This weekend I attend two family simchas, joyous events. The first is my husband’s cousin’s granddaughter’s Bat Mitzvah. Yes, that’s right.My husband’s cousin’s granddaughter’s Bat Mitzvah. It is still family, mishpacha. For this, you say, you left Elgin? Absolutely. You see, Simon’s cousin, Susan Roth Sherman, believed strongly in showing up at every lifecycle event. She was at our wedding, Sarah’s baby naming, Gabrielle’s Bat Mitzvah. She came to every dance recital, every theater performance. She wrapped little presents for Sarah to open in the car on the long trip to Grand Rapids, one for every hour, after my father had died. She understood the importance of celebrating and marking life transitions. She modeled exuberance. She exuded joy.

We have celebrated with A as well. Her own baby naming, summers on the Cape. We mourned with her at her grandmother’s funeral and we walked with her (still in a stroller) in a walk to honor Susan’s memory at SUNY Albany. I can’t imagine another place to be this weekend than right here with her, celebrating her own life and accomplishments.

So many nice touches to the weekend. A lovely dinner hosted by grandparents. A live Klezmer band. Ellen Corcoran reading “Grant us Peace,” a prayer both her mother and my mother loved. And A’s clear, confident voice, even when she broke out coughing in the middle of her haftarah. Such poise!

Celebrating like this is about continuity. It is about hearing the familiar words come from the next generation. It is about remembering Susan and her mother Louise who A is named for. It is about passing down the importance of ritual, this ritual, this very Torah from one generation to the next. It is about all of us gathering–from all over, so that we can celebrate.

I loved hearing how polite A is. How she always says thank you. And then hearing her immediately say thank you. Her grandmother would have been so proud, on this point alone. I loved hearing how proud Barb and David are of A. And yes, my own Rosh Hashanah sermon about the power of presence was quoted about how A’s mother showed up. That made me cry.

I loved watching her look so much like her mother. I loved watching her sisters look up to her with a mixture of love and awe as they read a poem about being sisters.

I loved using Mishkan Tefilah and for the moment being back in a congregation that is unapologetically a Reform congregation, even with its own diverse population. I loved listening to cousins read Torah, cousins who self identify as Orthodox but who loved being at this service and who like me, showed up. They wouldn’t have been anywhere else. Seven different people read Torah, modeling something for all. It doesn’t have to be the rabbi. Sometimes it is better when it is not.

I loved sitting and watching and quietly davvening. I love being on the bimah. But I also love being able to just enjoy and really davven. Kudos for A, for the rabbi for setting the tone and for the cantorial soloist for allowing me to have my own Shabbat moment of time and space.

I loved singing Lechi Lach, the very song that I sang to myself in the mikveh on Friday afternoon. I loved the music. Old favorites of mine–a different Mi Chamocha than I usually use. Bonia Shur’s majestic Kedusha. Throughout the service, the music sparkled and aided the celebration. It seemed that the fingers on the keyboard danced with joy. I loved hearing the rabbi talk about first fruits–A herself is a first fruit–and gratitude.

Gratitude seems to be the theme of my week. I go back to Elgin filled with gratitude, for my time away, for Simon, for the chance to reconnect with friends, for friends, for celebrating with family. And for Elgin. It is almost time to go home.

But first, we will attend the graduation of my nephew, Brennan, from Swarthmore. We will spend four hours driving from Connecticut to Pennsylvania. Again we will see lots of family. Again we will probably eat too much. Again we will be filled with gratitude. Again we are filled with pride, for both A and Brennan. Again we are choosing to mark a life transition within a Jewish context.

“This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.”

“Praised are You, Lord our G-d, Ruler of the Universe, who has kept us alive and sustained us and brought us to this festive, joyous, moments.”

Today was a very special day. It was my water day. I need water. In some deep spiritual sense. I have written about water before. Because I keep coming back to it, again and again and again.

So by design, yesterday we drove to Maine. One of my favorite places on earth. I started to tear up (more water) when I crossed into New Hampshire from Massachusetts. Yes. I was driving. Not a lot of tears. They were complicated. I realize how much I miss sitting on “my rock” in Maine, a place I run to to make life decisions. I realize how lucky I am to have a place like that rock. I realize that yes, we were right, the rock is still here.

When I finally turn the corner and can see the ocean for the first time, I let out an audible “oooooooo,” surprising my husband. “You knew it was there. Why are you surprised.” Because after the rain (more water) of yesterday it looked so beautiful, so pristine, so calm. Words fail.

We drove to the lighthouse. We climbed on the rocks (note to self, next year…no skirt!). We managed to get lower to the water than I usually dare to go. We took photographs. How many years of photos do you think we have? We sat quietly. I allowed the feelings to wash over me (more water). We ate lunch including fresh Maine blueberry pie. There is nothing like this.

Then we drove back to Boston. Back to obligations. Back to friends and an important fundraiser for Mayyim Hayyim.

Mayyim Hayyim is the community mikveh in Boston. It is a world class Jewish institution. I know that because last night they said they have had visitors in their 10 years from 47 states and 21 countries. Actually I know that because I have been there. It is an integral part of my life. You know that from reading this blog. How many times have I written about Mayyim Hayyim. You know about the water. You know how the water renews and revitalizes, refreshes and readies. You know how it cleanses and heals. You know how I believe Mayyim Hayyim saved my life. It is all about the water. And the water itself is not magical. It is holy. Set apart, made special. The place is holy too. Set apart, made special. So that each guest feels welcome, comfortable, safe, important.

Mayyim Hayyim is my go to example for a Jewish institution that works. Day in and day out. It welcomes everyone. It knows how to do this. In just 10 years it has hosted over 12,000 immersions and taught 25,000 people. Last night they announced that they had retired the mortgage. In just 10 years. So they are now on healthy financial footing. I am proud of Mayyim Hayyim and all they have accomplished–for me, for the Jewish community as a whole. I am proud of my continuing association with Mayyim Hayyim–even from a distance.

My soul has been fed by the waters–the waters of Maine and the waters of Mayyim Hayyim.

So water is important. But what if you don’t have access to water. Africa has exactly this problem. Sitting in the travel doctor’s office last week, reading Good Housekeeping, I read a story about Mary Jordan, who went to Africa to make a movie and got sick. Really, really sick. She was lucky. She survived. And she is turned her survival into an opportunity to make all aware of the need for access to clean water by painting the water towers of New York: http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/family/inspirational-people/water-tank-project

My friend Kimberly Fogg from high school has another approach. She is the founder of Global Sustainable Partnerships (GSP), an NGO in Tanzania and a 501(c)(3) corporation certified by the Center for Affordable Water and Sanitation Technology (CAWST). She is bringing clean drinking water to Tanzania by transferring knowledge and skills necessary to do. They just picked up a big grant from Bristol Meyers Squibb. www.gspartnerships.org. I am proud of the work Kim does as well.

American Jewish World Service is taking a rights based approach to development and aid. They believe, correctly so that in order to solve poverty, violence against women, girls and the LGBT community has to stop.

As my week in Boston reminds me. People need access to water. It is a right. Wars have been fought over it. Arguments about rights to wells are all too common in developing countries. For me, I need water to restore my soul, my very being.

Today is Yom Yerushalayim. Jerusalem Day. Like so much in Israel this is complex, intense. I don’t remember the Six Day War in 1967. I remember other things that year, like becoming a Brownie and having to do a good deed to turn my Brownie pin right side up.

I am pleased that the pope went to Israel. I hope that Netanyahu and Abbas accept his invitation to come to Rome. If Judaism is about relationships, than creating peace is too. One person at a time. One leader at a time.

I hope that the US recognizes Jerusalem as the capital of Israel. The Knesset building as we know it was dedicated in 1966, before the Six Day War and is in the Givat Ram section of Jerusalem. The government of Israel has met in Jerusalem since 1949. I wish that media outlets like CNN and the Weather Channel would acknowledge Jerusalem as capital on its maps.

I hope that Israel would uphold the Sobel decision last year and let women davven freely at the Wall–the very wall that was rescued, liberated in the Six Day War. I signed the petition for precisely this. Will you? http://womenofthewall.org.il/2014/05/in-honor-of-jerusalem-day-women-of-the-wall-to-prime-minister-netanyahu-let-my-torah-go/

I hope that women are allowed to sit on ALL bus runs in Jerusalem. While I am going to Kenya to help in the fight against violence against women, girls and LGBT community worldwide, I hope that in Israel there is a decrease in violence against women in Jerusalem!

I hope that Israel will fully absorb the Ethiopian refugees. Today is also Ethiopian Memorial Day, so deemed by that very Knesset that sits in Jerusalem precisely because the Ethiopian Jews longed for Jerusalem. 4000 of them died en route. 125,000 Ethiopian Jews have been resettled in Israel but there are many challenges still ahead. They lag behind the main population in education and poverty. Anti-Ethiopian discrimination (read racism!) is still too common. Sofa Landver, the Immigrant Absorption Minister, wrote on Facebook:

“I know that the absorption of Ethiopian immigrants has not yet finished, but even so I see an opportunity to highlight that with the passage of two decades from the start of this immigration, the community has recorded impressive achievements in every aspect of life in the state. On this day I bow my head in memory of those who did not make it here to realize the dream and vision of thousands of years.”

That dream is the same as Theodore Herzl, “If you will it, it is no dream.” In 1991 the Sheba Choir, Ethiopian immigrant children singing under the direction of Shlomo Gronich sang “The Journey to Israel”:

The moonlight stood fast
Our bag of food was lost.
The endless desert
Cries of jackals
And my mother comforts my little brothers:
“A little bit more, a little more
soon we’ll be redeemed
we won’t stop going
to the land of Israel.”

The hardships did not end when they made it to Israel. The Chief Rabbinate refused to recognize their Jewish status and many had to “convert.”

“In the moon the image of my mother looks at me
Mother doesn’t disappear
If only she were by my side
she would be able to convince them
that I am a Jew.”

 

I hope that today, this day of reunification of Jerusalem, Jerusalem Day that we find a way to reunify all of us–Israelis and Palestinians, men and women, African Jews and European Jews. 

This is a vacation to celebrate lifecycle events with family. A Bat Mitzvah in Connecticut. A graduation from Swarthmore. It gives us the opportunity to reconnect with friends in person.

For 30 years I lived in Boston. It never quite felt like home. I always dreamed of being back in Michigan. I remember standing on top of Sleeping Bear Dunes when my father was still alive saying to Simon, “We have to come back.” He, of course, would sing, “I want to go back to Michigan, to dear Ann Arbor town….I wanna go back. I got to go back to Michigan.” We considered ourselves misplaced Midwesterners. We looked for opportunities.

We finally found one. So we packed up a house we had owned for 24 years and moved across the country. Back to our roots. To Chicagoland. To Elgin.

Yesterday we had the opportunity to see seven friends. Larry and Alice. Marylin. Gloria and Alan, Nori and Rags. These are friends that we have been friends with since before Sarah was born. OK–not Marylin. She was Sarah’s Bat Mitzvah teacher making her the “recent” addition in this group. What we have in common with this group is a shared history. It goes “way back” It is deep. Easy. Comfortable. There was good conversation, good food and lots of laughter.

We have stayed in touch with all of these people. Some by phone. Some by Facebook. Some by email. Some because they have “stopped by” Elgin.

Simon and I like living in Elgin, although the Midwest we remember has changed some. I love my job–and having a vacation allows me to appreciate that. We made the right decision to move and we decided on the right position of the three I was offered. That is a good feeling!

But I miss these friends and the ones I will see the rest of this trip.

“Make for yourself a Rav (a teacher); acquire for yourself a friend” (Pirke Avot 1:6)

I am very lucky. I have lots of friends (as this trip clearly points out!) This verse from Pirke Avot has always troubled me. How do you make a teacher? Every year in grade school I would be assigned to a teacher’s class. I had very little choice. I didn’t make a teacher. Maybe I found a teacher. And acquire a friend? We should buy friendship?

Maybe this verse is backwards. Maybe we should acquire a teacher, a tutor, pay them money and make a friend. That makes sense. It goes with the Girl Scout song. “Make new friends and keep the old. One is silver and the other’s gold.” That is exactly what we have done. And this trip points out how lucky we are to live out this verse.

But there is something deeper in this text as written. I learned from Chabad.org, “After we were taught how a person is supposed to perfect his home, something to which he is closest, we are now taught how a person is supposed to perfect his relationship with other people with whom he is close.”

This reminds me of the verse from Lech Lecha, Genesis 12:1. “The Lord said to Abram: lech lecha, Go  towards yourself, out of your country and from your family and from your father’s house.” It is a series of concentric circles of leaving, getting more and more difficult the closer you get to the inner circle, your father’s house, the place of your birth. Chabad continues,  “A Rav and a friend are very close to a person, although they are out of his house, and not as closely attached to him as those who dwell in his house. The Mishnah is in order of closeness: One’s Rav, followed by one’s friend, followed by other people…The word “knei,” acquire, is appropriate for the process of relating to friends, since each one is frequently doing a favor or providing needed resources for the other, and as such their is an element of mutual “acquisition” in their friendship. But the word “acquire” is totally inappropriate to describe how one relates to a Rav, since the student does not “own” the Rav (members of the Board of Directors of Shuls — take note!)”

So now I understand the acquiring friends. It is not buying per se. It is a mutuality. And through the years I have chosen or appointed teachers, thus making them my own.

When I got back to the hotel last night I had a piece of writing to do. I had been asked to write a tribute to my teacher Rabbi Zlotowitz who was honored at this year’s ordination. Rabbi Zlotowitz is a leading scholar of the Reform Movement. He is fluent in seven “dead” languages. He taught my class on pluralism, responsa literature, Isaiah, Job. He became my thesis advisor. When others questioned whether I could be a rabbi, he believed in me. More than that. He went to bat for me. He stuck with me. He cares not only for me and my intellectual pursuits. He cares about my family. He always remembers to ask about how Sarah is doing–with her chronic headaches and with her acting. He believed in her dream too. I called him last week to tell him about my book that is being published this fall. His wife Shirley said, “He is always so proud of his students.” No doubt about it. He has taught me much. Much more than book learning. It was an honor to write about him.

I am learning lots on this trip. I have many teachers. I have many friends. And I have many friends who have become teachers. And I am in exactly the right job, in the right place and the right time. I hope that is true for each of you.

We are almost to Shavuot. This week I am on vacation, celebrating some family simchas (joyous events) and reconnecting with friends. It is hard for me to leave my job. That is true of many Americans. Most Americans never take their full allotment of vacation time or sick time. It is too hard to catch up. It is too disruptive. I am indispensable. Whatever the reason, people don’t take the time.

I was talking with someone this morning about that very fact. In the process I reminded myself (and her) about a delightful book, A Gift from the Sea. One that I have read over and over again. One that I have gifted time and time again. Her introduction is priceless:

“The beach is not the place to work; to read, write or think. I should have remembered that from other years. Too warm, too damp, too soft for any real mental discipline or sharp flights of spirit. One never learns. Hopefully, one carries down the faded straw bag, lumpy with books, clean paper, long over-due unanswered letters, freshly sharpened pencils, lists and good intentions. The books remain unread, the pencils break their points and the pads rest smooth and unblemished as the cloudless sky. No reading, no writing, no thoughts even—at least, not at first. At first, the tired body takes over completely. As on shipboard, one descends into a deck-chair apathy. One is forced against one’s mind, against all tidy resolutions, back into the primeval rhythms of the seashore. Rollers on the beach, wind in the pines, the slow flapping of herons across sand dunes, drown out the hectic rhythms of city and suburb, time tables and schedules. One falls under their spell, relaxes, stretches out prone. One becomes, in fact, like the element on which one lies, flattened by the sea; bare, open, empty as the beach, erased by today’s tides of all yesterday’s scribblings. And then, some morning in the second week, the mind wakes, comes to life again. Not in a city sense—no—but beach-wise. It begins to drift, to play, to turn over in gentle careless rolls like those lazy waves on the beach. One never knows what chance treasures these easy unconscious rollers may toss up, on the smooth white sand of the conscious mind; what perfectly rounded stone, what rare shell from the ocean floor. Perhaps a channelled whelk, a moon shell or even an argonaut. But it must not be sought for or—heaven forbid!—dug for. No, no dredging of the sea bottom here. That would defeat one’s purpose. The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. To dig for treasures shows not only impatience and greed, but lack of faith. Patience, patience, patience, is what the sea teaches. Patience and faith. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach—waiting for a gift from the sea.” (Lindbergh, Anne Morrow (2011-08-10). Gift from the Sea (pp. 10-12). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.)

I did that, precisely that. I brought my laptop with things I want to write, books I want to read on my kindle, books I want to read in hard cover, thank you notes to write.

What I need is time to sleep, just sleep. A chance to dream. A chance to think deeply, to let my mind wander and not to plan. I think the open road fulfills a similar function. Radio on, singing along, mind wandering, the world feels expansive, like the sea. The world is full of possibilities. Anything is possible.

What I need is time with Simon, just us.…We got some of that today hiking in OH. One of the things I love about us is hiking. We have now hiked in 18 states and three foreign countries. Today we even found heart shaped leaves. We were thrilled.

What I need is to see friends and not be distracted by my phone or Facebook. I put an out of office message on but here I am, writing while Simon is sleeping. Mustn’t break the streak of writing since Passover. Checking email is a way to stay connected and a way to hide. It avoids isolation–and it can be isolating.

What I need is to see the water. And the sky. To not hurry. To find that gift from the sea, or the mountain. Tonight, however, I am racing to Massachusetts so I can see friends before they leave on vacation.

Maybe tomorrow. What gift will I find from the sea? There is always something.

Sisterhood Shabbat was wonderful. Much to celebrate. And yes I learned from my friends, my sisters. I was reminded how much I like Ruth Brin’s poetry. How she captures my spirituality.

One poem that was read:

A Woman’s Meditation:
When men were children, they thought of G-d as a father;
When men were slaves, they thought of G-d as a master;
When men were subjects, they thought of G-d as king.
But I am a woman, not slave, not a subject,
not a child who longs for G-d as father or mother.

I might imagine G-d as teacher or friend, but those images
like king, master, father or mother, are too small for me now.

G-d is the force of motion and light in the universe;
G-d is the strength of life on our planet;
G-d is the power moving us to do good;
G-d is the source of love springing up in us.
G-d is far beyond what we can comprehend.

I am not sure that Ruth Brin always captures my understanding of G-d. Maybe I am too small and still need G-d as a mother or a father. But I agree that G-d is far beyond what we can comprehend. I need a big G-d. One that can handle all of my moods. One that can be strong, the Rock of Israel, or nurturing, El Shaddai. One that can be comforting or can share my anger. One that can be my Partner or my Friend. One that can inspire me or heal me. One that just is. G-d is all of what Ruth Brin says and more. I am grateful for her articulation. Maimonides said that you cannot discuss G-d because to discuss G-d is to limit G-d and G-d is limitless. I think Ruth’s approach better.

I was particularly moved by another poem by Ruth,

No one ever told me the coming of the Messiah
Could be an inward thing.
No one ever told me a change of heart
Might be as quiet as new-fallen snow.

No one ever told me that redemption
Was as simple as springtime and as wonderful
As birds returning after a long winter,
Rose-breasted grosbeaks singing in the swaying branches
Of a newly budded tree.

No one ever told me that salvation
Might be like a fresh spring wind
Blowing away the dried, withered leaves of another year,
Carrying the scent of flowers, the promise of fruition.

What I found for myself I try to tell you:
Redemption and salvation are very near,
And the taste of them is in the world
That God created and laid before us.
Ruth Brin

Finding the Messiah in an inward moment, salvation and redemption in the beauty of the world around us. Today….if only we would listen to that inward voice, as the Psalms teach. It was a WOW moment and I thank Maureen for it.

It leads me to wonder. Is there a difference between men’s spirituality and women’s? I am not sure. Perhaps that is the beauty of Sisterhood Shabbat. We get to explore these concepts together, as sisters.

This Shabbat is Sisterhood Shabbat. I predict it will not snow. Sisterhood Shabbat is a wonderful time in the life of a congregation. The women lead most of the service. Being a woman rabbi, I become a role model. There was a time when women didn’t lead services or read from the Torah. There was a time when men and women didn’t even sit together!

I love to watch the women stretch themselves. Some don’t like public speaking. Taking an English reading is a big deal. Some are just learning Hebrew and this might be their first time reading Hebrew or singing Hebrew in public. Some are accomplished at leading a service and attending to people’s spiritual needs. Some are gifted in crafting a d’var Torah, a word of Torah, a sermon. In our small congregation about 18 people (life?) will participate. I am proud of the efforts these women put forth and I look forward to sharing an evening of meaningful observance and deepening community. I am sure I will learn something along the way.

Even before I arrived at Congregation Kneseth Israel, I knew I liked this particular sisterhood. At least the gift shop. They are committed to selling fair trade products. When I was here for my demo weekend I broke my own rules and bought fair trade kippot from Guatemala. Now the gift shop is proudly displaying jewelry and bowls from Kenya from a collective called Acacia Creations. http://www.acaciacreations.com. They purchased these products before they knew I was going to Kenya, because they are attractive and because fair trade is important.

Why is fair trade important? The intent of the Fair Trade movement is to:

Often these marginalized producers are women. It is a good project for our sisterhood to be involved with. Fair trade was a model of economic development (back to that AWJS article). Now it is more of a model of sustainable development and growth and responsible consumption. http://www.european-fair-trade-association.org/efta/Doc/FT-E-2010.pdf

It works. It works for the Jewish community of Uganda who offer “Delicious Peace” coffee as part of a collaborative of Jews, Christians and Muslims that is fair trade, organic and Kosher. It works with an organization called Equal Exchange (which was actually started by my mother’s best friend from third grade, Jean Mason!). http://www.equalexchange.coop

It works. Like micro financing works. It works in study after study.

This weekend is also Memorial Day. For many, we remember our armed forces gave so much so that we might live. I remember all those Memorial Day parades, marching as a Girl Scout. And the Memorial Day picnics that followed. Yes, with Kentucky Fried Chicken and iced tea!

For me, Memorial Day weekend is often bittersweet. The smell of lilacs gets me every time. Memorial Day weekend is when I mark the yahrzeits of my step-grandmother, Ruth Bialson and my aunt, Alyce Lesser. Both of them were good role models for me. Smart, accomplished, caring, and great party planners. They knew how to make everyone feel comfortable.

When I stand up and lead the Avot prayer which now includes the Imahot, I will think of Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah, our matriarchs to be sure. But I will also think of my own personal matriarchs: Ruth and Marian, Marguerite and Alyce, and Nelle. These are also my mothers, all of whom are gone. I am glad to be part of a sisterhood.

This has been a L O N G week. In our small congregation we had seven people in the hospital. None were critical. All were serious.

• A 96 year old who needed a pacemaker and had a panic attack or seizure just before going to the hospital for her scheduled surgery so went by ambulance instead of her daughter’s car.
• A 97 year old doing at three day test to see if a brain stent needs to be used to drain fluid
• An 80+ year old with a gallbladder issue and underlying problem winds up in ICU.
• A mother-to-be with a 35 hour delivery and the baby winds up in the NICU.
• Our administrator still in rehab with a shattered but healing elbow.
• An 81 year old with cataract surgery. His was the least serious.

A ninety year old, not one of the above, told me today, that while her doctor has given up on her because her heart will give out on her, she is not ready to die. She told me her work is not done yet. That she still has work to do. And that she would continue to do that work until G-d said she was done. She said this with a big smile on her face and surety in her heart. That very heart the cardiologist felt he couldn’t treat any more.

I admire her spunk. Her determination. Her sense of humor. Her spirit. She never went to college but she was president of a PTA–and her senior retirement community. She went to the school of hard knocks. And she has had a hard life. She got beaten up by the Catholic kids for being Greek Orthodox. So she signed up for catechism and challenged the priest about what he was teaching. She defended her Jewish neighbors, explaining to her other neighbors that it was the Romans who killed Jesus not the Jews. She told me how she hurt her arm helping to rescue a young man at the scene of an accident. She made me smile and gave me renewed energy.

Last night in my Introduction to Judaism class I explained how G-d visited Abraham when he was recovering from his circumcision. From this we learn the importance of visiting the sick. Moses prayed for healing his sister Miriam. El na refana la. Please, G-d heal her. The prayer is simple and direct.

Visiting the sick isn’t just for rabbis. Praying for healing is incumbent on us all. My prayer is to be like my Greek Orthodox friend. Determined, with a sense-of-humor. With strength and compassion and courage. With faith and energy.

Please G-d heal them. All of them. Give them strength and courage. Energy and vitality. Faith and compassion. Hold their hands and their spirits. Give them skilled and compassionate care teams. Be their Rock. ALlow them to put their burden down as You lighten their load and give them rest. Let them enjoy a perfect moment of Shabbat.

I did it. After rescheduling twice, once for a funeral and once in order to give blood, I got my shots today. At least most of them. I need to double check with my primary care physician about polio and flu.

I understand the need for vaccines. I know people who have had polio, one of whom now suffers with post-polio syndrome. They would have had a far different life if the polio vaccine had been discovered earlier. I was a proud Rotarian when we thought that polio had been irradiated. But it has not. Because parents have become afraid to immunize children. Because in some parts of the world, including Kenya, the shot is too expensive and children remain vulnerable. Rotary has done much to end polio and I just signed their petition.

I was surprised that polio was on the suggested list. I guess the vaccine I had as a child doesn’t last forever. Here in the States it probably would have been sufficient. But in Kenya, less clear.

We can be clear that immunizations do not cause autism. http://www.cdc.gov/vaccinesafety/Concerns/Autism/Index.html

We can also be proud that some of the research on the pneumonia vaccine is coming from Kenya. http://www.irinnews.org/report/99858/pneumonia-vaccine-shows-promise-in-kenya Pneumonia is the leading cause of death for children under 5 with 1.1 million children dying each year. The research is actually coming out of Kisumu, one of the cities to which we will be traveling. Perhaps we will see this research facility in action.

American Jewish World Service is doing good work in Kenya:

http://ajws.org/who_we_are/publications/country_profiles/kenya_country_profile.pdf

I learned some interesting things. Vaccines for foreign travel are not covered by American insurance. That the treatment if you contracted any of the diseases would be far worse–and ironically would then be covered by insurance. That the anticipation of the shot is worse than the actual shot. That we need to be doing more of this kind of thing in Kenya but that it is difficult to deliver the services without solving (!) the violence against women, children and the LGBT community. So if my arm is sore tonight,  it is a small price to pay. Really.

There is a double entendre here. A double life. A double portion maybe.

In Hebrew each letter has a numerical equivalent. So aleph is one, bet is two, gimmel is three. Chai (chet, yud)=18. So life is 18. That is why many Jews give gifts or donations in multiples of 18. 36 is therefore double life.

36 times in Torah we are told to champion the cause of the widow, the orphan, the stranger because we were strangers in the land of Egypt.

36 is the number of “concealed ones”, the hidden righteous, the “lamed vavniks”. An idea from the Talmud that at all times there are 36 special people in the world that are so important that even if one of them were missing, the world would come to an end. In every generation these hidden souls are the 36 righteous that “greet the Shechinah,” the Divine Presence. (Tractate Sanhedrin 97b; Tractate Sukkah 45b) Each individual does not know he (or she?) is a lamed vuvnik–nor the identities of the other ones.

These thirty six are hidden. Concealed. We often say of secret agents that they have a double life. Something that is hidden that we don’t know about. Maybe the lamedvavniks are secret agents of G-d, making this world a better place.

After the Holocaust, people began to wonder if the 36 exist at all or maybe, just maybe one of them is missing.

Andre Schwarz-Bart in his novel, Last of the Just has another way of looking at them: “Rivers of blood have flowed, columns of smoke have obscured the sky, but surviving all these dooms, the tradition has remained inviolate down to our own time. According to it, the world reposes upon thirty-six Just Men, the Lamed-Vov, indistinguishable from simple mortals; often they are unaware of their station. But if just one of them were lacking, the sufferings of mankind would poison even the souls of the newborn, and humanity would suffocate with a single cry. For the Lamed-Vov are the hearts of the world multiplied, and into them, as into one receptacle, pour all our griefs.”

This week we begin reading the book of Numbers. It begins by taking a census. With people standing up and being counted. It is what G-d wants. It is what G-d orders. “And the LORD spoke to Moses in the wilderness of Sinai, in the tent of meeting, on the first day of the second month, in the second year after they came out of the land of Egypt, saying: Count all the congregation of the children of Israel, by their families, by their fathers’ houses, according to the number of names, every male, by their polls; from twenty years old and upward, all that are able to go forth to war in Israel: you shall number them by their hosts, even you and Aaron.”

It seems almost the opposite of the hidden 36. However, maybe they are related. This weekend we will honor two families. The Zimmermans have been long time synagogue members. He has served as president. She has been active in Sisterhood, Hadassah, ran the Hebrew School for a time. He is an attorney. She a social worker. They have done so many things behind the scenes it would be impossible to count. The Robinsons are a newer family. They too stepped up and have been counted. She has served on the school committee and really manages to rally the Torah School families to participate. She has been on the executive committee of the synagogue board in her role as secretary. Her children have been active members of the Torah School and we as a community swelled with pride when AJ celebrated his Bar Mitzvah and has read Torah for Simchat Torah. Again, they do so many things behind the scenes it would be hard to count. One example–watching AJ at a PJ Library Shabbat or a Sunday morning pre-school. He loves being with the little kids and he can calm them down by reading them a story. He can allow a little kid to find the afikomen at Passover. He is becoming a mensch. Quietly, behind the scenes. It would seem to be a double life in the life of a typical teenager.

Lamedvavniks? Who knows–but the possibility is there. The possibility is there for any of us. Woody ALlen famously said that 80% of life is showing up. In order to be a hidden lamedvavnik, and I don’t really want to know who you are, first you need to stand up and be counted and then continue to do things behind the scenes. That too is a double life.