others?  Faith is not about wish fulfillment.  It is about the meaning and purpose of our very existence as human beings.  It is about being fully present to life and to each other in all of the downs as well as the ups.  It is about the hard work of doing things together as communities with shared values, recognizing that no one person is more important than another, yet at the same time each and every one of us is necessary and has a unique voice to add as we work together to make things better.

As the Jewish community arrives at Rosh Hashanah, my hope and prayer is that we can learn from the wisdom of our ancient faith traditions, and hear the sound of the shofar as our alarm clock, reminding us of the perils of living in too much of ‘me’ society and not enough of an ‘us’ society.  The spiritual work of taking account, repairing what we can, and rededicating ourselves to the future takes courage and strength.  May we, by coming together, give each other the courage and strength that we need.

Shanah tovah u’m’tukah – May it be a sweet and good year for all.

Blogging Elul 5771: On the 10th Remembrance of 9/11

9/11 Memorial, World Trade Center Site, NYC

As the attention of millions is brought back to events of 9/11 ten years ago, there are countless voices offering their commentaries, their explanations, and their analysis. Our world is turned upside down by acts of hatred and violence, whether the scale be as large as the events of 9/11, or it is the experience of one individual family whose lives are forever changed when a loved one is violently taken from them.

We find ourselves torn from the ordinary, everyday, where we have an unconscious expectation that one day will proceed much like the one before.  The sense of certainty and security we have about the existence of the next moment of our lives is shaken.

There is certainly a time and a place for conversations and actions designed to restore our sense of safety and security again.  It is not psychologically healthy to live in a state of anxiety about what might be around the next corner.  But we might also be reminded that, living in a state of humility, we must accept that the only moment we can ever really know is this one, right now.

There is a time and a place for analysis of what took place on 9/11, and the responses that followed - at an individual, national, and international scale.  But there is also a time for silence.  A time to stand with individuals and a country remembering those who died.  A time to remember the acts of giving and bravery by so many in what turned out to be their last moments.  A time to face the monster that is a face of humanity too - our ability to commit great acts of violence against each other.

In this moment I do not seek meaning or explanation.  But I am spurred to respond.  I am reminded, as I so often need reminding, to live each day fully, to love as fully as I can, to never leave the words that I could say today until tomorrow.  I forget this all the time.  We all do.  We don't need acts of terror or national tragedies to remind us; this month of Elul leading up to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur - two days that symbolize birth and death respectively, with only 10 days between them - these are part of the rhythm of the Jewish year so that we can pause and consider what we are doing with this gift of existence that we have been given without needing trauma to help us remember.

May the memories of all who died on 9/11 be a blessing in the hearts of all who mourn.

Join us at Congregation B'nai Israel on Sunday morning, 9:45 am, for a morning service of prayer, remembrance and reflection.
We will then join with many other communities of faith, including local Christian and Muslim communities, for an Interfaith outdoor service at The Fairfield Museum, 370 Beach Road, at 3pm.  The names of all those who died on 9/11 from Connecticut will be read as part of this ritual that will include readings and music.  All are then invited to join Sacred Listening Circles inside the museum to share memories, reflections, and hopes with other local residents in facilitated small groups.  The museum also has a photo exhibit on display in remembrance of 9/11.

How to ensure your Yom Kippur isn't an epic fail

Rabbi Donniel Hartman published a thought-provoking piece this past week entitled 'Yom Kippur: Why it doesn't work outside of the synagogue' .  He argues that Yom Kippur has been a profound failure as a force for change within individuals and communities who spend the day in synagogue.  He notes, 'The passion, seriousness, and devotion which accompany many of us throughout Yom Kippur, peters out into a form of amnesia during the break-fast meal as we return to our behavior of yesterday.'

Hartman goes on to say, 'The problem with Yom Kippur in the synagogue is that it is too complete and comprehensive. It creates the myth of putting all of one's life and behavior up for judgment, where we confront every one of our failings and repent for them all. The list of sins in the vidui is too extensive to have any impact on the life of a real person. For a prayer, and within the isolated environment of the synagogue, it is fine. As a force for facilitating change in real life, the comprehensive nature of our service makes it impossible to be a significant factor in everyday life.'


I think he's right about this.  One of the reasons why I, and others, have used blogs and other events and programs during the month of Elul, is to provide vehicles to help those who want to engage more deeply in a spiritual practice that can help us to really work on aspects of ourselves that we want to change.  It simply isn't possible to just show up on Yom Kippur and expect anything of great meaning or significance that will have any lasting impact on our lives or our community to happen in those 24 hours.


But while I've been focused on preparing, reviewing, and taking time to reflect on aspects of our selves in advance of the day, Rabbi Hartman's proposal for the day itself and what happens afterwards, is also sage advice:
If Yom Kippur is to be the force that our tradition aspires it to be, it must cease to be the end and culmination of the process, and instead serve as its beginning. The purpose of the all-inclusive lists cannot be to ask an individual to review all of his life, but to create a menu from within which every individual can find one dimension, one quality that they can commit to working on.


As a Rabbi working in a large Reform congregation, one of my roles is to lead the congregation through the liturgy of the day.  And there is a great deal of liturgy.  There is a place for the almost constant rhythm of words and music maintaining the momentum of mood and focus but, as a congregant, I do not recommend reciting all those words and all those pages along with those leading the service.  To do so leaves no room for the kind of work that Rabbi Hartman advises we simply begin as those words bring our failings and weaknesses to the surface.


When something appears on the page that resonates with an aspect of your self that you want to work on, take time to sit with it and consider how you will try to do things differently - don't worry if the congregation moves a few pages ahead; you'll join in again with the rhythm when you are ready and, in so doing, you'll help to provide the pulse of the prayer that hums in the background as someone else in the room takes some time out for introspection and private prayer.


For me, a walk is an important part of the day too.  It can be quiet, alone time, to continue to look more deeply at some aspect of teshuvah that has risen to the surface for you this year, or a time to meditate, or sit under a tree and make space for a deeper awareness of the Godliness that is all around us, inspiring us and encouraging us to reach toward our highest self.  But it can also be walking or sitting with a partner or a friend.  Some of my most meaningful Yom Kippur experiences have involved reflecting out loud on the things that I am contemplating, with a non-judgmental witness who listens, and then asks me to bear witness to their struggles.


For others, some time on Yom Kippur is for being spurred to commit or recommit to important work in this world.  At B'nai Israel, our early afternoon discussion provides a forum for some of these themes - this year, on our engagement with Israel.


We also have a new Afternoon service that will provide space and meditative opportunities, when we stop with the words on the page, and invite congregants to take themselves to that deeper place of honest and authentic introspection.


But the question still remains... what will come next?  Donniel Hartman's invitation - to choose one thing that you wish to work on and commit yourself to it over the coming weeks and months - awaits your RSVP.  But, like the rhythm and hum of the prayers on Yom Kippur that provide the vessel of a potentially meaningful day but do not provide the meaning in and of themselves, we need to create vessels for ourselves to make our commitments into realities.  It might be to commit to a nightly written reflection, or a morning prayer to begin each day with a kavannah - an intention, or a calendar where one marks off days or tasks that we have set ourselves to help us fulfill our commitment; perhaps 30 minutes of meditation, examining our trait and creating greater mindfulness as we go about our daily activities.  Choose one thing, and choose a vessel that can help provide the structure you need to make this Yom Kippur a meaningful one; meaningful because it was about so much more than just surviving the day - it was the day that the turning began, for this is the true essence of teshuvah.

Elul Reflections 4: How is moving home like preparing for the High Holydays?

The blog went a bit quiet this past week, as I was busy moving home - the second time in 2 months.  We moved out of my partner's home of 24 years in New Jersey last month, had 4 weeks of transition with some items in storage while we packed up the condo that I have been renting in town near the synagogue, and moved into another rented condo with a bit more space this past Thursday.  The following reflections are edited from a sermon I gave shortly after the first move, in which I realized that our preparing, packing and moving process shared a great deal in common with the rhythm of the Jewish year from Elul through Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, up until Succot.

Rabbi Rachel Gurevitz

When it came to packing up the house in New Jersey, there was a great deal of effort involved with a house that had been a home for a family for 24 years.  For 4 weeks we sorted, divided, divested, and boxed.  It took 4 solid weeks to get things ready for the move.  We had to decide what we didn’t need to bring with us, what we wanted to have available almost immediately, and what we were willing to store away in the hope that it could be of use in the future when we finally buy a house.

When I moved out of my rented room in NYC to Blackrock, 4 years ago, it took about 2 days to pack.  But you acquire a lot of stuff when you’ve lived in a large house for 24 years, where 4 children have lived and grown into adulthood.  The longer you’ve been in one place, the more stuff you are likely to have acquired, and the longer you need to really go through it and decide what to do with it all.

Having packed for 4 weeks, we took a 10 day vacation - the timing might have been a bit crazy in the midst of such an enormous move, but this was really our only opportunity to get a break this Summer.  But the truth is, when you’re doing something as intense as packing up a house for 4 weeks, its good to take a break, to take stock, and also to take in the sweetness of the life transitions that are enabling or requiring this work to be done.  And they were a very sweet 10 days.  

Finally, the moving trucks came.  Things started a little later than they should have done which ended up making for a rather nerve-wracking evening.  The late arrival of the trucks in the morning meant that they ended up driving up from NJ during rush hour, further delaying matters.  Aside from making for a long day, why did this matter?  Because the gates that provide vehicle entrance to the unloading bays at Public Storage lock automatically at 9pm.  Two full trucks arrived at 7.30pm in the midst of a thunder storm, to be followed in the next 1.5 hours by two more intense thunderstorms where work had to cease for 5-10 mins at a time.  At 3 mins to 9 we ran over to our moving guys – ‘the gates are closing, the gates are closing!’ – you have to pull the trucks out now!  With one truck unloaded, they pulled out just before the gates became permanently closed.

Except that it wasn’t a complete closure.  The pedestrian gate remained open and, luckily for us, the unloading bay we needed for the second truck that was unloading into a second unit, was right by that front gate.  The unloading diligently continued until the job was done.

So what does this have to do with our High Holyday season?  The month of Elul is preparation time – there is wisdom in a tradition that understands that Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur become more meaningful and more transformational if we enter them having prepared.  What does ‘prepared’ mean?  It means looking at the landscape of one’s life and reviewing what one has acquired – not material things, but habits, behaviors, baggage.  Sometimes there are things that we recognize that we need to divest ourselves of entirely – these are behaviors or habits that add nothing to who we are or what we do in the world; some of them are just plain wrong, but others might have served us at previous times in our lives, but we realize that we have become locked into some habits that no longer serve us now.  We have to examine ourselves to be able to identify what these are and decide what we will try to do about them, and that takes time. 

4 weeks to organize stuff, divest, pack boxes – 4 weeks to review the emotional and spiritual stuff of our lives.

Then we arrive at 1^st Tishri – Rosh Hashanah.  We talk about a Sweet New Year.  Rosh Hashanah is not only the Jewish New Year, but it is also the beginning of the 10 days leading to Yom Kippur.  If one really engages in personal reflection and assessment for 4 weeks – a very intense activity – one needs some release – to recognize the sweetness that comes with letting go of the past, apologizing for misdeeds, cleansing and consciously allowing the New Year to be a time of meaningful transition in our lives.

And then Yom Kippur arrives – the big day.  We gather up all our stuff and present it to the big moving company in the sky – please help to take care of this stuff for us!  As the day unfolds we engage with the words and thoughts and the silences and we review the progress we are making.  But we travel with a lifetime of stuff and we realize – even after all that preparation – that there’s still more to do.  As the day draws to a close, we read in our liturgy – ‘the gates are closing, the gates are closing!’  We have no choice but to exit with the rest of the community at the final shofar blast at the end of Yom Kippur.  But if we still have work to do, the truth is that the gates aren’t really closed.  There is still a way to continue.  Our tradition gives until Succot to continue what we may have started so that we really can feel able to enter into a New Year having dealt with our stuff – at least some of it – and can begin afresh.

The reflection pieces on this blog offer an invitation to reflect on the 'stuff' of our lives and prepare ourselves, so that we can enter into a Sweet New Year, and can begin again, feeling that we have made some progress in divesting ourselves of things and habits that we do not want or need. Put a little time aside each day to journal, or take a reflective walk; take time to talk with a trusted friend, make the calls and reconnect with the people that you feel distanced from.  Find one new thing that you would like to commit to in the coming year to enrich and enhance your social connections, family connections, community and congregational connections, and spiritual life.  In the words of the psalmist, ‘Teach us to treasure each day; that we may open our hearts to your wisdom, teach us to treasure each day.’

My first experience at the Kotel: In solidarity with Women of the Wall

Part of a solidarity blog series for Women of the Wall.  Each piece is written by a member of the Rosh Hodesh group of Congregation B'nai Israel.

My first experience seeing the Kotel was after sundown on a Yom Kippur.  We were on our way to a Break Fast with a very close friend from home - a kid I grew up with who was like a brother.  I was to have been visiting and traveling with him but, after making Aliyah, he went into the army.  So when I arrived I went to his apartment and was staying with his roommates.

He came home for the holiday and we went to his friends for Yom Kippur.  Of course, I didn't even get to sit with him in Shul either.  So after sundown we went to Yerushalayim and the Old City before joining other friends to eat.  I actually was on the rooftops looking down, and then we went into the plaza of the Kotel.  I'm glad I was with 'family', even though he didn't come in the women's side, but was waiting when I was finished.

Yom Kippur services, Yizkor (memorial), my prayers, and the notes at the wall, and being with a person who is family, was the perfect first time to have this incredible, moving experience.  It was still early, and the Kotel was quiet and still, and fairly empty.

14 Tishrei. High Holyday Sermons available online

If you would like to read, review, or forward this year's High Holyday sermons, delivered by Rabbi Jim Prosnit and Rabbi Rachel Gurevitz at Congregation B'nai Israel, they are now available here.  This year, a wide range of themes were covered, from civility in society, to end of life decisions, to finding sources of spiritual consolation in our tradition in these challenging times, to reflections on why faith, and communities of faith, matter.

Our Ba'al Tekiah, Stuart Edelstein, also delivered a wonderful sermon on the Shofar, and the spiritual signficance of the Shofar notes, reflecting on his twentieth year as Ba'al Tekiah at Congregation B'nai Israel.  You can read his text here.

We certainly welcome your comments and reflections, and invite you to share these High Holyday messages with others who you think may be nourished by them.

3 Tishrei. More than Matzo Balls

This is a cross-posting of an article sent out to our congregation via email.  A wonderful interview with congregant, Adele Josovitz about Break Fast at the end of Yom Kippur.  Future editions of this series will also be cross-posted here on the blog for all to enjoy.

Today we’re introducing a new, periodic column to share with the Congregation B’nai Israel community. It will discuss something we all enjoy….food! It will feature interviews with different B’nai Israel members conducted by a congregant who prefers to be called Aunt Blanche. If enough people want it to continue, the column will appear periodically around Jewish holidays. Please send us an email and tell us what you think and what you’re interested in reading about. Our first column features an interview with longtime temple member Adele Josovitz of Fairfield.

Aunt Blanche: Your break fast meals at the end of Yom Kippur are legendary. I hear you have more than 40 people to your house. What’s your first memory of breaking the Yom Kippur fast?

Adele: Well, I don’t have any early memories of breaking fast but my younger sister is quite adamant that our mom fasted. Our dad didn’t fast because he had to work 24/7 since we lived on a chicken farm in New Jersey. Chickens don’t know the difference between one day and the next.

For me, however, the most important thing about holidays was being with our family. It was eating together and being together: aunts, uncles, cousins and friends. I do remember walking with my family to a=2 0very small Orthodox shul – The First Hebrew Farmers Association of Perrineville. This was where all of the Jewish chicken farmers in the area went to pray

Aunt Blanche: So Adele, you mean you have never fasted at Yom Kippur? I’m shocked.

Adele: I actually don’t remember whether or not I fasted before I went to college, though my sister insists that we did fast. However, I absolutely remember fasting while I was in college. I definitely didn’t fast when I was pregnant. That was a bonus of being pregnant!

Aunt Blanche: Does fasting serve a purpose?

Adele: It makes me remember and think about our Jewish heritage. It also reminds me of the pai n and suffering of our ancestors. Do I have to fast to think about these things? No. But I do it because it’s Yom Kippur and that’s what Jews do.

Aunt Blanche: What do you really think about when you fast?

Adele: I think about many things, including the meal I’m preparing for our family and friends who will be descending upon our house!

Aunt Blanche: Most people have a few people over to their home, maybe six or 10 people. You have 40 or 50 and you do it every year. That’s crazy.

Adele: I just invited 10 more people yesterday. Shhh, don’t tell my husband, he doesn’t know yet. However, he won’t be surprised, becau se this is what always happens. We invite the stragglers – the people who have no place to go. Our children invite people and our friends invite people, so I never know who will be coming. It’s always a pleasant surprise to see who will be arriving at our doorstep. It’s very important that everyone has somewhere to go during the holidays.

Aunt Blanche: So Adele.. What are you serving this year at your break fast?

Adele: Well, there are two halves. There’s the dairy half and the meat half. People can pick what they want to eat. Since I’m not kosher, I have the flexibility to do the meal my way.

Aunt Blanche: Tell me more.

Adele: We’ll put out my Aunt Sylvia=E 2s Chicken Fricassee, Matzo Ball Soup, Vegetable Soup, Bagels, lox, white fish, cream cheese, two kinds of noodle pudding (one without dairy for the “lactose people” as we call them! ) herring, gefilte fish, kasha varnishkes. Kapelstash (fried cabbage and noodle.) Then there’s tongue, pastrami, corned beef, turkey, salads, pickles and olives, roasted vegetables, tomatoes with basil and mozzarella. We have lots of desserts…pies, cookies, cupcakes, fruit salad and my other Aunt Sylvia’s Mandel bread. I had two Aunt Sylvias. Now, that’s a name that doesn’t come up too often in baby announcements!

Of course, people do bring food, even though I tell them not to. I do understand that it’s hard to come to a house empty-handed. So there is always an amazing assortment of food other than what I’ve made.

Aunt Blanche: But that’s insane. That’s like a bar mitzvah, a wedding and a bat mitzvah combined.

Adele: I know, I know. I’m trying to recreate my childhood memories of holidays I shared with my extended family eating together at a very long table in our playroom. So, I am creating memories for my children, just like our parents did for us. Actually, it doesn’t really matter what is served, it’s always people coming together and celebrating.

Aunt Blanche: So what should people serve?

Adele: You don’t have to serve a big meal. You could serve scrambled eggs, bagels, lox and cream cheese. The important thing is to share food with people.

Aunt Blanche: Where do you shop?

Adele: Well, we don’t have any more Jewish delis around here. I go to Stop and Shop and Trader Joe’s. I have a friend who stops at Rhein’s Deli in Vernon and brings me the kosher cold cuts. My son is a baker at Billy’s Bakery and we get all our baked goods there.

Aunt Blanche: How important is food to being Jewish?

Adele: Gosh. You can never have too much food! You always have to send people home with food, don’t you? Food is very important but it is the sharing that is more important. Come into somebody’s house and everyone moves to the kitchen. The kitchen is the heart of the home.

Below is the Recipe for Adele’s Aunt Sylvia’s Mandel Bread
Aunt Sylvia Robbins Mandelbrot – also known as Mandel bread
Oven Temperature: 350 °

Ingredients:

3 large eggs
3 cups flour
¾ cup sugar
¾ cup oil
2 tsp. &n bsp;baking powder
1 tsp. vanilla
1 ¼ cup chopped almonds/walnuts

Topping:
½ cup sugar
1 TBS. Cinnamon

Mix together

Mixing Directions:
Beat eggs.
Add sugar – mix thoroughly
Add oil – mix thoroughly
Add vanilla
Mix flour and baking powder together
Fold in flour/baking powder
Add nuts
Divide the dough into 3 balls
Refrigerate for 1 hour

Baking Directions:

Lightly oil baking sheet
Take each ball and shape into a flat, rectangular loaf –
approximately 1 inch high and 2 inches wide
Bake 350 ° - 20 minutes

Take each “loaf” out of the oven and cut into slices – this will determine the thickness of the mandel bread.
Put each slice on its side on the cookie sheet
Sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar
Bake 400 ° - 8 – 10 minutes

Cool on a cooling rack and ENJOY!

19 Elul. Contemplating life and loss

I was recently in conversation with a friend about the experience of being a rabbi and officiating at many funerals.  I was asked if and how I was affected by encountering so much loss and death.  While there is a great deal that could be said, and I'm sure many clergy would answer the question differently, the experience of officiating at funerals always leaves me contemplative, returning to some of life's biggest questions.

When I speak to friends and family of the deceased, in order to gather impressions and stories for a eulogy, or when I listen to the eulogies of others delivered at the funeral, particularly when I did not personally know the deceased or did not know them well, I am often left with the feeling that I missed out by not having had the opportunity to experience this individual in my life.  It is a very powerful experience to hear how they were present in the lives of others, leaving one feeling a sense of their absence very strongly.  The message - every life is unique and every person is special and has contributed something to the life of others.

I am also drawn to spend some time recognizing the preciousness of people in my life and sometimes find myself stepping into the time when they will not be with me in this world.  I feel the potential of loss acutely, and my love for friends and family feels intensified in that moment.

I also find myself reflecting on my own life.  Am I living it the way I would want it to be remembered?  What is the source of my life's meaning?

We must not wait for the funerals of our lives to contemplate these questions to find meaning in all the connections we have and the communities we are part of.  We must not wait until the end to tell others how much we truly loved them and cherished them in our lives, or how much we learnt from them.  On Yom Kippur in the medieval poem unetaneh tokef we are asked to contemplate who shall live and who shall die.  I don't believe in a God who is willfully making those decisions about each of us.  But I do believe that every human being is unique and every life is special, and we are called upon at the New Year to return to who we truly are, recommit to connect more passionately and more deeply with each other.  Because this is the only life that we have, and this is where we will find ultimate meaning and, ultimately, find God.
Rabbi Rachel Gurevitz