Ever since we got back from Colorado last Sunday, my right ear has been completely stuffed. I can still sort of hear out of it, but when I talk, I feel like I am in an aquarium.  It’s been quite annoying this past week, but tonight, I noticed something very different about this stuffed ear syndrome that brought some interesting meaning.

This past Shabbat’s Torah portion included the Sh’ma – Hear (Listen) Israel, ADONAI is our God, ADONAI is One. This is the watchword of our faith as Jews. We say it when we wake up, we say it when we’re going to bed. It get’s it’s own page in the prayerbook. And when we say this prayer, we are encouraged to close our eyes in order to remove the distractions we see with our eyes and truly listen to these important words.

Tonight, at services in the beauty of the Camp Hess Kramer chapel, surrounded by the large trees and plants, I closed my eyes preparing to say the Sh’ma, when I heard something quite different. This time, I heard my own voice inside my body. Rather than having my voice commingle with all the other voices, I heard my own voice singing the Sh’ma, calling me to listen to my self and hear  these words in my voice. Tonight, it was a call not just to all of us as a community to listen, this was a call to me that I have to take the time and listen for God’s voice in the world.

Last summer, during my time at Camp Hess Kramer in Malibu, I told a story during Shabbat about a rabbi who loved to be out in nature and found himself getting lost, being found by some bandits, learning a nigun (a tune with no words) from them and having to take it back to teach to others because it was too great to forget.  During the story, as I was talking about all the amazing things the rabbi saw in nature, two deer just happened to literally jump into the middle of the outdoor chapel. The campers were amazed, as was I.  After the deer took their leave of us, I continued the story, including teaching the camp the nigun.

For the rest of my time up at camp, the campers sang the nigun and talked about the deer.  I later learned that I was nicknamed the “Deer Whisperer!” It was a great honor to have such an experience with the campers last summer – so much so, that I even used it in one of my Rosh Hashanah Sermon. But I never really realized what kind of impact the whole experience had on the campers.

Today, after Matt and I dropped off DovLev for her camp experience, Matt, JediYeled and I headed to Camp Hess Kramer. Upon our arrival, campers and staff alike, were approaching me and telling me how great last summer’s story was and how excited they were to see me.  Some came up seeing the nigun, others told me about how incredible it was for them to have the deer in the service. Another told me about her morning run and seeing some deer along her route and realizing how incredible the world is all around her.

It’s amazing to think how one little story, one nigun and two deer can impact the lives of a lot of incredible youth and adults alike.  It’s a reminder that what we do and what we say will be remembered for a long time. Therefore, we must take advantage of the moments that we have to say something, do something, or just be someone that will inspire another.

(D’var Torah written by me for CCAR Webinar on Task Force on Intermarriage)

One of most common questions I get from visitors to Temple Beth Sholom is: where’s the front door?  TBS’ design is such that the front door is on the main street side, but the parking lot leads you to the back of the building.  And while we have signs pointing visitors where to go, it is still a challenge to figure out how to get in to the building.  Yet, once inside, especially in our sanctuary, guests remark how beautiful it is, how good it is to be in a space that feels so comfortable.

Mah tovu o’halecha Ya’akov, mish’k’notecha Yisrael. How good are your tents O Jacob, your dwelling places O Israel.

Each of us can speak about how good our communities are and how beautiful our places of worship inspire prayer and moments of peace.  Yet, how difficult are they to navigate when trying to find the entry point?  How foreign do they look to the new comer and how does one navigate their way into the community?

Each person who enters the community comes in with certain expectations and a history of what they experienced in the past.  For some, it was the experience of the synagogue of their youth.  In that place, there were certain customs and expectations as to how to act, where to go and what to do.  For others, their point of reference for a religious community comes from outside Judaism yet they may enter with a Jewish partner who is either already comfortable in the space or is navigating it for the first time.  And there are those who enter a Jewish community completely alone but are just curious.  How will each individual react and speak of the community they experience for the first time? Will they bless or will they curse?

Balaam was hired to curse the Israelites by Balak, King of Moab, who feared that they would overtake his land.  Yet, Balaam was only able to speak words of blessing over the people.

Rav Yohanan offers us a midrash: “What did he (Balaam) see? He saw that the openings of the Israelites’ tents were not directly oriented toward one another. He then said: ‘These are worthy of having God’s presence (Shekhinah) rest upon them.’”

But why were the openings of the tents not directly oriented toward one another and why would this be worthy of blessing?  Rav Yohanan explains that the Mishnah states: “Within a communal courtyard, a person may not open a door directly facing another door, nor a window directly facing another window.”

Yet it is still a communal courtyard and the tents are all gathered together in one place.

Today, as we engage in our conversation regarding the presentation of the Task Force on Intermarriage at the CCAR convention, we take away two reflections.

First, is the perception of the community from on high.  Balaam stood high on the hill and looking down at the tents, he saw them gathered together as one large camp.  It was strong and it presented a sense of order.

Second, when entering the camp directly, while the tents are gathered together, they are still separate in that no one can see into another person’s dwelling place from their own.  There is still a sense of personal space and autonomy.

To those who enter our communities today, they hope to find a strong, unified community.  One, that when standing together is consistent in principle.  Yet, when one enters our communities, they do not want to lose the self.  One wants to know that they are still able to hold various opinions and thoughts and not just be a part of the collective where everyone agrees blindly.  There is hope for open dialogue and discussion and even disagreement.

We rabbis of the CCAR represent over 900 congregations. We are all a part of the Reform movement, hence the collective.  Yet, each of us is an individual thinker and leader in our communities.  Each of us holds our own opinions to personal practice on and off the pulpit.

Our congregants enter the community looking for stability and a place where they can also express their individual beliefs and opinions.  They look to the community for support and blessings.  And in return, we pray that they too bless us.

Mah tovu o’halecha Ya’akov, mish’k’notecha Yisrael – these were the words spoken by one looking in to the community.  These were blessings offered by someone experiencing the community for the first time.  These were words given when only looking from the outside.  What might Balaam’s blessings have been had he entered in to the heart of the community and experienced the vibrant life within?  What are the blessings we hope others will speak of us when they experience our communities from not only the outside but also when they enter our doors?

Allow each of us to create a strong unified community yet allow us also to always promote individual thought and practice.  Then will we be able to appreciate, how beautiful are our tents O Jacob, our dwelling places O Israel.

Saw this comic this morning from Doonesbury.

The following is the reflection and prayer I shared at the Chapman Holocaust Memorial Program:

I stood before a group of parents and students in a Junior High School in the mountains outside of Denver, Colorado.  There I stood presenting my part of our group History project about the Holocaust.  I used a film strip to illustrate the stories of terror, pain, and courage.  I shared personal accounts from two survivors I interviewed along with personal artifacts Leo and Samuel gave me to share with the class.  By the end of my presentation, the room was silent.  No one moved, no one said anything.

At the end of the evening I was astounded by what the parents said to me:  “we never knew!”

You never knew?  You, the parents, the adults, never knew! How could that be.  The students, I could understand, but you?

It was that indelible moment that I realized I needed to be an integral part of the network to ensure that no one could say, “we never knew.”

Tonight, we gather here as witnesses to a part of our history that can never be forgotten.  We are surrounded by those who personally experienced the atrocities that leave this indelible mark on our souls.  Each of you, like the two first survivors whom I met, Leo and Samuel, bear eloquent witness for each of us that these moments should never be forgotten.

We read in the Gates of Prayer:

The universe whispers that all things are intertwined.  Yet at times we hear the loud cry of discord.  To which voice shall we listen?  Although we long for harmony, we cannot close our ears to the noise of war, the rasp of hate.  How dare we speak of concord, when the fact and symbol of our age is Auschwitz?

The intelligent heart does not deny reality.  We must not forget the grief of yesterday, nor ignore the pain of today.  But yesterday is past.  It cannot tell us what tomorrow will bring.  If there is goodness at the heart of life, then its power, like the power of evil, is real.  Which shall prevail?  Moment by moment, we choose rightly, and often enough, the broken fragments of our world will be restored to wholeness.

For this we need strength and help.

It is imperative on each of us to listen to the stories, remember the history and then become the transmitters to future generations.  From the ashes, from the flames we hear the voices of our past.  They call out to us to remember.  They remind us that we must be the ones to tell their story.  We must be the ones to never forget so that they should never be forgotten.

Elie Wiesel, wrote in 1979,

The survivors advocated hope, not despair.  Their testimony contains neither rancor nor bitterness.  They knew too well that hate is self-debasing and vengeance self-defeating.  Instead of nihilism and anarchy, they chose to opt for man.  Instead of setting cities on fire, they enriched them.  Many went to rebuild an ancient dream of Israel in Israel; they all chose to remain human in an inhuman society to fight for human rights everywhere, against poverty everywhere and discrimination, for humankind always.

For we have learned certain lessons.  We have learned not to be neutral in times of crisis, for neutrality always helps the aggressor, never the victim.  We have learned that silence is never the answer.  We have learned that the opposite of love is not hatred, but indifference.  What is memory if not a response to and against indifference?

So let us remember, let us remember for their sake, and ours: memory may perhaps be our only answer, our only hope to save the world….

Together, we will remember and together, we will never let this happen again to any people.  Together, we will be strengthened because we carry in our hearts and souls the memory of all those we hold on to tonight.

May I ask that the candle lighters and the students accompanying them now join me on stage?

Sonia Berson accompanied by Andrew Paull
Harry Eisen accompanied by Erin Beyrooty
Mary Hoovestol accompanied by Case Takata
Goldie Sack accompanied by Roger Mendoza
Leon Weinstein accompanied by Porter Hahn
Mike Zelon accompanied by Angel Chang

Please Rise

We take a moment for silent meditation

Join together in singing Eli Eli

May these lights illuminate the stories of those not hear to speak them, yet may we carry their blessings and share them with the world.  Tonight, may we never forget.  Tonight let us remember and therefore, allow us to live as they live through us. May these lights inspire us and enlighten us.  And let us say…Amen