It was an incredibly eventful July 4th weekend in Greenport. Of course, the main attractions were the six tall ships that came here from different parts of the world before continuing on their journeys. What is it about tall ships that draws so many people to them? Perhaps it’s the history, perhaps the sense of adventure or the unknown; they come from the vast seas and will go back there tomorrow. This may be true for any ship, but the tall ships are different. There is something romantic about them, carried by the wind. Something spiritual.

In a way, we are all like tall ships, carried by our spirit, negotiating the rough waters of life. We come from the unknown and go to the unknown, turning our sails in a direction where they can be filled and move us forward. We use the wind to steer us where we want to go, to constantly negotiate where God wants us to go, and where we think we want to head.

That weekend, I had a chance to be on a sailboat with a dear family from the synagogue. It was the first time for me, and I even got to steer for a bit. But for the most part, I was an observer. To navigate a sailboat, you have to learn to negotiate, pulling the lines and then releasing a bit, pulling some more and then releasing again. But then you can rest and let the wind move you forward…quietly.

As God willed it, the following Shabbat, the same congregant opened and closed the Ark. As she was pulling the cord to close the Parochet — the covering curtain — I saw the Parochet as one of the sails on the boat, a sail we open and close when we take out the Torah and return it. It’s not enough to have the wooden doors open and close; the Ark needs the soft sail-like drapery to catch the spirit that moves us forward. And then, like the sailboat, it is quiet while we stand for the silent prayer, negotiating with God our way forward.

And then there are the sails in our hearts, those that can be filled only with the good spirit of others, the spirit of giving and sharing. As we are approaching Tisha B’Av, the 9th day of the month that commemorates the destruction of our Holy Temple, we read in the Talmud (Gittin 56) the story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza, the wealthiest people in Jerusalem. As their similar names indicate, they were both parsimonious, and their tight hearts and the petty honor games they played with each other ultimately caused the destruction of Jerusalem. The lesson is that for communities to survive and thrive, people must stay open and be willing to give and accept the good spirit of others. Like a tall ship with its assembly of sails, we pull forward together, negotiating life’s waters into the hopeful unknown, where God wants us to go.

I would like to offer special thanks to Paul and Pamela Birman, who have been extremely generous to our synagogue, blowing new wind into our sails. Yashar Koach — may you keep in strength!

—Rabbi Gadi Capela