President's Remarks Rosh Hashanah 5784: A Zis Gebentsht Yor

“A zis gebentsht yor” is the Yiddish expression for a good, blessed year. It is what my eldest sister, Elise, usually texts us before Rosh Hashanah. So I offer that expression to you this morning: A good, blessed year. It has a lighter flavor than “L’shana tova tikatevu”: “May you be inscribed for a good year.” How can I be sure that I will be inscribed as such? I am hopeful, but it worries me. And it got me thinking.

Congregation Berith Sholom is a melting pot of traditions, beliefs, practices and expressions of faith. It’s one of the many things that makes this congregation strong and is a testament to our Rabbi and the lay leaders who have led this melting pot.

What brings each of us here today? Going to shul on Rosh Hashanah—is it at the top of the list of important observances as a Jew, or is it something you did growing up and you want to continue the tradition? Is it a magnetic draw to be together with our Jewish community, or is it something else? Does it just feel right? Do you use the time listening to our beautiful choir and sitting in this restored sanctuary to reflect on your life and the new year ahead for you? Does the chance to be still and sit in community let you hear more clearly what is in your heart?

Recently while scrolling not through Torah but Facebook, I did a quick analysis of greetings and commentary for Rosh Hashanah to see if I could get a handle on why the High Holidays are important to so many of us. My scrolling brought a wonderful mash-up of honey, apples and wishes for a sweet and healthy year. I loved what CBS board member Shannon Oksman posted: “Rosh Hashanah is a time of joy, renewal and reflection. May your year be filled with sweetness, peace, light, joy and, most of all, love.” Now that was something I could wrap my head around.

In a special message to me as the congregation’s president, Rabbi Rick Jacobs, head of the Union for Reform Judaism, sent a somber—and a little terrifying—message: “The sound of the shofar blowing is like an alarm clock, compelling us to wake from our slumber. Awakening may be the dominant spiritual goal of these High Holidays, but it’s not about consuming endless cups of coffee—it’s deeper, more sacred.”

OK. I am good with that Rabbi Jacob, but I did not think I was sleeping. Or at least not sleeping enough. But maybe that is the point—we all get so wrapped up in our lives, we need to be awakened to the bigger picture, something deeper, Rabbi Jacob said, a moral imperative.

For Jews who are more secular and maybe less observant, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Passover are the holy trinity of holidays for us. Rob Kovach, who leads our local Jewish Federation, joked during a meeting with us that he wished people chose Purim and Simchas Torah instead as the holidays they observe. He was clearly joking, but it got me thinking.

In my search—as the Indigo Girls would say to come “Closer to Fine”—I asked one of my nonprofit clients, an Episcopal priest in St. Helena, Calif., the Rev. Amy Denney Zuniga, what she thought I might say in my Rosh Hashanah sermon. She, like our Rabbi, dishes up a superb sermon. Amy responded, “Isn’t the New Year about reflection and introspection?” True, but, I thought to myself what wisdom could I bring to those topics?

Growing up, my sisters and I went to an orthodox synagogue in the Catskills—just for the High Holidays—that our maternal grandfather Eli helped to found. It was a little house with creaky stairs to ascend—that’s where women and girls sat separate from the men. Not a word of English was spoken in the service, and we knew no Hebrew. And the small group of what had to be tone-deaf older men faced away from us, offering what could most charitably be described as non-melodic singing and chanting throughout the lengthy service. We had to sit very still next to the Rebbetzin, who looked cross at us as we squirmed around. The best part of the service was when my Mother let us slip outside to the beautiful creek next to the shul and run around in the true spirit of joy and the great outdoors away from the shrieking old men, without getting our dress-up clothes messy. That childhood experience, needless to say, did not draw us to services for decades to come—not until our dear friend Ruth Sabo persuaded my partner, Amanda, and I to see Congregation Berith Sholom’s light, something she was passionate about. That was more than 25 years ago, and Amanda and I have been members ever since.

It is the Rabbi, it is the people, and it is the place that draws us back. This congregation is a vibrant, energetic, mosaic of behind- and in-front-of-the-scenes helpers, doers, donors, social justice fighters and action-takers in the pursuit of tikkun olam. This is a place that epitomizes lovingkindness; it is deeply embedded in our culture here.

Less than three years ago, our shul was financially fragile and shrinking. How did it turn around to become a growing and thriving synagogue again?

It was thanks to our courageous board of trustees and lay leaders, who were willing to raise our minimum dues. It was your willingness to pay those increased dues and then add some more to your annual financial commitments to fund those who cannot pay the full amount. It was your decision to increase your tzedakah in the fine Jewish tradition that has made our growth and increased impact and service possible.

The maintenance and repairs of a 153-year-old synagogue never really dissipate, so as we welcome the new year, we are asking you to continue caring for our shul and our new Capital Fund, which will be our ongoing source of capital revenue as well as overall synagogue operations. It has been a delight to learn at the knees of Margaret Harvey and David Gittelman, the co-chairs of our successful capital project. Both have agreed to continue efforts with our Sustainability Chevra to raise tzedakah for this wonderful place, especially through our capital fund, moving forward. We hope you will join us.

Maybe we come to services during the High Holy Days because we all yearn for time for self-reflection and space to think about how we can live a life of chesed and be sealed in the Book of Life. It feels a little less scary when I think that chesed and tzedakah are ways into the book.

We have a saying here at Congregation Berith Sholom. We say: Be like Ruth Marinsky. Ruth Marinsky was a New York State employee whose legacy gift helped fund the restoration of our sanctuary and the acquisition of our solar panels, helped us keep a full-time rabbi, and has supported the ongoing operations of our synagogue for more than 20 years since her death. One person—each person—can make all the difference. We are forever in Ruth Marinsky’s debt. And you, too, can Be Like Ruth Marinsky. Please consider becoming a part of our Life & Legacy program. Let’s talk and become Closer to Fine together.

A zis gebentsht yor.