From the Rabbi

The day before we completed the counting of the 49 days of the Omer, we escorted Arthur Levin — Aaron ben Enoch z”l — on his last journey. This occurred just before Shavuot — the holiday of receiving the Torah.

In various places throughout the text, the Talmud claims that in studying Torah — beginning with Moses, who was the closest to the original teachings on Mount Sinai — there has been a “deterioration of the generations,” because every generation moves farther away from Sinai. Regression rather than progression.

To demonstrate this concept, R. Yohanan states: “The fingernail of earlier generations is better than the belly of the later generations.” (BT. Yoma 9b.)  For example, the Tanaim, the earlier rabbis who lived in the time of the compilation of the Mishnah (1^st-2^nd C. CE), receive automatic precedence over the Amoraim, who came afterward.

The lesson from this is that the only way to overcome the “deterioration of the generations” is to act like “dwarfs on the shoulders of giants.” R. Isaiah di Trani (circa 1200-1260), an Italian commentator of the Talmud was the first to cite this aphorism of the Christian philosopher and theologian, Bernard of Chartres. The thought pays tribute simultaneously to progression and regression, as it always remains necessary to explain how progression in Torah study was possible despite moral regression. In other words, it’s a lost battle unless we sit on the shoulders of the giants who came before us.  This is who Arthur was — a giant.

Three years ago in February, Stanley Rubin and I traveled to Florida to celebrate Arthur’s 100th birthday with many of our Florida contingency and the rest of the Levin family. It was nice to get out of the cold in February for a few days, but the real warmth came from seeing Arthur dance at his party. It was worth the three-day trip in the car and then back. It was a Friday night, and we sang the last lines of Psalm 92 from Kabbalat Shabbat — the welcoming of Shabbat: “…The righteous shall flourish like the palm tree; they shall grow tall like a cedar in Lebanon. They shall bear fruit even in old age; they shall be ever fresh and fragrant…” This was Arthur, always celebrating life.

Now Arthur joins his wife Emma and his brother Jack. On Arthur’s last journey, we went through the stations of his life. I was with his two daughters, Carol and Diane, and his niece, Jodi. We went through Greenport High School, his early dentistry practice on Front Street, his home, the Island’s End Country Club and, of course, the shul. I loved Arthur. He and his older brother Jack will forever be an inspiration for me. I feel fortunate to have known them. It is hard to understand this place without knowing that generation.

Now it is up to us. The only way to overcome the “deterioration of the generations” is to act like dwarfs on the shoulders of the giants that preceded us. It is up to us to take the extra step from 48 to 49, to the top of the mountain, to keep receiving the Torah and long life.

May Arthur’s soul rest in Eden, and may his memory be for a blessing.

—Rabbi Gadi Capela

“The days of our years is seventy years, and when in vigor, eighty years; most of them are but travail and vanity. They pass by speedily, and we are gone.” Psalm 90:10 is a song marked equally by fear and trust, of terrible death and tender friendliness. Commentators have noted that the reference to “seventy years” is usually associated with a national fall and rise — tragedy and hope.

The prophet Jeremiah speaks of the seventy years in the Babylonian exile and the hope that follows: “And this whole land shall be a desolation, and a waste; and these nations shall serve the king of Babylon seventy years. And it shall come to pass, when seventy years are accomplished, that I will punish the king of Babylon, and that nation, says the Lord, for their iniquity… ” (25:11-12)

The prophet Zechariah captures the same notion of rebuke and then hope: “Then the angel of the Lord spoke and said: ‘O Lord of hosts, how long will You not have compassion on Jerusalem and on the cities of Judah, against which You have had indignation these seventy years?’ And the Lord answered the angel that spoke with me with good words, even comforting words.” (1:12-13)

While the number seven always takes us back to the days of creation, it also symbolizes completion.  The word seven in Hebrew—sheva—also means an oath, one we make to each other. An oath of the physical world created by seven days. But the covenant with God, always comes on the eighth day. A baby has not entered the covenant of his life until the eighth day — a spiritual inauguration following the physical existence. Likewise, as we read in parashat Shemini, the Tent of Meeting, the sanctuary created as a meeting place for the people and the glory of God was inaugurated on the eighth day when Aaron, the High Priest, lit the candles.

So now Israel is 70. Most of its years were indeed difficult, with many battles. We lament at the community’s historical experience, but as we continue to sing Psalm 90, we conclude with a powerful plea of hope: “Relent, Lord! How long will it be? Have compassion on your servants. Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days. Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us, for as many years as we have seen trouble. May your deeds be shown to your servants, your splendor to their children. May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us; establish the work of our hands for us — yes, establish the work of our hands. (vv. 13-17).

The hope — “Hatikva” — is Israel’s national anthem. And as Rabbi Akiva teaches us in the Talmud, the hope for Israel is for all of us to come together, like waters gather together to a mikveh — to God. The gathering makes Israel more diverse. This year, for Israel’s 70th, 12,000 Israelis came together to sing “Al Kol Eleh,” (Over All These), written by the late Naomi Shemer to say: There is so much to celebrate in Israel — the bitter and the sweet, the honey and the sting. Keep them all for us, God. With all of its problems, Israel is still a place where we feel safe to be who we are, peaceful and secure, with hopes for good relationships with our neighbors for whom this is also a home. One of my colleagues shared his impression of Israel as “a broken place that continues to be deeply important for Jews, Christians, and Muslims, and we need to find better ways to share it, and to honor the multiple narratives that demand our attention. “History doesn’t matter if we don’t learn its lessons. The deep roots in the land are its social justice. Why be strong if you can’t defend the weak? Why be rich if you can’t give to the poor?

As Israel enters its eighth decade, there is much to celebrate, and may it be in vigor, as there still so much more to do. Happy 70th birthday Israel!

—Rabbi Gadi Capela