From the Bima Blog

Erev Rosh Hashanah 5785 - October 2, 2024

Watch Rabbi Abrasley's Sermon on Youtube

One summer, at the dawning of my adolescence, my mother, not an especially religious person, decided that I did not have enough Jewish friends. Summer camp was her answer to a problem I was certain did not exist. 

During that car ride to camp, I attempted every obnoxious play in the pre-teen book to get them to turn around. Nothing worked. 

So, imagine my mother's surprise, a few days later, when the director called her to share that I had integrated seamlessly into a close-knit group of girls. Also, I wanted to stay not for the three weeks they signed me up for but for the entire summer.

Jewish summer camp changed my life. I made friends that I still have today. They have my heart. And I have theirs.

Sometimes, the longing to return to those carefree days can be strong. 

We Jews are very good at yearning for what once was. But do I really want to return to the angst-y, acne filled days of my adolescence?

No. To be honest, I much prefer being an adult. So why do I long for the good old days? Why do I remember them with such deep feeling, maybe even embellish them a little bit? 

Why do any of us who fondly look back at past bunk mates, past relationships, past classmate or work teams, conveniently remove the messiness of the whole truth?  I think we are pulled by our heartstrings, by our emotions. By feelings in our soul that we were part of something meaningful. 

We long to belong. We long to find our people. 

Belonging is a central tenet of Judaism. One of the first building blocks of Jewish identity. It may be even more important than belief in God or Torah.   

Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan, the founder of Reconstructionist Judaism, taught that ‘belonging is prior to believing.’ Kaplan captured a person’s human desire to belong to something greater than themselves in a concept he coined ‘peoplehood.’1 

According to Kaplan, people, not laws or rituals, are the center and constant in Jewish life. Judaism, by Kaplan’s definition, is not about a set of behaviors or beliefs. Judaism exists for the sake of the Jewish people. Not the other way around. 

So how do we go about belonging? How do we know we’ve found our people?

Most of us know when we are warmly welcomed. Someone greets you. Says hello. Maybe even asks you your name. Helps you find a seat or the room where the event takes place. At Temple Shalom, we wrote the book on welcome. 

But belonging is different. Welcome is a one-time greeting. Belonging is a long-term relationship. Belonging is a feeling – in our heart, in our soul. People are delighted to see us when we walk in the door. People know our face, our name, our challenges, our loves. 

Yes, we want to be a community that welcomes people. But more importantly, we want to be a place where those we welcome on Day One soon find they belong. We want to put belonging – for all of our people – at the center of our community’s mission. Because truly friends, community cannot be built by one person or even one team of people. 

A belonging community needs everyone. And it asks a high price from its people. It asks them to show up. To show up for one another. And to show up for themselves.

To show up on Friday nights, especially for Shabbat B’yachad, because our young people need you to join them in their joyful dancing.

To show up on Saturday morning for a little Torah study, even when you are exhausted from the week. Because the Shabbat conversation is always delicious and filling. And the same goes for the morning brunch.

To show up for the Rothman and Altshuler scholars, and other Jewish learning moments, because expanding our Jewish knowledge together with friends is a lifelong pursuit.

To show up for shiva because even though the mourner’s family has enough people for the minyan, you want them to know you care.

To show up for social and cultural events sponsored by groups like our Sisterhood and Brotherhood and Shir Shalom because art and music and Judaism’s rich cultural heritage adds sweetness and beauty and wonderful connections to one another in an otherwise ordinary week.  

To show up and join the Caring Community to make chicken soup for members in need or to drive an older member to a dentist appointment or to deliver a basket of goodies for one of our NS families that just had a new baby because we are at our best when we take care of one another in all of life’s moments.

To show up for the Tzedek Team’s work, like the fight for Reproductive Justice or the need to assist Refugee Resettlement, because repairing the world will not happen without your help.

To show up for conversations about Israel and the war in Gaza, and now maybe Lebanon, and to join your open heart with other open hearts because our spiritual homeland is on metaphorical and often literal fire, and we must not turn away.

To show up because we miss you. Because we want you here. And frankly, because Temple Shalom needs you. We need your ideas and your voice and your resources and your enthusiasm. We are simply not the same without you. 

And yes, I am talking to you. Not just the person sitting on your left or right. You.

When we show up, the magic happens. When we show up because others need us – and when we need others – belonging begins its beautiful shift. Relationships grow deeper and richer and more meaningful. 

Rabbi Sharon Brous, the founding rabbi of a remarkable community in Los Angeles, teaches about this belonging shift in her recent book, The Amen Effect. She anchors the story of her community, a place where people feel needed and seen and loved and known – in a challenging piece of ancient wisdom. 

The teaching comes from the Mishnah, a book filled with rabbinical laws. It outlines the rituals of harvest holidays, when the Israelites would descend on Jerusalem and the Temple Mount with offerings of celebration and gratitude.  The instructions for this ritual are quite specific, perhaps an early version of our modern High Holy Day email. When you enter the Temple courtyard, park your donkeys here. Make sure you have your sacrifices out and ready to go. And everyone should enter on the right side and make their way around the courtyard counterclockwise. Perhaps to ease the flow of traffic as thousands upon thousands upon thousands of Israelites gathered together. 

But then the Mishnah strangely deviates, everyone should enter on the right and walk counterclockwise EXCEPT those who are in mourning. Custom dictated that mourners enter on the left and travel clockwise. While it seems counter-intuitive, it’s really brilliant. Those of us walking the “regular way” would come face to face with those who were grieving. Our fellow community members who were in pain. And when we saw them, we would have to ask, ‘What happened to you?’ And they would tell us. ‘I lost my mother. I lost my job. I have been sick.’   And we would acknowledge them. Comfort them. Tell them, ‘I see you. I care about you. I’m here for you. You do not need to be alone.’2

In other words, the people who were grieving would show up – perhaps when they least wanted to – and we would show up for them. Because in our darkest moments, community matters. 

If we want to transform Judaism for ourselves and our organizations, we need to begin by showing up more. Once we are in the door, we need to engage in creating the community we want. It simply will not exist for you if you don’t participate.

But Brous also reminds us that our sacred spaces need to make room for everyone who shows up. We need to transform our welcoming spaces into belonging spaces so that everyone can find their place, their people. And that transformation, my friends, is where we all have work to do. 

This work of belonging is well researched, especially in the last few years. Drawn out of a landscape of unprecedented loneliness and epidemic levels of isolation, both before, during and after our once in a lifetime pandemic, belonging research suggests that participation in programs, even when they are amazing and well-attended, does not always equate to belonging. Belonging is a process, one that requires a rewiring of how a community shapes itself for the people who are drawn to a stated mission. It means rethinking the design of events, programs, staff, services, marketing and internal structures so that everything we do as a community supports and maximizes belonging. For each and every human being who walks through the door.

It means being open to change. It means letting go of ideas like:
‘This is just how we do things here.’ or ‘We’ve always done it this way. You’ll get used to it.’

It means building experiences that make people feel noticed, named, known and needed. These kind experiences are crucial to making us feel like we belong.3

Belonging communities make room for people to bring their authentic selves to the space. They have built in structures that adapt and adopt new ideas. They support an evolution of Jewish tradition and customs, solidify foundations that respect what once was while simultaneously making room for what could be. They say ‘Our community needs you. But we don’t just want you to do things our way.’ 

We want you to help us figure out how we can grow a sacred space that allows all of us to bring our distinct selves. A place we all want to be. A place where we belong. A place where together we create the community we most want for ourselves and one another.

Consider this story that one of our cornerstone members shared with me a few years ago. The original building construction was almost complete. The first Shabbat service was scheduled. Everyone was so excited!  The crew had finished their work but the recently installed social hall carpet was very dirty. Rabbi Murray Rothman, of blessed memory, called a member of the newly formed Sisterhood to ask for help. She called her phone tree, from her landline and within an hour, sixteen amazing members armed with vacuum cleaners converged on the synagogue. The carpet was cleaned and the first Oneg after services proceeded without a hitch. When I close my eyes, I see all of them, their smiling faces. I hear their laughter and conversations. I feel their energy, their connection. And I want that for all of us.

I wonder what the 2024 version of the TS vacuum belonging brigade would look like. Will you join us so we can create it together?

Rabbi Sharon Brous reminded me this summer that the answer to our longing to belong is ancient. The answers are old, but time tested. And we start by showing up. We let go of what was and lean into what could be as we build the community we want, the one we feel is ours in our heart and soul. The one to which we know we belong.

Kein Yihi Ratzon. May this be God’s will.

 1. Rabbi Mordechai Kaplan’s vision for a reimagined Jewish community is captured in his notable work, Judaism as a Civilization: Towards a Reconstruction of American Jewish Life, which was first published in 1934. Among many ideas, Kaplan teaches that Jewish identity is constructed via an avenue of 3 B’s: belonging, behaving, and believing.   

2. Rabbi Sharon Brous. The Amen Effect: Ancient Wisdom to Mend Our Broken Hearts and World. 2024. Story on pages 3-4 is based on text from Mishnah Middot 2:2.

3. The research on belonging that most added to this sermon was found at The Springtide Research Institute (https://springtideresearch.org/research/belonging). They captured the learning in a book called Belonging: Reconnecting America’s Loneliest Generation.