The summer before my eighth birthday, I went to camp for the first time. For one month, I lived with 13 other girls, and two counselors, making new friends and learning about life.

After an initial bout of homesickness, I was in my element. One of my first letters home, which my parents saved, read: “Dear Mommy and Daddy, there are lots of Jewish people here! And they could all be my friends! And, I made a new best friend! I learned to play kickball. Our bunk won! But, I don't think it was because of me; my new best friend is really good at sports. Did you know that there is a blessing before and after the meal? Love, Allison”

For eight years, as a camper, and then many more as a counselor, I waited for camp. I counted the days to second session; receiving letters and phone calls from friends; praying that my bunk requests had been granted so that I could pick up exactly where we had left off the previous summer. As a cadre of friends, we kept in touch during the year-that best friend I met came to my Bat Mitzvah, and I went to hers; I was invited to her wedding, and she, to mine.

Whether in camp, youth group, college fraternity or sorority, a childhood group of extra special friends or at work (after all we spend more time at work than anywhere else) we've all had significant community experiences and count them among our most valuable.

Our affiliations structure the way we see ourselves. We create our sense of identity through the expectations and culture set up by these relationships; they provide meaning and give purpose to our lives. Rabbi Harold Kushner, in his book Living a Life that Matters, writes, “It takes more than one person to validate our sense of mattering to the world . . . (116)

Similar to the words of Rabbi Kushner's book, the first line of Psalm 133 is known to many of us since childhood as a favorite song. (repeat Hebrew of first line) This line is so familiar that it's surprising to realize that it is rooted in our sacred text! For me, it conjures up memories of religious school assemblies on Sunday mornings with my early childhood Rabbi, Jerald Bobrow, attempting to lead us in song. (Perhaps I learned to sing from him?)

The entire Psalm reads:

Hineh Mah Tov Umah Naim, Shevet Achim Gam Yahad
Kashemen hatov al harosh yored al hazakan zakan Aharon sh'yered al pi midutav
K'tal Hermon sh'yored al har'rey zion ki sham tzivah adonai et ha bracha hayim ad ha-olam.

Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity
It is like the precious oil upon the head running down upon the beard;
The beard of Aaron,
That comes down upon the collar of his garments;
Like the dew of Hermon
Descending upon the mountains of Zion
For there the Lord commanded the blessing
Even for life forever.

I'm pretty sure we don't sing the rest of the Psalm because it's not really so appetizing to sing about oil in Aaron's beard! Yet, let's explore the imagery of the Psalm as it teaches us about holy togetherness.

In ancient times oil was one of the most valuable commodities; more precious, often, than jewels. It was hard to produce, and very useful. For use with consecrations of priests, it was prepared especially with fragrance and aromatic spices.

As the oil anointed Aaron, it symbolized not only his new role as priest, but the support of the community around him as well. According the Anchor Bible, the joy of communal harmony was found in the oil that was used in the consecration of Aaron. A.F. Kirkpatrick writes, “The point of the simile seems to be that as the sacred oil flowed down over Aaron's shoulders, so the harmonious unity of those who dwell in Jerusalem will influence the whole nation for good.”Looking at the broadest view of Aarons' responsibilities, it was through him that the community came together-to celebrate and mourn; pray and question.

As strange as the vision of oil in Aaron's beard is as beautiful as the image of dew on Mt. Hermon. Dew brings us back to early morning moments of peacefulness, of watching the earth wake up, refreshed and nourished by its' atural watering. Dew is life-giving; with it the earth is nourished and strengthened. A. F. Kirkpatrick teaches that the Psalmist compares the influence of brotherly unity upon the nation to the effect of dew upon vegetation: “From dwelling together, individuals draw fresh energy.” When we strengthen our relationships, we are invigorated.

As Aaron led the people to communal linking, and the dew strengthens and renews, the Psalmist offers a clear message of the importance of community. For community is both good, and pleasant, and with it we will be rewarded with God's blessing. The Psalm is a liturgy of blessing; reminding us of the blessing of community. And, indeed, this congregation is blessed with magnificent community:

On Sunday morning, September 7, a number of people gathered in the Temple kitchen. There, in the span of just under three hours, they prepared over 300 lbs of food for the hungry. Not only did they feed the needy; they also fed themselves; for friendships were formed and attachments made.

On Sunday mornings during religious school, you can find parents kibbitzing/schmoozing with each other in the newly completed and magnificent Dreeben Family Pavilion. They talk, read the paper, share advice. . generally, many of them look forward to this relaxing time with old friends and new acquaintances.

I have seen our Temple family at its' most healing these past weeks with grieving families. The outpouring of concern, which is indicated by the number of phone calls from Temple members who “only met them once, but he/she were so wonderful. . .what can I do?” has been inspiring.

SAFTY, too, is a great example. Our high school youth group is a special community. Whether or not they are close friends or new members, this is a group that takes care of each other. In fact, when new youth group members get on the bus for the first time for a regional event, they are paired with a “veteran” to show them the ropes at camp, or the destination city. Our SAFTYites are connected because they are Jewish, because of this Temple-and because they trust in each other; trust in the bond they have created for support, guidance, and laughter.

Not to embarrass them too much, but our volunteer choir is a stellar example of community. For the bulk of the year, they meet monthly to rehearse. I remember one 6:00 P.M. service, at announcement time. I glanced at my cue sheet containing the names of the scheduled singers, to make sure I didn't forget anyone. To my consternation, only two were listed on the sheet, but six had sung at the service. I made a spontaneous compliment, to which David replied, correctly, “ I can't keep them away.” They love to sing, but they also love to sing together.

The examples of successful community abound. And yet, there are moments of gloom that darkens the sunlight; moments when Mt. Hermon's dew dries up and Aaron's oil flows no more. I am saddened when members of our congregation come to me, with: “ I just don't know anybody anymore; it doesn't feel like my congregation”. Or, “I don't know how to make friends; it seems like everyone knows each other already” Or-a very painful one-“Rabbi, thanks for your call. I'm glad someone noticed I haven't been around.” When our community disappoints us we feel like water and oil, not mixing together, looking at what we cannot fit into.

There is an old story about a village that was planning a celebration. Every citizen was asked to bring a bottle of wine, to pour it into a giant cistern in the middle of town, for all to share. During the celebration, the cistern would be available for everyone. But something interesting happened. When the town leaders open the spigots and invited the people to share in the wine, they filled their glasses not with wine, but with water. Everyone in the town had the same idea. They assumed that if everyone else was bringing wine, they could bring water. They didn't think anyone would notice. The town celebration was ruined because of this lack of giving.

In a town that doesn't come together honestly to celebrate, the wine will be delivered as water, for each does not feel obligated to do its share. The same is true of us. We are each asked to bring the finest of wines to this congregation: our full, true selves, ready to bring God between us into our relationships. However, often what we receive is water: an unwillingness to reach out and connect; a disinclination to grow and learn from new relationships and possibilities.

Our Temple, while strong and vibrant, continues to need more work in order to truly become a Temple family. Families, as we know, are not perfect-we've all weathered our share of painful family spats and blows; some are long lasting, some blow over. A healthy congregation is one that actively and responsibly addresses and heals its disturbances, not one with an absence of trouble. It has persisted, successfully, because we have always been willing to confront our issues. In a sense, families are like the oil in Aaron's beard: it's messy, but it sticks.

For us to be a stronger Temple family we must reach out to others, introducing ourselves to new people, even when we have life long friends. We must understand that the person sitting by himself or herself may not know anyone. We must take the time to pick up the phone when someone you know, even peripherally, disappears for a time. As Rabbi Kushner writes,

Do me a favor: look around the room. How many people do you know? How many people have you noticed around at times, but never bothered to introduce yourself? How many times have you wished someone would introduce themselves to you?

Now is your chance, your challenge, to begin to remedy this problem. Take a moment and reach your hand out to someone you have never met. Introduce yourself. Learn something about them.

I challenge you further: after our service, we will be serving apples and honey in the Jacobson Garden and the Stahl Gallery. As you kiss and hug all those that are already part of your community expand your community. Shake other hands; greet new people. Strengthen the Temple family. Be Aaron, committed to the future of the Jewish people by bringing togetherness. Nourish the family by being like the dew on Mt. Hermon

This sounds easy-go out and create community; its as simple as beginning with a handshake and smile. But I know it is not. It is outside our comfort zone; jarring to our usual roles. Yet, as we learn from Max and Jacob, characters in Noah ben Shea's book Jacob the Baker, it is when we go outside our typical roles that we may be most effective. In this book, Jacob is a poor baker renowned for his simple wisdom. He is sought out at every occasion for advice:

Max approached Jacob with a sack of flour for a new dough. Max dropped the sack at Jacobs' feet and stood forward for a moment regarding him.

“You know Jacob,” said Max, “all these people come to you with questions. Finally, I have one.”

Jacob lifted his focus.

“Do you know why God made our arms this long?” Max held out his arms in front of him.

“No” said Jacob, at a loss for an answer to the strange question.

“So we could do this,” said Max. Then he gave Jacob a hug and walked away.

Jacob, as the giver, suddenly became the receiver-of pure affection. When we move to become the giver, imagine the effect that you'll have on the person who received your kind greeting!

During the high holy days, we list our collective and individual sins. One of them is a potentially unfamiliar word: xenophobia. Xenophobia, or fear of strangers, is certainly a sin: have each felt the brunt of feeling left out, or been uncomfortable welcoming a newcomer. Let this feeling not continue; let us embrace our mission to make every member and potential member of this congregation be included in this community. Then, Hineh Mah Tov, Uma naim, shevet achim gam yahad! How wonderful it will be when we dwell together in unity! When we dwell together, it is both good and pleasant. When we embrace each other, bringing our Temple family to new heights, then truly will this Psalm, a liturgy of blessing, be fulfilled.

The words of the song, Hineh Mah Tov, are quite familiar. Even when we are familiar with the words, the melody may change. As we sing this medly of Hineh Mah Tov together, some of the melodies may be familiar; some new, but the word and message remain the same. Behold how good, and how pleasant it is for us to dwell together in unity!

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