A strange question was put to me a few days ago, and I’ve been dwelling on it, stewing about it ever since.

The telephone rang. The caller was a reporter from Newsday, wanting to know about the situation in our shul swirling around the news that Rabbi Capela would be leaving his position as spiritual leader. An experienced reporter in my own right, I gave no details to this reporter, nor to the Suffolk Times reporter, who had picked up the scent of a “good story” from documents someone had released to the press.

And then, an unexpected question: “What about the synagogue?” the reporter asked. “Will it close?”

Close? Why would we close this much beloved shul? Shut the door on its richly consequential history? Dismiss the compelling story of how a group of poor Jews sold trinkets in the villages east of New York City to make a meager living for their families struggling in the Lower East Side neighborhoods?  Shelve those same founders who had sacrificed so much to establish CTI with a collection of dimes and nickels and an earnest desire for a spiritual home? Why would we allow that to happen?

The question, however, continues to haunt me. We thank Rabbi Capela for his many contributions to our shul, and we wish him well in his new endeavors. But, as is often said, “Life goes on.” On Rosh Hashanah this year, our shul was full to the brim, members, friends and families enjoying the inspiring and uplifting services led by Rabbi Debra Cantor and Cantor William Weinstein. We scrambled to set up extra chairs. On the second day of Rosh Hashanah, when attendance is generally lighter, again we had a full house. The following Shabbat drew double the usual worshippers. Close? I think not.

The question makes me think about what makes our shul so special — what drives our growth in membership, our programming, activities and events so attractive to newcomers, our involvement in the Greenport community and the nearby North Fork villages.

I think about the people who volunteer, many contributing immeasurable hours seeing to the health and smooth-running of all shul functions — from the practical HVAC to settings for the spiritual, care for those in need, and the repasts and socializing that take place here. The Onegs. The Seders. The Garden Parties. The Journal. The music. The Shabbat and holiday observances. The Judaic rituals. The learning. Our belief in the concept of Tikkun Olam. Our sense of community. The love we share.

I think about the people I’ve met in this congregation —  people I care about, people who share my devotion to this shul and its intimate sanctuary so calming, people dear to me, cherished.

These are the elements that create the glue to sustain a synagogue — not one event, not one idea. People leave, others arrive, and many come back, eager to return to our shul family. In fact, we have welcomed four returnees in the last few weeks? For a small shul like ours, that is unprecedented.

Earlier in this writing, I used the expression, “a sense of community.” It’s one of those phrases that slips easily into an essay about togetherness. But what does a sense of community really mean?  I think about that concept a lot. I think about what makes a building a shul, a gathering of people a congregation.

 

  • Belonging: Community makes you feel as though you are a part of something larger than yourself, and having a recognized place within the group.
  • Shared identity: Community relates to shared experiences, shared values and history. Community    creates an emotional connection to a place, to the people who inhabit that space.
  • Influence: A sense of community is a feeling, a sentiment that your presence matters, that your               involvement in the group makes a difference.
  • Fulfillment: It’s knowing that the community supports you, cares about you, values your offerings.

 

When I drive to Greenport for an appointment, maybe for some items in the IGA, or just for a change of scene, I am always drawn to Fourth Street, for a drive-by visit to my shul, where I belong, where I am emotionally connected to the people and to my faith, where I feel valued and supported.

Close our synagogue? Oh, no. A century ago, the founders of our synagogue envisioned a vibrant Jewish community here on the North Fork of Long Island. Our synagogue is the quintessence of that vision. With the New Year comes not a closing, but a new beginning, a fresh breeze to move us forward with enthusiasm, optimism, and a vigorous and nourishing sense of community.

Shanah Tovah.                                                                                                              —Sara Bloom