Rabbi David Whiman and I both came to North Shore Synagogue on the same day, July 1st, five years ago. Today is my last Shabbat Service at the Temple. I will be moving up to Ridgefield Connecticut where I will have my own congregation, Temple Shearith Israel.
Today is not only my farewell Shabbat, but it is also Friday the 13th. When Friday falls on this date, it is supposed to be bad luck. But today as we say farewell to one another, I cannot help but reflect on my good fortune. It is has been a wonderful five years that we have spent together, and I feel blessed to have been here with you. Tonight I would like to share some stories about my time at NSS, stories that I will carry in my memory and cherish.
When I first arrived at North Shore Synagogue five years ago, “fresh out of the factory,” I had a lot of energy and enthusiasm. But I had no real idea of what it meant to be one of the Rabbis of a large congregation. I was 28 years old, and right away I got comments about my age. “Rabbi you are so young.” “Do they make rabbis this young?” People started calling me “baby rabbi” and teasing me about my youth. I briefly contemplated growing a beard to make myself look older, but my wife vetoed that idea.
My favorite story about being a young rabbi happened when I traveled to New York City to officiate at a wedding. I arrived at the location wearing a suit, and I had my black robe in a bag draped over my arm. The grandmother of the bride saw me and said: “You’re the Rabbi?!?” Then I put on my robe, and she said: “Oh, You’re the Rabbi!!!” Apparently, a well-pressed black robe goes a long way.
As I worked my way into the congregation and began teaching and leading services, I got to know the children in the religious school, youth group and nursery school. Apparently, I made quite an impression on one young girl particular. A three year old from our Nursery School went home one day and said: “Mommy, I saw God today.” The mom was a bit taken aback and asked: “What did God look like?” “He was about 5,8, thin, with curly brown hair,” replied the girl. “No, that was the Rabbi,” the mom wisely corrected her daughter.
In my years here, I tried to share with you the same kind of caring that you gave to us. It has been my blessing and privilege to officiate at baby namings, b’nai mitzvah and weddings. And I have done my best to support you and be there for you in times of need, when you lost a loved one and needed comfort and caring.
One of the truly rewarding parts of my job is being with a family through the cycle of their lives. Not long after I arrived at North Shore Synagogue, I converted a woman to Judaism. Then I married her and her husband. I named their first baby girl two years ago. And just last Sunday, not a week before my last day here at the Temple, I named their second child, another beautiful baby girl.
As I was driving to their house, I thought about what it was like to marry them four years ago, and about all of the changes that have happened in their lives and in mine. I was with them in the beginning and at the end of my time at North Shore Synagogue. As I prepared to bless the baby, I offered my own silent prayer of thanks for all of the joys of these last five years.
In the book of Numbers, the Torah lists all of the stops that the Israelites made in the 40 years in the desert. Most of the lines read something like this: “They set out from Succoth and encamped at Etham.” “They set out from Marah and came to Elim.” The list is very formulaic, providing no detail on what happened at each stop. Perhaps it was too hard to capture all of the events, the joys and difficulties of such a long and fulfilling journey.
As I look back on my five years at North Shore Synagogue, there is no way I could possibly recount to you tonight all of the services, classes, events, great moments and treasured times that we have experienced together. The list is simply too long. But the chronicles of our journey together will live on inside of my heart. You have welcomed me into your synagogue and into your lives. It has been a blessing to be one of your rabbis. Thank you for five wonderful years.
At the end of a service, I like to bless the congregation with the Priestly Blessing. I open my hands in the traditional formation of the sons of Aaron, so that my hands look like the Hebrew letter Shin. Now please rise, as I offer this blessing to you as we say farewell:
Ye’vare’che’cha Adonai Ve’yish’merecha,
May God bless you and keep you.
Ya’er Adonai Panav Aylecha, Vi’chuneka
May God’s light shine upon you and be good to you.
Yisa Adaoni Panav Aylecha, Ve’yasem Lecha Shalom.
May God be with you and give you Peace.
Amen.
Note: The Fly Fishing Rabbi Blog will continue with regular posts on trout, God and religion.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Monday, June 9, 2008
A Magic Fly Fishing Wand
There is a magic wand sitting on a bookshelf in my house. It was a gift from one of my wife’s co-workers. The wand is a little over a foot long, and very thin. The handle is decorated with a swirl of rainbow colors. At the end of the wand is a sphere, formed out of an artistic weaving of copper wire. Sadly, my wife’s magic wand is only decorative. I tried waving it once and asking for a million dollars, but my hand remained empty.
In some sense, every fly fisher is a magician with a magic wand. We stand in freezing cold water, waving a magic rod about nine feet long made out of fiberglass or bamboo back and forth in the air for hours. We are hoping to make an amazing mythical creature, a trout, appear out of the flowing river. The magician has it much easier than we do; he or she already has the rabbit or dove poised to appear. On the river, we can wave our magic rods for three hours and never see a single brown or rainbow trout.
Even if we do not catch a fish, there is something magical about spending the afternoon casting. When we wave our fly fishing rods perfectly, the line loops backwards and forwards in rhythm. The dry fly drops ever so softly on the other side of the river, in front of a large pool filled with trout. A great cast can be magical and artistic, creating beautiful loops and twists of line in the air.
In Judaism, the power of a magic wand comes from its ability to perform miracles. Moses had a magic wand, the staff that he carried with him. Moses went before Pharoah and said: “Let my people go.” Then Moses's brother Aaron threw his staff on the floor and it turned into a snake. The Pharoah's advisors performed the same trick, but then Aaron's snake swallowed all of the other serpents.
Later on in the Bible, that same magic staff would perform another miracle. When the Jews were stuck between Pharoah’s army and the Red Sea, God told Moses to lift his staff in the air. God split the Red Sea in half, and the Israelites walked through it on dry land. Today when we want to cross a fast moving stream, we could try to wave our fly fishing rod in the air like Moses, but it might be more effective to use another type of pole, a wading staff.
We may not be able to perform miracles with a fly fishing rod like Moses did with his staff. But the time we spend waving a fly fishing rod in the air can be magical, if we take an opportunity to notice the small miracles all around us. When we listen to the stream flowing, or take a moment to notice the sky or the deep green of the leaves, we are witnessing the most profound of miracles, our beautiful world that has its source in the Divine.
I recently took my congregation on a deep sea fishing trip. A few people asked me if I could bless their fishing rods, hoping that I could turn a normal pole into a magic wand that would catch fish. I told them that sadly I don’t have that kind of influence.
As the trip ended and we got off the boat, many of my congregants told me what a great time they had. They spoke about the relaxation they felt from being on the ocean. They described how special it was to watch their sons and daughters exclaim in wonder at the sight of a sea crab, or a red robin bass, or a sea-gull catching a piece of bait in mid-air.
As I thought back on the fishing trip, I realized what I should have said to my congregants who wanted me to bless their fishing rods. I did not need to speak words of Hebrew or say abracadabra. Instead, I could have reminded them that a fishing pole can become a magic wand, when we remember to appreciate the time spent on the ocean or stream with family and friends.
Picture: The magic wand on my bookshelf
The idea of the magic wand has long captured the imagination. In the Cinderella story, the fairy godmother uses a magic wand to help Cinderella. A wave of the wand turns a pumpkin into a stage-coach and mice into horses. In the classic Wizard of Oz movie from 1939, Glinda the good witch carries a white magic wand that she uses to help Dorothy.
When we go to a magic show, a magician takes out his black wand with white ribbon on either end. He waves it back and forth and says “abracadabra.” Then he pulls a rabbit from a hat or makes a person disappear from the stage. The word abracadabra has Jewish roots. Abracadabra comes from Aramaic, the language used by Jews beginning over 2000 years ago, and it means “I will create as I speak.”In some sense, every fly fisher is a magician with a magic wand. We stand in freezing cold water, waving a magic rod about nine feet long made out of fiberglass or bamboo back and forth in the air for hours. We are hoping to make an amazing mythical creature, a trout, appear out of the flowing river. The magician has it much easier than we do; he or she already has the rabbit or dove poised to appear. On the river, we can wave our magic rods for three hours and never see a single brown or rainbow trout.
Even if we do not catch a fish, there is something magical about spending the afternoon casting. When we wave our fly fishing rods perfectly, the line loops backwards and forwards in rhythm. The dry fly drops ever so softly on the other side of the river, in front of a large pool filled with trout. A great cast can be magical and artistic, creating beautiful loops and twists of line in the air.
In Judaism, the power of a magic wand comes from its ability to perform miracles. Moses had a magic wand, the staff that he carried with him. Moses went before Pharoah and said: “Let my people go.” Then Moses's brother Aaron threw his staff on the floor and it turned into a snake. The Pharoah's advisors performed the same trick, but then Aaron's snake swallowed all of the other serpents.
Later on in the Bible, that same magic staff would perform another miracle. When the Jews were stuck between Pharoah’s army and the Red Sea, God told Moses to lift his staff in the air. God split the Red Sea in half, and the Israelites walked through it on dry land. Today when we want to cross a fast moving stream, we could try to wave our fly fishing rod in the air like Moses, but it might be more effective to use another type of pole, a wading staff.
We may not be able to perform miracles with a fly fishing rod like Moses did with his staff. But the time we spend waving a fly fishing rod in the air can be magical, if we take an opportunity to notice the small miracles all around us. When we listen to the stream flowing, or take a moment to notice the sky or the deep green of the leaves, we are witnessing the most profound of miracles, our beautiful world that has its source in the Divine.
I recently took my congregation on a deep sea fishing trip. A few people asked me if I could bless their fishing rods, hoping that I could turn a normal pole into a magic wand that would catch fish. I told them that sadly I don’t have that kind of influence.
As the trip ended and we got off the boat, many of my congregants told me what a great time they had. They spoke about the relaxation they felt from being on the ocean. They described how special it was to watch their sons and daughters exclaim in wonder at the sight of a sea crab, or a red robin bass, or a sea-gull catching a piece of bait in mid-air.
As I thought back on the fishing trip, I realized what I should have said to my congregants who wanted me to bless their fishing rods. I did not need to speak words of Hebrew or say abracadabra. Instead, I could have reminded them that a fishing pole can become a magic wand, when we remember to appreciate the time spent on the ocean or stream with family and friends.
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