DRASHOT - Torah Explanation...
Jewish Time - Rosh HaShanah 5776 – 2015
Star of David...
Shanah Tovah. Rosh HaShanah means many different things to different people; we all come here tonight with our own traditions. At its core, the spiritual message of Rosh HaShanah is that another year has passed. We honor the year that has just concluded before we embrace the new opportunities and challenges that the year 5776 brings. Key to this holiday and this season of Teshuvah, spiritual renewal and returning to our true best selves, is the realization that time moves only forward and it has been 12 months since we last filled this sanctuary to hear the shofar and wish each other a good and sweet new year.
As I look back over the last year, and take stock of my personal and professional accomplishments and struggles, a highlight that comes to mind is the tours of this sanctuary that I have given. During Latkes and Vodkas an impromptu group of non-Jews enjoying the event asked me explain a little bit about our Services and we ended up looking at our Torah scrolls and talking about the Jewish roots of Christianity. A few months later, a group of high school students from near Sonora came here for a field trip. For all of them it was their first time in a Jewish congregation and their questions were thoughtful and powerful. Café Shalom is a chance for many to learn about Jewish culture, to see a Torah scroll opened and to gain a better understanding of Jewish beliefs and practices. Each of these sacred teachable moments was very powerful for me. They were chances to not only be warm and welcoming to guests, but to also see our sanctuary through their eyes, to see what they notice about our spiritual home, and to learn what makes this space unique for those who are visiting.
These show and tell experiences inspired me to decide to use the four Drashot of the High Holidays to talk about four aspects of this room, what these different symbols and objects mean, and how understanding our cultural and religious icons can lead to new goals and actions in the new year. Tonight I want to talk a bit about the most common Jewish symbol: the star of David, the magein David, the six pointed “Jewish star” that is at the center of our bimah.
While the star of David is the internationally recognized symbol of Judaism, it’s origins are lost in history and this shape has no specific spiritually meaning. For an ancient people with a huge focus on words and ideas, it is fascinating that this star, found on synagogue buildings in all lands, does not actually convey anything. The earliest known Magein Davids are found in Europe and are about 800 years old. Compared to the 4,000-year history of the Jewish family, this symbol is barely a toddler. Among the theories and explanations is that this symbol referred to King David and is made up of two Greek Delta letters imposed over each other. Legend explains that David marked his shield with his initial, thus the Hebrew name for this star, the Magein, or shield of David. Kabbalah, Jewish magic and mysticism suggests that the pattern represents the 7 sephirot, divine emanations or expressions that humans have the potential to cultivate within them. The six points and the center of the star may have been an artistic means of demonstrating these concepts. We may never know the true meaning or origin of this symbol, and this un-answerable question is perhaps an appropriate icon for a people who love questions, even those with no easy answer.
Today, perhaps the most significant use of this symbol is as the centerpiece of the Israeli flag. Our two flags which adorn our Bimah are also the topic of many questions when people tour our synagogue. While we may take it for granted that we have these flags so prominently displayed on the eastern wall of our shul, I ask that we take a few minutes to consider their placement and the message of these symbols.
The design of the Israeli flag is based on the ancient blue techelet strings of a Tallit, a prayer shawl, as described in the third paragraph of the Shema from the Book of Numbers. By weaving together a Biblical religious symbol and the cultural icon of the Star of David, the message was clear: we have re-born as both an ancient tribe and as a modern nation. We display the Israeli flag here as a reminder of the interconnectedness of all Jews everywhere and with pride for the many accomplishments of the modern Jewish state.
Of course, we also have an American flag on our bimah. We are proud to be Americans, to celebrate the wonderful success story that is the United States, and to declare our un-breakable commitment to our country and it’s ideals of democracy and freedom. America is our home. So why do we have these two flags here in our sanctuary? One is the symbol of our home; the other is the symbol of our homeland. Both are powerful and at the core of our identity and they each contain different messages. America is where most of us are from, where we intend to live and one day, at the age of 120, where we plan to be buried. We are not just loyal Americans, we know that Jews helped fund the American revolution and create this great nation. We are fully at home here, in this inspiring land of opportunities.
Israel is our homeland. It is where our people are originally from. It is currently, once again, the largest Jewish population in the world. Israel is where the Jewish heart yearns, where we face when we pray, where we draw inspiration from, and the center of Jewish life, culture, diverse expression, and our the wellsprings of our heritage. America is our home; Israel is our homeland.
When we talk about our love of Israel, it includes the possibility of a deep connection with its land, its people, and/or its government. One only needs to love at least one of these connections to love our homeland. Israel is not a perfect country; no governmental organization in the world offers a Utopia. We love Israel as we are committed to see it truly reach its goals of religious diversity and equality, peace and security, and being a light unto the nations. Among the many pressing challenges facing our people is the growing disconnect between some younger Jews and our homeland. This is not just a threat to Israel’s support here in the U.S., it is a challenge to our very sense of peoplehood, which has historically transcended differences in political orientation and has overcome the different levels of religious observance that we embrace.
We must stay connected to each other and to our homeland. I ask that everyone here make a pledge to stay informed about current events in Israel that impact us as Jews. Whatever are your political leanings, if you believe the Iranian accord brings war closer and sooner, or if you maintain that it lowers the threat of regional conflict, however you vote, stay involved. Follow the news, examine different perspectives, read and discuss any of the many wonderful, recent books about Israel, its history, challenges, successes and future. Stay invested in the Jewish people and its homeland.
If you have never been to Israel, see it with your own eyes. In just 9 months, in mid-June, I will be co-leading a 10-day Israel trip for our congregation. If you haven’t been there, or haven’t been there recently, or haven’t been there enough, join us. I promise you that this trip will offer something for everyone, for all ages, and give you a new perspective on our homeland and being Jewish. We have a scholarship fund to help families bring their children and teens on the trip and to allow for financial support for individuals who might otherwise not be able to join us. Recently $2,000 was donated to this fund; will you match that contribution with your own commitment? Please open up your hearts and checkbooks and support this worthy cause. We are happy to accept donations of airline miles to help others join us on this trip. There are flyers in the lobby with more information about the trip and how to provide these scholarships.
The Jewish star is our most famous symbol and only one country in the world flies the six-pointed star on its flag. Israel is the only country that is our people’s homeland. Please join me in: 1. traveling to our homeland, 2. pledge with me to increase our awareness and involvement in its history and future, and 3. help others improve their sense of connection to Israel . A year has passed; we commit to improving our lives and our world in the next 12 months. These are three concrete ways to do just that. Start with one of these ways, then try on a second, and the third as it speaks to you.
Shanah Tovah!
Rabbi Shalom Bochner
Star of David...
Shanah Tovah. Rosh HaShanah means many different things to different people; we all come here tonight with our own traditions. At its core, the spiritual message of Rosh HaShanah is that another year has passed. We honor the year that has just concluded before we embrace the new opportunities and challenges that the year 5776 brings. Key to this holiday and this season of Teshuvah, spiritual renewal and returning to our true best selves, is the realization that time moves only forward and it has been 12 months since we last filled this sanctuary to hear the shofar and wish each other a good and sweet new year.
As I look back over the last year, and take stock of my personal and professional accomplishments and struggles, a highlight that comes to mind is the tours of this sanctuary that I have given. During Latkes and Vodkas an impromptu group of non-Jews enjoying the event asked me explain a little bit about our Services and we ended up looking at our Torah scrolls and talking about the Jewish roots of Christianity. A few months later, a group of high school students from near Sonora came here for a field trip. For all of them it was their first time in a Jewish congregation and their questions were thoughtful and powerful. Café Shalom is a chance for many to learn about Jewish culture, to see a Torah scroll opened and to gain a better understanding of Jewish beliefs and practices. Each of these sacred teachable moments was very powerful for me. They were chances to not only be warm and welcoming to guests, but to also see our sanctuary through their eyes, to see what they notice about our spiritual home, and to learn what makes this space unique for those who are visiting.
These show and tell experiences inspired me to decide to use the four Drashot of the High Holidays to talk about four aspects of this room, what these different symbols and objects mean, and how understanding our cultural and religious icons can lead to new goals and actions in the new year. Tonight I want to talk a bit about the most common Jewish symbol: the star of David, the magein David, the six pointed “Jewish star” that is at the center of our bimah.
While the star of David is the internationally recognized symbol of Judaism, it’s origins are lost in history and this shape has no specific spiritually meaning. For an ancient people with a huge focus on words and ideas, it is fascinating that this star, found on synagogue buildings in all lands, does not actually convey anything. The earliest known Magein Davids are found in Europe and are about 800 years old. Compared to the 4,000-year history of the Jewish family, this symbol is barely a toddler. Among the theories and explanations is that this symbol referred to King David and is made up of two Greek Delta letters imposed over each other. Legend explains that David marked his shield with his initial, thus the Hebrew name for this star, the Magein, or shield of David. Kabbalah, Jewish magic and mysticism suggests that the pattern represents the 7 sephirot, divine emanations or expressions that humans have the potential to cultivate within them. The six points and the center of the star may have been an artistic means of demonstrating these concepts. We may never know the true meaning or origin of this symbol, and this un-answerable question is perhaps an appropriate icon for a people who love questions, even those with no easy answer.
Today, perhaps the most significant use of this symbol is as the centerpiece of the Israeli flag. Our two flags which adorn our Bimah are also the topic of many questions when people tour our synagogue. While we may take it for granted that we have these flags so prominently displayed on the eastern wall of our shul, I ask that we take a few minutes to consider their placement and the message of these symbols.
The design of the Israeli flag is based on the ancient blue techelet strings of a Tallit, a prayer shawl, as described in the third paragraph of the Shema from the Book of Numbers. By weaving together a Biblical religious symbol and the cultural icon of the Star of David, the message was clear: we have re-born as both an ancient tribe and as a modern nation. We display the Israeli flag here as a reminder of the interconnectedness of all Jews everywhere and with pride for the many accomplishments of the modern Jewish state.
Of course, we also have an American flag on our bimah. We are proud to be Americans, to celebrate the wonderful success story that is the United States, and to declare our un-breakable commitment to our country and it’s ideals of democracy and freedom. America is our home. So why do we have these two flags here in our sanctuary? One is the symbol of our home; the other is the symbol of our homeland. Both are powerful and at the core of our identity and they each contain different messages. America is where most of us are from, where we intend to live and one day, at the age of 120, where we plan to be buried. We are not just loyal Americans, we know that Jews helped fund the American revolution and create this great nation. We are fully at home here, in this inspiring land of opportunities.
Israel is our homeland. It is where our people are originally from. It is currently, once again, the largest Jewish population in the world. Israel is where the Jewish heart yearns, where we face when we pray, where we draw inspiration from, and the center of Jewish life, culture, diverse expression, and our the wellsprings of our heritage. America is our home; Israel is our homeland.
When we talk about our love of Israel, it includes the possibility of a deep connection with its land, its people, and/or its government. One only needs to love at least one of these connections to love our homeland. Israel is not a perfect country; no governmental organization in the world offers a Utopia. We love Israel as we are committed to see it truly reach its goals of religious diversity and equality, peace and security, and being a light unto the nations. Among the many pressing challenges facing our people is the growing disconnect between some younger Jews and our homeland. This is not just a threat to Israel’s support here in the U.S., it is a challenge to our very sense of peoplehood, which has historically transcended differences in political orientation and has overcome the different levels of religious observance that we embrace.
We must stay connected to each other and to our homeland. I ask that everyone here make a pledge to stay informed about current events in Israel that impact us as Jews. Whatever are your political leanings, if you believe the Iranian accord brings war closer and sooner, or if you maintain that it lowers the threat of regional conflict, however you vote, stay involved. Follow the news, examine different perspectives, read and discuss any of the many wonderful, recent books about Israel, its history, challenges, successes and future. Stay invested in the Jewish people and its homeland.
If you have never been to Israel, see it with your own eyes. In just 9 months, in mid-June, I will be co-leading a 10-day Israel trip for our congregation. If you haven’t been there, or haven’t been there recently, or haven’t been there enough, join us. I promise you that this trip will offer something for everyone, for all ages, and give you a new perspective on our homeland and being Jewish. We have a scholarship fund to help families bring their children and teens on the trip and to allow for financial support for individuals who might otherwise not be able to join us. Recently $2,000 was donated to this fund; will you match that contribution with your own commitment? Please open up your hearts and checkbooks and support this worthy cause. We are happy to accept donations of airline miles to help others join us on this trip. There are flyers in the lobby with more information about the trip and how to provide these scholarships.
The Jewish star is our most famous symbol and only one country in the world flies the six-pointed star on its flag. Israel is the only country that is our people’s homeland. Please join me in: 1. traveling to our homeland, 2. pledge with me to increase our awareness and involvement in its history and future, and 3. help others improve their sense of connection to Israel . A year has passed; we commit to improving our lives and our world in the next 12 months. These are three concrete ways to do just that. Start with one of these ways, then try on a second, and the third as it speaks to you.
Shanah Tovah!
Rabbi Shalom Bochner
Jewish Time - Rosh HaShanah 5776 – 2015
Shofar...
Shanah Tovah! Today is the birthday of the universe; today we and all things are re-born. It is a time of new beginnings, a time for recommitting to being the best people that we can be and making our world the best that it can be for all. Last night I spoke about a powerful symbol in this sanctuary, the Magein David – the Star of David. I will continue this theme throughout the high holidays as we look around this beautiful room and think about its symbols and what they mean to us. Today, I want to talk about one of the oldest symbols in Judaism that we display in the front of our bimah every day of the year: the shofar, the ram’s horn. Depictions of the curved horn appear on the mosaic floors of ancient synagogues in Israel. Along with the 7 branched – menorah, it is the oldest symbol of our people.
The origins of the shofar are, like the Jewish star, somewhat obscured. Certainly the word-less cry of the ram’s horn is among the oldest sounds in human civilization. It is believed that these hollowed horns were used to gather people, in times of fear when battle loomed, and in times of celebration and re-birth. The Bible tells of Abraham, who offered a ram in the place of his son, when God tested him by commanding that he bring Isaac to the altar. A Midrash found in the Mishnah, rabbinic writings from more than 2,000 years ago, explains that this particular ram was created by God right before sunset at the start of the first Shabbat ever when the universe was formed. This was no random animal stuck in the bushes; it was ordained as part of the blueprint of the world that this ram be offered to God by Abraham 4,000 years ago.
Later in the Torah we read how we are to blow the ram’s horn at the start of each new moon. It is to be a sound of re-birth as a new month begins. Every year, month, week and day represents a new beginning in Judaism. We do not need to keep reading from the same script; we can write a new role for ourselves every day and change where we are heading in the journey and adventure that is life itelf.
The Torah does not call today Rosh HaShanah – head of the year, but Yom Teruah – day of shofar sounding. According to the rabbis of the Mishnah and Talmud, we are to sound 100 blasts of the shofar on each of the two days of this holiday. These piercing notes are the essence of this holiday; they are the most primal of tones that represents for us the sacred opportunities and holy challenges that come with a re-start for the world.
In the book of Joshua, we read how the walls of Jericho came tumbling down when the people marched around the city seven times and blew on the ram’s horn. The book of Psalms declares: Tiku B’shofar – blow the shofar as a chok, a commandment beyond logic, marking this festival of newness. Psalm 150 celebrates the shofar, along with the harp, drum, symbols, and dances as a way to praise God, the source of all life. Everyone and everything with soul declares: Halleluyah! Praises to Yah, to Jah, the Holy One, the very breath of life.
A shofar blast, as decreed by Jewish tradition and law, must only be the sound of a horn of a kosher animal and the breath of a human. No reed, no mouthpiece can be employed. The shofar can be shaped or decorated, but its voice must be same the ancient cry that our ancestors knew. The commandment of the day is not to blow the shofar, but to hear it, to listen to the sound, to heed its voice, to contemplate its notes.
There are four notes that are blown in various combinations during these days of awe: the steady tekiah note, the shevarim, a three-part broken note that is to sound like sighing, the teruah: a series of staccato notes that some hear as laughter or sobbing, and the tekiah gedolah – the sustained wail of the shofar. The tekiah, shevarim and teruah are all to last an equal amount of time; the tekiah gedolah lasts as long as the one who is blowing can maintain the sound. Like our Torah readings which are checked and corrected by Gabba’im, a shofar blast that is blown incorrectly must be repeated. Each of these sounds, in their correct order, is required. A Chassidic tale explains that these 100 shofar blasts are the ax that can break down any wall, including the partition between earth and heaven. These sounds are the exclamation mark during and after our prayers. As we engage in heart-full selfexamination and deep meditation, we discover that at some point words fail us, that there is no way to express our true appreciation for life, our deep sorrow at the way that we let ourselves and others down. When the words of the prayer-book and the words of our hearts are not sufficient, we pick up the shofar and know that this sound can stir us and heaven to change the decree, to alter our paths, to make us new and renewed. We are a people who love words and songs; we are the small nomadic tribe that brought the greatest book of all to the world. And on Rosh HaShanah, we know that beyond all the books, and words, and teachings and songs, is this most ancient cry of humanity: the shofar.
The Talmud explains that a shofar must be curved or bent. It is to be a physical representation of our prostrating bodies. Our humility on this day is a required first step. We are not perfect, we have not been the people that we could have been. We stand, sit, bow, and blow the shofar with a sense that we stand before God, before the universe, before ourselves, not with a perfect track record to brag about, but with a desire for a clean, fresh slate to motivate us. Let us start again. Hashiveinu Adonai, Elecha V’nashuva, Chadeish, Chadeish Yameinu, Chadeish Yameinu K’kedem. Make our days new, as they were in days of old.
For this process of re-birth and celebrating our new beginnings to work, we must set goals for the new year. This process is called Teshuvah, often mistranslated as “repentance”, but literally meaning “returning”. Maimonides explains that we are to recall our actions, recognize our mistakes, seek forgiveness from those we have hurt by offering to make true amends, and then create a new plan. Only when we find ourselves back in the same situation and responding differently will we know that we have accomplished a full, complete return. These days of Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur have a power; there is a reason that sanctuaries around the world are filled on these three days. To utilize this ancient spiritual power, we must make it real. Take the time today and for the next week to seek forgiveness, to create a new roadmap for the year. Use the time today to meditate on who you wish to be this year; set a goal, one goal, a do-able goal, a next step. Use these moments when we are blowing the shofar to visualize and embrace this new you. Make it real.
According to Maimonides, the sound of shofar calls out: “wake up sleepy ones from your slumber... examine your deeds and return to your Creator”. May our prayers, intentions, meditations, and songs ascend to heaven with the shofar blasts. May we all hear its voice, its cry, its laughter, its wordless message. The shofar is not only a symbol of the enduring power of our people – it is an important part of our endurance and power as a people.
Shanah Tovah!
Rabbi Shalom Bochner
Shofar...
Shanah Tovah! Today is the birthday of the universe; today we and all things are re-born. It is a time of new beginnings, a time for recommitting to being the best people that we can be and making our world the best that it can be for all. Last night I spoke about a powerful symbol in this sanctuary, the Magein David – the Star of David. I will continue this theme throughout the high holidays as we look around this beautiful room and think about its symbols and what they mean to us. Today, I want to talk about one of the oldest symbols in Judaism that we display in the front of our bimah every day of the year: the shofar, the ram’s horn. Depictions of the curved horn appear on the mosaic floors of ancient synagogues in Israel. Along with the 7 branched – menorah, it is the oldest symbol of our people.
The origins of the shofar are, like the Jewish star, somewhat obscured. Certainly the word-less cry of the ram’s horn is among the oldest sounds in human civilization. It is believed that these hollowed horns were used to gather people, in times of fear when battle loomed, and in times of celebration and re-birth. The Bible tells of Abraham, who offered a ram in the place of his son, when God tested him by commanding that he bring Isaac to the altar. A Midrash found in the Mishnah, rabbinic writings from more than 2,000 years ago, explains that this particular ram was created by God right before sunset at the start of the first Shabbat ever when the universe was formed. This was no random animal stuck in the bushes; it was ordained as part of the blueprint of the world that this ram be offered to God by Abraham 4,000 years ago.
Later in the Torah we read how we are to blow the ram’s horn at the start of each new moon. It is to be a sound of re-birth as a new month begins. Every year, month, week and day represents a new beginning in Judaism. We do not need to keep reading from the same script; we can write a new role for ourselves every day and change where we are heading in the journey and adventure that is life itelf.
The Torah does not call today Rosh HaShanah – head of the year, but Yom Teruah – day of shofar sounding. According to the rabbis of the Mishnah and Talmud, we are to sound 100 blasts of the shofar on each of the two days of this holiday. These piercing notes are the essence of this holiday; they are the most primal of tones that represents for us the sacred opportunities and holy challenges that come with a re-start for the world.
In the book of Joshua, we read how the walls of Jericho came tumbling down when the people marched around the city seven times and blew on the ram’s horn. The book of Psalms declares: Tiku B’shofar – blow the shofar as a chok, a commandment beyond logic, marking this festival of newness. Psalm 150 celebrates the shofar, along with the harp, drum, symbols, and dances as a way to praise God, the source of all life. Everyone and everything with soul declares: Halleluyah! Praises to Yah, to Jah, the Holy One, the very breath of life.
A shofar blast, as decreed by Jewish tradition and law, must only be the sound of a horn of a kosher animal and the breath of a human. No reed, no mouthpiece can be employed. The shofar can be shaped or decorated, but its voice must be same the ancient cry that our ancestors knew. The commandment of the day is not to blow the shofar, but to hear it, to listen to the sound, to heed its voice, to contemplate its notes.
There are four notes that are blown in various combinations during these days of awe: the steady tekiah note, the shevarim, a three-part broken note that is to sound like sighing, the teruah: a series of staccato notes that some hear as laughter or sobbing, and the tekiah gedolah – the sustained wail of the shofar. The tekiah, shevarim and teruah are all to last an equal amount of time; the tekiah gedolah lasts as long as the one who is blowing can maintain the sound. Like our Torah readings which are checked and corrected by Gabba’im, a shofar blast that is blown incorrectly must be repeated. Each of these sounds, in their correct order, is required. A Chassidic tale explains that these 100 shofar blasts are the ax that can break down any wall, including the partition between earth and heaven. These sounds are the exclamation mark during and after our prayers. As we engage in heart-full selfexamination and deep meditation, we discover that at some point words fail us, that there is no way to express our true appreciation for life, our deep sorrow at the way that we let ourselves and others down. When the words of the prayer-book and the words of our hearts are not sufficient, we pick up the shofar and know that this sound can stir us and heaven to change the decree, to alter our paths, to make us new and renewed. We are a people who love words and songs; we are the small nomadic tribe that brought the greatest book of all to the world. And on Rosh HaShanah, we know that beyond all the books, and words, and teachings and songs, is this most ancient cry of humanity: the shofar.
The Talmud explains that a shofar must be curved or bent. It is to be a physical representation of our prostrating bodies. Our humility on this day is a required first step. We are not perfect, we have not been the people that we could have been. We stand, sit, bow, and blow the shofar with a sense that we stand before God, before the universe, before ourselves, not with a perfect track record to brag about, but with a desire for a clean, fresh slate to motivate us. Let us start again. Hashiveinu Adonai, Elecha V’nashuva, Chadeish, Chadeish Yameinu, Chadeish Yameinu K’kedem. Make our days new, as they were in days of old.
For this process of re-birth and celebrating our new beginnings to work, we must set goals for the new year. This process is called Teshuvah, often mistranslated as “repentance”, but literally meaning “returning”. Maimonides explains that we are to recall our actions, recognize our mistakes, seek forgiveness from those we have hurt by offering to make true amends, and then create a new plan. Only when we find ourselves back in the same situation and responding differently will we know that we have accomplished a full, complete return. These days of Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur have a power; there is a reason that sanctuaries around the world are filled on these three days. To utilize this ancient spiritual power, we must make it real. Take the time today and for the next week to seek forgiveness, to create a new roadmap for the year. Use the time today to meditate on who you wish to be this year; set a goal, one goal, a do-able goal, a next step. Use these moments when we are blowing the shofar to visualize and embrace this new you. Make it real.
According to Maimonides, the sound of shofar calls out: “wake up sleepy ones from your slumber... examine your deeds and return to your Creator”. May our prayers, intentions, meditations, and songs ascend to heaven with the shofar blasts. May we all hear its voice, its cry, its laughter, its wordless message. The shofar is not only a symbol of the enduring power of our people – it is an important part of our endurance and power as a people.
Shanah Tovah!
Rabbi Shalom Bochner
Jewish Time - Yom Kippur 5776 – 2015
Torah Scroll...
Shanah Tovah, Chag Samei-ach. On Rosh HaShanah I spoke about two powerful symbols found in this sanctuary and how understanding them can lead to specific actions and changes in the new year. We learned about the six-pointed Magein David star, and I spoke about its use on the Israeli flag and the concept of America being our home and Israel being our homeland. I encouraged all of us to strengthen our connections with the land of Israel, including traveling there in June as part of our CBS Israel trip. On the daytime of the first day of Rosh HaShanah, I spoke about the shofar, its meaning and ability to awaken us to the importance of spiritual rebirth and becoming the people that we wish to be. Tonight, I will continue this “show and tell” theme and talk about the holiest object in this room, the Torah scrolls that truly make this a sacred space.
The Torah is the foundation of Judaism and much of the world’s moral compass. We are the People of the Book, and this book has become the most read and studied one in the history of humanity. The Torah is the main symbol of our heritage, but it is not a holy relic. It remains a Living Torah, a Tree of Life, and chanting from the scroll every week and debating its meanings is the core of Judaism.
This past year, we embarked on the sacred task of repairing each of our four Torah scrolls. They range from 100 to close to 200 years old, and through regular use and due to humidity and other environmental exposures, the letters can become flaked or damaged. A Torah that is missing even one letter, or even just part of a letter is considered Pasul, or un-kosher, and can’t be read from. The analogy to a community is clear. A Torah contains 304,805 letters (or approximately 79,000 words) and all are needed for the Torah to be complete. Our congregation currently includes about 100 member families; all are needed for us to be complete and whole. When even one of us is hospitalized, not feeling whole, or disappears, or passes away, we all feel it.
We are always writing more letters. Writing a Torah is a mitzvah, a sacred instruction, one of the 613 commandments in the Torah, and we are all to participate in this holy task. Healthy communities are growing; new members are added to the roster as letters are written in a new Torah scroll.
We didn’t just have our Torah scrolls examined and repaired this summer, we were able to turn it into a meaningful educational experience. One of our Torahs was repaired right here, in this room, allowing many of you to see it being done and support this incredible ritual. I thank Gary Kailes for creating this beautiful display from that program.
Four different people repaired these scrolls: two Sofrim and two Sofrot, all trained in the ancient craft of writing and repairing a Torah. Every Torah scroll in the world is identical. There is no such thing as a Reform Torah, a Conservative Torah or an Orthodox Torah. The Torah is what unites us; its words and meaning are identical all over the world. In the early years of the State of Israel, as displaced and refugee Jews from all corners of the Middle East and world gathered in the new country, each community brought its own Torah scrolls. And each was rolled to the identical Torah reading; each one was turned to the same weekly portion. As a 2,000 year diaspora ended, we were able to see the power of Jewish continuity: no matter where we lived, we each sang from a Torah each week and maintained our cycles of holidays and Torah readings despite the miles that separated us. The Torah is the glue that holds us together.
A Torah must be written on klaf, animal parchment, following specific instructions and an ink recipe that is detailed in the Talmud. A Torah is written only by hand, using a feather pen, and every word is checked before and after it is written and chanted as it is being inked. A scribe writing a Torah immerses in a mikveh, in flowing living waters, before God’s name is written. Certain letters require crowns, artistic flourishes, and there are smaller and larger letters in addition to mysterious dots and lines that each have kabbalistic, Jewish mystical, significance. Nothing may be added to a Torah: no vowels, no punctuation, no cantillation marks. Each of these needs to be memorized by the one who chants fom the Torah. The Torah is chanted using regional Trop: the wailing middle-eastern Mirzachi trop, the unique Spanish Sefardi system, or the sing-songing Ashkenazi Trop. The words are identical around the world; the melodies reflect regional differences and custom. Torah cantillation inspired Gregorian chants which are the foundation of modern, western music. When you hear the Torah chanted, you are hearing the ancient stories and teachings of our Tribe and also the inspiration for whatever music you listen to when driving, jogging, or sitting in your house.
It takes a Scribe an entire year of full time work, 6 days a week, about 2,000 hours, to write a Torah scroll. If un-rolled all the way, as we’ll do on Simchat Torah, the Torah is the length of a football field. The Torah begins with a mystery: “B’reishit” which means “in a beginning...” The beginning of what? It is not “the beginning” despite the frequent errors in translation. Was there a universe before this one; what exactly happened before the Big Bang when God called forth existence, saying “Let there be light”? The Torah ends with a blessing: never again will there be another one like Moshe, who taught such wisdom and did such wonders in the eyes of all Israel. The last letter of the Torah is a “lamed”, the first letter is a “bet”. On Simchat Torah, when we conclude and re-start the annual Torah reading cycle, we read the last section of the Torah, re-wind the scroll, and start reading from Genesis again. We go from the last letter to the first letter, and this spells Lev – heart. The Torah is the heart of the Jewish people; it has always been at the heart of every sanctuary and community.
This is why Rabbi ben Bag Bag said in the Mishneh: “Turn it over, Turn it over, for everything is in it. Look into it, grow old over it, and never move away from it, for you will find no better portion than it."
Every time we study the Torah we say the blessing: la’asok b’divrei Torah, and we celebrate attaching ourselves to her words, being busy with her instructions, and soaking up her teachings. The Torah is compared to milk and honey on our tongue. All of its path are peace and its ways are pleasantness. According to a Midrash, a rabbinic legend, God looked into the Torah and consulted its wisdom before creating the universe. It is not only an ancient handbook for a meaningful life, a Jewish life, it is understood as the blue print for the universe and life itself.
The Torah includes 5 books or subsections, divided into the 54 weekly parshiot of the lunar year. In addition to the literal meaning of the Torah’s words, the p’shat, we study the Remez – the moral messages hinted at by the words, the Drash – the rabbinical legends and stories that explain the text, and the Sod – the mystical secrets of the Torah as explained in the Zohar and other books of Kabbalah. The Torah is the first section of the TaNaCh, the Hebrew Bible, which continues the story of our tribe through the sayings of the Prophets and the various inspired books of later Writings. The Torah is the inspiration for the Mishnah and Talmud, the codes of Jewish law, and all later Jewish philosophical works. The Torah is both the physical scroll that we just carried around the room – and the collected wisdom of our people from the last 4,000 years until today and beyond into the future. There is much Torah in all of us.
But here is the question; what does it mean to you? Whenever we study from the Torah, the key follow up question is: Mah zeh bah l’lamdeinu: what does this come to teach us? We all ask different questions, and seek different answers. The Torah’s power is in our interpretations and our personal understandings. We live at an intense time. The Jewish state has been re-born, the current level of access to Jewish books and ideas was unthinkable even a few decades ago. The internet has made a Jewish search a quick press of a button. And yet, only 70 years ago 1/3 of our people perished along with 90% of our rabbis and 90% of our Torah scrolls. We have re-built ourselves; we are again discovering our true strength.
We repaired those Torahs so they can be read from each week and will be here, in good condition, not only for our children and grandchildren, but for us. So I ask you to find your own connections to Torah. Join us every week on Shabbat morning when we read its words and discuss what they mean. Join us in the Sukkah, and hopefully many Wednesdays after that for our new lunch and learn program. Join with us on Sunday mornings when we offer engaging Adult Ed classes, multigenerational discussions of Jewish themes, our Beginner’s Hebrew classes, and our new Meaningful Judaism series with a wide variety of teachers and topics.
The Torah is our heritage, our holiest possession. Don’t just leave it in the Ark–take it out, make it your own, add your own voice to the discussion. The Torah is ours – make it yours. The Torah is our gift to the world; make it your personal treasure as well. May our fast be easy and meaningful and may we all inscribed in the book of life;
Shana Tova!
Rabbi Shalom Bochner
Torah Scroll...
Shanah Tovah, Chag Samei-ach. On Rosh HaShanah I spoke about two powerful symbols found in this sanctuary and how understanding them can lead to specific actions and changes in the new year. We learned about the six-pointed Magein David star, and I spoke about its use on the Israeli flag and the concept of America being our home and Israel being our homeland. I encouraged all of us to strengthen our connections with the land of Israel, including traveling there in June as part of our CBS Israel trip. On the daytime of the first day of Rosh HaShanah, I spoke about the shofar, its meaning and ability to awaken us to the importance of spiritual rebirth and becoming the people that we wish to be. Tonight, I will continue this “show and tell” theme and talk about the holiest object in this room, the Torah scrolls that truly make this a sacred space.
The Torah is the foundation of Judaism and much of the world’s moral compass. We are the People of the Book, and this book has become the most read and studied one in the history of humanity. The Torah is the main symbol of our heritage, but it is not a holy relic. It remains a Living Torah, a Tree of Life, and chanting from the scroll every week and debating its meanings is the core of Judaism.
This past year, we embarked on the sacred task of repairing each of our four Torah scrolls. They range from 100 to close to 200 years old, and through regular use and due to humidity and other environmental exposures, the letters can become flaked or damaged. A Torah that is missing even one letter, or even just part of a letter is considered Pasul, or un-kosher, and can’t be read from. The analogy to a community is clear. A Torah contains 304,805 letters (or approximately 79,000 words) and all are needed for the Torah to be complete. Our congregation currently includes about 100 member families; all are needed for us to be complete and whole. When even one of us is hospitalized, not feeling whole, or disappears, or passes away, we all feel it.
We are always writing more letters. Writing a Torah is a mitzvah, a sacred instruction, one of the 613 commandments in the Torah, and we are all to participate in this holy task. Healthy communities are growing; new members are added to the roster as letters are written in a new Torah scroll.
We didn’t just have our Torah scrolls examined and repaired this summer, we were able to turn it into a meaningful educational experience. One of our Torahs was repaired right here, in this room, allowing many of you to see it being done and support this incredible ritual. I thank Gary Kailes for creating this beautiful display from that program.
Four different people repaired these scrolls: two Sofrim and two Sofrot, all trained in the ancient craft of writing and repairing a Torah. Every Torah scroll in the world is identical. There is no such thing as a Reform Torah, a Conservative Torah or an Orthodox Torah. The Torah is what unites us; its words and meaning are identical all over the world. In the early years of the State of Israel, as displaced and refugee Jews from all corners of the Middle East and world gathered in the new country, each community brought its own Torah scrolls. And each was rolled to the identical Torah reading; each one was turned to the same weekly portion. As a 2,000 year diaspora ended, we were able to see the power of Jewish continuity: no matter where we lived, we each sang from a Torah each week and maintained our cycles of holidays and Torah readings despite the miles that separated us. The Torah is the glue that holds us together.
A Torah must be written on klaf, animal parchment, following specific instructions and an ink recipe that is detailed in the Talmud. A Torah is written only by hand, using a feather pen, and every word is checked before and after it is written and chanted as it is being inked. A scribe writing a Torah immerses in a mikveh, in flowing living waters, before God’s name is written. Certain letters require crowns, artistic flourishes, and there are smaller and larger letters in addition to mysterious dots and lines that each have kabbalistic, Jewish mystical, significance. Nothing may be added to a Torah: no vowels, no punctuation, no cantillation marks. Each of these needs to be memorized by the one who chants fom the Torah. The Torah is chanted using regional Trop: the wailing middle-eastern Mirzachi trop, the unique Spanish Sefardi system, or the sing-songing Ashkenazi Trop. The words are identical around the world; the melodies reflect regional differences and custom. Torah cantillation inspired Gregorian chants which are the foundation of modern, western music. When you hear the Torah chanted, you are hearing the ancient stories and teachings of our Tribe and also the inspiration for whatever music you listen to when driving, jogging, or sitting in your house.
It takes a Scribe an entire year of full time work, 6 days a week, about 2,000 hours, to write a Torah scroll. If un-rolled all the way, as we’ll do on Simchat Torah, the Torah is the length of a football field. The Torah begins with a mystery: “B’reishit” which means “in a beginning...” The beginning of what? It is not “the beginning” despite the frequent errors in translation. Was there a universe before this one; what exactly happened before the Big Bang when God called forth existence, saying “Let there be light”? The Torah ends with a blessing: never again will there be another one like Moshe, who taught such wisdom and did such wonders in the eyes of all Israel. The last letter of the Torah is a “lamed”, the first letter is a “bet”. On Simchat Torah, when we conclude and re-start the annual Torah reading cycle, we read the last section of the Torah, re-wind the scroll, and start reading from Genesis again. We go from the last letter to the first letter, and this spells Lev – heart. The Torah is the heart of the Jewish people; it has always been at the heart of every sanctuary and community.
This is why Rabbi ben Bag Bag said in the Mishneh: “Turn it over, Turn it over, for everything is in it. Look into it, grow old over it, and never move away from it, for you will find no better portion than it."
Every time we study the Torah we say the blessing: la’asok b’divrei Torah, and we celebrate attaching ourselves to her words, being busy with her instructions, and soaking up her teachings. The Torah is compared to milk and honey on our tongue. All of its path are peace and its ways are pleasantness. According to a Midrash, a rabbinic legend, God looked into the Torah and consulted its wisdom before creating the universe. It is not only an ancient handbook for a meaningful life, a Jewish life, it is understood as the blue print for the universe and life itself.
The Torah includes 5 books or subsections, divided into the 54 weekly parshiot of the lunar year. In addition to the literal meaning of the Torah’s words, the p’shat, we study the Remez – the moral messages hinted at by the words, the Drash – the rabbinical legends and stories that explain the text, and the Sod – the mystical secrets of the Torah as explained in the Zohar and other books of Kabbalah. The Torah is the first section of the TaNaCh, the Hebrew Bible, which continues the story of our tribe through the sayings of the Prophets and the various inspired books of later Writings. The Torah is the inspiration for the Mishnah and Talmud, the codes of Jewish law, and all later Jewish philosophical works. The Torah is both the physical scroll that we just carried around the room – and the collected wisdom of our people from the last 4,000 years until today and beyond into the future. There is much Torah in all of us.
But here is the question; what does it mean to you? Whenever we study from the Torah, the key follow up question is: Mah zeh bah l’lamdeinu: what does this come to teach us? We all ask different questions, and seek different answers. The Torah’s power is in our interpretations and our personal understandings. We live at an intense time. The Jewish state has been re-born, the current level of access to Jewish books and ideas was unthinkable even a few decades ago. The internet has made a Jewish search a quick press of a button. And yet, only 70 years ago 1/3 of our people perished along with 90% of our rabbis and 90% of our Torah scrolls. We have re-built ourselves; we are again discovering our true strength.
We repaired those Torahs so they can be read from each week and will be here, in good condition, not only for our children and grandchildren, but for us. So I ask you to find your own connections to Torah. Join us every week on Shabbat morning when we read its words and discuss what they mean. Join us in the Sukkah, and hopefully many Wednesdays after that for our new lunch and learn program. Join with us on Sunday mornings when we offer engaging Adult Ed classes, multigenerational discussions of Jewish themes, our Beginner’s Hebrew classes, and our new Meaningful Judaism series with a wide variety of teachers and topics.
The Torah is our heritage, our holiest possession. Don’t just leave it in the Ark–take it out, make it your own, add your own voice to the discussion. The Torah is ours – make it yours. The Torah is our gift to the world; make it your personal treasure as well. May our fast be easy and meaningful and may we all inscribed in the book of life;
Shana Tova!
Rabbi Shalom Bochner
Jewish Time - Yom Kippur 5776 – 2015
Memorial Lights...
Shanah tovah. I started this High Holiday Drash series by talking about the power of showing people around our sanctuary and seeing our holy space through their eyes. And whenever we have welcomed people who are not familiar with Judaism into our building, the object that I’m asked about the most, without any doubt, is our memorial lights. There is something about these lights, each next to a small plaque, that grabs people’s attention and interests. I answer by explaining that these plaques each memorialize a loved one in our community and how the lights are lit on the week of that person’s passing on the Hebrew lunar calendar, as a reminder of the light of that person’s soul and as a reminder for the person’s relatives to recite a prayer of remembrance. This often leads to a discussion of our calendar and how it differs from the Gregorian solar calendar and often also a discussion of the significance of memory in Judaism.
Memory is what brings many of us here today. We may have memories of Yom Kippur as a child, we may wish to honor the memory of our loved ones, and we may wish to create new memories that will best put us on the path for a new year. It is deep in the collective psyche, the shared memory of our people, that every Fall we gather, we look back, we plan forward, we mark these days of spiritual return as a community.
Memory is core to Judaism: recalling our people’s stories and teachings, maintaining our traditions and customs, and passing on our heritage from generation to generation. Each of these lights is a memory, an endless collection of memories. Each of these lights represents a life, a soul, a unique person made in the image of our Creator. Every one of these lights helped make us who we are as a community. These lights are our memories, our teachers, friends, relatives, our parents, grandparents, siblings, spouses or children. We can not put into words how we feel, so we represent it with light, the most ancient of creations, the most pure of images, the most brilliant and lasting symbol that we know.
The lighting of a flame is an ancient significant Jewish ritual. We light candles to mark the beginning of Shabat and holidays, we light a twisted Havdalah candle at the conclusion of Shabbat and Yom Kippur, we light Yahrtzeit candles on the anniversary of when a loved one passed, and on the four days that we recite Yizkor, the memorial service, each year as a congregation: Passover, 7 weeks later for Shavuot, 6 months later on Yom Kippur, today, and in 12 days on Shemini Atzeret at the conclusion of Sukkot and right before Simchat Torah.
We light Chanukah candles during the darkest nights of the year and light up the darkness with hope. Our Chanukah menorah is a reminder of the original 7-branched menorah in the Beit HaMikdash Holy Temple. The Menorah, was the first Ner Tamid, the eternal lamp, the flame that burned in the shrine as a reminder of God’s everlasting presence. Every sacrificial offering of grains, animals or incense described in the Torah started with the lighting of a flame. Abraham followed the divine voice to the land that we now call Israel and burned an offering on the altar when he arrived. Our ancestors were protected in the Sinai desert by a divine cloud of glory that glowed as fire by night. The revelation of the 10 commandments was given with lightning and fire and smoke on the mountain. Every day, in our morning prayers, we thank God who created light and darkness and whose light continues to fill the universe with compassion and kindness. We kindle flames to add light and holiness to the world. And a single small flame can light up an entire room.
These memorial lights are a reminder to us about how our loved ones lit up our life. The connection between a soul and a light goes back thousands of years. The Biblical book of Mishle, known in English as Proverbs and ascribed to King Solomon from 3,0000 years ago. says: "Ner HaShem Nishmat Adam - The soul of a person is the flame of God."
The flame of a candle is likened to a soul, for just as a flame is never still, so too does the soul continuously strive to dance, and to reach up. Like the soul, the flame of the candle is something that you cannot touch and has no corporeal quality, but nevertheless we sense that it exists as the person’s essence. Chassidic teachings add that a flame of a single candle can, when touched to another candle, ignite the wick of the next candle without giving anything up of its own energy. This newly lit candle can now go on to light another candle and so on, ad infinitum. Just as our departed loved ones have touched us and lit up our lives, so to it is now possible for us to light up the life of someone else.
Our memorial lights remind us of how the person’s soul shines and lights our way long after they have lived. Hannah Senesh, a brave member of the Partisans in World War II who died as a martyr, said it best: “There are stars whose radiance is visible on Earth though they have long been extinct. There are people whose brilliance continues to light the world even though they are no longer among the living. These lights are particularly bright when the night is dark. They light the way for humankind.”
Every week, here in our sanctuary, different lights are lit. And these names, the names of our loved ones, are read aloud just before Mourners Kaddish is recited. We praise life and we praise God with these ancient Aramaic words, we keep these names and memories in our hearts, and then ask and pray that these memories be for a blessing. Among the top reasons of why this synagogue exists and why a minyan of 10 Jewish adults gathers here every Friday night and Saturday morning is to recall these names, these people, and sanctify God and the power of memory. Every week our announcement handouts lists who we are remembering this week and in the following week and who has passed away in the past 11 months. Reading these names aloud, looking at these lights and the names next to them, is among the most powerful moments each week for me as your Rabbi.
Our Memorial lights tell us many things. They tell us that we care about our beloved relatives and friends who are no longer with us. They tell us these people’s names and when they passed away on the Hebrew calendar. They don’t tell us where and when they were born. They don’t tell us how they lived. They are a place holder for all of the memories of who that person was and how they still live within us. These plaques don’t tell us who were they. We need to do that for each other. How many people here have relatives or friends who are remembered by these plaques?
Take a moment to think about these people. I am already thinking of my mother whose name I notice when I walk by this wall. These are not just names on a wall; these names represent the very story of our congregation, of our community. These names are the cattle dealers and meat processors who founded this congregation almost 100 years ago. These names are the scrap dealers, merchants, shoe salesman, doctors, accountants, lawyers, teachers and many others who helped build Modesto and create a Jewish legacy here. These names are parents and grandparents, siblings, children, memories that we each brought here with us from other places, other countries. These names are the foundation stone of our congregation and the cornerstone of our own memories.
These people made us who we are as a congregation and as individuals. It is because of these people that we are here today and are who we are today: a diverse, small, warm, welcoming, traditional, progressive, Central Valley shul with roots in the Orthodox world of Germany and Eastern Europe, affiliation with the United Synagogue Conservative Movement, inspiration from the liberal streams of Reform, Reconstructionism, and Renewal and here for every person, atheist, agnostic or theist, with Jewish heritage or an interest in Judaism who lives in this region. That is who we are, and we thank every person who created this community, built us up, led us, sustained us, grew us, cared for us and gave to this place so we could sit here today in this beautiful sanctuary and reflect on where we have come from and where we are going. It is probably no coincidence that so many visitors ask about these light bulbs – they are sacred lights representing very powerful memories, names of our tribe, each a story, a teaching, a journey.
It is impossible to think about these lights, these names, these people, these memories and their legacy and not think about who are we. What will our legacy be? When one day, may it not be until we are each 120 years old, when our names join the ones on these yahrtzeit plaques, how will we be remembered? What will we leave behind beyond just our names?
Yom Kippur is a day when we rehearse our own deaths. We spend the day focused on our soul, we think about what we have done, who we have hurt, who we have helped, how we have lived. We neither eat nor drink, we dress ourselves in white shrouds, we prostrate down on the floor four times, laying on the ground. Yom Kippur is not meant to be sad – it is designed to be profound, its goal is to be meaningful, its purpose is to make us think, and then to move us beyond thought to action, to real change, to deepening our commitment to improving our world and our lives. Yom Kippur is not a day to focus on the body, but it is a day to focus on ourselves, the real us, what really matters in life and in death. Last night I spoke about the most holy ritual object in this room, the Torah scroll. The most holy item in this room, is not our sacred texts, it is us. We are why this congregation exists, for those who came before us, for us, at this moment, and for those who will come after us.
For this day to work, for it to atone, make amends, grant forgiveness, wash away the mistakes of last year, and make us pure and spiritually clean, we must make it real. Think how you wish to be remembered, contemplate how you wish to truly be and act in this brief and sacred journey called life, meditate on who you really are, and with these lights and all they represent to guide us, become the new you.
May this be a year when we never struggle to have a Minyan on Friday night or Saturday morning. May this new year be one of recommitment to our connections to each other, to Israel, to Torah and to our tribe. May we all gather in a week for the joyous harvest festival of Sukkot, to dance with the Torahs on Simchat Torah, and to fill this building with life and vibrancy every week of the year. May our community grow, and heal, and come together, and repair and improve this holy space, and may we truly be an oasis of Judaism in this part of California, proudly serving as the Center for Jewish Life for Greater Modesto and Stanislaus County for everyone interested in learning and growing with their Jewish soul.
Look at these lights. Make them a promise, make yourself a promise. We will honor their legacy. We will leave our own legacy. We will honor what has come before, we will be present and hard-working with the challenges of the moment. We will stay true to our goals, our commitments, our dedication to this sacred community. A small light can light up the dark; let us each be that light. And together, let us shine, ever brighter. Gamar Chatima Tovah – may we all be fully sealed for goodness and write ourselves in the book of life. And let us say: Amein.
Rabbi Shalom Bochner
Memorial Lights...
Shanah tovah. I started this High Holiday Drash series by talking about the power of showing people around our sanctuary and seeing our holy space through their eyes. And whenever we have welcomed people who are not familiar with Judaism into our building, the object that I’m asked about the most, without any doubt, is our memorial lights. There is something about these lights, each next to a small plaque, that grabs people’s attention and interests. I answer by explaining that these plaques each memorialize a loved one in our community and how the lights are lit on the week of that person’s passing on the Hebrew lunar calendar, as a reminder of the light of that person’s soul and as a reminder for the person’s relatives to recite a prayer of remembrance. This often leads to a discussion of our calendar and how it differs from the Gregorian solar calendar and often also a discussion of the significance of memory in Judaism.
Memory is what brings many of us here today. We may have memories of Yom Kippur as a child, we may wish to honor the memory of our loved ones, and we may wish to create new memories that will best put us on the path for a new year. It is deep in the collective psyche, the shared memory of our people, that every Fall we gather, we look back, we plan forward, we mark these days of spiritual return as a community.
Memory is core to Judaism: recalling our people’s stories and teachings, maintaining our traditions and customs, and passing on our heritage from generation to generation. Each of these lights is a memory, an endless collection of memories. Each of these lights represents a life, a soul, a unique person made in the image of our Creator. Every one of these lights helped make us who we are as a community. These lights are our memories, our teachers, friends, relatives, our parents, grandparents, siblings, spouses or children. We can not put into words how we feel, so we represent it with light, the most ancient of creations, the most pure of images, the most brilliant and lasting symbol that we know.
The lighting of a flame is an ancient significant Jewish ritual. We light candles to mark the beginning of Shabat and holidays, we light a twisted Havdalah candle at the conclusion of Shabbat and Yom Kippur, we light Yahrtzeit candles on the anniversary of when a loved one passed, and on the four days that we recite Yizkor, the memorial service, each year as a congregation: Passover, 7 weeks later for Shavuot, 6 months later on Yom Kippur, today, and in 12 days on Shemini Atzeret at the conclusion of Sukkot and right before Simchat Torah.
We light Chanukah candles during the darkest nights of the year and light up the darkness with hope. Our Chanukah menorah is a reminder of the original 7-branched menorah in the Beit HaMikdash Holy Temple. The Menorah, was the first Ner Tamid, the eternal lamp, the flame that burned in the shrine as a reminder of God’s everlasting presence. Every sacrificial offering of grains, animals or incense described in the Torah started with the lighting of a flame. Abraham followed the divine voice to the land that we now call Israel and burned an offering on the altar when he arrived. Our ancestors were protected in the Sinai desert by a divine cloud of glory that glowed as fire by night. The revelation of the 10 commandments was given with lightning and fire and smoke on the mountain. Every day, in our morning prayers, we thank God who created light and darkness and whose light continues to fill the universe with compassion and kindness. We kindle flames to add light and holiness to the world. And a single small flame can light up an entire room.
These memorial lights are a reminder to us about how our loved ones lit up our life. The connection between a soul and a light goes back thousands of years. The Biblical book of Mishle, known in English as Proverbs and ascribed to King Solomon from 3,0000 years ago. says: "Ner HaShem Nishmat Adam - The soul of a person is the flame of God."
The flame of a candle is likened to a soul, for just as a flame is never still, so too does the soul continuously strive to dance, and to reach up. Like the soul, the flame of the candle is something that you cannot touch and has no corporeal quality, but nevertheless we sense that it exists as the person’s essence. Chassidic teachings add that a flame of a single candle can, when touched to another candle, ignite the wick of the next candle without giving anything up of its own energy. This newly lit candle can now go on to light another candle and so on, ad infinitum. Just as our departed loved ones have touched us and lit up our lives, so to it is now possible for us to light up the life of someone else.
Our memorial lights remind us of how the person’s soul shines and lights our way long after they have lived. Hannah Senesh, a brave member of the Partisans in World War II who died as a martyr, said it best: “There are stars whose radiance is visible on Earth though they have long been extinct. There are people whose brilliance continues to light the world even though they are no longer among the living. These lights are particularly bright when the night is dark. They light the way for humankind.”
Every week, here in our sanctuary, different lights are lit. And these names, the names of our loved ones, are read aloud just before Mourners Kaddish is recited. We praise life and we praise God with these ancient Aramaic words, we keep these names and memories in our hearts, and then ask and pray that these memories be for a blessing. Among the top reasons of why this synagogue exists and why a minyan of 10 Jewish adults gathers here every Friday night and Saturday morning is to recall these names, these people, and sanctify God and the power of memory. Every week our announcement handouts lists who we are remembering this week and in the following week and who has passed away in the past 11 months. Reading these names aloud, looking at these lights and the names next to them, is among the most powerful moments each week for me as your Rabbi.
Our Memorial lights tell us many things. They tell us that we care about our beloved relatives and friends who are no longer with us. They tell us these people’s names and when they passed away on the Hebrew calendar. They don’t tell us where and when they were born. They don’t tell us how they lived. They are a place holder for all of the memories of who that person was and how they still live within us. These plaques don’t tell us who were they. We need to do that for each other. How many people here have relatives or friends who are remembered by these plaques?
Take a moment to think about these people. I am already thinking of my mother whose name I notice when I walk by this wall. These are not just names on a wall; these names represent the very story of our congregation, of our community. These names are the cattle dealers and meat processors who founded this congregation almost 100 years ago. These names are the scrap dealers, merchants, shoe salesman, doctors, accountants, lawyers, teachers and many others who helped build Modesto and create a Jewish legacy here. These names are parents and grandparents, siblings, children, memories that we each brought here with us from other places, other countries. These names are the foundation stone of our congregation and the cornerstone of our own memories.
These people made us who we are as a congregation and as individuals. It is because of these people that we are here today and are who we are today: a diverse, small, warm, welcoming, traditional, progressive, Central Valley shul with roots in the Orthodox world of Germany and Eastern Europe, affiliation with the United Synagogue Conservative Movement, inspiration from the liberal streams of Reform, Reconstructionism, and Renewal and here for every person, atheist, agnostic or theist, with Jewish heritage or an interest in Judaism who lives in this region. That is who we are, and we thank every person who created this community, built us up, led us, sustained us, grew us, cared for us and gave to this place so we could sit here today in this beautiful sanctuary and reflect on where we have come from and where we are going. It is probably no coincidence that so many visitors ask about these light bulbs – they are sacred lights representing very powerful memories, names of our tribe, each a story, a teaching, a journey.
It is impossible to think about these lights, these names, these people, these memories and their legacy and not think about who are we. What will our legacy be? When one day, may it not be until we are each 120 years old, when our names join the ones on these yahrtzeit plaques, how will we be remembered? What will we leave behind beyond just our names?
Yom Kippur is a day when we rehearse our own deaths. We spend the day focused on our soul, we think about what we have done, who we have hurt, who we have helped, how we have lived. We neither eat nor drink, we dress ourselves in white shrouds, we prostrate down on the floor four times, laying on the ground. Yom Kippur is not meant to be sad – it is designed to be profound, its goal is to be meaningful, its purpose is to make us think, and then to move us beyond thought to action, to real change, to deepening our commitment to improving our world and our lives. Yom Kippur is not a day to focus on the body, but it is a day to focus on ourselves, the real us, what really matters in life and in death. Last night I spoke about the most holy ritual object in this room, the Torah scroll. The most holy item in this room, is not our sacred texts, it is us. We are why this congregation exists, for those who came before us, for us, at this moment, and for those who will come after us.
For this day to work, for it to atone, make amends, grant forgiveness, wash away the mistakes of last year, and make us pure and spiritually clean, we must make it real. Think how you wish to be remembered, contemplate how you wish to truly be and act in this brief and sacred journey called life, meditate on who you really are, and with these lights and all they represent to guide us, become the new you.
May this be a year when we never struggle to have a Minyan on Friday night or Saturday morning. May this new year be one of recommitment to our connections to each other, to Israel, to Torah and to our tribe. May we all gather in a week for the joyous harvest festival of Sukkot, to dance with the Torahs on Simchat Torah, and to fill this building with life and vibrancy every week of the year. May our community grow, and heal, and come together, and repair and improve this holy space, and may we truly be an oasis of Judaism in this part of California, proudly serving as the Center for Jewish Life for Greater Modesto and Stanislaus County for everyone interested in learning and growing with their Jewish soul.
Look at these lights. Make them a promise, make yourself a promise. We will honor their legacy. We will leave our own legacy. We will honor what has come before, we will be present and hard-working with the challenges of the moment. We will stay true to our goals, our commitments, our dedication to this sacred community. A small light can light up the dark; let us each be that light. And together, let us shine, ever brighter. Gamar Chatima Tovah – may we all be fully sealed for goodness and write ourselves in the book of life. And let us say: Amein.
Rabbi Shalom Bochner