This past Friday night, I delivered the following D’var Torah in honor of our new members who have joined us over the last couple of years:
In September, we held an “Open House” Shabbat, where we made a point to say we were “open” to everyone. Granted, we’re always open to anyone to come check us out for a Shabbat, but where we really made a point to reach out to the community to let them know. At this Shabbat we spent some time reflecting on the mitzvah of hachnasat orchim, of welcoming guests. We talked about how the value is so important in Judaism that there is a midrash, a tradition, that Abraham in effect, puts God on hold while Abraham rushes to tend to some men wandering in the wilderness. “Adonai,” “God,” Abraham says according to this midrash, אַל־נָ֥א תַעֲבֹ֖ר מֵעַ֥ל עַבְדֶּֽךָ “don’t go any further, don’t leave me,” even though I have to run and take care of these guests before I can turn to you.” “I’ve got to make them feel at home. They might be lost, lost souls, and I’ve got to comfort them, tend to them.”
We reflected, with so many guests in our sanctuary that evening, on the ways in which we as a community were called upon to live out that value of hacnasat orchim, on facilitating a welcoming experience for people visiting or checking out our synagogue community. We talked about the paradigmatic Jewish statement of welcome, which comes near the beginning of the Passover seder. כָּל דִכְפִין יֵיתֵי וְיֵיכֹל, Let anyone who is hungry come and eat, כָּל דִצְרִיךְ יֵיתֵי וְיִפְסַח Let anyone who is in need come and celebrate (Pesach), the imperative to feed those who are hungry, not only in body, though certainly there we said it’s important; as a synagogue, If we’re not welcoming those who are hungry on that most basic level, then we’re not fulfilling this mitzvah—כָּל דִצְרִיךְ יֵיתֵי וְיִפְסַח the imperative to feed those who are hungry not only in body, but also in spirit. We talked about Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik teaching that kol ditzrikh, all those who are in need, refers to those who are, not just hungry for food, but lonely, in need of connection. And we talked about how we all have lonely parts of ourselves. We all have parts of ourselves looking to connect, to feel seen, to feel heard, to be loved, and to love in return. A significant reason, we said, that we come to synagogue, is to feel that sense of connection: to one another, to a bigger sense of community, to the Divine. It is a mitzvah, we are called, especially when we are in a space that is something of our home territory, to welcome and facilitate that sense of connection for others. Hachnasat Orchim, the Jewish value, the Jewish mitzvah, obligation to welcoming guests.
So there we go, rinse, repeat, copy, paste—same sermon, same d’var torah, from that week to this one, no?
No.
Because there is a subtle but important difference to the Shabbat we’re celebrating here tonight. You, or at least you new members whom we are explicitly honoring here tonight, are not orchim, are not guests—you are members, you are part of the Society Hill Synagogue community, you belong. Everyone here does.
This shabbat is not about welcoming guests—although certainly, you guests who are here are absolutely welcome—it’s about affirming for members who are new to this community that you are here, you belong, You are part of the Society Hill Synagogue community. Welcome.
Still, I recognize that when we’re new to a place, even one we belong to, it can take some time to get accustomed, to feel comfortable, to feel welcome, in one’s new community, even if it is is their—your—community.
Interestingly, Judaism offers a teaching on welcoming one’s self. The Book of Mishlei, Proverbs, part of the Tanakh, the Hebrew Bible, says גֹּמֵ֣ל נַ֭פְשׁוֹ אִ֣ישׁ חָ֑סֶד A loving person takes care of themselves (Proverbs 11:16). (Self care is not a new 21st century fad.) A midrash goes on to suggest that just as we’re called upon to provide hachnasat orchim, welcoming of guests, the soul is seen as a guest in the body, recognizing that the body is not the soul’s permanent home. We’re supposed to tend to our own soul in our body as we would tend to a guest—just that lovingly and urgently are we called upon to welcome ourselves (Leviticus Rabbah 34:3).
In order to help you do that, here as part of the Society Hill Synagogue community of which you are a part, and given that some of you are newer than others, I wanted to remind you a little bit more about what you are being welcomed to. What is this Society Hill Synagogue community, what makes us tick, what is it that characterizes how we do what we do?
As a means of helping articulate this, I often refer to an ancient Jewish statement of first principles. As part of Pirkei Avot, often translated as something like the wisdom of our sages, Shimon hatzadik, simon the righteous, is said to have said: עַל שְׁלשָׁה דְבָרִים הָעוֹלָם עוֹמֵד. On three things the world stands. עַל הַתּוֹרָה On Torah וְעַל הָעֲבוֹדָה On service וְעַל גְּמִילוּת חֲסָדִים and on acts of love and kindness. Depending on how you interpret each of these phrases, one could say that upon these same three pillars does the Society Hill Synagogue Community stand.
Torah. Jewish learning—the rhythms of Jewish life. The pillar at stake here is a recognition of the value—whether you believe Torah, Jewish foundational principles and teachings, comes from God or human beings or somewhere in between—the affirmation of the pillar of Torah is about the recognition of the value of wrestling—of course the word Yisrael comes from the word meaning wrestling with God—wrestling with life’s most important questions—who are we, where do we come from, why are we here, what are we called upon to do in this life, with respect to others and the world around us. Torah is about the value of wrestling with these questions, and of doing so in the context of a communal framework, of a generations-long story, from the creation of the world until today, in which each generation wrestles with this Jewish and human story, and wrestles with the practices and calls to action that have flowed from that story. That is Torah, lifelong learning and wrestling in the pursuit of understanding how best to live in this world in relationship to ourselves, to one another, and to the Divine.
Here at SHS that shows up in the form of lifelong learning, from 18 months to age 5 in Playschool—I’ll have two of my own girls here next year—singing songs and celebrating holidays; from Gan/Kindergarten through Hebrew High in our Hebrew School, where in both the classroom and here in the service students are immersed in the opportunity to form their own relationship to Jewish tradition and Jewish community and how it can yield meaning for them and how they can bring meaning to it; to adult education, whether through weeknight or weekend classes, or Shabbat morning Torah discussions, or divrei torah like these, written or spoken—Torah at Society Hill Synagogue is about the value of taking an age-old, timeless tradition and grappling with it in real, substantive ways that make it our own.
The second pillar is avodah, literally translating as service but which in many ways is shorthand for avodat ha’lev, service of the heart, or, in other words, prayer. Now I know, and I’ve said many times, that many of us have an ambivalent relationship to prayer, including me. Many of us aren’t sure how prayer works. We’re not so sure that prayer works in such a way that we pray for something—someone’s health, material sustenance, prosperity—and they get that thing. That doesn’t always seem to be how the world works. On the other hand, here at SHS we recognize the value of gathering regularly, just like we’re doing tonight, opening up our hearts, letting the sacred art of music seep into our spirits, lifting our souls, allowing this time to create space for breaking down the barrier of what is within and what is beyond, in many ways the definition of prayer. Taking the opportunity to open up a portal to the Divine within and beyond, however we understand that. Prayer and music are a pair of the core expressions of the Jewish spirit and facilitate an experience that maybe we don’t always know how to make the case for in today’s world, but which is part of an ever-present invitation here at SHS to engage in something sacred and holy.
And finally, gemilut chasadim, acts of loving kindness. For many at SHS this is perhaps our biggest draw. Whether or not we are always comfortable with those first two pillars—and I know, as inhabitants of the 21st century, not all of us are sure how to feel about explicitly religious experiences, so even while I think they offer our lives real value, I recognize not everyone feels that way—whether or not we are comfortable with the first two pillars, the third is really a homebase for many of us. And the third can really be more succinctly defined by one word: community. Gemilut Chasadim refers to all the acts of community embodied by our synagogue: showing up for a fellow congregant’s shivah minyan, experience of mourning, even if we don’t know them that well, and have them show up at our home when we’re mourning the death of a loved one; sending flowers or meals when someone in is sick; showing up to just schmooze for a kiddush lunch or dinner; volunteering to pair up for a turn stocking the community fridge as part of our food insecurity initiative; showing up for our weekly game of mahjong or drawing class—all the many things at SHS that are just about fostering connections with fellow members of our community; that’s gemilut chasadim.
Al shlosha d’varim ha’olam omed, on three things does the world, and does the synagogue stand. Torah, the sacred act of wrestling with the tradition and how it might inform our lives; Avodah, prayer and music, opening up within our hearts a portal to the Divine, gemilut hasadim, sacred acts of community, where we lift up one another through the sacred act of connection.
Bruchim habayim. May you feel welcome, all who come: new members, guests, longtime members. May you welcome others, and may you welcome yourselves.
