Adventures and Blessings

I like to teach that every moment can be a blessing.  I think regularly about the choices we make in daily life.  I love being a rabbi, AND some days can be very challenging.  Some challenges are great and some less so. Today was filled with beautiful challenges.  

I met with someone exploring Judaism, spoke to congregants going through different health challenges, had my picture taken with the other police chaplains.  After my own prayers this morning, my day found me at the city council meeting.  There I had the privilege of offering an invocation, opening their meeting with words of blessing.  With my hectic schedule, I usually bless and run, but this morning I stayed for a little while.  

I heard about the devotion of a city employee, Assistant Chief Antonio Gilliam, who has an incredible new opportunity. After eighteen years of service, he is leaving to go to his childhood town, serving as the Chief of Police of the city of Tallahassee.  It was a privilege and an honor to hear his story, to hear the beautiful words the council shared with him and to hear him speak.  He is a man who chose to serve the community, to work in a very difficult position, and who is a mentsch.  

Today could have been like any other crazy rabbinic day, but by taking a few extra minutes this morning, I heard a beautiful story.  There is definitely a lesson in that!  What are the odds that someone who served for 18 (chai/life) years in our community is honored on the day the rabbi gives the blessing?!  

Assistant chief Antonio Gilliam and me (Rabbi Weintraub)

I'm happy!

Yonina mashes up Happy and V'samachta!

Sukkot is the season of our rejoicing.  Each morning we sing Hallel, reminding ourselves of my favorite verse: (Psalm 118:24)

זֶה־הַ֭יּוֹם עָשָׂ֣ה ה' נָגִ֖ילָה וְנִשְׂמְחָ֣ה בֽוֹ׃

This is the day that the LORD has made— let us exult and rejoice on it.

What are you doing to rejoice today?  How are you celebrating?  What is bringing you joy?

Being part of a community that comes together to study, to celebrate, to live regularly brings me joy.  I'm glad to be home.

Gratitude and Tshuvah

As I hear the sounds of the shofar in Elul, my thoughts turn to tshuvah, to repentance.  I think of turning, of changing, considering our habits and our choices.  In that line of thinking, gratitude is central.  I am grateful for the opportunity to truly consider my life.  I am grateful for the gift of this time.  I am grateful for the blessings of my life.

Discussing Elul

For most rabbis, Elul is a time of great stress.  We consider every detail of the services.  We write and rewrite, write and rewrite, to craft messages that inspire and encourage deep thinking.  We think about the brief thoughts we will interject into our prayers.

Amidst this turmoil, we teach, we learn, we love, we visit, we pray.  There is nothing else I would rather do than walk with people on their spiritual journeys.  I am grateful for the tremendous gift of being invited into people's lives at their most joyful, most vulnerable, most challenged.  Every day is a blessing.  Do we notice?

Elul for Rabbis--the power of words

What does Elul mean to you?  For many Jews, it may escape notice.  Yet for a rabbi, as that first shofar sounds, she/he knows that our most stressful time of year has begun.  As Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel teaches, since palaces in space have been destroyed so often, Jews build "palaces in time": Shabbat, festivals, holy moments.  In order to enjoy, to grow, to live through these moments we need thorough preparation.

For Shabbat, we prepare meals in advance, invite friends and family over, make our reading list and ensure we can get to shul (when we so desire).  For Rosh Hashanah, we do the same, but we also need some spiritual preparation.  We have to do research into our personal histories AND our people's histories.  We have to look back at our choices in the past year and consider how they reflect on us.  How would we do things differently?  What can we do differently next year?

Preparation for the holidays includes evaluation of our lives--it includes evaluation of our speech, of our words.  Are we using our words effectively?  In a crowded media environment, does our communication add positivity or spread hurt?  Do we help or hurt?

For congregational rabbis, this time of year is focused on the power of words.  In this world we may wonder what that power is.  Does a single sermon have a major influence on a congregation in the 21st century?  While I cannot speak for the power of the sermon, the power of words is indisputable.  Words are part of the fabric of our universe.  Words brought this universe into being and words will bring it to its end.  Human words determine the course of world events.  Words determine the course of every relationship--for better and for worse.

Will my sermons change the lives of everyone in my congregation?  I have no such expectation.  What I do expect is that some of my words will resonate with many people and many of my words will resonate with some people.  I pray that they will reach deep into the soul and inspire a life of kedushah, of holiness.  I know it is possible.

Ultimate St Pete: Sitting in a coffee shop/bike store writing while drinking iced tea in a cup with no straw

Prayer

As I prepare my sermons for Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot and Simchat Torah, prayer has been on my mind.  In the weeks to come, traditional Jews will spend hours in synagogues around the world.  They will recite thousands upon thousands of words.  

Ideally, their souls will cry out to the Holy One.  But how do we get ourselves there?  What is our preparation?

In my community, we have a daily minyan.  Each morning and evening is an opportunity to come together, to recite, to commune, to pray.  We reach out to the Holy One and we reach into the depths of ourselves.  Soon we will start blowing the Shofar, whose blasts awaken us.

Frequently, I bring an extra soul to minyan.  She does not yet "count", but she builds her own tabernacles of prayer.  Her laughter and noise occasionally distract, but I think more often elevate the prayers of the other minyanaires.

There is an old Hasidic tale about a young boy and his flute, who finds a different way to pray than everyone else. It inspires me regularly to think how we are engaging ALL of our worshippers.

 It is told here by Joanie Kalem:

https://jewishweek.timesofisrael.com/the-shepherd-and-his-flute-a-rosh-hashanah-tale-of-inclusion/

Long ago, in a small shtetl in what is now Ukraine, where the famous Rabbi, the Ba’al Shem Tov lived, also lived a family of scholars. The father of the family, Moshe, was the son and grandson of very respected Rabbis, and he himself was a well-respected teacher of Torah and Talmud. And the mother, Rachel, was the daughter and granddaughter of very respected Rabbis. Though many women of her time did not know how to read Hebrew or study the Torah, Rachel did, and she would read and study along with her husband at home. Their home was always full of joy, full of learning, full of conversation, full of exploration, full of consideration of life and how best to live it.

Moshe and Rachel were blessed with five sons, and together they taught their sons the treasures of Torah. When their eldest, Meir, was six years old, it was time to go to Cheder, to learn to read and write. He said goodbye to his parents and his younger brothers, and he excitedly went off to school, eager to learn. It was obvious right from the first day that he too would be a brilliant scholar. He was a quick learner, and soon was able to assist the Rabbi in teaching the other boys.

Next came time for the second son, Menachem, to join his older brother in Cheder. He too said goodbye to his parents and younger brothers, and happily joined his older brother in Cheder. Sure enough, just as everyone expected, he was just as sharp a student as his older brother and his parents and grandparents and great grandparents.

Soon, the third son, Shmuel, was old enough to join his brothers in the Cheder. Shmuel was a wonderful, sweet boy. But his parents had a suspicion that he would not have the same experience in Cheder that his older brothers did. And sure enough, as obvious as it had been that Meir and Menachem were going to grow to be brilliant scholars, it was quickly clear that Shmuel would not. He wasn’t like his brothers: he couldn’t sit, he couldn’t learn his letters, he didn’t seem to be paying attention the way the other boys did, and he often would get up and walk over to the window, staring longingly outside at the trees and the fields and the clouds.

So Moshe and Rachel and the Cheder’s teacher realized that Cheder was not the place for Shmuel to learn and thrive and grow. They didn’t know what to do, because all of the boys of the shtetl went to Cheder, and everyone in their family had always gone to Cheder. But the solution came clear very quickly: early in the morning, every day, the shtetl shepherd would come by to collect the community’s sheep and goats and cattle to take them out to the meadows and pastures around the village for the day, and then bring them back every evening. Though Moshe and Rachel had never noticed before, Shmuel had a special friendship with the shepherd, and used to rise early every morning just to greet the man, and walk with him a bit. Moshe and Rachel asked the shepherd if Shmuel could be his apprentice, and the shepherd was thrilled to have the young boy’s company and help. And so , unlike his brothers and his cousins and everyone else in his family, Shmuel did not go to Cheder. Instead, he spent every day in the fields and meadows learning how to be a shepherd. Shmuel was thrilled. He loved the animals, he loved being outdoors, he loved being with the shepherd, and he loved learning how to play the flute, which the shepherd taught him as they sat for many hours every day with the flocks of animals. Shmuel always felt that he was praying as he played his flute.

In time, the two youngest brothers, Simcha and Yitzchak, were also old enough to go to Cheder, and they joined their oldest brothers, and showed that they too would soon be star scholars. Moshe and Rachel were proud of all of their sons in Cheder, and of course loved Shmuel dearly, but worried about him in a way that they did not worry about the other four boys.

As each of the boys grew, they reached Bar Mitzvah age, and Meir, Menachem, simcha and Yitzchak all led the prayers of the congregation on their respective Bar Mitzvahs beautifully. Shmuel did not, but instead quietly celebrated his Bar Mitzvah playing his flute in the fields. For him, playing the flute was praying. He always felt that he was talking with God as he played his quiet tunes.

When Shmuel was about fourteen, the old shepherd decided that it was time for him to stop going to the fields with the flocks, and Shmuel became the official shepherd for the village. It was bitter-sweet of course for Moshe and Rachel, they were proud of their son, but it was never what they would have dreamed for one of their children.

Now, all of these years, there were two days every year when Shmuel would not take the flocks to the fields, on Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur. On those days, he would join his grandfathers, his father and his brothers in the synagogue, where everyone would gather to join the Baal Shem Tov in the holiday prayers. Every year Shmuel sat quietly, unable to speak the words of the prayers, unable to read. He loved the melodies of the community praying around him, but as the years passed, he felt sad that he couldn’t join in.

One year on Rosh HaShanah, Shmuel was sitting with his family as usual, in the midst of the prayers, and he happened to look up at the Baal Shem Tov. As the prayers were being sung all around him, Shmuel again longed to join in. He noticed that the Baal Shem Tov seemed to look concerned. Shmuel sat and wondered what he could do to add his voice to the prayers of the community. His hand went to his flute in his pocket, and at once it was obvious how he could join in. He pulled out his flute and began to play a beautiful melody that wove harmoniously with the prayers of the congregation. He played with all of his heart and all of his soul, so happy to finally have found a way to participate in the community.

But the community stopped their praying, and a sound of shock and horror went through the room. Suddenly, men were shouting at Shmuel to stop, shouting at Moshe, Shmuel’s father to stop him, shouting at the Baal Shem Tov to stop him. Moshe rose to reach out and grab Shmuel’s flute, but the Baal Shem Tov reached them first, and, putting his hands on both Moshe and Shmuel’s shoulders, the Baal Shem Tov said, “Finally, our prayers will truly reach Heaven as a full community, because Shmuel has joined us with his pure love, joy and devotion. We needed his voice in order for God to hear all of us. This is how he prays, and though it is different than our prayers, it is wonderful.”

What inspires us?

What are the little things that inspire us?

I have a dear friend that loves pineapples.  She is building a real estate business and uses them as a sign of welcoming, a sign of home and kindness.  Wherever we go, we notice pineapples and send her photos of them.  Without knowing her, I doubt I would give a second glance at a pineapple, but because of that relationship, I see them everywhere.  

It is the same thing with cars.  Before you get a car, how often do you notice a particular make or model?  Likely, not often.  However, if you purchase a vehicle, you will suddenly see it everywhere.  you may find a desire to be collegial with similar cars on the road.  You have suddenly found common ground.

As Jews, we do the same thing with mezuzot, menorahs, Jewish stars and other identifiable symbols.  We see the symbol and find a connection.  We have something to talk about.  We can play "Jewish geography and maybe even find a hidden link."

When we come home, how often do we notice the mezuzah on our own homes?  Do you kiss it as you enter the house?  Do you think of the Shema?

If you do, you may find that that tiny change will lead to bigger ones.  When we see the presence of God in our symbols, we find ourselves thinking of our connection to the Holy One more often.  If we think of God, we think about our blessings, the good fortune in our lives!  

There is great power in small things.  There is great power in small successes.  There is great power in seeing what is right in front of us!

Joy through music

Sitting around a camp fire at Camp Ramah Darom this summer, I heard this song of Joey Weisenberg.  In the last few years, his music has been spreading through the Jewish world like wildfire.  It pops up where you least expect it, bringing energy and focus.  His book on building singing communities has taught so many what we need to do to increase joyful participation in worship.  Here he takes a line from the prayerbook that few are familiar with and gives it new energy, new joy, new power.  If you can manage to listen without humming along, you might not be awake!

הַמְּאִירָה, הַמְּאִירָה הַמְּאִירָה לְאֶרֶץ וְלַדָּרִים עָלֶיהָ בָּרַחֲמִים הַמְּאִירָה, הַמְּאִירָה, הַמְּאִירָה לַאָרֶץ (וְלַדָּרִים עָלֶיהָ (וְלַדָּרִים עָלֶיהָ (וְלַדָּרִים עָלֶיהָ (וְלַדָּרִים עָלֶיהָ⁠ וְלַדָּרִים עָלֶיהָ (וְלַדָּרִים עָלֶיהָ) וְלַדָּרִים עָלֶיהָ בְּרַחֲמִים וּבְטּוּבָה מְחַדֶּשֶׁת בְּכָל יוֹם תָּמִיד וּבְטּוּבָה מְחַדֶּשֶׁת מַעֲשֶׂה בְּרֵאשִׁית Hum ha-hum, aa-ha-a, ha-a-ha-a Hum ha-hum Ha-ha-a-ha-a-ha-a hum ha-hum, Ha-ha-a-ha-a-ha-a-hum Hame’irah, hame’irah, hame’irah la’aretz V’ladarim alehah b’rachamim Hame’irah, hame’irah, hame’irah la’aretz V’ladarim alehah (V’ladarim alehah) x3 V’ladarim alehah b’rachamim U’vtuvah mechadeshet b’chol yom tamid U’vtuvah mechadeshet ma’aseh b’reishit THE UNIVERSE BEGAN WITH A HUM. A hum… and then a bang. And each day it grew larger and larger and contained more and more. We cannot live each new day in the same way we lived the last, for we have all of the experiences and memories of the previous day filed away in our internal memory bank. And so each day is created anew, filled with new opportunities. And each day, we have the potential to become partners with God in the act of creation, adding to the world in a way that only you can...

Tisha B'Av

It may seem strange to begin a site about joy with the most depressing and difficult day on the Jewish calendar, yet it is the most logical place to start!

In order to reach our highest heights, we must be aware of our lowest lows.  Judaism is lived in community.  It is a not a faith that wants us to "bowl alone."  Remembering who we are in our darkest moments helps us build the community.  Being with people in their worst builds the bonds that sustain us in times of joy.

After a day of fasting, prayer, and reading by candlelight, the following Shabbat is Parshat Nachamu.  There we SING words of consolation.  There we hear of the Shema and of the Aseret Hadibrot, the Ten Commandments.  There we learn of the power of love and connection.  There we become a people.  

Once we receive Torah; once we know we are loved; once we can live meaningful lives together--joy will follow.  

This site will be about finding more joy and less oy--but today, we start with a little bit of both!