Turning point

היום שמנה ימים שהם שבוע אחד ויום אחד בעמר
Today is eight days--that is one week and one day--of the omer
חסד שבגבורה
A day of loving kindness in a week of strength

Reading previous omer writings, I get to connect to thoughts from another time in my life with a perspective of today. Below is a post from May 2011, just before I discovered the existence of The Kitchen. It captures a moment of realization on my path that lead me to where I am today.
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For the past few years, I've been pondering the statement I hear often from friends, "I don't believe in organized religion." It's often said as part of a discussion as to why I have taken on a Jewish spiritual practice. Sometimes I respond in a joking manner, "Have you read nothing about the different factions within Judaism? There's nothing very organized about the religion :)"

But as I get deeper into my practice in this time and space, I understand that statement more and more, as I affiliate with the "official" Jewish organizations less and less. While I belong to a synagogue that is fiercely egalitarian, where women and men have equal footing in ritual practice, the movement with which it is affiliated, the Conservative Movement, won't take an unequivocal stand on that issue. At the synagogue that I grew up in, located on Long Island in New York, women still can't chant Torah, and if I were to attend their weekday minyan, I would not count as one of the ten needed to say kaddish. Yet they are also affiliated with the Conservative Movement, so my synagogue dues help support them.

The Groucho Marx line keeps going through my head, "I don't want to belong to a club that would have me as a member." They want me as a member, but I don't fully belong. While some members would embrace me and my practice, others would block me from fulfilling roles important to that practice. And the big organization that is supposed to support me still won't make a full commitment to egalitarian ritual practice in the name of not upsetting some of their members. I guess I don't matter too much to them, since upsetting me and others like me is okay.

Not a very uplifting message for the day, but one that I must continue to bring up and ponder--not just for myself, but for future generations of Jewish women.

Minyan Moments

היום ארבעה ימים בעמר
Today is four days of the omer
נצח שבחסד
A day of perseverance in a week of loving kindness

At this morning's minyan, the gathering for prayers, we had one of those "it takes a village" moments. There was no clergy; we made the necessary 10 and a couple more, with a group of core regulars. Because it is one of the intermediate days of Pesach, there are more rituals than a normal Wednesday morning. We sang Hallel, read Torah from two different scrolls, and had a musaf, additional liturgy that is added on these days. There were lots of roles to be filled, and everyone stepped up to make everything work. And as I was not as prepared to chant Torah as I could have been, it was great to know I did not have to read alone, being gently corrected when I mangled the words or started to run through the end of a verse.

At these times, I am reminded that our rituals are meant to be communal, not hierarchical. Our rabbis are our teachers, but each of us has the ability to lead. This is one of the strengths of Judaism, and one of the reasons why we have survived for so many centuries.

And so, on this day of perseverance in loving kindness, I bring you another minyan moment from 2010 when we were able to support those in our community.
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At Beth Sholom, we ask anyone who comes to minyan to commemorate a yarhzeit--an anniversary of the passing of a loved one--if they would like to say a few words about the person they are remembering. It adds an extra level to the experience when the El Malai prayer is chanted--for the survivor sharing the memory and for those of us standing in support. At that moment, we all hold that person in our heart.

This morning, my friend Katherine shared the connection she felt between working with her son on the chicken coops they're building and the time her dad spent working with her on the Future Farmer of America projects of her youth. It was one way she could pass the love her father had for her on to her children. לדור ודור – L'dor v'dor - from generation to generation.

Another woman, Penny, was there to commemorate the yarhzeit of her husband. She told us they met in USY--the national youth organization of the Conservative Movement. They had 17 years together, were married for 11 years, and this was the 25th anniversary of his death. She shared this knowing we would understand the connections to her youth, to her Judaism. We could share the pain of her loss, no matter how long ago.

In these moments, as I place my hand on each shoulder and chant those ancient words, I feel humbled in the presence of enduring love and am honored to share in the stream of their lives.

To Goldie . . .

היום אחד שלשה עשר יום שהם שבוע אחד וששה ימים בעמר
Today is thirteen days, which is one week and six days of the omer
יסוד שבגבורה
A day of foundation in a week of strength

On Yom HaShoah 5665/2005, while I was not yet in the practice of blogging the omer, I did mark the day with a blogpost. I wrote about my friend Goldie Rassen, a Holocaust survivor who made it through different work camps. She didn't share much about those times, and it was only reading her obituary that I found out she had a husband and a daughter died in the Holocaust.

Goldie was, above all else, a teacher. She loved learning of all kinds, but especially Jewish subjects and most specially Hebrew. She loved teaching Hebrew, and continued to teach almost up to the time of her death. I think of her so much these days as I study Hebrew, learning the trope, the music, of the language, and concentrating on decoding the dikduk- the grammar.

I spent many Shabbatot davening, praying with Goldie at Beth Sholom. At first I sat behind her, but she then moved to sit behind me. She loved and appreciated my kavannah, my intention, in prayer, but the volume was a bit much for her. "Moshe Rabbeinu (Moses, our Teacher/Our Rabbi) can hear you, Marilyn" she told me, with a smile. I not only drove her to services, I also picked her up to go to all sorts of lectures and classes and Jewish events. And I am only one of many students who revered her.

And so, on this Yom HaShoah day, I honor my friend with a poem I wrote upon her death. I honor her as my friend and as my teacher. I will miss her always.

לגולדי  –  מורה שלי – חברה שלי

To Goldie - My Teacher - My Friend

אני זוכרת את הפנים שלך

I remember your face

אני זוכרת את הקול שלך

I remember your voice

אני זוכרת את הידיים שלך

I remember your hands

אני זוכרת שלמדתי איתך

I remember studying with you

אני זוכרת שדיברתי איתך

I remember speaking with you

אני זוכרת ששרתי איתך

I remember singing with you

אני זוכרת שהתפללתי איתך

I remember praying with you

את יושבת בלב שלי כל אזמן

You live in my heart forever

זכרונך לברכא לי

Your memory is a blessing to me

Not just another Shabbat

Judaism is not so much a creed as a series of concrete activities. Shabbat is a vivid spiritual experience if we make Kiddush and Havdalah and fill the space in between with traditional Shabbat activities: study, prayer, singing, dancing and festive meals. If we don’t do these things, Shabbat is just another Saturday.

                 "The Year is like a River" - September, 1996

This Shabbat is certainly not just another Saturday. This Shabbat marks four years since the passing of Rabbi Lew. I share those and other words of his, and I write these words of remembrance to honor this man whose life and teachings taught me and so many of us how the concrete activities of Jewish life can bring us the spiritual experience we seek.

One of my favorite teachings of his, one that comes up for me again and again, is his teaching from the 15th century commentator Don Isaac Abravanel in his description of the Torah, the five books of Moses, as a blueprint for a spiritual life. This teaching echoes the path of Rabbi Lew's life, as well as holding the gifts that he brought us.

Bereshit - Genesis, the stories of our tribal origins, represents the personal spiritual seeking, ending in a leave-taking. Rabbi Lew’s personal spiritual journey is well known, and we were lucky that his path led him here. For he was able to reach out and speak to the spiritual seeker in all of us.  And he was able to show us how the rich traditions of Jewish ritual can act as signposts along the way.

Shemot - Exodus, our formation as a spiritual nation, represents revelation—hearing the words and concepts that will guide our lives and form our community. Through his teachings, Rabbi Lew brought us different meanings and interpretations of those words and concepts, showing us that revelation is not a one-time event of ecstasy, but something that can enrich our daily lives.

Which brings me to Vayikra - Leviticus, the nuts and bolts of the practice. Rabbi Lew was never one to water down practice simply to make it easier to follow. Instead, he inspired us to look to the deeper meanings, opening up the rituals in ways that made us want to participate as fully as we could.

Daily minyan is the modern version of the single lamb our ancestors offered up every morning and every evening. Praying every day we come to know the full range of human spiritual potential; from transcendent exaltation to stultifying boredom; from the frustration of not quite knowing what we're saying to the joy of being swept up in a spiritual energy larger than our own. Praying every day with others we get a very real sense of how difficult it is to join in real communion with others, and how wonderful it feels when we finally manage to do so; praying every day with others we come to explore that tenuous boundary between self and other which is always the real locus of the spiritual experience.

           “The Minyan is for Your Sake” – November 1996

Bamidbar - Numbers, the forging of community as we wander for 40 years, is about bringing the practice into our lives. And that is where, I think, our debt of gratitude to Rabbi Lew is at its greatest. For he made it his mission to share with all of us his love of Judaism and the deep spiritual sense it has brought to his life. That's what made his sermons so special—he didn’t just talk about the practice, he lived it. He didn’t just teach about the benefits of meditating, he was there at 6 a.m. He didn’t just preach the importance of keeping our minyan vibrant, he participated fully. He kept looking for ways to reach us all.

As a case in point, I looked to one of my favorite sermons of his, one given Rosh Hashanah 5760, in 1999. It's a sermon that demonstrates why we will always be filled with respect and love and honor for Rabbi Lew.

He first sets a scene of a news crew filming meditation—"Apparently, this is a thing of great amazement – a bunch of Jews sitting in the room without talking; quick,  get the cameras! Let's run this on the 6 o'clock news." They also film minyan. His description of minyan focuses on the time-honored Beth Sholom tradition of saying "Yasher Koach" – loosely translated, may the force be with you -- to everyone who participates in the slightest manner. Why do we do this? Rabbi Lew said: "We are congratulating you because of all the places you could have put your energy in this world, of all the forces you could have aligned your force with, you freely chose to be here, to put your energy here, to align yourself with the three thousand year old stream of spiritual energy we call Judaism"

Later in the sermon, Rabbi Lew goes on to relate that "Yasher Koach" moment to a moment in this country that demonstrated that same spiritual achievement — that moment in 1995 when Cal Ripken, shortstop for the Baltimore Orioles, played in 2,131 straight games, breaking Lou Gherig's record. Rabbi Lew understood that this achievement of being present and showing up each day made the difference in a world that doesn't always show up as we would wish. Rabbi Lew said "simple human presence – simply being present, simply persisting in being here – has tremendous spiritual power, It has the power to heal. It has the power to nurture."

Which brings us to Devarim - Deuteronomy, Moshe's last words to the people he has guided through the desert. I never heard Rabbi Lew mention Devarim in his Abravanel teaching, so one day I asked him what part of living a spiritual life did that book represent? He answered, “Devarim is about preparing for one’s death.”

Rabbi Lew left us too soon, but in the life he led, he understood that recognizing our mortality is an integral part of living a full life. And we have many of his teachings on this, as he spoke and wrote about Yom Kippur, the day in Jewish practice when we look to the meaning of death in our life. As he wrote in This is Real and You are Completely Unprepared:

This is the only life we have, and we all will lose it. No one gets out alive, but to lose nobly is a beautiful thing. To know the core of our being is to move beyond winning and losing.

It is to enter that moment where life is deep and rich and God is present for us. We all lose, some of us nobly, and all of us with a certain amount of tragedy. But as Rabbi Zimmerman (a.k.a. Bob Dylan) reminds us, “there’s no success like failure,” and any loss that carries us closer to the core of life is no loss at all.

Zichrono L’Vracha

His memory, living on in his teachings, is a blessing

"The river of life is inexorable. It will carry us to the end no matter what we do. Our activities, Jewish or otherwise, are unlikely to effect the outcome very much at all. But they can effect the quality of  the experience very deeply – in fact, they can transform it”

Zichrono L'vracha - Joseph Salem

היום שנים ושלשים יום שהם ארבעה שבועות וארבעה ימים לעומר
Today is thirty-two days, which is four weeks and four days of the omer
נצח שבהוד
A day of perseverance in a week of humility

There are many joys involved in being a part of a multigenerational community, but along with that comes sharing in the sorrows. Today marked the burial of a wonderful man, Joe Salem, who passed away on Sunday at the age of 89. Joe was a loyal member of the Beth Sholom minyan community for many years. He was there when I began attending in November of 2000 until a couple of years ago when his Alzheimers kept him confined to a home. He had a loving family--his wife of 62 years, a daughter and 2 sons, 5 grandchildren who he adored.

Being a part of daily minyan meant he became part of our family as well. When his health began to fail and he could no longer drive, we organized rides for him so he could still attend. And for some years after that became untenable, his son brought him to this place that was a comfort to him--a place that, even with the onset of his dementia, he felt at peace and could still follow and participate in the rituals. A strong, elegant yet quiet man, he had a wonderful sense of humor that would manifest in one line zingers that would make us all smile.

Zichrono l'vracha -- his memory is a blessing to his families--those related by blood as well as those related by community. We all hold him in our hearts.

Teaching & Learning

היום שמונה ושלשים יום שהם חמשה שבועות ושלשה ימים לעמר
Today is thirty-eight days, which is five weeks and three days, of the omer
תפארת שביסוד
A day of compassion in a week of foundation

Yesterday I had four different periods of teaching/learning. I could label each one, but each had elements of both.

Our rabbi has his weekly Torah study session on Thursday mornings after minyan, but yesterday he couldn't stay--his young son was getting his siddur in a ceremony at the day school and, of course, he wanted to be there. The assembled group asked me to lead the study. I have to admit feeling some gratification in the confidence they placed in my ability to do this. I went to the library to grab the Nechama Leibowitz Bamidbar volume--always a good aggregate of commentaries, and led a lively discussion.

Then it was off to the East Bay for my weekly Torah study group. My friend Edna and I have been studying Torah with Rabbi Carol Caine using the Nechama Leibowitz studies as our base. Yesterday, after two years of study, we finished Bereshit. It has been truly wonderful to share in these teachings, sometimes arguing among ourselves but more often arguing with the generations of commentators. We now leave these personal spiritual stories behind and start Shemot--a book of revelation where the Israelites start their journey as an integrated society.

Back over the bridge, I prepared the materials for my new bar mitzvah student and drove over to Beth Sholom for my first meeting with him. The introduction went well. He's an engaging kid and seems ready to take this path with me. He's a sports fan, which always works well in my favor. He's a Giants fan, and had a bit of a mischievous glint in his eyes when I told him I root for the A's. When I told him he gets to choose the color of the streaks in my hair for his bar mitzvah, he said, with a wide smile, "Well, orange and black, of course." We'll see if I can convince him to let me add some blue as well for the Mets--my National League team.

After evening minyan, I ended my day of study with Talmud. Since October I've been part of a small group to be guided through these teaching with Rabbi Avi Novis-deutsch. Avi is an Israeli, a Masorti rabbi, and a great teacher. He doesn't want us to just accept the teachings of the Talmud--he wants us to wrestle with them, to find ways to make them meaningful to us in this day and age. I will miss these sessions, and hope I can study with him in some way next year before he returns to Israel.

A very rich day, indeed. I taught my students, and learned from them. I gained insights from my teachers, I shared my thoughts with them. All good foundations in this foundational week.

Refreshing our Prayers

היום שמונה ועשרים יום שהם ארבעה שבועות לעמר
Today is twenty-eight days, which is four weeks, of the omer
מלכות שבנצח
A day of majesty in a week of perseverance

Tonight I attended another class in liturgy taught by Rabbi Stuart Kelman. It's great to delve into the prayers led by a teacher who has such a passion for liturgy. I shared a teaching of his last year in "The Prayer Experience."  Today's session was on the Prayer for the State of Israel.

Once again, I find myself getting the teaching that I need to hear right when I need to hear it. This year I've been part of a group of Beth Sholom congregants participating in a nationwide program of the Jewish Community Relations Council, "The Year of Civil Discourse." At monthly meetings, we share with each other the difficulties engaging in discussion about our ties and feelings about the Israel of today. From our facilitator, Rachel Eryn Kalish, we learn tools to help us hear and react to differing viewpoints without being so overwhelmed with emotion that we are no longer communicating with each other.

In one session, we talked about our practice of reciting the Prayer for the State of Israel in every service. Although many of us are chanting the same prayer together, each individual's kavannah--intention--may be very different and often in opposition to each other. As we discussed some reasons for this, the idea emerged that perhaps we work together to write a new prayer. The process of writing the prayer could serve as a safe and sacred space where we could discuss these difficult issues.

Tonight I learnt that the Prayer for the State of Israel that we say was written in 1948, just after the founding of modern Israel with the Shoah--the Holocaust--all too fresh in all minds. Sixty-plus years later, the language needs to be updated to reflect the present face of the land. A prayer we all can say, as we can support the existence of Israel as a nation without agreeing with all its policies or politics.

Changing a community's standard liturgy can be very upsetting to its members, even when the new version will will speak more clearly to the spirit of the prayer. After so many years, we can recite the Hebrew with ease. It will be a while before we can recite the new words by rote--and that's a good thing. Refreshing the words will bring new focus to our minds--a focus that can lead to our hearts and souls. And as we chant, we can be linked together rather than be at each other's throats.

A Minyan Moment

היום ארבעה ועשרים יומים שהם שלשה שבועות ושלשה יומים לעמר
Today is the twenty-fourth day of the omer - three weeks and three days
תפרת שבנצח
A day of compassion in a week of endurance



This morning, as is often the case, Jackie brought her two little boys, Aaron and Joshua, to minyan. We (the minyan) first met Jackie when she came to say kaddish for her father about 6 years ago. Her father died a couple of weeks before Aaron was born, and he became a minyan regular as Jackie brought him with her during that year. The whole family, including Craig, Jackie's husband, and of course Joshua when he arrived 3(or is it 4?) years ago, have become an integral part of our Beth Sholom community. Jackie lost her mother 11 months ago, and has been saying kaddish once again, this time often with both boys in tow.

This morning, while Aaron was in the meeting room, probably telling Addison, one of our facility caretakers, some of his newly learned and/or created jokes, Joshua came in to the chapel. He stood on the bench in the back next to his mom and began to focus on the stained glass windows that form the wall in that part of the chapel. There are two vertical banners with some sort of letters, possibly some version of Cyrillic text. (If you click on the photo on the right--taken this past February--you'll see that pane on the right side of the frame.)

Joshua recognized the "squiggles" as letters, and when we were at the part of the service where we pray quietly to ourselves, he began to sing the alphabet song in his sweet, little boy voice.

It was one of those classic minyan moments that will live in the annuls of Beth Sholom history. We all smiled, and before we finished up, I shared with the group the Hasidic story of the child who comes to synagogue with his dad. He wants to join in the prayers, but doesn't know the words. All he knows of Hebrew is the Aleph-Bet, and so he recites that. His father is embarrassed, apologizes to the rabbi for his son's ignorance. But the rabbi, understanding what was coming from the young boy's soul, reassured the parent: "Don't worry, God will take the letters and arrange them into to the prayers that come from your boy's heart."

Many of us felt that Joshua was doing his own davening, saying his prayers, and we were glad he could share them with us. And we need to remember that we all have the capacity to say our prayers, have those conversations with God, with the Transcendent, with that Universal Spirit. As long as the words come from our hearts, they will be heard.

Jewish Survival

היום שמונה עשר יומים שהם שני שבועות וארבעה יומים לעמר
Today is the eighteenth day of the omer - two weeks and four days
נצך שבתפרת
A day of endurance in a week of compassion



Each morning service at Beth Sholom, weekdays and Shabbat, we recite the Prayer for the State of Israel that is in our Sim Shalom prayerbook. It is a prayer for support of the land, the country of Israel. But when I heard the announcement of the prayer yesterday morning, I heard a different meaning. To me those words meant we need to pray for the state of Yisrael, pray for the state of the Jewish people, not just the real estate.

Today is omer day חי (chai), the letters of the Hebrew word for life that add up to eighteen. That the Jewish people still live, exist, through the thousands of years since Abraham & Sarah is a major miracle, especially when you consider how many of those years were spent in persecution with many trying to rid the Jews from this earth. Much of that survival can be attributed to the strong place the religion and it's rituals had in how Jews lived their lives--both among their people and in the world at large.

That last sentence was written in the past tense. Religion in the 21st Century has lost its place in people's lives. It is seen by many as something that separates rather than integrates. But that doesn't have to be. Religion is not about blind acceptance to think a certain way or do something because that's what we do. It's about looking to find our way in this world--both spiritually and sociologically. It's about studying the texts of the wise ones before us---from the ancients to those who have commented through the centuries. For the lessons are there for us to learn--we need to figure out how to absorb them, and pass them on to those who come after us.

One thing I have always been awed by is how the Torah has spoken to every generation through the years. Rabbi Arthur Green once said that the beauty of the Torah is that each generation leaves the oil from its fingertips as it passes through them. It's not easy. We must question--not take anything for granted or just accept what is there. It is this dialogue, this give and take, that we Yisraelites - we who wrestle with God - must keep doing to survive and endure.

Seder musings......

היום שלשה יומים לעמר
Today is the third day of the omer
תפרת שבחסד
A day of compassion in a week of loving kindness


I had three seders this year instead of the usual two. As it is with seders, they were all basically the same, and each one was different.

The first night I went to Bob & Ruth White's house for what has become my family seder. This is the third year Ken and I have been a part of their celebration, and I hope to be there for years to come. There is much joy and laughter as Bob leads the seder surrounded by his four children who always manage to get home for Pesach no matter where in the world they are at the time--New York, Madrid, Berkeley, wherever :) It is a complete seder, with lots of singing. All who attend are encouraged to contribute any food for thought--to go along with all the great food we eat :) This year I brought me two new insights into the haggadah text. First, the association between the 4 children and the 4 Marx Brothers--I invite you to figure out which is who. And I will never look at the song "Dayainu" in the same way again. Bob is right, there is irony in those words. As a people, do we ever say, "this is enough?" It reminds me of the Jewish joke:

*Q. How many Jewish mothers does it take to change a light bulb?
*A. (Sigh) Don't bother, I'll sit in the dark, I don't want to be a nuisance to anybody.

For second night, I was invited to the Mirvish's house, another family I know from Beth Sholom. The dad, Adrian, is a philosophy professor, and he lead us in text study of many parts of the hagaddah. I don't know that I've experienced a seder quite like that and since I'm a bit starved for good Jewish group study these days, this really resonated with me. It made for a long seder, but one that I found really satisfying.

Last night I lead another seder for my friends Robin and Darin with their two kids, Darin's parents, his brother and his girlfriend, and our friends Eli (Elizabeth), her husband Brian and their daughter. Darin is Jewish, but no one in his family has ever had any interest in practicing any part of the religion. Robin is not Jewish, but feels a tie to the spiritual nature of religion and wants to give her kids the experience of their heritage. Eli and Brian are not Jewish, had never been to a seder, but Eli wants her 5-year-old daughter who attends Catholic school, to have an appreciation for the different religious practices in the world. Some would call this seder watered down, but in some ways it might be the most important of the three. For it gives people who would not have any relationship to this story of liberation a way to show their children the importance of freedom for all people. It gives the adults a chance to appreciate the message as well.

One tradition--three different experiences. It made for a long start of the week, but helped bring the aspect of loving kindness into each day.

Sharing Torah Moments

This morning, exactly one week after I read Torah at the shiva minyan for Mitzi--I read Torah at the shiva minyan for Rabbi Lew. At the service for Mitzi, I gave a very short drash--call it a "drashlet"--based on a teaching I got from Rabbi Lew (the same one I used in the speech posted here in an earlier post).

Today, I shared a moment I had with Rabbi Lew one late-spring Saturday mincha. I was chanting Torah that day, and needed to roll the Torah to the correct spot--somewhere in Bamidbar/Numbers. As I perused the scrolls, looking for the start of the reading, Rabbi Lew leaned over and said:
"וידבר יי אל משה לאמר" "God spoke to Moshe and said"-
a phrase that starts the huge majority of paragraphs in that part of the Torah. It's a standard, geeky, Torah reader joke.


The love of Torah--reading, chanting, studying, holding, touching, breathing, even joking about Torah--is something I shared with Rabbi Lew.

I know that all who studied with Rabbi Lew will continue to pass his teachings to the next generations.



The photos posted here are from a Makor Retreat in August, 2002.

One step at a time

One thing about Jewish practice is that for all the parts of it that are hard to access, we do well with the process of mourning and grief. Losing both Mitzi and Rabbi Lew in the space of a week has weighed very heavy on my soul, but it's good to have rituals and a community for support.

With Mitzi, the grief is a bit easier to deal with - our close relationship and all the time I spent with her in this past year makes me miss her alot but also gives me comfort. With Rabbi Lew it's more complicated. He gave me so much, taught me so much, yet also was the source of some anger. I have been releasing that anger over the past months, and we had some very precious, close moments with each other during this year. So at least I'm spared the guilt I might have felt if this happened just a year or so past.

It's still alot to deal with, but because of my teachers--Rabbi Lew, Norman Fischer, Susannah Bruder--I know to keep moving forward, one step at a time. I also know that we need to feel the pain in order to go beyond it. For if there were no emotion, there would be no love. And while the physical bodies may be gone, the love remains, stays with us, and helps us grow.

Shomer Scarf

I just finished my time as shomer for Rabbi Lew. Part of the Jewish burial ritual is to make sure that there is always someone sitting, watching over the body until the time of the funeral. It is important that the body not be left alone at this time. I see it as a way we can accompany our loved one in this last part of their journey on this earth. It gives us a way to honor someone, hold them close before we have to let go.

It is traditional to read Psalms during this time. We arranged for the shomerim in shifts, and many read Norman Fischer's "Opening to You," his interpretations of the Psalms. Norman is Rabbi Lew's closest friend--they traveled many of the life's paths together--the Iowa Writing program, the Zen Center, Makor Or. Norman was also a shomer, taking these last steps with Rabbi Lew.

I read Psalms, chanted Torah, shared some other writings. But mostly I just sat in silence-sometimes in meditation, sometimes having conversations with Rabbi Lew in my head. Because I had the overnight shift, 8P - 8A, there was lots of time. I also brought a skein of yarn and crocheted. I started a scarf--a pattern I have recently developed, something I can do without too much thinking. It's a spiral pattern, which felt appropriate as a spiritual metaphor for the teachings Rabbi Lew has given me. The scarf is crocheted lengthwise, and I chose to make it 108 stitches long. 108 is a spiritual number in many traditions. Eighteen is the number that represents chai, life, in Judaism. 108 is 6 X 18--Rabbi Lew had completed six decades of life, with the seventh unfinished. The Buddhists ring bells 108 for the New Year. It's also a sacred number to the Hindus. And it happens to be the number of stitches on a baseball--another spiritual pursuit of Rabbi Lew.

In the midst of the last row of the scarf, I ran out of yarn. Somehow, that seemed right. For loss of Rabbi Lew leaves many of us feeling incomplete. He left us far too soon; he had so much more to teach us. But we will continue the teachings he left us--in deed and in study. We will pass them on to the generations ahead. His life, like the scarf, may have been cut short before it's time, but his memory and his light will shine on for many years to come.

Zichrono Le'vracha

Rabbi Alan Lew - Baruch Dayan HaEmet

Rabbi Alan Lew, zichrono le'vracha, died today. It's hard to grasp that reality.

In his memory, I share these words I spoke on the occasion of his retirement from Beth Sholom in June, 2005.


Ernie Newbrun has spoken to you this evening of the depth of Rabbi Lew's teaching, and the effect it has had on all of us who who are his students. One of my favorite teachings of his, one that comes up for me again and again, is his teaching from the 15th century commentator Don Isaac Abravanel, in his description of the chumash, the 5 books of Moshe, as a blueprint for a spiritual life. As I was thinking what I was going to say this evening, I realized this teaching also serves as an example of our community, and the gifts that Rabbi Lew has brought us.

Bereshit, Genesis, represents the personal spiritual seeking, ending in a leave-taking. For many of us here, that spiritally seeking leave-taking brought us to Beth Sholom. At Beth Sholom we found not only ritually rich Judaism, but a Rabbi who could speak to that seeking spirit within us.

Shemot, Exodus, represents Revelation, and the beginning of community. With the founding of Makor Or, Rabbi Lew recognized the need for a community where meditation and Jewish spiritual activity are done in combination. For experienced meditators who happen to be Jewish, the meditation practice at Makor Or brings refreshed connections to a religion they had basically left behind. For those like me, familiar and comfortable with Jewish practice but looking for a deeper connection, Makor Or brings a place to experience meditation in a environment with no foreign icons to block out. Rabbi Lew has made all of that possible. For those of us who have participated in Makor Or, Rabbi Lew has been there to guide us when meditation brings to fore our inner angst. And connecting sitting meditation to prayer has brought a deeper appreciation for both activities.

Which brings me to Vayikra, Leviticus, representing the actual practice. The practice of Judaism is not easy in this world, and especially in this town. We eat differently, our holidays are always at times that conflict with the outside world, we have to learn a whole different language to participate in prayer. Yet here at Beth Sholom, we embrace the traditions, even to the extent of reading the entire Torah parsha each week, something becoming increasingly unique in the Conservative Jewish world. But rather than water down the rituals, Rabbi Lew inspires us to look to the deeper meanings of the practice, helps us see why they are there and what they can bring to us.

And that's how Abravanel catagorizes Bamidbar, Numbers, the book we very fittingly start this Shabbat. Bamidbar is about bringing the practice into our lives. And that is where, I think, we owe a debt of gratitude to Rabbi Lew. For he has made it his mission to share with all of us his love of Judaism and the deep spiritual sense it has brought to his life. That's what makes his sermons so special—he doesn't just talk it, he walks it. He doesn't just teach about the benefits of meditating, he's there at 6 a.m. He doesn't just preach the importance of keeping our minyan vibrant, he participates fully. He finds ways to reach us all.

As a case in point, I looked to one of my favorite sermons of his, one given Rosh Hashanah 5760, in 1999, just before I became a member. It's a sermon that demonstrates why we're here, filled with respect and love and honor for Rabbi Lew.

He first sets a scene of a news crew filming meditation—"Apparently, this is a thing of great amazement – a bunch of Jews sitting in the room without talking; quick, get the cameras! Let's run this on the 6 o'clock news." They also film minyan. His description of minyan focuses on the time-honored Beth Sholom tradition of saying "Yasher Koach" – loosely translated, may the force be with you -- to everyone who participates in the slightest manner. Why do we do this? "We are congratulating you because of all the places you could have put your energy in this world, of all the forces you could have aligned your force with, you freely chose to be here, to put your energy here, to align yourself with the three thousand year old stream of spiritual energy we call Judaism"

Later in the sermon, Rabbi Lew goes on to relate that "Yasher Koach" moment to a moment in this country that demonstrated that same spiritual achievement — that moment in 1995 when Cal Ripken, shortstop for the Baltimore Orioles, played in 2,131 straight games, breaking Lou Gherig's record. Besides fullfilling the insight of his teacher Louis Finkelstein who said (according to Rabbi Lew) "you can't be an American Rabbi unless you know baseball" Rabbi Lew understood that this acheivement of being present and showing up each day made the difference in a world that doesn't always show up as we would wish. Rabbi Lew said "simple human presence – simply being present, simply persisting in being here – has tremendous spiritual power, It has the power to heal. It has the power to nurture."

Rabbi Lew has been here for us, nurturing us, being present for us, for 14 years. From all of us I say thank you, and "Yasher Koach."

Phoenix Rising

Okay, so I'm being a bit over dramatic with the title, and the analogy is not the best since we did not rise from ashes, we chose to rebuild. But Shabbat services at Beth Sholom this morning had such great ruach--spirit--that seems to be heralding a renewal of our congregation as we find our place in the 21st Century.

It wasn't that big a crowd, about 150--after all, it is mid-July and many regulars are away. Yet there was lots of joy and singing and a generational span that for me marks the vibrancy of our community. We celebrated an auf ruf of a couple who will be married tomorrow in our sanctuary--the bride's family are long-time congregants of Beth Sholom. While there weren't a lot of teens--many are off on their summer journeys--we had a teenager read Torah with his grandfather beside him reciting the blessings. There were lots of little kids there with their families for our Munchkins and Mishpachah service.

One advantage of the summer months is that many congregants had friends and family visiting. As a bonus, we had one of our former congregants come back to visit. He and his wife left about five years ago to take a job in Atlanta. They now live in Belgium with their two little boys. Their presence added to the feeling of continuity we have managed to maintain even as we inhabit this new space.

This kahal has been through alot lately--new building, new rabbi, new aspects of our service. We continue to look out towards the changes we need to make in order to engage all who wish to join our community without shattering the ties to our past that so many find meaningful. This work will always be ongoing since the world around us is always in flux. But as in most spiritual work, it is the journey that is important, not the goal--which itself is in constant movement.

This is not something that must happen just at Beth Sholom. It is a paradigm that must be followed in the Jewish world as a whole. It is something that the Jewish people have grappled with for centuries. It is the Jewish tradition--from the rabbis of the Talmud through to our modern leaders -- to make our scriptures relevant in the world in which they live without the strong traditions that give our practice deep meaning.

Years ago, I went to a lecture by Rabbi Arthur Green where he said that each generation adds the oil from their fingers to the Torah as it passes through their hands. I believe it is that additional oil that keeps the light of Judaism alive. I like to think that with this renewal of our community, we at Beth Sholom are doing our part.

The Circle of Life

In the course of this weekend Ken and I were witness to commemorations in life, from birth to death and the journeys we take in between.

Yesterday at Beth Sholom was filled with simcha's -- happy occasions. First, there was a special baby naming--special because the baby was 6 months old so she already had a name. But this was a family where the dad is Jewish but not the mom. So on Thursday, the family gathered to witness the little girl's conversion, as they had four years before for her older sister and on Shabbat, she was publicly introduced to us by her Hebrew name.

Obviously, whatever compromises the parents have made in their relationship, they have made a commitment to raise their children in a Jewish home. With all the gloom and doom in the Jewish world about intermarriage that goes on these days, this is proof that we will survive as a community and as a people.

We also celebrated the 90th birthday of the father of one of our core congregants. This man moved to San Francisco last year after his wife died so that he could be close to his children who live here. He's a lovely man who comes to services each week, davening with gusto, using his magnifying glass to follow along with the Torah reading. He was pleased to be honored with an aliyah, with the joy coming from those singing to him feeding his soul.

We celebrated Gay Pride weekend with the members of our Keshet (rainbow) Havurah leading the service, reading Torah, giving the drash. How wonderful it was to hear the announcement of two couples who will be married in August. One couple, honored with an aliyah, have been together for 35 years. The other couple will mark the occasion of their 25 year anniversary with a wedding. One of those grooms gave the drash, and the catch in his throat as he talked about their upcoming nuptials touched us all.

Today I went to a farewell gathering for a young family on the move. They met, married, and started their family with the birth of their son here in San Francisco.Their work situation prompted their move to Scottsdale, Arizona. While they are sad to leave friends behind, you could feel their excitement as they embark on this new journey to plant new roots as their family grows by one more this December.

Then on to another baby naming--this time the baby was a newborn. In the past year, this family has suffered through the deaths of three of that child's grandparents. Her parents spoke movingly of life and death, feeling close to both ends of the cycle. Our eyes were filled with tears of joy and sadness, the mixture reminding us of the meaning of life.

While I was traveling from one event to another, Ken had a more difficult visit to make. He drove out to Walnut Creek to attend a memorial service. A young man in his thirties--someone Ken worked with, married to another work colleague--died this past week of food poisoning while on a business trip in LA. The tragedy is compounded by the fact he will never know his child, who will be born this August; and that child will never know him. This is too sad for words to convey.

I will end this post with a poem by Marge Piercy from her book The Art of Blessing the Day. It is her interpretation of the Kaddish--the Jewish prayer one says to honor those we've lost by honoring life. For it's certainly been a weekend to honor all parts of our life.

Kaddish

Look around us, search above us, below, behind.
We stand in a great web of being joined together.
Let us praise, let us love the life we are lent
passing through us in the body of Israel
and our own bodies, let's say amein.

Time flows through us like water.
The past and the dead speak through us.
We breathe out our children's children, blessing.

Blessed is the earth from which we grow,
blessed the life we are lent,
blessed the ones who teach us,
blessed the ones we teach,
blessed is the word that cannot say the glory
that shines through us and remains to shine
flowing past distant suns on the way to forever.
Let's say amein.

Blessed is light, blessed is darkness,
but blessed above all else is peace
which bears the fruits of knowledge
on strong branches, let's say amein.

Peace that bears joy into the world,
peace that enables love, peace over Israel
everywhere, blessed and holy is peace, let's say amein.

The Deja Vu of Life

The ten years I spent working at NBC in New York now make up less than one third of my professional life. But they were formative years, working within a large corporate structure in a male dominated environment. That experience taught me more than just the tools of my craft.

At NBC I had to navigate a course learning when to go with the flow and when to stand up to the crashing waves that came my way. And when the waves hit, I learned how to get up and move through to the other side.

With all the changes and transitions at Beth Sholom, I'm once again caught in those flows and waves--some I ride and some crash over me. But this is where age and experience come in handy. There's also the advantage of being surrounded by different types of support, helping me move forward.

It's good to realize I can learn the lessons from the history of my life.

Omer 5768 - Day 49 - 7 weeks

Today is Malchut she b'Malchut - a day of majesty in a week of majesty.

Tonight is Shavuot, and at Beth Sholom we will commemorate the giving of the Torah with a night of Torah teachings leading to a sunrise service. (For those who don't wish to stay up all night there is a 9 a.m. Shavuot service.)

My teaching slot is at 1:30 a.m. I'm not sure how many will be there but I am prepared. My teaching will center around one of my favorite group of verses in the Torah--Deuteronomy 30:11 - 14, from the parsha Nitzavim:

"Surely, this Instruction which I enjoin upon you this day is not too baffling for you, nor is it beyond reach. It is not in the heavens, that you should say, 'Who among us can go up to the heavens and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?' Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, 'Who among us can cross to the other side of the sea and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?' No, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it."

From the moment I read those words, they touched me. For me it defines spiritual practice as something that comes from within, something that you observe inside yourself, into your soul, that gives you a way to live fully in the world. Obviously, I am not the only one touched by these words, feeling this meaning. As a Shavuot gift to you, here is a poem I will share with my fellow students this evening:

Torah
Barbara D. Holender

Even when you hold it in your arms,
you have not grasped it.
Wrapped and turned it upon itself
the scroll says, Not yet.

Even when you take them into your eyes,
you have not seen them; elegant
in their crowns the letter stand aloof.

Even when you taste them in your mouth
and roll them on your tongue
or bite the sharp unyielding strokes
they say, Not yet.

And when the sounds pour from your throat
and reach deep into your lungs for breath,
even then the words say, Not quite.

But when your heart knows its own hunger
and your mind is seized and shaken,
and in the narrow space between the lines
your soul builds its nest,

Now, says Torah, now
you begin to understand.

Omer 5768 - Day 28; 4 weeks

Today is Malchut she b'Nitzach - a day of majesty in a week of endurance.

Today was Beth Sholom's official homecoming.

It was an emotional day--much more than I had imagined. I have never experienced anything like this. You could feel the joy emanating from this community finally coming into this amazing new home. We are all so invested in this place, in this space. I'm sure everyone had thoughts in the past two years that this day would never come--it just seemed so far away. But it is now our reality, we have our center. We can start new legacies that will carry forward to the next generations....l'dor v'dor.

There were many moments today when I just welled up with tears. It was bringing up the memories of friends who will always be a part of Beth Sholom for me though they are no longer with us--Goldie, Hans. It was hearing the voices of the kahal reverberating in our sacred spaces--the sanctuary, the chapel. It was seeing the kids run around, finding all the nooks and crannies, making the place their own. It was feeling the spirit circulating through the space. It was looking at the joy showing on all the faces around me.

Today we came home to the house we built together. While the newness will wear off, I hope the joy continues to fill the space for years to come.

Omer 5768 - Day 27; 3 weeks & 6 days

Today was Yesod she b'Nitzach - a day of foundation in a week of endurance.

It's appropriate that foundation and endurance are the qualities that mark this Shabbat, the last one before Beth Sholom inhabits its new space.

The endurance part is certainly true--it's been a very long two years. There were times when the uncertainty of the future of our community seemed in doubt. I will admit that there were moments when I feared we would have a beautiful new structure with few people to fill it.

But Beth Sholom is more than just a building, and the foundation built through the generations is strong. Tomorrow we will march our Torahs and ourselves into our new home. We have endured, and the foundations of our building and of our community are strong and will keep us vibrant for many years to come.