“Because This Is Different”
In June of 1994 I left my home in Seattle to begin my cantorial training in Jerusalem. By then I’d already earned a pair of bachelors degrees from Oberlin College and Conservatory, and a masters and doctorate from the University of Washington. Now here I was, sitting in a classroom in Jerusalem, beginning my fifth college degree. Yes, there was a part of me that felt like this was “déjà vu all over again.” Yet this was different. I wasn’t merely acquiring new skills or amassing more information. I was beginning a journey of personal and spiritual growth — a journey that was to lead to remarkable experiences, insights and relationships. It was a journey that would eventually bring me to Charlotte, North Carolina — to a new community, a new family, and the privilege of continuing that journey in my new home.

In the meantime, there I was sitting at a desk with my notepad and textbooks . . . again. Reading articles and doing homework assignments . . . again. Writing papers and taking exams . . . again. But this was different. This was the beginning of a sacred journey.

It was important to me to remind myself that what I was doing now was fundamentally different than any of the college studies I’d done before. I intentionally took a seat in the classroom that faced across the room and out the windows to the walls of the Old City of Jerusalem. When I studied, I wore my kipa. I reminded myself daily that at the end of my studies, I would not only receive yet one more college degree, but I would be invested as a cantor; I would have the privilege of becoming involved with a Jewish community in the most intimate of ways. I would encounter people at the most significant moments of their lives—happy and sad, celebratory and frightening. I would work with people as they found meaning and purpose in their lives through learning, worship and caring for others. I would continue my sacred journey with those who would strive to find moments of holiness in a busy and mundane world.

During this month of commitment, I want to remind you that what we are about here at Temple Beth El is different — different from other educational institutions, associations, or service organizations. In the course of our demanding daily lives, this is often hard to remember. In a world where the centrality of the synagogue has been replaced by soccer or the PTA, this is often hard to remember.

The Temple serves as a beit midrash — a house of study. Kids head off to school every morning, and fit in sports practices, music lessons and homework in the afternoon and evening. Adults rush to work each day and may occasionally squeeze in continuing education classes for their profession, or attend a financial management or home repair seminar, or go to theater productions, concerts or book club meetings for cultural enrichment. While these important activities occupy much of our lives, the educational pursuits at Temple are different.

Religious education provides a framework for trying to grapple with life’s great and unknowable questions: where did we come from? why are we here? do our lives have meaning? I’ve had the chance to watch third graders following along with grave determination the Hebrew prayers, taking their first steps toward connecting with their ancient heritage and their community. I’ve listened to students at the Hebrew High School wrestle with their monumental, everyday challenges — drugs, sexuality, religious identity, respect for themselves, and respect for others. I’ve seen adults struggle with many facets of their Judaism as they strive to find new meaning and purpose through an inherited or chosen religion.

The Temple serves as a beit t’fillah — a house of prayer. Our liturgy tells us that we must not take the world around us for granted. It reminds us regularly that the beauty of nature, the blessing of family, and the abundance we enjoy each day should be savored. It offers guidance and support as we try to free ourselves from unproductive habits, reach out a hand to others, and work to make our community and our world a better and safer place to live. It enriches our spiritual lives as we reach beyond the mundane to the holy.

At the most important moments in our lives, we come to the Temple. We come to celebrate the birth of a child or rejoice with a couple making a lifelong commitment to each other. We come to mourn the loss of a beloved family member, or to remember those who are no longer with us. The Temple brings worship to us when clergy and congregation visit us in the hospital or at the house of mourning. We attend High Holy Day services or gather for the Passover Seder to reaffirm our connection to our heritage; to remind ourselves that our place in the line of tradition gives our lives meaning and purpose.

The Temple serves as a beit k’nesset — a house of meeting. We join with fellow congregants to serve the needs of others — members of our Temple family and members of our community. We come to be with friends, or to listen to speakers, or participate in discussions. The Temple is both a place of refuge and a place to be challenged. The Temple is a place to find strength for our journey through life.

Whether or not Temple Beth El plays a major role in your everyday life, I ask you to remember that what we offer here is different. If you spend a lot of time at the Temple, you know that what we do here can have a significant impact on the lives of our congregants and the health of our community. If you come to Temple primarily for holiday or lifecycle observance, you understand that these are among the truly profound moments of your life. You know that you will be sustained and supported and surrounded by members of your Temple family whether you are lying in a hospital bed, celebrating a simchah, or coping with loss.

I know that there are a great many demands on your time, energy and resources. I know that many people and many organizations ask for your support. During this month of commitment, I ask you to remember that Temple Beth El is a place of personal and spiritual growth, connection and holiness. I ask you to remember that making a commitment to Temple Beth El is different.

(reprinted from May 2002)

L’shalom,
Andrew Bernard
Cantor