Rabbi Charles P. Sherman
Shabbat Shuvah
October 3, 2003
How Do We Rate?
I admit that stories about my hometown especially capture my attention. A few years ago, the Wall Street Journal reported about a man named George Ecco who lives in Pittsburgh and who has created for himself an interesting career. We have all heard of music critics, movie critics, restaurant critics, etc. George Ecco is a church critic.
He goes from church to church every Sunday, sits in the back inconspicuously and takes notes. He rates the service. How good was the sermon – was it a one-star sermon or two, or maybe even a three? How good was the choir – how many stars does it deserve? How friendly were the people – were they welcoming or were they off-putting? How good were the refreshments? How many people were there? Was the congregation made up of only one age group or was there an age-range?
George Ecco makes notes of these and other things that he notices and then every Monday, on the educational television channel, he has a program which is called "Holy Mackerel! Rating the Churches."
When I read that story I had two reactions. The first was – what if he were to come to our Temple? How would we rate? The Oneg Shabbat on a typical Friday night would get four stars; we eat better than any church in town. I am sure of that; I have had church food. The great thing is that the cake, cookies and brownies which we serve each week have no calories, no cholesterol and are delicious.
The Cantor – I think she would get at least three-and-a-half stars. The only reason that anybody would not give her four stars is because we know that she has her future ahead of her. She is going to continue to grow, vocally; and we have not heard her best yet.
The Rabbi? Modesty prevents me from answering that.
The second question which occurred to me was – how would the congregation rate? Would it be graded as a friendly congregation, one where people go out of their way to welcome the stranger, or not? Would the critic say that we are the kind of congregation where people really make newcomers feel at home – introduce themselves, take the stranger over to meet the Rabbi and the Cantor and the MVP? Is this the kind of place where if a stranger or newcomer asks what kind of activities do you offer here, people know how to answer, or not?
I must tell you that I would give us at least three stars on a four-star system. I have seen how our greeters introduce themselves to newcomers who walk through our doors. How our host and hostess smile, welcome people, give books to latecomers and show them the page. I have watched congregants get up and go to the door to get one of our spiral-bound prayerbooks – because a newcomer did not realize that was what we were using – bring it in, open it to the right page and give it to the newcomer. I have watched people explain about our babysitting service on the second floor to people who obviously were unaware of it. I have observed members walking newcomers over to the rack in the lobby and giving them a monthly bulletin on their way out so they would know when services are the next time.
But another question that came to my mind when I read the Pittsburgh story was a deeper one. What if the stranger who came in here was not just looking for friendship or a social outlet? What if the stranger who came in here was looking for God? Or for holiness? Or for a purpose in life? What would happen to him or her if they came into this building, and especially into this sanctuary, with those kinds of questions in their heart? Would we know what to say if they asked us those questions?
For the truth is that a synagogue is not a "club." It is not supposed to just be a place where people can get together for social purposes. A synagogue is supposed to be a kehillah kedosha – a holy congregation. The initials are carved into the cornerstone of this building. If you look at our Articles of Incorporation or the Constitution, you see that we are charted as kehillah kedosha – Temple Israel Congregation – for that is what a synagogue is supposed to be, a place where people can come if they are looking for God and Torah and for meaning in their lives, not just looking for a social club or a school for their children. Last Friday evening, our Temple President said it beautifully. "We Jews, through Temple Israel . . . are struggling to bring God down upon earth. Let us remember this mission as we do everything we do here."
One story haunts me every year, especially in the days before Yom Kippur. It is the story of Franz Rosenzweig. Rosenzweig became one of the most important Jewish thinkers of the 20th century. Many rate him as the foremost Jewish philosopher of modernity. Rosenzweig lived in Germany in the days before World War I. There was enormous assimilation in that place at that time. Many of Rosenzweig’s own relatives and friends left Judaism and converted to Christianity – some for social reasons, some for economic reasons and some for spiritual reasons.
Franz Rosenzweig had received very little Jewish education. He came from a family that went to shul only three days a year. So, at one point in his life, Rosenzweig decided to become a Christian, too, just like many of his friends were doing. He wanted to become a Christian for religious reasons, for spiritual reasons, because he was drawn to this religion by the faith and the piety and the passion of some of the people whom he met, including the professor of philosophy on his campus, who was a pious Christian.
But Franz Rosenzweig decided that if he was going to enter the church, then he ought to do so in the same way that the founders of the church did; namely, by way of Judaism. So he decided to bid farewell to Judaism by going to the synagogue one last time. He went not to one of the fancy, formal temples of which Germany had many; he chose to go instead for some reason to a small shtiebel. He went by happenstance or, perhaps by more than happenstance – who can say? – he went on Kol Nidre night.
Something happened to him there that night. He was caught up in the fervor and the passion and piety that he felt there. He came back the next day, and he fasted for the first time in his life. He sat next to someone who showed him the page and who guided him all during the service. When it was over, Rosenzweig was a changed person. He wrote the next day: "I realize now that Judaism is not a dead religion as I had thought. And therefore, I now realize that it is not necessary to leave Judaism in order to find God. And if it is not necessary to do so, then it is not possible to do so."
Rosenzweig went on to study, eventually becoming one of the most important Jewish thinkers of the 20th century. So the question that haunts me every year at this time, ever since I first read that story, is – what if, what if, what if Franz Rosenzweig had come to our services that night? What would have happened if he had come to Temple Israel? Not as a critic who enters a service in order to judge, and not as the lonely people comes in order see if we are friendly here or not. What would have happened if he had walked in here in search of God?
Would someone have welcomed him and told him all about our ShalomFest? Our Brotherhood breakfast programs and Taste of Temple Israel? Our Annual Cantorial Concert? About all of the other social and social justice programming activities that make up the schedule of this and most other synagogues nowadays?
Or would someone have taken him by the hand and said welcome, shalom alichem – who are you and what are you really looking for. Where are you going in your life and what are you doing with your days?
I can’t prove it friends, but I have a hunch that there a lot of Franz Rosenzweigs out there. People who have a real spiritual hunger, who are looking and fishing and groping and searching for religious faith. Some of these people sometimes draw up their courage and timidly set foot in a synagogue. When they do, I fear that sometimes we miss their signals. We do not understand the questions with which they come, and so we turn them away.
I suspect that one of the reasons why so many non-Jews marry Jews nowadays is not in spite of the fact that they are Jewish, but because of the fact that they are Jewish. I have a sense that these folks look upon us as a special people, an ancient people, a holy people. They sense that we stand for something real, for something sacred. And that is part of what draws them to us. They hunger – for want of a better name – for what we call "the spiritual."
I think that most if not all synagogues in this country today – Reform, Conservative, even Orthodox – are doing many of the same things to get new members. We will have a new member brunch, dinner, ice cream social, maybe a lox and bagel breakfast or brunch, and we will say to the folks who come: you know, we are not the Beth David or Beth Jacob or Beth El Congregation, no no, we are the Temple Family and we are twice as friendly as any other synagogue in town. Our rabbi is so friendly in fact, that if you move, he hugs you; and if he meets you in the grocery store today and then meets you somewhere else twenty years later, he remembers your name and your child’s name. And not only is our rabbi twice as friendly as the rabbi at the other shul down the street, he is also humble. He has more humility in his little finger than all the other rabbis in town have in their whole body. Oh yeah, we are the friendliest shul in town. And we will talk about our chavurot, our Temple committees, our auxiliaries.
Again, it is essentially the ‘pitch’ that all synagogues are making today, and there is some truth and validity to that pitch. This is a lonely world and people do seek out a synagogue in order to make friends, and every synagogue worth its salt does try to meet that need to the best of its ability.
On a typical Sabbath in our Temple, one family will be here to share the joy of naming its child, or because a son or daughter is becoming a Bar or Bat mitzvah; another family has come to pray with others because one of its members is ill; yet some other family has come to share its grief because it has suffered a loss. And the synagogue is the only Jewish institution that a person can come to in order to share and to sanctify each of these family moments in life. So I do not mean to make fun of those who come with these needs in their hearts, God forbid.
But what if, what if instead of or in addition to, what if when someone came in to inquire about joining our synagogue we were to say to them, you know, we are not really sure that we want any more members. But maybe, tell us first, why do you want to join? And, do you think you will be able to meet our standards?
And they said to us, we want to join so that our children can get a Jewish education. And we responded: well we do not teach children here, we teach families. So if you are planning to just drop your child off here for us to educate him or her while you go somewhere else, then maybe you will be better off at another synagogue.
What if we were to say: if you have a real hunger for something serious, something sacred, something real in your life, something eternal, then we are willing to take you on a trial basis for a six-month period, and we will see how you do. If you meet our standards – if you study, if you use our library that we are so proud of, if you come to our Institute of Adult Jewish Studies, if you participate in our social justice activities, if you take Torah seriously and are here regularly to pray – then we will be delighted to have you join us formally. If not, maybe you will fit in better down the street. I wonder what would happen if we offered serious standards and required a real commitment on the part of Jews before we were willing to accept their membership.
Tonight we honor individuals and couples who have belonged to Temple Israel longer than anyone else, our 50 year members – and some are 60-plus year members. I believe that if I interviewed these individuals, I would find that you know that we will help any individual or family with a discount if they have financial challenges; we will discount our membership dues, our Building Fund, but that we do not discount the Torah that we stand for here. I believe that you know better than anybody else, that Temple Israel is a place where people are willing to give not only of their money, but of themselves to the Jewish way of life. I believe you know better than anybody else that yes, we do have chavurot, we have a ShalomFest, we have dinners, luncheons, brunches and breakfasts, fundraisers and fun activities just like all other synagogues do. But we have them here so that the Temple can exist and not the other way around. We have all of these other things, important – maybe even indispensable – means, so that we can have a Temple, but we do not have a Temple in order that we can have those things. That is an important distinction.
Here is what I think our longest-term members have learned about Temple Israel. I believe you have learned that a Temple is about three things – communal prayer, holy study and the doing of good deeds, or, as we say in Hebrew, Avodah, Torah and Gimilut Chasadim – none of which we can do by ourselves in isolation. Therefore, we come together to do them as a group, and that is why we have a synagogue.
Prayer is emotional; it is largely something we do with our heart. Study is intellectual; it is largely something that we do with our head. Doing good deeds is physical; it is something we do with our hands.
You know, friends, some of us are better at doing things with our heads, others are better at doing things with our hearts, and still others are better at doing things with our hands. None of us do all three with equal fervor and equal skill. That is why we join together in a synagogue, so that the strengths of one will make up for the weaknesses of another, and so that together we can do the three things that Jews are made to do.
Thank God that so many of you have wanted for so long to work hard on yourself to become the most important thing a person can become in this world – which is not a doctor, lawyer, engineer or a rabbi – but a mensch. You have learned that you can do this best in the covenanted company of others who are striving to do the same thing. You also know as the Certificate of Recognition we are about to present you says – "In the midst of a congregation at prayer, God’s presence will be found."
May God bless you and all of us in this place who are striving together to the best of our ability to become good Jews and thus bring God down to earth. That is what Temple Israel is here for. You have kept it here alive and well and four-star rated for over a half century. Thank you. God bless you. Amen
The inspiration for this message came from the writings of Rabbi Jack Riemer, fellow Pittsburger.
