The gates of repentance are always open......

Our sages taught:

R. Helbo asked R. Samuel bar Nahman: "Since I have heard that you are a master of Aggadah (Jewish folklore tradition), tell me what is meant by the verse, 'You have covered yourself with a cloud so that no prayer can pass through [Lamentations 3:44]?' "

R. Samuel answered: "Prayer is similar to a pool, but repentance is similar to the sea. Just as a pool is at times open and at other times locked, so the gates of prayer are at times open and at other times locked. But the sea is always open, and so, too, are the gates of repentance always open [Lamentations Rabbah 3:43, section 9]."

The gates of prayer are sometimes open, and at other times locked.  Far too often, they feel locked, closed, ominous and foreboding. We realize how difficult true prayer can be, and thus, we simply turn away and avoid it entirely.  

People are often too polite to say it out loud.  Instead, we vote with our feet.  Prayer is hard, inconvenient, difficult to fathom, the enterprises of communal worship and individual meditation and prayer pose challenges to us and so we often say, "That's good enough" and we stay home.  Or if we come to be with others in prayer and worship, we go through the motions, we come to be seen, we sit respectfully and turn the pages, counting how many more pages there are left before the end of the service. 

These approaching High Holidays present us a laboratory to approach this task with renewed attention and awareness.  Instead of coming to pray with resentment, resignation or doubt, what if we approached our prayers with hope?  What if we came to be with our community, our tradition, our faith and our doubt, and to find new meaning, new insights and new commitment.  What if we sat down and really read the words, really listened to the music, really sang the songs, really learned the Torah, really heard the messages being directed at us.  What if we were fully present?

After all, the gates of prayer may or may not be open, but the gates of repentance are always open.  It is never too late.  

In just a few hours, the New Year, 5775, will begin.  If we listen closely enough, we may hear the creaking sound of the gates.  Some say this is the gates of prayer and repentance beginning to close.  But I don't think that is the case at all.  After all, the rabbis said the gates of repentance are always open.  In fact, I think that sound we may hear is the rusty hinges opening wider, allowing all of us to feel invited to pass through and find blessing. 

The name of our congregation is "Shaare Emeth," a form of "Shaarei Emet" which means the "Gates of Truth."  And the truth is that we are all always welcome to pass through the gates of the new year, the gates of every day, the gates of joy and blessing and health and peace.  

Shanah Tovah - may this be a a truly good year.

Rabbi Jim Bennett
29 Elul 5774

We Face Challenges Daily

by Jordyn Miller

Throughout our lives, we face challenges daily. Whether it is deciding what to eat for breakfast or where to go to college, each challenge matters. The decisions, even the little ones, made daily affect the outcome of our lives. This summer, I made the decision to travel to Nicaragua to volunteer for two weeks. This decision affected my life.

In the winter, I heard about the opportunity of going to Nicaragua. Immediately, I was interested. But, I never actually thought I would follow through. I pushed the decision making off and told my mom we could talk about it later. Weeks passed, and I needed to make a choice about whether or not I was going to attend. I finally decided to go.

After the trip, I came home a completely different person. I would not have been able to be the person I am now and appreciate what I appreciate if I did not take the opportunity life handed me.

Since we are given so many beautiful things throughout our lives, sometimes, it is within our best interest to choose to do something that may seem tough, or not so beautiful, to make it our own and to make it something personally beautiful. Going into the Nicaragua trip, I was nervous, of course, but coming out of it, I couldn’t imagine where I’d be without it.

The High Holy Days are times when all of us can reflect on the decision we made and the challenges we faced in the past year. I hope you were able to experience some powerful moments and overcome challenges. In the coming year, I encourage all of us to take more risks and accept more challenges.

The impact that life can have if you allow it to make an impact on you is more immense than one can imagine.

Jordyn Miller is a senior at Parkway North High School. She has been a member of Shaare Emeth for 17 years and is the current Religious and Cultural Vice President on Shaare Emeth Temple Youth Group’s Executive Board. She participates in extracurriculars in and out of school and is very active in her school community, as well. 

It is Never Too Late

As we approach the end of Elul, I bring you a poem by Harold M. Schulweis.

The last word has not been spoken
the last sentence has not been writ
the final verdict is not in

It's never too late
to change my mind
my direction
to say "no" to the past
and "yes" to the future
to offer remorse
to ask and give forgiveness
It is never too late
to start all over again
to feel again
to love again
to hope again
It is never too late
to overcome despair
to turn sorrow into resolve
and pain into purpose
It is never too late to alter my world
not by magic incantations
or manipulations of the cards
or deciphering the stars
But by opening myself
to curative forces buried within
to hidden energies
the powers in my interior self.
In sickness and in dying, it is never too late
Living, I teach
Dying, I teach
how to face pain and fear
Others observe me, children, adults,
students of life and death
Learn from my bearing, my posture,
my philosophy.
It is never too late--
Some word of mine,
some touch, some caress may be remembered
Some gesture may play a role beyond the last
movement of my head and hand.
Write it on my epitaph
that my loved ones be consoled
It is never too late.

My Main High Holiday Event is the Opportunity to Say a Special Kaddish...

by Robert Taxman

My main High Holiday event is the opportunity to say a special Kaddish for my father. Kaddish, the prayer declaring faith in the holiness of God, is traditionally to be recited daily for eleven months after burial, on Yahrzeit (the anniversary of that loss), on the three pilgrimage festivals (Passover, Sukkot, Shavuot), and especially on Yom Kippur. That my feelings are hardly unique is reflected by the impressive turnout at the Yiskor service (Yiskor meaning remembrance).

We are often reminded that Kaddish isn’t literally a prayer for the dead. It is, rather, an affirmation of faith and the existence of Sanctity, culminating in an appeal for peace, which I take to mean acceptance of life and death (i.e. the order of the Universe). On the other hand, there’s a rather alarming yarn about this in an eleventh century French collection of Jewish rumors called Machzor Vitry, concerning the estimable Rabbi Akiba, who encounters a Jewish Sisyphus, a deceased sinner condemned to hard labor for eternity in retribution for oppressing the poor. Rabbi Akiba redeems him by locating the sinner’s child, raised as a heathen, and teaching him to say Kaddish for his father! But that’s not why I look forward to Yiskor, because my father was decidedly no sinner, and requires no prayers for redemption.

That my father’s Yahrzeit falls just a week or so before Elul, the month we are admonished to make the memory of our dear ones a template for improving our own lives, makes this recollections especially meaningful to me:

Dad never missed The Eternal Light, a weekly program about things Jewish, a very big deal in the years before television when families would gather around the radio to listen. We could just pick this up on KMOX, sixty miles from Centralia. Tuning in one Sunday morning, Dad happened upon a sermon from Reverend Bean, the local Baptist pastor. We were the villains of the reverend’s piece, which informed us that we—and all Jews, for all time—were doomed to Hellfire for the death of Jesus. That evening Dad called Reverend Bean and invited him to breakfast at Lee’s Drug Store downtown (actually Cohn’s Drug Store, but the owner probably felt that business would be better with Lee on the sign. Jews generally kept their heads down in Southern Illinois in the 1940s. Maybe they still do.) Dad said this: “Reverend, I have no problem with your telling folks that I’m going to Hell, because I’m a sinner, and you’re probably right. But when you declare that my children, who are angels, and Amelia, who you know yourself is the soul of virtue, are headed the same way, well, I’ve got a problem with that.” And it worked. Next Sunday, Reverend Bean led off his program as follows: “Well folks, I was talking to my friend Milo Taxman, the most Christian Jew in Centralia, a couple of days ago, and he made me think over what I told you last week about the death of our Lord. It seems to me that folks like Milo who are good people shouldn’t be punished for something they didn’t do themselves. That just wouldn’t be fair, and God is never unfair.”

Dad didn’t keep his head down. I never knew anyone happier to be Jewish, or who was more accepting of the way the world works, including the cycle of life and death. I believe he did achieve the peace that the Kaddish expresses so eloquently. That’s what I’ll think about when I say Kaddish for him in a few weeks. Because he was proud to be Jewish, so am I.

Dr. Robert Taxman provides primary care services at Grace Hill Clinic and has taught Jewish history in the Melton program and internal medicine at Washington University School of Medicine.

 

Recognizing the Voice

by Ron Cytron

Our high holiday services include a section of liturgy that I have found troubling. We recite a long list of ways in which we might meet our end this year: who by fire, who by water, and so on. This section tells us that our fate is written on Rosh Hashanah and then sealed on Yom Kippur, implying that what we do during the intervening 10 days might change our fate. While I find great meaning in our Days of Awe, and while as a Reform Jew I try to find meaningful interpretations of our texts, I continue to struggle with this part of our liturgy.

I turned recently to a modern setting of this prayer, which comes to us from Leonard Cohen (famous composer of “Hallelujah”). You can find a performance of this piece with legendary saxophonist Sonny Rollins here. Cohen's setting opens with the familiar "who by fire, who by water" but continues with other forms of demise, such as drug overdose and suicide. It's a powerful setting. What caught my attention was that each stanza ends with "And who shall I say is calling?"

Who is calling? We say this on the phone when we seek a polite way of saying that we don't recognize the voice at the other end. The voices we hear most often---friends, family, business associates---are typically easy to recognize, and caller ID allows us to "recognize" voices we don't remember so well. For those closest to us, we recognize their voices in the first few words we hear, on a phone, even in a large crowd. The voices we hear less often can be harder to recognize.

At this time of year we begin to think about the far-off voices, hard to recognize even as we struggle to hear them. For me, perhaps for you as well, the voice most far away is the one inside me, telling me that the time for t'shuvah (return) is near.

Who is calling? The far-off voice becomes stronger, and remembered, as we move closer to it.

Ron Cytron

Music, It's How I Pray

by Sharol Brickman
(corrected: 9-19-2014 10:37 a.m.)

I read a post on Facebook recently that said, “Music is what feelings sound like.”  It reminded me of a time when I was at a crowded worship service and there were booming harmonies in every song. The sound was thick, and we could feel vibrations resonating through the air.  There was energy and power in our words, more than if we were just speaking them.  It was the sound of our feelings, wrapping together in community, rising and swirling up into the rotunda, and it felt holy.

That was five years ago at my first Hava Nashira.  The experience changed and shifted my long-time struggle with prayer, my struggle with:  What is God?  Do I believe enough?  Can I still pray meaningfully if I don’t believe exactly what I’m reading in the prayer book?  Does anyone else feel this way?

In every worship service I’m challenged by this struggle, especially during the High Holidays when the prayers are about God as King and Ruler with the exclusive power to judge, punish, and forgive.  At no other time during the year do I feel this pressure to believe in God as a single, all-knowing entity.  How can my vision of God, the spiritual presence that I like to believe flows freely in everything around us, fit with the God described during the High Holidays?  How can I feel connection, especially at this time of year, when we reach the first line of the Amidah:  Adonai s’fatai tiftach, ufi yagid t’hilatecha — “God, open up my lips, that my mouth may declare Your praise”?  It is only when these words are set to music that I find acceptance with my struggle.   In music, I find the sound of my feelings.  I find a powerful spiritual presence in song and I can let go, and pray.

At this year’s Hava Nashira, I learned a new musical setting for these words from Ellen Allard called “With My Lips.”  It includes these words and after reading them, I hope you’ll listen.

With my lips I talk to God.

With my lips I talk to God and the words come from my heart.

Oh God, please hear my prayer.  Hear the words I want to share.

Oh God, please hear my prayer.  Adonai s’fatai tiftach.

I sing out words of praise, all my nights, and all my days.

I sing out words of praise.  Adonai s’fatai tiftach.

The fathers, the mothers who came before, they said the words then l’dor vador.

We continue to speak them so we are sure that future generations will say,

With my lips I talk to God.

These words laid out this way and combined with music, remind me that even in my struggle with God, I am connected.  I’m connected not only to the people standing and praying with me, I’m connected to the people who came before me, and to the people who are still to come.  I’m reminded that these words come from my heart and I sing out, my voice wrapping with the voices of others, and as we powerfully pray together, we say:  Oh God, please hear my prayer.  Hear the words I want to share.  Adonai s’fatai tiftach, ufi yagid t’hilatecha.

Music, it’s how I pray.

*********************************

Sharol Brickman grew up at Shaare Emeth and was in the first class confirmed at the Ladue and Ballas building in 1980. She attributes her years in SETYG as her first connection to Jewish music. Sharol annually attends both Hava Nashira and Songleader Boot Camp (SLBC) and brings her joy of Jewish music to our pre-kindergarten through second grade Religious School students. She is also on faculty at JOLT (Jewish Opportunities & Learning for Teens), a program sponsored by CAJE. Sharol has led music at worship services in St. Louis, Kansas City, and Silverthorne, Co. You will find Sharol at Shaare Emeth in Shabbat guitar ensembles and singing in the Youth Center during the High Holidays. She is proud that her family--husband, Steve, and two sons, Aaron and Danny--add to the generations of our Jewish community.

Ellen Allard is a multi-award winning children’s Recording Artist, Composer, Performer, and Early Childhood Music Educator. She draws on a rich tradition of musical experiences in presenting her lively and captivating concerts, keynote presentations, and workshops for family audiences and educational conferences across the country.

Hava Nashira is the annual songleading and music workshop of Olin Sang Ruby Union Institute and the Union of Reform Judaism. Created by Debbie Friedmanz"l and Cantor Jeff Klepper among others, Hava Nashira provides the opportunity to improve skills while learning from the finest Jewish music innovators and composers.

SLBC provides powerful Jewish leadership training for clergy, Jewish educators, veteran and new songleaders, teen leaders and Jewish camping staff. SLBC was launched with its first conference in 2010 by St. Louis’s own Rick Recht and Rabbi Brad Horwitz of the JCC.

To broaden your own Jewish music experience, Sharol highly recommends you check out these artists on the web: Ellen Allard, Noah Aronson, Todd Herzog, Shira Kline, Naomi Less, Sheldon Low, Josh Nelson, Dan Nichols, Mikey Pauker, Rick Recht, Sababa, Craig Taubman, and Josh Warhsawsky. Or just ask Sharol when you see her at Temple.

My Elul Intention

Though armies should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; 
though war should rise up against me, even then will I be confident.

The words above come from Psalm 27 - the traditional psalm that we read during the days of Elul.  The author of the psalm tells us that despite the multitude of challenges we face in life, we should feel strong and unafraid because of God's presence in our lives.  The psalm is a source of comfort for many, especially as we prepare to face God's judgment on Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur to account for our actions in the year that has passed.

It's been a long time since I believed in a God who judges, or a God who doles out punishments and rewards based on our deeds.  Instead, I have internalized that sense of judgment, and I sit in judgment (sometimes harsh judgment) of myself.

During Elul when I recount the year that has passed I remember:  all the actions I didn't take, all the kindnesses I refused to enact, all the cruelty I held onto and all the cruelty I released.  These are “the armies that encamp against me,” and “the war that rises up against me.”  I tremble in their presence. I am neither confident nor strong.  How will I overcome them?

By taking my seat and closing my eyes. 

By finding my breath.  

By setting an intention to not be angry or disappointed or impatient with myself when my mind wanders … when I lose my way. 

By setting an intention to simply notice that I am lost.  Notice without judgment.  Notice … and then return.

This returning is an embodied teshuva, an act of return that I can practice and feel and refine … again and again … so many times in just one sit. 

And the more I practice, the easier it becomes to be gentle and forgiving with myself. 

And the more I practice being gentle with myself, the more I can be gentle and forgiving of others. 

And the more I practice, the more I am able to see with clarity “the level path” that God has laid before me … that has always been before me … that is always available to me.

Sounds of Silence

The shofar blast startles me every time I hear it - even when the sound is emanating from my breath.  All around me are sounds, every waking moment.  Silence may be golden, perhaps, but silence is also fleeting.  My day begins with the music gently floating from my alarm, followed by beeps and buzzes and rings and dings and knocks and calls and....you get the idea. That is our reality....unless we choose to break the cycle.

A spiritual practice I once embraced involves simply sitting in silence - first for a few minutes, then after a few tries, for ten minutes, then eventually for 15 or 30 minutes or more.  Perhaps an hour of true silence - perhaps a day.....It is far more difficult than it sounds, yet worth it.

I'm always amused at the challenge of even a brief silent prayer.  After 15 seconds people begin to fidget, and soon, the sounds of shuffling and coughing often begin.  We don't know what to do with ourselves.  We can't sit still, much less sit in silence.

And yet, we can.  And so I try.  To close my eyes, to listen to the sound of my own breath, to hear the sounds around me that are masked by the chaos of the day.  To listen to the sounds of silence....and perhaps, just maybe, to hear the voice of the Holy One.

Rabbi Jim Bennett
21 Elul 5774

This Was My Summer for Surgeries

by Susan Lipstein

This was my summer for surgeries. The first was to fix my cervical spine. The need for it was clear; recovery was surprisingly speedy. The second was the controversial one--to replace my arthritic hip. The cautions from good friends and physicians in deciding whether or not to have the surgery ranged from, "This should help you walk better" to "Because of your underlying Multiple Sclerosis, you may never be able to get out of a wheelchair and walk again." The decision was overwhelming. But after much thought and discussion with friends, professionals and family, Steve and I decided to go for it. Deep down I knew I'd work hard to regain my strength and walk again, better than before. In the end, I had to trust myself and what I know to be true.

The hip replacement surgery went well, taking less than an hour and a half. That afternoon in my hospital room, as is often done, I went for a short walk, not a wheelchair ride but a walk, with my new hip. It was almost anticlimactic. There was no mention of the weeks of discussion and worry. There was never a question by the hospital staff about whether or not I would walk. Of course I would. That's what people do, walk with less pain after a hip replacement, even on day 1.

Only in retrospect did I think once again about the importance of being still and looking deep for that quiet voice that has always spoken the truth to me. That voice had been telling me that there was no way I'd end up in a wheelchair after surgery. I had heard it but brushed it aside when presented with alternative outcomes.

Our Jewish tradition teaches us that during this month of Elul we are to spend time each day in silence. This is a gift. It gives us the opportunity we seldom take, to become still and listen to that voice I believe is within each of us.

But this was the obvious moral of the story. What happened beginning with the first day of the first surgery is what continues to touch me. Hours after surgery a friend and physician at the hospital stopped in to see me and see if I was ok, if he could do anything for me. Both friends and family have continued to check in with me daily, send cards and emails, flowers and plants, call on the phone, bring food for fun and sustenance, chocolate because they know me well, stay with me while Steve gets his much needed exercise, and just spend time with me to visit, share stories, and laugh, empty handed other than with the very important gift of their time and caring. The lesson I'm learning from my friends is that sharing yourself in any way that works for you is what makes true friendships and giving. What's important is to be present, even if I do so with nothing in my hands.

During this month of Elul, we are to participate in acts of tzedakah and loving kindness. As is true throughout the year, these acts don't have to be huge or require a lot of money. It may mean just showing up.

Susan Lipstein and her family moved to Clayton in 2000. She currently works as a Parent Educator for Clayton Schools' Parents as Teachers. Community interests include The Scholarship Foundation of St. Louis, The Spirit of St. Louis Women's Fund, The National Multiple Sclerosis Society, Teach for America and College Bound. Susan is dedicated to children and their families and to excellent, accessible, and equal education for all.

I Long for the Simplicity...

by John Maayan

I long for the simplicity with which I practiced teshuva when I was young. Back then, I firmly believed that if I said every word of the prayers, I would compensate for the terrible things I had done – (for all the terrible deeds I had committed as a young teenager). The prayers were a magical incantation for fixing my fictional crimes. I did not understand the meaning of these prayers. But reciting them was cathartic and liberating – and I began each new year--believing I was forgiven.

When I was young, I attended an Orthodox Jewish day school. The lessons of this institution had a strong and indelible impact on me. Back then, I shouldered an impressive burden of guilt for not living a “holy life”--as was presented to me at school on an almost daily basis. (To this day, my shoulders sag from the weight of that guilt.) Back then, holiness meant keeping kosher and keeping Shabbat--neither of which I did. Holiness meant not gossiping or harboring impure thoughts--but believe me, I gossiped and harbored. And so I approached the High Holidays every year--eager for heavy-duty Teshuva.

Much has changed in the decades since my adolescence. I have spent many hours delineating for myself--which pearls from my Orthodox day school years to safeguard and which to let go--which values and teachings continue to add meaning to my life and which do not.

As I once again enter this High Holiday season, my frame of reference has, of course, changed much. And yet, I somehow miss the clarity and structure of my youth. I yearn for the comfort of approaching this season with a rock solid belief. Today, I am not so sure of (or don’t want to admit to) my sins--and I no longer believe that perfect forgiveness and renewal comes with such ease and simplicity.

And as for a “holy life”--I am still in pursuit of this elusive prey and still carry guilt for allowing it to slip through my fingers--for letting it fall to the bottom of my list of priorities. Even as I no longer define holiness as I once did--I still believe it to be a worthy aspiration.

So I approach this season, with a prayer in my heart that may hopefully lead to Teshuva--and a return to that feeling of liberation from years ago. I pray that I will find a way to approach life with a greater sense of appreciation and specialness. I hope that I can make a contribution to my world this coming year--to give to others physically and spiritually. I hope that I can minimize the waste in my life--the thoughtless squander of cherished gifts, resources, and time. Most of all, I pray that I can find peace--in my love for my family and friends, in respect for others and for the planet--and ultimately find holiness in the precious wonder of life.

Jon Maayan has been a member of Shaare Emeth for the past 13 years, starting when he and his wife, Cheryl, moved back to their native St. Louis with their two sons, Gabe and Ari. He spends his days as an architect, a homemaker, a remodeler, a cyclist and an aspiring musician.

A Prayer for the Journey

The Tefilat HaDerech is the Traveler's Prayer.  It is said before a person sets out on a journey - especially a journey that will take us away from home.  The traditional blessing asks for God's protection as we travel.  The words beseech God to keep us safe each step of the way until we make our return.

Making our return ... that is what all of us are attempting to do during these days of Elul.  

Some us are trying to return from harmful habits and careless words we directed at others and ourselves.  Some of us are trying to return from pursuits we thought would satisfy us, but only left us feeling emptier than when we began.  Some of us are trying to make a return from anger.  Or from depression.  Or from any place we know is not the place where we can hearken to our better angels and become the people we long to be.

For all of us on the journey, I offer this interpretation of the Traveler's Prayer, written by Rabbi Sheila Peltz Weinberg, my beloved teacher.

Traveler's Prayer

A prayer for the journey

We could say it every day

When we first leave the soft warmth of our beds

And don't know for sure if we'll return at night.

When we get in the trains, planes and automobiles

And put our lives in the hands of many strangers

Or when we leave our homes for a day, a week, a month or more -

Will we return to a peaceful home? Untouched by fire, flood or crime?

How will our travels change us?

What gives us the courage to go through the door?

A prayer for the journey

For the journey we take in this fragile vessel of flesh.

A finite number of years and we will reach

The unknown where it all began.

Every life, every day, every hour is a journey.

In the travel is the discovery,

The wisdom, the joy.

Every life, every day, every hour is a journey.

In the travel is the reward,

The peace, the blessing.

May we be blessed in all our journeys, and may our journeys lead us home.

L'shalom,

Rabbi Andrea Goldstein

PS - I hope you will join me in welcome Rabbi Weinberg next weekend, September 19-21, when she will be our Deutch Scholar-in-Residence.  Check out our website - www.shaare-emeth.org -

for all the details.

risks of self-exploration

I'm realizing more and more how hard I can be on myself.  I'll find myself thinking:

• "That meeting could have gone better if I only..."
•  "If I only coudl be in two places at once."
•   "That sounds good, but it would really sound good if I could only sing it like this."

This period of self-reflection in Elul, I am increasingly aware of this trait I possess and... I'm annoyed by it.   So my goal for this day, for this moment, is to not be annoyed at myself for being self-critical. 

I can still hope and wish that things were different - even the unhealthy hopes and wishes - but I'm focusing on not feeling annoyed with myself for having these feelings.

For me, the separation between the action and my reaction to the action is an important one.  

If indeed the spark of holiness is present in each of us - that spark of God shines in our thoughts, our actions and in our missteps too.  Therefore, the act of self-reflection is doubly holy, for our actions are holy and our ability to look at ourselves in an honorably critical way makes that spark like a candle in a series of mirrors. 

Maybe these next days of Elul can help me to increase my awareness of my own feelings and help me be just a little bit clearer with the separation between being self-critical and how I react to the feelings of letting myself down.  

Cantor Seth Warner

"The Day of Atonement Does Not Atone Until they Have Made Peace with One Another

by Joe Pereles

“For transgressions against God, the Day of Atonement atones, but for transgressions of one human being against another, the Day of Atonement does not atone until they have made peace with one another.” --Mishnah

How appropriate is this sentence in my life this year. On October 3rd Kol Nidre eve and in my mind the evening of the most sacred day in the Jewish year, my nephew is getting married. You are probably saying: “Are you kidding?” If fact, when my brother-in-law (who was raised Jewish) called Brenda to tell her about the wedding plans, Brenda asked Tom (name changed to protect the innocent) how he could have allowed that date to be chosen? His response was that the kids picked the date and Brenda then asked, did they even bother to look at a calendar since even non-Jewish calendars show Yom Kippur as a holiday and that Steven (our nephew) should have asked what the significance of a Jewish holiday was on the date tentatively selected for the wedding. No, they didn’t look at the date was Tom’s response and Steven isn’t even Jewish so it’s not an issue for him and his fiancé. The problem with that answer was that when Tom and Betsy (Tom’s wife with her name changed) got married, they told the rabbi who married them that their children would in fact be raised Jewish. That didn’t happen and Steven and his sisters were raised with no religion. Brenda asked Tom about the rest of your family; that is, the Jewish side who will be invited to the wedding. Tom’s reply was “they will have to make a decision on what they want to do; go to Jewish services or go to the wedding.”

Needless to say, I was quite upset and that’s putting it mildly. I mean I just finished 3 years as Temple President and to schedule a wedding on the night of Kol Nidre was entirely unacceptable to me. At first I said I wasn’t even going to go to the ceremony just because it was so insensitive of Tom not to put his foot down and tell Steven to pick another Friday night to get married as he was being exceedingly insensitive to his Jewish family members. I knew that Tom was not going to get in the middle of this issue as I really don’t think he felt that it was his place to put his foot down and ask that another Friday night be selected for the wedding. And that to me was unforgivable in that Tom made it very clear that he didn’t give a hoot about this Jewish side of the family. Well, after thinking about the first sentence in this blog and asking myself what my father (of blessed memory) would do, I decided that I would “forgive” Tom even though he probably doesn’t think he did anything wrong and therefore doesn’t need forgiveness and attend the wedding ceremony. I’ll be able to make the 2nd service at Shaare Emeth and I wouldn’t stay for the reception as that would interfere with my fasting.

My decision to forgive my brother-in-law and his family was made easier after I learned about the death of Louis Zamperini, an Olympic distance runner and World War II veteran who survived not only 47 days on a raft in the Pacific Ocean, but then endured two years in a Japanese prison camp where he was repeatedly tortured by a Japanese guard. If you haven’t read the book called “Unbroken”, you should. You see, Mr. Zamperini forgave his Japanese tormentor and tried to meet with his tormentor in 1988, but was refused access to him. If Mr. Zamperini could forgive, then I could forgive and try to accommodate the wedding plans so long as I was able to make Kol Nidre services.

I am quite sure that each of you has a person that you could forgive for transgressions that they may have made against you, whether they believe that they did anything wrong like my brother-in-law Tom. I urge you to forgive . I wish you an easy fast and hope that you are able to find or give forgiveness this year.

Joe Pereles is the Immediate Past President of the Congregation and has been a member of the Temple since 1980.

Praying With Our Feet

This past Shabbat I spent the morning with Rabbi Goldstein and other members of our Shaare Emeth community working to register voters in Ferguson and the surrounding towns. We went door to door, armed with lists of unregistered voters, blank voter registration forms, a friendly smile and a desire to help. In the month since Michael Brown’s death, many in our community and around the nation have been seeking ways to pursue justice and support those impacted by events in Ferguson. Voter registration and “get out the vote” efforts are two important ways we can empower our neighbors to take ownership of their community. I found my time in Ferguson to be a powerful antidote to the feelings of powerlessness I have experienced in recent weeks.

As we prepare to begin a New Year, may we remain mindful of the deep societal issues that have become center stage in the past month. The challenges are daunting and the social issues are complex but we know this moment has the potential to spark a turning point for both our community and our country. This Elul, may our reflections include consideration of what actions we will take in the year ahead to improve our community.  Let us reflect on how we will work to improve our community so that we can all enter the New Year empowered to build a more just, compassionate and caring society. 

Rabbi Jonah Zinn

To be at one with the Universe

13 Elul 5774

Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav used to pray:

Grant me the ability to be alone;
may it be my custom to go outdoors each day
among the trees and grass - among all growing things
and there may I be alone, and enter into prayer,
to talk with the One to whom I belong.
May I express there everything in my heart,
and may all the foliage of the field -
all grasses, trees, and plants -
awake at my coming,
to send the powers of their life into the words of my prayer
so that my prayer and speech are made whole
through the life and spirit of all growing things,
which are made as one by their transcendent Source.
May I then pour out the words of my heart
before your Presence like water, O Lord,
and lift up my hands to You in worship,
on my behalf, and that of my children!


When we have the chance to be alone, outdoors, in the quiet beauty of nature, we often feel rejuvenated. We want nothing more than to simply walk outside, to sit and to reflect, to breath in the restorative power of the universe. Reb Nachman's prayer was a song to creation, reflecting the power of the universe to bring us a sense of peace.

As this month of Elul unfolds before us, it seems as if the universe may be reflecting our need for such restoration.  The hot, at times brutal summer begins to fade just a bit, and the cooler fall breezes come rolling in.  The leaves begin to change, we sense a turning in the universe around us.  So, too, should we seek that turning within.  

May we each find the time and the ability to be alone, to go outdoors among the trees and grass, among all growing things, and there, to be alone, and to enter into prayer, to talk with the One to whom we belong.


Rabbi Jim Bennett

For Me, the HHD Used to be a Time for a Personal Audit

by Laura K. Silver

For me, the High Holy Days used to be a time for a personal audit. I would sit in services and spend my day considering what I could do differently and better in the year ahead. A few years ago during services, I felt frustrated with myself that I couldn’t follow along with the Hebrew. I decided that by the next year, things would be different. Within a month, I enrolled in an adult Hebrew class. The following year, I followed right along in my prayer book. Last year, with the help of that class, I became a Bat Mitzvah.

I had always thought of the High Holy Days as the beginning of the reflective period, but recently I learned that the High Holy Days end an evaluation process that begins throughout the month of Elul. We are actually told to blow the shofar every day during the month of Elul to “awaken” us prior to Rosh Hashanah. Historically the shofar has been a call to assembly and a call to action. While chances are, I’m not going to be hearing a true ram’s horn daily, the idea of listening and waking up this month seems like a good one.

The news that surrounds me seems uglier by the day and uglier than it has been in a long time. Whether I am watching threats to the very existence of Israel, the torture of the Yazidis in Iraq, or hearing about a plane shot down in the Ukraine, the international news is horrifying. Locally, watching events unfold in Ferguson and throughout St. Louis, it’s not any better.

This year, I am using the month of Elul as a time to really listen. I want these days to be an opportunity to consider my personal call to action in the upcoming year. The beauty of the month of Elul, for me, is that I don’t need to formulate any plans or come to any conclusions just yet. For now, I just need to wake up and listen.

Laura K. Silver has been a member of Shaare Emeth since childhood. She is a recent participant in the Adult Hebrew and B’nai Mitzvah program at Shaare Emeth. Laura is married to Michael Silver, and they have eleven year old twins. Her blogs are regularly featured online in both the St. Louis Jewish Light and St. Louis Magazine.

Shabbat - 11 Elul 5774
Rabbi Jim Bennett

Shabbat always comes just in time, bringing a moment in time when we need it most, if only we will use it.nThis year, Elul seems to have come just in time, bringing a month during which we may, if we take advantage of the opportunity, catch our breath and prepare for the new year.

In our frantic pace, we pause.
In the race to the finish line, we slow and reflect.
Popular culture reminds us of this all the time:

"Stop and smell the roses."
"I couldn't see the forest for all the trees."
"Be like the tortoise, not the hare."

We know that we should breath, look around, pause to be grateful, appreciate what we have....and yet we rush from one thing to the next, For today's Elul meditation, a meditation for this Shabbat in Elul, I offer the following:

Time (a poem / prayer by Michael Quoist)

I went out, Lord. Men were coming and going, walking and running.

Everything was rushing; cars, trucks, the street, the whole town.

Men were rushing not to waste time.

To catch up with time, to gain time.

Good bye, Sir, excuse me, I haven't time.

I'll come back, I can't wait, I haven't time.

I must end this letter - I haven't time.

I'd love to help you, but I haven't time.

I can't accept, having no time.

I can't think, I can't read, I'm swamped, I haven't time.

I'd like to pray, but I haven't time.

You understand, Lord, they simply haven't the time.

The child is playing, he hasn't time right now..later on...

The schoolboy has his homework to do, he hasn't time..later on...

The student had his courses, and so much work...later on...

The young man is at his sports, he hasn't time...later on...

The young married man has his new house; he has to fix it up, he hasn't time...later on..

The grandparents have their grandchildren, they haven't time... later on...

They are dying, they have no...

Too late!...They have no more time!

And so all men run after time, Lord.

They pass through life running - hurried, jostled, overburdened, frantic,

and they never get there. They haven't time.

In spite of all their efforts they're still short of time.

Of a great deal of time.

Lord, you must have made a mistake in your calculations.

There is a big mistake somewhere. The hours are too short, the days are too short.

Our lives are too short.

You who are beyond time, Lord, you smile to see us fighting it.

And you know what you are doing.

You make no mistakes in your distribution of time to men.

You give each one time to do what you want him to do.

But we must not lose time

waste time,

kill time,

For time is a gift that you give us,

But a perishable gift,

A gift that does not keep.

Lord, I have time,

I have plenty of time,

All the time that you give me,

The years of my life, the days of my years, the hours of my days.

They are all mine.

Mine to fill, quietly, calmly,

But to fill completely, up to the brim.

The Sounds of Silence

by Miranda Siler

Entering the year 2014, I had one New Year’s resolution: to go to more Shabbat services. Now I know that many people from home and Shaare Emeth will hear that and think, “What? You’re at Shabbat services almost every Friday! What could you possibly mean by more?” While this was certainly the case at home, it was not during my first semester of college. I had plenty of excuses for not going; I was tired, it was too cold and too far to walk, etc. But deep down I knew the real reason why I didn’t want to go to Shabbat services, I was afraid of going alone.

Going into freshman year, everyone is hungry to make friends, and you quickly latch on to certain people. You eat at the dining hall together, study together, go on excursions together. It’s amazing how quickly you make your best friends, turning first semester into a simultaneously strange and awesome time. Out of the people that I became close with right away, some, but not many, were Jewish, and even fewer were the type to go to services. Maybe Shabbat dinner afterwards, but not services. I was not used to going to services alone. Even though I am often the only person my age at synagogue, I’m still with my family. And even if I were to go to services alone, I’ve been a part of the Shaare Emeth community for so long, that I still feel as if I’m among people I know. I have a Shabbat posse so to speak. I was afraid of not having that posse going into services, of not having a group to sit with at dinner, and therefore spent my first semester of college barely going at all.

A little more about my first semester of college. It was a ton of fun and I made a lot of amazing friends, but it was also loud. Not exactly in a volume-turned-all-the-way-up sense (although it could be at times), but more in a metaphorical sense. There was always something to do, a new way to participate, a new someone to connect with. I’m the type of person who likes staying busy, so I LOVED this aspect of college. I loved, and still do love, how alive campus is, how on a nice day you will see everyone chilling outside. There is a wonderful sense of community. But near the end of the semester, I think I realized that I had been missing something: me time. I needed a little bit of silence to help me fully enjoy all the noise of my college life and not burn out.

At home, I enjoyed silence during some very specific times: in the 30 or so minutes that I had between school and dance class, and at night after everyone went to sleep. At college I didn’t have these. When I came home from class I always had a floormate that I was excited to talk to and I had a roommate who stayed up even later than I did. First semester, I was so busy building friendships that I didn’t make any time purely for myself.

Second semester, I changed that. I gave myself some silence. Once again, not in a physical sense, but a spiritual one. To me, silence was going to a café that was two subway stops away from campus. Silence was hiding under my blanket and watching American Horror Story. Before special events, silence was sitting on the floor, listening to Beyoncé and straightening my hair. And most importantly, silence was going to Shabbat services. I no longer viewed them as something that I had to do by myself, but something that I had the pleasure of doing by myself. Even as I become more involved with Hillel, and closer to the people in it, I still treat services as a time for me. They are a break from the din of college life, and I can recharge in that silence. And as for my Hillel friends? I’ll catch up with them at dinner.

As the new Jewish year approaches, I have a challenge for everyone reading this blog. Go to a Friday night Shabbat service alone. Even if you drive with family, try sitting a few rows apart. Take the time for yourself. See what happens when you immerse yourself in the sounds of silence.

Miranda Siler is now entering her sophomore year at Tufts University, just outside the great city of Boston. A member since she was four, she has been a part of the Shaare Emeth community in many ways including camper, madricha, avid SETYG member, counselor, religious school teacher, and regular service attendee. In college, she serves on her Hillel Board as Freshman Programming Co-Chair. Feel free to email her at miranda.siler@tufts.edu if you want to send her care packages during the school year--she would be eternally grateful--or for other reasons.