“Brace for Impact”
Shviit Shel Pesach 5768
Salomon Gruenwald
What does it mean to be a rabbi? What is my role as a Rabbi? With just a few weeks till ordination, I am preoccupied with these questions lately.
The truth is, I’ve already been functioning as a rabbi for years – as a teacher, as a hospital chaplain, and in a synagogue.
And, last summer I officiated at a bar mitzvah for the first time. As a matter of fact, I officiated for more than 50 bnei mitzvah. Last summer I had the privilege, along with my classmate Gary, of traveling to Siberia with the Joint Distribution Committee to serve as the rabbi for a community-wide Bnei Mitzvah ceremony for a group of 50 Russian teenagers who had never had a Bar or Bat Mitzvah.
After spending a weekend in Moscow, we flew to Ulan-Ude, a town near Russia’s boarder with Mongolia, on the worst airplane I’ve ever been on! This plane looked as though it had been in continual service since the 70s! When we boarded, we found all the seats folded forward. They looked like lawn furniture that had been strapped to the floor of the cabin. Worst of all, the air conditioning didn’t work – it was stuffy and hot for 7 straight hours. When I took my “seat” I thought, “what have I gotten myself into?” “What on earth am I doing in this tin can about to go – literally – half way around the world to a place I’ve never heard of where they speak a language I don’t understand? And, furthermore, who am I to play rabbi for a community in Siberia?!”
Up until this point, I had never been afraid to fly in my life. But this time I paid really close attention to the flight attendant’s instructions (which didn’t really help much, because she only spoke Russian). So, I reached for the safety card in the seat pocket in front of me and was relieved to find it had an English translation. I had read these cards before. They’re all the same, right? But, not on S7 Siberian Airlines! This card had explicit instructions I had never seen before. So, I couldn’t help myself and I just had to take this as a souvenir.
Here are the instructions on S7 Siberian Airlines {click on the image to view}:
I have never said tfillat ha’derech with so much kavannah in my life!
Well, we arrived in Ulan Ude more or less intact. We were taken from the tiny airport in a soviet era compact car to a kind of mountain lodge where we were to lead a weeklong seminar for the students in preparation for their bnei mitzvah. The students arrived shortly after we did and we gathered them together for little orientation. Speaking through translators we asked them “What do you hope to get out of this weekend?” One girl raised her hand and said, “we want to have fun!” “great,” I said, “we’re going to have a lot of fun and we have these Russian counselors who are going to help us do that… anyone else?” One of the boys chimed in: “we want to meet one another.” “Ok, good, we’ll have plenty of time to do that.” In fact, these children were coming from 6 towns in the region, some traveling as much as 26 hours by train to get to Ulan-Ude. I asked again, “what about the Bar Mitzvah? What do you hope the Bar Mitzvah will be like?” Now the kids just looked at me with blank stares. Finally, one of the older boys raised his hand and said, “what’s a bar mitzvah?”
I just looked over at Gary and said, “brace for impact!”
What we soon discovered is that most of these boys and girls had little connection to their Jewish identity and even less knowledge about Judaism. Few of them had more than one Jewish grandparent. We expected them to be quite assimilated, but we found that they didn’t even have Jewish memories. That is to say, unless they had living great-grandparents who could tell them the stories, they knew virtually nothing about what Jewish life was like in Russia before Stalin.
Suddenly the panic I had on the plane came back to me. What was I doing here?! What can I possibly teach these kids in a week and who am I to do it?
Gary and I tossed out everything we had planned and started from scratch. We decided that the best thing to do was to create a positive Jewish experience and make it as participatory and engaging as we could. So we taught them some basic prayers that they would sing at the ceremony and we taught them the blessings for being called up to the Torah.
The day of the Bar Mitzvah arrived. There hasn’t been a synagogue in Ulan-Ude since the 1930s, so we held the services in an old Soviet-era symphony hall. The service was beautiful and very touching. The students sang the prayers we taught them and being called up to the Torah was a moving and emotional experience for both the students and their parents.
At the end of the Torah service, we decided to do something differently. The Torah scroll we had brought with us from Los Angeles was to stay in the community. It was the first time in more than 80 years that Ulan-Ude had a sefer Torah. We had lined up several long table at the front of the room and at the end of the Torah service, we unrolled the Torah on the tables. People queued up and walked by slowly the way you do at a museum. You cannot imagine the emotion and excitement of Jews who had never seen a Torah scroll up close in their lives. Many were awe struck and some people were visibly emotional.
At first I was quite anxious and protective of the Torah. As impressed as the Russians were with the sefer Torah, they didn’t know the proper etiquette. Some people started touching the parchment! They were getting up close to the letters and breathing on them! Then kids started taking out their cameras and cell phones and they took pictures of the Torah!… ON SHABBAT! They were breaking all the rules! And, here I am, a Conservative Rabbinical students… Isn’t it my job to protect the Torah, to teach them how to show proper respect to the Book!?!
Just as I was about to lose my mind, one of the young boys tapped me on the shoulder. He had dragged the interpreter over to ask me a question: “Rabbi, what does it say?” He wanted to know what he was looking at! So I brought him over to the scroll. As I skimmed through, I noticed one of my favorite passages from parashat Netzavim. And I read for him…
ד אִם-יִהְיֶה נִדַּחֲךָ, בִּקְצֵה הַשָּׁמָיִם--מִשָּׁם, יְקַבֶּצְךָ יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ, וּמִשָּׁם, יִקָּחֶךָ.
Deut. 30:4 Even if your outcasts are at the ends of the world, from there the LORD your God will gather you, from there He will fetch you.
Woah! Here I am at the edge of the Jewish world helping to gather Jews back to Judaism!
Then I read a few verses down…
יא כִּי הַמִּצְוָה הַזֹּאת, אֲשֶׁר אָנֹכִי מְצַוְּךָ הַיּוֹם--לֹא-נִפְלֵאת הִוא מִמְּךָ, וְלֹא רְחֹקָה הִוא
30:11 Surely, this Instruction which I enjoin upon you this day is not too baffling for you, nor is it beyond reach.
30:12 . לֹא בַשָּׁמַיִם, הִוא It is not in the heavens, that you should say, “Who among us can go up to the heavens and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?”
30:13 Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, “Who among us can cross to the other side of the sea and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?”
30:14 No, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it.
And then it struck me. And, I wasn’t anxious anymore… What I realized in that moment is that the Torah isn’t my property to protect. The Torah was here long before me and will be here long after me. The Torah has survived far worse than a few loving touches and awe struck snap-shots. That day I was reminded that the Torah is the inheritance of each and every one of us as Jews. It belongs to the Jews of Ulan-Ude, just as it belongs to the Jews of Los Angeles, and it belongs to the Jews of New York, and it belongs to the Jews of Denver.
So then what’s my role as a rabbi if not to be a guardian of the tradition?
On the flight back I had time to process my experience and think about this question. As I once again paid close attention to the flight attendant giving instructions in Russian, it occurred to me. Our journey as a people isn’t all that different than this flight on I’m on. Like this old plane, we’ve been in service for a long time and, somehow, we’re still flying.
And on this flight, I’m not the pilot. The pilot is One who is far wiser and knowing than I. Maybe I’m like the flight attendant. My job isn’t to set the course. My job is to accompany you on your journey. As your companion, I’m here to help you get as much from the journey as you can. If you’re hungry for meaning, I’ll offer you the nourishment of Torah. I’ll show you how to buckle yourself up in the bonds of our tradition. If you’re traveling with a lot of Jewish baggage, I’ll help you find a place to stow it. If you find yourself feeling cold, I’ll bring you the warm blanket of community to wrap yourself in. And when the flight gets bumpy – as life inevitably does – I’m here to be a guide and a calm presence.
On this shviit shel Pesach, we stand just on the other side of the Red Sea, with slavery behind us and the long Journey to freedom lying ahead of us. It is a journey that, in many ways, we are still traveling. I urge you to see our people’s journey as your personal journey. My role as a rabbi is not to dictate the way, but rather to be a companion on the journey. I hope you will invite me to join you in your Jewish journey.
Shabbat Shalom and Hag Sameach.
