From the Rabbi
Rabbi Robert L. Wolkoff
Previous Messages
“Happy Thanksgiving in Yiddish”
A few days ago, I went to see the Yiddish version of “Fiddler on the Roof,” now playing off-Broadway at Stage 42. Last year, I saw the Broadway version in English. The story is the same, of course, but the flavor is very different. While the English version was riveting and entertaining, the Yiddish authenticity, sprinkled with Hebrew words and Torah verses, invoked in me deeper feelings. I actually could see my own ancestors in Tevye and his family.
In choosing the name of Tevye — meaning in Hebrew “the goodness of God” — Sholem Aleichem seems to be sending us a message that despite this family’s frequent desperation, they somehow are still hopeful and thankful. Being religious is being hopeful. When things don’t seem to be good, we should keep up the conversation with God, hold ourselves back from quitting, thankful for what we have. Sholem Aleichem highlights the process of acceptance — equality — in a way, even with the goyim.
Living under constant ominous warning and fear that the Russian Cossacks are coming to destroy their village, life seems as unstable to the villagers of Anatevka as a fiddler on a roof. The Tevye in us who still believes in the goodness of God practices self-control that is backed by tradition. Those moments when tradition may be morphing in front of our eyes is still the tree of life to those who hold onto it. Those are moments not just of wearing the Star of David but of being the Star of David.
One of the glaring differences between the two productions — the English and the Yiddish — is the personal authenticity. Throughout the play, the word “Torah” is written in Hebrew in gigantic black letters in the middle of the set. Yet, there was a scene when one of the Cossacks tears the panel where the word Torah is written. At that moment, the tear was felt through the audience. The cut was even deeper than in the last scene when Tevye and the villagers are given only three days to abandon their homes, to pack up generations of their lives in a suitcase. The message is clear — in adversity, we need to pick up and start again. The Torah sign is stitched together and the journey continues.
It stands to reason that if we keep taking our homes with us where we go, we will eventually find our place — a place without violence, a place of peace.
On this Thanksgiving, let us give thanks for where we are and what we have.
—Rabbi Gadi Capela
“What Do You Stand For?”
“If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything,” said Alexander Hamilton. Every year that we stand before God to give an accounting for the previous year, we also make a promise for the following year. But what do we stand for? Let us pose a simple question: Did we fulfill our obligations in respect to ourselves, and our obligation to participate in the fate of our people? Let us be honest. It’s hard to know what we could have accomplished had we been more active, had we raised our voices and shaken worlds. Many times, we choose to be silent.
“You are standing this day all of you before the Lord your God, Your leaders, tribal heads, elders, and policemen, every person in Israel … from the hewers of your wood to the drawers of your water” (Deuteronomy 29:9-10). The Alshech, a prominent Medieval rabbi and commentator, points out that this directive does not begin with the words, “Moses commanded the people…” to mean that it came directly from God and that we are accountable directly to God. This is the only way to connect to the sense of nationhood, the notion of the experience of shared fate, and the essence of peoplehood.
We all stand before God’s seat of judgment charged with “You shall not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor” (Leviticus 19:16), especially when it applies not only to one individual but to the community. This also applies to members of rabbinic and lay organizations, religious and secular, and Jewish political organizations of all persuasions.
Just before the close of the year, we lost our elder, Aaron Novick, who stood for something. He was a 97-year-old WWII veteran, who did not stand idly by. He fought for his belief. He always rose to the occasion, and did not acquit himself from the community and the collective consciousness of shared fate, shared suffering, and shared action. Even after many health complications, he kept fighting and kept coming back to shul every Shabbat — often arguing and questioning, always respectfully. The various times I visited him in the hospitals, he was always sure he would be discharged, and would return to his routine and to his dear wife, Thelma. And then he always came back to fulfill his obligation and stand with us in prayer. That is, until last Thursday, when he was not discharged from the hospital. Yet, in my eyes as a fellow veteran, he was very honorably discharged. I salute Aaron. I will miss him and cherish his spirit forever.
Please come and stand with us in prayer in 5780.
Shanna Tova!
—Rabbi Gadi Capela
“Everything is a Dance”
Reflecting on my seven years at Tifereth Israel, it has been a dance. The shul family has been with each other in sorrow and in joy, and at all the times in between. I acknowledge how appreciative I am to have been so warmly embraced. Thank you so much for making me part of your family, and for giving me the opportunity to serve our community.
Mazel tov to Congregation Tifereth Israel on its 118th anniversary. I look forward to celebrating our Journal Dinner-Dance with the congregation and friends. May it continue to grow stronger with the years.
CTI has a long tradition of honoring those who respond to the needs of our community and help support us by contributing their time and talent. Mazel tov to Paul and Alice Nadel as this year’s synagogue honorees. As shul members, they support the spiritual, educational and social activities and events that contribute to the success of the synagogue’s program. They have raised their two children, Joseph and Alex, to care and to be linked to the Jewish people. Paul’s dedication to the minyan — the prayer quorum — has strengthened our sanctuary tremendously. He is not there only for Keva — the routine of attending services; he brings the Kavana, the full intention in prayer and study.
Every Shabbat in the synagogue, we recite a special prayer: “May God who blessed our ancestors — Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Sara, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah — bless this entire congregation… those who enter to pray, and those who give funds for heat and light, wine for Kiddush and Havdalah, bread to the wayfarer, and charity to the poor… May God bless them by making all their endeavors prosper, as well as those of the entire people Israel.” (Siddur Sim Shalom P. 148)
The month of Av is called Menachem Av — a month of consolation, when we go from Tisha b’Av (9th of Av), the day of destruction, to Tu b’Av (15th of Av), the day of love. To continue our dance, we have to be able to sway back and forth between sorrow and joy.
Looking forward to continuing our dancing together on September 8.
—Rabbi Gadi Capela
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