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Posted/updated: September 17, 2010
When I told my mother-in-law, who lives in Chicago, that I’d been given the honor of delivering the Yom Kippur Appeal at Central this year, she responded with three words: “I’m so sorry.”
Because she knows it’s everyone’s least favorite moment, and in her experience, it’s always been the perfect time to escape to the bathroom to reapply her lipstick and think about whether she’ll break the fast with brisket or a bagel.
But I hope I’ll grab your attention by mentioning one particular Yom Kippur prohibition you may not be aware of: intimate relations. On Yom Kippur, we are not only supposed to stay out of the kitchen, but also the bedroom.
However: we can talk about falling in love.
When did you fall in love with Central?
When was the moment you decided to join, or – if it’s been in your family for generations – decided to stay?
If I were my mother, who insists upon hearing from every person at the dinner table, I’d suggest we go around the room sharing our “Why I’m at Central” stories; but tonight’s numbers, alas – or maybe thankfully – make that impossible.
But since I’ve been given the privilege of speaking to you tonight, I will tell you my story. You can relax; it’s very short. In fact, it can be encapsulated in one paraphrased cliché: love at first sound.
Very simply, five years ago, I was invited to the bat mitzvah of a friend’s daughter, and I heard Cantor Buchdahl sing.
And then I heard Rabbi Rubinstein speak.
And afterwards, I walked out, called my husband, and said, with as much certainty as I’ve ever felt, “This is where we belong.”
And since he’s a Jewish husband, he didn’t have much say in the matter, anyway.
Of course, it wasn’t my first synagogue experience, but in many ways, it was a first:
The first time I was moved.
The first time I was fully engaged.
The first time I didn’t watch the clock.
Those of us who have fallen in love with Central know exactly how rare it is to finally find a home.
I have so many friends who haven’t.
When I hear them describe how they don’t love their temple’s music, how the sermons don’t challenge them, how the religious school is unimaginative or the congregation lacks a certain warmth, I know how unique this place is.
Because here the music takes me somewhere, and the sermons make me think, and my son, Benjamin, after his bar mitzvah last may, actually told Rabbi Rubinstein it was the best day of his life.
Finding the right synagogue is like finding the right companion—neither is easy, and both, ideally, are for life.
When all of us here chose Central, we chose the place that would marry us, bury us, name our babies, and as they grow up, teach them Hebrew and history, call them to the Torah, and hopefully spark a pride and curiosity which makes them actually want a Jewish life, not just inherit it.
When we chose Central, we chose the synagogue that would help us mark every milestone and weather any heartbreak.
I’m not presuming that we’re all equally smitten with this place, or drawn by the same things. But whether we’re pulled by memory, melody, guilt, habit or a taste of challah, Central somehow manages to offer a gateway for every one of us.
Whether we’re sure of God or sure there isn’t one, whether we feel already anchored Jewishly or still wandering, whether we’re already in love with this place or still courting.
Even if you’re only in this magical sanctuary once or twice a year–this is your home too. When you crave an interval between your hectic week and your overscheduled weekend;
when life overwhelms and you need a rabbi’s ear or guidance; when you wish that you or your children knew more about our rich, resilient tradition - Central can be a resource, a refuge.
It’s too easy to sit in this packed house on Kol Nidrei and then go home and say, “I’m so glad Central is there, doing so many good things.”
We’re not just “the audience,” not just visitors.
We are Central’s engine and its oxygen. This synagogue’s ability to offer all that it does rests entirely on our willingness to step up and contribute as much as we can at this time every year.
So if you had a number in mind, I hope you’ll nudge it a little higher.
If you already gave this year, thank you. (And I hope you won’t hesitate to add a little more.)
Because I know you know you’re part of something unusual.
Because we want to keep a good thing going.
Because I’m sure you share my pride in the fact that Central is constantly reaching out to those who are genuinely - often quietly - struggling…in our midst, and outside our doors.
Sometimes we think to ourselves, “my richer neighbor can carry the load.”
The fact is that all of us are the mortar and pulse of this place, all of us know that our tradition reminds us again and again to be involved.
On Yom Kippur, an unsparing honesty is required of us: about who we’ve been, about who we want to become, about what really matters - in our heart of hearts.
I’d venture to guess we’re not just feeling reflective and repentant tonight; we’re also feeling lucky.
Lucky to have this sanctuary; this clergy; this congregation; this community.
Lucky to have fallen in love…and found a home.
Shana Tova.
