“Who is a Jew? Amiens, France, 1940-1945”
A set of photo identification cards of Jews from Amiens, France is now on display in Temple Emanuel’s “Thou Art” Gallery (near the Pollon Family Library). This new exhibit, “Who is a Jew?” is the product of historian David Rosenberg’s research.
As a member of the Adult Education/beit Hamidrash committee, Dr. Rosenberg — who is also a long-time Temple member with his wife Davant — offered to create this exhibit, which explores how French Jews self-identified when forced to register during the Nazi occupation of World War II. His research provides a chilling glimpse into the past and a reminder of a time in history that must never again repeat.
Speaking about the exhibition, Dr. Rosenberg says, “The lessons of the Shoah are important for Jews and non-Jews alike. This research has led to some hopeful developments abroad, including the dedication last October of a commemorative plaque by the city authorities of Amiens at the site of the WWII-era synagogue.”
Stop by Temple anytime during normal business hours to view the exhibit or call ahead to arrange a guided tour for three or more people.
Thank You Shabbat Five
March 23, 2018/8 Nissan, 5778
Synagogue Sine Qua Non – Volunteers
Rabbi Mark Joel Mahler
This Shabbat is the fifth of nine Shabbats leading up to my retirement that I’m devoting to offering my thanks to different groups of people whom I have served and who have helped me serve our congregation and community over these thirty eight years at Temple Emanuel. This Shabbat in particular, the recipients of my gratitude are so vast that in order to fully express my gratitude I must first offer a forward, followed by an introduction and then a preface.
Ever since I announced my retirement come June 30th, people have asked me the natural question, what do I plan to do? I have several items on my retirement agenda, but the answer I offer most often is to get back to writing “my book.”
During my summer sabbatical of 1996, I began writing a book to update the 613 mitzvot of Jewish tradition that begin in the Torah. Given at Mount Sinai, these laws comprised the constitution of ancient Israel and the spiritual and ethical backbone of biblical Judaism. Throughout Jewish history, the 613 mitzvot have been updated as changing times necessitated. Alexander the Great’s conquest and hellenization of ancient Israel created the need for an Oral Law to interpret the Written Law of the Torah. When Rome destroyed the Second Temple and crushed two revolts by Judea, the Oral Law itself was then written down in the Mishnah, followed by the Talmud. Over the ensuing centuries, the 613 mitzvot have been transmitted in various iterations of codes, commentaries, and rabbinic responsa, again as the ups and downs of Jewish history dictated.
I had many good reasons to begin writing in 1996. For one, the most recent Jewish law code, per se, is the Shulchan Aruch, written in 1565. To this day, the Shulchan Aruch remains authoritative among Orthodox Jews. In the 1840s, the authority of the Shulchan Aruch was precisely what the founders of Reform Judaism roundly rejected. With the Holocaust and the creation of the modern state of Israel, Jewish history has changed dramatically in the last seventy-five years alone, how much to more so since 1565 and the 1840s.
When my summer sabbatical concluded in 1996, I had compiled an updated list of 613 mitzvot with biblical citations, along with commentaries on approximately ninety of the mitzvot, and an introduction that clearly described my book’s intentions.
The forward now leads to the introduction.
A central point I make in my book’s introduction answers the question, what exactly is the meaning of the word “mitzvah?” If you asked the average Jew on the street, he or she answer would answer a “good deed” or a “commandment.” Both answers are right, almost.
A mitzvah is more than a “good deed” because it is good not only in and of itself, it is also something that God asks of us. A mitzvah therefore asserts God’s presence here on earth, God’s goodness and caring for humankind. A good deed is certainly good, but a mitzvah is also holy. During these often profane times, when the word “holy” has all but vanished from common parlance, let alone exists as a virtue that people live by, the full meaning of mitzvah is all the more timely and vital.
A mitzvah is also less than a “commandment” as well as something more. A commandment is an edict, a fiat, a decree that must be obeyed, or else! Starting in the Garden of Eden when Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit, the Bible is rife with episodes when people defy God’s decrees.
A mitzvah is what God asks of us, but a mitzvah is something we do out of free will. Thereby keeping a mitzvah is an act of mutual love, reciprocal love, of God’s love for us in giving us the mitzvah and our love for God in doing it. So a mitzvah is something less than a commandment because it lacks the power of a commandment, but it is something more than a commandment because it is motivated not by power and authority but by voluntary love.
My book’s introduction now takes us to the preface for expressing my gratitude this evening.
Toward the conclusion of the Torah, Moses gathered the people before Mount Sinai and said, “You are standing this day, all of you before Adonai your God – your tribal heads, your elders and your officials, all the men of Israel, your children, your wives, even the stranger within your camp, from woodchopper to waterdrawer – to enter into the covenant of the Eternal your God, which the Eternal your God is concluding with you, to establish you this day as God’s people and be your God, as God promised you and swore to your ancestors, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. I make this covenant not with you alone, but both with those who are standing here with us this day before the Eternal our God and with those who are not here this day.”
Just in case you missed it, Moses concluded with a remarkable statement: Moses was speaking not only with those who were there at Mount Sinai but also with those who were not there.
Every rabbi wishes that he or she had Moses’ gift to speak with those who are not here this day. For me this is especially true this Shabbat, when I offer my gratitude to everyone at Temple who has volunteered their time and talent on behalf of our congregation. Who do they include?
They include the twenty-four members of our Board of Trustees, the chair people of our various committees, advisory boards, endowment funds, auxiliaries, along with everyone who has served on them. Yet altogether they are merely part of the many people who offer their time and talent to our congregation.
And what do they do? They sound the shofar, chant Torah, read Haftarah and lead services on the High Holy Days. They lead Shabbat services, Sunday morning minyans, Shiva minyans, Passover Seders and study groups. They sing and play instruments to enhance the beauty of our services and to entertain us at social events. They create educational and social programs, determine policies and practices, set budgets, track finances, sign paychecks. They erect our Sukkahs, decorate them and then take them down. They stuff envelopes with Temple mailings. They cook for our Memorial Day and Labor Day picnics, help with our model Seders and prepare food for meals of condolence for families sitting Shiva. They collect food and life’s necessities for the South Hills Interfaith Movement to distribute to the needy. They feed and shelter people overnight in the Family Promise program once a month. They crochet caps and knit comforters for the sick. They inspect our building to ensure its upkeep. They tend our gardens, as well as our cemetery. They maintain our website. They march here and lobby in Washington for righteous causes. They counsel the bereaved and care for the needs of the ill or the elderly, providing rides and shopping for groceries.
I am certain that I have omitted something, perhaps many things, for which I might apologize. But let me expand the circle of my gratitude to embrace every member of Temple Emanuel today and over these thirty-eight years, in other words to speak not only to those of you are here this evening, but like Moses, to speak to those who are not here as well.
For the truth is that Judaism is a voluntary religion, it always has been and it always will be. Love cannot be commanded. Love can only be freely given. Love can only be freely accepted. Genuine love, above all other things in life, is voluntary.
Especially today, anyone and everyone who belongs to Temple Emanuel, or any house of worship for that matter, is here, or there, voluntarily. Especially today when synagogue affiliation nationally continues to decline – less than one-third of American Jews now belong to a synagogue – the simple act of synagogue affiliation is indisputably a voluntary act.
Indeed one of the 613 mitzvot in my book is “It is a mitzvah to support a synagogue.” So too all of the voluntary acts of our members that I cited previously, from sounding the shofar to shopping for groceries for the ill and the elderly, are among the 613 mitzvot I include in my book. But there are many more mitzvot that could be kept and should be kept, given that the mitzvot in their entirety are the measure by which we Jews live up to being created in God’s image.
I conclude with good news and bad news.
First, the bad news. When I finished writing at the end of my summer sabbatical in 1996, I had written one-hundred thousand words. At five-hundred words per page, that’s two-hundred pages right there, including commentaries for only ninety of the 613 mitzvot. Simple arithmetic said that if I accomplish all that I envision, my book was on the way to being at least a million words and two-thousand pages long. Good luck to me finding a publisher willing to publish a multi-volume edition of a book written by a previously unpublished author! In 2006, I sat down to edit what I had written. Instead, I quickly wrote another twenty-thousand words. Recognizing that my book was not only a matter of writing words but also wrestling with words, I put the book on the back burner until I retire.
Now, the good news….
It is the nature of the 613 mitzvot that not all of them are intended for every single person. Even when the 613 of the Torah comprised the constitution of biblical Israel, many of the mitzvot applied only to some of the people – for example, only to the kings, or priests or Levites of ancient Israel – while many other mitzvot applied to all of the people – among the many, for example, the Ten Commandments. Nonetheless, any one of us has more than enough mitzvot to do voluntarily, lovingly.
So the better news is that each mitzvah that God gives to us is an act of God’s love for us, and through us for the whole world. Each mitzvah that we keep is an act of our love for God and for the whole world. In a world where too many people are desperate for such love, or doubting and dismissive that such love exists, in a world so close to becoming everything that God created it for, yet so very far, I can’t think of better news. Can you?
I am honored to be appointed as Temple Emanuel’s Interim Rabbi for this coming year. I can’t tell you – but I think it will show – how much I enjoy the role of Interim Rabbi. I have served as Interim Rabbi for the Jewish Reconstructionist Congregation in Evanston, IL and Temple Beth Am in Framingham, MA. I am currently at Barnert Temple in Franklin Lakes, NJ. Temple Emanuel will thus be my fourth interim congregation.
As an Interim Rabbi, my first priority will be to be your Rabbi, there for you, the members, in all the ways a spiritual leader should be, providing all the clergy presence you have come to expect and deserve. During our year together, I, partnering with Rabbi Locketz, will be there for you to celebrate and sanctify the joyous times and to stand with you during the difficult times of illness, heartbreak, and loss. One of my strengths has been the ability to connect with people heart to heart in a relatively short time, which has served me well in officiating at life cycle events for individuals and families whom I have just met. In that regard, I know that the families of youngsters becoming Bar/Bat Mitzvah are naturally concerned about a Rabbi whom they do not know working with their children alongside Rabbi Locketz and being part of this most important family life cycle event. One of my first priorities will be to reach out to the Bat/Bar Mitzvah students and create opportunities for us to get to know each other.
An Interim Rabbi is more than a clergy placeholder until you get your next Senior Rabbi. My other mission is to help Temple Emanuel through this year of transition. It will be an important time to regroup after 38 years of Rabbi Mahler’s dedicated leadership, experience what his retirement means for the congregation, to mix continuity with change, and to pursue the search for the Rabbi you believe will best serve your needs and begin with you the next chapter in the life of Temple Emanuel. The fact that Rabbi Mahler has had such a long and energetic tenure at the Temple is a precious blessing. It says a great deal about him, about the Temple, and, most importantly, about the relationship between Rabbi and community. Of course, the blessing of a long-term rabbinate also presents a challenge. What will Temple Emanuel be like without Rabbi Mahler at the helm? How will the Temple change and how will it remain the same? Without Rabbi Mahler, will it still be Temple Emanuel? (Not to give too much away, but the answer is yes.)
In one way or another, Temple Emanuel faces the same challenges that most synagogues and churches face: demographic shifts, financial concerns, a shrinking volunteer base, and a general cultural climate in which “I” over-shadows “we.” But from what I saw and what I learned from speaking with people in and out of the congregation, Temple Emanuel is well-poised to meet these challenges in positive and creative ways. I am looking forward to partnering with President David Weisberg, Rabbi Locketz, Leslie Hoffman, Iris Harlan, and the rest of the dedicated Temple leadership and staff.
Just to be clear, the term of an Interim Clergy is one year. I have no intention of becoming your “settled” Rabbi nor would it be appropriate. My job is to serve the clergy needs of the members for this year and to set up the congregation so that it can find the best clergy fit for its future.
Prior to my interview visit, I had only been to Pittsburgh once for a rabbinic convention. The Pittsburgh area looks to be a wonderful place to live – small enough to be manageable, but large enough in vision to offer a treasure-trove of cultural resources. Fran and I are looking forward to living in the community, making new friends, and taking advantage of all that Pittsburgh offers!
Thank You Shabbat Four
March 9, 2018/23 Adar, 5778
Jews who Choose Judaism
Rabbi Mark Joel Mahler
Jewish tradition may ask us never to call someone who has converted to Judaism a “convert.” Rather he or she should only be called a “Jew.” Nonetheless, Jewish tradition extols converts in ways that make converts exemplars of Judaism to all Jews.
The most famous and oft-repeated tale from the Talmud emanates from conversion. In fact, it is so famous that I’ll simply start it, and someone can then can volunteer to finish it.
One day, a man went to Shammai, a great Tanna, “Teacher,” at the turn of the common era, who earned his livelihood as builder. The man said to Shammai, “I will convert to Judaism on condition that you teach me the whole Torah while I stand on one foot.” Deeming such a request impudent, Shammai brandished one of his builder’s tools like a weapon and chased the man away. The man then went to Hillel, the greatest Tanna of the time, and repeated the same request: “I will convert to Judaism on condition that you teach me the whole Torah while I stand on one foot.”
Who would now like to finish the story with Hillel’s response?
…“What is hateful to you, do not do to any person. All the rest is commentary. Go and study.”
If you are familiar with Christianity’s Golden Rule “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” based on the Sermon on the Mount in the New Testament, where do you think Jesus learned this? Modern scholars have every reason to believe that Jesus was a disciple of Hillel.
Modern scholars also have every reason to believe that Hillel became the greatest Tanna of his day and the spiritual leader of the Jewish people, precisely because he hailed, not from Judea the Jewish nation, but from Egypt. The message he gave simply by his origins is that you don’t have to be a Judean to be a Jew. Judaism is not a religion of nationality, how much the more so geography. Unlike Zeus on Mount Olympus, Poseidon in the seas and Hades in the Underworld, God is the universal God. Thus Hillel became the champion of the great age of proselytism for Judaism across the Roman empire. So successful was Jewish proselytism of the day that the historian Josephus reported that one out of every ten citizens of the Roman empire was Jewish. By comparison, today’s American Jewish community is a mere 1.6 % of the U.S. population.
Once Emperor Constantine declared Christianity the official religion of the Roman Empire circa 312 of the common era, conversion to Judaism and proselytism for Judaism became capital offenses, punishable by death. But when and where they could, people continued to convert to Judaism.
The story is told that the kingdom of the Khazars, a people residing on the Asian steppes between the Black and Caspian Seas, converted en masse to Judaism sometime roughly between the seventh and tenth centuries. Rabbi Judah HaLevi based his philosophical treatise, The Kuzari, on the Khazars’ mass conversion. The conversion of the Khazars also gave rise in our own day to Arthur Koestler’s best seller, The Thirteenth Tribe. However, modern scholars debate whether the Khazars’ mass conversion lies somewhere between fact and fiction. Nonetheless such grey areas have given light and inspiration to Judaism and the Jewish people ever since the patriarchs and matriarchs of the Torah.
Another such story is much closer to our time. Polish Count Valentine Potocki, was burned at the stake on Shavuot, 1749. While living in Paris, Potocki befriended a Jew who introduced him to the faith of Israel. The more Potocki learned, the more he was enchanted, until he converted to Judaism. When he returned to his native Poland, he was arrested for heresy, and tortured to recant his conversion. He refused. Facing execution, he was asked a final time to recant. Potocki responded, “I have discovered a chest filled with precious treasure. Why should I now give it away?”
Shavuot commemorates the revelation at Mount Sinai, the moment when all Jews embraced our covenant with God. Accepting the covenant is the essence of Judaism, and as such, the essence of converting to Judaism. As the story is told, as the flames engulfed Potocki, he recited Shema Yisrael.
The special grace note for Shavuot and conversion is the Haftarah assigned to the Holy Day: the Book of Ruth, highlighted by the words that Ruth spoke to her daughter in law Naomi, “Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay, your people will be my people and your God my God, where you die I will die, and there will I be buried.” Ruth’s words of devotion became the biblical benchmark for conversion to Judaism.
And lest we otherwise overlook it, Abraham and Sarah were the first Jews but they were not born Jewish. Therefore Abraham and Sarah were also the first converts to Judaism! What we may have overlooked was not lost upon our ancient sages. They ruled that the person who converts to Judaism is greater than the person born Jewish, because the person who converts has received the Ruach HaKodesh, the Divine Inspiration to convert, just as Abraham and Sarah received that Divine Inspiration. Therefore when a person converting to Judaism takes on a Hebrew name, he or she is noted as the son or daughter of Abraham and Sarah.
Over the years, I have worked with literally hundreds of people for conversion. I once asked Mrs. Marcovitz, the woman who ran the Mikveh for decades until the new Mikveh opened last year, “Which rabbi brings the most people to the Mikveh for conversion?” My question was borne of idle curiosity. She said, “You do.” Her answer surprised me then, but as I look back over these thirty-eight years that I’ve served the Pittsburgh community, Mrs. Marcovitz may indeed be correct.
Working with people who choose Judaism has been gratifying for me, in part because at times, I’ve sensed how difficult it has been for them.
For instance, I received a phone call on Monday from a person telling me that he’d like to convert to Judaism. I informed him that one of the requirements for conversion is attending the Introduction to Judaism course, which in fact began last night. With time of the essence, I suggested that we meet yesterday morning. He agreed. Yesterday morning came and went, and he never showed up, nor did I receive a phone call telling me why. This scenario was not all that unusual. If experience is any teacher, he may call me again and request that we reschedule our meeting. Experience also teaches that I may never hear from him again.
For every person I’ve guided in conversion over the years, there may be another person whose story is similar, if not identical, to yesterday’s no-show. More typically, they are people who meet with me once and never meet with again, nor with any other Reform rabbi, nor I am quite certain nor with any Conservative rabbi, and as logic would dictate, how much the more so, nor with any Orthodox rabbi.
I don’t think it’s necessarily easy to convert to Judaism. Perhaps this is true for every religion, but I speak with authority only regarding Judaism. I might cite dozens of different anecdotes describing the challenges that people face on their journey to Judaism, but ultimately one anecdote may tell all.
Years ago, I was meeting with someone who had completed all the requisites for conversion: Shabbat and holiday observances in the home and here at Temple, regular meetings with me for counsel along the path, completing the Introduction to Judaism course, team taught by the area Reform clergy, along with recommended readings. All these endeavors had taken the typical year or more. She was ready for her interview with the Beit Din and immersion in the Mikveh. She said to me, “How much chicken soup do I have to consume before I really feel Jewish?”
I have repeated this anecdote countless times because it is so illustrative of what being Jewish is and isn’t. There is no mitzvah among the 613 mitzvot that says “Thou shalt eat chicken soup.” But there are mitzvot to feed the hungry, to shelter and clothe the needy, to redeem the oppressed, on and on. Judaism is not a religion of common culture. Judaism is a religion of moral virtues and shared values, of rituals celebrated with family and community. One of the many reasons that synagogue affiliation is declining is because too many Jews have believed that eating bagels and lox while reading The New York Times on Sunday mornings are fundamental Jewish acts. Ditto now hummus and felafel. Or they shep naches, “take pride and delight” when Jews win Oscars, although this week not one Jew won a major Academy Award. …Or they feel shame at the antics this week of Sam Nunberg.
Neither is Judaism a religion conveyed by genes. My daughter Shira texted me this week that her fiance Ed has discovered through his father’s recent genetic testing that his DNA is 2% Jewish. Knowing that Ed is working his way through all the requisites to convert to Judaism, I texted back, “Pretty soon he’ll be 100% Jewish.”
Truth be told, we are living in a time when all of us, even those of us who were born Jewish, choose to be Jewish, or sadly, not to be Jewish. To wit, every demographic survey indicates that the fastest growing Jewish population in the U.S. are those who have no religious affiliation with Judaism.
Questions such as “How much chicken soup do I have to consume to feel really Jewish?” clarify and refine what it is to be Jewish. Being Jewish is not a “feeling.” Being Jewish is “doing;” keeping as many of the mitzvot to bring God into your life and mine, to assert God’s goodness in this world that sorely lacks for goodness.
A Midrash teaches, “The convert is dearer than the Jews who stood before Sinai. Why? Because had those Jews not heard the thunder and the blasts of the shofars, nor seen the lightning and the mountain quaking, they would not have accepted the Torah. But the one who converts has neither seen nor heard any of these things, yet has come and surrendered to the Holy One and accepted the reign of heaven on earth. Could anyone be dearer to God?”
To all of you who chose to be Jewish, thank you for making all of us better Jews.
By now, you’ve heard that Rabbi Don will be our Interim Rabbi starting in July. When he and his wife Fran visit Pittsburgh in early April, the congregation will have a chance to meet them at the First Friday Shabbat Service.
In the meantime, he has given his permission to share the personal statement below, which was included with his application. Reading it is worth your while, as his compelling words shed some light on who he is as a rabbi.
My grandfather used to tell me about conversations he had with his dental patients concerning my plans to become a rabbi. The reaction from his Christian patients was invariably, “How wonderful!” The typical response from Jewish patients was, “Why would he ever want to do that?”
I wish I could go back and speak to those who wanted to know why I would ever want to do “that.” Now in my fourth decade in the rabbinate, there are so many answers I could give, so many ways in which this sacred calling has brought me more meaning, satisfaction, sense of higher purpose, and deeper joy than I ever could have imagined.
In the beginning…
Looking back, there were a number of factors in my early years which generated my life’s passion for Judaism and community service and which shaped my rabbinate. The death of my parents when I was a young child and my upbringing in the home of my grandparents were the most definitive experiences of my life. My brother and I were raised as fifth generation members of Mt. Zion Temple in St. Paul. Ours was a synagogue-centered, community- service oriented life. We had close ties with the rabbis which included W. Gunther Plaut, Bernard Martin, Frederick Schwartz, James Michaels, and Leigh Lerner. Each of them in some way helped create a strong foundation for my rabbinate.
In the beginning, God…
As a Jew, I am on a journey to and with God; and as a rabbi, I am blessed with opportunities to share that journey with others as they share their journeys, their doubts and their challenges with me. For me, God is real. I find intimations of a caring transcendent Reality in the pull of a moral matrix which orients those who would so align themselves. I sense divinity in the energy that sustains the relationships which create worlds on the cosmic, subatomic, genetic, and interpersonal levels. I hear the sacred Power of Life in the voice of the angels which bid each blade of grass to grow. That unifying Reality has many names, the most essential of which cannot be uttered, only breathed.
Eitz chayim he – Torah is an ever-growing tree of life…
At the core of Jewish living is Torah. Torah and life are inseparable. I view Torah as the Jewish People’s cumulative response to the questions posed by life’s mysteries: “Who am I? Who are we? What is the transcendent “big picture” and what is my place and purpose in it? Does something of me remain after I die?” And beyond these universal human questions, the particular and essential Jewish question asked in every age has been: “How do we live together in the presence of a Creator who calls us to justice, righteousness, and holiness?” Through the centuries, Jews have offered and lived multiple and often conflicting responses. As a rabbi, I have tools which enable me to mine and share the richness of these responses and which guide me as I empower Jews of each generation to offer and live responses of their own. Whether on the pulpit, in the classroom, under a chuppah, in my office, sitting against a tree at camp, or playing soccer on the National Mall with a Confirmation class, I try to honor each opportunity to bring Torah to life.
The synagogue is the heart of the Jewish People…
The central institution of the Jewish people through which Judaism has been taught, lived, and meaningfully perpetuated is the synagogue. As a rabbi, I have had the opportunity to realize a vision of what a synagogue community could and should be: an extended family devoted to learning and living Torah, nourishing the soul, pursuing tikkun olam (social justice and interpersonal righteousness), and celebrating in the midst of a diverse, welcoming and non-judgmental community. Such an institution adds meaning and joy to Jewish persons, strength to the Jewish People, and satisfaction to the Holy One of Being. I have shared this vision in a way which has inspired many to want to be a part of it and support it spiritually and financially.
Serve Adonai in gladness, come before God in joyous song!
For me, worship provides opportunities to create a sacred community of seekers, aware of their connection with each other, with the tradition, wisdom, and spirituality of Judaism, and with the transcendent Presence around, within, and between. Those connections are best made when both left and right brains are engaged. The right brain yearns for joy and uplift; the left brain seeks depth, thoughtfulness, and challenge. Both feel affirmed in community. Joy and inspiration are best experienced through music, both “passive” and “participatory.” Having grown up playing Sulzer and Lewandowski on the piano just for fun while being a high school friend of and early advocate for Debbie Friedman, my tastes in Jewish liturgical music embrace the rich spectrum of its many expressions. Depth and challenge are presented through the written and spoken word. My sermons are designed to connect the wisdom of our heritage with the real lives of those before me, providing Jewish answers to human questions. The writing of sermons is an art form, crafted with the tools of study, reflection, experience, creativity, and humor.
Healing the broken-hearted and binding their wounds…
Having lost both of my parents to cancer before I was five years old, I have had a heightened sensitivity to persons facing illness and death, especially, but not exclusively, children. I see the act of bringing personal rabbinic presence to the bedside of the ill or to the living room of the bereaved as one of my most sacred privileges. Embodying God’s love and compassion in such settings provides one of the most potent opportunities to make a positive difference in people’s lives in the times of their greatest needs. Listening deeply to what people say and what they communicate without words allows me to craft eulogies which put the life of their dear one in a frame of understanding, compassion, and meaning. Not infrequently has counselling combined with eulogy opened the door of healing for emotional wounds left by a less than positive relationship between the mourner and the mourned. For this reason, I always prepare a text of the eulogies I write, given that families often request a copy as a keepsake.
Do not separate yourself from the community…
I am deeply passionate about my work in the Jewish community and the community at large. We heal more of the world’s brokenness when we join together. But beyond that, as a Jew and a rabbi, I am keenly aware that I represent my synagogue in the Jewish community and represent the Jewish community and the values of Judaism within the wider world. I take the responsibility as “symbolic exemplar” most seriously. The rabbinate privileges me with opportunities to bring people together, to help them understand issues in light of the Jewish tradition, and to speak out with a rabbinic voice, advocating for justice, for compassion, for accountability, for Israel, and for love and reconciliation. I believe I am able to speak with moral conviction and credibility, not because the title of rabbi bestows it, but because the position allows and continually challenges me to earn it. My interfaith and inter-racial work has brought me great meaning and satisfaction through the years, as well as some of my dearest friends.
My Heart is in the East
Israel occupies a very special place in my heart. One of my most transformative experiences was the year in which I spent at the Hebrew University. It was the year of the Yom Kippur War. As part of an entertainment group, I spent time with members of the IDF in their training camps, in just about every hospital in the state, and, in the immediate aftermath of the war, in their outposts across the Sinai. I also spent time with the wives and children left behind. This experience seared into me an abiding love for the land, language, and especially the people of Israel and a commitment to the wellbeing of the Jewish state and all who live there. My vision for a Jewish, democratic, and pluralistic state has been expressed through my labor within the CCAR where I had the privilege to give voice to our collective rabbinic commitment to Israel and to the Israeli Progressive Movement. From the pulpit, I have been an advocate for Israel, but not uncritically. I have shared both the Jewish and Palestinian narratives, each containing important elements of the truth, neither having a monopoly on it. In my eyes, the stance vis-à-vis Israel which I find must disturbing is indifference. I encourage my congregation to learn about Israel, visit Israel, and to support those causes whose vision of Israel most align with theirs; for I believe that no matter where we stand, we stand with Israel.
The end of the matter…
My core belief is that we are here to serve God by serving others. As a rabbi, I am blessed to serve individuals and families during the happiest of times and the most tragic of moments in a role available to no other professional or friend. Being totally present, I have an opportunity to touch the tzelem Elohim, the Godliness of each person, to frame her joys Jewishly, to soften his sorrows compassionately, and – with the wisdom of Torah, human understanding, and experience – to lend meaning, depth, healing, and hope to life’s many journeys. In each of these encounters, I get a glimpse, if but for a moment, of why I am here.
So I ask you, dear reader, who would not want to do that?
Temple Emanuel of South Hills’ Board of Trustees is pleased to announce the appointment of Rabbi Donald Rossoff, D.D., R.J.E., as interim senior rabbi of the South Hills Reform congregation. Rabbi Rossoff’s contract was approved at a congregational meeting on Sunday, February 11, 2018.
Rabbi Rossoff will begin his year-long tenure at Temple Emanuel on July 1, 2018. Outgoing Senior Rabbi Mark Mahler, who has served the congregation for 38 years, will retire June 30, 2018.
Board President David Weisberg is pleased that the congregation approved Rabbi Rossoff’s contract and is looking forward to the future. “Rabbi Rossoff will serve as a bridge for our congregation, from the strong foundation that Rabbi Mahler helped build to a future where we can continue to flourish,” he says.
Over the next several months, Temple Emanuel will begin searching for a settled rabbi and Rabbi Rossoff’s experience assisting synagogues in transition will prove invaluable.
“The Interim Search Committee has no doubt we found the right person in Rabbi Rossoff, and we are thrilled he will be joining us,” says Search Committee Chair Michelle Markowitz. “His experience and demeanor made him the ideal choice to lead us through this important transition.”
Rabbi Rossoff will move to the South Hills with his wife Francine, a registered nurse. The couple has four adult children: Marc, Jenna. Ilana and Nathaniel. He is excited about working at Temple Emanuel and understands the particular role of an interim rabbi. “I will walk with and guide this sacred community on a journey that will take them through the loss they will feel from Rabbi Mahler’s retirement and on to the visioning of the future they would choose for themselves,” he says. “It has been a joy and a privilege to walk that journey with three other congregations and I am excited about the opportunity to join with Temple Emanuel on the journey that lies ahead for them.”
Rabbi Rossoff served as interim rabbi at Barnert Temple in Franklin Lake, NJ (2017-18), Temple Beth Am in Framingham, MA (2016-17), and the Jewish Reconstructionist Congregation in Evanston, IL (2015-16). He also served as senior rabbi of Temple B’Nia Or in Morristown, NJ from 1990-2015. Additionally, he authored the children’s book, “A Perfect Prayer.”
“Thank You Shabbat Three”
January 12, 2018/26 Tevet, 5778
When Life has Met Death
Rabbi Mark Joel Mahler
This Shabbat we continue with my Thank You Shabbats, this evening for the people whose loved one’s funeral I officiated at. As a prelude to my thanks and to offer them fully, heartfully and soulfully, I begin with four personal reflections.
First. When I was accepted to rabbinic school at the New York campus of Hebrew Union College – Jewish Institute of Religion, the dean asked to meet with me. Our conversation was brief but to the point. The dean said to me, “Mark, being a rabbi is a difficult job. On any given day, you’ll have to deal with different emotionally charged situations. You may officiate at a funeral in the morning, then a wedding in the afternoon and then a Shiva minyan in the evening.” Waving his hand in front of his face to emphasize his point, the dean then said, “In these situations, what you have to do is change the mask.”
The dean was correct. Being a rabbi can be an extremely difficult job, fraught with emotionally charged situations. But the dean was also wrong, at least for me. I wasn’t about to contest his well-intentioned advice, but even as a young man just accepted to rabbinic school, I knew that I could never be a rabbi who merely “changes the mask.”
…Which leads to the second reflection. During my first two years as a rabbi, we lived in an apartment in suburban Philadelphia. One morning as I was walking into the building, I exchanged greetings with a neighbor, a young surgeon who was walking out. I said to him, “Off to the operating room?” He answered, “Yes, I’m going to slash for cash!” I replied, “I don’t think you want your patients to hear that.” He said, “Of course not, but I’m sure that you reach a point as a rabbi that you’re emotionally detached, for example, when officiating at a funeral becomes routine.” “Oh no,” I replied, “I have to give my heart in every circumstance.”
Now almost forty years a rabbi, on the days when I had a funeral in the morning, a wedding in the afternoon, and a Shiva minyan in the evening, as well as during the ups and downs on any given day, I have done my best to give my heart.
Third. It wasn’t easy. Years ago while visiting us in Pittsburgh, my sister Jackie observed, “Every time the phone rings in this house, the tension goes up.” The explanation is simple. So many times when the phone has rung over the years, it is a congregant or a funeral home calling for the saddest of all possible reasons.
Fourth. In fact at times it has been extremely difficult. Alice was invited to speak when Temple honored me on the occasion of my twenty-fifth year at Temple. She and I didn’t discuss beforehand what she could or should say. No need: no one knows me better, no one loves me more. Something she said struck deep: “With every death in the congregation, Mark dies a little bit.”
Indeed, sometimes it has been crushing. For each of your loved ones whom I buried, I mourned in my own way, with personal rituals to navigate this difficult emotional terrain.
I always touched the coffin and bid a personal farewell.
For anyone who ever wondered why I always drive myself to the funeral and the cemetery rather than by a funeral home’s limousine, a limousine was once late to pick me up, which then made me late for the funeral. Once was too often.
Over the many years, en route to the cemetery the only music I’ve listened to is Claude Debussy’s Claire de Lune, which for me sounds the perfect harmony of the beauty of this world with the mystery of the next world. Otherwise I listen to the news or turn off the radio altogether. Jewish tradition insists that the overall mood of L’vaiyat HaMet, “Accompanying the Dead” be solemn. Kalut Rosh, “Light headedness,” is explicitly discouraged. When people have joked with me at the cemetery, I am always uncomfortable but always polite.
O how I’ve worried each time pall bearers bear their burden at the cemetery. Every pall bearer is unnerved by how heavy any coffin is. Pittsburgh’s hilly cemeteries and frequent inclement weather render their burden even more daunting. As I lead the pall bearers to the grave, while reciting the traditional liturgy, I am quick to point out potential hazards: a muddy patch here, uneven ground there, or slippery artificial ground cover leading to the grave. Then comes their moment of truth when they must mount the planks on either side of the grave – the narrow flexible planks that spring under the weight of each step – in order to place their burden safely on the two narrow straps of the lowering device.
As the coffin is lowered, I recite the traditional Tziduk HaDin, Psalm 49, referring to God as a “Rock,” a poetic image as the coffin descends into the earth. I also watch the little bolt on the lowering device that spins around as the coffin descends. The little bolt stops spinning when the coffin comes to rest at the bottom of the grave. As I watch the bolt spin and then stop, I meditate on the simple yet profound fact that this human body had been in constant motion from the moment it was created at conception. Even after death it continued its unique journey to the funeral home, often to Temple and then to the cemetery. But having arrived now at the bottom of the grave, it has come to eternal rest. How appropriate that we identify this finale with “Rest in peace.”
I also observe a personal Shiva for your loved ones. For many of them, I had been praying for their healing daily for weeks, for months and sometimes for even years. I guesstimate that on any given day, I pray for fifty people or more, having memorized their names alphabetically. Memory then has no “delete” key. After people on my prayer list have died, force of habit keeps me reciting their name in the daily prayer for healing. Each time I do, the pain of their loss resurfaces. It generally takes me a week – Shiva – to remember to forget. Sometimes longer. And sometimes even after years, I remember a name during the prayer for healing that I had once prayed for years ago.
Moments of reflection such as this Shabbat evening demand an honest question. Could I have done better? The honest answer for me, and for everyone with at least a modicum of humility, is “Of course,” but I was always trying to do my best, to give my heart. However I thank you for making me feel that my best efforts were always more than good enough.
For your words of gratitude, I thank you. Given your grief, please know that I never counted on encomiums. Therefore I appreciated them all the more when you expressed them.
I thank you for your expressions of gratitude that my words in memory of your loved ones were indeed fitting tributes to their memory that you so cherish.
Everyone grieves differently, some effusively and emotionally, some stoically and privately. Sometimes it has been difficult for me to discern exactly how close I should come or how distant I should remain. If I erred in judgment, I thank you for your forgiveness.
No less is this true for dying as well as death. Sometimes I am greeted in the time leading up to death as a source of strength. Other times, I am spurned as death’s herald. Here too it has been difficult to discern which impact in particular I will have upon people, merely by my presence. Again, if I erred in judgment, I thank you for your forgiveness.
Sometimes your loved one’s funeral was quickly followed by someone else’s loved one’s funeral. Over the years, on average I’ve officiated at twenty-five funerals annually. Dying and death are never spread out smoothly at two or so per month. Often they have been preceded by vigils in the hospital, in hospice or in the home which also require my attention, to give my heart. If you understood these pastoral demands upon me, I thank you.
All funerals are sad, but some are tragic. These especially required me to give my heart. And such are the funerals that broke my heart. But they never shook my faith in God.
A final reflection….
When I was a young man first considering becoming a rabbi, I was inspired by several people, most of all by the rabbi who became my rabbinic mentor and who installed me here as Rabbi of Temple Emanuel in 1985, Rabbi Ely Pilchik of blessed memory. When I first met Rabbi Pilchik in 1972, among his many virtues, his eyes fascinated me. He had eyes like Albert Einstein: eyes that had seen eternity. I wanted to have those same eyes. I wanted to glimpse eternity. Little did I appreciate then exactly how one earns these eyes. Many decades later, I look at myself in the mirror, I see these eyes, and I understand what it has taken to earn them.
Indeed I have glimpsed eternity again and again:
Each time my phone has rung with the saddest of all possible news.
Each time we met thereafter and you’ve told me your loved one’s life story.
Each time I have written the eulogy honoring your loved one’s memory.
Each time I officiated at your loved one’s funeral.
Each time I have led the pall bearers with their heavy burden to the grave.
Each time I have watched that little bolt stop spinning.
Each time we tossed dirt into the grave.
Each time that we recited Kaddish together.
Each time that we have tried to make sense of life in light of death.
Each time that we pondered immortality’s unfathomable possibility measured against mortality’s inescapable reality.
I thank you for extending your hand and heart to me. I thank you for the trust you gave to me. I thank you for taking my hand. I thank you for touching my heart with yours.
We’ve heard what the URJ Biennial was like from Temple President David Weisberg and VP Michelle Markowitz, but adults weren’t the only ones who attended. Temple member Rebecca Schwartz, a junior at Mt. Lebanon Senior High School, shares her experience:
I often say that it takes two meetings to bring someone into your life: At the first meeting, you get to know someone; at the second meeting, you realize how much you missed them. For me the Biennial was first and foremost a chance to reconnect with the friends I met this summer at the URJ Kutz camp. Honestly, had I just been trapped in the teen lounge with them for the entire Biennial, it would have been enjoyable.
However, we weren’t trapped. For the first time, teens were fully integrated into the adult programming for Biennial. It was amazing; my friends and I were often the youngest ones in the room. We studied the entirety of Genesis chapter 37, learned about environmental activism, and attended an amazing workshop about the relationship between Judaism and Science. (If you have ever had a conversation with me, you can bet I enjoyed that workshop.)
The most amazing part of the conference was the services (yes, even the three hour Saturday morning service complete with a 40 minute sermon). All the teens sat together on the balcony. It is hard to describe how it feels to pray in a room of 6,000. The prayers echoed and resounded across the room. We even got to lead Havdallah on stage with Dan Nichols.
It was so amazing to be at the Biennial, running through the hallways with my friends to chase various Jewish musicians, waking my friends up super early to go to services, and taking nine flights of stairs in high heels because we were so full of energy that we didn’t want to wait for the elevator. Biennial was the first time I realized that adults could be just as into Judaism as teens. It was awesome.
Temple Vice President Michelle Markowitz was part of the Temple contingent that attended the URJ Biennial. Like President David Weisberg, this was her first time attending. David shared his thoughts with us; now it’s Michelle’s turn:
I had heard someone describe Biennial as “Jewish Disneyland.” After being there, I feel like that was a pretty accurate description. Everybody was happy to be there and excited about the future of Reform Judaism, both here in the United States and in Israel.
There were so many things that stood out for me. The diversity within our movement is truly inspiring, and the efforts made to include all people, regardless of sexual orientation, disability, or race, and engage in “audacious hospitality” was a common thread that ran through Biennial. The worship also stood out for me, not just because of sheer numbers – I’ve never prayed with 5,500 people before – but mostly because it was joyous, spiritual, and familiar all at the same time.
While I learned many things, the one that stands out in my mind was the focus of the Reform Movement both historically and today on issues of social justice. According to Rabbi Rick Jacobs, “if the Judaism we offer our young people doesn’t speak to the great moral issues of the day, it won’t speak to them.” With all that goes on in the world, I’d love to see how we can utilize Temple Emanuel to discuss and even act on these great moral issues.
Temple President David Weisberg attended his first URJ Biennial last week. “[It was] unbelievable being with 5500+ fellow Jews from all across North America,” he says.
Weisberg was part of a Temple Emanuel contingent that traveled to Boston, Mass. for the opportunity to learn, share, and help shape the future of the Reform Movement. He shares more about his experience:
Q: What did you think it would be like, and what was it really like?
A: I was hopeful that I would be able to learn and further deepen my understanding of best practices across the Reform Movement. The Biennial was that plus more, including being able to meet with fellow congregational presidents and learn from them.
Q: What stands out for you?
A: The worship experiences at Biennial were like nothing I had ever experienced. For Shabbat services, singing the Sh’ma and having multiple Torahs cycle through the crowd of 5500+ was spectacular. Our prayers — along with the cantors and choirs singing — were uplifting and ultimately touched my soul.
Q: What are some things you learned?
A: Interestingly, I learned that there are a lot of Temple Emanuel (or Emanuel-El) across North America. I met congregants from other Emanuels in Toronto, Montreal, Dallas, New York, San Jose, and Hawaii. On a more serious note, I learned that we at Temple Emanuel have a lot of positives going for us. I also learned that there are steps we can take to build on the great foundation we’ve already established as we move into the future.
The next Biennial is in Chicago, Illinois on December 11-15, 2019. Perhaps you’ll join us?