Coming up for Air.

Now that the High Holidays are slipping into the past (and what a wonderful experience they were!) I'm able to come back up. Sermons can be found at the Beth Emeth website. I'm incredibly proud of my staff and the lay-people, was thrilled with the attendance (especially at the family services) and thought the whole experience was wonderful. Except one, which is gnawing at me even days later.

It happened in Neilah, the last service of Yom Kippur. At one point, I heard the sound of a happy child coming from the back. I looked over and saw a family that comes pretty regularly, and tries to bring their preschool-aged daughter when they can. I saw an usher go to them and then lost track, but when I looked up they appeared to be in the same spot, so I figured all was well.

All was not well. The usher had asked them to leave, and worse, several congregants had shot the family dirty looks. As it happens, the daughter who was making the noise has special needs (and nearly died when she was born), so for the family, this is an extra-sensitive issue. They constantly weigh whether they should bring their beautiful girl out in public where they know she'll be stared at and she'll have trouble keeping quiet, or keep her at home and deny themselves--and her--the opportunity to be with their community.

To be fair to the usher, she was VERY apologetic (no names to protect everyone here, and don't even try to guess), and felt terrible that she'd upset this family while trying to protect the worship experience for the rest of the congregation, and I know the family in question bears her no ill will. However, that they feel embarrassed about coming to THEIR synagogue, and bringing their daughter to worship, fills me with sadness and disappointment. No one should be turned aside, especially for the sounds of children.

I have NEVER kicked kids out of a service (one exception: b'nai mitzvah, and that's only because our 13-year old service leaders' nerves are usually so rattled as it is!); for me, as a shaliach tzibbur, I'm horrified at the thought that our kids--and by extension, their parents--should be kicked out for making a little noise. And the answer is not to ghettoize them in family and tot services (though those are good for other reasons). We need to always make sure that everyone knows they're welcome.

At Yom Kippur morning, I talked about the need to be accessible. As a Reform congregation, we work hard to be accessible to people with all kinds of challenges and abilities, and from all walks of life: we have English readings for non-Hebrew speakers, ramps for those who cannot use stairs, large print and braile books, audio boosters for those hard of hearing, etc. We do whatever we can to be as inclusive as possible--that should extend to our young families as well. And if that means the kids are going to make joyful noise, and if it means the parents come in chinos and a sweater because they didn't have time to change, FINE BY ME. Let them come! The seventh of the Sheva Berachot, the blessings for a wedding, thanks God for the sound of children at play. I am grateful for that sound and always have been (even before I embarked on Fatherhood), because well we should be aware, the alternative is unsustainable. Our gates should always be open.

Okay, rant over. Shana tova to all and more updates soon.

What do you mean it's already August?!

Sorry for the delay; knee-deep in sermon writing (and that's going real swell, thanks for asking!). I'm hoping to post some Q&A I've been doing for CBE's online newsletter, the Beth Emeth News (BEN), but in the meantime, I wanted to put another question out there for you to generate some feedback and discussion:

I'm on the poetry committee for the new Reform Movement Mahzor (High Holiday prayerbook). How did I get on this? Well, at a meeting at the CCAR conference in San Francisco, I heard about some of the editorial ideas, and, frankly, didn't like what I heard. And then I started complaining with some colleagues. And then I realized that I was sounding like 'those people' (as in, "I don't want to be like 'those people', rabbi, but..."). I wasn't offering to help, I wasn't trying to be a part of the solution, I was just being a kvetch.

So I volunteered. I wrote my thesis on piyyutim and have tried my hand at liturgical poetry (among other genres) so why not? And to my surprise, they let me in (I keep waiting for the editors to realize their mistake, that they meant to grab Oren Hayon or something).

So now I'm going through the Birnbaum prayerbook and my old notes, as well as books like Weinberg's Jewish Hymnography. It's great fun and wonderful to be studying again. But it does lead me to ask a question, before I go too far down the piyyut rabbit hole:

What is it that you want in a High Holiday worship experience? What does your ideal Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur look like? Where does it take place? What is sung? What is read? How else do you want to experience it? What does God 'look' like on those days; how do you talk to God, and how does God speak back? I know what my answers are, but they're 'tainted', in that I'm so influenced by the tradition and my experiences as a service leader it's sometimes hard for me to remember what it's like to sit in the pews. So hearing your answers will be helpful (and for you as well I hope!).

Now back to sermon writing etc. Will be posting those as well, but not until we get a lot closer. It's not even Elul yet, after all!

Sharing a little love

Here's a nice article about my colleague and PEER classmate (Cohort 3) Jeremy Winaker reinterpreting the day of Yom Kippur with discussions between classes and services at University of Delaware. As my buddy Dan Plotkin said, it's always nice to see a familiar face in the papers!

And if you're looking for my High Holy Day Sermons: Rosh Hashanah (both evening and morning) have been up; Yom Kippur's sermons should be up soon. Hope you had a meaningful fast and are sealed for blessing in the book of life.

Sound familiar?

So my old buddy David Nicol, who's also a preacher man AND the son of a preacher man posted this link to his Facebook page. It asks the question whether people who are spiritually dissatisfied with their faith community bear any responsibility for their dissatisfaction. While discussed from a Christian (specifically, Methodist) perspective, a lot of what's described here should sound familiar, especially on the idea of the 'consumer mentality' that many enter religious life with--we come (as the article says) as clients to have our needs met, rather than coming to enter a reciprocal relationship with community (and its constituents) with specific goals (beyond 'having a relationship with God'--would 'giving the kids a Jewish education' be our equivalent?).

Now, this isn't to playa hate; I think a lot of us are 'seekers' who come to community, sometimes to get our 'ticket stamped', sometimes because we're not really sure what we're looking for, and because we don't have the language to articulate our needs or wants, or because the community also doesn't have the vocabulary to share its narrative with its congregants in a meaningful way, people leave faith communities and no one is really sure of why. Reasons are given: cost, kids graduating, no longer active, etc., but at the end of the day, I think the article makes a strong point that for any of this to work, it needs to be like any other healthy relationship--that is, something that is worked at by both parties. We as a congregation (and its professional and lay leadership) must articulate clearly who we are and what we're about, and provide a framework for people (Jews and non-Jews who would choose to be a part of the community) to identify and explore their own spirituality (and I would add, their own sense of commandedness).

So, with Yom Kippur less than 24 hours away, how do you want to take ownership of your half of the relationship? Or, to put it another way, what are your spiritual (or if you prefer, 'mitzvah-dik') goals for this year? Not New Year's resolutions per se; I mean specifically where you'd like your soul/being/personhood to grow and develop?

Something more to think about, and hopefully distract you from images of Five Guys Hamburgers tomorrow night and Monday.

On another note: a big thanks to everyone who helped make Rosh Hashana as wonderful as it was, and those who are going to make Yom Kippur incredible. People have been wonderful generous with me and very loving, which I deeply appreciate, and it's been wonderful to be able to celebrate the holidays with my family in a way we haven't been able to do since the mid-90s. So that's nice.

And easy fast to you all (and yes, I'm going to wish you that, despite what the Reform Movement blog is saying), and may we all find ourselves inscribed for good in the Book of Life.

Are you ready for some football?

By now, Michael Vick signing with the Eagles is probably old news, though the announcement overshadowed the world of sport (and pretty much everything else), which I suppose is one way to steal the headlines away from Tom Brady's return to the game after a year on the DL, but I digress.

The debate is familiar one: does talent trump character? Here is a convicted felon who did something most of us find pretty repulsive, but does that mean he should be banned from the game for all time? Especially in light of the fact that other players in the NFL have gotten away with comparative wrist-slaps for more offensive behavior?

The debate is familiar, but it's the wrong debate. The real question (and it was posed weeks ago on NPR by the Barbershop Guys) is this: are we a people (they asked 'nation') who forgives a person (after appropriate punishment and recompense) or is there no possibility of redemption? In context of the High Holidays, the question is this: there ever the possibility of tshuvah , of real repentance, and of real kaparah, real atonement, or are there some things we cannot forgive or be forgiven for, no matter how contrite or penitent the offender?

Sounds like a sermon, doesn't it? Well, it will be--next week in fact. So I'm not going to preach it now (that would ruin the fun, after all), but I'm going to kick it back to you. Riddle me this (paraphrasing L. Spence): do we rehabilitate, do we forgive, do we allow for atonement and redemption or do we continue to incarcerate, literally or figuratively? Are there some crimes or sins that are unforgivable? Who makes that determination? What does a person have to do to prove real contrition or penance? Let's hear your comments (especially 'Iggles' fans out there)