From the Rabbi
“A Moment of Silence”
When my sister in Israel mentioned she would stop in New York on her way to our nephew’s wedding in Cartagena, Colombia, she casually noted that her trip coincided with the upcoming inauguration of the returning President, Donald J. Trump. Attending a presidential inauguration had never crossed my mind before. But recognizing how rare and special this moment could be for my sister and brother-in-law, I decided to try to make it happen.
I reached out to our congressman’s office to inquire about tickets to the event, and I was placed on a waitlist. Only a couple of days before the ceremony, I received confirmation that our group would have seats in one of the front sections — on the condition that we arrive early and brave hours in the freezing cold. We were willing. But then, the last-minute news that the inauguration would be moved indoors, to the Capitol’s rotunda, brought mixed feelings. The rotunda, surrounded by statues of presidents and icons of American history, seemed like the natural setting. Yet, something about standing outside, in the open air, witnessing history — even at a distance and in the bitter cold — felt more symbolic and raw.
During the ceremony, which we ended up watching on TV at the hotel, there occurred an unplanned moment of silence. It was a brief, yet profound interruption amidst the tightly choreographed and meticulously rehearsed proceedings. The microphones had stopped working, and just for a minute, everything went silent.
That unexpected moment of silence reminded me of the silence we allow during the Shabbat prayer services in our synagogue. On Friday nights and Saturday mornings, after completing the silent Amidah, I always pause, allowing each congregant to finish at his or her own pace, before we continue praying aloud. It’s a simple but intentional moment — a chance for everyone to catch up, to reflect, to breathe.
Silence is a profound and humble teacher. It invites reflection, presence and unity. In that stillness, we are reminded of our shared humanity. I can’t help but think that this is exactly what our country, and perhaps the world, desperately need right now: a collective moment of silence — a time to pause amidst the clamor and chaos, to catch our breath, and to allow one another the opportunity and the space to catch up.
As we marked Martin Luther King Jr. Day, we were reminded of his enduring message of justice, compassion and unity. Silence, too, can be an act of justice. It can be a reset, a gesture of humility and hope, an interlude in which to make a place for the voices of others and to reflect on our shared path forward.
May we find the courage to embrace moments of silence, not as interruptions but as opportunities — moments to heal, to reflect, and to breathe together as a nation.
—Rabbi Gadi Capela
“Being on the same page with Israel”
Given the high cost of airline tickets to Israel and limited flights as a result of the current situation, rather than traveling there to present at a conference, I opted to stay closer to home and send a recorded presentation I had given at Columbia University a week earlier.
Instead, I headed to Washington, D.C., where I’ve been invited each year to participate in a bipartisan Hanukkah celebration at the Library of Congress. This year, as in previous years, my friend and colleague Laurence Bazer lit the Hanukkiah. However, this year’s gathering was different. It included the presence of two families whose loved ones are still held hostage in Gaza: Romi Gonen’s sister and Aviva Seigel and her family. Aviva, was herself a hostage for 50 days before her release, while her husband Keith remains captive.
On my way to D.C., I stopped in Gettysburg, the site of the largest and most decisive battle of the U.S. Civil War. That battle symbolized America’s commitment to its charter — to be the land of the free. Standing there, I reflected on the parallels between Jewish and American values. That same Shabbat, we read the story of Joseph who was sold into slavery by his brothers — a defining moment of internal division in Jewish history. As highlighted in the Talmud, this act of betrayal has become the ultimate symbol of the sin between man and man — selling our own into slavery. In fact, the story of Hanukkah itself is a tale of liberation from both religious and physical oppression. The observance serves as a poignant reminder of the values we share with Israel and the importance of standing united. The story also brought to mind the current reality of hostages still held in Gaza and the shared conviction by Israel and America that no one should ever be enslaved. Both countries are willing to fight — and even die — for this cause.
The events of October 7 and their aftermath have further underscored the need for unity with Israel. For years, Jewish communities in the Diaspora have debated whether to continue observing the second day of holidays, a ritual not followed in Israel. In many congregations, including ours, services are held only on the first day, yet the second day is still fully honored as a holiday. Others have abandoned the practice altogether, given that the original purpose of the second day — allowing time to notify communities about the new moon — has been rendered obsolete by our fixed calendar.
As someone born in Israel, I have never objected to the two-day observance. I view it as a gift — an extra holiday to cherish. What does disturb me is that observing two days puts us out of sync with Israel. At times, this has led to us reading different Torah portions or observing holiday rituals while Israel had already returned to weekday life. After October 7, it has become even clearer to me that there should no longer be any “daylight” between Israel and the Jewish Diaspora. What happens in Israel affects us here immediately, and vice versa. I propose that our congregation consider adopting the practice of observing one-day holidays in alignment with Israel, allowing us to be on the same page both literally and figuratively. This idea has been discussed at Ritual Committee meetings, and I would like to bring it forward at the next congregation meeting in March 2025.
Wishing you a Happy Hanukkah, and hoping that in 2025 all of us can all be on the same page of freedom.
—Text and photo by Rabbi Gadi Capela
Eulogy For Paul Birman: A Tribute To A Veteran, A Sailor, And A Friend
By Rabbi Gadi Capela
On a sunny day in Pompano Beach, Florida, Monday, November 11, we gathered at the graveside to honor the memory of Paul Birman, A”H, a beloved member and benefactor of Congregation Tifereth Israel, who passed away at the age of 89. His mahogany casket, adorned with the United States Military emblem, was a testament to his service and dedication as a veteran. Fittingly, on Veterans Day, we celebrated Paul’s life, marked by service to his country, his community, and his family, particularly as caregiver to his first wife, Rosemarie, during her long illness. In his later years, Paul continued to give of himself, enriching the lives of those around him.
Paul was also an adventurer, a sailor, and a world traveler. He journeyed across Europe and Japan countless times, but always cherished the comfort of home. His connection to the North Fork began while sailing along the Long Island Sound to Orient, a place he came to treasure deeply. In all his endeavors, Paul found meaning in tradition, prayer, and the community he loved.
Paul was born and raised in the Cunningham Park section of Queens, where he pursued many interests. Then, as a proud MIT graduate and electrical engineer, Paul’s passions focused on technology and communication. He was an avid member of the ham radio club, and his love for innovation extended to our synagogue, where he was instrumental in establishing and maintaining CTI’s first website over a decade ago. Together with his wife Pamela, he continued to champion the integration of technology into synagogue life, modernizing and expanding our digital presence. In 2015, Paul and Pamela generously endowed the Paul S. Birman Technology Fund. Their gift supported Jewish education, interfaith relationships, and accessibility for members near and far, extending CTI’s reach beyond the East End of Long Island.
Paul was a long-time member of the synagogue’s Board of Directors, and served several terms as vice president. In 2018, Paul and Pamela were honored at the annual Journal Dinner-Dance, a testament to their enduring impact on CTI. Paul’s legacy is one of generosity, vision, and service, and his memory will forever inspire us to pursue growth and connection.
May Paul’s memory be for a blessing. Yishar Koach to all who carry forward his legacy.
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