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Kol Ami, The Northern Virginia Reconstructionist Community P.O. BOX 1801 ANNANDALE, VA  22003 (571) 271-8387 KOL AMI - THE VOICE OF MY PEOPLE

Rabbi's Message

Sitting in the Sukkah in the Rain of our Time
Rabbi Michael Strassfeld

It is the time of the ingathering of the year,
 
We have passed through the challenging shoals of the High Holy Days. We heard tell of the knife halted in mid-air, of wells appearing out of nowhere, of the barren bearing fruit in old age.
 
Where are the miracles of our time?
 
There is a time and purpose for everything under heaven.
 
We sit in our sukkot, those fragile booths, to remind us of days of old when we were wanderers in an unsown land.
 
It is a time to remember what it was like to be refugees from home, from everything we knew, even if that home was called Egypt.
 
We look up through the leafy branches of our roof to see the sky, the twinkling stars, to perhaps catch a glimpse of heaven.
 
Yet, it is a time to look around, not up, to see what tasks remain unfinished at this time of the year.
 
We hear the rustling of the leaves and canvas in the wind and try to stay warm with soup.
 
Yet it is a time to listen to the voices carried from afar by that wind,
Voices crying Hosha Na – Please save us.
 
As you saved us from the plagues of Egypt – Hosha Na – Please save them!
 
As you saved us from slavery – Hosha Na – Please save them!
 
As you led us across the sea – Hosha Na – Please save them!
 
As you fed us manna in the desert – Hosha Na – Please save them!
 
As you led us during forty years of wandering – Hosha Na – Please save them!
 
As you took us to the promised land, and we were saved – Hosha Na – Please save them!
 
It is a time to remember all the wanderings of the Jewish people, from Israel to Babylonia, from Babylonia to Italy, to Germany, to North  Africa, to France, to Spain, to Poland, to America…
 
We know what it means to be driven from one place to the next, to be refugees forgotten wandering on the dusty roads of this world, to sit in “homes” that provide no real shelter.
 
It is a time to remember and a time to act – Hosha Na – Let us act to save them!
 
But there is nothing new under the heavens. Suffering was and will be. The situation is too complicated. What can I do?
 
It is a time for miracles. A time to act despite all the questions – Hosha Na – Let us act to save them.
 
Into the sukkah I invite as my ushpizin, these seven honored guests:
 
Abraham and Sarah who welcomed all travelers on the way into their tent.
 
Hope to remind us that “it doesn’t make sense” does not make sense.
 
President Bush to take leadership on the issue of Darfur.
 
Determination and Commitment to do what needs to be done.
 
The United Nations to provide the forces to protect the people of Darfur.
 
The People of Darfur to know that they are not forgotten.
 
My Heart and my Soul to remind me who I am and who I can be.
 
It is a time for miracles. The miracles of the work of our hands.
 
Hosha Na – Please save them.
 
Hosha Na – Save us by saving them.
 
Hosha Na – Please save us, all of us.
 
Hosha Na – Save Darfur.
 
About this commentary
American Jewish World Service publishes a weekly Torah Commentary that explores a social justice theme in the Torah reading for the upcoming Shabbat. It reflects the ideas and opinions of the author and not necessarily those of American Jewish World Service or its partner organizations.
 
About the author
Michael Strassfeld is the rabbi of the Society for the Advancement of Judaism in Manhattan. His most recent book, A Book of Life: Embracing Judaism as a Spiritual Practice was recently published by Jewish Lights.

September 2006

Shalom and Shana Tova to all!

In just a few hours we will gather to welcome the new year – what a joy, privilege and a blessing it is to be a part of this beloved Kol Ami community!

As we enter this new year together, first and foremost, I want to thank the countless people (yes, countless, even in our small and yet vibrantly growing community) who have worked so hard to organize these High Holy Days — these are our service leaders, the food organizers, name tag makers, children’s program organizers and leaders,  sacred schleppers (schlepping prayer books and supplements, chairs, Torah scrolls, table clothes, talleisim and kippot, and candlesticks and. . . and . . . ), our Torah leyners (chanters), shofar blowers, gabbaim (those who help keep the services running during the actual service), our wonderful children who will be participating more than ever this year, our yizkor book producers, greeters and welcomers, those who will remind us of the need to support Kol Ami materially as well as spiritually, those who will open Arks and read at services, those who help set up and clean up before and after services, those who welcome us for holiday meals and a communal Rosh Ha-Shana lunch, those who make spreadsheets to organize us, and more and more and more.  I am sure I have forgotten someone or some group of people who have been working hard to make these High Holy days come together so well for us all — already, my first “please forgive me” for the new year — it’s just my grey cells getting greyer that has caused me to forget, certainly not a lack of appreciation.  The most important message in this long paragraph is to say: THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU to each and every person who has given energy, sweat, time, caring, work, money, ideas to build our community during the past year and during this season of the days of awe — OUR HOUSE IS BUILT TOGETHER, ONE PERSON AT A TIME, ONE SOUL AT A TIME, ONE CARING MOMENT AT A TIME, ONE SHARED EXPERIENCE IN COMMUNITY. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU.

And now a reflection about our heartfelt dialogue: In recent weeks, our community has been in discussions about whether we should take an official stand as Kol Ami about several political and social justice issues. I have remained on the sidelines of the dialogue because I respect the community’s right to process together without too much input from its rabbi as discussions begin and also because I have learned that these dialogues take time. I do want to share some Jewish teaching with you, not about taking a stand itself, but about sacred dialogue and holy controversy.  In the Talmud, we are told about a serious controversy between the two great rabbinical houses of Hillel and Shammai — each side argued its case passionately and the rabbis were getting somewhat “hot under the collar” when a voice (a “bat kol” -- a feminine voice of God!) called out from heaven: elu v’elu divrei Elohim Chayim — these words (i.e., the words of the House of Hillel) and these words (i.e., the words of the House of Shammai) are ALL the words of the living God!”  The message here  from God was that this was a machloket l’shem shamayim — a controversy for the sake of Heaven — meaning that both sides had noble and well-meaning intent and they were all respectful of that intent – no malice was intended, only decent purposes.  

That’s where we come in as a community. Like Cookie Perlmutter wrote in an e-mail today, and others have echoed, “This dialog and the manner in which it is being conducted is what I love most about our community.  It is healthy, invigorating and freeing to be able to stand side-by-side while on opposite sides.”  We are engaged in the growth stages (note, I did not say growing “pains”) of a dynamic Jewish community – we are engaged in a machloket l’shem shamayim — a controversy for the sake of Heaven — it will certainly take much more discussion, much more dialogue and much more sharing of ideas, opinions and perspectives until we reach a more long-term decision as to the direction and extent of Kol Ami’s participation in the world of politics and social justice issues outside the ‘walls’ of our shul-space. In the meantime, let us be proud of how we are sharing our disagreements. In the future, I hope to be more a part of this sacred dialogue and holy controversy.  I would like to suggest that after the High Holy days our leadership consider the possibility of scheduling several opportunities to discuss these issues and bringing in other more experienced voices from Reconstructionist synagogues who have grappled with such issues. I know that my rabbinic colleagues and the leadership of national JRF are eager to support us as we engage in continued dialogue.

May sweetness and joy, good health and love, fulfillment and peace fill your days and the days of all you love in the coming year — shana tova u-metukah!

Rabbi Leila

August 2006

This is in response to a question regarding standing/not standing for Kaddish:

Many Jews have the custom of not standing for Kaddish because tradition has it that:

a) if no one in our immediate family has died,  we are fortunate not to be mourners and we should honor the grief and sorrow of those who are mourners.
b) This way, we can also know who in our community needs our extra care and comfort.

Some Jews (especially in the Reform movement) developed the minhag (custom) that the whole community stands at Kaddish because there are always Jews who have no one to say kaddish for them and therefore the community stands to say kaddish for these people.

Years ago, Kol Ami developed a position that took into account the need to honor the individual grief of mourners (“a” above) and our need as a community to know who needs extra care and comfort )”B” above) and our desire to continue the minhag of saying kaddish for those who have no one to say kaddish for them and we decided on a new minhag of inviting the mourners and those commemorating a yahrzeit (anniversary of the death of a loved one) first and asking them to begin recitation of the Kaddish and then the community rising in support at the second paragraph of the Kaddish. We believe that it accomplishes all the the purposes of acknowledging individual grief, supporting the mourners and reciting Kaddish for those who have no one else to perform this mitzvah for them.

The “ahura” probably refers to the “ayin ha-ra” or the belief in the “evil eye” -- many Jews say “k’eynehura” or “k’ninehora” which is a way of saying — I won’t stand (if I have no deceased relative) in order not to invite the evil eye – that is, in order not to invite death to come to my family.

As for Yizkor books, the strict tradition is to name only immediate family, but the more liberal custom (certainly true in Reconstructionist, Reform and many Conservative synagogues these days) is to list immediate family members (i.e., parents, spouses, siblings, and children) and very close friends and other dear relatives.

There has been some discussion around the financial aspect of Yizkor books. My own view is most importantly that no one should ever feel constrained by money not to include a name of a loved one. Having said that, a very important value of all Jewish communities is that we must support our communities in every way – spiritually, intellectually, intellectually, with our sweat equity and hard work and materially — in the Mishna, we are taught, “if there is no Torah, there can be no  decent behavior,  and if there is no decent behavior, there can be no Torah, if there is no Torah, there can be no flour (to bake bread), and if there is no flour (to bake bread), there can be no Torah.” The contemporary interpretation of that is, “if there ain’t no dough, there ain’t no Torah!” (i.e., wonderful little shuls like ours can’t live on Torah alone — we need dough/bread/money too). Creating a Yizkor book that is sustained by our members and friends’ donations is an honorable, dignified and wonderful way to support Kol Ami materially and is consistent with  long-standing Jewish tradition.

As we begin the month of Elul,  I wish us all a meaningful time of reflection and healing as we move toward the New Year and the Days of Awe.

B’shalom,

Rabbi Leila

February 2006

Shalom, 

I want to share some snippets of conversations I’ve had with Kol Ami members recently.  One member said, “Rabbi, I’m not very spiritual — I don’t even know what spirituality is!” That same person then proceeded to tell me about a how he was “mesmerized” by a certain piece of music, how “it just touched a deep place in my heart.” Hmmm…. I think to myself – not spiritual?  Another member of our community recently said to me, “I feel as if I have been on a life-long search for God — and I am just beginning to sense that I’m finding that — in our Shabbat services and in the people in our community.”  My own heart was touched by these words — God, yes — but more importantly, that this person sensed the holy and the sacred in her contacts with others at Kol Ami, with real people. Someone else told me in the past few months — I don’t really understand what Shabbat is about — my life is dominated by my work. I’m very tired all the time, but I do have a sense of meaning in what I do at work.  I just wish I could find that meaning in another ways. And then there was the individual who told me that the Reconstructionist idea of God as “Process” was very attractive to him — because God and Life and Spirit were all an unfolding.  

I am energized and intrigued and inspired by these conversations and many more than I have had with Kol Ami folks over the past year —  and I want to keep the conversations going! In the very “frum” or traditionally observant Jewish world, many people turn to a ‘daf yomi’ — a daily page with Torah or Talmud text and commentary —  and reflect on these words during the day. I’d like to keep the conversations going by offering an adapted form of the daf yomi as a daf chodshi — a monthly page of reflections connected to different Jewish teachings. I suggest that over the course of a month, you might take a few moments of quiet time to reflect on, and consider the following comments and questions. I would welcome responses — either directly to me or with one another in discussions at lay-led services, at social events, at study gatherings, or perhaps on a discussion listserve and wherever it feels right. So, here, for your consideration is our first daf chodshi, monthly page: 

1.  And it came to pass that. . . Moses sat to judge the people; and the people stood by Moses from morning to evening. . .” [Exodus 18:13] [Moses’ father-in-law, Jethro, then tells Moses]: “the thing that you do is not good. You will surely exhaust yourself, you, and this people that is with you. For this thing is too heavy for you; you are not able to do this work alone, by yourself.” [Exodus 18:17—18] 

Moses is a profoundly overworked man. He has taken on the burden of judging the people alone. He works all day from early morning until early evening and he becomes increasingly exhausted.  In a contemporary context, Juliet Schor  has written a thought-provoking cautionary work, entitled:  The Overworked American: The Unexpected Decline of Leisure), You might ask yourself: 

•           Am I “overworked?”

•           Have I created my own overworked situation, or have others imposed it on me? If so, why?

•           Am I a “workaholic?”

•           Does excessive work “feed” or protect me somehow?

•           What is my hunger and from what am I hiding by working too much?

•           What are the consequences of my overwork

                        — to my body?

                        — to my partner/family?

                        — to my friendships and social life?

                        — to my work colleagues

                        — to my soul?

•           What changes must happen in my life so that I am not an exhausted person? Where do I begin?      

2.         “God said to Moses: ‘Come up to Me on the mountain and be there.’ [Exodus 24: 12] 

Jewish tradition teaches that there is no insignificant or superfluous letter or word in the Torah. We are also taught that Torah uses an economy of words. Thus, when there is something “extra” – a redundancy, a repetition, we are advised to pay close attention. 

“Come up to me and be there” contains such a redundancy. Why didn’t God just say — Come up to Me on the mountain? Why the addition of the phrase, ‘be there?’  Perhaps God is saying that Moses must bring his whole self — his body, his mind, his soul  up to the mountain. Perhaps God is telling Moses that he must be fully ‘present’ in order to integrate the whole experience. You might ask yourself: 

•           Am I usually fully ‘present’ to the experiences of my life, or is only part of me really awake and aware?

•           Am I present in body, but not in spirit?

•           Am I able to truly listen and hear the music of that intricate and complicated symphony of my life — or do I miss many notes and many nuances?

•           How do I bring my whole self to all that I experience in life?

•           What new gifts will I discover along the way? What new music will I hear?

•           Are there things I must change in my attitude, my approach to life,  my actions, my reactions that might help me be fully present to all that Life offers me? 

3.         During the desert journey, Adonai instructs Moses to tell the people to build a

portable mishkan (tabernacle) in which the tablets of the Law and the Torah will be placed. God is asking for more than just a storage place: “Let them make Me a sanctuary (mishkan) that I may dwell among them.” [Exodus 25:8] 

The word mishkan comes from the same Hebrew root as Shechinah, the Indwelling Place of God, often associated with the Divine Female. Thus this ‘sanctuary’ that the Israelites are instructed to build is more than just a structure, it is an internal spiritual “home” in which God dwells among us.

•           Do I have an internal spiritual home where God dwells with me?

•           Do I have a sense of God’s closeness to me and within me?

•           Do I know (and really believe) that I hold within me a spark of the divine?

•           Or — do I feel spiritually “homeless?” Does God feel very far away?

•           Have I truly opened my heart and my mind and my soul to God?

•           Have I built my own mishkan?  If not, how do I begin? 

4.         "And you shall command the children of Israel, and they will  take for you olive oil beaten pure for light, in order that an eternal light shall ascend" (Exodus   27:20).  

Here God instructs us to create a ner tamid, an eternal light, which will ascend from the mishkan.  Today, every synagogue has a ner tamid, usually placed above the Ark where the Torah scrolls are kept — and customarily, it represents all the souls of all Jews who have lived and are now deceased. When an individual Jew gazes at the ner tamid, she or he thinks of loved ones past. When I look at the ner tamid, I think of the substance of my  loved one’s life — what remains as an “eternal light” to me about who he is or she was, what he or she stood for. 

When my daughter Kayla was a tiny baby, we attended a Shabbat morning service where I was greeted by my beloved teacher, Reb Zalman Schachter-Shalomi. With a smile that lit up the whole room, Reb Zalman held Kayla in a warm embrace, and said, “Ach! It is SO good to hold this little sefer Torah [Torah scroll] in my arms! May she be a blessed ner tamid for you!”  

What Reb Zalman meant was that Kayla would write a new Torah text through the substance of her life, through her own actions and that is blessing to us was that she would be an “eternal light” for us. Each of us writes a new Torah text with our lives, and each of us can become a ner tamid through the substance of our actions. Through who were are and what we stand for we can bring eternal light.   You might ask yourself: 

•           What is the unique new “Torah,” the special teaching that I might bring to others through my deeds?

•           What are the sparks within me, the flame within me that can become a ner tamid, an eternal light for those who are important to me?

•           What of the essential “me” do I want to last into the future? What do I most want remembered? 

B’shalom, 

Rabbi Leila

September 2005

Shalom to everyone!

Today (Labor Day) is the first day of the Hebrew month of ELUL – a month of introspection, personal reflection, a time for heshbon nefesh — an “inventory of the soul” during which we think of our accomplishments, our deeds, our successes and our failures in the year that has past. It is in the month of Elul that we begin in earnest to prepare ourselves spiritually for the Days of Awe – the Yamim Nora’im – the High Holy Days. I invite you to join me to learn more about the month of Elul on Sunday, September 25 at 7:00 p.m. In the meantime, I invite each of us to take about ten minutes each day to sit quietly, think about those we love and how our connections have been strengthened in the past year, and how our bonds with family and friends may have weakened this year. Let’s each take some time to reflect on how we can strengthen our bonds of love, how we can seek peace and reconciliation when needed and how we can enter the New Year with a refreshed sense of connection to those we love.

Today I also sit watching the horrendous images on TV of the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. At times of great catastrophe, I always turn to reflection on the Presence of God in all this – and I want to share with you my own theological reflection in the form of a poem. I must acknowledge that this is a very Reconstructionist way of thinking about God — not the Reconstructionist theological position, but a characteristic one. In the midst of such devastation, I always ask myself “where is God in all this.” These words reflect my current thinking and feeling. I welcome comments (sent directly to me at lgberner@earthlink.net) and reactions.

I also want to encourage each of us to find a way to help the victims of the Hurricane. Look at the links on our websites about ways to help out!  This is a time when we really can perform important mitzvot!

B’shalom, 
Rabbi Leila 

IN THE WAKE OF HURRICANE KATRINA 

U-ma’avir yom u-meyvi laila u-mavdil beyn yom u-veyn laila, Adonai tz’va’ot shemo. . .

You make day pass away and bring on night, dividing between day and night. .. the Leader of the Throngs of Heaven is your name! 

The harsh winds came and the rains came
and the waters surged in all their frightful force.
The Leader of the Throngs of Heaven is your name!
Night came —
And though the sun rose,
darkness lay heavy on the face
of the city . . .

Eicha yashva badad ha-ir rabati am. . .
Alas! How lonely sits the city once great with people!

You make day pass away and bring on night . . .

Where were You, our Leader of the Throngs,
in these frightful, terrifying days?

Where were You? Where are You? 

Job’s voice cries out in the distance:

. . . Ani el Shaddai adaber — v’ho-hay-ach el  Eyl echapetz
Indeed, I will speak to the Almighty; I insist on arguing with God . . .

Did YOU bring the winds and the rains and the rushing waters?
We insist on arguing with You!

Did YOU ravage and abandon us?
How lonely sit our cities and our towns and our villages!

Did YOU do all this?

Some of us believe that
Nature has its own awesome, awful,
magnificent and menacing
Free Will.
Some of us believe that even YOU,
the Leader of the Throngs of Heaven,
cannot thwart
Nature’s own Will,
Nature’s own inexorable Power.

And if this is so,
if Nature holds its own
Dominion,
What of You? What of You, Leader of the Throngs of Heaven? 

We cling, like refugees on rooftops
escaping the Deluge —
We cling to You nonetheless,
in spite of,
because of Nature,
We cling to You,
choosing in our own Free Will
To believe —
You are with us
in the days and in the nights,
in the winds and in the storms.
You are with us
in the crashing waters
and in the
levees cracking,
in the devastation
and in our homelessness. 

Even as we argue with you,
even as we shake our fists at Heaven,
even as we witness the ugly faces
of humans like us —
even as we feel the upraised arms,
even as we watch the desperate grabbing
and the exploitation and the evil, 

Even then,
We choose in our own Free Will
To believe —

You are with us
in the dark night and in the morning.
You are with us
as we witness the loving faces
of humans like us.
You are with us
as we watch the brave rescues,
as we feel the sweet giving
as we embrace the kindness,
as we welcome the healing
as we affirm the good.

Leila Gal Berner
September 2, 2005/28 Av 5765

August 2005

Shalom to everyone,

This is the first in a series of messages to the Kol Ami community that I will sending out from time to time. I am just about to leave for vacation and will be returning on August 19. In the interim, three of our young people will be called to the Torah as B’nei Mitzvah. I send to you, Madison, Melissa, and Rachel, my warmest mazel tov on this remarkable achievement. I am so sorry I can’t be with you in person!
 
This coming Shabbat morning marks the beginning of the Hebrew month of AV – the month in which, on its ninth day, Tisha B’Av, the first Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed. This is one of the saddest times of the Jewish calendar, as we as a people remember a time when our most sacred holy place was razed to the ground by a mighty enemy, the Assyrian Empire. Since that day millennia ago, our people has mourned the loss of the Temple – not only because it was a magnificent structure, and the locus of our ritual life as a people, but more important because it symbolized a loss of a unifying locus — a place that we could consecrate as we focused our best intentions, our faith in all that is good and godly. The loss of the Temple symbolized for us the loss of a sacred center. About 2,500 years ago, our people thought that we stood of the edge of utter destruction — as we were sent out into exile in Babylonia, we feared that Judaism might die — “By the waters of Babylon, we lay down and wept as we remembered Zion.” On the 9th of Av, it seemed to our forbears, the death of the Jewish people was near.
 
Over the many centuries, we Jews have learned many lessons and we have come to understand that our sacred center is where our communal heart is. On Shabbat, August 13, the 8th of Av, just one day before the commemoration of Tisha B’Av, three young people will stand in our Kol Ami community as proud Jews — we have survived as a people through the millennia and through the tribulations of history and we are still here. Melissa and Madison and Rachel are proof positive that our sacred center remains strong.
 
Jewish tradition teaches that on 9th of Av, as the Temple lay burning and in ruins, the mashiach - the Messiah was born. While as Jews we do not believe in the divinity of the Messiah, we do believe in him (or her?) as a symbol of hope and redemption, of healing and the repair of a broken world. On the 9th of Av, mashiach was born — even in the worst of times, we Jews held out hope for a better future. And we are blessed with new hope — every time a young Jew stands proudly before the Torah, every time a baby is born and welcomed into the Jewish community, every time two people, committed in loving relationship, choose to build a Jewish home together.
 
On August 13, on the 8th day of Av, I will be celebrating Shabbat in a synagogue in Victoria, British Columbia. It is a special shul for me: my grandfather, Rabbi Marcus Berner, led that small Jewish community about 70 years ago. He is buried in the synagogue’s cemetery, adjacent to the shul building itself. I will close my eyes and remember the past — 2,500 years ago when our Temple was burning in Jerusalem, and I will reflect on seven decades ago, when my grandfather Marcus stood on the bima, and I will look to the present in Arlington, Virginia — where our young Jewish community, Kol Ami, with its young men and women are carrying Judaism into a vibrant future.
 
Some say that the mashiach seems to tarry long in coming, just when we need healing for our world — and yet I know I will feel the Messiah’s presence on August 13, as Kol Ami’s sacred center grows ever stronger. It will make the sadness of the next day, Tisha B’Av, just a bit less bitter.
 
B’shalom,
Rabbi Leila Gal Berner

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