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In the movie, Field of Dreams, an
Iowa farmer, Ray Kinsela, hears a mysterious whisper as he stands in his
cornfield which brings him the message “If you build it, he will come.”
As Ray understands it, God – or
whoever it is who speaks in a “still small voice” – wants him to build a
baseball diamond right there on his farm.
Clearing his crops and building the
ball field, Ray becomes an object of ridicule, but ultimately, the instrument
of redemption for several people – including himself.
I couldn’t help thinking of that
movie this summer as we set about to create our own ‘field of dreams’ here in
this Sanctuary. More than two years ago a number of people also heard a voice
that seemed to whisper “If you build it – they will come!” Some ridiculed this
supposed vision: “The neighborhood is changing’; “Our best days are behind us”;
“You’ll never raise the money.” But soon enough, our members stepped up to the
plate, funds were pledged, and the project was well under way. How fitting
that we begin the New Year in our magnificent new Sanctuary. How fitting that
we quote the words from the very beginning of the Siddur:
“Mah Tovu O-ha-lekha Yakov,
Mish-ke-no-tekha Yisrael!
How beautiful is your tent, O Jacob
Your Sanctuary, O Israel!”
My intent this morning is not for
us to congratulate ourselves and sit back and admire the work of our hands.
When Jews accomplish something of note – be it as elemental as an Aliyah to the
Torah or as substantial as the construction of a Temple, the traditional Jewish
blessing is “YOSHIR KO-AKH.” “May your strength continue to take you on a
straight path.” Accomplishments are challenges. As we sit here today,
we should spend less time on “Isn’t this pretty” and more time on “What does
this demand of us?”
Remember that there were two
parts to the oracle, to the mysterious whispered message in the movie: “If you
build it, they will come.” Let’s begin with the first part – the building.
More than anything else, this
project is a statement of faith about the future of our synagogue. Yes, the
neighborhood is undergoing changes. Yes, there’s a good chance that our
membership will get smaller. But while we may decrease, we will not decline.
We’re not going anywhere.
It’s true when they say “Be careful
what you wish for…” People dreamed of a school system in Jericho second to
none. How proud we were when we saw it listed as the top public High School on
Long Island. But who could foresee the unexpected consequences of that dream?
Korean and Indian families were drawn to the best schools the way Jews were, 75
years ago. Like us, they understood that education is the key to success in
America. Jericho became the district of choice. Real Estate values
rose. Jewish retirees sold their homes, and Asians with kids in Middle and
High School began moving in. The only downside is that Koreans and Indians
aren’t big shul-goers.
We’re not alone in this trend.
There used to be scores of vibrant Jewish communities all over Long Island.
But many – in Hicksville, Levittown & Westbury, Farmingdale, Massapequa
& Bethpage, Baldwin, Freeport & Rockville Centre have disappeared or
have been diminished. Instead, Jewish communities have been consolidated into
a few places: Great Neck, Roslyn, Merrick, The Five Towns, and synagogues there
have grown. There are advantages to a large Temple. It’s got extensive
facilities, a big staff, and financial viability. This has led to one of the
newer trends in Jewish life. Just as the small movie theater showing only one
film has given way to the CINEPLEX at the mall offering a dozen features, so
too the small shul is replaced by the SYNAPLEX (spelled S-Y-N) – where a large
Temple offers multiple prayer options and program possibilities to a
congregation of a thousand or more families. There’s a lot to be said for such
a model. But the one thing it doesn’t offer – it can’t offer – is
intimacy, or what we here like to call “heimishness.”
Our vision of Temple Beth Torah
falls somewhere between the shteibl or store-front shul that is barely viable,
and the “Mega-Church” that is too big to be warm. It’s true, we don’t have
enough parking, or a fancy catering hall, or any spare multi-purpose rooms.
But we have a Cantor and Rabbi who know, and teach, every child in our Hebrew
School. And more than half of our kids continue to learn with their Rabbi, and
participate in services under the Cantor’s tutelage, through their senior year
in High School. And if there’s a program or a service that we don’t offer,
we’re flexible and open enough – with your help – to try it out and start it
up.
Our membership has remained at
about 385 families for the last few years. Truthfully, we wouldn’t be
surprised if that number takes a dip in the next few years. But when I first
came in 1979, we had just 180 families. When the Temple was started 48 years
ago, there were less than 100 founding families. We don’t expect to fall back
to those numbers. But even if we did – we were viable then, and we’ll be
viable – no matter what. This Sanctuary Project is our way of putting
our money where our mouths are, when we say: “We’re here to stay!”
This Sanctuary is also a great
lesson about the generosity and hard work of our members. Some of us – me
included – didn’t really think a Temple of our size could raise the
half-a-million dollars needed to complete the project. And after seeing the
trouble that local congregations got into burdening their members with large
assessments, we were hesitant to go that route. We chose to go another way –
to make the project voluntary – no mandatory assessment. We were amazed by
both the number of families who stepped forward, and by the amount of money we
raised. (We’re at $700,000, and counting – enabling us to take on additional
projects, like redoing the bathrooms and the lobby). And the generosity wasn’t
only in checks written. We could not have done this Sanctuary without the
material donated, and the professional expertise offered, and the time and
effort given by so many people. Every one here has something of value
to offer. We’ve never been about a few wealthy donors who run the place, or
keep it going. We owe a lot of people a great deal of thanks for all that
we’ve accomplished. As your Rabbi, I want to say: “Thank you.”
People made donations, and today we
see what the money bought: stone, wood, fabric, design and workmanship. It’s a
good feeling to actually see results, and such gorgeous ones, at that!
But this project only highlights
the other things that make up our Temple, things that you don’t often
see, or hear about – the bills that come in and have to be paid, the checks
that have to be written and sent out. Things that aren’t gorgeous, or sexy,
but things that keep us running.
Our costs keep rising, even as our
membership is bound to get smaller, and the number of people on fixed and
limited incomes grows larger. Our dues go up, and each year another few
families think “We can’t afford it anymore – especially when we only come for
the holidays…” It’s a Catch 22.
Two things save us:
First, dedicated volunteers. I
have to pay tribute to those, like our Hazak group members - who come twice a
month to collate our mailings, saving us thousands of dollars in professional
costs.
And second, Kol Nidre. The money
that congregants donate each year is what keeps this place going.
Our Hebrew School is the most
important thing we do. It’s also the most expensive. Without your
contributions, we couldn’t hire all of our teachers, classes would be huge, and
we couldn’t offer computer learning, tutorials, music, or special programming –
all the things that make our school unique.
All the money for this
project went or will go to capital improvements. And you see the results. But
the challenge this Sanctuary presents us with, is for us to be as generous in
taking care of the nitty gritty, as we were in the glitzy. Our giving to and
supporting Kol Nidre to the best of our abilities – is of critical importance.
I have to admit that there was a
part of me that questioned whether it was appropriate for us to spend money on
beautifying our sanctuary. How things look on the outside is not exactly up
there with your basic Jewish values – especially when it comes to something so
spiritual as a Sanctuary. But there is a Jewish value, “HIDUR MITZVAH”
which teaches us that things done for “the sake of heaven” should be done in a respectable,
an honorable, even a beautiful manner. We’re supposed to wear a
Tallit; as long as it’s got four corners and has tzitzit, it qualifies. But
HIDUR MITZVAH says that if the Talit is ripped or stained, or wrinkled – it
doesn’t bring honor to God, to the wearer, or to the place where it is worn.
Buying a beautiful Talit is not about showing off or standing out. It’s about
the preciousness of the Mitzvah, about our love of Jewish tradition, about our
desire to serve God to the best of our ability.
Jews can pray anywhere. A tent –
as we here all know – is just as acceptable as a beautiful Temple. But
there is a middle ground between gaudy materialism on the one hand, and a dark
ugly room, on the other. That middle ground is HIDUR MITZVAH. HIDUR MITZVAH
is what we tried to do in this Sanctuary.
People who aren’t here frequently,
or who don’t sit up close might not be aware that after 40 years, our old
Sanctuary was in bad repair. The pews were worn and cracking. The Ark doors
didn’t open properly. The Memorial boards didn’t light. Some people couldn’t
climb up to the Bimah, and others were literally falling down the steps – one
with a baby in her arms!
Besides the general beautification,
there were seven major things we did.
First, and foremost to me, is the
ramp, that will allow access to the Bimah to people of all degrees of ability.
Someone in a wheelchair, or on crutches can have an Aliyah as easily as anyone
else. And to make that a reality, our specially built Torah Table can be
lowered to wheelchair height right in the middle of the reading.
Second, the cupola. It is a
reminder that our prayers are meant to ascend up to God, and at the same
time, we are the recipients of God’s many gifts: light, physical and
spiritual, is primary among them.
Third, the Bimah. Synagogue
architecture since the 19th century tried to copy churches that made
the Bimah into a stage, and the clergy into performers. We’ve gone back to a
more Jewish concept, where the Cantor is a “Shaliah Tzibur” – in the midst
of the community, leading us in our prayers to God.
Fourth, our seating is more in the
round, bringing home the idea that prayer is not just about relating to God; it
is also about connecting with our fellow Jews; looking into their faces, and
not just at the backs of their heads teaches the importance of KLAL YISRAEL – a
united Jewish community.
Fifth: While keeping the names on
the memorial boards in the same positions as before, we’ve replaced the old
plaques with new ones, and we’ve added a space next to the doors, to mark the
weekly Yahrzeits with our old plaques.
Sixth, we’ve surrounded the ark,
which of course faces East, with Jerusalem stone, which is evocative of the
Western Wall of the ancient Temple. The words of the HaTikvah come to life
now: AYIN L’TZIYON TZOFIYA - “Our eyes are looking towards Zion…”
Finally, there’s the Ark, which is
my favorite part of the project. There are three things I have to point out.
ONE: There
are a lot of Hebrew letters. What are all these words? And why are
they here? I believe that the message the Ark conveys is about the holiness of
Words, of the Hebrew letters that are inside this ark. Now, many people will
see this conglomeration of Hebrew, and be overwhelmed. One of our members sent
me a card with a picture of an adorable little boy peeking through a door.
Here in the Temple, he identified with that boy: curious, but unable to
understand many of the things that go on in the Synagogue. To that little boy,
and to all who identify with him, I would say: “It’s OK. I know it’s
hard. But those doors do open, and in this building we’ll explain what
all those letters mean. If you stick with us, if you’re willing to learn,
we’re ready to teach. The Hebrew doesn’t have to be Greek to you. I promise
that you’ll feel right at home here, and with the tradition that is
found here.”
TWO: The Ark
doors are a calendar. It’s actually the names of all the parshiyot, the Torah
portions, that we read over the course of the year. The Shabbes after Simhat
Torah we begin with Bereshit in the book of Genesis, and then, after 54
portions, we finish the book of Deuteronomy. Each week, we will highlight the
portion we’re reading that Shabbes with a white light. So as you come to shul
during the year, you’ll see where we’re at in the yearly calendar. And if
you’re a regular, you see the light move on it’s journey trough the seasons,
through the five books.
THREE: We start
with Bereshit in the upper right corner, and we go across and to the left. At
the upper left corner, we head down, as Genesis turns into Exodus. (Note that
each book is designated by a different color!) At the bottom left, we head to
the right, and when we reach the lower right corner, we move upwards. And
then, just beneath Bereshit, we go to the left again. So it turns out that we
are creating a spiral – because so much of Jewish life is cyclical. And by the
time we get to the end of the Torah, we find ourselves right in the center of
the Ark. Life, we are reminded, is a journey that goes a long way, and takes
much time. You can’t pop in once a year and hope to find everything you’re
looking for. But if you’re willing to journey with us, if you’re prepared for
the ups and the downs, for all the zigs and the zags, we promise you that, together,
we will reach our destination.
But remember: As pretty as it may
be on the outside, what really matters is what’s inside the Ark. Note
that the light from within shines through the Hebrew words. It’s the
spiritual light from inside these doors that is the ultimate goal of our
journey. And that’s what the Ark doors are saying to us…
But let’s go back to the ‘Field of
Dreams.” You’ll remember that there were two parts to the oracle. “If
you build it, they will come.” Well, we’ve plowed up the corn and we’ve done
the building. The question is “Will they come?” I guess it depends on who ‘they’
are.
A few of those who conceived of
this project thought it would draw unaffiliated families to our Temple,
increasing our membership. If that happened, it would be nice – but I wouldn’t
bet the farm on it – ours, or Ray Kinsela’s.
The real question is whether a new
Sanctuary will motivate more of our own people to come down, to become
more involved, to be more active. A congregation can build a Sanctuary; we
are more concerned that our new Sanctuary help to build and strengthen our congregation.
If we created our field of dreams, and nobody came – what was the point?
In the movie, no one came, at
first, to the ball field. Ray Kinsela had to leave home and embark on a
pilgrimage across America, to discover the meaning of the vision. Ray comes to
understand that the Field of Dreams was all about second chances.
The disgraced players of the 1919
Black Sox Scandal – Shoeless Joe Jackson among them – are looking for a chance
to redeem themselves by playing honest ball one more time. They magically come
to the Kinsela farm, young players in their prime.
Dr. Archie Graham, an elderly small
town physician, is haunted by the fact that as a young man his dream was to
play professional baseball but in his one and only game, he never got to bat.
Mystically, he too gets to come to Iowa, as a young man, to fulfill his
dream.
In being the vehicle of Tikun, or
redemption, for others, Ray Kinsela reaps two life-changing benefits. When his
own daughter almost dies, Dr. Graham is there to save her life. And at the end
of the film, Ray is ultimately reconciled with his father, with whom he had
long been estranged. They are able to share their love of the one thing they
have in common – baseball.
We’ve built, I think, a
pretty Sanctuary, but pretty only gets you so far. More significantly, we’ve
created a MAKOM Tefila, a place of prayer that is meant to provoke our
thoughts, elicit our emotions, and strengthen our ties to everything that is
Jewish.
In here, we can connect in a
serene way, with the loved ones who have died;
In here, we can learn to be
more sensitive to those whose abilities are different than our own;
In here, we can relate to
our fellow Jews, no matter where they stand on issues, or sit in the Sanctuary;
In here, we are reminded
that our leaders don’t stand above but come from among us;
In here, we are of America
at the same time that our eyes and our hearts are also facing, and longing for
Jerusalem;
In here, we are the People
of the book, whose sacred texts are guarded as a treasure, but who open up the
doors to that treasure each and every week so that we may study and learn from
them.
And in here, we come to look
upward in our never-ending search to find God, and to uncover what it is that
God would ask of us.
Each of us has our own individual
home, but this room is our joint home, where we live together, as Jews,
as we go through our journeys through the years and through life, through
simchas and sadness.
In this room, tiny babies are given
their Hebrew names.
In this room adolescents
take the first step to adulthood and maturity as they chant words that are
3,000 years old.
In this room young men and
women are blessed before they marry.
In this room, the bereaved
come for comfort during shiva, mourners rise to recite the Kaddish, and all of
us come to hear a name or look to plaques that remind us that our loved ones
are always with us.
In this room we gather to
usher in the New Year amid Shofar blasts and introspective meditation.
In this room we march with
our Lulovs and Etrogs to celebrate Sukkot.
In this room we unroll an
entire Torah to mark with simcha the completion of the story – so we can start
it all over again.
In this room, at the darkest
time of the year we light Hanukah candles that remind us of the courage of the
Macabees and the preciousness of freedom.
In this room our teenagers
chant to us the amazing story of Mordecai and Esther who risked their lives to
save their people.
In this room we prepare for
the Passover Seders and then celebrate the Exodus from Egypt.
In his room we relive the
receiving of the Torah on Shavuot, and proudly celebrate the scores of our
teenagers who continue to learn Torah here long after their Bar Mitzvahs.
In this room, we mourn the
destruction of the Temple and pray for the survival of the Jewish people.
And into this room come
sinners and seekers, sufferers and celebrators, all looking for second chances.
Our new Sanctuary is a second
chance for Temple Beth Torah. We’re not going to just look back and remember
how wonderful things used to be in the good old days. We’re looking
forward to the future, and to the many ways we can become a significant part of
the lives of our members in the years ahead. A new Sanctuary is a new
beginning for us as a synagogue.
But there’s a personal message here
for all of us, as well. The essence of Rosh HaShana is about looking at
ourselves in the mirror, seeing our flaws and our imperfections, and resolving
to do a personal, ethical, spiritual makeover. When we walk away after Yom
Kippur, we should be committed to beautifying our souls, to rebuilding our
character, to reconstructing our lives. We come into this beautified, rebuilt,
reconstructed Sanctuary to do those very same things to ourselves. This
project is a reminder that this room, this time of the year, this
religion, is all about second chances.
But if any of that is going to
happen, you have to give this place more than just one look.
And the voice said: “If you build
it, they will come,”
Well, we’ve built it. It’s my
prayer that you will come.
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