The Demise of Home

We are efficient. The synagogue holds our Mahzorim for the High Holy Days. They contain the siddurim for worship, the talitot and kippot; all of which makes the shul a user-friendly place. People can come to the synagogue with nothing and have all their needs fulfilled.

We provide a lulav and etrog for their perusal during the festival of Sukkot. Passover Seders move into social halls and out of homes for the Rabbi and Cantor to lead singing and impart Judaism indigestible dribbles. Nothing is privately owned anymore. All the individual observances have become public property.

We surrender our children to Hebrew school for their Jewish quota, much in the same way we do in the public arena.  We have taken Kiddush and ha-motzi from homes and introduced them into the liturgy. (Ever wonder why we bless wine in shul on Friday night when we do not eat there?)

This is a conspiracy which the institution has helped foster. The Synagogue has willingly taking on all aspects of the home observance and responsibilities.

Harold Shulweis wrote, “My zeyde to the synagogue because he was a Jew. His grandchildren, if they come at all, come to Synagogue to become Jews.” The raison d’etre of the synagogue is changed dramatically. We have become the source of vicarious Judaism.

It is ironic that as we develop better programs, more efficient means operating, new and expanded facilities, we wrested power away from the home. Even the name “Temple” connotes a kind of obeisance to a physical entity.  If you want to pray, you must attend the “Temple,” as the name intimate. If you want to be Jewish have to belong to “Temple.”

If Friday night services or sparsely attended may not a bad sign, it may be a sign of success. If instead, people are sitting around the table tables making Kiddush, talking, discussing Jewish ideas and concepts, that is from mark achievement. It is to be celebrated. And if it appears that our attendance at weekday and Shabbat services climbs while other activities wane, that might be an indication of real growth.

If we have a singular goal, it must be hizuk ha-mishpacha, a strengthening of family home life, familial empowerment.  Synagogue will not bless children for their membership, nor will it instill a strong sense of Jewish identity. That begins elsewhere. We can teach all of our kids how to “bensch licht” but until they see it happen at home, that will be uselessness knowledge that will eventually evaporate.  Judaism does not commence when we enter the portals of the synagogue. It begins inside our hearts and homes.

Korban

Generations.  Each one shapes and frames the thinking of its time and then beyond.  Reading a colleague’s sermon from many years ago he wrote that there ought to be an “Eleventh Commandment.”  What would such an addition state?  “Thou shalt survive.”

For those engaged in statistical studies or just pondering who are children will bring home for Passover this is a compelling idea.  The concept of ongoing survival is also compelling for those obsessed by the Holocaust.  Yet that is insufficient.  Survival alone is not a measure of success.  Is life simply about finishing the race?  I hope not.

Can we measure life at all?  According to an obscure passage in the Talmud we will be held accountable for three things when brought to final judgment.

-Are we guilty of having brought great pain into the world?

-Have we lived a life that is prescribed by the Torah?

-Did we take advantage of the gifts God has provided along the journey of life?

When the Beyt HaMikdash stood in Jerusalem our ancestors would bring a Korban to show their love for God. Undoubtedly, some people thought that the real task was meted out when they brought the Korban. I think that they missed the point. Too bad for them. The best part was left out.

The word Korban means to “draw near.” The purpose of the Korban was to come close to God. For the person actively seeking the Lord, the gift of the Korban was the vehicle, not the end.

In our time too, the act is not not enough. We need more. Our generation seeks meaning. The life force of existence is to find holiness in every living thing, in every moment. These are gifts, which God has left for us to elevate our lives and appreciate the allotment of time.

Hope

Hope emerges for that which is left undone.  We do not, after all, hope for things which we possess.  It is a rare individual who even  can express thanks for the things we have.  For example, how many people do you you suppose wake  in the morning saying, “Thank You, God for not giving me cancer today?”  Most of us travel unexpressionless throughout life.  Except for uttering words of hope when we are needy.

We are the people of hope for at least two reasons,  We are hopeful because of all the abuse we have suffered throughout the millenia.  That suffering has made us look heavenward to gain succor in an often cruel world.  We are also hopeful because we are bidden to yearn and work for a better earth, a more whole world.  So much of our liturgy is consumed with improving life for others.  Also, think of the great emphasis Judaism places on tzedaka.

King Solomon began  and completed building the Holy Temple in Jerusalem.  Privy to God’s  confidence, Solomon understood that the future world  would bring destruction to Jerusalem, so he ordered his craftsmen to carve out a double cave beneath the city.  The double cave would house both the Ark and the original Tablets of God. 

On the day of the siege four hundred and ten years later, the Babylonians converged on Jerusalem.  The Jewish King Josiah  ordered the Ark and Tablets placed into the cave before sealing it.  There they remain today.

According to  the Masora ancient tradition, these sacred objects will be revealed when the Lord reveals the Ultimate Peace.

In the meanwhile, they remain hidden because of the fear that the Ark and the Tablets inscribed on Mt.  Sinai would be misused.  Only when humanity is ready to receive them again will the hidden location be divulged.

Hope keeps the dream alive.  It makes us believe in ideas as attainable possibilities.  Hope also demands work.  After all, if we hope, we must work for our goals.  That is the mystery and grandeur of life.