Shalom friends,

As we all watch the horrific images emerging after the earthquake in Haiti, our hearts ache, our eyes fill with tears at the scenes of the dead and dying, dazed and injured children, now orphaned, wandering through devastated streets, crying "Mama," "Papa," - a country utterly destroyed. Amidst the tears, there is hope - families reunited, people saved after days, locked in the grip of collapsed buildings, the courage of rescue workers,  doctors, nurses flying in from all the world to save the people of Haiti. How proud we are of all of them - Americans, French, Israel -- an Israeli field hospital set up, an American hospital ship sailing from Baltimore toward Haiti's shores, Germans, many, many countries -- all coming together - not war, not bombs blasting -- just compassion and caring and kindness. We are all fighting a great battle, as Philo the Jew wrote two millennia ago in Alexandria, Egypt - so we must be kind to one another.

Shalom!

Five millennia ago, our people fled the bondage of Egypt and moved toward a land "filled with milk and honey" that would offer them freedom and the opportunity to grow into a great nation. During our desert wandering, we listened to God's instruction [Leviticus 23:39-43] to build thatch-roofed huts. Decorating our huts with boughs of leafy trees and myrtle and willows of the brook, the people rested and gave thanks to God for their freedom. These former slaves envisioned a New World that they themselves would help to create on the soil of Canaan.

Once they reached the Land, the Israelites enjoyed its abundance and shared it, leaving the gleanings of their crops at the corners of their fields for the poor. Three times a year, they made pilgrimage to Jerusalem and brought thanksgiving offerings to God. And still today, in the Fall as the havest comes in, we Jews sit in thatch-roof huts, eating our meals under the stars, inviting guests into our Sukkah, and thank God for the abundance we enjoy.

Almost 390 years ago, pilgrims from Europe celebrated their first Thanksgiving here on the soil of America. They were expressing their gratitude for the survival of the Plymouth Colony during that first very difficult year. These pilgrims had wandered through their own wilderness. Fleeing from the bondage of religious oppression in Europe, they traveled towards a land that would offer them freedom and the opportunity to grow into a great nation. They too, envisioned a New World that they themselves would help to create on the soil of America.

Shalom!

We are in a time of year when the Jewish value of hachnasat orchim, the welcoming of guests — hospitality — is very much with us. It started with our feasts at Rosh Ha-Shana and our Break-the-Fast at Yom Kippur and then came Sukkot, when our tradition tells us that we are to engage in the wonderful minhag (custom) of ushpizin — welcoming of guests into our Sukkah.

The founder of Reconstructionist Judaism, Mordecai Kaplan, teaches us that as American Jews, our goal is to creatively and joyfully dwell in "two civilizations" — our American culture, and our Jewish culture. So - in the midst of our "Jewish time," we come upon our American, secular time markers — Halloween - yes, yes — pagan, wiccan, etc. - but there is an element of hospitality here too -- so often, we are isolated from our neighbors. On this night, however, we smile and open our doors to the young ones dressed in their costumes who come to our doors as say, mostly so innocently "trick or treat!" And we offer them sweet candies! We tell them how great their costumes are and they move along from house to house, their parents standing at a discreet distance, loving them, watching over them — and for a few hours on that night, neighbors see each other's faces, and we welcome each other with sweets. Then, of course - Thanksgiving comes upon us, in just a few weeks - we gather with our families and friends, open our doors, and prepare sumptuous meals (and, we hope, help others less fortunate, if we can). This is a time to be grateful, as Psalm 92 says, "tov l'hodot" — it is good to give thanks" - and it is a time to welcome guests into our homes.

Shalom,

     Now that the High Holy Days are over, and in between my rabbinic work, teaching and parenting, one of the joys of my life is reading. It is no coincidence that I am a Jew — we are indeed the people of the Book - not just the Torah, but of many books. Traditionally, when we Jews read, converse, debate or teach, we are always referencing other books we have read. We mention "proof texts" — examples upon examples of teachings from other books that prove our points in a debate, quotations from Torah, Talmud, Mishna and the great rabbis, to illustrate an idea, teach a child or an adult. We tell stories we have heard or read in books OR we make up stories and then write them down. We Jews thrive on books - perhaps someday we will thrive on Kindle, or some other computer-driven reading device (though I pray that good old paper books will never cease to be part of the human landscape!). We are not unique. Other cultures and peoples, too, read books, cherish books and share their stories — but I am a Jew, so I talk about us.    

I want to enthusiastically recommend two books for your reading pleasure, learning — and the deepening of your hearts. Both are in the genre of 'memoirs' of a sort. I love reading memoirs because, if well-written and substantive,  they give me a chance to peek into the window of the life, mind, heart and soul of another human being.

The first  book is: Rage Against the Meshugenah: A Memoir by Danny Evans.  The subtitle of the book is: WHY IT TAKES BALLS TO GO NUTS. This is a tough book to read - and a pleasure. I laughed, I was put off by some it pages, I cried at parts, I became thoughtful at others. Danny Evans writes a moving account of his own prolonged and deep depression and he emerged from it.

Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz teaches that “whenever we remember a historical event, we connect ourselves not so much with the facts as with their psychological and emotional significance. If we want to understand the personal, inner meaning of a festival, we should look into its intrinsic spiritual essence. We should see the festivals as internal events in the life of the individual, which are reflections of the collective life of the nation. . .”

So, here we are during the interim days of Sukkot. Kol Ami celebrated joyfully in our communal sukkah built at Dann and Jenn Sklarew’s home. Jenn and Dan warmly and hospitably welcomed everyone to their home, and the community spiritually welcomed guests into the sukkah – this custom of welcoming guests is called ushpizin.

What is “inner, spiritual essence” of Sukkot that we can each individually take into our hearts and in which we can find personal meaning?

In the Book of Leviticus (Sefer Va-Yikra) 23:42-43, we are commanded by God: “You shall live in huts, seven days, all citizens of Israel (i.e., all Jews) shall live in huts in order that future generations may know that I made the Israelites people live in huts when I brought them out of the land of Egypt, I, the Lord am your God.”

Why huts? Why the sukkah? The sukkah is supposed to be fragile, with a roof that is open enough that we can see the stars and the sky. It must be a temporary dwelling – the wind can blow it down, the rains can come through it — it is impermanent, flimsy even — fragility is its essence.

The sukkah itself teaches us that our homes themselves are fragile, life is perilous, there is no safety in this structure — unless we hold on to each other for security and safety – we depend on each other, because the structure cannot protect us.

‘Tis the day before Rosh Ha-Shana and all through my house I am kvelling (sighing big sighs of pleasure)  and schepping (i.e., experiencing - no not “schlepping,” which is something else entirely) such naches (deep gratitude and pleasure – no, not nachos!) from our wonderful kids and their amazing “Three Morehs (technically that should be morim – plural of teachers, but whatever; no, not the Three Tenors, but our THREE AMAZING, FANTASTIC AND TRULY GENEROUS TEACHERS OF OUR YOUNG PEOPLE: MIKE JAWER, ERIC ROSENBERG, AND OUR NEWEST MEMBER WHO HAS JUMPED RIGHT IN, MINDEE LAUMANN.

Mike, Eric and Mindee just sent the following letter to all our kids’ parents about the first day of our “little school in the little shul in Arlington” and I feel it’s worthy to share it with the whole Kol Ami community. Hope Warshaw, to whom we owe a big debt of appreciation for coordinating our children’s programs, asked me “how do you say WOW” in Hebrew? Well, I guess it would be what Israeli’s say “Yofi  (beautiful) – fantasti (you can figure that one out)  – kol ha-kavod (all the honor to you!) – yasher koach (all the power to you)  or m’tzuyan! (excellent!).

WELCOME TO KOL AMI!

In the ancient book of the Mishna (compiled some 1,800 years ago), the following is written: When human beings mint coins, they make many coins from one die, and they are all alike. But the Source of all Life, the Holy One, blessed be, “minted” all human beings with the die of the first human and not a single one resembles another. Therefore, everyone must say,  “the whole world was created just for me.” [Mishna, Sanhedrin ch. 4]  

This centuries-old teaching could be a description of the spirit of our congregation, Kol Ami, the Northern Virginia Reconstructionist Community. We all have in common that we are human,  and yet each of us is very different — and this is what is most wonderful about our community — our diversity. This means that you are welcomed, and celebrated, just as you are: young, old, learned in Judaism, or a beginner, someone who has been committed to a Jewish life for many years, or a “Jew-by-choice” (whether through conversion or returning after a long absence), a deeply-believing individual, an agnostic, an atheist. We are here to celebrate Judaism and being Jews. We are here to speak about God, in our many different understandings (even those who believe that God may not exist). We are here to learn and teach together. We are here to sing together and pray together (however we understand “prayer”) — we are here to celebrate life together, to weave community together. Some of us are married or partnered, some of us heterosexual, some of us gay and lesbian, some of us single, some of us Jews partnered with Jews, some of us Jews partnered with people of other faiths (or no faiths). We celebrate all here — and we welcome all.

A NEW YEAR'S MESSAGE FROM RABBI LEILA: WHAT WILL WE DO WITH OUR ONE WILD AND PRECIOUS LIFE?

The great American poet, Mary Oliver, asks us: “what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

As each of us approaches the New Year, this is the crucial question: what will we do with the time we are given in the coming year? Life is so precious, so fragile, so finite —we hope that we will be blessed with length of life, but, in truth, we never know how long we will live. We are given this moment in time, a “wild and precious life” — what will we do with it?

The beginning of the Jewish New Year focuses our attention on the relentless passing of time. I share with you now the words of Rabbi Sidney Greenberg, of blessed memory:

“Is time an ally or an adversary?
    
The poet William Butler Yeats wrote: "I spit in the face of time that has transfigured me." But Benjamin Franklin kept two boxes on his desk. One box was marked, "Problems it will take time to solve." The other, "Problems time has already solved." For Yeats time was an enemy, for Benjamin Franklin, a friend.

Time is neither. It is neutral. It is what we do with time that matters. Time moves steadily ahead. It cannot be hoarded, nor can it be reversed. We cannot rewind our lives the way we do a videotape, and we cannot halt time in its flight. Sometimes we come to a moment so exquisite that we want to keep it forever, to savor it, to relive it -- and we understand the poet's plea: "O moment stay, for thou art fair." But we cannot stop time in its tracks.

A journalist once put this announcement in a newspaper's lost and found column: "Lost somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with 60 diamond minutes. No reward is offered, for they are gone forever." Like money, time has a way of slipping through our fingers, often with nothing to show for it.”

Shalom!

Please share this rabbi’s message with your children!

There are some moments in a parent’s life when joy encompasses all. Such a moment for us was this past Shabbat when my beloved daughter Kayla stood on the bima, called to the Torah as a bat mitzvah. There she stood, a poised young woman, chanting beautifully from the Torah, offering a wise and moving d’var Torah (teaching from the Torah text) about Bereishit — the very beginning of the Torah, Genesis, and the story of the creation of our world. Kayla shone with beauty, and a large community brought all our worlds together there to honor her, to send loving energy to her and to us. Kayla’s d’var Torah is on our website — perhaps you might learn from our newest Jewish teacher — about Creation, Nature, and the protecting our planet.

I want to thank all the members of Kol Ami who came to celebrate with us, and I promise to share pictures with everyone who wasn’t able to be with us (O.K., so the proud Ima – mom – will bore you with her photos! You can tell me too stop when you’re too bored!).

April 2007

Shalom friends,

We are in the Omer season — In the days of the ancient Temple, when many of our people were farmers, we counted the forty-nine days between Pesach and Shavuot as days between the Spring barley harvest and the beginning of the wheat harvest at Shavuot. But once the Temple was destroyed and we scattered to the four corners of the earth, we continued to count the days of the Omer even though most of us were no longer farmers. Why did we continue to count these harvest days? What meaning could they now have for us in a non-agricultural society?

The time between Pesach and Shavuot is also the seven-weeks between our liberation from Egypt and our receiving the Torah at Sinai -- seven weeks, so very little time for a people who thought of themselves as slaves to become a free people -- confident, strong, unified and ready to receive the Torah. These forty-nine days could be a time to prepare ourselves emotionally, spiritually and intellectually for the greatest challenge of our lives as a people and as individuals-- the acceptance of Torah.  Though perhaps our people were not completely ready to accept Torah (who of us ever really is?), though they still had a lot of work to do in their journey towards becoming a truly free people, these seven weeks gave them a chance to begin the work.

Today, when most of us live in our cities far from green farm lands -- we may use each of the forty-nine days to begin (or continue) our own spiritual work. We may use this time to meditate, to reflect, to try to truly understand what personally accepting Torah is all about.