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M y favorite biblical book, the Song of Songs, states, “Arise my love, my fair one, and come away. For now the winter is past, and the rains are over and gone. The blossoms have appeared in the land, the time of pruning has come.”

At first glance, this love poem speaks of a beautiful time of flowers and fragrances, of sunshine, warmth, and love. But, as Rabbi Ben Bag Bag taught, “turn it, turn it, and turn it again, for the whole world is in it.” Our Jewish texts must be read time and time again, with a deeper more exhausting reading, each time. Just below the surface of this exquisite verse is a message about change. Most of us yearn for the time when “winter is past and the rains are over and gone.” No longer do we hide away in our houses covered in woolen blankets. No longer do we curse the morning chill as we scrape ice and snow off of our cars. Now, when winter is past, we take our bicycles out of our garages instead of our cars. We may open our windows a little more often. We welcome this change. But Song of Songs goes on to say, the blossoms have appeared in our land, the time of pruning has come.

To prune is to clip, cut, snip, trim, shorten, to condense. It is to change our shape in some way. When we come out of the winter hibernation, and we look through our closets in search of bathing suits, shorts, and beach towels, we sometimes find ourselves waxing nostalgic at the remnants we find that we had forgotten. Sometimes, we take them out of storage to find that they no longer fit, or have simply worn too thin. It is time to prune these items from our lives. Sometimes the rummaging through old things is not physical. It is emotional. Perhaps we have changed over the course of the winter months. Perhaps our circumstances have been altered. We too, like the blossoming trees spoken of in Song of Songs, need some pruning. It is time to change something about ourselves.

Change is hard. There is simply no getting around that. And yet, change happens everyday. As the Greek Philosopher Heraclites said, “The only constant is change.” Well, at least that’s one thing we can depend on. The important thing to understand is that all our lives stand on not what changes take place in our lives, but rather how we handle those changes. Every change has the potential to bring us blessing or curse. The choice is ours. We can fight the change with all our might or we can move with it, allowing ourselves to bend and sway with the changing winds. An African proverb states, “The wind does not break a tree that bends.”
Sometimes we find it hard to bend and move with all the changes around us. But once again, it is all in how we look at it. Perhaps it is a responsibility to be flexible. Perhaps it is an obligation. Or perhaps it is a blessing.

A little known folk song teaches, “A loving God and things in their own time: In nothing more do I trust. We own nothing, nothing is ours…But this poverty is our greatest gift. The weightlessness of us as things around begin to shift.”

When the world is changing too fast for us to comprehend, we have a choice. We can fight against the winds of change, or we can open up our sails and see where the breeze takes us. This second approach requires trust. Trust that if we sway and bend, at some point the vines will blossom and the pruning will make for a healthier tree. The constant change will continue, but with faith and trust in God and in our fellow human beings, we can survive with minimal struggle and arrive to the next line in Song of Songs, “The green figs form on the tree; the vines in blossom give forth their fragrance. Arise my love. My fair one, come away.” When we let go and allow ourselves to revel in the changes and evolutions around us, those trees we pruned will give forth beautiful flowers we can enjoy.

We here at North Shore Synagogue are undergoing our own change as we bid a fond farewell to Rabbi Rachel Maimin and Cantor Kyle Cotler. While we have learned so much from them and truly treasured the time they have spent with us, it is time for them to move on with the next steps of their lives and careers. We know that their vines will blossom and we wish them both the very best that life has to offer. They will always be family.

My friends, here we are again.

Another tragic shooting at yet another house of worship. It was ours again. 6 months ago it was Jews in Pittsburgh. 1 and a half months ago, it was Muslims in Christchurch, New Zealand. 6 days ago, it was Christians in Colombo, Sri Lanka. And now it’s us again. Who will it be next time?

I absolutely despise that I can ask that question with a horrific certainty that there WILL be a next time. Passover celebrates religious freedom and the first time the Jewish People truly become a People. Easter is one of the three most holiest days for Christians, commemorating the holy ascension of Jesus; and falling just the day before Easter this year, was Lailat ul Bara’h, the night of Forgiveness, a holy day leading up the holiest of days for Muslims, Ramadan. These three peaceful, blessed, and sacred holidays were desecrated by the shedding of human blood by another human being. How despicable. How gut-wrenching. How un-holy. And yet, how prevalent now in our world.

And so we find ourselves here again, straining in our anguish to understand just what is going on in our world. I am struggling too. And I don’t have a quick fix. But I know this. Tears will not solve this problem. Anger will not solve this problem. And hate will not solve this problem. I will mourn for those souls lost. I will pray for those injured bodies. And I will love my fellow human beings with all my soul can muster. Please join me. Join me in mourning. Join me in praying. And Join me in loving.

With steadfast love,

Rabbi Jaimee Shalhevet

A trip, a vacation, or a pilgrimage? That is often the question posed when traveling to Israel. And when North Shore Synagogue and Temple Beth Emeth of Mount Sinai took a co-synagogue Israel trip this past February, we answered that question. A pilgrimage can certainly be seen in a spiritual sense, but it can also be in an educational sense. We had both. My favorite participant quote this trip was, “I’ve visited Israel before, but this time I visited Israelis.” This journey to our Holy Land was unlike any other.

We began by visiting Old Jaffa and Tel Aviv: Old Jaffa to experience the oldest Port city in Israel and to learn about the many different cultures which have inhabited that very same city, and Tel Aviv to experience a Reform Synagogue Erev Shabbat service with a welcoming community, to celebrate the Bar Mitzvah of Seth Margolin, one of our own NSS students, and to take a tour of the amazingly meaningful graffiti in this modern city. The rest of our trip was just as varied and amalgamated – from visiting Kibbutz Aza on the Gaza border to learn about how children play in playgrounds equipped with bomb shelters, to traveling to Kibbutz Lotan which lives in an ecological recycled world working to make the desert bloom. We toured the Jewish settlement of Efrat in the West Bank to listen to the voice of a frustrated resident on one side of the argument. We then went directly to another area of the West Bank where an organization called Shorashim meets. Led by a settler rabbi and a Palestinian resident, they engage in conversation and programs to bring Palestinians and Jews together. And while half of our trip visited the Jordanian city of Petra, the other half climbed a mountain in the desert and snorkeled in the Red Sea.

We prayed at the Western Wall where, in recent days, the news has reported tension between different denominations of Jews and men and women were separated, and then we prayed at the egalitarian section of the Western Wall where we prayed together as one beautiful community. We learned ancient history at the Israel museum and we rode the Jerusalem light rail, a train going through the entire city of Jerusalem, only built a few years ago.

The Israel of past, present, and future – the land, the air, and the people.
So, was this a trip, a vacation, or a pilgrimage?
Unequivocally, “yes.”

The same can be said for this upcoming holiday of Passover. It can be a holiday all about food, all about symbolism, or all about history. Or it can be a holiday of all three – and more. Passover commemorates the end of generations of slavery and the beginning of a covenant with God and a complicated journey and relationship with the Promised Land – the very one we visited in February. Is Passover a cultural holiday? Yes, absolutely. The food is cultural – brisket, matzah ball soup, matzah brei and so much more. Is it historical? Also, yes. The entire Hagaddah is a history book – not only of the exodus from Egypt, but also of the many generations later of rabbis who comment on the seder and teach us what freedom looks like or can look like in each and every age. Is Passover spiritual? Most definitely, yes. Passover is not just about the past slavery and subsequent freedom of the Israelite people, but also a hope for all people to be free today and for an individual freedom from ourselves and our own misguided ideas about ourselves.

Just like we did saw Israel through varied lenses on this past trip, so may we all see ourselves through the lens of freedom and light this Passover season.

When was the last time you sat in silence? The last time you simply sat somewhere, and didn’t pull out your phone, didn’t turn on the tv, didn’t turn on the radio or a podcast, didn’t call a friend or family member to talk? The last time you listened to the world around you, to the sounds of a clock ticking, or the cars going by, or the breeze, or your own breathing? When was the last time you had an experience of silence, surrounded by other people? It’s a pretty rare occasion. Perhaps we might experience this communal silence on a Friday night or Saturday morning, at Shabbat services; perhaps at a yoga or meditation class.

I will never forget the evening I went to the movies and had a little more unexpected encounter with a moment of communal silence. I went to see American Sniper, a powerful and at times disturbing film, and when the end credits began, the music started up and images of the man on whom the film is based appeared on the screen. That lasted for a couple of minutes and suddenly the music stopped as the rolling credits began. Silence filled the theater. Not a single person in that jam-packed movie theater moved a muscle. We sat together in silence, watching the credits on the screen. And one by one people began to leave, but still in total and utter silence. I’d never experienced anything like this at the movies before and something really deep down inside me was reached. I know I wasn’t the only one because that night, I got home and went online and saw that message boards were filled with people commenting on this rare and incredibly powerful moment of silence that ended this film.

Now our rabbis knew a thing or two about silence as well. And they tell in a midrash the story of when we, the Israelites, received the Torah. They say that at the moment God gave us the Torah, the entire world fell silent. No ox made a noise. No bird chirped. In fact, even the angels fell still and silent for this most important communal moment.

We know, just as they did, the ability of silence to connect us to our self, to one another, and to what is true in just this moment in time.

Dr. Rachel Noami Remen, a pioneer in the mind/body holistic health movement, shares her understanding of this most important gift of silence. She writes, “Perhaps the most important thing that we bring to another person is the silence in us. The sort of silence that is a place of refuge, of rest, of acceptance of someone just as they are. We are all hungry for this other silence. It is hard to find. In its presence, we can remember something beyond the moment, a strength on which to build a life. Silence is a place of great power and healing. Silence is God’s lap.”

Kein yehi ratzon. May these words be worthy of coming true for all of us.

I saw an advertisement in the newspaper for a bank. It began with a quote from a credit specialist at the bank saying, “We want our customers to feel like we care about them, and we’re going to do whatever it takes to help them feel that way.” Wait, what? THIS was an ad that was supposed to make me want to join them? Let me write it again the way I read it. “We want our customers to FEEL LIKE we care about them…” So, do they not actually care about me? They will just go to any lengths to deceive me into thinking they do? Wouldn’t it just be better if they actually cared about me?

So, I thought about it and decided, what does North Shore Synagogue do? What would our ad look like? What would it say?

I often walk through the halls of our Hebrew school, weaving in and out of classes on Sunday mornings or Monday afternoons and listen to the excited Hebrew chatter of our children. I see them in our Youth Lounge relay racing to find the Hebrew letter blocks first. I find them dancing with hand motions to Mi Chamocha. I witness them standing proud as they lead their class in a song, or a prayer, or show off a diorama of the 7 days of creation. I see their teachers with genuine smiles, truly enjoying passing on our traditions to our children. Our teachers care about our kids and our kids care about their Judaism.

I peek into our Nursery School classrooms almost daily (careful not to be seen by my daughter!) I see our adorable little ones engrossed in storytime or playtime or cooking time. I hear their insatiable laughter as they “scurry like mice” down the colored hallway to the big gym. I see toddlers reach out their tiny, chubby, hands for Miss Laura or Miss Jill in our Together for Tots program. And I see our teachers reaching back, providing our littlest ones with safe places to feel comfortable and explore play and learning.

When I lead my Wednesday morning classes, either our Torah class, our Safe Spaces discussion group or our Understanding Hebrew class, I see more than people coming to learn. They come to share. They come for community. Believe it or not, in our Safe Spaces discussion group, a Republican and a Democrat hugged each other. That’s right, hugged. Our Saturday morning Torah Study and Service in the Round groups share with each other their life stories and each of us grows because of it.

Our congregants show up for shiva, funerals, Baby Namings, Bar and Bat Mitzvahs. We bring food to those who need. In fact, we cooked many meals this Thanksgiving, with over 100 volunteers from our synagogue community. We then delivered them to people so that we could share Thanksgiving with them.

Here at North Shore Synagogue, we actually care about people. Our 7th graders volunteer at soup kitchens, food pantries, and schools for kids with special needs. We as a community hold a special service called “B’yachad” for kids and adults on the autism spectrum as well as those with a wide variety of learning and social differences. Our confirmation class of 10th graders will be taking a trip with me in March to the Religious Action Center in Washington D.C. to lobby our congress people and senators on issues they believe in. Over 250 people showed up to our Solidarity Shabbat to show care for our Jewish brothers and sisters in Pittsburgh and over 30 people came to our Interfaith Thanksgiving Shabbat in a HUGE SNOWSTORM to join with our local Christian and Muslim sisters and brothers to promote peace between peoples.

Yes, that would be my ad. At North Shore Synagogue it feels like we care because we actually do. Now go, spread the word.

The other morning, I woke up, went about my daily routine, finally got out the front door, took the elevator down to the garage and got in my car. It wasn’t until I was pulling out onto the crowded street that I even realized something was missing. My FitBit, which I have worn on my wrist every single day for the last several years, was not there that morning. My FitBit, which counts the number of steps I take in a day, how many flights of stairs I’ve walked up, and counts my active minutes – I had left sitting on my kitchen counter. I felt a sense of panic well up in my chest as I realized that I was missing something, not only from my wrist, but that I was missing something so integral to my everyday life. And then, as I was driving, I began to wonder what I was really so concerned about. After all, I would still take those steps; those flights of stairs wouldn’t suddenly disappear because I didn’t have my FitBit on my wrist. And I realized that my FitBit is actually about so much more than simply counting the number of steps I take in a day.

My FitBit is about feeling connected – connected to my family and friends who are a part of this FitBit club, whom I support in their successes and their challenges in their everyday FitBit lives. My FitBit is also about connecting me to my body, to being more active, to choosing to take the stairs instead of an escalator, or to park my car in the far reaches of a parking lot. And my FitBit also serves as a physical reminder. A physical reminder to put away the to-do list, to take a break from the busyness of everyday life, and to take a walk. To take a walk to clear my head, to let myself just be, to exercise my body, and my mind, and my soul.

As we enter this new secular year, filled with New Year’s resolutions, we might ask ourselves: What is my reminder to take a pause, to take the time to take care of myself, my body, my soul? Maybe it’s lighting the Shabbat candles at the end of a long week, taking a deep, extended breath as you welcome in Shabbat. Perhaps it’s the mezuzah that hangs on your doorpost, reminding you who you are coming home to, and also connecting you to our community, our faith, our God. Perhaps your reminder is the Sunday paper or your yoga mat or your running shoes or your piano. It doesn’t matter what that reminder is. The only thing that matters is that we look for it, that we find what matters to us. May we all be so blessed as to discover our reminder, to remember to use it, to infuse our daily lives with a little bit more intention, and not to panic when we inevitably forget it.

Judaism stresses the importance of giving. We are taught to tithe, to give a percentage of our earnings whether monetary or material, to those less fortunate than ourselves. We are taught to give of our time and volunteer for worthy causes. Every one of these instances of giving involves sacrifice. We are required to give away something that we have. When we give money, we sacrifice whatever we were going to buy ourselves with that money. When we give time, we sacrifice whatever we were going to do with our family, friends, or ourselves. It seems that giving to someone else, by definition, involves taking away from ourselves.

However, there is something we can give that does not diminish our own supply. And that is Thanks. Giving thanks is like giving love – the more you give, the more you get. Judaism compares giving thanks to giving flame from a candle. When one candle ignites another, the flame from the first does not diminish in size – it is not affected at all. Now both candles are lit, and the light itself has doubled in size. Now if each of those candles lights another, we have four times more light than we had when we began. No flames burn down and gutter from lighting another flame. On the contrary, the light and warmth of that one candle grows exponentially with each passing moment. And, at the very moment of giving, when the second candle ignites and for a brief moment, the two are together, that flame is enormous.

When we give thanks – thanks to God or thanks to other people, we brighten their day just a little bit. When we share a smile, we offer others a tiny glimpse into the warm spark of God implanted within each of us. This spark is just like that candle. The spark of God found in each one of us can light the fire inside someone else. They, in turn, can light the sparks of others until we have warmed up the entire world from the inside out.

November is the month of Thanksgiving. I urge us all to use this month as a jumping off point. Don’t let this holiday go by with only a cursory thought to thanks – instead learn from our daily prayers. Our prayerbook has a section called “Nissim B’chol Yom” – “The miracles of every day.” Every single day contains a moment worthy of thanks. Not just that special Thursday in November – every day. So every day has at least one moment when we can share that gratefulness with someone else. Every day has a time when our inner spark of God can shine and light a fire inside someone else. And we can do this simply by giving – giving thanks.

So thank someone for something small and insignificant. Perhaps the act worthy of thanks was small, but the act of thanking may be bigger than you think. Let no good deed done to you go unnoticed. Share your flame. Together, as the days grow colder, we can spread some warmth and some light.

Dear North Shore Synagogue Family,

Hamakom yenakhem etekhem betokh shaar avelay tziyon v’Yirushalayim. May God comfort you among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.

This traditional line we recite as mourners come into our midst is a line today permeating the entire Jewish world. Together we join with people all over the world to send our strength and support to the Tree of Life Synagogue in Squirrel Hill, PA. And we share it with each other as well. Today our Shabbat, usually filled with hope and joy, rest and peace, has been suddenly transformed into one of sadness and anger.

May none of today’s horrific events deter any of us from joining together in our synagogue. Instead, let it spur us on to remember that we are a resilient people, let it allow us to find comfort within our walls and within our community. Let me assure you that we are working with the Nassau County Police Department to ensure that our synagogue remains a safe place to the very best of our ability. But we will not cower in fear. For if we run the other way, we give victory to those with hate in their hearts.

Because it’s not only about what the shooter posted on social media, it’s not only about gun control laws or whether an armed guard would have affected the situation. It’s about the hate running rampant in our country right now. And our obligation to do something about it.

At our Junior Congregation service this morning, occurring simultaneously to the horrific events in Pittsburgh, the children and I spoke about being partners with God in the creation of the world and being partners with Shabbat in bringing peace. And so I offer this prayer of partnership with God, brought to me by my colleague, Rabbi Shira Koch Epstein.

“Spread over us a shelter of Your peace. Be with the helpers: the police and first responders and doctors and nurses and counselors. Bring healing and comfort to the people who are hurt and scared and sad. Give us strength and bravery to deal with our bad and angry and scared and sad feelings. In turn, we promise that we will work to fix how broken America is, and to make our country one where we all can feel safe and proud.”

We read in our prayerbook, “pray as if everything depends on God; act as if everything depends on you.” As we pray for peace, it is up to us to not allow hate to win. We need to come together as a community to spread hope, love, and support.

Rabbi Jaimee Shalhevet