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On Tuesday Josh took our two Torahs on a road trip. It was quite the sight, two Torah’s wrapped in tallitot and buckled into the back seat of his car. It felt a bit like he was taking them to summer camp. They are spending the next month or so with a soferet (scribe) in Virginia who is cleaning and repairing them. I am so excited to be able to care for these scrolls, to brighten the parchment and tend to each letter.
In preparation for their cleaning I have been reflecting on the wonders of Torah sh’bikhtav - the written Torah. Some years ago I took a class to learn how to learn scribal arts. I had been making mezuzot out of found objects and aspired to write the klaf/parchment myself. I quickly fell in love with all of the customs that surround Hebrew scribal arts. Everything is organic, literally of the earth. The quill used to write, the ink used to drop and drag, the thread used to tie the sheets of parchment together. There are so many customs that really moved me. I love the idea that you can’t touch metal to any aspect of the Torah because it is used to make instruments of war. For this reason you use gold-plated scissors to cut the thread and a rose thorn to make lines on the parchment. It’s awesome! I loved realizing that the Hebrew letters contain each other. A ו (vav) is an elongated י (yud). A ד (dalet) is a ר (reish) with a tail. A ה (heh) and a ח (chet) are nearly identical, just a little space separating them. I could go on. I loved how much intention went into writing every single letter. There are kavanot to be said before, during and after writing every letter. It truly is a meditation, requesting one's undivided attention. I quickly learned the writing was way too exacting for me. I felt caged trying to drag the ink such a small but significant distance. All praise to the scribes. I am better coloring outside the lines. While the Torot (plural of Torah) are in the shop we will be replacing the Torah service with extended Torah study, a chance to immerse more fully in Torah sh’be’al’peh - the Oral Torah. This is its own sweet treat since it's a practice we don’t often have enough time for on Shabbat morning. Ever since we printed our new siddur I have been more aware of both the power and limits of the printed word. As soon as it went to print, it was imperfect, already ready for an updated reprint. Despite endless proofing, there were typos, mistakes, missing prayers, misplaced words. Apparently this is inevitable. Every printed book is supposed to be perfect but in reality it is the finite nature that makes it inevitably imperfect. It is the nature of the written word to be static. Which is why we are ultimately oriented to the rabbinic tradition, the oral torah, which is dynamic, alive, emergent and imperfect. Somehow the oral torah is more perfect and amazingly also ultimately imperfect, infinite, indefinite. The scrolls on their own are sacred but they are not enough to live by. The words, the letters, the crowns, are holy because we read, interpret, wrestle and at times override them. It's our relationship to Torah that is ultimately most important, most holy. In the words of Pirkei Avot, "Turn it and turn it, only then will everything be in it." May our study this summer add many green leaves to the tree of life. And may our Torahs return shimmering clean, radiating the white fire of Torah and ready to reveal new insights in the years to come. As promised, here is my preliminary summer reading list, which attempts to curb my natural proclivity for non-fiction: Fiction American Warby Omar El Akkad* James by Percival Everett Endling by Maria Reva *I just finished my early summer reading of his new book of nonfiction: One Day, Everyone Will Have Always Been Against This and I urge everyone to consider reading it. It's my #1 recommendation. Nonfiction Care and Feeding by Laurie Woolever Melting Point by Rachel Cockerell I will undoubtedly read some famous people’s memoirs I find on display at the library. Poetry (a new category for me) Heaven Looks Like Us: Palestinian Poetry For the past three months, the community has been engaged in an ongoing art project. With the guidance of Rabbi Gila Ruskin, we are making a mosaic mural about the modim prayer, instructing us to express our gratitude in the evening, morning and afternoon. It is a prayer about daily miracles and each session begins by sharing personal intentions and naming miracles in our life. So far more than 100 people have nipped, sorted, and glued stones, tiles, and pieces of broken plates. I have loved observing the eclectic groups of people who have gathered to create this mosaic. Teens and elders, new members and founding members. Housemates and people who have never sat at a table together. It has been so soothing to make something beautiful out of literal brokenness.
After weeks of watching others carve out the time to sit and mosaic, I decided it was finally my turn to jump in. I brought to the mosaic a collection of my most beloved broken bowls. A bowl I bought when I was 20 in Istanbul and another from my sabbatical trip to Cordoba, and another my father had given me from Rhodes. All handmade, colorfully painted with intricate designs. It felt so good to have somewhere to put these sacred shards. One of these bowls was a salt cellar, another a serving dish and another held some family heirlooms. (I know the mosaic includes other people's family heirlooms as well. My bowls are now glued up against Abby’s grandmother’s teapot.) I was kind of crushed when they each broke. And each time it happened I gave them to Gila, knowing she could make them into a mosaic. But never did I imagine that I would be the one to actually get to make the mosaic. It’s been surprisingly meaningful to find a use for something that no longer serves its original purpose. To see these broken parts within a larger whole. By last night I started to feel like this is an even better use for these ceramic momentos. Forever sacred art in the synagogue. Somehow it's even more satisfying to have a place to put the broken thing than it would be if the bowls had stayed whole. The process has reminded me of the Rambam’s teaching that teshuvah has the potential to bring people closer together than they were before, because the process of repair is itself deeply connective. And even more, the need to do teshuvah reveals holiness that would not have otherwise been possible. As we learn in Hilchot Teshuvah, מָקוֹם שֶׁבַּעֲלֵי תְּשׁוּבָה עוֹמְדִין אֵין צַדִּיקִים גְּמוּרִין יְכוֹלִין לַעֲמֹד בּוֹ. The spiritual place of one who does teshuvah is not accessible to someone who is entirely righteous (which isn’t possible anyway!) (7:4). This mosaic offers a kind of teshuvah for these bowls and for those of us creating the art together. The mosaic is nearly done - and stepping back, the practice has captured the essence of my experience of Kol Tzedek. It connects to the teachings of the mishkan, when everyone was instructed to bring colorful precious stones to decorate the mishkan and there is much abundance that Moses has to tell them to stop, explaining we have more than enough to create something beautiful. It connects to larger conversations we had at the congregational meeting about the history of Jewish West Philly, how to be good neighbors and embody repair and reparations with the legacy Black community of Kingsessing in the wake of centuries of broken systems. And most profoundly, it reminded me of the teaching of the Kotzker Rebbe, “There is nothing more whole than a broken heart.” I started my day by dreaming way into the future. Rabbi Mó signing her new 5-year contract inspired us to do some high level planning. We looked out over the next 5 years with hope and humility, so much potential and so much uncertainty on the horizon.
This time of year, the weeks between Shavuot and summer break, always have this internal forward-looking focus. After the magic of revelation at Sinai comes the to-do list. Or in the words of Jack Kornfield, “After the ecstasy, the laundry.” These days, anyone who walks into the KT office is quick to notice a colorful and chaotic wall of sticky notes spread over 12 months of desk calendars. As a staff, we have spent the last few weeks dreaming and planning the year ahead. It’s been an act of creation, taking the time to actually calendar everything known to us, from holidays and committee meetings to B’nei Mitzvah. It’s been fun to see people’s reaction - excitement, overwhelm, intrigue. I have a planning mind. My mother was a planner and her mother before her. Some part of me knows that advance-planning is a coping strategy, an attempt to feel in control in an unstable world. All planning has an element of hubris. I internalized this deeply in March 2020 when the entire calendar dissolved in a day. And again today when my plans to join a Families for Ceasefire delegation to Jerusalem and the West Bank next week were derailed by Israel’s escalation with Iran. I pray that the Shechina spreads her protective wings over everyone in Israel/Palestine and Iran. So terrifying. Another part of me knows that envisioning the future is an act of resilience, an act of resisting despair and choosing to keep dreaming up new ways to build our community, our world with love; to carve out time to manifest our creative ideas. It is its own spiritual practice to be able to hold excitement and satisfaction in our planning and the flexibility of spirit to accept changes as they come, which they will. It feels like a real milestone for Kol Tzedek internally to be planning a year with so much known. A year that includes big changes, like moving the High Holidays to the Friends Center and a year that includes less change overall, with Torah School and Shabbat being stable in our new building. A year that includes tremendous simcha, with 20 B’nei Mitzvah and our 2nd Annual Retreat at Northbay (Save the dates: April 3-5, 2026!). A year full of learning and connection – with so many cool classes on the horizon. Calendaring the year ahead is not unlike the Holy One’s request to take and retake the census of the Israelites in the wilderness. There is a deep human impulse to generate order from the unknown. To be sure that every person, every detail is accounted for. I have learned so much about the soothing powers of a good spreadsheet from the KT board and Josh Bloom. It’s cellular. It has been meaningful to have coated the year ahead with sticky notes, to reclaim our dreams and set our intentions on this side of the river of time. Perhaps you too want to put a sticky on some dreams for the year to come? What plans might you make to fill your future with joy and beauty? To cultivate your resilience? Every year on Yom Kippur morning there is a moment when we invite the entire community to open up their tallitot and extend them out creating a shared canopy. Some years a member even lowers a tallit down from the balcony so that someone can grab hold of a tzitzit from above. The entire room is connected. It is in this moment that we imagine ourselves as the high priests and offer each other the oldest blessing in our tradition, the Priestly Blessing.
The earnest voices of 600 people fill the room with the echo of these ancient words. Words that come directly from this week’s Torah portion, Naso. יְבָרֶכְךָ֥ יְהֹוָ֖ה וְיִשְׁמְרֶֽךָ׃ יָאֵ֨ר יְהֹוָ֧ה ׀ פָּנָ֛יו אֵלֶ֖יךָ וִֽיחֻנֶּֽךָּ׃ יִשָּׂ֨א יְהֹוָ֤ה ׀ פָּנָיו֙ אֵלֶ֔יךָ וְיָשֵׂ֥ם לְךָ֖ שָׁלֽוֹם׃ The biblical poetry can hardly be translated. But what I understand them to mean is the feeling of connection and protection I experience every year on Yom Kippur. It stays with me all year long. I recall it on Shabbat mornings and in moments of fear, and it soothes me. Yesterday I received a short message from a kt member: Any quick tips for feeling overwhelmed with the capacity for human evil? It was not the first time I had been asked some version of this question. In fact, it has been a theme of recent spiritual care meetings. The core practice I have been sharing when folks ask is the Buddhist practice of metta/lovingkindness. It is a very simple practice of wishing oneself or someone else well. Literally, reciting in your heart, “May I be well. May I be safe and protected. May I live with ease.” The exact wishes may vary depending on what you connect with and who you are directing the metta towards. The practice of metta is very effective at strengthening the heart, increasing our sense of safety and our capacity to express love. Only recently have I realized that the priestly blessing is a kind of metta practice.. May The Holy One bless you and protect you. May The Holy One turn towards you and be gracious. May The Holy One turn towards you and place within you shalom. The priestly blessing is thought of as the oldest blessing in Jewish tradition. In fact, it predates the entire rabbinic concept of blessings altogether. The blessing’s three refrains were once recited by the high priest to the entire congregation after the daily sacrifice (Numbers 6:23). We preserve a piece of that tradition on Yom Kippur and more recently, on Shabbat mornings. The words were later adapted and included in birkat yeladim - inviting parents to bless their children with these three wishes every Friday night. The practice of blessing ourselves and sending blessings to others, it really works. These words are an ancient amulet, eager to purify and protect the heart. It's the only quick fix I have encountered to metabolize the overwhelm of suffering in our world. Over the past months I have learned to trust that reciting the priestly blessing, quietly and regularly, can awaken a steady calm, a courageous heart, and an increased capacity to forgive, to heal, and to hope again. May the Source of Life bless and protect you always. May you feel seen and cared for in this world. May you experience the Divine in everything and everyone, and may you know within you wholeness. Ken yehi ratzon. May it be so. |
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General Questions: (267) 702-6187 or [email protected]
Shabbat Services: 5300 Whitby Ave, Commercial #1, Philadelphia, PA 19143
General Questions: (267) 702-6187 or [email protected]
Shabbat Services: 5300 Whitby Ave, Commercial #1, Philadelphia, PA 19143