From the Rabbi

Join us THIS Saturday!

It's a standing invitation. Join us on September 17th, as described below. Join us on the 24th as we prepare for Selichot and celebrate the global "Moving Planet" happening; or October 1st, Shabbat Shuvah, for a special guest dvar chinuch, and more; or October 8th, when we meet at Wheaton High School for a Shabbat also known as Yom Kippur… join us this Saturday, whichever weekend it may be.

We're in Elul, our season of introspection and self-betterment. Sometimes we approach repentance from a place of guilt, literally hitting ourselves, feeling hard-pressed by High Holy Day imagery to do better. That's useful. But we can also be drawn by a positive vision, moved to make positive change for its own sake. Often, the latter kind of "turning" is more enduring.

Many things we need to be pushed to do, but we feel great once we've done them: volunteering; social justice projects; commuting by bike in sub-ideal weather; finishing that next critical step in a big project; and yes, sometimes, coming to shul. How often at 9:00 am on a Saturday do you think: "I should, I'd enjoy it; I always gain something, but then again…"? So here's a no-guilt goad toward increased synagogue attendance, from clergy telling it like it is:

One: The best stuff often happens beyond the sanctuary. Don't think we clergy are clueless: schmoozing in the hallway, camaraderie on the oneg crew, intergenerational learning and singing in the students' service, powerful prayer in the Minyan Pashut, quiet moments with a book or a friend – they're all good. I'm envious, even, wishing I could partake of what's beyond the service! No guilt: be in when it moves you; go out anytime; you're still joining us on Saturday.

Two: The best stuff often happens on the outside or the inside. Outside, meaning strolls around our grounds, working in our Mishnah garden, playing with the kids. Inside, meaning not indoors, but on the inner journey – getting lost in song; stillness and meditation; browsing the rich resources of the siddur and chumash; ideas; poetry; perspectives on the world; togetherness. No guilt: zone out while in services, or step out altogether; you're still joining us on Saturday.

Three: The best stuff often happens after services. The oneg, for sure. The extended conversations, absolutely. And the post-oneg time is a key educational moment, too. As explained in the Adult Education column in the last e-Scroll, "Shabbat Conversations" will now routinely unfold around 1:00 pm – an "Open Table" discussion the first Saturday of each month, and the continuing Talmud Discussion on the fourth Saturday. After the oneg is also a great time to host the speakers, performers, and teachers who come our way. So, no guilt: show up just for the oneg and the after-learning, and you're still joining us on Saturday.

I hope you receive and read this before Saturday the 17th, because it will be an illustrative embarrassment of riches. Following a sweet service and brilliant bar mitzvah will be two incredible offerings after the oneg. Our own Helen Leneman, accompanied by our own Carol Kranowitz, have been working on a complex and gorgeous musical setting of the story of Hannah, which is the Haftarah twelve days later on Rosh Hashanah. At 1:30 in the sanctuary, come learn this key story and hear this stirring music. AND, visiting from Israel is a leading "green" Jewish thinker and organizer, Jeremy Benstein. Jeremy —author of perhaps the best book in the field (The Way into Judaism and the Environment), associate director of the Heschel Center, and a longtime teacher and friend of numerous Adat Shalomers (also my JCC day camp counselor in Toledo Ohio!)— will meet with us at 1:00 pm in the triple classroom to explore Israel's greening. No guilt: you can't be at one if you're at the other, so definitely join us this Saturday!

And do join us any Saturday, every Saturday. There's always something here for you.

Shabbat shalom…..

Rabbi Fred Scherlinder Dobb

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Rabbi George's Reflections

"MAYBE THIS TIME": THOUGHTS ABOUT THE DAYS OF AWE  

The dog days of summer have inexorably moved on from July to August as I write this, and, like most rabbis, my thoughts are wending their way past Tisha b'av to the looming gloom of the Yamim Noraim, the Days of Awe. Meantime, I have been immersing myself in one of the most obscure books of our canon, Koheleth. Some of you will be joining me in the study of this brief but powerful ancient text this fall. (The Christians call it "Ecclesiasticus" (Lat.) or "Ecclesiastes" (Gk.) and you may know it by that name.) Koheleth contains a poem that I feel is surprisingly connected to Yom Kippur, the most difficult and challenging of all our holy days. It's about that connection that I write.

You all know the poem. We hear it often at funerals, events that are rare in our days of wine and roses but become painfully frequent as we attain "three score years and ten, or…by dint of great strength, four score" (Psalm 90). The poem is often used in wedding rituals as well.

Everything has a season, and a time for every matter under the heavens.

A time to be born and a time to die.

A time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted.

A time to kill and a time to heal.

A time to rip down and a time to build.

A time to weep and a time to laugh.

A time to mourn and a time to dance…

A time to embrace and a time to pull back from embracing.

A time to seek and a time to lose….

A time for war and a time for peace.

(Koheleth 3:1-8; Alter Translation)

Imbedded in this poem, indeed, imbedded in all of Koheleth, is a departure from, if not a repudiation of, the sense of time in the rest of the Tanakh (the Hebrew Bible). From the creation story, where on each successive day God progressively laid on more of the salient features of earth, sky, and living things, through the patriarchal narratives, the descent into and the Exodus from Egypt, the desert wanderings, the conquest of Canaan, and surely in the Historical Books, time is clearly linear. "There was war between Asa and King Baasha of Israel all their days. In the third year of King Asa of Judah, Bassha son of Ahijah became King in Tirzah over all Israel—for twenty-four years" (1 Kings 15:32-33). Seniors remember the newsreels that preceded feature films during 1935-1951; the rest of us probably know Tracy Lawrence's hit song that borrowed the newsreels' title: "Time Marches On." So it does in almost the whole Tanakh.  

Koheleth's sense of time is different.

"A generation goes and a generation comes, but the earth endures forever. The sun rises and the sun sets, and to its place it glides, there it rises….That which was is that which will be, and that which was done is that which will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun. There is a thing of which one would say, 'See, this is new. It already has been in the eons that were before us." (Koheleth, 1:4-5. 9-11)  

Which concept of time, linear or cyclical, underlies Yom Kippur?One can view Yom Kippur as cyclical—as some Jewish scholars have—because it comes around every year. It is as if the month of Nisan, in which it falls, carries Yom Kippur in its bosom, giving birth to it each year, just as "the sun rises and the sun sets" in the mind of Koheleth. On the other hand, we can view it as a series of mileposts in the days of our lives that move linearly from birth through maturity on to old age and death. We call that a life cycle, but for each of us it is most assuredly a linear experience. We cannot recover our pasts; indeed, we cannot, like crabs, crawl backward and be young again; in large measure, we cannot even remember many, perhaps most, of the days of our lives. That's one reason so many of us delight in smartphones and shirt-pocket cameras: we think that we can capture and forever revisit events, smiles, frowns, vistas, places, and keep fresh the people we have met, liked, and loved as they were. Our lives are linear, and we want to hold onto everything.

Yom Kippur commands us to remember and to anticipate the linear march of our days so that we may repent and ask forgiveness for the sins we have committed in the past year. We cannot do that unless we remember them. And, in the most awesome prayer of the Yom Kippur liturgy, the U'netaneh Tokef, we are forced to confront the inevitable and terrifying fates that may lie in wait for us in the year ahead. On Yom Kippur, God decides and seals in the Book of Life: who shall be raised up and who shall be brought low; who shall be made tranquil and who shall be distraught; who shall wax rich and who shall become poor; who shall live and who shall die, who by fire, and who by water. Repentance, prayer, and charity can avert the severity of the decree; but they cannot repeal it, the poet declares in the last line of this awesome recitation.[i]

In one human and I think distressing respect, however, Yom Kippur is clearly not linear but cyclical. The original Reconstructionist machzor (High Holiday prayer book) contained a warning to us all. It begins: "But this is not our first Yom Kippur," nor our first promise to mend our ways. It went on to lament that the same sins we committed the year before we committed once more in the year just past. I am sure that many of us have confronted this unhappy aspect of the human condition. It is not without significance that some members of our community have embraced the practice of Musar, a discipline that, hopefully, will make possible an ascent up the ladder of virtue. Others have tried using other disciplines and may still be pursuing them, and thus are seeking and have sought to convert the prayers of Yom Kippur from idle wishes and mere mouthings into life-enhancing change. Whatever method or methods we have tried or are trying, we pray that this time God will give us the strength to change our ways, that our Yom Kippur repentance, year after year, will seize hold of us so that next year when we pray for forgiveness, the sins of last year will not be among those that we are forced to confront once again. That is how the prayer to which I referred ended. And that is the wish I extend to everyone in our community because, in truth, a true repentance is the hallmark of a Happy New Year. It's not too early to convey that wish to each and every one of you.  

• Rabbi George Driesen

Note:

[i] The Hebrew text has been translated "annul the severe sentence [decree]." But Rabbi Ira Eisenstein, z"l, insisted in a letter to me years ago that was an incorrect reading. The word (ro-ah) is a noun, not an adjective. In context it means "the evil of'" the decree. Not only do I revere Rabbi Ira's memory and his scholarship, to say nothing of his command of the liturgy and the Hebrew language, but as best I can tell, I agree with him on both philological and philosophic grounds. What awaits us will overtake us, and repentance, prayer, and acts of loving kindness cannot prevent the loss of our livelihood, cancer, collision with a drunken driver, or many of the "thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to." But observing the mitzvot listed at the end of Une'taneh tokef may strengthen us spiritually and thereby help us better to confront the evils that may lie in wait.

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Hazzan Rachel's Notes

Take a Step

About twenty years ago, while working as a graduate intern in a Jewish communal agency in Baltimore, I met an Orthodox rabbi. My agency boss was himself a ba'al t'shuvah ("born-again" Jew) and wanted me to meet this rabbi. At the time, I was a member of Adat Shalom and served as a volunteer cantor. My internship boss found that "charming" and wanted me to meet his rabbi. The rabbi was a robust man, probably about 60, with warm eyes and a strong voice. He invited me to sit down in his study and tell him about my experiences leading davenning at Adat Shalom. "Very interesting," he said. Then he talked about his work doing keyruv, what we might call "outreach" in English. Keyruv comes from the Hebrew karov, meaning "close"; when we do outreach, we try to draw people close(r) to our cause or idea. He said that the most important thing to remember doing keyruv is: Take it one step at a time. Wherever a person is, you try to encourage her to take just the next step, but not all the steps at once. In hindsight, it sounds perfectly logical and wise. At the time, I found it surprising. My view of the more traditionally practicing Jewish people I knew was that they expected you to walk the whole mile – not just take a step. But the rabbi insisted that he never pushed anyone further than an inch beyond wherever they stood. "If a person is completely secular, I encourage him to start with one Jewish ritual, maybe lighting Shabbat candles, and that's it. If they're lighting candles, then I teach him about blessing his children on Shabbat, and so on." For sure this rabbi had an ultimate goal of leading the person to his version of a full Jewish life. I might not agree with the rabbi's version of that ideal Jewish life, but the wisdom of the process merits attention for all of us. Wherever you are, take a step.

We've earned ourselves the moniker, "the people of the Book," and lifted scholarship up almost as a religion itself. But we are also the people who said, "Na'aseh v'nishma" – "we will do it and [then] understand it." Learning is endlessly valuable, but not everything can be learned from a book, even The Book. We can read about Jewish ritual and practice, but until we do some of those practices regularly, we won't fully understand their meaning for us personally or communally. Using the word "practice" in this way is surely borrowed from rhetoric used in other religious traditions; Buddhists "practice," Jews daven, but the English "does" fits us as well. Used in this context it encourages us to take the long view – we practice not so that we can get it "right," but so that we can find deeper understanding. We keep coming back to our practices day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year. With every "practice," the rituals take on different meaning, sometimes helping us to see our own lives more clearly. With the passage of time, our spiritual practices begin to have their impact on the way we understand our life experiences. Lighting Shabbat candles, for instance, takes on a whole new meaning if it's been a regular practice that you then do in the context of an important life moment: the first Shabbat at home with a new baby, the first Shabbat at home after the loss of a loved one, the first Shabbat after sending a child off to college. The good news is that the tradition is so rich and full that we can keep growing with it, no matter where we are in our knowledge and practice. The path is infinite.

Going back to the Orthodox rabbi mentioned above and his suggestion: Take one step. Ask yourself, What is one thing I can add (or remove) that will put me more in step with Jewish tradition, more in connection with the Jewish people, perhaps, closer to my idea of God? It sounds so simple, and yet a small step we take can have a big impact in helping us to answer our questions and transcend our spiritual doubt. I can tell you about what the Shabbat Kiddush means, but if you start saying it every week over a glass of wine, you'll have a different connection to the Jewish understanding of Shabbat, of creation and the experience of freedom. You can tell me what the prayers mean in the siddur, but if I join the service regularly, I'll have a different understanding of the Jewish views of God and community. Somewhere in the midst of all of that practice, the rituals start to form a spiritual home base, an anchor as we travel through the unknown seas of our life's journey.

Here are a few suggestions:

• Add a recitation of gratitude to your morning regimen. Upon waking, say: Modeh/Modah Ani L'fanecha, Melech/Ruach Chai v'Kayam, sheHechezarta Bi Nishmati, Rabbah Emunatecha . . . I am grateful before You, King/Spirit Who Endures, that You have returned my soul to me, Your faith [in me, in humanity] is great. Then, take note of the impact of this recitation on your day, on your dealings with others, on your awareness of yourself and your own reactions.

• Say a blessing before you eat. If you have a bite of bread: Baruch Atah Adonai Elohenu Melech HaOlam HaMotzi Lechem Min HaAretz . . . A Source of Blessing are You, Adonai, Our Source, King of all the world, Who brings forth bread from the earth. Then, take note of the impact of this prayer on how you eat, what you choose to feed yourself, on your awareness of how food is grown, processed, and sold.

• Take a moment for quiet prayers before lighting your Shabbat candles. In past generations, women would say private prayers for the family members before saying the blessing. Take a moment to imagine all of your loved ones and then welcome Shabbat. Then, take note of how this contemplation affects your sense of connection with those around you and your connection with Shabbat.

• Add your own idea here.

My keyruv agenda isn't very ambitious. What I've learned is that every time I add another piece of Jewish practice, I am better for it. That's it. I don't have a prescription for what the journey should look like at the end, what the "next steps" might lead to, other than my own experience of Jewish practice. I look forward to hearing about yours.

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Reflections from Morah Chaya

In the coming months, I have decided to work on the mitzvah of shmi'at b'ozen, which literally means "listen with your ears." When the Torah uses the word Shema — as in "Hear O Israel" — it implies a deeper level listening — focusing, paying attention, understanding, and putting into action. Focus on just what is being said and let the message penetrate your thoughts. There are many distractions in life that make real listening difficult. These distractions include things like multi-tasking, being focused in our own thoughts, and holding judgmental views of the speaker. Before deciding whether to accept or reject an idea someone shares, before arguing, before making statements, before replying — first try and be open to hearing what is said in word and intention. 

Take the time to make sure you really understand the terms, values, and background of the speaker. Give people a chance to clarify their ideas. Accord the person speaking full respect so that when you listen, you listen with honor and patience. When we use a lev shomeah, a listening heart, as well as listening ears, we are able to get in touch with those around us on a more meaningful and active level. When we really listen, we let go of the notion that we are right about the matter under discussion and that we know what the speaker means. When we practice shm'iat b'ozen, we force ourselves to allow room for a different opinion or outlook. It requires deeper respect for the speaker and less ego from the listener. It means taking responsibility for our own actions and thoughts. 

If life's goals include personal growth, self-improvement, job improvement, better parenting, or deeper spiritual insights, listening to others — to our own honest thoughts and to God — may help put us on the right path. As we work hard to make Adat Shalom's youth and educational programs responsive to members' needs and dreams — all of us, the teachers, board members, and support staff will work hard at listening to each of you with a lev shomeah. Please take time to share your thoughts and dreams with us. I am confident that as we work together and learn from one another, our program will grow to be a beacon for those who seek meaningful spirited Jewish education for all ages.

On behalf of the Torah School Board, the Torah School Staff, and the youth committee, I send best wishes for a sweet, prosperous, and healthy New Year. May we all join together in prayer asking for a healing peace in every heart and throughout the world. We thank you for all of your support in the past year and look forward to a new year of learning and growing together.

L'Shanna Tova Umtukah! – Morah Chaya

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From the Co-Presidents

If You're an Accountant, Read No Further…

Dear Friends,

We have just finished a memorable week in the DC area, the "week of the hurriquake." If ever there was an apocalyptic segue into the High Holiday season, this was it.

The month leading up to the High Holidays, Elul, challenges us to examine ourselves and our deeds over the past year. This is referred to as "cheshbon hanefesh," an accounting of the soul. What kind of an accounting is this? It's the opportunity to see how we "chalk up" our actions of the past year, perhaps through meditation or through a diary. Although this is mostly an individual activity, this season is also a wonderful opportunity for us to reflect on another year in our young (twenty-something) synagogue community.

Our two-year theme of engagement is halfway through. Using one of the more detailed surveys we've ever done at Adat Shalom, we have plowed ahead into our plan to develop special-interest groups and to encourage leadership development. One of the areas of great interest to our membership is education. Our Community of Learners initiative is moving forward with programs for intergenerational learning. At the same time, our invigorated Adult Education Committee is reformulating and expanding our Jewish studies programs. Our first synagogue retreat in five years marked the beginning of our current program year. It was so successful that we are already planning our next retreat in 2013. Finally, we are moving ahead with plans for our third Adat Shalom trip to Israel next summer. We invite you to get ready to block out the dates for many new and exciting programs this year.

Our accounting could not leave out an assessment of our financial condition. In a time that has been economically difficult for so many people throughout the country —and consequently for so many synagogues— we have charted a path forward for Adat Shalom, aimed at preserving our financial health. While the membership of many synagogues has declined, we have remained stable. In addition, we have controlled dues and tuition through new and stimulating fundraising programs. Our Candlelight Conversations evening did double duty as a stellar cultural program that also realized revenue. And our online auction completed its second year, receiving strong support from our members.

As you and we do our own cheshbon hanefesh during this month of Elul, we want you to know how much we appreciate the opportunity to serve you this past year as your co-presidents.

B'shalom,

Garry Grossman and Ruth Spodak, Co-Presidents