“The Tsanzer Rebbe was asked by one of the Hasidim: ‘What does the Rebbe do before praying?’ ‘I pray,’ said he, ‘that I may be able to pray properly.’”

I suffer from BHG Syndrome. That’s Better Homes and Garden Syndrome. Not in the DSM, the mental health manual, it is a quest for perfection for the holidays. It starts with all the photos of Thanksgiving in Better Homes and Gardens. I want the house to look just so. There should be flowers. Big pots of mums. There should be a pot of simmering matzah ball soup. There should be honey glazed carrot coins and brisket. Or apple and honey chiecken or better—both! There should be round challah—and mine should have raisins. There should be a new outfit for the second night and a pomegranate so we can say Shehechianu. And the house should be sparking. Gleaming. Clutterless.

That is how I prepare for my family. And if the pieces are missing, I feel off and holiday does not feel complete. Most holidays I don’t get there.

There is preparation at the synagogue too. Look around you. White linens. Special prayer books. Extra chairs. Silver polished. This year there is new landscaping, a new side walk, new railings. And since last Rosh Hashanah a new accessible bathroom. This is hard physical labor. And it is necessary. None of this happens by itself. All of it takes community.

We began a series of meetings: Paul, Stew, Stephanie, me. In various combinations. Back in May. The congregation and I have been talking about topics since July. People were approached to write and speak and many of you rose to the occasion. The choir began rehearsing in June. Stephanie and I rehearsed. Honors were distributed and accepted. New Year’s Cards and Memorial Books designed. All of these build community too.

And I started preparing. I read books on community. Jewish and otherwise. I started to write. I selected extra readings. And then BHG Syndrome struck.

I want the words to be perfect. The sermons and the readings. I want them to be inspiring. To be meaningful. To be life-changing. To help all of us understand what teshuvah is. To help all of us do teshuvah.

This is where the most important preparation comes. And I am failing. No reading seems appropriate. No sermon is perfect. There must be better words than mine.

In the middle of a panic attack—this is not uncommon for rabbis at this season—it struck me. There are no perfect words. What is meaningful to me this year may not be next year. What is meaningful to you may not be meaningful to me at all. Who am I to choose the readings for you? It is a humbling moment.

One grand lesson of Rosh Hashanah is not that we have to be perfect, but that we are, and

can continue to be, very good. It is sufficient if we strive to achieve our potential. It is only when we fail to be the fullness of who we are that we are held accountable. Rabbi Zusya said: “In the world to come, they will not ask me, “Why were you not Moses?” They will ask me, “Why were you not Zusya?” Talmud

In many native art forms, Intuit, Navaho, Mayan, Turkish and Persian, artists deliberately leave something imperfect. Only G-d is perfect. An intentional flaw is woven in or a bead left out. This is true in Japanese Buddhist temples as well, a friend excitedly informed me.

We have this tradition too. We know this because on Shabbat, the Psalm for the Sabbath ends, My Rock in whom there is no flaw.

There is a story of a king. This king once had a prized jewel, a perfect diamond. So perfect he kept it under wraps and locked away. One day it would be part of his royal crown but not the setting could be achieved with equal perfection. Every morning he would check the diamond to make sure it was still perfect. One morning the king awoke, and in his morning ritual to check the perfection that glinted from every luminous facet, he found a single think crack descending down one facet. His precious diamond was ruined. It was no longer perfect.

He called in all the best jewelers of the entire kingdom, hoping someone could fix it. Nothing could be done. The crack was so deep that any effort to remove it would make it worse. But one craftsman, from a neighboring kingdom thought he could save the diamond. The king laughed. Everyone else had said it was not possible. How could this simple man hope to save it? However, seeing that there was nothing else that could be done, nothing else that could be lost, the king said that the jeweler could spend a single night with the diamond. If he succeeded in fixing the diamond, there would be a great reward. If not, he would be put to death.

The jeweler took the diamond and locked in his room, examined the diamond carefully. It was beautiful, sparkling like the fire of the sun on the surface of the water. But the crack, even though as thin as hair, could not be removed without destroying the diamond further. What could he do? He worked all night and emerged in the morning with the diamond and a look of triumph on his face. The entire royal court, the king, the queen, the ministers, even the jester, gasped. The scratch had not been removed. Instead it had become the stem of a beautiful rose, etched into the diamond, making the diamond even more unique and beautiful. The king embraced the simple jeweler. “Now I have my crown jewel. The diamond was magnificent until now. The best. The most perfect. But it was no different than the other stones. Now I have a unique treasure.”

And then I realize. It is good enough. That much of what the holiday is about is being together in community. This community. Right here. Right now. For better or worse.

Because no community is perfect either. Utopia does not exist. The Puritans tried in Plymouth and their children didn’t quite buy-in. That’s why there is the town of Duxbury. It was a town established for the children of the original settlers. Those children who didn’t quite have the vision of their parents. Didn’t quite have their parents; religious zeal. Needed to sign what was called the Half Way Covenant.

Think of books you have loved. Lord of the Flies proved that Utopian societies don’t last. To Kill a Mockingbird was a great book—and showed us what the unflinching leadership of one man could do. But it looks like there might not be perfection in the newly released prequel, Go Set a Watchman. People’s disappointment in this second, or is the first book has been palpable. We want our heroes to be good. We want our leaders to be good. We want G-d to be good too. It is part of how we make sense of the world.

This is true of our community leaders as well. Rabbi Teutsch who I quoted on Erev Rosh Hashanah teaches:

“Love flows outward. As each person is touched by it, the person passes it on to others in countless little ways and the community benefits. Like a family, a community thrives on love. When love is withheld by a person in authority—a parent or a community leader—all sorts of problems develop, such as interpersonal conflict, jealousy, competition and soul-sapping ennui…..Love expressed by others, while comforting, who doesn’t love you enough….The love of a congregational leader for his or her community members takes many forms: careful listening, a phone call when someone hasn’t been around for a while, drawing somebody in by encouraging her to contribute a particular talent or skill, rearranging a schedule to squeeze in a person with a problem….that doesn’t mean that a community guided by loving leaders will have no problems. Deep disagreements about the direction of a community’s programs, boundaries, its finances or its management will be painful no matter what… but caring commitment can lessen the pain and make reconciliation possible.”

So how do we work to solve issues in the community? By emulating G-d. We are told how to do this in the 13 Attributes of the Divine which we chant as the beautiful words of the Selichot prayers. G-d is merciful and gracious, patient, slow to anger, full of lovingkindness and truth, extending that lovingkindness to the 1000^th generation, forgiving transgression, iniquity and sin. So that’s what we need to do. Act slowly, patiently, without rancor. We need to THINK before we speak. That’s an acronym for Think, Is it true? Is it Helpful? Is it Inspiring? Is it Necessary? Is it Kind? It has to be all of those.

When conflicts arise in a congregation, and they will, it is usually because people think they are not being taken seriously enough. We have to find ways to listen more carefully, more patiently. We need to listen to everyone’s ideas, without pigeon holing or stereotyping certain members. Because as last week’s Torah portion confirmed, “We are all in this together—with our whole heart and our whole soul. It is my job as the leader, according to Teutsch, to bolster the community’s collective ego to the point where it achieves that feeling of security, where everyone knows that there is enough love to go around. Such a community exudes strength and attracts people who feel comfortable in a stable, noncompetitive environment. It has the courage to face itself honestly and make things still better.

We’re getting there, but we are not quite there yet. I’m getting there, but I am not quite there yet.

I admit it. I confess. I don’t always think before I speak. So if I have offended anyone, for that I am sorry. The poem a Women of Valor, Ayshet Chayil, says the law of kindness is on her tongue and every week I say, “Still working on that one.” But I try, I do honestly try. So if I have offended, I am sorry.

Every year I find I need to reread a book. How Good Do We Have to Be by Rabbi Harold Kushner. The same Kushner who wrote When Bad Things Happen to Good People. In it he says, “When religion teaches s that one mistake is enough to define us as sinners and put us at risk of losing G-d’s love, as happened to Adam and Eve in the traditional understanding of the story, when religion teaches us that even angry and lustful thoughts are sinful, then we all come to think of ourselves as sinner, because by that definition every one of us does something wrong, probably daily. If nothing short of perfection will permit us to stand before God, then none of us will, because none of us is perfect…..but when religion teaches us that God loves the wounded soul, the chastised soul that has learned something of its own fallibility and its own limitations…then we can come to see our mistakes not as emblems or our unworthiness but as experiences we can learn from.

He talks about baseball. No one expects a hitter to hit 1000 percent. Hitters who are over .300 are considered great. No one expects a team to win all 165 games in a season. But good teams win more than they lose. I have a friend, an Episcopal priest who would say G-d would never allow Cubs-Red Sox World Series because someone would have to win and that would be the end of the world. I think he had it close, but not quite right. I think there could never be a Cubs-WHITE Sox World Series. Because what this rivalry is supposed to teach us is that there is enough love to go around. In this place, in this sacred community, be a Cubs fan, or be a White Sox fan. There is enough love to go around.

Kushner concludes this book saying, “what G-d asked Abraham was not “Be perfect” or “don’t ever make a mistake.” But “Be whole. To be whole before God means to stand before Him with all of our faults as well as all of our virtues and to hear the message of our acceptability. To be whole means to rise beyond the need to be pretend that we are perfect, to rise above the fear that will be rejected for not being perfect.

The message for Rosh Hashanah is simply this. No person is perfect. No community is perfect. We don’t have to be Zusiya. We just have to be the best we can be. Because, only G-d is perfect.

For thirty days, with another 10 to go, I have been writing, thinking, talking about building community. For much longer than that actually. It is one of our four vision pillars. What is community? Well, like much of Judaism, it is different things to different people. The conversation has been rich and varied.

There were times I threatened to say…I was going to write a Rosh Hashanah sermon but I was out of the office. I was sitting in a coffee shop meeting a new congregant. I was at the Martin Luther King Commission, the U46 Community Alliance Meeting, the CERL meeting. I was studying the Avodah service that we use next week. I was teaching Hebrew School. I was at the hospital visiting an older congregant. I was watering the new landscaping. I waited with the appliance men. I was picking up trash at Lord’s Park as part of Judaism Rocks and Tashlich. I was even bouncing on a bus in Guatemala. And all along the way, I found community. Or maybe communities.

In truth, I belong to lots of communities. We all do. The synagogue. Sisterhood. Men’s Club. That’s part of why we are here tonight. Our kids’ school. Our college alumni association. A Weight Watchers group. An AA group. A choir. A band or orchestra. Team in Training. A sports team. A health club. A book group. A Girl Scout troop. The neighborhood association. The PTO. The founder of Starbucks, Howard Schulz, says that he is not in the coffee business, he is in the community business. Their mission is to inspire and nurture the human spirit—one person, one cup one neighborhood at a time. Celebrating coffee, rich tradition and bringing a feeling of connection.

It is that feeling of connection is what community is all about.

Rabbi David Teutsch, the former president of the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College says that “when communities are functioning well, they take care of their members.”

What people seem to really want is to be in communion with others. To know that they are loved and that others care. So that when there is a tragedy, or a loss, or an illness, friends show up and they know they are not alone. At any given time in our synagogue about 30% of the congregation are going through one of the top five stressors—a medical issue, a job loss, a death of a spouse, parent or child, a divorce, a move. People need the strength of community to navigate these waters and not feel isolated.

People also want community when they have joys to share—a birth of a child or grandchild, a promotion, a wedding, an anniversary or just the little moments day by day by day. I learned an important lesson one year. My soon-to-be-husband and I had just gotten engaged. We yearned to share our excitement. But we weren’t sure. My parents were vocal in their disappointment. He was 20 years my senior. Would we be accepted? Was there a non-judgmental voice in the community? We went to tell our good friends, Alyn and Nancy. Nancy was busy digging in the yard, putting in fall mums. She didn’t miss a beat or get up from her kneepad, when she commanded, “Alyn, go get the champagne.” From that I learned you should always have a bottle of bubbly, alcoholic or non-alcoholic, in your refrigerator, for the big moments and the little ones. That it is important to celebrate with community. And that it is important to create a safe place that is welcoming and accepting.

According to Rabbi David Teutsch, “Underlying the drive for community are several disparate yet complementary desires. Some people are looking for close friends; others hope to find a permanent companion to love and share life with. Some come to community to overcome loneliness; others come for a shared cultural, social or spiritual life; still others are seeking support. Some come knowing that they have much to give.”

“But community transforms everyone, often in unexpected ways. Teachers become students; students turn into teachers. Those poised to give of themselves often find they derive more from community membership than they give. In community we find strength in what we give, receive and share. And in a strong community, we hare a great deal—life rhythms, values and a way of living. That kind of sharing infuses life with meaning and richness not found in any other way.

Meaning—another of our pillars. We will talk more about how meaningful observance and prayer enriches our community tomorrow. But that is another reason we are here tonight. To begin to answer the question, why am I here? That’s the big question. What meaning does my life have? And then why am I specifically here, tonight, sitting in these chairs? How does CKI add meaning to my life? Because if it does not, we should fold up our tents and go home.

Why is this so important—and why is it important here. Because in 2015, we in America live in a fractured society. The bonds of family and community have been shattered. “Autonomy and individual choice—the hallmarks of modern society—have brought unprecedented personal freedom, yet have struck a blow to community building.”

Those results have been feelings of isolation, loneliness, depression. But I hope, I pray, not here. Not at CKI. What people, all people, seem to want—really need—is what the word religion itself promises. From the Latin, religion means to tie back up into. We want to have bonds with other people. We want to have deep roots and tradition.

Community, also from the Latin communitas, is to be in communion with others. That is what we do here.

Community is built on shared experience. We have that when we cheer at a football game, or at Kol Nidre, or when we share a lifecycle event. We do that when we play mini-golf or watch football or make Latkes with the Men’s Club, help with break-the-fast with Sisterhood, read a book with the book group, build a house with Habitat for Humanity. All of those deepen the conversation and the community.

Community is built on Trust and caring, Lawrence Hoffman, a professor of liturgy at Hebrew Union College describes minimum liability and maximum liability institutions. Minimum liability institutions, people join for specific benefits but have no obligations beyond those required to gain the sought after benefits. Country clubs, Boy Scout troops and some congregations, he lists as examples. Israeli kibbutzim were examples of maximum liability communities. Ken Hillman talked about what he learned from his Hebrew School teacher many years ago. If you make enough deposits, you can make a withdrawal. In that case it was about skipping Hebrew School homework. What does that look like here? I hear echoes of Kennedy. Ask not what the shul can do for you, but what you can do for the synagogue.

Community is built on citizenship. Perhaps as Gretchen Vapner suggested, it having friends in the community is not the goal, although that is nice and makes the work more fun. Perhaps it is engaging in working on shared goals. Moving the organization forward. Working towards something together. That’s citizenship. She worries about citizenship frequently, and wonders if anyone cares anymore.

Community is built on shared responsibility.

Visiting the sick isn’t just for rabbis. It is a mitzvah incumbent upon all of us. But too often we are uncomfortable and these things have become professionalized.

But we all have a shared responsibility. It does not fall to me, as the rabbi alone.

These are the obligations without measure, their fruit we eat now, their essence remains for us in the world to come:
To honor father and mother;
To perform acts of love and kindness
To attend the house of study daily
To welcome the stranger
To visit the sick
To rejoice with the bride and groom
To console the bereaved
To pray with sincerity
To make peace where there is strife.

And the study of Torah is equal to them all because it leads to them all. Talmud, Shabbat 127a

We each have our tasks here. Some of us have our unique roles. No one blows shofar better than Ken. That is one of his contributions. No bakes pineapple upside down cake better than Nancy. Each one of us has a special place here and a contribution to make. That is part of how we create community.

Community needs to be built on hope. What does a roasting pan say? It says hope. When Denise Tracy’s family home was flooded out, a woman gave her mother a roasting pan. “You’ll need this for Thanksgiving.” That pan came to represent hope. That there would be a home. That there would be a Thanksgiving. And there was. And every year when she makes the turkey in that very roasting pan that sense of hope is there. And gratitude. What are the concrete signs of hope here at CKI? Yes—this year they are even concrete. I invite you to explore the new entryway, the stairs, the sidewalk, the landscaping, the accessible bathroom, the community garden. And yes, the new oven delivered just this past Friday.

Community is built on mutual respect with a way to handle conflicts. Sometimes, communities don’t always agree. There are sometimes deep divides and fights. Everyone believes they are right. No one wants to cede any territory. We will talk more about this one on the second day of Rosh Hashanah. But for tonight, know that in Judaism, we embrace the diversity of opinion. We certainly do here at CKI. It is based on the Talmud which teaches, “A controversy for the sake of Heaven will have lasting value, but a controversy not for the sake of Heaven will not endure.” Then there are two stories about Hillel and Shammai. Their arguments were for the sake of heaven. The Rebellion of Korach was not. (Mishnah Avot, 5:17). Hillel and SHammai fought a lot. Sometimes about issues of ritual purity. For three years this debate raged on. These said, “The law is according to our position,” and these said, “The law is according to our position.” A divine voice came and said, “These and these are the words of the living God.” BT Eruvin 13b

Community is built on coffee. You laugh. But perhaps my favorite memory of the year might just be a Facebook message I received from Kathleen Kenney-Mau. She is the owner of Blue Box Café. She realized she hadn’t seen me in a while. She knew my name, took the time to find me and said, “I haven’t seen you in a while. Is everything OK? Can I bring you a Magic Bar Latte?” Ok, I was fine and it wasn’t chicken soup but think about what that says about customer service. But it is more than that. It is being warm and welcoming. It is about hospitality. It is about community. And you bet, the very first place when I got back to town was Blue Box. They now have a loyal customer. Because Kathleen took the time to care—and continues to take care of me.

Community needs to be built on vision. Here at CKI we are lucky because we have s vision—Building community, life long learning, meaningful observance and embracing diversity. It all works together to…build community. But Teutsch is right. “That vision should lay the groundwork for a statement of beliefs and values as well as a program of cultural, religious, educational, and social justice programs the community will undertake. People who dream find time and energy they didn’t know they had to make their dreams a reality.” Or as Herzl said it, “If you will it, it is no dream.” Or as Lennon said, and we were reminded of by the first NGO AJWS visited with in Guatemala, Standing in a circle, with our hands clasped, we shouted out, “A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality.” Turns out it is a Lennon quote. Sounds like a Herzl quote. “If you will it, it is no dream.” Come dream with me.

Community is a way to find meaning. That is why we are here tonight. To pray, to wrestle to find our highest selves, to celebrate with friends, to cry if we need to. That’s what a synagogue provides. It is an intentional, intrinsic relational community. It meets people where they are—in the pews or in a classroom, a hospital room, or a coffee shop.

We at Congregation Kneseth Israel are lucky. We have a community. It is because we are intentional in our community building.

Nori Odoi wrote about the importance of food earlier in this project. But I want to underscore what it means for a community of Jews. OK, you can cue the jokes here. But seriously. Sandy Kilstein, the Dean of Placement and I once had a conversation about an aging congregation in Massachusetts. That congregation was amazed. They thought they were dying, as many aging congregations think. And they put out forks. And called the food after Saturday morning services a Kiddush Luncheon. Suddenly people stayed. And schmoozed, talked. And stayed longer. And shared their lives. That’s community.

And it is true. In Ron Wolfson’s book about Spiritually Welcoming, he comments on Oneg Shabbat and Kiddush. One of the Synagogue 2000 congregations even does appetizers before and Oneg Shababt after. Maybe this would eliminate the problem that so many congregations have about timing on Friday night. If you give them a little nosh before hand, wine, cheese and crackers, it might just work.

At Congregation Kneseth Israel, I pushed to have more than coffee cake. At first there was resistance. There wasn’t budget. I persisted. We have many people who are gluten free or diabetic and this just wasn’t quite the right food. At most events we now offer veggies and hummus, fruit, and more things clearly labels gluten free. We sometimes schedule a discussion or a class after Kiddush. And the amazing thing is, like the congregation with the forks, people are staying!

This weekend we had a sponsored Oneg Shabbat. These are a little more substantial and really do help the budget. This one was in honor of the new table cloth. This congregation has a tradition of making a table cloth that everyone signs every decade or so. These are complicated labors of love, lovingly embroidered and stitched together by hand. Many times I saw women sitting sewing together. This newest one was started the year we celebrated our 120^th anniversary in 2012 and revealed this week. It is gorgeous. And people gathered around to see everyone’s name. It is a real piece of history and the congregation will love using it for decades to come.

At services I spoke about the passage from Numbers that is the third paragraph of the V’ahavata. You shall put fringes on your garments in a certain shade of blue. A blue we no longer use since we don’t really know what “techeleh” is. Although recently there was an archeological find that we now might be able to make new techeleh. Our new table cloth is blue and white. Like a traditional tallit. Like the Israeli flag. And I think it is like the tallit. Those fringes are to remind us of G-d and G-d’s mitzvots, commandments. They beg us to be a good person. When my daughter was young and she would sit in services and yes, was bored, she would braid the strains of my tallit. So when I where one that she has lovingly braided, I remember G-d, the mitzvoth and her. When I sew, and it is not often enough, it slows me down enough to feel the link in the chain of the generations. I remember all the women before me that sewed. My mother, who made every Halloween costume and my confirmation dress. My grandmother who sewed for the Women’s Exchange in Saint Louis. My great grandmother whose quilts I own. I think we will do that with the table clothes as well as we remember the generations that came before.

And then there are the new ovens, one of which arrived Friday afternoon. Those are a symbol of hope and build community too. Since they are part of what enable us to feed community.

And then there is the liquor. The real stuff over which we say Kiddush. That is usually courtesy of the Men’s Club. So they have a place in this too. Not to mention their Scotch and Steak in the Sukkah, ice cream social for Simchat Torah and their latke lunch.

Yes, food and wine, build community.

So come enjoy Apples and Honey this evening after Erev Shabbat Services. Stay and schmooze and tell us about your summers.

So to the women of Sisterhood and especially Wanda and Elise, Barb and Lynn, Robin and Wendy and Wendy and Tina and Liza. And Helen. And to the Men of Men’s Club. Know that you have built community. Thank you.

Our next guest blogger is Rabbi Katy Allen. She is founder and rabbi of Ma’yan Tivken—A Wellspring of Hope, the facilitator of OneEarth Collaborative and the president of the Jewish Climate Action Network. Prior to that she was a chaplain at Brigham and Women’s hospital in Boston. She studied with me at the Academy for Jewish Religion and we would commute together where we would celebrate dawn somewhere on the MassPike.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about community and covenant.

Rabbi Avi Olitzky defines community as “a circle to which you feel you belong that will miss your presence; it reaches out to you when you’re absent, and you long for it when you’re not there.”

Covenant, berit, is a promise, generally bilateral, requiring the participation of both parties that are bound by the covenant.

In the Torah, G!d enacts three covenants. First is G!d’s promise to all humanity after the Flood, never again to wreak such destruction. The sign of this covenant – actually a one-way agreement, because G!d promises, but humanity is not obligated – is the rainbow.

The second is G!’d’s covenant with Abraham, promising to make numerous his descendants and to give them the Land of Israel for their possession. (Gen. 17) Circumcision, brit milah, is the sign of Abraham’s acceptance of and loyalty to G!d.

The enactment of the third covenant takes place at Mt. Sinai, when G!d gives the Torah to the Israelites and outlines the terms of the covenant. Shabbat is the sign of this covenant.

Rabbi Katy Z. Allen

Atem Nitzavim Hayom… You stand, all of you. Second person plural. This portion is the ultimate community building portion. You stand here today. All of you, I saw a button  recently which said, “We are all in.” What does that mean? I think it means with your whole self–your heart, mind and might. Just like the V’ahavta says, which you will hear echoes of shortly. You are all in for G-d. You are about to sign this covenant.

You are all in. You are all standing: Your tribal heads, and your officials, all of the men of Israel, your children, your wives, even the stranger within your camp, from your woodchopper to the water drawer.

Who are these wood choppers and water drawers?

The construction of the sentence suggests that they were foreigners, in the midst of the camp to do the menial labor, chop wood and draw water. They were the migrant farm workers, the construction laborers, the landscapers, the hotel cleaning crews of the day. The people who do the jobs we don’t seem to want to do. And by placing them squarely in the text they were not invisible. This could be the moment to discuss the growing refugee crisis. The stranger within our camp that needs to be welcomed.

Rabbi John Feigelson who runs an organization for college campuses called Ask Big Questions asked a really big one on Facebook this week. If our parents and grandparents could take in refugees in their tiny apartments, why can’t we open our homes, our large suburban homes? There is more on this, but I am saving it for Yom Kippur. Consider this the highlight reel of coming attractions.

But there are no accidental words in the Torah, the rabbis teach us. So the rabbis go further. Why wood choppers and water drawers? Why not camel drivers and butchers? The traditional explanations include that they were Canaanites who wanted to convert. Or the wood choppers were men and the water drawers were women.

Rabbi Bradley Shavit of the Zeigler School helps us understand at another level based on a teaching from Reb Shlomo Carlebach:

He understands woodcutters to be a metaphor for possible abuse in our interpersonal relationships. We cut down people, prove them wrong (guilty as charged!), or shape them into what we want them to be. It happens in our families, in our synagogues, in our work world and in our wider communities. “Instead of chipping away at the edges to see what is truly beneath a person’s exterior, we (often by accident) cut too much, creating scraps that are difficult to reassemble.” He reminds us that we do this with G-d as well.

He understands water drawers: as a metaphor for water drawers are a symbol of inspiration, “waiting for us to engage them, learn from them, be nourished and satiated by them, and to ultimately compliment one another. This suggests that our relationships go two ways. We give, and we receive (and the two are not always equal). There are limits, though. A well can dry up if one draws too much without replenishing it, offering something in return. But finding that balance is not so simple.”

We will hear these words again as we stand at Yom Kippur. All of us together. None of us perfect. Let’s remember that each of us have likely been water drawers and woodchoppers. According to Shavit, “Our job, like God’s during this time of year, is to find the inner strength, and the external help, to gently tilt ourselves to the latter.”

Our next guest blogger, Dan Bush, was the development officer for Habitat for Humanity of Greater Lowell. He now works for the Jericho Project. He is great for brainstorming the non-profit world, preferably over a cup of coffee. As we approach the 911 anniversary, his words are especially dear to me as I was on a Habitat for Humanity jobsite in Lowell on 9/12. When all the world seemed to be collapsing, and it was. I saw the smoke the day before. We, the clergy of Lowell, were building. It remains one of my most powerful experiences ever.

In astronomy, there is an optical phenomenon that is called the ‘green flash’ which occurs only occasionally. When the conditions are just right at sunrise or sunset, a green dot appears on the horizon above the sun. It only lasts for a moment, and you have to be ready for it. Some people have been fortunate and have seen this phenomenon many times thanks to their professions as pilots.

I look upon community organizing in the same way which is why I enjoy working in the community with Jericho Road.

There are times working on a project, an event, or interacting with community or a family that you have been serving in the both the beginning and the end where this same flash occurs, and it is a tremendously fulfilling moment. It only comes when circumstances are just right, and you have to be not only lucky, but open to experiencing it.

As a professional fundraiser for Habitat for Humanity for many years, and a community builder for even more, there are a few moments where this is likely to happen, sometimes because like the pilot, you are placing yourself in a reasonably predictable line that will increase your odds.

Working with a committee that is trying to address a need in their community, there is always such a flash. As the professional advising, the odds are great that you will be present when the committee or the sponsors ‘see’ the future flash of success. It’s always a rewarding moment.

In the context of my work with Habitat, and helping families see their own green flash, my favorite moments have always been after the dedications, and after the crowd has dispersed.   A few weeks after the ceremonies, the sponsor signs and the Habitat banners come down, and in a brief moment the families inside the homes are no longer labeled this or that, they are just people. Success!

This is an electrifying connection to share with the family and the community both.

The flash is only a moment. Circumstances have to be just right, and you have to be ready!

Look for it! Put yourself in the way of success to find your own green flash!

Shalom
Dan Bush
National Executive Director
Jericho Road Project

We are still playing catch up. But here is Elul 22:

Tonight is Selichot. It is my favorite service of the year. It is held on Saturday night just before Rosh Hashanah and sets the tone. It is when we begin saying the “selichot” prayers—those very prayers that G-d taught Moses to say to ask for forgiveness. Those prayers include the repetition of the 13 Attributes of the Divine.

The Lord! The Lord! A God compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, extending kindness to the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin, yet He does not remit all punishment, but visits the iniquity of the fathers upon children and children’s children upon the third and fourth generation.

Yet in the liturgy it is truncated, exactly as G-d taught us to say it. We end at G-d forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin. Period.

In Numbers 14:11-20, after the incident with the spies returning from Canaan, Moses pleads again for mercy on behalf of the Israelites. He invokes the divine attributes and concludes, “Pardon, I pray, the iniquity of this people according to Your great kindness, as You have forgiven this people ever since Egypt.” (Numbers 14:19). The Lord answers, “I have pardoned according to your plea.” (Numbers 14:20) This verse becomes the central reassuring answer to Kol Nidre and is repeated during Ne’ilah. God has pardoned and will pardon according to our plea.

In the Talmud, in Rosh Hashanah 17b, is where we learn that G-d taught Moses these very words to be said on Selichot:

And ‘the Lord passed by before him and proclaimed [etc.]. (Ex. 34:6) R. Johanan said: Were it not written in the text, it would be impossible for us to say such a thing; this verse teaches us that the Holy One, blessed be He, drew his robe round Him like the reader8 of congregation and showed Moses the order of prayer. He said to him: Whenever Israel sins, let them carry out this service before Me, and I will forgive them.

‘The Lord, the Lord’: I am the Eternal before a man sins and the same10 after a man sins and repents. ‘A God merciful and gracious:’ Rab Judah said: A covenant has been made with the thirteen attributes that they will not be turned away empty-handed, as it says, Behold I make a covenant. (Ex. 34)

What a wonderful image. That G-d taught Moses to pray. And that those words are “I’m sorry.” And the 13 Attributes.

Saturday night, we began with Havdalah to separate Shabbat from the rest of the week. On the Saturday of Selichot it always seems especially bittersweet. But I love the dimmed light, the bright braided candle, the sweet wine and the spices. Maybe we will be ready for the new week, for the new year. Maybe we are never fully ready. Come on. It is coming fast now. We asked two questions that were part of the beginning of my Guatemala trip. What do you need to leave behind this year to be fully present? What do you bring to the group?

We heard the haunting strains of Kol Nidre on the cello, so ably and beautifully played by Kerena Moeller of the Elgin Symphony Orchestra. The piece is divided into several sections. We are all pretty familiar with the opening measures, but then it morphs. It sounds like angels (or what I imagine angels might sound like, perhaps because it reminds me of the year Sarah was an angel in the Nutcracker Suite. That piece sounds like this too). It is a bridge between heaven and earth, between what we did and what we hoped we would do, and in that instant I feel like it is all good, that heaven is attainable and that even if I am not perfect, I can be forgiven. That’s what I hear.

Then we had two workshops. One on visual arts where we took a blank puzzle, wrote Hashivenu on one side, “Turn to us O Lord and we will return to You. Renew our days as of old.” We sang two different versions of it. I remembered back to when my mother was dying and I was in Grand Rapids for Kol Nidre. I “snuck out” of the hospital to go to Kol Nidre with her blessing and I cried when I heard this song. What does it mean in that case to “renew our days as of old”. What does it mean any year?

People were then supposed to draw, color, paint, what makes them whole on the other side. What pieces of the puzzle need to be put back together to make them whole. How do we renew our days as of old?

Part of that is by turning around. Turning back. Admitting your mistakes and saying I’m sorry. But Moses did that. And G-d did that. It is hard work. It can be painful. It takes courage. It can be scary. But we have good role models. No one is perfect. Maybe not even G-d.

Then we had a poetry writing workshop. List 5 verbs ending in ing. List 5 nouns. 5 adjectives. All to do with the upcoming holidays. My verbs were chanting, praying, cleaning, singing, ascending, dancing, turning. The nouns were apples, prayer books, Torah, bimah, prayers, moon. My adjectives were white, whole, peace, joy, renewed. Someday I may even write that poem. But others did. Some will even be read over the next 10 days in the community.

Then we ended with the words of Selichot and an exercise relearned in Guatemala. We stood in a circle and knitted ourselves together with balls of yarn we tossed to one another. It created a spider web effect connecting us powerfully as community. as we sang the Shlomo Carlebach song, “Return again, return again, return to the land of your soul. Return to who you are. Return to what you are. Return to where you are. Born and reborn again.”

Return. Come journey with me.

We have been studying community for three weeks now. Rosh Hashanah is only a week away. Our next guest blogger is Rabbi Neil Kominsky. Neil was my rabbi in my “home congregation” at Temple Emanuel of the Merrimack Valley, through much of rabbinical school. He was my ordaining rabbi. He remains a good friend and a study partner. His words are always wise. His advice welcome and practical.

By my best reckoning, I have participated in Shabbat services in some communal setting on most Sabbaths for past sixty years or so. I’ll grant you that about forty years of that could be attributed to my professional responsibilities as a congregational and campus rabbi. The fact of the matter is, though, that my personal need to participate in group worship was part of what led me to the rabbinate in the first place, and what has kept me attending with great regularity in retirement.

Why do I do this?  I could simply answer that it is a mitzvah, a Divine commandment, to which I respond, but my theology really does not assume that God demands that I be there.   It is I who need to be there, addressing God in the company of other Jews who have come to join in worship together. What is that about?

Jewish worship is, fundamentally, a communal activity. It is not that one cannot pray alone—I often do—but that the dynamic of a community joined in prayer together is greater than the sum of its parts. Whatever each of us brings through the door with us, whatever kind of day or week we’ve had, in shared worship we become part of a larger whole, a community. There have been times when I have shown up largely out of habit, not feeling particularly worshipful, but, almost always, once the service gets going, I find myself lifted and borne along by the music, the shared words, the sheer presence of fellow worshippers sharing a common desire to worship God in community.

It is significant to me that nearly all our prayers, even when we say them alone, address God as Eloheynu, Our God. Only in a very few instances does the singular Elohai, My God, occur. The message is that even when we pray alone, we are part of a larger community that the words of our prayers acknowledge.

This is about more, however, than what makes meaningful worship. It is about the significance of being deeply committed together. The Ten Commandments are addressed to the individual: You (singular) shall have no other Gods before Me, and so on. The words following the Shema are addressed in the singular: You (singular) shall love the Lord your God…. But the Torah also commands us to be holy, and when it does so, it does it in the plural: You (plural) shall be holy, as I your God am holy.

Few, if any, of us are comfortable thinking about how we, individually, can become holy. It seems like an exercise in chutzpah to even think in such terms. As a community, however, we can aspire to holiness if what we do collectively contributes to making a holier, indeed a wholer (the original root meaning of shalom) world. When we work together to see that hungry people are fed, homeless people are housed, we are creating holiness. When we work to make our society and our world a more just place for the poor and powerless, we are creating holiness. When we deepen our understanding of Jewish tradition and find ways to pass what we know and have learned on to another generation, we are creating holiness. When we exert our utmost effort to recognize the Divine Image in every human being we encounter, we are creating holiness. When we comfort the grief-stricken, visit the sick, befriend the isolated within our community, we are creating holiness. And, yes, when we join our mouths and our hearts and our souls in worship, we are creating holiness.

We know that congregations often bear Hebrew names—Beth this or B’nai that. When the full name of the congregation is spelled out in Hebrew, though, it is often prefixed with the Hebrew letters Kof”Kof. This stands for Kehillah Kedoshah—Holy Congregation, which is precisely what our Jewish tradition understands by the banding together of a group of individual Jews, whether few or many, to meet each others’ needs and to join in community for a higher purpose.

Working together, we can fulfill God’s commandment; we can create holiness. That is what community is for.

Rabbi Neil Kominsky

Our next guest blogger, Dick Johnson, is the very first person I met in person at Congregation Kneseth Israel. He is the one who picked me up at O’Hare and drove me to Elgin when I came to “audition”. Before we were out of the airport, we discovered we shared a love of running. He has helped with moving, hanging pictures, finding the perfect burger and so much more. And yes, getting me back into running. He is practical and down to earth. He is our financial secretary and a board member. But most Saturdays you will not find him in the synagogue. You will find him out running, or biking or swimming. And coaching others in the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, Team in Training. I call him Coach!

Community may be defined as: a group of people living in the same place or having a particular characteristic in common; a feeling of fellowship with others, as a result of sharing common attitudes, interests, and goals. Thus we all may live in many different “communities” at the same time. Allow me to tell you about one of my favorite communities: the running community.

On the surface, long distance, endurance running may seem to be a very solitary pastime, but in reality I have found a community of runners who have definitely formed a closely knit family. For nine years now, I have been part of the TEAM IN TRAINING family. We have trained together, raced together, laughed together and yes, even cried together.

Several years ago one of our family members, Firoza Mohideen, who had already beaten Leukemia once before, discovered that her Lymphoma had returned. But this time it was even more advanced than before. Firoza would need a stem cell transplant! Neither her husband nor their children were suitable matches for the transfusion, and no one in the National Stem Cell Transplant Data Base was a match either. Firoza has several sisters in her native Sri Lanka and each was tested but none was a perfect match. The last sister who was tested proved to be the best match available for the transplant and was flown to Chicago for the procedure. This was the first time the sister had had ever left Sri Lanka.

Thankfully the transplant was successful. While this part of the story is definitely about family, it is not the family I am writing about. Immediately after her diagnosis, “Firoza’s Angels” was formed and put into operation. The members of our community banded together. Every day someone either sent her a greeting card, not a “get well” card, but rather a “stay strong” or a “thinking about you” card, or they sent a small gift to keep up her spirits. Others went to her home to do small projects to help the family such as cleaning or mowing the lawn.

My contribution for the community was a little different. During this time, Sue and I had been using a service called “Comin Dish”. This was a service that allowed you to come in and create prepared meals. I approached everyone with this concept of preparing these meals for Firoza’s family after she returned home from her quarantine period and asked if anyone would care to contribute toward the costs of these meals. I had hoped to collect enough money to provide a week’s worth of meals for the family, but the team could not give me money fast enough! We were finally able to provide two full weeks of meals for the family. As a community, we all worked very hard to help Firoza and her family to endure an extreme hardship and together we were successful.

This story is not just Firoza’s! It is also Marie’s and Patti’s and Oliver’s and Mark’s and Sue’s and many others who belong to our little community. Throughout my nine years with this organization, each and every time someone in the community has faced adversity, we have all strongly and actively come together to support that individual or family. We are Community!

Today I had a very varied day. It started with coffee, of course, with a congregant. Isn’t it nice that pumpkin spice latte and salted caramel mocha are back? Then I had apples and challah and honey with eight people at an assisted living center. Somewhere in there I spoke to the rabbi I grew up with and shared our High Holiday sermon topics. Then I met a congregant who wanted to talk to me. Then I had lunch with a congregant to discuss martyrology and the Avodah service on Yom Kippur. Then I had Hebrew School.

But what was remarkable about each of these conversations was the care and level of commitment to Judaism and the deep thinking in each. And that builds community.

Let me explain. In coffee one. (Really, people, I only have one a day but it has to be good), we discussed the Iranian deal, the refugee crisis, racism in America, and what I should or should not say on the bimah. He encouraged me to be bold. To not equivocate and to do it from the source of Jewish values. That’s what I took away from the rabbi in Grand Rapids, too. He is being really bold, I think this year. He and I talked about story telling and how his most effective sermons have been when he has shared his own journey. I agreed. And that fits with what I was learning in Guatemala and what I am learning in Ron Wolfson’s book on Spiritual Welcoming. We talked about sharing our dreams and our visions. And that helped me frame what I want to say in the next few weeks.

At the Victory Center, I gathered with eight women who shared their visions. Using the same exercise we used Saturday night for Selichot, they told us they want to leave behind grudges, jealousy and pettiness, anger, their canes and walkers, pain. They want to bring to others congeniality, patience, their whole selves, their families. They were not sure they had any unique gifts although one made a crib blanket for every grandchild! They sampled the apples and honey and challah. They listened to the sounds of the shofar, which are supposed to sound like crying. And one cried.

I did not go get a second coffee—although someone called and wanted to meet for one. But I did meet to discuss the Avodah service. Why do we need an intecessor? What role did that play then? What roles does that play now? How is it relevant? What role does martyrology play? Do we need the gore to experience the pain? If it is only the pain then what is the point. It was a profound discussion with just the right questions (and I think the right approaches). It helped my own preparation.

Then Hebrew School. I had the opportunity to then teach the Avodah Service and see what a 12 year old thinks. He actually thinks it is relevant. His words. Because the story alone helps us renew and commit not to sin. (Out of the mouth of babes) But he is not sure that the concept of a high priest is relevant. Stay tuned! And ruach was great. We learned a new song, Ivdu Et HaShem B’Simcha. Serve the Lord with Joy! We continued our discussion of prayer. We heard the shofar. These kids are really bright!

Somewhere in there I had a discussion as well about air conditioning and landscaping. And supplemental readings. And email lists. And permission slips. And memorial plaques. And challah. Today was the day to pick up challah at the synagogue that Hadassah sells every year.

All of these encounters builds community. One cup of coffee. One lunch. One study session. One person at a time.