Rabbi Jon's Website and Blog

First Reflections on the Storm

I say first reflections in that I began to have them earlier in the week.... We've had a couple of half-minyan services this week since the snowstorm.  Taking time for the maariv prayers, I saw the first section in a bit of a new light.  We praise God who "designs the day with wondrous skill" and rotates the seasons with regularity.  Yet of course this week, the days have been strange and the weather unseasonal.

Surely, though, the author of this prayer was well aware that the climate and seasons vary.  I can only think that he directs us, as the sun goes down on each day, to take a step back and marvel at the overall pattern behind the variations.  And to see that no matter how cold or warm, how dry or wet, we experience the same rising and setting sun, the same rotation of the stars (we rotate of course, not they).  What the author of the prayer sees, when the light of day is gone, is that there is something dependable even when the day that ended seems very unusual.

And then, even more importantly, the prayers don't stop there.  The second section is about Torah and mitzvot.  I experienced that this week as a reminder.  It's tempting to let the weather sidetrack everything, to decide that complaining and getting by puts everything else on the back burner.  But that's a luxury.  There have been a lot of people doing a lot of mitzvot because of the snowstorm.  Those electrical workers doing the dangerous work, up high and under the gun, were making our place safe again, not just convenient.  People found ways to do small kindnesses, making sure the intersections were orderly or even, I read in the paper, bringing a power strip to Barnes and Noble so one person wouldn't monopolize an outlet.

And of course, I hope the week reminds us of bigger pictures -- that some people live in countries where power is unreliable all the time; that some people in our city can't afford electricity and heat in the winter; that we all use too much energy and water.

So this week I learned a new thing, about the sequences of the prayers.  From the wonder at nature's rhythms and power, to the daily imperative of living wisely through mitzvot.

I hope you are safe and warm.  Shabbat shalom!

Prayer, continued

I have been updating and uploading for my page on tefillah (prayer), including the weekly study sheets about specific prayers, phrases, and words that I began creating last month.  I'll shortly add on my sermons page the words I shared last week on Rosh Hashanah about prayer.

Parashat Terumah: Special Places, Sacred Places

Parashat Terumah begins a sequence of many chapters detailing the Mishkan, the "tabernacle" or literally "dwelling place" representing the presence of God as our ancestors traveled the desert.

We all have special places in our lives -- locations infused with memories and feelings connected with important times and people.  Many of us have spiritual places as well.  Sometimes these are the same places.  Or we have mountains, lakes, paths or woods where we can reflect or meditate, feel awe or calm.

The Mishkan was of course a standard place, not a personal place.  But the Torah says, "Let them make Me a sanctuary and I will dwell in their midst" (Exodus 25:8).  Not "I will dwell in its midst" -- in the sanctuary -- but in their midst.  The official place was not meant to be God's only place.  Instead, the Mishkan was a vehicle to help everyone feel God's presence personally, and in the community.

Synagogues have certain features patterned on the Mishkan.  The aron kodesh (ark) with the Torah corresponds to the ark that contained the tablets of the Ten Commandments, for instance.  Like the Mishkan, the synagogue is a certain kind of spiritual place, but not the only kind.  For many of us, there are things we can only experience at the lake or by the sea. But only in the synagogue can we experience, week in and week out, the presence of other people who are also seeking God, or searching for insight, joy, or tranquility.  A synagogue as lovely as Beth Abraham warms us together in its space, and surrounds us with images of holy days and Torah.

The verse -- "Let them make Me a sanctuary, and I will dwell in their midst" -- supplies another essential element of the synagogue.  A shul is only a sanctuary when the people there truly feel God in their midst.  We all contribute to each other's feeling of holiness, if we come there with a sense of holiness, or at least a search for it.  It's not just the building's job, but the community's as well.  In the synagogue, we always pray not only as individuals, but as helpers and supporters to other people.  By singing, or simply standing quietly and soulfully, we make it possible for one another to find something spiritual in a sanctuary.

Debbie Friedman z"l

Yesterday the Jewish people lost one of our generation's g'dolot, the singer and teacher Debbie Friedman z"l.  Debbie was the pioneer who over the last forty years brought Jewish prayer to us in a new way at camps, youth groups, sing-alongs, sanctuaries, conferences, and eventually even Carnegie Hall.  When we stand in a circle at the end of Shabbat, it is her melody for the Havdalah blessings that we're singing.  When we pause during the Torah reading to seek healing, it is her Misheberach that we are praying.

My memories of Debbie's music start with the early albums, back before she was famous.  Her mother Frieda and my father came from the same place, Utica, NY, and Debbie's family lived not far from us.  When I was a teenager, on Friday evenings after Shabbat dinner and Birkat Hamazon, we went to the den and put Debbie's music on the record player while we read or played games.  Years later, at the start of the blizzard of '96 which shut down New York City for about three days, Laurie and I went to see Debbie at Carnegie Hall.  Debbie came on stage and immediately haimished up the place:  "Welcome to Beth Carnegie!"

From the beginning, Debbie Friedman was about ruach, spirit -- songs like Im Tirtzu or Not By Might, Not By Power.  She used her music to teach, and to become a great supporter of Jewish educators, a fixture at CAJE each year.  I remember hearing her Alef-Bet Song for the first time on a stage at the Minnesota State Fair, of all places!

Over time her music became even more intensely spiritual.  She started in her 20s, and she and her music grew as she and we did, creating an even closer relationship to those who had sung her music since we were all young.  One of Debbie's signatures was her ability to weave the Hebrew of prayers and Torah together with English -- not translation, but her own understanding based on the words.  As a feminist, she found ways to bring out the inclusive spirit of our Torah.

In recent years Debbie was not physically well, yet she continued to push herself to sing and perform and teach.  Her Misheberach reflected a wisdom about illness and prayer.  She knew that not all prayers would be answered with physical recovery.  So her Misheberach begins not even with a prayer for healing, but like this:  May the Source of strength, Who blessed the ones before us, help us find the courage to make our lives a blessing.  In the thousands we sang these words for her this past Shabbat, praying for her to be well.  Debbie might have told us:  Even if I don't recover, remember all that you prayed in these words.

Debbie Friedman died this week of Shabbat Shira, the Sabbath of Miriam's Song.  Debbie helped create one of largest women's Seders, at Mayan in Manhattan.  I'm sure many will be singing her Miriam's Song.

There will be many memorials and gatherings of song. As I learn about them I will pass them on.

We mourn this loss of Deborah Lynn Friedman, throughout the Jewish world.

And you shall be a blessing
and you shall be a blessing
and you shall be a blessing
L'chi Lach.

 

On Saying Sh'ma the Night of the First Snow

These are thoughts that went through my mind as I davvened last night.  It was the first snow of the year, and people had even so come special to make a minyan.

Uv'lech'techa baderekh -- speak of them [words of Torah] as you go on your way....May we continue to take to heart words of Torah even on our way home, driving carefully and thoughtfully and safely for ourselves and others next to us on the road.

Ush'mor tzaytaynu u'vo'aynu l'chayim ul'shalom -- Protect us as we come and as we go, for life and for peace...Amen!  May we arrive safely, safe from the hazards of others driving around us on the slippery roads.

Same words each night, different nuances.

M'chayei Hamaytim -- A Fresh View on an Old Prayer

An interesting look on the prayer in the Amidah praising God for "giving life to the dead", through the prism of the Chilean miners' rescue.  From Rabbi Elie Kaunfer, in the Huffington Post's new religion section (the site I don't read, but the new section is itself very interesting).

Shana Tova!

Visit my High Holidays page for some good resources, including my Guide to High Holiday Prayers, in either  .doc or  .pdf format.  It includes my overall perspective on Jewish prayer, a glossary of Hebrew words related to the High Holidays, a description of some of the "choreography" of services (bowing, stepping, etc.), and an overview of each section of the Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur services.

If you're in our area, please join us at Temple Beth Abraham for Rosh Hashanah services.  Just come!  Click here for the schedule.

May it be for you a Shana Tova Um'tukah, a good and sweet New Year.

Thy Thoughts Are Very Deep

This post requires a picture, but unfortunately I didn't bring my camera at the time.

On Tuesday I retreated with myself to the ocean, to sit without computer or ringing phone to gather thoughts and ideas, to write.  It was nearly 100 degrees, but still I went out to Marblehead Neck, to Castle Rock.  With the high noon sun overhead, I found a place in the shadow of the large rock where there was just enough shadow for me to squeeze my body in.  A bit of sea breeze, no sunburn.  I wrote some fifteen pages of "scribble Power Point", you could say, each page a few notes on another idea.

Then I went up onto the top of the rock, put on tallit and tefillin, and faced east.  I could see the lobster boat idling, and the mansions behind me.  Out in front the vast deep ocean.  I had stuck in my mind one of a number of versions of Psalm 92.  These words just happened to be coming out as I looked around:

Mah gadlu maasecha Adonai, me'od amku machshvotecha

How big is what You make, Adonai

Very deep are your designs.

I simply sang it over and over.  A brand new song for me, in the oldest of words.

Heschel This Week -- Critiquing the Synagogue

Rabbi's Note:  You have noticed by now that Heschel is direct, perhaps even shrill.  He speaks always in contrasts -- the ideal, always coupled with the criticism in the same sentence or paragraph.  I have my own dialogue with Heschel, with his words and his tone.  Nodding and shaking my head, rephrasing or reframing for myself.... I'm holding that back in these posts, and giving you the most emblematic themes of Heschel without my response or interpretation.

The modern temple suffers from a severe cold.  Congregants preserve a respectful distance between the liturgy and themselves...We have developed the habit of praying by proxy...Either because of lack of faith or because of religious bashfulness.  We would not admit that we take prayer seriously.  It would sound sanctimonious, if not hypocritical.  We are too sophisticated.  But if prayer is as important as study, if prayer is as precious a deed as an act of charity, we must stop being embarrassed at our saying Praised be Thou with inner devotion.

Ours is a great responsibilty.  We demand that people come to worship instead of playing golf, or making money, or going on a picnic...People take their precious time off to attend services.  Some even arrive with profound expectations.  But what do they get?  What do they receive?

-- from Man's Quest for God

Heschel This Week -- More on Prayer

...there is a wider voluntary entrance to prayer than sorrow and despair -- the opening of our thoughts to God.  We cannot make Him visible to us, but we can make ourselves visible to Him.  So we open our thoughts to Him -- feeble our tongues, but sensitive our hearts.  We see more than we can say.

Mindfullness of God rises slowly, a thought at a time. Suddenly we are there.  Or is He here, at the margin of our soul?  When we begin to feel a qualm of diffidence lest we hurt what is holy, lest we break what is whole, then we discover that He not austere.  Repentent of forgetting Him even for a while, we become sharers of gentle joy...