SYNABLOG: Temple Emanuel of Beverly Hills

Coming Home: Finding Our Way to God’s House

Achat sha'alti me'eit Adonai, otah avakesh
Shivti b'veit Adonai, kol y'mei chayay
Lachazot b'noam, b'noam Yah, u'l'vaker b'heikhalo

One thing I ask, I ask of You, I earnestly pray for
That I might dwell in Your house all the days of my life
Knowing the beauty, the beauty of You, and to dwell in Your holy place!

-Psalm 27

We say this psalm every day throughout the month of Elul.  As we prepare our minds and our souls for the High Holy Days, these words ring in our ears.  And yet, for each person who says them and each person who hears them, they take on a uniquely individualized meaning.

After discussing this verse in our ‘Preparing For the High Holy Days’ workshop last week, each participant had his or her own interpretation of what it might mean to ‘dwell in Your (God’s) house,’ or to ‘dwell in Your (God’s) holy place.’  For some, this image evoked awe.  For others, comfort.  For some it felt distant, for others, close.  The idea of being ‘at home’ with the Divine brings out different connections, images, and emotions for each person who engages with it.

We each take on our method of preparation throughout the month of Elul.  Some of us might make an extra effort to apologize to those we may have hurt over the past year.  Some of us might do a mental cheshbon ha’nefesh (spiritual accounting), assessing our own areas of challenge and growth for the coming year.  My grandmother’s Elul practice always seemed to be cooking and freezing enough brisket, chicken and apple cake to feed our whole family several times over, and then some.  Each of these methods of preparing for the High Holy Days can bring us closer to ‘God’s house,’ depending on how we interpret this phrase for ourselves.

For as many interpretations as there are of what it means to ‘dwell in God’s house,’ there are just as many methods to get there.  Elul offers us the chance to approach the High Holy Days through a journey all our own, sharing the wail of the shofar and the psalm above.

Yet one thing remains constant for us: in just one short week we will arrive at our destination.  Regardless of how we got there – whether we felt prepared, whether we did the ‘work’ of Elul and whether or not the brisket has fully defrosted next Wednesday night… the High Holy Days will officially arrive.  At this point we come home.  We enter God’s house – whatever we might define that to be: our newly transformed sanctuary, the arms of family or friends, a centered heart and mind, or a cheerfully noisy dining room table. We come home to God’s house, our spiritual home.  We’re doing the work.  We’re traveling the distance.   And home sweet home is just around the corner.

We can’t wait to celebrate, reflect, pray, and dwell with you in our new home beginning with Slichot, this Saturday night, September 24 when our newly transformed space will finally be revealed.
 
Rabbi Sara Mason-Barkin

A Difficult Conversation

The conversation is supposed to begin like this: “Will you forgive me for anything I might have said or done this year that has hurt you?”   You are sitting with a friend over coffee, during this month of Elul, or maybe during the days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and you ask this question.   Not easy.  What if your friend responds “What did you do or say?”  Or what if your friend says, “You know, it did really hurt me when I found out that you… shared that story that I had told you in confidence, or… didn’t include me when you had that party, or… embarrassed me in front of so and so,” etc.  Not horrible sins, maybe, but the kind of interpersonal hurts that erode intimacy.  Or maybe there are more serious breaches.  Could you call the relative to whom you have stopped speaking over some long-ago insult and ask the same question?  What kind of conversation would ensue?  Or could you sit down with your partner, or your kids, or your parents, and ask the same question?  Our tradition tells us: “For transgressions between a person and God, Yom Kippur serves as atonement.  For transgressions between one person and another, Yom Kippur does not serve as atonement, until the one offended has been appeased.”  There are specific instructions; first you have to acknowledge the hurt you did; then, if the issue involves money, you have to pay back the money involved; next you have to resolve never to do it again; and finally, you have to discuss the issue with the one you have hurt and ask for forgiveness.  This is teshuva (repentance); this is the work of this season.

Asking for forgiveness is not easy.  But it pales in comparison to how hard it is to forgive.  Here Jewish tradition is also very clear: “If the person against whom one had sinned did not want to forgive, then one has to ask him/her for forgiveness in front of three of his/her friends.  If s/he still didn't want to forgive, then one asks him/her in front of six, and then in front of nine of his/her friends, and if s/he still didn't want to forgive him/her, one leaves him/her and goes away.  Anybody who does not want to forgive is a sinner.”

That’s pretty harsh. Aren’t here some things that are unforgivable?  Maybe it demands on what you mean by forgiveness.

Jewish tradition tells us there are three kinds of forgiveness, articulated by David Blumenthal in an article in Cross Currents magazine: “The most basic kind of forgiveness is "forgoing the other's indebtedness" (mechilá) after the offender has done teshuva.  This is not a reconciliation of heart.  The crime remains; only the debt is forgiven.  The second kind of forgiveness is "forgiveness" (selichá).  It is an act of the heart.  It is reaching a deeper understanding of the sinner.  It is achieving empathy for the troubledness of the other.  Selicha, too, is not a reconciliation or an embracing of the offender; it is simply reaching the conclusion that the offender, too, is human, frail, and deserving of sympathy.  It is closer to an act of mercy than to an act of grace.  The third kind of forgiveness is "atonement" (kappará).  This is a total wiping away of all sinfulness.  It is an existential cleansing.  Kappara is the ultimate form of forgiveness, but it is only granted by God…”

So forgiveness ought to be given only if the offender has done the work necessary to change. But change is possible; people can learn from their mistakes.  Notice that forgiveness doesn’t mean everything goes back to the way it once was; it doesn’t mean you have to invite the one who hurt you over for dinner.  But it does mean that you can give up your victim status and go on with the rest of your life.

Every night, before we go to sleep, there is a prayer that is part of the bedtime Sh’ma: “I hereby forgive all who have hurt me, all who have done me wrong, deliberately or by accident, whether by word or by deed.  May no one be punished on my account. As I forgive and pardon fully those who have done me wrong, may those whom I have harmed forgive and pardon me, whether I acted deliberately or by accident, whether by word or deed.  Wipe away my sins, O Lord, with your great mercy.  May I not repeat the wrongs I have committed.  May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to you, my Rock and my Redeemer.”

Try saying this prayer for the remaining days of Elul.  Let me know how it feels.   Some congregations end their Kol Nidre service with these words.  Should we?
               
Rabbi Laura Geller

The Spaces In Between the Notes

There’s a story told of the famous cantor who comes to the synagogue for a High Holy Day audition. (this was back in the day when cantors traveled from town to town and led services in different shuls, rather than staying fixed at one synagogue) The synagogue's ritual committee loved his soulfulness, his beautiful voice and his demeanor and wanted to hire him.  However, the negotiations stalled as his fee was twice that of all the other candidates. "Why do you need to be paid so much?" asked the committee chair. "Do you sing twice as many notes as they do?"

"No," replied the hazzan. "You're not paying me extra for more notes. You're paying for the spaces in-between the notes."

The composer Claude Debussy is given credit for having said, “Music is the space between the notes.”    So often we focus on what’s obvious---what’s right in front of us.  But perhaps, if we quiet ourselves and find the “empty” space, the silence…we will be able to find answers—or perhaps, find the questions.

As we continue our spiritual preparation for the New Year during this month of Elul, can you take 5 minutes from your busy life to quiet yourself?  To find your own inner voice?  To really hear? To truly listen?  Perhaps within that quiet, you might hear echoes of the still small voice inside yourself.

And so….during Elul it is traditional to hear the shofar sounded on a daily basis.  These powerful and inspiring sounds are kind of like a spiritual alarm clock, reminding us to wake up, and get with it. But the sounds of the shofar are as much about the non- blasts as the blasts.  There’s a deep silence that frames the sound of the shofar, a quiet that reflects our own soul-searching -- as we strive towards teshuvah -- A turning, and a returning—to what is authentically us—to our home.

Please click on this link to see the next installment of Temple Emanuel’s Elul Videos, this week featuring Frank Ponder.

Also, if you are on Facebook, please take a moment to “like” the Temple Emanuel of Beverly Hills Page, as well as make sure you are “friends” with me and the rest of our clergy team.

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Cantor Yonah Kliger