From the Rabbi

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

Dear members and Friends,

As we begin the month of Tammuz, we are finally feeling summer weather. On the 17th of Tammuz, the Three Weeks period begins, commemorating the breach of the walls of Jerusalem before the destruction of the Temple on the 9th of Av (Tisha B’Av). The prophet Ezekiel, who predicted the destruction of the Temple, mentions the month of Tammuz: “Then He brought me to the door of the gate of the Lord’s house…; and, behold, there sat the women weeping for Tammuz. Then said He unto me: ‘Have you seen this, O son of man? You shall again see yet greater abominations than these.’” (8:14-15) The Talmud teaches us that the 17th of Tammuz is the day of the sin of the Golden Calf, the first of four sins of the Israelites in the desert, culminating in the mutiny of Korah.

The Torah reading of Korah on the first Shabbat of Tammuz describes his rebellion. He accused Moses of nepotism because Moses designated his brother Aaron to be the first High Priest. Korah claims that no one should be separated because everyone in Israel is holy. Korah belonged to the same Levite family as Moses and Aaron, the Kehatites. They, who were designated to carry the innermost holy vessels of the Tabernacle, did not rebel then. So it is clear that Korah’s protestation is not motivated by righteousness. It’s true, God separated the whole people of Israel and made them a “nation of priests”; the problem is that Korah legitimizes the idea of special designation — holiness when it serves him right; rejection when it doesn’t.

“And Korah assembled all the congregation against them at the door of the tent of meeting;…” (Numbers 16:19) The Midrash says that Korah doesn’t simply rebel against Moses and Aaron, but he rebels against God and God’s creation, a creation that is made by separations and special designations. God separated day and night, heaven and earth, and the six days from the holy Sabbath. Essentially, Korah denies the essence of Jewish life, which is meant to reflect God’s creation. Therefore, says the Midrash, Korah is punished by creation itself when the earth opens its mouth and swallows him alive. As Ezekiel says, conflict at the door of the gate of the Lord’s house will result in weeping.  Using the house of God for conflict instead of peace is an abomination.

Recently, we had a chilling reminder of how a house of God can become a place of death. The murderer who massacred nine innocent parishioners at the Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, SC, was not only planning to kill people but, like Korah, was rebelling against creation itself. He denies the legitimacy of differences and diversity in creation. In his view, everyone should be the same or otherwise disappear. Like Korah, who was punished by creation and swallowed alive, may acts like his be erased from the face of the earth, early in our days, and may the gates of the house of God serve to bring peace.  The Talmud teaches us that just as the fall of Jerusalem started in Tammuz, it will begin rebuilding on Tammuz.

Chodesh Tov,

Rabbi Gadi Capela

Dear members and Friends,

As we begin the month of Sivan, we are looking forward to Shavuot, the festival of the harvest. Shavuot is also the time when we are standing before God to receive the Torah — the Law. Shavuot, then, celebrates both material and spiritual harvests. During the festival, it is customary to read the book of Ruth, which describes the season of the harvest. However, it is also a tribute to King David, the great-grandson of Ruth and Boaz. The ancestors of the Jewish Messiah embody the spirit of the Torah — accepting and loving the other. On Shavuot, while we are reaping the physical bounty, we are reminded of its spiritual source — God blesses us if we know how to bless others.
On Shabbat and holidays, in the first part of the blessing after the meal, we sing, “They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. Though he goes on his way weeping, bearing the store of seed, he shall come back with joy, bearing his sheaves.” Psalm 126 is also known as Shir Hama’a lot — the Song of Ascents. We sowed in tears of slavery in Egypt; we then ascend the 49 steps (the counting of the omer) until we get to the real harvest in the presence of God. There, we are reaping in joy, as God’s law is joyful, liberating.
God sets the table for us; we come from work hungry and sit around the table. It is not surprising that the code of Jewish law is called Shulchan Aruch — Set Table. In Psalm 23, King David thanks God: “You set a table before me in front of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.” In life, God sets a table for us, and it is up to us to make the most of it. Are we going to accept the others whom God has placed at our table?
Last Sunday, our synagogue hosted the East End Jewish Community Council’s first annual Rabbis and Lay Leaders dinner. After months of hard work, there was one more thing to do. Once the tables were set, I walked around the room and placed nametags according to what I thought would be the best order of seating. It felt like serious responsibility, deciding who will sit next to whom. For one night, I was setting the tables. The rest would be up to God and the people in the room to make the best come from it. Happily, it was successful.
May we all learn from Ruth and Boaz to follow God and accept others around the table of our lives.

Chodesh Tov,
—Rabbi Gadi