Reflections - Congregation Agudas Achim

Reflections…by Bruce Levine

       In this week’s Parsha, Vayeitzei, Jacob leaves his hometown Be'er Sheva and journeys to Haran. On the way, he encounters "the place" and sleeps there, dreaming of a ladder connecting heaven and earth, with angels climbing and descending on it; G-d appears and promises that the land upon which he lies will be given to his descendents. In the morning, Jacob raises the stone on which he laid his head as an altar and monument, pledging that it will be made the house of G-d.
       In Haran, Jacob stays with and works for his uncle Laban, tending Laban's sheep. Laban agrees to give him his younger daughter Rachel -- whom Jacob loves -- in marriage, in return for seven years' labor. But on the wedding night, Laban gives him his elder daughter, Leah, instead -- a deception Jacob discovers only in the morning. Jacob marries Rachel, too, a week later, after agreeing to work another seven years for Laban.
       Leah gives birth to six sons and a daughter, while Rachel remains barren. Rachel gives Jacob her handmaid, as a wife to bear children in her stead, and two more sons, Dan and Naphtali, are born. Leah does the same with her handmaid who gives birth to two sons. Finally, Rachel's prayers are answered and she gives birth to Joseph.
       Jacob has now been in Charan for fourteen years and wishes to return home, but Laban persuades him to remain, now offering him sheep in return for his labor. Jacob prospers, despite Laban's repeated attempts to swindle him. After six years, Jacob leaves Charan in stealth, fearing that Laban would prevent him from leaving with the family and property for which he labored. Laban pursues Jacob, but is warned by G-d in a dream not to harm him. Laban and Jacob make a pact on Mount Gal-Ed, attested to by a pile of stones, and Jacob proceeds to the Holy Land, where he is met by angels.
       There are many twists and turns for Jacob in this week’s parsha. Each twist and each turn requires that Jacob make a decision about what to do next. This week’s parsha also has Jacob encountering Angels at different points in time. These are at times that Jacob must make a life altering or crucial decision. As I was researching this D’Var torah I came across the writing of Rabbi Lewis Eron who talked about the following.
      What does it mean to meet an angel? The word "angel" comes from the Greek word for "messenger" and is used to translate the Hebrew word "malach," which bears a similar meaning. To meet an angel, then, means to encounter a messenger and since we use the word in a religious and spiritual context, an angel is a messenger of God. As we can see in the stories of Jacob, the message that angels bring to us is that there is a spiritual dimension to the choices we make in our lives.
      Jacob had an uncanny ability to meet angels at the crucial, turning points in his life. Three times in Jacob's life, an encounter with angels confirms the spiritual dimension of a life-changing decision he has made. The first two appear in this week's Torah portion, Vayetzey, and the third, in next week's, Vayishlah.
       Jacob's first encounter with angels takes place after he decides to escape his brother Esau's anger by fleeing from his home in Beersheva to his mother Rebecca's birthplace, Haran in Syria. One night on the way, he has a dream in which he envisions a staircase connecting earth to heaven with angels climbing up and descending. There, at a place he called Beth-El, the House of God, Jacob understands his dream-experience as an expression of his hope that God would be with him on his journey.
      The second encounter takes place decades later on his return to the Land of Israel from Haran. After making a peace treaty with his father-in-law, Laban, and sharing blessings and best wishes, Jacob is met by a band of angels encamped just outside the Holy Land. Jacob names this meeting place "Machanaim," literally meaning "Two Camps", perhaps referring to the twin encampments of his family and the band of angels. This peaceful encounter reflects Jacob's state of mind after he has resolved a long series of disputes with Laban and gained Laban's acceptance of him as his peer.
Jacob experienced Angels in his life at life changing and crucial decision times. The works that I read as part of my preparation of this D’Var torah indicate that Jacob’s experiences with Angels reveal a spiritual dimension in his decision making process. According to what I’ve read, Angels didn’t give Jacob advice or tell him what to do, but they created an environment for him to be able to make a decision.
       To me, this is significant because I’m sure many of us experienced the mind block that comes with having to make a difficult or life changing decision, only to have the decision become clear for a reason that may not be readily apparent; like all of a sudden the “light goes on” or we can “see through the forest”.   If we allow for a second that if Angels have a hand in creating the environment for us to make tough decisions and that since Angels are messengers of god, then doesn’t that mean, by extension, that g-d doesn’t have a hand in what or why we decide to do certain things, but has a hand more in how we decide. The ownership of what or why we do things is ours. Blaming someone else, or g-d for that matter, for what we’ve decided is denying our responsibility for the choices we make.
       As a group, we have an awesome responsibility as Trustees of our synagogue community. Our decisions as leaders shape how we are perceived within our Agudas Achim community as well as to the outside world. I know we all take this responsibility seriously. As we move forward with our collective work on welcoming, my hope is that the Angels that visit us will continue to create an environment that allows us to make decisions that best serve each of our members, new and old, and also allow us to make the best decisions for potential members.

Reflections…by Kim Bodemer
(from Rosh Hashanah presentation)

Good morning. I am honored to be standing here before you to share my thoughts and vision of education for our amazing community. I wanted to begin by telling you about an exchange I recently had with an Endodontist, a root canal specialist. I was taking my oldest daughter Rachel for a consultation and had to fill out lots of paperwork, including a health history, insurance information and employment information. I wrote that Brian worked in the Hazardous Waste Industry and that I was the Education Director for Congregation Agudas Achim. I handed in the paperwork and we waited to be called in to the office.

Once Rachel was situated in the chair and he looked over the paper work, he turned to me and said, "You know, I don’t speak Hebrew."

"Okay." I replied not sure what this had to do with Rachel’s tooth or where he was going with this conversation.

He continued, "I went to Hebrew School and I didn’t like it. I had a Bar Mitzvah and all but now I don’t remember anything."

"Oh." I answered thinking he really needed to get this off his chest.

"Do you belong to a synagogue now?" I asked.

"Yeah, but my wife takes care of all that stuff."

He then turned his attention back to Rachel’s tooth.

I’ve thought about this conversation often over the last month. It certainly isn’t the first time I’ve heard a story like this. I suppose I was just struck by how compelled he seemed to confess his lack of Judaic knowledge to me, especially in the context of me going to his office for his professional advice.

Over the last several decades, there seems to have been a disconnect between the education one received in Supplemental Hebrew School and living Jewishly as an adult. I can’t tell you the number of people in our own community who tell me stories of boredom at afternoon religious school, of not attending Hebrew School because that was something "boys did" and of turning away from Judaism because of its lack of relevance to their everyday lives. This is not unique to our community. When I was at the Eastside Festival in Providence a few weeks back, people who stopped by our table told the same stories of Hebrew School. It was a place where the meaning of the prayers didn’t matter as long as you could recite them - B’nai Mitzvah was the goal. The head of the Hebrew School was looked on as a disciplinarian and as this was often the Rabbi, the children feared him. Hebrew school was something to be tolerated and endured and often children left right after B’nai Mitzvah, often cutting themselves off from the synagogue and the Jewish community until they grew up and wanted to get married or it was time for their own children to begin Hebrew School.

The parents of these children often left the synagogue after their youngest child had become B’nai Mitzvah. They felt exhausted and worn out from the time they had spent fighting with their children about attending Hebrew School and felt like they needed and deserved a break. Some of our congregants spoke about their own experiences of returning to synagogue after a long absence and finally finding something here that nourished them.

I think about my own Jewish education and the path that has brought me to where I am today. I was an anomaly. I actually liked Hebrew School - not because of what I was learning necessarily but because I had the chance to see my friends. Tuesdays and Saturdays was our chance to reconnect with each other and catch up on each other’s lives. I did enjoy learning to read and write Hebrew. It seemed like I was unlocking a secret code of sorts.

My earliest memories of Shabbat are of my grandmother coming over for dinner. We would enjoy a delicious meal together and then eat the special treat my grandmother had brought in a brown bakery box tied with a string. After we ate, we would sit down together to watch Donny and Marie. Quite a lovely Shabbat.

As I got older, we often attended Friday night services as a family. My parents were very active in our synagogue with my Dad serving a couple of terms as president and my mother was the leader of the youth commission as well as being active with the sisterhood. My parents usually hosted the holidays and it was great fun having all of my cousins over for dinner. There were so many of us that we were warned before we sat down that we should use the bathroom because once everyone was seated, there was no way out.

After my Bat Mitzvah, I continued with my Jewish Studies at a Community Hebrew High School program. Here I was able to take a variety of classes such as Jewish Humor, Jewish Cooking, Politics, Calligraphy, Music and more. All sixteen of my Hebrew School classmates and I went through to confirmation in tenth grade. Many of us even continued through our senior year and graduated from the program.

I joined our synagogue youth group and became active in NFTY the Reform movement‘s youth group. The sisterhood and youth group partnered for various Tikkun Olam efforts such visiting the Veterans at the VA hospital. Being active in the youth group allowed me to learn more about the structure and meaning of the service as we wrote creative services for Regional Shabbatons. I fell in love with the upbeat and beautiful music of songwriters like Jeff Klepper and Debbie Friedman as we explored alternative music for services.

When attending Hofstra University in New York, I became active in Hillel. I learned more about planning programming and became more involved with Tikkun Olam projects. I attended services regularly and worked hard to convince the leader of Hillel, an Orthodox Rabbi, to let women play a larger role in services.

I had not planned on a career in Jewish education. My intention was to teach in the public schools. As luck would have it, I began teaching Sunday school at the same synagogue I had attended growing up to supplement the earnings from my "day job" as a Kindergarten teacher for the Chelsea Public Schools. I have been teaching in a Jewish setting ever since.

Now as a parent and Jewish educator I struggle with how best to pass on the richness of the Jewish tradition to my children and the children of Agudas Achim. Brian and I are very fortunate to live close to family. Our children have the opportunity to celebrate holidays with their grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends. We celebrate Shabbat weekly. On Friday nights the whole family looks forward to sharing a good meal and a special dessert, no brown bakery box though. Donny and Marie have been replaced by table talk of our week and we each take a turn recognizing something that we appreciate about each other. We often have family or friends, Jewish and not Jewish join with us to share our Shabbat meal. It is a time where we can just sit back and relax and enjoy each other.

But I wonder about the children who don’t live close to family. What about the families who are so busy with work, school and other scheduled activities that they find it difficult to find the time to sit down together for a meal? What about the parents who had the terrible Hebrew school experiences I spoke of earlier or didn’t attend Hebrew school at all and feel unqualified and nervous to bring ritual and Torah talk into their homes? How can we as a Kehillah Kedosha, a holy community, support and encourage all of these people? How can we reverse the idea that Jewish education is boring and irrelevant so that children, and teens and parents and seniors can find meaningful, enriching and relevant educational experiences here at Agudas Achim?

The challenge for Jewish educators is to re-evaluate and re-envision what religious education can be at the synagogue. By Jewish educators I mean all of us sitting in this room today. The vision statement of Agudas Achim says in part "By integrating religious, social, and educational programs, our goal is to enable every member to become a learner and every learner a teacher." Thus it is our collective responsibility to educate, not only the children in our community but ourselves as well.

I’d like to outline for you some ways I see us moving in this direction. First, by engaging students in interesting and hands-on experiences we can help to solidify their knowledge. This year, our faculty is undergoing a series of Professional Development programs focused on differentiating instruction. Basically, this means we understand and value that each person is made "B’tzelem Eloheim" - in God’s image and thus is unique. We hope to plan lessons that play to each individual’s strength while offering extra practice and support in areas that challenge. In doing so we hope to reinforce that we are all part of our kehillah - community with different talents to share and hope that each student feels successful and valued.

Second, we need to provide opportunities and the means for informal Jewish education both here at the synagogue and in the larger Jewish world. This past summer, I had the opportunity as part of a group of Reconstructionist Education directors to visit camp JRF the Reconstructionist Camp in the Pocono’s. I left for the trip feeling good about camp, after all I sent my daughter Rachel there for two summers. I came back feeling passionately that all of our children should have the opportunity to attend. Camp JRF is an amazing facility where kids can swim, go boating, do a ropes course, ride a zipline, camp out, tend a garden, care for animals, create quality artwork, play soccer and softball and basketball and volleyball and shoot archery, go mountain biking, learn salsa dancing and about 100 other things in a Jewish setting. It’s a place where kids wearing T-shirts like, "Bris Me, I’m Jewish" and "Chi Maintenance" don’t have to explain the humor. It’s a place where 200 kids sing and dance around the Shabbat tables on Friday nights. It’s a place where on Shabbat afternoon kids are hanging out by the lake and pool: swimming, reading, playing musical instruments, writing letters, playing games and talking and joking with their friends. It’s a place where for 3 ½ weeks out of a year children are immersed in Jewish life and being there for just one weekend was a transformative experience, one that I want to help make possible for all of Agudas Achim’s children.

Another example of the power of informal Jewish education is the Shabbat Retreat which happened last June at Franklin Pierce College in Rindge, New Hampshire. Eighty people attended and the melodious sounds of our community during Kabbalat Shabbat, listening to Scholar-in-Residence Rabbi Ira Stone, attending congregant led workshops, playing volleyball and Frisbee, blowing bubbles, and viewing the talents of our members was informal education at its best. We have already reserved Franklin Pierce and the sunshine for this coming June and we hope that even more members will take part.

Informal education for teens happens in many ways. Teens belong to the Youth Group Achim v’Achot and attend Regional Kallahs, they meet with the Rabbi for pizza and Torah Talk and they learn as part of our Madrichim program in the Religious School. In addition, Cathie Cruz has spearheaded a mother/daughter book group for children in grades 6-8. It is a wonderful forum for our "tweens" to stay connected and learn together.

To me the winning combination for education to be successful is a balance between formal and informal education. Formal education gives you the nuts and bolts of Judaism, the building blocks while informal education is how to make that learning work in the modern world.

Finally, I’d like to take a moment to talk about education for adults in the community. Again there are opportunities for formal education like: Hebrew Reading classes, Adult B’nai Mitzvah classes and Shabbat Practice Workshops. There are also opportunities for informal educational experiences for adults like: book discussion groups; Torah Study; attending a Pre-Holiday festival; participating in Shabbat B’Yachad at home, a program designed to help you bring the joy of Shabbat into your home or for you to visit a congregant’s home to enjoy Shabbat; participating in Mitzvah morning; or staffing the Soup Kitchen.

It is such a powerful model for children to see adults continuing to study and learn. We intentionally put our Adult Hebrew Class in the foyer on Sunday mornings so that the children walking by can see the adults engaged in study. It sends a powerful message: learning is a lifelong endeavor.

I am asking each of you to take your responsibility of teacher in this community seriously. The school committee has taken on the task of reviewing the content of the school curriculum this year. There are three parlor meetings set for later this fall. I am asking each one of you to attend one of these meetings. Even if you do not have a child in Hebrew School, especially if you don’t have a child in Hebrew school, your input and insight is valuable. If we work together perhaps we can change the perception of Jewish education from boring and irrelevant to exciting and engaging.

Brian, Rachel, Chelsea, Elaine and I wish each of you a happy, healthy and enriching new year.

Reflections…by Marc Adler

What do you call someone who:
Belonged to a Reform Temple for 20 years
Belongs to a Reconstructionist Temple and prays there once a week
Prays at a Conservative Temple twice a week
Davens with a Chassidic service once a week
Studies torah with a Chabbad Rabbi once a week

Reform
Conservative
Orthodox
Reconstructionist
All of the above
None of the above
Meshugannah

The correct answer is: A Jew

       Let me tell you about my Jewish journey. I was raised as a Conservative Jew. I went to Hebrew School and hated it. Grew up in a kosher house. My parents didn’t keep Shabbat although they did attend Friday night services regularly. We observed the major holidays. I got Bar Mitzvahed. Under parental pressure I went on to be confirmed.
       When I went to college, I didn’t keep kosher. I observed the holidays that I came home for.
       When I got married a year out of college, I went to Hillel for the high holidays and observed the holidays that I spent with my family or my wife’s family. I didn’t keep a kosher house, observe Shabbat or have any Temple affiliation.
       This pretty much continued until my daughter was born about 10 years later. At this point we joined a very Reform Temple in Illinois and enjoyed a Chavarah group we belonged to. Soon after that we moved to Rhode Island where we joined the Reform Temple in Barrington which was the only Temple in town.
       I wasn’t active in the Reform Temple until I was asked to be an at large board member. At the first board meeting I noted to myself that this was the first time in many years I sat with a group of Jewish people working on a project. It was a nice feeling. Eventually I got more active in the Temple, made friends and felt comfortable. I became a regular participant in Friday night services. There were no Saturday services. Over time I got disenchanted with the lack of Ruach (spirit) at Friday night services. A number of members tried to activate the Ritual committee, which in the past was one person who gave out honors for the high holidays. We formed a Ritual committee to change Friday night services and gripe about things we didn’t like about the service and the Temple. Eventually we met with the Rabbi who wasn’t supportive of the changes we wanted to make.
       After one Friday night service I attended, The New Member Shabbat, I went home incredibly depressed. The service was a real downer. Attendance was poor, there was little Ruach, and to me this was no way to greet new members. I decided I couldn’t go back and had to look for a new place to worship.
       This led me to Agudas Achim where I saw a lot of energy and spirit at the Friday night service lead by Rabbi Elyse. This seemed like the opposite of what I had encountered in Barrington.
       But my journey didn’t end there.
       Two other events were to have a major impact on my Jewish Journey, the death of my father, and my daughter Rachel’s Jewish Journey.
       My daughter Rachel was one of those kids who actually liked Hebrew School. She liked religious studies, liked studying Hebrew; in high school she joined the Temple Youth group and became very active. She made lots of friends in the Regional Nefty youth group attending every event she could. She eventually spent the second half of her senior high school year in Israel at the Reform movement’s EIE School in Jerusalem and had an incredible experience.
       Rachel went to UPenn in Philadelphia when she graduated. I had been warned by several Hillel directors that UPenn had a large group of Orthodox students And that Rachel might not be happy there. When Rachel arrived she immediately got involved in leading the Reform services on Friday night. But she found out that on Saturdays there were no Reform services so she attended the Conservative ones. Over time she befriended Conservative and Orthodox students who seemed to make Judaism an important part of their lives. When Rachel came home for December vacation she told us she was keeping kosher and was Shomar Shabbos. This meant she would only eat kosher food, would not drive on Shabbos, do any sort of work, and turn on lights and all the other things that go along with Shomar Shabbos.
       Janice and I immediately decided we would make our house kosher so that Rachel could come home and eat. Since both of us had grown up in kosher homes, it didn’t’ really seem like a big deal. So we went out and bought two new sets of dishes and got them toveled. This toveling was new to us. It meant taking the dishes to the local Mikvah in Providence, dipping them in water and saying some prayers. We of course had to clean out our kitchen and buy food that had heckshers (those symbols on the food that told you some Orthodox Rabbi’s had ok’d the kosher-ness of the food. Janice and I had a few arguments after I would mess up the system, but over time we got it straight. So what would Rachel do when she was in Rhode Island on Shabbat? She couldn’t stay in our home since we were not in walking distance to an Orthodox Temple and we turned on lights on Shabbat.
       We contacted some Orthodox friends of ours Russell and Divorah Raskin. They offered to house Rachel for Shabbat. We’ve had Shabbat dinners at the Raskins over the years. The Raskins have many children and are a Black Hat family. They are a warm and welcoming family and always have guests at their Shabbat meals usually bringing the total number of people including their kids to 20 or more.
       Providence is a small community and everyone in the Orthodox community knows everyone else. Soon Rachel was invited to many other homes for either Friday night dinner, Saturday dinner or to sleep over. We found the families to be very welcoming and they seemed to enjoy having Rachel .
       Janice and I would drop Rachel off at homes of people who were complete strangers to us and lived a very different life style. I would usually pick Rachel up on Saturday night after Shabbos was over. I would go in and talk with the families a little bit and thank them for housing Rachel.
       I really felt a debt to these people who would feed and house Rachel every Shabbat she was in Rhode Island. So when I had the opportunity to help the Orthodox community I would do it. This meant attending the annual Providence Hebrew Day School Silent Auction and buying tickets, attending the New England Academy of Torah annual dinner where an Orthodox friend was honored.
       I would also attend the Kollel community Shabbat dinners at the JCC in Providence. Over time I got to know a lot of the Orthodox families in Providence. And when I went to these events I mentioned, I would be one of only a handful of non-orthodox Jews to attend. I was always warmly greeted even though I wasn’t a member of the Orthodox community. I think they appreciated that I didn’t’ have to support their community, but was one of the few non-orthodox that did. I got a view into the Orthodox world that most others didn’t.
       My father died in December of 2005. My parents were members of Temple Emanual in Providence, the big Conservative Temple. We had the funeral at the Max Sugerman Funeral Home in Providence. David Yahvner and other members of the Orthodox community made sure that someone was saying prayers next to my father’s body from the time he got to the funeral home to the time of the funeral. I was very moved at the burial when David and my friend Fishel Bressler personally finished all the shoveling of the dirt until the grave was filled.
       Regarding the morning minyan during the Shiva period, the Providence Kollel Rabbi’s offered to take charge. They brought a Torah to my mother’s home and made sure we had a minyan every morning. All these men from the Orthodox community who I’d never met were coming to the home every morning to make sure we had a minyan.
       And during the day many people who I barely knew came to the home to offer their condolences. Some who I had never met before. Rabbi Lipson and his wife from the Providence Yeshivah, Rabbi Schneiderman and his wife from the Providence Hebrew day school to name few. The Felder family who was one of Rachel’s favorite homes to spend Shabbat at was unbelievable. Mrs. Felder made several meals for us. Her son and husband attended every morning minyan. She visited us in the afternoon. And I barely knew these people. The Kollel Rabbi’s wives made meals and visited us.
       After the Shiva period I attended morning minyan at Temple Emanual daily. This had been the morning minyan my father had attended daily.   I learned to put on Tefillan and struggled with the morning service eventually learning to lead part of the service.
       Over time I befriended some of the daveners and eventually became an old-timer.
I actually felt comfortable there.
       When my 11 months were over, Rabbi Kaunfer asked me if I would keep attending and gives a ride to Temple once a week to Morris Gassfruend, a 92 year old davener who couldn’t drive. I said, sure and I continue to daven there every Wednesday and Sunday. I feel an obligation to help out Emanual make a minyan since they were there when I needed one.
       For the first month I said Kaddish after my father’s death I would attend morning afternoon/evening services. Afternoon services I began attending at Chabbad House on Hope Street in Providence. This service was a real stretch for me. I had never attended daily afternoon/evening services before. And these were all pro’s when it came to Davening. They went pretty quickly and they new what they were doing.
       When I walked into the place I saw the first floor of a 3 family tenement building that had been made into a shul. The ark and bimah were up front. There were long banquet tables set up with chairs around them. This is where people would sit and pray from. The place struck me as the kind of place my grandfather and great grandfather would have Davened in when they came to Providence 100 years ago. It was all men. There was a Mechitzah. Amazingly it didn’t take me long to get comfortable. I befriended a guy by the name of Noah Schwartz who helped me with the service and prayer book, tell me when to say Kaddish, and made me feel at home. Rabbi Laufer is a real character. It’s hard not to like him. He’s very warm and welcoming. He wears many hats including taxi driver picking up people for the daily minyan, cook (he cooks Shabbat dinner), and social worker helping Jews who fall through the cracks of the welfare system. Eventually when I went there in the afternoons seeing familiar faces. It was kind of like the TV show Cheers where everyone knows your face. Chabbad draws an interesting mix of people to their minyans, everything from blind and disabled Jews, to professors, doctors, retailers, Sephadic, Askenazik, students, visiting Yeshiva boys from Crown Heights to name a few.
       I got to learn a lot about Chabbad from the Dvar Torahs Rabbi Laufer would give between Michah and Maariv services. I got to know and respect Rabbi Laufer and his sons who are practicing Chabbad Rabbi’s in other parts of Rhode Island. I’ve helped his son Moshe in Barrington and study the Shulhan Aruch with him every Shabbat afternoon at his home in Barrington. I’ve attended his son’s Bris and played music along with Bruce Ganek at his first Sukkoth celebration. Last Chanukah Bruce, Brien Bodermer, Brian Brothmen and I provided music for the Providence Chabbad Chanukah party. It was fun.
       So what have I learned from my continuing Journey? That each form of Judiasm has something in it that I like and am attracted to, and that I don’t fit in one box.
       Reform Judiasm has given us some great music. It is very strong in outreach to interfaith families and in social action.
       Reconstructionism is also strong in social action and outreach, is warm and welcoming, and its liturgy is closer to my liking.
       I enjoy the traditional Conservative morning minyan and like to lead the service. I enjoy participating in the Torah Service during the week. And I feel I’m doing something important by helping to make a morning minyan for mourners.
       The Providence Orthodox community excels at taking care of their own in times of need. They live Jewish lives 24/7, put a big premium on their children’s Jewish education, don’t worry much about Jewish continuity in their families and enjoy and practice many traditions that other branches have lost. I feel at home Davening with Providence Chabbad and enjoy the camaraderie of the men I meet there.
       I think it’s important as Reconstructionist Jews that we remain respectful of the other branches of Judiasm. I’ve learned that they all have something to teach us.

Reflections…by Deb Oster

Monday, April 16, 2007: This week’s parsha is called Tazria, from Leviticus. It deals with rituals of purification for mothers following childbirth, and the different rules that apply when a baby girl is born and a baby boy is born. This parsha also tells of God’s instructions to Moses and Aaron concerning how to identify those in society with skin aliments (commonly assumed to be leprosy) and what the response to those persons should be.

Clean vs. unclean, pure vs. impure. How should the priests treat those who are impure? Why do the priests call for separating those with ailments from the rest of the population?

Ok, so that’s about as far as I got before I learned of the horrific events of today at Virginia Tech. I am struck practically speechless and my brain can no longer ponder the questions of who should be separated from society due to reasons of impurity or uncleanness. Who cares, really?

I want to know what is wrong with the world.

I can’t stop thinking of the pain and anguish of this morning, of the overwhelming terror that must have been felt by the students. Young adults at college. Still children in the eyes of their parents. Learning to make their way in the world. I am aware that I feel this tragedy so deeply and personally because my own sons are at this same juncture in life, two of them attending college and living on campuses away from home. I can barely stand to imagine the horror the parents face, and the horror that will live forever in those who survived.

"I got on the ground and I was just thinking, like, there’s no way I’m going to survive this," student Trey Perkins told MSNBC. "All I could keep thinking of was my mom.," he said. His words give me chills and break my heart. But at least he is alive to speak them.

As of this moment, there is no word on the identity of the shooter or what his motive might have been. Who was he and why did he do this? I keep asking myself… how? How could someone kill so many innocent people…. what goes on in the mind of someone so intent to harm others and then himself? His actions can surely be compared to the suicide bombers we hear so much of in the Middle East. But at least we know the motive behind suicide bombings.

We all know what will happen next. For the next few days, or even weeks, the media will be covering every possible angle of this story. We will shake our heads in horror, we will all know that this was the worst shooting incident in US history, and we will be reminded of all the other horrific, tragic school shootings. When the killer’s identity is made public, the media will scrutinize every aspect of his life trying to determine what led up to this event. Witnesses will recount for the cameras the very horror they faced, in as much detail as they can relate.

And everyone with an agenda will use this tragedy as a way to be heard: Too much violence on TV, in movies, and in music; lack of gun control; too much gun control, overuse of anti-depressant medication, not enough use of antidepressant medication. The Internet is already deluged with these types of commentaries.

And we will watch, many of us mesmerized. There will be no escaping it, short of rejecting every pervasive form of media in our lives.

And we will continue to ask the questions for which there seem to be no answers. And yet, very soon we will go back to the routine of our lives, touched once again by a tragedy of enormous magnitude, but otherwise changed little. Have we become accustomed to these moments in time where unspeakable tragedy occurs and we pause to look, to imagine the unimaginable, and then continue on? What else can we do, what should we do?

How does Judaism teach us to deal with moments like these? What practices or teachings give meaning and clarity to events such as this? I spent a good deal of time this afternoon trying to find answers in the words and teachings of rabbis and scholars. Lots have been written about what to do after tragedy strikes: how to grieve, how to move on, how to cope, even why bad things happen to good people. But those weren’t the answers I was seeking. I want to know how to understand and how to make it more than another horrific tragedy that we move past, waiting till the next time tragedy strikes. And I want to know how to make it stop.

Reflections…by Susan Bradie

IMAGES OF ISRAEL

When I taught language arts to seventh graders, one of my favorite units was the one on poetry. We read poems, wrote poems, analyzed them. But the one thing my students enjoyed the most was going on a treasure hunt to find poetic figures of speech. They hunted for similes, metaphors, personification, hyperbole. But what they had the most difficulty grasping was the image, words which appeal to the senses: sight, smell, sound, taste, and touch. I attributed their difficulty to the fact that seventh graders are concrete, not conceptual thinkers. Now I realize that I could have easily taught that concept to them by taking them on a field trip, to Israel.

The problem with writing about the images of Israel is not having little to say, but too much. How to pick one image of sight, one of smell, one of sound, etc. However, here is my attempt to identify my memories of Israel within the definition of an image.

I’ll begin with sight. There are so many images of sight in my memory; it is difficult to pick one. So I’ll eliminate the image of our bus going up the hill, rounding a curve and my seeing Jerusalem for the first time. And then there is the image of the maktesh at Mitzpeh Ramon: a crater 40 km long, 2-10 km wide and 500m deep. And how could I forget the Jordanian hills on the other side of the highway near Kibbutz Eliot, as the hills turned purple in the setting sun. However, the sight that I keep coming back to is Zefat, an old city in the north once inhabited by Jewish mystics and now full of local artisans. I can close my eyes and see the cobblestone alleyways, shiny and slick with rain, the shops full of beautiful artwork, the stairways of a city built on a hill, and the mystical sense of the place at dusk.

Next image – smell. Before I went to Israel, friends had described the beautiful scent of the flowers in bloom, and while there were some flowers blossoming, it was still too early to be overwhelmed by their perfume. I could describe the smell of the fish farms as we took a walk from Kibbutz Eilot into Eilat, but then I’d have to distinguish between a smell and a stink. I do remember a perfume, however, one we used during the Havdalah service on our last night in Jerusalem. I remember it not because it was a particularly beautiful scent, but because of what was happening as it was passed around. Here we were, saying farewell to Shabbat with a Havdalah service in the middle of the King Solomon Hotel lobby, with a sense of comfort I had only felt in a synagogue.

It is easy to find images of sound in Israel, because Israel is a noisy country. There were the sounds of a variety of services at Robinson’s Arch in Jerusalem, where we had our Thursday morning Shacharit services. The sounds of drums, shofar blowing, other congregations’ davening, each at a different part of the service, a cacophony of sound. Then there was the sound of the wind whistling through the Ramon crater, coupled with the flapping of the two rabbis’ tallitot as they led Shacharit services on our first morning in Israel. However, as with the other memories, there is one sound that stays with me, and that is the sound of Kabbalat Shabbat at Kol Haneshama, a reform synagogue in Jerusalem. Their music, so full of ruach, still echoes in my head. To be able to reproduce that sound here would be wonderful, and so I’ve ordered the CD with the hope that the choir might learn some of the melodies.

Now to taste. Falafel stands, eggplant at least once a day, hummus, ice cream that is both light and creamy at the same time. But what I remember most are the foods at breakfast. Think of a plate of chopped tomatoes and cucumbers, crisp and juicy, covered with a creamy, slightly tart cheese called labneh that has the consistency of light sour cream. Or those same vegetables with Bulgarian cheese, a product similar to feta but not as salty. And if you top that with slices of hard boiled egg, it is close to heaven. I did try to duplicate the dish with tomatoes and cucumbers from our local Stop N Shop, but it didn’t even come close.

Finally there is the sense of touch. I can only think of one experience, our morning service at Robinson’s Arch. This place is actually on the other side of the Western Wall. Thanks to a Supreme Court decision, this is an area where men and woman can worship together. At the end of the service, we could write our notes and put them in the cracks of the Western Wall, albeit on the other side. Taking a few moments to place the note, to put my hand on the cold stones, to wonder what these stones had witnessed, is a feeling I will always carry with me.

So there are my images. I’m sure each person who traveled with me could add to my list. Finally, I’d like to argue that there should be a sixth sense added to the definition I taught, and that is one of emotion. Israel has changed for me. Before the trip, Israel was a place in the prayer book, a place I supported because I felt as a Jew I had to. Now Israel reminds me of my Aunt Becky. She was a rather bizarre woman. She worked in a local department store, sold women’s clothing and had a great fashion sense. However, I will always remember the bright red lipstick she wore spread over her lips and beyond, and her spiked heels that she could barely walk on, and those cinch belts she wore around the waist that she was so proud of. And then there were the green blintzes she made, but that is another story. My point is I loved her in spite of her oddities, her mishegas. And that is how I feel about Israel. I may not agree with some of the things that go on in the country: the place of women in the Orthodox community, the wall around some of the Arab towns in the West Bank, the number of people carrying guns. I may not agree with some of what I saw, but I understand the decisions that are being made. Because of "walking" the length and breadth of the land, in spite of the country’s mishegas, I love it. I would encourage everyone at some point in their lives, to take the opportunity to go to Israel. Once you go there, you will understand and love the country in a way you never thought possible. If a trip in two or three years becomes a reality, grab the opportunity to travel there. I know that Gerry and I will be traveling with you.

Reflections…by Barbara Rubinstein

According to my late father, I am an awful Jewess. He said it because I could not tolerate the umpteenth playing of "Fiddler on the Roof," one of the few Broadway productions he didn't sleep through! I saw it with its original cast (Mostel was sick and had a stand in, but still...), which gives you an idea of how old I am.! Still, Dad had a point. I am not "observant," at least as the Orthodox and Conservatives would have it. I don't keep Kosher inside or outside the house; I don't light the candles on Shabbat (who needs candles when you are eating take out Chinese?); and I am rarely at services. After a tough week at work, I collapse and sleep late on Saturday morning. Some Jewess, huh? However, I observe the major, and some minor, holidays. More importantly, I try to honor the several hundred mitzvehs that G-d enjoined us to obey. I couldn't begin to list them all. Thus, I try to live a life that honors Torah: I am respectful of my fellow humans; I do unto others...; I am grateful for every day I have and all the blessings I have received. This is not to say that I don't carp and complain, just that I am grateful that I CAN carp and complain. To kvetch is to live! I have had fantasies about my late parents kvetching through eternity, but that is a different subject!

Certainly being brought up as a Jew has influenced me. But all I need do is look at my son. He was brought up as a Jew, Bar Mitzvah'ed, schooled in Hebrew (to a limited extent), and even went to a "Jewish" camp, Ramah NE. Today he scorns his heritage, maintains that he is something (he has never gotten around to defining it), and always looks down on my celebrations. However, for all his protestations I have noted some interesting facts: he is a vegetarian (he became one shortly AFTER he was bar mitzvah), which means he keeps Kosher; he is acutely aware of his fellows and is a leader in exploring new ways to accept different cultural/religious/historical backgrounds. [He lives in NM where he has been exposed to both Mexican and various Indian cultures. I can think of nothing more Jewish than an acceptance of differences]; and he too treats others as he would like to be treated. He is teaching others, through example, and by contract. He has a small press and has contracted to teach a group of h.s. students how to do layouts, etc. for their literary magazine. He is a Jew! His sister, who was not bat mitzvah (her choice), because of her learning disability [don't waste your time in sympathy; the kid graduated magna cum laude from Simmons!] is more aware of her heritage but is non-observant to the max. However, she too, still shows some signs of trying to obey the mitzvehs, at least on a grand scale. She is concerned that she treat all employees fairly; she, too, is cognizant of educational/cultural/racial differences. She maintains a delicate balance. How Jewish!

I have only recently come to realize that we (Jews) are not a biblical people. In truth, we are followers of Talmud, that wonderful, ever growing, interpretation of the bible, and the Commandments. This is as it should be. Much like the American Constitution, the Bible must be studied and its precepts adapted to the here and now, always allowing for its sanctity. Thus, when I eat trafe (which, as it happens, is rare), I can take comfort in some sage having noted that "the real sin of eating trafe is not enjoying it." [I have no idea who said it, nor what tractate.]

Despite my father's opinion, or my laziness, I am, and always will be, a Jew. [According to Dad that should be Jewess but times have changed.] How wonderful to know that I am part of a community, no matter what! I revel in my identity.

Barbara Rubinstein

Reflections…by Jacki Hecht

In this section of the torah, titled Lech Lecha, G-d spoke to Abraham and said: "Go you from your land, from your birthplace and from your father's house, to the land which I will show you." This command for Abraham to leave his home and familiar territory to travel to an unknown land could represent the value of continuing to seek and spread wisdom and holiness in new and foreign situations.

As many of you know, I left last Friday for Botswana, Africa, to help train healthcare workers and trainers on how to address alcohol use with their patients. Despite the fact that Botswana has a relatively stable democratic government and budding economy, Botswana has one of the highest rates of HIV, with upwards of 30% of the population affected. The high rates of HIV, combined with widespread poverty, leave the country with roughly 60% of the population under the age of 24. Excessive use of alcohol is commonplace in Botswana, and is widely recognized as a major risk factor for HIV infection.

When I was first invited to be a part of this training team back in July, I had no hesitation. My desire to contribute to this international effort, while learning more about this pandemic health crisis was salient. However, as the weeks progressed, and the death toll in Iraq continued to escalate, I began having feelings of doubt. "Where was I going, and will I be safe? What if I get sick while I’m away, is their healthcare system reliable?" While I often have skeptical feelings when I travel away from my family, the long distance seemed to magnify my worries.

To counter my anxiety over the uncertainty, I turned my thoughts to the known facts; we are divinely privileged in the United States, as we have access to information, resources, technology and new medical advances that enhance our overall well being. While I get to share information and resources in my everyday work as a counselor at the Weight Control and Diabetes Research Center at The Miriam Hospital, I would now have an opportunity to bring this to an area that is so greatly in need. In exchange, I would have the unique opportunity to learn more about other ways of life and get to see a very different part of the world.

So in some ways, I connect my travel to this past week’s torah portion in which G-d commands Abraham to leave his home, and in exchange, G-d promises "I will make of you a great nation; I will bless you and make great your name and all families of the earth will be blessed by you..." I take this command to be a humble request of us all; that we may all feel empowered to go outside our comfort level to meet people of different backgrounds, and share our genuine selves with others, in hopes that we may invite them to do the same. And perhaps if we focused more on reaching out to others, focusing more on our similar desires vs. our differences, with the expectation that our kindness will beget kindness in return, we may little by little lessen the fear of terror and move toward a more benevolent way of life.

I wish you a productive, and time efficient meeting, and look forward to connecting with all of you when I return.

Warm wishes and blessings, Jacki

Reflections … One New Convert Shares her Thoughts
by Yelena Gordon
(Yelena converted to Judaism on May 17, 2006)

       A few years ago, I realized that I did not feel connected to the religion I had been raise with, because I grew up in a family that was not religious in any way. After I met my husband who is a wonderful Jewish man, I started to think a lot about his religion. I was thinking about how great it would be to share a similar religion and make our family religiously united.
       At this time, I started to read about Judaism, and the more I read the more I was feeling that this could be the right religion for me. I know that at this time I have made the decision of joining Jewish people. Conversion is a personal decision. I am very happy and I feel so very comfortable with my decision.
        My research put me in touch with many wonderful people. Thanks a lot to Rabbi Elyse for spending time with me and giving me a lot of great information. I would also like to thank everyone at Congregation Agudas Achim for welcoming us and making us feel a part of this family where I also learned many things. Of course, I want to thank my husband Peter who supported me through my journey to becoming Jewish; who was by my side day after day.
        Part of converting is study. Through my studies, I have learned a lot about history, culture, rituals, holidays and traditions. I discovered a lot of new great things for myself. I love everything about Judaism. I love the beauty of Jewish rituals, the Jewish holidays and the Jewish traditions.  Moreover, most of all I admire the brave history of the Jewish people. It is amazing that throughout history, we survived and we always were as one nation even for 2000 years without a national homeland.
        In one book I read, “Becoming Jewish means that Israel belongs to you, just as the Torah and Shabbat belong to you.” I care about Israel a lot. The Jewish people never gave up hope that we would someday return to our home in Israel. Let us never give up hope for the best future for Israel. Let us support Israel.   Israel is much more than a tiny piece of land in the Middle East. Israel is living proof that the Jewish people have survived, against all odds, and will continue to survive because this is the heart of Jewish people, which will never stop.
       People choose to become Jewish for many different reasons. Some come to Judaism after a long spiritual search. Many people convert because of a romantic relationship with someone Jewish. I was asking myself many times would I be converting if I had not met my husband? Meeting him gave me the reason I got into my studying. Yes, he introduced me to Judaism. But I know that I did not convert for him or for somebody else. I converted for me. Judaism is not just a religion. It is a very special way to live and look at life itself. Through my journey to becoming Jewish, I discovered the most important thing for myself: how to live and enjoy every second of life, and every day thank G-d for everything I have in my life. All this time I have been waiting to find the right way to live with the right religion for me. And I did. I found it.

Reflections…by David Nerenberg

RECONSTRUCTIONISTS, ISRAEL, AND YOU

       During Passover we reflect on our historical connection to the Jewish people and our future destiny in our own land - Israel. As a member of the Reconstructionist movement, Agudas Achim is connected and represented in the wider Jewish world, particular on issues related to Israel.
       As you are probably aware, for the first time this year the Reconstructionist movement put forward its own slate of delegates for election to the World Zionist Congress, a unique, democratically elected gathering of Jews from around the world. Our slate garnered over 1,000 votes and will be sending two voting delegates (out of 145 from the US) and four non-voting alternates to the June 19-22 Congress in Jerusalem. For the first time, the Reconstructionist Jewish community will have a visible presence on the world Zionist scene.
       Our connection to Israel is strengthened by events such as the Yom Iyyun that took place in November in West Roxbury and the upcoming New England Shabbaton May 5-7 hosted by the Jewish Community of Amherst, the Reconstructionist congregation in Amherst. Both of these events focus on our relationship to Israel and result from our synagogue’s active membership and participation in the Jewish Reconstructionist Federation (JRF), which is the membership organization for Reconstructionist synagogues and havurot.
       JRF is exploring the creation of an Israel program for our teens as part of our ongoing work with Camp JRF and Noar Hadash, the Reconstructionist youth movement.
       The Agudas Achim community has already registered 12 campers for Camp JRF this summer and these children will strengthen their connection to Israel through innovative programs and exposure to Israeli staff.
       The Reconstructionist commitment to Israel has been recognized - a delegation of Knesset members and Israeli academic legal experts will be meeting with our movement leaders in May as part of an effort to move forward on an Israeli constitution. Our Reconstructionist identity also opens doors for Agudas Achim as we explore options for a family trip to Israel next year, connecting us to our movement’s representatives in Israel and allowing us to call on our movement’s leaders and educators for assistance in developing a meaningful program.
       Israel holds a central place in the Jewish mind and spirit. Our community’s connection to Israel is enhanced and actualized by our involvement in the Reconstructionist movement.
       I hope to see many of you at the May Shabbaton in Amherst. For more information and to register, please visit the NE Region Shabbaton section of the JRF website: www.JRF.org.

Reflections...by Brian Bodemer

When Rabbi Elyse asked my to talk about the Jewish journey I have taken that has led me here today, I was both honored and humbled by her request. One the one hand I do not feel at all qualified to speak about my religious experiences, when for most of my life I have been trying to avoid the topic due to lack of interest. As I have become more involved in this community however, I have come to realize and truly appreciate the level of insight and intellect, both religiously and spiritually, that the congregants here at Agudas Achim provide. I unfortunately do not possess this knowledge. Yet I am compelled by the spirit of this holiday to reflect upon "the road less traveled" and I realize that my journey has gained momentum, purpose, and meaning. It is for this reason that I feel a true sense of relevance to my story of how my non-Jewish past has become my very Jewish present.

In order to gain an accurate perspective on my religious life up to now, I would have to go back to my birth in 1967. My parents were barely 20 years old at the time, and had left the college where they had met in order to start a family. I was born three weeks early, but have been late for every single appointment since then-just to try to even things out. My slightly premature birth, according to my mother, was the root cause of my digestive problems. Every story my parents can recollect in my early years of life-including my baptism-involves getting sick and/or screaming at the top of my lungs the entire time.

My mothers' parents were overseas when I was born, and my fathers' parents couldn't help either. Of course there were the immediate financial concerns as well that had to be addressed. As a result, these hardships and self-perceived failures they endured early on caused them to withdraw and become isolated from the world. My mother recalls how completely isolated she felt living in Wenham, as my father went to work and she was at home all day with me-and no car. But my mother did the best she could under the circumstances-she kept house while my father became quickly immersed in his career. He succeeded in moving up the ranks as a well respected salesman selling housekeeping contracts to hospitals. They did a perfectly good job doing it all. But they did it alone. They never relied upon or searched for outside support, guidance or friendship from their community. As a result of his promotions, my father was required to move the family around to different locations, which became easy for us, since we never really connected with communities along the way. My lack of interaction with people in my formative years caused me to be painfully shy and generally uncomfortable in social situations-sometimes even to this day.

I do remember my parents trying to get involved in a church later on in my childhood. I firmly believe that it was their intent to provide a solid Christian upbringing for my sister and I. I don't even know what Christian denomination my parents were raised with, but I don't think it mattered much-as long as they could find a church they liked. Unfortunately, I think the moving around prevented them from accomplishing this.

I remember my first contact with someone Jewish as a child. Her name was Amy Lesberg-she was my age and she lived down the street from us in Mansfield. The only thing that I knew about being Jewish at that point was that she and her family didn't celebrate Christmas. For my entire childhood I felt so badly for Jews everywhere.

Missing out on the material joys of Christmas was just something I couldn't imagine.
I also remember thinking that being in a church was strict enough-with the absolute silence and uncomfortable pews. My only conclusion at that age was that being Jewish meant that you were super-strict, and that conditions during a service amounted to nothing less than pure torture.

As my sister and I grew older however, my parents became more determined to find and attend church regularly. We lived in Sharon for a short time while I was in the fifth grade, and we started attending the Protestant church in the center of town. I learned quickly that services were one hour long, and it was just a matter of getting through that hour. The simple logic I had for going to church was that God would be happy if I went, and disappointed if I didn't. I think I really missed the point of going completely when I was encouraging my parents to go to church-only because we had had an attendance run of 6 Sundays in a row and I didn't want to see the streak end.

Living in Sharon gave me an interesting, although brief, glimpse into life in a Jewish community. Most of the kids in my fifth grade class were Jewish-my fifth grade teacher was not. She thought it would be a great idea to have an Easter egg hunt in our classroom. So between myself and the only two other non-Jewish kids who participated in our class, we split the largest haul of Easter egg chocolate in history.
We moved to Wrentham shortly thereafter in 1978 and stayed put for awhile.

Wrentham at that time was a very tight knit community and I felt like the "new kid" in school for a long time. Again my parents searched for a church, and found the Protestant church in town suitable. We actually became members and I got involved in the youth fellowship group. This time period proved to be the most productive for me. We talked about God in ways I could understand, instead of the God referred to in sermons or in the Bible. I went through confirmation classes there and my sister was also baptized there during this time. My formal Christian education had been completed, but the whole experience was not significant for me. It was not the case that I questioned my Christianity at the time, but it didn't feel like I had satisfied a need, since that need wasn't there to begin with.

We moved to Pittsburgh near the end of my Freshman year of high school in the spring of 1982. We lived there for about 18 months and then moved back into the same house in Wrentham to finish out my last two years of high school. I think we attended church in Pittsburgh, but I have no recollection of it. We returned to the church where I had been confirmed only to find a different Pastor and that was pretty much the end of our activities there. At the end of my Senior year of high school, I actually dated a girl briefly who was a born again Baptist. She and her family took me to their church quite a bit and I really did not feel comfortable there at all-so that relationship didn't last long.

I left home for college in 1985. I didn't go far geographically-just down to Bridgewater State-but it may as well have been a thousand miles away from home. I met such a wide variety of people there. I dated a girl there who didn't make my parents approval list-this was very cool for me at the time. I also had a roommate whom my father suspected was gay. I had no reason to believe he was and quite frankly I didn't care. I figured out early on that if the things I was doing at college were driving my parents crazy, I was just going to keep doing them. I knew that the largely negative response I received from my parents during my college years was only out of genuine concern for my education. Yet I couldn't ignore the opportunities I had there to enrich and expand myself. To this day I don't regret anything that happened to me away at school. The good things and the bad things that happened to me only served to better prepare me for the road ahead.

Anyway, it was actually this roommate I had who convinced me to work with him at Jordan's furniture in Avon in the cash control office. It was about a year later that a nice Jewish girl from Brockton started working there as well. Her name was Kim Lewis and she was dating a Jewish boy from Needham at the time, while I was still dating disapproval girl. Just like in the movie When Harry Met Sally, Kim and I became friends under Harry's amended first rule that men and women can never be friends-unless they are romantically involved with other people. In our case, it proved to be true. Not only were we dating other people, but both Kim and I understood that she could never marry someone not Jewish. We spent a lot of time together under this agreement, and it was great. There were no dating pressures and I didn't have to try and be someone I wasn't. We came to know each other for the people we were, and this is where my Jewish journey began.

The first time I ever set foot in a Jewish household I was greeted with warmth and genuine kindness as I met Kim's parents and two sisters for the first time. It was immediately apparent to me the love and respect they had for each other, as I was accepted into their home as a friend of Kim's.

A short time afterward, a friend from school invited me up to a Passover Seder in New Hampshire. This was my first experience celebrating a Jewish holiday, and I was again greeted with the same warmth and acceptance I had received from Kim's family. These two events left a deep impression on me because both families never allowed me to feel awkward or uncomfortable about being in their homes, and for that I was grateful.

Well, much to my parents' relief, I graduated in 1989 and moved back home-temporarily. In a surprising twist of fate Kim and I did start to date that summer. The friendship and trust we had for each other was already in place, and early on in our relationship she made it clear to me that marriage meant a Jewish home and Jewish kids, so it was up to me to decide if I was agreeable to that. I still felt strongly about my Christian beliefs, and I struggled with the notion of having Jewish children and not being able to celebrate Christmas. I agreed to the idea knowing that I could put it off until later, and being the procrastinator that I am, that's exactly what I did.

Kim and I maintained a long distance relationship while she went off to Hofstra University on Long Island. She would come back during the holidays, and I became included in all of the Lewis family religious activities. I'll never forget what it was like to walk into a synagogue for the first time. They took me to a reform temple in Brockton for the high holidays and I thought-why are all these people talking during the service? The synagogue experience was much less torturous than I had envisioned in my youth.

As I became more and more involved with both Kim and her family, my father was banking on the fact that Kim's father would put a stop to the relationship before marriage, as he was clearly struggling with the prospect of his son giving up his Christian upbringing. This issue still sits with my father to this day-as he chooses not to attempt to understand or discuss the matter with me.

In November of 1993, a year and a half after Kim graduated from Hofstra, we were married. My father-in-law Barry conducted the civil ceremony as Justice of the Peace. We settled in Stoughton initially and were passively looking for a synagogue that we both could be comfortable with. In the meantime, Kim was actively working at the Jewish Community Center and Temple Beth Emunah in Brockton as a teacher/director, as well as tutoring.

Then in August of 1995, Rachel was born. She was named in the reform temple that Kim had grown up in, but we knew that was not the place for us. Chelsea, who was born in 1998, was also named there, but shortly thereafter we moved to Taunton. We tried going to the reform synagogue in Taunton, but it wasn't a good fit for us.
Then we tried Agudas Achim. It was an open house and the minute we walked in we were greeted by Michael Rudnick. It was the same experience I had meeting Kim's family for the first time. Rabbi Diamond was there, and Kim recalls the kids dancing around the synagogue behind her looking like the pied piper. We felt immediately at home.

In 2001, Elaine was born and named when Rabbi Fox was here. I stood up on the bima on the day of her naming and announced that it was my desire to see my children become bat mitzvas at this temple.

As my family becomes more involved in activities, events and holidays, I feel a growing sense of purpose, and a need to stay involved. It was always my intention to present a "united front" for our kids-I never wanted my kids to think of themselves as "half Jewish." But what I never expected to happen has happened. I like coming to the synagogue. I enjoy the fellowship of people whom I believe share the same moral and social values as I do. I still don't feel "qualified" to be Jewish at this point in my life, but I have come to realize that my most significant spiritual and religious experiences up to this point have been Jewish experiences.

My Jewish journey serves as a tribute to all the people in the Agudas Achim community who have always accepted me and my family without reservation, and it is my sincere wish that my journey continues with them.

Reflections...by Laura Muller

One of my earliest memories of being Jewish is sitting next to "Miss Kate" in the front row of an old synagogue in Beaufort, SC. "Miss Kate" seemed about 80 years old to my 5 and smelled of butterscotch. I would go to Friday night services with my mother every other week: my younger sister accompanied my mom the alternate weeks. Each visit, "Miss Kate" would give me a butterscotch as we sang Leha Dodi. It is no wonder I learned of the sweetness of Shabbat at a young age - the songs were fun to sing, I was doing something special with my mom AND I got to have an extra dessert.

My relationship with Shabbat has not always been so cordial: in my teenage years my family went to services before we were allowed to go out with friends. I remember sitting next to my stepbrother counting the minutes until we could leave to go to one particularly important football game. Sometimes it was hard to explain why I was late to friends. You see, as an adolescent I lived in a small town in Georgia which in 1979 had 162 churches - there are more now I am sure. The 10 or so Jewish families formed a Havurah (though no one called it that) at the local junior college. My stepfather led services most weeks, though even then I took a turn, and taught Hebrew to us kids. We learned different customs, different tunes from the college kids who came from all over the country. We had our own community, but we could not escape the fact that we didn't quite fit with the rest of the people in the town.

Somewhere inside me though, I knew that this place of family Shabbat, of singing and of laughing with extended family while retelling holiday stories fit me and I craved more. Without being deliberate about it, I found that each place I could make a choice I chose Judaism. I don't mean that I just chose to celebrate the holidays, or go to shul: I sought out ways to learn more, to understand myself and my role in this glorious, beautiful, and sometimes infuriating world in which we live. From each of my Jewish role-models and teachers I learned something important: My mom taught me the traditions and the smells of the holidays, my Opa taught me that it is ok to have a relationship with G-d that does not include the synagogue, Sy taught me that we all, men and women, have a place in the service; Nancy taught me the calming surrender of an opening ningun; Ben taught me that including our foremothers and the shechina in our prayers does make a difference in both mood and thankfulness, Elizabeth taught me that G-d does not hear the quality of your voice, but its intention. I always come back to the stories of our mothers and fathers though, and what they have taught me, and what I have yet to learn. I find the themes reassuring because the characters in the stories don't always "get it right", G-d is still there, consoling them, encouraging them, loving them. Jacob, for example, is a trickster: he takes his brother's blessing, he finds a way to get the strongest sheep from Laban (although one could argue that Laban is also at fault for that scene), he bargains with G-d to save him from his brother, he tries to bribe his brother to like him again, and he does not address the harm done to his daughter. Yet, Jacob has an ongoing relationship with G-d, one in which he struggles with "beings divine and human" (Gen 32:29), or in the interpretation of the Sefat Emet with "body and soul", and has found a way to become whole, a "throne for G-d." Each time Jacob prays, he is answered, "remember, I am with you: I will protect you wherever you go and will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you." (Gen 28:15), At his death, he remembers "the G-d in whose ways my fathers Abraham and Isaac walked, the G-d who has been my shepherd from my birth to this day" (Gen 47:15); He recognizes the power of prayer to enrich our lives.

I can not say that I grew up in any one Jewish tradition, but that I grew up in a family that observed Jewish traditions. Truth be told, I was drawn to Reconstructionism in college because I liked the tunes of the local group. Now I find that Reconstructionist Judaism speaks to my world view. I love the emphasis on a community that not only learns together, but that uses that learning together. I love the Reconstructionist approach to G-dliness, in the words of Micah 6:8, "He has told you, O man, what is good/And what Adonai requires of you:/Only to do justice,/And to love goodness,/And to walk modestly with your G-d,/Then will your name achieve wisdom". These words challenge us to look to Torah for examples of people who strive to make the world a better place, of people whose faith deepens as they learn and grow, and of people who use that faith as help in times of insecurity, as solace in the times of darkness and as celebration in times of joy.

One of the most joyful things to happen in my spiritual life is that my sweetheart is also a seeker: his experience of the world is guided by his faith. He is a Quaker and has been for his whole life. Because he is a seeker, he asks questions. Because he is a Quaker, "eschewing all forms", he looks at the meaning behind the ritual. My understanding of the cycle of the Jewish calendar has been intensified by our discussions: what is the core value, where does it come from, how does it enhance our relationship with G-d, and how can we make the experience of that day more meaningful for me and for us. We find the kavanah together.

For example, this spring we invited people to our home to help us hang mezuzot. Only our mezuzot hold two passages: the Shma, as is traditional, and a passage from Mark (12:28- 12:31): The most important commandment Jesus says" is this: Hear O Israel, the Lord our G-d, the Lord is one. Love the lord your G-d with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no commandment is greater than these." While this combination of passages enriches our understanding of our home as a house of G-d (the reason to hang mezuzot), they also remind us to be intentional in our relations with others outside of the home. The decision to hang the mezuzot was not without discussion, but we talked about how each of our traditions could "have a vote" and the way became clear. Could there be a more Reconstructionist approach?

In the same spirit we welcome sweet Shabbat our home each Friday night. We always light candles. We always have a quiet moment. Sometimes we go to synagogue and sing. Sometimes we have a little extra dessert. But each week, as we take a moment to think about how we have moved through the world, we are thankful for its glory and blessings and begin to shed the stress of the week. My parents were onto something after all and I am grateful to them for sharing it with me.

I wish you and your families a year of faith, of learning and of peace. Lshanah Tovah.

Reflections…by Susan Bradie

As is becoming Agudas Achim tradition, three members of our community spoke on the second day of Rosh Hashanah during the musaf service. These talks are beautiful offerings from within the community. This year's theme was "My Jewish Journey." Below is the first reprint of the three articles.

When my husband Gerry begins a sentence with the words, “Years ago…” I prepare myself for a journey down memory lane. Years ago – when appliances lasted longer, when life was simpler, when the people we loved were still with us. I may use the words “back when,” but I am also doing the same thing, wishing for the one thing I cannot have, a time that is past. And even though Gerry and I are probably echoing the sentiments of our parents, I’ve decided it is not a longing for the past that we are talking about, but our problem adjusting to the one constant thing in our lives – and that is change.

When Rabbi Elyse asked me to talk about my journey in and out of Judaism, the first word that came into my mind was “change.” I have always known that I was a Jew, and I have always believed in God. But as immutable as that statement seems, my perception of God and my Jewish journey have both changed immensely as I have made my journey through life.

For most of my life, until about twenty years ago, Judaism was what I did, not what I felt. I have wonderful memories of the High Holidays: wearing new clothes, visiting my parents and grandparents in shul, having meals with my extended family. Most of my memories, however, revolve around what went on outside of the synagogue, not inside. Inside was full of a lot of mumbling – in a language I did not understand and in a service that had no meaning for me. Even the Pesach Seder was about doing, not feeling. There it was my grandfather who did the mumbling, but I had no idea of the significance of this special meal. I read the four questions in English from a hagaddah printed by Maxwell House Coffee, I believe, and I did know why we ate matzah, but that was it. I did go to Hebrew School for one week, my mother thinking I was crazy wanting to go. I was the only girl in the class, and after a week of writing aleph over and over again, I agreed with her.

As I look back, I remember never being bothered by any of this. Judaism was about food and family, and if I understood none of it, that was okay, because it was the religion of my parents and grandparents, a religion of the past. I believed in God, and if I felt no connection between my God and my Judaism, that was okay also. I can even remember my perception of God when I was a child. My mother had bought me a book of Old Testament stories, but they were told in cartoon format, so my early understanding of God was a man with a white beard sitting on a cloud in the sky. I liked that idea, of being able to pray to a person who had all the powers of the universe.

As I grew into my twenties, I lost interest in a religion that I saw as old-fashioned, and I left the practice of it to my parents. They attended synagogue from time to time (never on a Friday night or Saturday morning – that was left to the “frum”). I showed up for the appropriate meals. When my father died in 1987, everything changed. I did not want my mother to go to services alone, and I had a need to say kaddish, so I attended High Holiday services with her at her temple. The service still meant little to me, but Kol Nidre and the yitzkah service started to stir something in me, so for ten years after my father’s death, my Jewish journey included going to the High Holidays services with my mother.

So where was God during this time? God was no longer a man with a white beard on a cloud. It was more an amorphous something that I prayed to when I needed strength. I had enough Jewish guilt to know not to pray for winning the lottery, but I needed to know that there was something out there that would give me the strength I needed when things got rough. I certainly needed that when my mother died in 1997. She died in August and in September I realized I had no placed to go for the High Holidays, no place to say kaddish.

My journey back to Judaism really took focus when I took my first steps here. Here I felt a connection between God and faith. Those connections came from so many things: adult education classes, Friday night services, social action, choir, studying for a bat mitzvah. As I became more comfortable practicing the religion of my birth, I began to realize that practicing one’s faith took just that. It took practice. It took saying the Amidah enough times so that occasionally, not always, I felt that connection to God, not that guy on a cloud, but to some spiritual force that surrounded me. That connection was never stronger than the day I put on my tallit for the first time – last December at the beginning of the Bat Mitzvah service I shared with three other women. At that moment I felt wrapped in both my past and my present, as if my journey had taken me to this spot and this was my reward.

So as I stand here today, analyzing where I’ve been and where I am going, I think of Teshuvah, that process of turning inward to see what changes are needed in one’s life. I can see that I have been on a path of Teshuvah . While I never turned away from God, that God has been nonsectarian at times. I certainly have made a series of turns in my life as I have gone in and out and back into Judaism. So where do I go from here? I really have no idea. The journey that I have been on had no plan that I was aware of. As unimportant as Judaism was to me before, that is how important it is to me now. As lacking in spirituality as it was before, that is how full it is now.

And my journey? While I have no idea what my next step will be, I look forward to the uncertainty of it. I find myself in a state of constancy and change, on a journey that is taking me to the past and the future at the same time. For someone who likes planning and structure, the impermanence of my situation is as comforting as the day I put on my tallit. Maybe that’s what my journey is all about.

Reflections…by Abbe Morrongiello

       I recently read the book Shanda: The Making and Breaking of a Self-Loathing Jew by Neal Karlen. Karlen had a familial line of scholarship going back ten generations. He planned to become a rabbi until his senior year in college when he realized that he only believed in G-d half the time. He was also turned off by the young Jews he knew who were more interested in big houses and expensive clothes than the soulful practice of tradition. Karlen did not want to be identified as one of them. Instead of studying at the Hebrew Union College as planned, he started a job at Newsweek.
       Over time he started hating Jews. He antagonized rabbis, became the token Jew who told outrageous anti-Semitic jokes at parties and married a blue eyed blonde Christian girl from an anti-Semitic family.
       His marriage only lasted eighteen months. He felt that he had brought shame to his family for nothing and his relationship with his father became distant. At midlife he felt as though he didn’t belong anywhere and had become a shanda, which means shame.   He also discovered that the only Jew he really hated was himself.
       During a chance encounter with Rabbi Manis Friedman on an airplane Karlin asked the Chasidic rabbi if the Chasidim believe in reincarnation. Rabbi Friedman smiled and said, “I believe you can be reincarnated in your own lifetime. Over the next year Karlin and Rabbi Friedman became friends and met regularly. Rabbi Friedman helped Karlen become closer to his father and the Jewish people. He also helped Karlin learn to be comfortable with who he is.
       I read Karlin’s book because I felt I had something in common with him. I belonged to two different synagogues in New Jersey. There were problems with both of them. I remember standing alone at onegs at these synagogues when I first started going to them. I felt very uncomfortable but I pushed myself to break into conversations and got to know a few people at each synagogue. I figured out that the way to meet people was to volunteer so I volunteered a lot.
       Because of my volunteer work, my husband, Tony, and I got invited to a few parties. At one party some people were talking about their flashy cars and exotic vacations. At two other parties people made fun of congregants who weren’t there. Tony and I felt uncomfortable at these parties. We felt like we didn’t fit in.
       There were other problems at both synagogues. I disliked the fashion shows that occurred at the high holidays. Minutes after kissing the Torah people would comment on other people’s outfits.   I also got the impression that many of the women had an inflated sense of self entitlement. Some of these women scolded me while I was volunteering. The saddest part is that the congregation at the last synagogue was not there for my family during a crisis. No one from the synagogue including the rabbi called me when hard times hit my family.
       By the time I moved back to New England I decided that I wanted nothing to do with a synagogue. I still believed in Judaism, but I did not want to be associated with materialistic self serving Jews. I started to explore a Unitarian Church, which is practically in my back yard.
       Then by accident, I discovered Agudas Achim because of a Passover Seder workshop held at Border’s Books. I liked Rabbi Elyse’s energy and I decided to check out a Saturday morning service with my son. At the end of the service the woman sitting next to me told me she liked my singing and asked me if I was a congregant. I told her I wasn’t and she told me that she wished I was. Her name was Shirley Friedman.
       I had a good experience at the Saturday service so I decided to come back and attend a Friday night service. I went to the next service alone. A congregant came up to me at the oneg and started a conversation. This had never happened to me before when checking out a synagogue. I was thrilled when Kim Bodemer introduced herself to me and made me feel welcome.
       It didn’t take long for me to decide that I wanted to join Agudas Achim. A few months after I joined my father passed away. Susan and Gerry Bradie bravely drove to Woonsocket, the city of confusing one way streets, to come to the shiva. I received a sympathy card from a congregant I had only briefly met once, Erin Price.
       I am happy to be a member of a congregation that accepts people for who they are and discourages gossip. I have seen many congregants choose tzedaka over materialism. People have only shown appreciation for my volunteer work. Agudas Achim has become my home away from home. I am proud to be a member of Agudas Achim and I am once again proud of being a Jew.

Reflections…by Randy Oster

This poem was written for the first Shabbat at Camp JRF this summer.

A simple poem
For a simple life.
In which we live.
A life in which
We are given everything
And are asked for so little in return.

A heart that beats
Rhythmically
With each breath we take;
A mind to help lead us
In the right direction;
And a vessel
Made of solid bones
With a shield of skin
To encase these precious gifts.

And in return, we are asked
To love thy neighbor
And one’s self
And to be faithful forever
To only you.

- Randy Oster, July 2005

Reflections… by Debbie Oster

My Rockin’ Mitzvah Morning

I almost didn’t go…I woke up with the thought that after a hard week at work, I deserved my Sunday morning routine of drinking coffee and reading 2 or 3 newspapers. As usual, though, the Jewish guilt got to me. After all, my son Randy was already at the synagogue, ready to spend his morning helping others in the greater community. If he was willing, so was I.

So off to the synagogue I went. As a result of my indecisiveness, I arrived just as Havdalah was ending. I was amazed at the number of people in the building, and the energy I felt all around me. I quickly joined my assigned group, led by team captain Lisa Waldman, and we headed off in two cars to New Hope, a women’s shelter serving the greater Attleboro area.

As we hopped into Bruce Levine’s oversized SUV, Suzie Brothman handed him a CD to play. Much to the delight of the older occupants of the vehicle, this 18 year old’s eclectic taste in music included some tunes from AC/DC, the rock group of our youth. In a spontaneous move, Bruce cranked up the music, lowered the windows, opened the sunroof, and we pulled out of the parking lot. The mood was set.

After a few missed turns, we arrived at New Hope, and met up with the rest of our group. I was amazed to find that in our midst was a couple who are not even members of our synagogue. What a true mitzvah for them to have joined us that morning. (Thanks Marc Adler for sending your cousins along to help--they were wonderful!) It was also a pleasure to put faces to names--Sue Kline, Jon Gutoff, Martha Lang and Lisa Waldman--it was fun getting to know all of you!

After meeting Kelly, the director of the shelter, we ventured into the basement, where our work was cut out for us. We quickly organized ourselves into somewhat of a relay fashion, and began passing unwanted items through the basement and into the dumpster. Suzie and I let out a few shrieks at the discovery of the dead mouse, but Randy was Johnny-on-the-spot and quickly removed the offensive creature. We soldiered on, and despite the overwhelming amount of “stuff” in the basement, we had it looking great in just a matter of time. As the saying goes, “many hands make short work”, or something like that. A brand new storage unit was discovered in a box, and a couple of us quickly went to work putting it together and putting it to use.

After the basement clean-up was complete, Kelly and the residents of New Hope treated us to lovely snacks. Four year old Isaiah was a delight, making us all laugh with his playful and engaging spirit. Seeing his bright smile made me truly think about the reasons our work was so important on this morning.

All this while, Bruce had been off to his home a short distance away to retrieve a power washer. By this time the rest of us had determined that he must have gone out for breakfast and forgotten about us. He eventually returned with his neighbor--the- construction-worker’s industrial size power washer, and some story about how his own power washer had been borrowed and misplaced. As some of the guys began playing with this new toy, the rest of us found some rakes and began cleaning the yard. The ever-industrious Gary Price produced a cloth tarp from his vehicle, making removal of the leaves a breeze. In no time at all the deck and all the outdoor play structures had been power washed, and the yard was free of leaves and debris. What a sense of accomplishment we all felt after having spent a relatively short amount of time working.

Before we knew it, it was time for the parents amongst us to return to the synagogue to pick up their children. Bruce, Gary and Jon made plans to return during the week to stain the freshly washed deck.

Kelly was sincerely appreciative of what we had done, and gracious with her thanks. We climbed back into Bruce’s SUV( now made smaller with the addition of the super-sized power washer) turned AC/DC back on, opened the windows, and rock and rolled our way back to the synagogue.

I hope I speak for all of us when I say how meaningful that morning was, both in the way we assisted those in the community whose need is so much greater than our own, and in the way we built community for ourselves by doing this work together.

Reflections…by Donna Cohen Avery

Several years ago, I arrived at the Synagogue to register my youngest daughter for another year of Religious School. At that time rather than getting a renewal packet at the annual meeting, parents went into the Synagogue and experienced something like a college course registration. That particular year the board must have decided to have each committee set up a table so that they could boost committee membership.

I looked into the back left corner of the social hall and saw a woman that I had never met sitting at a table marked, “Social Action”. All during the registration process, I kept my eye on that table. No one walked up to her during the time I was there. She seemed like a pleasant person, so I decided to go introduce myself and find out a little more about social action.

The woman of course was Susan Bradie. We seemed to hit it off right away and her ideas about Social Action were interesting. The next thing I knew; I was a member of the Social Action committee.

The committee started by bringing back some social action projects that once existed in our community, like the Soup Kitchens. Little by little the types of social action projects became larger and involved more and more people.

We began talking about the concept of “Mitzvah Morning” well over a year ago. We read about it in a book titled, “Tikkun Olam”. It seemed like a good idea but we weren’t sure how it would go over in our community because it had never been done here before. However, we thought it was worth it to give it a try and began planning.

Our committee doesn’t do the social action work on behalf of the Synagogue. Our charge is to lead the congregation while the congregation does social action work. That was never more evident than it was on Sunday, May 15, 2005 during our first annual Mitzvah Morning.

We were hopeful that we might have up to 50 people participate. Even with the rainy forecast many more came out to participate. Everyone who pre-registered came. Many who did not pre-register came. (For future reference; if you didn’t pre-register, come anyway!) The registration table was busy from the moment we started until well after the Havdallah service concluded. We were still adding people to projects as the teams were preparing to leave for their sites.

As the teams left for their various sites, I thought about what being involved in Social Action has meant to me personally. Once you get involved you realize that you aren’t just doing something to benefit someone else. The act of participating also benefits you in ways that I can’t begin to describe.

I stayed back at the temple and participated in the knitting project. As members returned from their projects, I had an opportunity to talk with some of you. I heard comments that ranged from constructive feedback about how to make improvements for next time, to ideas for additional projects. My favorite comment of the day was, “Why are we waiting until next year to do this again.”

I was so proud of our membership that morning. I was completely overwhelmed by your support. You came out to support the greater community and everyone seemed to have a good time doing it. The good news is, you don’t have to wait until next year to participate in Social Action activities. The committee always has something coming up and we would happily welcome new members to the committee itself.

Thanks to everyone who participated either by donating to a drive, being a team captain, or coming to participate in a project that day. Mitzvah Morning would not have been a success without you. The whole idea of Tikkun Olam (social action), is to make the world a better place. The world was a better place on Sunday, May 15, 2005, due to your response.

Reflections…by Marc Adler

My wife Janice and I had the pleasure of sharing a Shabbat dinner at the home of Susan and Gerry Bradie in Franklin, along with Myra and Peter Schwartz as part of the synagogue’s Shabbat Dinner Exchange. Janice and I had joked that they decided to match synagogue members from the greatest distances with us having traveled from Barrington, Rhode Island to Franklin, Massachusetts..

We started our evening with conversation in front of the fireplace. Being new synagogue members and not having met the Bradies and Schwartzs before, this was a nice opportunity to make new friends.

Later we sat down to dinner. After a Kiddush and Motzee, we enjoyed Susan’s tasty chicken and Myra’s delicious kugel. At dinner, I learned that Myra’s brother Dick and I are both klezmer clarinetists, and I had, in fact, met Dick at a concert the previous month. We learned how Gerry was working leading the synagogue building team, and about Susan’s upcoming social action projects including painting a women’s shelter.

When Judy Lehrer Jacobs emailed me the next day asking how it went, I wrote that we had had a wonderful evening and would like to host a Shabbat dinner in the future.

Reflections...by Susan Bradie

I'd like to talk about a book I just finished reading. It is a called Two Old Women: an Alaska Legend of Betrayal, Courage and Survival. The author is Velma Wallis, one of a family of thirteen children , all born in the vast fur-trapping country of Fort Yukon, Alaska, and raised with traditional Athabascan values. The Athabascans are an Alaskan Indian tribe that lived in the interior of Alaska, and because they were hunters and trappers, had a nomadic existence. This book is a retelling of a tribal legend about two old women, left behind to die, who instead went on to survive and thrive. As the story goes, in a winter of famine, an Athabascan tribe decides to leave behind two elderly women, who although mobile and somewhat productive, complain constantly and require assistance. Some tribal members are shocked and distressed, but no one, including the daughter of one of the women, speaks up, afraid of precipitating violence in the tribe. As the tribe marches off, the two women, 75 and 80 years old, vow they will not accept death, but will "die trying" to survive. They manage to catch a few rabbits and a squirrel to sustain them, then set off to a campsite miles away where, they recall, food is more abundant. They reach their goal, survive the winter, and spend the summer laying in a store of foodstuffs. When the tribe returns after a year, seeking them out of guilt, they find strong, well-fed, and powerful women who save their tribe from starvation.. This book depicts a way of life that is merciless and very foreign to our way of living. Yet this story contains themes of betrayal, friendship, community and forgiveness that we all can relate to.

So what does this have to do with anything? I have always been fascinated by stories of survival. And up until I read this book, I thought my fascination was due to an admiration I had for anyone who faced and conquered an enormous challenge. How did someone survive on a deserted island, or at the top of a snow-covered mountain, or in the middle of a desert? It has just occurred to me that in most of these stories and in Two Old Women, while survival knowledge was certainly important, one thing that most of these stories had in common was that survivors did best when they built a feeling of community. The companionship that these two women fostered saved them from death as much as their hunting and trapping skills.

So my question again is - what does this have to do with anything? Certainly none of us have to hunt and trap to survive...but do we? I would like to suggest that with each decision we make at these board meetings, we are dealing with the survival of the synagogue. We hunt and trap when we sell a parsonage, or plan a fundraiser, or create a vision for the future. And we rely on the skills of certain people for these activities. I would also like to suggest, as I did when I was talking about the book I just read, that our survival depends as much on building community as it does on hunting and trapping. On Friday night, December 24th , Gerry and I went to the Chinese potluck dinner followed by services. What a great time and an opportunity to promote community. There is nothing like food and drink to provide a setting for people to get to know each other better. The onegs, the Shabbat dinner exchanges, the Senior Lunch bunch, all the events that we have which give us a chance to sit down and chat - I think that is what our survival is all about. I believe that while our hunting and trapping is certainly a necessity, developing and nurturing our sense of community is more so. Our social events are much more than opportunities for a good time. Our study sessions are much more than chances to increase our knowledge and understanding of our faith. Our services are much more than an occasion to pray together as a community. Everything that goes on in our synagogue provides opportunities for developing community, and our very survival depends on them.

Reflections…by Barbara Rubinstein

I recently did what I belatedly recognized as a mitzvah for someone. It was simple, it took a few moments of my time, and I just passed it off. Then I got an email from the ultimate recipient. She was very grateful and appreciative. It made me think.
First off, was I worth the thank you? Secondly, had I actually effected this person’s life? And if I had, how much? All in all, I was in a quandary.

After a great deal of thought, probably more than the situation was worth, I decided that I had done a mitzvah, and yes, it probably was worth recognition. On the other hand, I realized that I would have done it under any circumstances. All I was doing was helping out another person.

So what constitutes the mitzvah, the good deed? All of us do good without recognizing it as such. Giving up our seat on the “T” to someone who is in need (laden with packages; handicapped; pregnant); allowing the elderly, who may need more time, to get in front of us when we are in line, telling someone who only has a few items to go ahead at the grocery store. Should we bask in our good will? No.
I have come to believe that the essence of a mitzvah is in not recognizing it as such. We do what we do because we are humane. We recognize that all of us need an assist, in whatever form, sometime. If I go to sit shiva with someone it is because I recognize the need; not because I expect a benefit. It is the same when I donate my services to a charity, a political cause, or the temple. I do so because I am a part of the whole, not because I expect G-D to single me out.

The wonder of Judaism is that it is community based. We do not look to G-D to sanction our every move but rather to see us as human. We do what we do to help the community, as a whole and as an individual. I would say, celebrate yourself!, but, as I have come to realize, this is the antithesis of a true mitzvah.

Reflections...by Sharon Friedman

On the second day of Rosh Hashana this year, our musaf service consisted of three congregants reflecting on the three themes of the service: Malchuyot (sovereignty), Zichronot (remembrance) and Shofarot (shofar blowing). The feedback and response was overwhelmingly positive. Following is the third and last in the series.

This month, we reprint Sharon Friedman's comments on Shofarot (shofar blowing):

5765 - "What the shofar service means to me."

Notes:

There are three major blasts: the long steady blast - tekiah
The three blasts of equal length to equal the tekiah - shevarim
The at least nine staccato blasts of truah.

To me the first tekiah states, "I'm back!" The cycle has returned. Some scholars hear the steady blast as Joy (Shira Milgram); I like to think of it as a "Head's Up!"

The sound of tekiah as well as the shevarim and truah make a series of sounds that I can not make from my vocal cords. It takes a kind of breath that has to come from my diaphragm; from that depth of my body. It causes me to truly pay attention; to begin a special kind of petition during these Days of Awe.

The shevarim reminds me of the past, the present and the future. We recall that the ram was caught in the thicket. The ram diverted Abraham's attention as he was about to do the unspeakable. Abraham's response was "Hineni," Here I am. For me it helps me to listen to the past, reflect on the present and think about setting a course for the future.

The truah asks me to "Pay attention" (Some interpret truah as "Awake") For me, I am already Awake! For me it's pay attention to all those things that bring sustenance and livelihood. It's time to open up all your senses. It's time to examine: Who/What has sustained me; Who/what has nourished me; Who/What has challenged me; Who/What as caused me to stumble so that I might learn a valuable lesson. And How am I to integrate all of what I glean from the repetition of the plea, the reflection and the call to action.

It is interesting that the shofranot service ends with "Happy is the people who know the sound of truah."

Again, for me in order to know happiness, you need to have been introduced to pain and mourning along the way and the restoration that transcends all when you listen to your inner voice which connects you to your past, questions and challenges you in the present and moves you as you journey to the future.

And lastly the sequence culminates in the final Tekiah HaGadolah - That whatever that force is that is outside of me will hear my plea for this year.

All of this pleading and accounting will ensure that I (G-d willing) will get inscribed and sealed in the Book of Life for yet another year.

Reflections...by Howard Tinberg

This month, we reprint David London's comments on Zihronot:

Zihronot, Rosh Hashana, second day, September 18, 2004.

When Rabbi Elise asked me to say something personal about Zihronot, I first read the English translation in our prayer book. I was fascinated by what you and I are saying every year at this time when we read this prayer.

First, we declare that indeed, G-d remembers all our deeds, thoughts and plans -- that G-d even remembers the consequences of everything we do, say and think. "Who," we ask, "can escape the claim of g-d's memory on this day?" Then, without even commenting on our worthiness, on the consequences of our deeds and the goodness of our thoughts, we ask G-d to "relent from stern justice" and "be merciful to us and give us salvation, because....we are the descendants of Noah, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob"....making the argument in our plea that G-d made "everlasting covenants" with them, and that those covenants should apply to us, today, because we are their descendents!

At first, I thought, how strange; we are asking G-d for special treatment because of the good deeds of people who lived thousands of years ago. I struggled with that idea for a few days, and then it hit me: our ancestors are not just Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, they are also our parents, everyone in our community who came before us, and all the Jews throughout the thousand of years SINCE Noah, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

I started to think about some of the amazing people, members of this congregation, who did great deeds and had great thoughts. Long before I was born, a group of families founded the Agudas Achim Congregation. Here is the certificate of incorporation signed by the Secretary of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, dated December 5, 1911. Rabbi Elise keeps it in her office for safekeeping. I'm very proud to say that my grandfather is one of these founders, all of whom, in my eyes, were perpetuating the covenant we invoke when we ask to be favorably inscribed in the
book of life for another year.

When I was very young, I remember my parents introducing me to "old man Cohen," who, they told me, before these founders could afford a shul, provided space for minians in the back stockroom of his second-hand store on Pine Street. I think of him, every time I pass the Spanish market on Pine Street where his store once stood. When I read Zihronot, I will think of him and the covenant he kept for us.

As a child, I remember Irving Miller, a local insurance salesman who emigrated from Russia. He volunteered to be our cantor for his entire lifetime, because for most of it, our congregation was too small to afford to hire a cantor for the High Holy days. Many years he also led weekly minians when the congregation was between rabbi's. He stood in as our Rabbi at my Bar Mitzvah. He later served many years as president, and was the visionary who motivated the congregation to raise the money for this building. This sanctuary is dedicated in his memory. I'd say he kept the covenant for me, for each of you.

I remember Pearl and Sam Fine, and Izzy Solmer. Sam and his brother Hyman ran a farm, the Fine Farm out on the Attleboro/Rehoboth line, still run today by their descendents. Hyman served on the school committee for many years, and was honored by the city when they named the Hyman Fine Elementary School for his contributions to local education. They had another brother who became the education editor of the New York Times. Pearl Fine ran the Attleboro Public School lunch program. Izzy Solmer was a fast order cook, who owned a small diner downtown for many years. Pearl, Sam and Izzy, while working 18-hour days to make ends meet, gave countless hours of their time over their entire lives, working in the kitchen preparing food for onegs, community breakfasts, and much-needed fundraising events. Sam and Izzy each in their own time, served as the volunteer shamus, until they could no longer physically get to shul.

I remember the brothers Ernie and Henry Rotenberg, sons and grandsons of immigrant tailors, who became attorneys. Ernie, in whose memory this beautiful mosaic was created and donated, eventually became a judge, and brought much respect for Jews in this area by his great service and scholarship.

He was once named the most outstanding Family Court judge in the United States. This beautiful lighted menorah was commissioned in Henry's memory. And I remember as if he were here today, our dear recently departed friend, Bob Mandel, a respected CPA. Henry and Bob served Agudas Achim cumulatively nearly a half century as Treasurers of this congregation, keeping the bills paid, and the books balanced -- how sometimes I don't know, because we often had little or no money. By giving of their time to keep Judaism alive here, they were keeping the covenants.

I remember Nan Tessler, the wife of a local liquor store owner, who ran more fundraisers to keep this congregation afloat than anyone ever in the history of Agudas Achim. I remember her kisses, and how much love and lipstick she left on my cheeks.

And most sweetly, I remember Marian Rotenberg, Henry and Ernie's sister, who, with love and grace and the gentlest voice I have ever heard, taught me, and several generations of children to love the stories of the bible, and to love coming to shul. She took no pay, because the congregation didn't have the money. She was to us, G-d's angel. This beautiful lighted tableau was given in her memory. She, too, like all the others I have named, and many others that come to mind that I do not have time to mention today, kept her end of the covenant for me, for you.

As we sit here now, reading Zihronot, I am thinking about all of them, and I think about what I did this past year and what I can do this coming year to keep the covenant for my children, my grandchildren, and my community. I hope you will do the same. I truly believe that what we do, how we live, and what standards we set for ourselves determine how we will be inscribed in the book of life.

Reflections...Members of Agudas Achim share their thoughts
by Roz Mainelli

"Where Were We?"

Since I hold no official position at our shul, I felt no pressure to have this article ready for prompt appearance. For the weekend of 4/23-25, I had planned to just participate in the first New England Regional Reconstructionist Convention held right here in Agudas Achim. Those of you who know me know that I have attended many conventions for many years. That was why I knew to plan to be at this one.

As always, services with great enthusiasm is one of the highlights of JRF conventions. We were praying together because we have chosen to, for this we are haverim (comrades) who saying and singing with words and ideas and emotions that really do have meaning to us. (It takes effort & time to build this special togetherness). When Rabbi Toba Spitzer led us on Saturday morning accompanied by her guitar strumming, we could not only sing our usual melodies, but join in with new ones. Rabbi Barbara Penzner's sermon on transitions for individuals and groups provided inspiration.

The buffet style for meals (there was plenty of good food) in the big tent was just right for developing the conviviality among us; for most of us started as strangers on Friday evening. By Saturday, as I looked about, it seemed that most of us were at tables with men and women from different congregations. For the smooth arrangement, we owe a round of thanks to Deb Mandell and her committee & the JRF staff. The workshops provided opportunities to learn and share with others our questions and ideas on Jewish topics, i.e.: from including children in prayer to specific rites at the time of death and the relevance of Reconstructionism today. So as you the reader can summarize, it was time very well spent. My only regret

A Funny Thing Happened At The Forum
By Michael Rozyne

On Sunday, January 11, I attended the regional pow-wow at Temple Hillel B'nai Torah in West Roxbury on refining the Reconstructionist stance on the meaning of support for Israel. I went hoping the session would help me think more clearly about where I stand on Israeli politics.

The 2-hour meeting didn't do that at all. To my great surprise, the session proved rather liberating. It began to lift from my shoulders a burden I've felt for somewhere around 25 years: that I (college-educated American Jew with lots of family in Israel) should have, and be able to articulate, a studied, intelligent political position on Israel. Ignoring politics, my answer to the question: What should support for Israel mean for Reconstructionist Jews was about finding new ways to connect personally with Israel and with Israelis (cultural connections, business connections, tourist connections...), that is, finding new ways to love Israel (as country, as place, as spiritual home of our people) so that each and every Reconstructionist community here might develop stronger emotional ties to Israel based on what excites, motivates, and fulfills the members of that community. Reconstructionist communities here would be stronger as a result.

I do think the Reconstructionist movement must have an official stance on Israeli politics and must play a leadership role at the national and international levels. But if we had 100 chips of Reconstructionist Jewish energy to expend pursuing this question, I'd spend 20-35 of them on politics (analysis, debate, expression, leadership) and 65-80 of them building cultural, personal, and human connections to Israel that deepen our direct experience and emotional ties.

Those were new thoughts! One of those rare events when a brief workshop delivered exactly what it intended to.