From the Rabbi

 I would like to take this opportunity to thank you, the members of CTI, for your continued support of the successful contract extension process.  As we begin another chapter on our journey, it is nice to look back at the achievements of the past year, as we traversed the rough waters of Covid.  

Normally, at this time of the year, I would be on my way to the Holy Land on my annual pilgrimage.  But this is not a normal year. Since nanoparticles and microbes have changed all of our travel plans, I am planning, instead, to go on a pilgrimage around the holy lands of America — a trip to the heart of the country.  

            Geographically, Lebanon, Kansas, is designated as the middle of the contiguous United States. It’s the heart, in one sense, that I am planning to visit on the trip, but my journey to the heart of America will be to touch its pained spirit — a spiritual expedition to see how this year has affected our country, and how people have endured.  

            Many years ago, I learned a good definition of a valuable friend — one who reminds you who you are when you forget. I believe that at its core, America carries a beautiful spirit and holiness in the hearts of its people. As in the song of Naomi Shemer, “Anashim Tovim” — Good People in the Middle of the Road: 

                        “Open your eyes, look around you,
                        Here and there, winter has gone, and spring is here.
                        In the field along the road, cornflowers are already out, 

                        don’t tell me that it can’t be so!

                        Chorus: Good people in the middle of the journey, very good people.

Good people who know the way, with whom it’s possible to march away.”

            One of the most precious lessons we can learn from Jewish history is that we can find holiness wherever we are. Starting with the Israelites’ journey in the desert and continuing through ancient and modern history, Jews have sanctified every place along the way. Whatever the circumstances that contributed to leaving one place, we were always eager to find holiness in the next one.

            I will pray wherever I go and find God in a different location. During much of this time, we will count the Omer, which signifies the voyage to the holy land through the desert of faith, learning to find holiness on the road, around our beautiful country and the holy lands of America. 

            May God continue to bless our journey together,

—Rabbi Gadi Capela 

There are times in life when we need to make a decision. Do we want to move forward or not? Do we seek revenge or do we seek forgiveness. Do we let our anger hold us back or do we turn it into fuel for building. Every January, the Greenport Ecumenical Ministries (GEM) holds a service to pray for religious unity and mutual understanding and dialogue. This year, in the face of national turmoil and division in our country, it was clear that this service needed to be about reconciliation, a grand ambition, even for a large group of religious ministers.

When we were first thinking of reconciliation, the story of Joseph and his brothers came to mind. When they finally meet after 22 years, Joseph says to his brothers, “I am Joseph. Is my father still well?” His brothers were dumbfounded. Then Joseph said to his brothers, “Come forward to me.” And when they came forward, he said, “I am your brother Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt. Now, do not be distressed or reproach yourselves because you sold me hither; it was to save life that God sent me ahead of you.” (Gen. 45:1-5)

The story of Joseph and his brothers is a story of hope, of course, but nowhere does the Torah tell us that Joseph forgave his brothers. Instead, he pardons them, choosing to move forward, assuring them he is not looking for revenge. The story is about getting closer again through a process — a journey toward reconciliation.

After the death of their father, Jacob, the brothers are fearful that Joseph still bears a grudge and will pay them back for the wrong they did to him. But as the story continues, Joseph was in tears when they spoke to him. They flung themselves before him, and said, “We are prepared to be your slaves.” But Joseph said to them, “Have no fear! Am I a substitute for God? Besides, although you intended me harm, God intended it for good, so as to bring about the present result — the survival of many people. (Gen. 50:18-20) Joseph called for rebuilding, not revenge, for turning bad into good.

Growing up, I thought that one could never reach reconciliation without a resolution. People who forgave their Nazi persecutors were often met with resentment. But like Joseph, they did not exonerate their adversaries, but instead decided to pardon them so they could concentrate on building a better future. Even though our actions harm others, God can convert those actions into good, if we recognize it.

To do this, we need to understand and to see the bigger picture, to believe in a cause greater than all of us. The greater idea is where we all meet and can continue to meet — our sanctuary, our Tent of Meeting. Perhaps we don’t need to seek unity, but diversity. The way to reach unity passes through diversity.

In her speech at the inauguration of Joseph R. Biden, Jr., Sen. Amy Klobuchar referred to the Capitol Building as a “Temple of our democracy.” For the American project to continue to strive, we need to guard it. President Joseph Biden in his inaugural speech called us to “End the uncivil war.”

The Biblical Joseph took the first step toward reconciliation. We, too, understand it as a goal to achieve, one that marks an ongoing process, a life-long journey.

With hope,

—Rabbi Gadi Capela

How does one start to summarize a year like 2020? A year in which so much was beyond our control. A year of re-learning, re-inventing, re-calculating, re-living. At the end of every year, Google publishes the most searched words of the last 12 months. It wouldn’t surprise anyone to find out that this year, the most searched word was “Coronavirus.”

One of the positives of this year’s vicissitudes was the use of Zoom. It brought people together in a new way. It also gave birth to a new locution: “You’re muted…!”  Anyone who used Zoom this year, which is pretty much everyone, has heard those words a lot. What started as a minor annoyance quickly became an amusing mantra. “You’re muted…You’re muted…!”

I find this to be one of the most fascinating phenomena of this year. It was a year we learned to mute ourselves and to let other people speak. It taught us to be silent, to wait our turn, and not take for granted that we can speak and be heard instantaneously. What Robert’s Rules of Order couldn’t do since 1876, Zoom did in one year. A social experiment in finding our voice. Perhaps this is the ultimate message that God is waiting for us to internalize — that our voice is not ours alone, but part of a shared conversation.

In Parashat Miketz, which we always read during Hanukkah, Joseph’s lot changes in an instant from the depths to the heights (from Bira Amikta L’igra Rama). In one day, he is hurled from jail to becoming the viceroy of Egypt, from incarceration to beyond imagination. But in between, when Pharaoh was expecting to hear Joseph’s solution to his dreams, Joseph used the key word — Bil’aday — without me. He was telling Pharaoh that his voice was really God’s voice. And just like the story of Hanukkah, in one quick act, the light shines through again.

We are not muted as long as we can keep telling our story together. More importantly, to make the story, continue to create the story. We did it during worse times. Even if we think we’re muted, God continues to hear.

The Talmud tells us that when we go up to heaven, one of the first questions we will be asked is whether we were sincerely hopeful in our lives, whether we sincerely expected to be saved and redeemed at any moment. Because only then can we experience the swift hand of God. It may not come for a while, but when it’s time, it will be quick, as though waking up from a dream. When we mute ourselves for a minute, we let God’s voice come through.

With hopes for complete healing in 2021,

—Rabbi Gadi Capela