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.

Mindful of the Ordinary

A few days ago, Josh Wallach introduced the readers of this blog to the concept of hitlamdut - a learning stance that asks us to be open to learning about ourselves from all of our experiences.  When we approach each moment of our day with an attitude of curiosity and openness, instead of judgment and fear, we are practicing hitlamdut.  This kind of learning stance is incredibly helpful during the month of Elul, when we are asked to be more attuned to the patterns and habits of our daily lives.

Mary Oliver expresses the idea of hitlamdut in her poem, "Mindful."

Every day
I see or I hear
something
that more or less

kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle

in the haystack
of light.
It is what I was born for -
to look, to listen,

to lose myself
inside this soft world -
to instruct myself
over and over

in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant -
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.
Oh good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help

but grow wise
with such teachings
as these -
the untrimmable light

of the world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?

The ordinary, the common, the very drab, as Oliver explains, are invitations not only to be mindful, but also to be grateful.  Invitations to grow in wisdom.  As we step out into the world on this 9th day of Elul, let us be attuned to the lessons the world presents to us, and the endless opportunities we have to learn about who we are, and about who we can become.

L'shalom,
Rabbi Andrea

Dual Citizenship

I use the word balance a lot.  I like that its meaning can take on almost any shape depending on the conversation.  

Each year, around this time, Elul and winding down of summer, I have two speeds - slow, reflective and breakneck fast.  On one hand, I'm reminded of Elul and the introspection that this time of year requires. On the other, the High Holy Day preparation, task lists and to-dos seem to grow exponentially.  

So I'm supposed to be reflective and frantic at the same time?  

Even if I wasn't a cantor, there's school starting, sports teams, music lessons, homework, friendships, the list goes on - fill in yours here.  

More than any other time of year, I feel the distance is greater between being  in-balance and out-of-balance.   I don't know whether to relax or rebound.  

As I put these feelings into words, I am reminded of my need to search for one thing.  It doesn't matter what the one thing is, but I find it hard to look for more than one thing - physical or metaphysical - at a time. This time of year, I feel caught between focusing inwardly for Elul and the myriad of needs of my work and my family. 

So this year I'm trying something new. Instead of feeling caught between two places, I'm attempting to swing with the pendulum - to feel reflective and relaxed during some parts of the day while allowing myself to feel frantic and busy at other parts.  It's an utterly new place for me.  It's taken a lot of getting used to, and I'm by no means an expert at it - but I'm feeling myself able to appreciate and understand the imbalance more by reveling in its outer boundaries rather than trying to negotiate the midpoint. 

Cantor Seth Warner

8 Elul 5774

This Time of Year is Always a Special One

by Josh Wallach

For me, this time of year is always a special one. There are memories of many years at Shaare Emeth, attending High Holy Day services with loved ones, some now departed and dearly missed, and there are memories being made here with my own growing family, whether it be attending an event directed towards my children, Shabbat services, or teaching them that Shaare Emeth can be a second home to them. I am thankful for the ability to be so actively engaged and participate not only in lay leadership opportunities, but to be given so many opportunities to choose from.

Earlier this year I was invited to be a participant in Shaare Emeth's inaugural Tikkun Middot class, and therefore an ambassador for what I've discovered is a powerful "thing". Tikkun Middot is a combination of Mussar (a traditional form of ethical study and practice) and Mindfulness practices. Initially, Rabbi Goldstein introduced our class to the broad concept of Hitlamdut, or study of self. By engaging ourselves in this study of self, we give ourselves the ability to deeply internalize what we are learning.

At our first meeting, we were asked to focus on one specific daily activity that we could then look at and notice how we do this activity, how it affects us, and what we can learn from it. I chose to look at driving. One of the aspects of driving I focused on was how I behaved when seeing the driver of a nearby vehicle texting or paying more attention to their phone than the 4000 lb machine they were piloting. I found that my old habit of honking at such drivers, motioning for them to put their phones down, or just internally uttering dissatisfaction did absolutely no good, for anyone. It simply raised my stress level, took my focus off of the road (not to mention the three little ones in car seats), and, for a minute, made me feel like I had to control the actions of other drivers (impossible to do). After studying this for several weeks, I quickly learned that turning my attention to steering my ship away from unsafe drivers was a more appropriate solution, one that did not necessitate 100% control in a situation that I couldn't control. All of the sudden, my horn was being used less, my stress level was down, and my focus was 100% where it needed to be. While this is only one example, it illustrates that even the most mundane and repetitive activity can be considered for Hitlamdut practice, and that within this activity there is room for learning.

During the month of Elul, I am grateful to be part of a congregation that actively highlights our ability to reflect on our lives and learn. For me, it is not enough to simply say I can be a better person by "doing" this. Tikkun Middot practice allows us to ask deeper questions, like why are we doing it this way, what happens if we do it this way instead, how are others affected if I continue doing something a certain way, and why should we do it this way? There are learning opportunities around every corner if the desire to learn exists.

Since our initial class, each successive session has become more specific in its nature, honing in on a particular character trait, for example "Patience". Over the next year, our entire congregation will be introduced to this practice thanks to a grant awarded to Shaare Emeth through the continued diligent work of Rabbi Goldstein. It is my hope as a participant, as a representative of our board of directors, and as a fellow congregant, that you too can say I am a better person because I am involved at Shaare Emeth.

Shanah Tova.

Josh Wallach has been a member of Shaare Emeth since his days attending the Shirlee Green Preschool. He is married to Stacey and they have three children, Gabriel 6, Vivian 3, and Benjamin 2. Josh currently serves as an officer on the Shaare Emeth Board of Trustees.

"Return Again, Return Again"

by Sharon Weissman

“Return again, return again, return to the home of your soul.”

These words, from the song “Return Again” by Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach, often flow through my mind and soul.

The song continues:

“Return to who you are,

return to what you are,

return to where you are born

and reborn again.”

I learned about this song from a dear friend who teaches imagery and who has helped me open my heart to make these words real.

Thinking about Elul, I envision myself taking the time to spiritually prepare for the Days of Awe. For a whole month prior to Rosh Hashanah I have the choice to concentrate on polishing my soul!

Who am I? I aim to be the best Sharon I can be by nourishing my inner self.

What am I? As a spark of the Divine I strive to share my internal light with everyone I meet.

Where am I born and reborn again? At Shaare Emeth, my congregation,

my community, because it is my spiritual home. This can occur at Shabbat worship, working with others to create a new model for “wholeness and hope” within Temple, volunteering with Room at the Inn, making shiva visits, expanding my knowledge of Judaism, singing my heart out with the choir at monthly Shaare Shabbat morning services.

I must be willing to give of myself, it will not just happen because I am in a certain place. This awareness of my soul can, of course, also occur at home, with family and friends, in nature, during my chaplaincy visits and it does. I am the one who has to pay attention to every moment which can lead me to true connections.

These images will help me keep my Elul pledge to be active in my teshuvah, my turning:

I see myself listening to the Shofar blast which has the potential to awaken me each morning.

I hear myself reciting Psalm 27 to help me express my gratitude and hope.

I visualize myself sitting in silence, letting thoughts fly and then settling on my shoulders to guide me on the right path.

I notice myself reviewing the past year, beginning to forgive myself and asking for forgiveness from family and friends I have hurt unintentionally.

Neshama Carlebach, daughter of Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach, wrote:

In Elul, G!d comes to us. If we listen closely, we will hear G!d’s voice:

‘I know how hard this world can be. I know how you long for meaning

and sometimes make mistakes. But now, I just want to be close to you.’

I pray that my heart and soul will remain open to experience this closeness however I perceive it. May I truly be present during Elul, the Days of Awe and know that I am always able to “return again.”

Sharon Weissman joined Shaare Emeth when she moved here almost 30 years ago. The Caring Committee has been her focus of involvement for many years. Additionally, as a member of the Shiva Committee, she visits congregants who have had a death in their family and also leads Shiva Minyanim when called upon. Her professional work has included oncology social work and hospice chaplaincy. She works for JF&CS in the Community Chaplaincy program where she provides spiritual care to Jews living in assisted living or skilled nursing facilities. She is married to Alan and has two sons, one daughter-in-love, and a grandson who is the love of her life. She enjoys traveling to visit family and friends around the country.

The Shofar as Sound and Symbol

Throughout the month of Elul the daily prayer service concludes with a single blast of the shofar. The shrill sound serves as a daily reminder that the New Year is coming and seeks to spur worshipers to engage in the difficult work of cheshbon hanefesh, personal accounting. With its raw, piercing cry, the shofar calls us back to find our authentic self.

Today I want to suggest that the message of the shofar extends beyond the sound. The shofar itself often has a smooth, shinyoutside. Shofars don’t come with such glossy exteriors naturally; rather it takes many hard, laborious hours of work to achieve such a polish. The inside of the shofar, however, is not polished. It remains rough and natural. This shiny exterior doesn’t affect the shofar’s sound. The natural, howling call shofar emerges from a coarse and unfinished place.

I believe we are all, in some ways, like the shofar. We devote much time and energy to creating smooth exteriors. Inside, however, we all have our course patches. In the year ahead let us not only hear the shofar’s call but also internalize its symbolism. Despite our roughness and unfinished interiors, we all have the power to send forth into the world our own powerful, authentic call. As we approach the New Year, may we all find our own voice and seek to share it with the world.

Who writes the Book of Life?

It seems as if our year unfolds to the panorama that is Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. 

We don our nicest clothes, hoping to look our best.  Hoping to sing our best.  

The High Holy Days is the "Super Bowl" for cantors.  There's no way around it.  

Each note and each measure of music reflecting something important: the text, the words, the liturgy of our Machzor.  The melodies and words range from familiar, comforting and wholesome to troubling, stark and obtuse.  We're reminded over and over that our prayers are important and that our future is somehow being written in the Book of Life.  

But what does that mean?  What book are we talking about here? What does it mean to be sealed?

For me, it's the book of my heart.  I am given the chance to reflect - the instruction to reflect.  I am given the opportunity to try to understand my place in the world, in the community, in relationships... And, I am given the chance - the instruction - to look inside myself. To attempt to reconcile my strengths, weaknesses, troubles and gifts within me. Then I can stand taller in the relationships, the community and world and I seek to understand.  

The prayers of the High Holy Days are meant to shake the dust off of our souls.  Some of the melodies are powerful and "in your face," while others are soothing and plaintive.  For me, the range of melodies reflect and mirror our range of emotions.  The words and music set the limits and boundaries for us to bounce between in our lives the rest of the year.  

Sometimes we need to be angry - our prayers reflect that.  Sometimes we need to be declarative - our prayers reflect that, too.  Sometimes we need to receive more than we give - our prayers help us strive for that balance. Sometimes we need to know the limits of our imbalance to feel any sense of balance at all.  Our prayers and our music reflect that struggle as much as they reflect the peace seems to slip through our fingers.  
We bring our best to the High Holy Days perhaps because when we look in the mirror, we can be just a little more like the person we wish to see. 

Cantor Seth Warner
4 Elul 5774