End of School Year Religious School News

From the pages of Kadima, the Newsletter of Congregation Adas Emuno:

Religious School News 

     from


Cantor Sandy Horowitz

Religious School Director

In this often-worrisome world, the light of our small school shines ever brightly. Our children get to “be Jewish” and “do Jewish” together in an environment of acceptance and belonging; and as another year comes to a close, I am so proud of our religious school community.

For families and teachers alike, religious school is only one of many commitments that make demands on our time and energy. I’ve watched students arrive in the sanctuary on Sunday mornings looking tired, perhaps not yet fully awake. Fast-forward three hours and they’re energized, talking and laughing as they head out to resume the rest of their lives. They have been learning with their minds and their voices and their creativity. They have been singing and praying. They have donated tzedakah for the benefit of others. They have helped each other when help was needed. They have come up with ideas the rest of us hadn’t thought of. They have been striving to understand and to learn. They have been continually interacting, and wondering, and questioning. All of this is part of developing a Jewish identity, of becoming a mensch, of ensuring a future for our Jewish tradition.

Here’s the thing: the ongoing existence of our religious school depends on continuing as well as new enrollment. We need all of you to help us spread the word! If you know of families with children who might be curious about joining our “being Jewish/doing Jewish” Sundays, please reach out, and encourage them to contact me at adasschool at gmail.com. We are especially looking to re-kindle our K-1 class, as we welcome students of all ages through seventh grade to our religious school.

Thank you’s:

To the parents for all the ways you have volunteered this year–as “parent in charge”–helping with school-wide holiday celebrations, class pot-luck dinners and more. Gratitude abounds especially to the school committee for your leadership and support and incredible hard work.

To each of our amazing teachers for your commitment and creativity. And to the madrichim, our teenage teacher assistants, for your willingness to help with anything that’s needed, and doing it well.

Special thanks to Rabbi Schwartz for his inspired Confirmation class teaching, as they wrap up a year of justice-based learning. To Sabina Albirt and Samantha Rosenbloom who directed this year of socializing and social action with our Youth Group. To Kerri Klein and Jody Pugach who envisioned and implemented the new Mommy/Daddy‘n Me program, led by Reina Stern.

And may I simply add–gratitude to the One, to the very nature of Possibility, and Hope.

Our hearts are full and our spirit is strong! Have a great summer. Cantor Horowitz

Please make a note of these upcoming dates in May and June for our students & families!

Confirmation Class: May 6, 13, 17 (rehearsal)

Friday, May 18: 7:30 PM–Confirmation Service
Sunday, May 20: Last day of school
Saturday, May 26: Bar/Bat Mitzvah of Aaron and Hannah Jacobowitz
Saturday, June 16: Bat Mitzvah of Abigail Boyd

from the pages of Kadima, the newsletter of Congregation Adas Emuno:

From the desk of …                    

 Rabbi Barry Schwartz

    

YAHRZEIT⏤The Mitzvah of Memory

For some time I have wanted to write a column about an unlikely topic⏤Yahrzeit.

This Yiddish term refers to the anniversary of a death of a loved one.

Traditionally, yahrzeit is observed according to the Hebrew calendar. But many, if not most, Reform Jews find it easier to remember the civil date and prefer that designation. So our data-base has been adjusted accordingly, and each issue of our bulletin lists these dates, and the Shabbat service which follows them.

Customarily, the observance of yahrzeit has two components: one that is designed to be private, and the other that is intended to be public. The former is the lighting of a memorial candle at home; the latter is the reciting of the memorial prayer (kaddish) at the synagogue.

Traditionally, yahrzeit is also marked by visiting the grave of our loved one.

Another venerable custom is to give tzedakah, to make a charitable contribution in memory of our relative. For some of our members this takes the form of sponsoring the reception (oneg) after the service.

Each week I dutifully and reverently read the yahrzeit names at our service. It makes me sad when I read these names and no relative is present to hear them or join in the kaddish. In the same way that visitations to cemeteries have declined markedly over the years, so too has yahrzeit observance at the synagogue. I cannot say whether this extends to the lighting of a candle at home… but I suspect it does.

I know that we can summon the memory of our dearly departed at any time, but Judaism is all about designating certain times as sacred and special. Like the Sabbath and holidays, we are asked to pause from our frenetic routines and remember. The mitzvah of memory is a powerful one in our tradition⏤a key to our survival. Although we live in an anti-ritualistic age, we have come to learn that rituals survive because they bind us together and help us remember.

We do not desire for our loved ones to be forgotten. Perhaps it is time to recommit to our observance of yahrzeit, not only for the sake of our departed, but for our sake as well.

Kurt Roberg's Yom Kippur Appeal 5777

Chag Sameach, or as we used to say, Gut Yontef!

At this time of the year, during the High Holidays, my thoughts sometimes take me back to my childhood in my German birth-town, Celle, with its very small Jewish congregation. We had no weekly Shabbat services, the only time we could gather enough men for a minyan was on the major holidays; those services were led by our cantor, who was also our Hebrew teacher.

During those years in the 1930s, under the Nazi dictatorship, there seemed to be one silent factor in Hitler’s persecution of the Jews: for those who during the early 20th century and the short-lived Weimar Republic had become very assimilated, who had virtually abandoned Judaism as their proof of "being good Germans," for them Hitler left no doubt that they still were members of the Jewish Race; even Jews who had converted to Christianity were classified as "baptized Jews". All were reminded that being a Jew was not just a religion.

As a result, the Jewish congregations became even more the central place of common interests, as well as a resource center for valuable information and guidance for Jewish families.

After Kristallnacht in 1938, as a 14 year old, I managed to escape Nazi Germany to find refuge with my uncle in Holland; but the unprovoked invasion of Holland, along with Denmark, Norway, Belgium and France by the Nazi armies in May 1940 put me again under their control.

Luckily by early 1941 I was one of the few fortunate people who managed to escape war-torn Europe during a 4-month odyssey through Western Europe. This undertaking was made possible only with the help of various Jewish organizations and congregations in Amsterdam, Berlin, San Sebastian, Lisbon and New York.

By August, after having been held at Ellis Island for 2 months, with the possibility of being sent back to Nazi Germany, I was at last admitted and found a haven in New York’s Washington Heights with my family. The Heights was then the heart of the German-Jewish refugee settlement, and again numerous newly formed congregations were the backbone of that refugee society.

After I married and raised a family, first in New York City, then in New Jersey, we were members of conservative congregations, first in Riverdale and later in Englewood; then we joined Temple Sinai in Tenafly. From there we founded the Havorah Beth Chavairuth in the late 1970s. As a congregation without any real estate or personnel, a part-time rabbi and later also a cantor, we were a tight-knit group of people with many close friendships. All the functions and work were carried out by members.

Each week we met in the home of a member family who sponsored the Friday night services on a voluntary, rotating schedule.

By the way, the weekly Oneg Shabbat celebrations became legendary—there seemed to be a good-natured rivalry in offering wonderful home made cakes, pies and other special treats. One even heard opinions that some people attended services mostly for those great onegs!

But as happens in so many congregations, over the years an aging membership brought changes and at the dawn of the 21st Century we decided that it was time to merge. Our committee selected Congregation Adas Emuno, where we would feel comfortable; and we do! As a result I have been a member of this congregation for well over a dozen years.

After having experienced several large congregations, I love the intimacy of this smaller, heimische Kehillah with its distinguished history, perhaps because that was my background in my youth; but there are more compelling reasons for my feeling of great comfort here.

As in most organizations, there are some members who are doers—who make things happen—and so it is here. Under the inspiring leadership of our president, Lance Strate, the Executive officers, the Board of Trustees and our many dedicated volunteers, this congregation really functions like clockwork, without any politics or glitches—things always get done.

The spiritual guidance provided by our wonderfully gifted, versatile Rabbi, Barry Schwartz, can be at once uplifting, inspiring and informative in leading our services and the weekly Torah study sessions, that stimulate our intellectual curiosity. Our talented Cantor, Sandy Horowitz, not only has a lovely voice, as you have already heard, she is also the very able Director of our Religious School.

Well, I have given you some background on this congregation and of my own history, but only to show you why I feel so strongly about the importance of having the support of a well-functioning congregation—in good or in challenging times—a Congregation that cares about you and your family.

The family has been the nucleus of Jewish Life since time immemorial. I have mentioned the dedicated leadership of our congregation that is here to serve your needs—the spiritual or educational requirements of your family. And yet, after all those organizational necessities that make it possible, the most important part of our congregation is each one of you—together we are the congregation and as such we can share each others support. Understandably, some cannot devote as much time as other members, but we appreciate everybody’s support in any form—not only with your annual dues, but also by possibly supporting some of our special projects or by celebrating family events with additional contributions of tzedakah.

The old synagogue in which I grew up dates back to the year 1740. It is the only one in all of Northern Germany that escaped total destruction during Kristallnacht. At its door still stands a tzedakah box made of stone and iron, for charitable contributions—that age-old Jewish command for support of the community and its needs.

That tzedakah box of old has now, in our time, been replaced by a special envelope that you have received today.

Please consider your most generous High Holiday donation and return it in that tzedakah box envelope.

On behalf of the entire congregational membership, as the recipients of your kindness, I want to thank you.

Shanah Tovah!

 

From the pages of Kadima, the newsletter of Congregation Adas Emuno:

A Message From Our President

Dr. Lance Strate

Much Obliged

Edward Sapir was a Jewish anthropologist and a pioneer in the field of linguistics. He was particularly concerned with the ways in which different languages give us different ways of looking at, thinking about, and understanding the world. Ever hear about how Eskimos have a dozen different words for snow? The point is that they notice differences between different types of snow, because their vocabulary leads them to pay attention to those differences. For us, with only one word for snow, we tend to ignore the differences most of the time.

In a class discussion on this topic some time ago, a Japanese student explained that it is impossible to say in the Japanese language that my boyfriend drove me home. She explained that you either have to say that my boyfriend did me the favor of driving me home, or that my boyfriend was obligated to drive me home. In their language, action cannot be described in a neutral manner, divorced from social relationships. In this way, according to Sapir, the language that people speak influences the kind of culture that they have.

The Italians have a saying, traduttore, tradittore, a play on words which roughly translates to translator, traitor, or, the translator is a traitor. The idea is that something is always lost in the translation, and that's why, to be truly fluent in another language, you have to think in that other language, you have to see the world through the lens of that other language.

This comes up in reference to the Hebrew word tzedakah, which we translate to mean charity. And maybe that's not an act of treason, but it does betray a different meaning attached to similar types of action. The word charity can be traced back to the Latin caritas, which means dear, and is associated with love and caring. Tzedakah, on the other hand, has the root meaning of justice and righteousness. Simply put, charity means doing a favor. Tzedakah means keeping a moral obligation. These are differences, and they are differences that make a difference.

Nowadays, the language of love and caring comes easy to us. Some of what we love and care about may be for our own gratification, as foodies, fashionistas, or fans. Some of it may be for the sake of others, for various causes we have embraced and chosen to support. And, after all, as Americans, and as Jews, we are a giving and generous people, a caring people. We are fluent in that language.

But are we also fluent in the language of obligation? Or is it, like Yiddish, a language that was native to older generations, but one that we don't really speak anymore, one in which we only know a few words and phrases? We may hear about legal and financial obligations, but are they actions we take out of a positive sense of justice, of doing the right thing, or are they something that must be fulfilled to avoid negative consequences? Of course, there are family obligations as well, but do we see them as a blessing or a burden? Do we perform them as acts of righteousness, or out of a sense of guilt?

And how do we think about our obligations as citizens of the United States, and members of our local communities?

And even more so, how do we think about our obligations to our synagogue? Our congregation? Our Jewish community? To the Jewish people? To our religion and our tradition? Is it enough that whatever support we give is given as an act of charity? There certainly ought to be a sense of love and caring that we feel. I know I feel it. I hope you do too.

But is it enough that whatever support we give is given as a favor? Admittedly, everything we do now, we do out of choice, not out of necessity, in order to protect ourselves as a people in exile, and survive as strangers in a strange land. Everything we do now, in a sense, we do as a favor. And that means that it is easy enough for us not to do anything, not to attend services and events, not to get involved in our social action and educational activities, not to donate time, money, or resources. It is easy enough for us not to send our children to religious school, not to have them become b'nai mitzvah and confirmands, not to maintain membership in a synagogue, not hold onto our Jewish identity, not to pass on our traditions.

For most of us, the language of obligation is at best a second language, not our mother tongue. And the challenge is to learn to be fluent in that second language, to go beyond thinking of our obligations as just doing others a favor, as acts of charity. The challenge is to understand our obligations as actions we perform because we want and need to fulfill fulfilling our responsibilities, as members of Adas Emuno, as members of the Jewish community, as members of a people and part of a four thousand year old history.

Can we speak the language of obligation, more so can we think in the language of obligation, so that we understand it not as a matter of putting ourselves out, or even extending ourselves on behalf of others, but as a matter of being true to ourselves, being true to who we truly are?

In the English language, the old fashioned, colloquial expression, much obliged, is generally translated as thank you, but in addition to gratitude it also carries the subtle connotation of saying, I am in your debt. It is a great example of the language of obligation. It represents a way of looking at the world that includes accepting responsibility for each other. We owe it to each other, as members of our congregation and community, to support and maintain our congregation and community.

We owe a debt to the generations who came before us, a debt to keep faith in the face of all that they sacrificed for us. How much of the life and lifestyle that we enjoy today, in which we have the privilege to make choices and grant favors whenever we care to, how much of that is built on all that they accomplished, all that they sacrificed? How much did we earn ourselves, without any assistance from those who came before us?

We are much obliged for the blessings and benefits and beauty of our tradition, our heritage, our culture and our covenant. It is a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid, except by keeping faith with the future, by preserving and sustaining what we have inherited, and not depriving the generations that follow us of their own responsibilities to the past and to the future.

We need to teach the language of obligation, and to do that we need to speak it ourselves. And speaking that language includes giving Adas Emuno your support, involvement, and commitment. Without it, we won't survive. And with it, we are, without a doubt, much obliged.