Transience and Transcendence

It didn't take long after Tomm and I became members of our synagogue that I dove in to contribute to this vibrant new community which had welcomed us so warmly. I quickly joined the newly-formed Kiddush Committee (which organizes the weekly community-sponsored snack 'n' schmooze after services on Saturdays) and we sponsored our own to kick it off. Not long after, the rabbinic intern approached me and asked me to consider taking on the role of "Gabbai Sheni" to help organize roles and responsibilities on the women's side during services. We even moved to the neighborhood of the shul in order to be closer to it and to the people who belong. In both social and religious capacities I have created a niche for myself in the shul community, and I am loving it. This is, after all, exactly what I was looking for so fervently when we first moved to New York. I am blessed to have found it.

I did not, however, expect so many people to leave so soon after we arrived.

I shouldn't think it odd considering we will only be in New York for a predetermined period of time, but Brooklyn is the site of constantly and rapidly changing scenery. Anyone and everyone will tell you that many areas of Brooklyn have changed beyond recognition within the last 20, 10, and even five years. This neighborhood is no different and the synagogue is, unsurprisingly, a microcosm of that vicissitude. Since we became members in late spring, at least five other families or individuals have joined our community. But in that same time frame, at least four families have moved or announced their intention to move away. Some are moving because of job opportunities, some because of growing families, and even though I haven't been a part of this community for that long it pains me to see these people leave.

Yet the growth continues, most recently with the addition of a rabbi. It may strike some of you as odd that our shul could exist without a rabbi, but Jewish congregations do not require a rabbi to lead services, and a strong lay leadership can sufficiently support a full congregation. We have been working with a rabbinic intern from a yeshiva (seminary) in the Bronx who has led classes, read Torah, and helped guide the community through holidays and other events and will continue to do so, but now the community has grown to a point where we needed something - someone - to guide us further.

So the shul has hired a rabbi to work with us a couple times a month with holidays, to lead classes bi-weekly, and to serve as our posek, the rabbinic go-to for questions about how we as individuals and as a community practice an ancient religion in the 21st century. Yesterday was his first Shabbat with us, and despite being a significant new presence in our community, he let the members lead the service just as we always have. He only stepped up to receive an honor during the Torah reading and to give a d'var torah, literally a "word of Torah," or a sermon.  I was duly impressed.

Loudly and clearly, he spoke of how the Torah presents multiple models of leadership and described them as each being viable ways of finding transcendence in our lives, suggesting that sometimes we need law to create order for us, sometimes we need spiritual guidance, and sometimes we just need the advice of a wise individual who's seen a bit more of the world. He then spoke of our need to expound upon this pluralism in order to find 21st century solutions to 21st century problems, and to embrace not only the multiple paths that exist in our personal search for significance but also the varied paths others take to find it, even when it differs from our own.

The d'var torah got dark when he described the deplorable state of our world - the disease ravaging Africa, the explosions destroying the Middle East, the flames consuming our country from within - and while it may have been a little heavy-handed, I don't entirely disagree with him. But in the end he brought it back and made his message clear: it is up to us to not only find meaning in our own lives, but to share that meaning with the world and, in doing so, repair it.

As we finished services and enjoyed kiddush with nearly 60 people (a significant group in our limited space), we made introductions and said goodbyes. We schmoozed and caught up, snacked on kugel and deli roll, said l'chaim over wine and whiskey, and enjoyed each other's company. And on the way home I thought about what our Rabbi had said about finding meaning and sharing it in the world. In my own little world, in my own little way, I am finding some of that meaning through my interactions with my community, hoping that as new people join us they feel welcome and invited, and as others leave they do so with fond memories, good friendships, and a place to come back to.

Isn't that what we all yearn for, anyway? A place to call home, with people to call our friends? To feel welcomed and accepted, safe from scrutiny and free from adversity? It may not be significant in the grand scheme of things, but it doesn't seem so bad a place to start changing the world.