My Dear Friends,
L ‘Shanah Tovah!
It’s so good to see you here tonight. Welcome!
I want to begin this evening by
telling you one of my favorite stories.
Many of you, I am sure have heard this story before, but it bears
repeating. The story is about two people
– a baker named Yankel who had a reputation that reached far and wide for his
delicious challah. The other was an
impoverished tailor named Shmulik – who had a large family – but could barely
keep enough food on the table.
The story begins at a Shabbat morning
service. The Rabbi gave a VERY long and
VERY boring sermon (as some rabbis are wont to do….) that dealt with the
intricacies of the 12 loaves of Challah that the priests were required to keep
in the holy of holies in the Temple in Jerusalem. It was a brilliant sermon – it was so
brilliant that no one understood it – and Yankel the baker, along with most of
the congregation was lulled into a sleepy stupor.
After the Rabbi finished his
sermon and the congregation woke up, the baker went home to his wife for
Shabbat lunch. “So what did the Rabbi
talk about this morning?” she asked. Now
Yankel had not been sleeping throughout the entire sermon. He heard
little bits and pieces as he drifted in and out of consciousness. “I think,” he
replied, “…that God wants me to put 12 loaves of Challah into the ark.” And so, being a pious Jew, and always doing
what his Rabbi told him, the next Friday morning, he baked an additional dozen loaves, and brought
them to the Synagogue in the late afternoon –just before the beginning of
Shabbat.
As Yankel walked into the empty
sanctuary and stood in front of the ark with his sack of Challot, he had to admit
to himself that he was feeling rather foolish.
He opened the ark and prayed: “Ribono
Shel Olam – Master of the Universe, I am a simple man. I am a pious man. I never knew you liked challah – but if the
rabbi says this is what I’m supposed to do – then I’ll do it. I hope you like it. Have a Gut
Shabbes, God!” Then, the baker
closed the ark and went home.
Not two minutes after Yankel left
the synagogue, in walked Shmulik the poor tailor. Now this had been a particularly difficult
week for Shmulik. His wife and 13
children were hungry. Whatever few coins
he could scrabble together by sewing and mending did not begin to meet their
basic needs. He was at wits end. Finally, in desperation, he went to the only
place he could think of to find solace and comfort: the synagogue. He walked up to the ark and began to pray
with all his heart: “Ribono
Shel Olam – Master of the Universe!
I am a good Jew. I try my best to
feed my family – but I just can’t make it anymore. God, I’m at wit’s end. I need Your help. I need a sign! Please God – help me!” And at that moment – he bumped the curtain of
the ark and -- you guessed it, out fell a loaf of Challah... Shmulik quickly found the other 11 loaves -
and with grateful prayers, he kissed the ark curtain – and ran home to his family.
The next morning, at services,
Yankel was very nervous. All night long
he had wondered what would happen during the Torah service when they opened the
ark. Would his Challot still be
there? Was he a fool for thinking that
the Rabbi told him to put Challah in the ark?
The moment came. The doors open
and... no challah! It was all gone! Not a crumb was left! The baker was overjoyed. “Next week – cinnamon raisin!” he said - half
out loud and half to himself.
The next week – at the same time
– Yankel came with a dozen freshly baked challas. He lovingly placed them into the ark, kissed
the curtain and said: “God, I’m so glad
you liked my challah. I promise: as long as You eat them – I’ll bake them.”
He left the synagogue and went
home.
Five minutes later (you guessed
it!) in walks Shmulik. He humbly
approached the ark and prayed: “Ribono
Shel Olam—Master of the Universe:
Last week – You performed a miracle for me and my family. I took the Challahs home – I kept 2, sold 8,
gave 2 to Tzeddakah and had enough to feed my family for a week. Thank you, thank you! But You know God – things are still
tough. Is there any chance you could
perform another little miracle?” He
opened the ark: “Cinnamon Raisin – My favorite!” said the tailor.
According to the story, this went
on for 20 years. Every Friday afternoon,
Yankel would bring the Challah, and just after he left the synagogue, Shmulik
would come to claim it. Until one day –
the Rabbi stayed just a little bit
later than usual. And Yankel came a little bit early. You can imagine the Rabbi’s surprise when he
heard a voice coming from the sanctuary.
He peeked in and he saw the baker standing in front of the ark.
“God, sorry about last week,”
said Yankel. “We had an accident at the
Bakery. Somebody switched the sugar and
the salt. My guess is that Your Challahs
didn’t taste very good. I promise it
won’t happen again. Have a Gut Shabbes!”
As he turned to leave, the Rabbi
stepped out from behind the shadows:
“What do you think you’re
doing!!??” asked the Rabbi.
“I’m giving God Challah,” replied
Yankel.
“You can’t do that! That’s blasphemy! God doesn’t eat Challah!”
“Well, you were the one who told
me to do it!” said the baker.
They would have gone on arguing
for several more minutes, except for the fact that they were interrupted by
someone else entering the synagogue. The
Rabbi and the Baker hid themselves so that they wouldn’t be seen. Shmulik walked in. He went up to the ark, and, before he opened the
curtain he said:
“God, I don’t mean to be picky,
but the Challah tasted a little funny last week…”
He reached into the ark, and
started loading his sack with the 12 freshly baked loaves.
Just then Yankel jumped up and
screamed: “What are you doing with those
challahs?”
“They’re mine!” said
Shmulik. “God baked them.”
“God didn’t bake those Challahs,
I BAKED THEM!” said Yankel.
And at that moment, the Baker,
the Tailor and the Rabbi realized what had been happening every Friday
afternoon for the past 20 years.
Now there are several endings to
this story. The first ending is that
Yankel and Shmulik were so ashamed and embarrassed that they never set foot
into the synagogue again.
The second ending is that the
Rabbi said to Yankel: “You thought you
were baking Challah for God.” And then
the Rabbi said to Shmulik: “You thought
God was baking challah for YOU.” Now
your task is to give it directly to each other.
Normally, when I tell this story,
I use the second ending. It’s nice. It’s cute – it works for small children. But the truth is that the first ending – when
both Yankel and Shmulik never set foot in the synagogue again - is much more realistic
than the second. It doesn’t take much
for people to find a reason to leave a synagogue….and Yankel and Shmulik had a
pretty good reason to stay far away. AS
a matter of fact, the percentage of Jews who are affiliated with a Congregation
is rapidly decreasing.
If we look at national trends
there must be plenty of powerful reasons that people are staying away from
synagogues. Here at Temple Emanuel, we have been very
fortunate. Instead of getting smaller,
our numbers are staying steady – and, we’re even growing a little bit – and we
should feel good about that. Our
religious school is overflowing and last summer we sent over 40 students to
Israel on IST. But I have no illusions
that, just because our demographics are bucking national trends, we can rest on
our laurels and keep things as they are.
If we are to remain vibrant as a congregation we need to commit
ourselves to finding new and engaging ways to ensure that we are not allowing
ourselves to become complacent.
Secondly, numbers aren’t
everything – especially when it comes to worship. Think about it - we have
approximately 2,000 households in our database – that’s about 6,000 individual
members. And yet, on any given Friday
night, we rarely fill our small chapel.
It’s very clear that our current worship offerings are either not compelling or not important to most of our members.
Even on the High holidays, our numbers are dwindling – with some notable
exceptions: Our services at Shwayder
Camp on 1st and 2nd day Rosh HaShanah are
overflowing. We had to close
reservations due to space concerns on both days. Similarly, we have made the decision to hold
our Rosh HaShanah Unplugged and Shema Koleynu services in the sanctuary because
we could not accommodate everyone who wanted to attend those services in the
social hall. Why are these prayer
experiences growing and others are not?
I believe it is because they break new ground and provide an entrée into
the sacred and somewhat scary world of connection that traditional Reform Shabbat
services do not offer to many
members of our congregation. Of course, to some members of our congregation - these services are very powerful and beautiful.
It wasn't always this way. In the past, we joined Synagogues because
that was what we were supposed to do. To
be Jewish meant to be part of a congregation.
It meant attending services and actively participating in all areas of
congregational life. The Synagogue was
not just the place where we prayed, it also was the center of our community. We identified as Jews by and through our
synagogue affiliation.
Today, synagogue membership is
one of many choices that we can make as to how we will spend our discretionary
income and time. Should we go to
services or out to dinner? Should we go
on vacation on join the Shul? Should we
join the synagogue or the JCC? There are
as many – if not more –reasons NOTto become part of a congregation as there are to become
a member.
A story is told of a young rabbi who stood on
the bima delivering his Yom Kippur sermon. Wanting to make a strong impression
he banged on the lectern as he loudly delivered the first line of his sermon,
“Every member of this congregation will die someday!” He paused and looked
around at the somber look he had put on everyone’s face. His eyes settled on
one man in the front row who responded differently from everyone else. This man
was grinning back at him! Certain the man in the front row had not heard him,
the rabbi again thundered, “I tell you that everyone in this congregation will
one day die!” He looked down at the front row and saw that the man was still
smiling. One last time the rabbi shouted, “True it is that eventually everyone
in this congregation must die!” Seeing that the man’s grin had only grown
larger, the rabbi paused and asked, “Excuse me sir, are you amused by that
idea?”
“Oh no,” replied the man, “I’m not amused.
I’m relieved… You see, I’m not a member of this congregation!”
I’ve been a rabbi now for 27
years. For the first 20 years of my
rabbinate, I was taught and I taught others that the best way for a synagogue
to operate was to design and offer the most innovative and creative programming
possible. The more options we had, the more successful we would be. Temple Emanuel surely has a history of amazing and creative programming for which we are regarded in the highest esteem throughout our movement and beond.
But I don’t believe this anymore. The world has changed. Synagogues are now competing with the many other options Jewish involvement that are being offered in our community. People don’t join congregations for programs - we join because when we walk through the doors of a synagogue we feel that we are part of something important, sacred, meaningful and bigger than ourselves. A synagogue should be a community where we confront, celebrate and come to understand the most important aspects of our lives.
But I don’t believe this anymore. The world has changed. Synagogues are now competing with the many other options Jewish involvement that are being offered in our community. People don’t join congregations for programs - we join because when we walk through the doors of a synagogue we feel that we are part of something important, sacred, meaningful and bigger than ourselves. A synagogue should be a community where we confront, celebrate and come to understand the most important aspects of our lives.
That is what these High Holy Days
are all about – helping us to readjust our lives so that we can focus on what
is powerful – not passing; what is sacred – not superficial; what is essential
– not ephemeral. If there was only one
point during this service tonight that you were inspired, or pushed to think a
little bit differently about what is important in your life, or even felt a
little bit uncomfortable because you realized that there are things in your
life that are not the way they should be….then you have touched upon the
purpose of this sacred time. But it
goes beyond these 10 days in Tishrei – we should strive to find that meaning
and purpose every single day of our lives.
And I am absolutely convinced that it is in the midst of sacred
community –here in the synagogue – that we find the pathways that lead us on
our quests. My friends, even though we
are over three thousand years old, Judaism is a radical faith. Torah and the Jewish people exist for one
purpose and one purpose only: To provide
a framework for men, women and children to understand that we are not alone
and, in the process, to affirm that our lives have meaning, purpose and value. You can’t get that online, at Starbucks or at
the gym. You can find it in the Synagogue – if we agree that we are partners
together in creating a community that
matters.
This is the most important
mission towards which Temple Emanuel can and must strive – creating a sacred community that
truly matters.
It is in sacred community that we sustain and
continue an ancient tradition that has defined us as Jews, comforted us through
centuries of pain and given us the language of rejoicing in the most beautiful
moments in our lives.
It is in sacred community that we address the
fact that we live in a world that is increasingly isolating. The more complex and innovative our
technology becomes, the more we hide ourselves behind addictive glowing screens
that give us the world at our fingertips while, at the same time, dulling our
senses to the real world that exists beyond our devices.
It is in sacred community that we address our
generational ache for meaning and purpose.
It is in sacred community where we find the
holiness that 21st century life, with all of its technological
advances notwithstanding, has systematically stripped away from us.
Now I’m not going to claim that,
simply by walking through the door of Temple Emanuel you will suddenly find
enlightenment – no, that probably won’t happen.
But I can tell you that by joining
together with a community of seekers – seekers of wisdom, tradition, community
and comfort, we can and will become intrinsically linked
with those who came before us and set the stage for generations yet to come.
Over the next weeks and months
and years you are going to be hearing a lot about the concept of Engagement at Temple Emanuel. Our lay leadership and professional staff
have made a conscious effort to reshape and refocus our efforts away from simply providing programs and towards creating opportunities for every
member of our congregation to connect with others and find more ways to enhance
their spiritual, intellectual and social lives.
Of course, we will provide
programs – but we also will be looking to you – our membership – to tell us
what it is that you want from us.
Everything we do should be pointed towards the goal of creating an
atmosphere of what our President, Ellen Abrams and what Rabbi Rick Jacobs, the
president of the Union of Reform Judaism call “Audacious Hospitality.” Every time you walk into this building,
receive open one of our emails, look at our website or Facebook page, call our
phone number or have any contact with Temple Emanuel you should feel, instinctively that you are welcomed and that
you have made a connection with something much bigger than yourself.
We want to challenge you: This is your synagogue – take advantage of
what we have to offer. Come to
services. Take a class. Learn to chant from the Torah or present a
d’var torah at services. Get involved in
social justice and social action. Visit
our library. Make it your business to
get to know our clergy and staff – let us take you out for coffee or you take us out for coffee. We want to know you – and we want you to know
us.
I want to return to our story of
the baker and the tailor. I told you
earlier about 2 possible endings. In
fact, there is a third ending as well.
After Yankel and Shmulik realize what had been happening all these
years, they go home, dejected. And yet,
the next Friday morning, Yankel the baker, out of habit, baked an additional 12
loaves of Challah – out of habit. He
looks at the loaves and thinks to himself:
“What if what happened last week
was a fluke? Maybe God really does like
my challah! I’ve got to give it one more
chance.”
And so, as he had done for so
many years, Yankel walked into that empty Sanctuary on that Friday afternoon
and placed 12 freshly baked loaves of Challah into the ark. And then he prayed:
“Ribono Shel Olam: for 20 years I have come here to
bring you the best that I had to offer.
I believed that You took my gifts with love. Through coming to this
synagogue, I found my purpose in life. God, I’m not ready to give up on You – and
I’m not ready to give up on my synagogue.
I’m going to do this one more time.
If, tomorrow, when we open the ark, the Challahs are still there, I’ll
know that You don’t want them – I’ll be sad.
But if they’re not there – I’ll know that You care. ”
And Yankel kissed the ark curtain
and he left.
The next morning, the 12 Challahs
were gone.
And, as the story goes, Yankel
and Shmulik, to the delight of God and all of the Angels in Heaven, continued
giving and receiving Challah for another 36 years. They believed that the Challah was a gift to
and from God.
They were right.
There are times in all of our
lives when we come to this sacred place and feel completely connected to our
community and to the sacred dimensions of our lives. There are other times that we walk through
the doors and we don’t. And yet,
something keeps bringing us back – even if it’s only for the High Holy
Days. That urge to return is a gift from
God. It is a sacred connection that comes from being part of a holy community. Remember – Martin Buber taught us that we
experience the Divine through relationships and community. That is what we at Temple Emanuel aspire to
become for every member of our sacred congregation - for when we celebrate our community,
if we allow ourselves to be truly open to the spiritual potential within us, we
can experience moments of transcendence where we can almost taste God’s presence – and that taste is
as sweet as freshly baked Challah.
It’s good to see you here. Come more often. L’shanah Tovah.