STOP!

Every year I make my annual birthday pilgrimage to Seattle. Sadly, I had
the misfortune of being born in February. Anyone who has traveled extensively in the Pacific Northwest knows that February is a gray, rainy, dreary month in that part of the country. I generally consider myself
lucky not to return from that trip moldy and waterlogged.

At the risk of being barred from ever returning home (we’re supposed to tell everyone it rains all the time so they won’t want to move there), I’ll pass on a secret: it was cold, sunny and magnificent for an entire week. When the sun shines in Seattle, the mountains come out. Unlike the summer months when a perpetual haze gives the mountains the soft , gauzy
look of an Impressionist painting, the colder and dryer winter weather makes the details of snow, rock and glaciers stand out clearly. It is a stunningly beautiful sight.

I was out driving very early one morning. Mt. Ranier was huge and gray standing watch over the city. The Cascade Mountains to the east were an imposing barrier. As the sun came up, Mt.
Ranier began to take on a pinkish caste, then was gradually transformed over the next half hour into a mammoth white sentry. Later on driving west, the Olympic Mountains reflected the
mid-morning sunlight — a gleaming backdrop behind the city skyline. That evening, returning to the home where I was staying, I came over the hill where you could see the northern part of Puget Sound with the deep orange glow of sunset behind the distinctive silhouetted peaks of the Olympics on the far side of the water.

Even more impressive to me than the scenery is the fact that, when the day is clear in Seattle (it really does rain a lot…really), even the natives will stop and take in the view. Yes, they really stop.

How often do we stop? With signs of spring transforming daily the world around us, how often are we stopping to notice? We see the same people every day in the rush of our lives: family, friends and co-workers. How often do we stop what we are doing, giving up momentarily on the intense focus of our current task, and simply appreciate those we are lucky enough to have in our lives? One Friday night during our prayer of thanksgiving, I suggested that we are surrounded by blessings
that we, in our busy-ness, often fail to see. When I suggested that perhaps our greatest blessings are sitting next to us, I saw looks of surprise followed by smiles of recognition. How often do we stop?

On Monday and Wednesday afternoons, I walk the halls of our new Education Building as students make their way to their Hebrew School classes. And one of my greatest pleasures of the week is just looking into the faces of the students — engaging friends in play or conversation; intent on making their way to their classrooms. I watch them mature over the year. I wonder what it will be like tutoring them for bar or bat mitzvah. Often overwhelmed by the sheer number of students
in our Religious School, I like to stop and enjoy the gift of their intellect and personalities.

I find that this is one of the best ways to maintain my sanity in the very busy world of Temple life: to stop every so often, look around, and remind myself how lucky I am. There is such beauty in the world around us. There is such beauty in the faces I see every day. There is such beauty in engaging in study or worship with members of our Temple family.

We spend so much energy just trying to keep going. Sometimes it’s hard to stop.

L’shalom,
Andrew Bernard
Cantor