Ani Ma'amin

Being a Congregant

                             
                                                                                                                  September, 1999
 

Dear G.U.C.I. Staff:


It’s been a long time since I’ve written.  I hope this letter finds you enjoying the beginning of a wonderful New Year, number 5760.  Shannah Tovah to you and your families.  We are closing the books on another terrific summer here at camp.  Even as those heavenly gates slammed shut and Yom Kippur sputtered into a break-the-fast, our Earlybird Applications were racing out to last summer’s campers while we all cried, “Here we go again!”  Thank God!

I had a new experience this High Holiday; I went to Temple.  I know, I’ve been in Temple for the Holidays every year since Abraham climbed the mountain with Isaac (it seems), but for the past twenty-seven or so years, I’ve been on the Bima.  This year I went to Temple…as a congregant.  I sat in the congregation with my family, I read the responses in Italics, I listened, I thought…a lot.  I heard so many things in the services that I never heard before when I was reading them out loud.  It surprised me.  I was also moved by the absolute beauty of our liturgy, especially on Yom Kippur afternoon. 

 Being a congregant gave me more time.  And I used that time to listen.  What I heard was the blend of the words and moods of each service, mixed with my own thoughts, feelings, and memories.    That recipe gave me a lot to chew on (pardon the poor fast-day metaphor).   At times, I was transported back to my childhood days at B’nai Jehoshua in Chicago where I sat with my Mom and Dad, the other Klotz’s, Steiners, Garbers and Peaks.   Sitting here in Indianapolis, I vividly remembered those days, when, as a youngster, I would run and play in the social hall downstairs until I was over-heated and red in the face.  Or later as a teen, I’d sit in the balcony whispering with my friends during services, giggling and trying hard not to make too much noise.   
  
But as important as was the time I had to listen and think, to pray and feel nostalgic, so was the emotional impact of being led in prayer by two of my campers who have become my Rabbis.  We spent Rosh Ha Shannah with Sandford Kopnick and his family up in Ft. Wayne, and Yom Kippur here in our home congregation, Indianapolis Hebrew Congregation with Eric Bram.  Sandford, as you know, started here at G.U.C.I. as a camper just after Abraham descended the mountain (so it seems) and stayed on through staff, program director, and faculty years.  Eric was my camper back in Oconomowoc at Olin-Sang-Ruby, before I migrated south, and has served several summers on faculty here at G.U.C.I.  Both now are my colleagues, both have become my teachers.  Sitting in their congregations gave my High Holidays an added sense of depth and continuity.  Through them I felt the connection between camp and the synagogue, and I must admit, I also felt a sense of pride for our movement at having produced two such accomplished and successful Rabbis.  They each, “Made my day.”

Well, the years are rolling by, Jewish and otherwise.  Here’s to a sweet one.Ron

“I’ve learned that I still have a lot to learn”

                                                                                                     

                                                                                                           October, 1998


Dear G.U.C.I. Staff:


The mood of camp has shifted dramatically from the noise and action of the summer to the cool and calm of fall.  The leaves started changing into their colors around the same time we were all putting on our High Holiday finery.  It’s a pretty time.  We started our camp introspection, thinking about what we’d like to do differently this winter and next summer, around the same time that our Jewish cycle stopped on the look-into-yourself-and-figure-out-how-to-be-a-better-person square.  This is our strength.  That we stop each year and examine ourselves, that we seek new directions or re-adjust our present ones.  I asked myself this season, why we Jews keep coming back to our synagogues on the High Holidays?  Why are they so important to us? 
One of the answers might be that we come seeking words of wisdom (but unlike the Beatles, we just won’t let it be…).  I think that we would like Rosh Ha Shannah and Yom Kippur to smarten us up.  Teach us something.  But, what?  Well, think about it.  We’re looking for direction, and to find direction into the future, we have to know who we are and where we have come from.  The Holidays connect us to our past, to our history.  The physical act of going to Temple links us to Jews all over the world.  And the service itself (and perhaps the rabbi’s words) speaks to our values, our relationships, responsibilities, our shortcomings, our dreams.  It seems to me that Temple is exactly the right place to come seeking words of wisdom. 
We all are wise in our own rights.  What words of wisdom would you share with others if you had the chance?  Here’s a list of wise words I came across; maybe one or more of them will speak to you: 

“I’ve learned that you can’t hide a piece of broccoli in a glass of milk” - Age 7
“I’ve learned that if you want to cheer yourself up, you should try cheering someone else up” - Age 14
“I’ve learned that brushing my child’s hair is one of the great pleasures”  -Age 26
“I’ve learned that there are people who love you dearly but just don’t know how to show it”  -Age 41
“I’ve learned that the greater a person’s sense of guilt the greater their need to cast blame on others”  -Age 46
“I’ve learned that you can tell a great deal about a person by the way s/he handles these things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights”  -Age 52
“I’ve learned that making a living is not making a life”  -Age 58
“I’ve learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance”  -Age 62
“I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands.  You need to be able to throw some things back”  -Age 64
“I’ve learned that whenever I’ve decided something with kindness, I usually make the right decision”  -Age 68
“I’ve learned to believe in miracles.  I’ve seen several”  -Age 73
“I’ve learned that even when I have pains, I don’t have to be one”  -Age 82
“I’ve learned that I still have a lot to learn”  -Age 92

What words of wisdom would you use to complete the sentence;  “I’ve learned that…?”   Now, it seems, is the appropriate Jewish time to start composing them.  Shannah Tovah…All the best in 5759.

Ron

Premature Sermon

      
                                                                                                                 September 1995


Dear GUCI Staff:


Those of you who know me may recall that I do not often prepare well in advance of an event.  It seems that I work better under pressure.  I’ll usually be putting the finishing touches on high holiday sermons, for example, just a day or so before the delivery date.  Not so this year.
Two weeks ago I was reading an article and was struck by the amazing announcement that the New Year was 5776.  My mind started to play with that number.  Throughout history, Jews have played numbers games; we call it “Gematria.”  Gematria is the manipulation of numbers and letter in order to understand their hidden meanings.  A Jewish mystical game.  Being a mystic myself (right!), the number 5776 caught my attention.

Kallah Bet’s theme this summer was Jerusalem 3000, celebrating 3000 years since the founding of the city by King David.  King David reigned around the year 1000 BCE.  My mystical mind did a somersault and landed on the idea that if you add the 3000 years of Jerusalem’s history to the year of King David’s reign, 1000, and subtract that (4000) from the new year, 5776, you arrive at the number 1776.  So, by adding and subtracting Jewish numbers we see a connection between two significant years.  5776 and 1776.  Of course, 1776 is a year dear to the hearts of all Americans (and one the British remember as well).  It brings to mind the struggle for independence and value of freedom.  What does this mean to us Jews?

It was easy for my magical-mystery-tour mind to conclude that during the year 5776 we Jews need to think about and appreciate the religious freedom we enjoy.  We celebrate Jerusalem 3000 this year, but let us do so with a sense of pride and thanksgiving that Jerusalem is a free city in our Jewish homeland.  How many times during its history did the Jews in Jerusalem long for independence, suffering under the harsh rule of some foreign power?  But today, our children study in its universities, our rabbis and cantors take their first real Jewish steps up the stairs of the Hebrew Union College there, in the heart of our ancient city.  Jerusalemites and all of our brothers and sisters in Eretz Yisrael breathe the clean air of freedom.  5776/1776 reminds us to be thankful for that freedom.

And we certainly can’t avoid relating the year 5776 and its declension into 1776 with our own sense of religious freedom and independence.  The number of the year demands that we pause to give thanks for the opportunities we have to pause and give thanks.  Our country stands on the ideals of religious freedom and we Jews bask in that light.  How lucky we are to be able to openly and proudly gather to usher in this new year, with songs and prayers (and even sermons), in Hebrew and in English, with friends and family.

One other 5776-freedom mystically appeared to me.  I think we should appreciate the freedom of creativity our Reform Jewish heritage affords us; the freedom of choice, the freedom to mesh our 90’s life-styles with our religious value system and choice of Jewish practice.  Reform Judaism has provided us with a modern spin on our ancient religion.  As modern thinkers, without this freedom of Reform Judaism to experiment, to learn, to adapt, to choose that which has relevance and meaning, and to reject that which does not, how many of us would be gathering to worship on this eve of the year of our independence, 5776?

But hold on.  Could it be?  Soon after I read that article I realized that it is not the year 5776.  That was a misprint.  The real year, the correct number is 5756.  My Gematria was off the mark, twenty years premature.  Well, the ideas stand, but I’ll have to hold on to them until the year 2015 and pray in the meantime that Israel, American and Reform Judaism continue to bask in freedom’s warmth.  Hey!  Who says I don’t prepare in advance?

Shannah Tovah from camp to home to home.

Ron