How in the world had I gotten myself in this predicament? What had started out as an innocent hike to a fresh battlefield on the northern Israeli border had turned into this. I was 18 years old and trapped on a narrow ledge of an unclimbable cliff. I couldn’t go up. The gravel was too loose, like ball bearings.

        Below me was very steep and friable rock – a climber’s terminology for rotted, sponge-like limestone which crumbled at the touch and wouldn’t hold my weight. Sixty feet below me was glass-like, razor-sharp shale smiling up at me with shark tooth-like eagerness. This was and remains today the most terrifying four hours of my life and the most important spiritually. There are no atheists in foxholes.

        So I made a deal with God. "Get me out of here and I’m yours."

        This wasn’t my first bargain with God. While I dreaded Religious School here at Temple Beth-El, I loved the stories of David, Samson, Moses, Joseph, Daniel, Joshua, Solomon, Abraham, and Jacob. So Sunday School must not have been that bad. My friends had their baseball and football heroes. I had my Bible heroes. No kid in town was quicker to the buzzer than I on a local public TV quiz show; if Bible questions were asked. I was eight-years-old.

        That summer at Camp Champions, I made my first of three deals with God. "Make the wind blow right now, if you’re real," I challenged a hundred times. A hundred times the wind blew. (Thankfully, Camp Champions is on a lake where the wind blows more or less constantly!) On my end, I believed unquestioningly in God from then on. I made the leap of faith we who believe in God must make.

        My next bargain happened at an East Side Southern Baptist church. My folks were in Europe and my sister, Patti, brother, Jimmy, and I were in the care of Selestine, our housekeeper. The church’s air conditioner was out in July, but no one cared. The preacher was leading a choir in songs of praise. They were jamming! Playing off each other with the congregation’s joining in at just the right time, most seemed to be transported visibly to a place I’d never been, in a state of joyous spiritual rapture. Man, I wanted that!!!

        God came through again. Let’s fast forward to Spring Conclave for TOFTY in my high school freshman year. Reb Roy Walter, of Houston, was welcoming the Sabbath Bride with a "Yidishkeit Yudedai" melody that transported me and my friends to a rapturous high. I could now love God with a pure joyous heart- and I didn’t need a Southern Baptist minister to get me there!

        Three times in the next seven years, I went to Israel. When those three wheels of the El Al jumbo jet touched down, I was hooked. Love at first sight. I devoured any books about Jewish history, Israel, the Holocaust. I was part of something very big, part of the miracle and tragedy of Jewish history in the making. I had the overwhelming feeling that I was meant to be here for something very important. My Judaism had become the engine of momentum- a turbo-charger of life propelling me into a significant but uncertain future.

        Which leads us back to our brainless 18-year-old on the side of a cliff, trapped in his own self-concocted hell. Every time I’d scratch, claw and leap to some new safe perch, it would slowly begin to crumble underneath me. Well, like the grandmother who lifts the car off her husband, my body allowed me to pull off some pretty amazing stunts when I had to and, with God’s hand cradling me and with my wits plus my fear, I made it down that horrifying cliff–just in time for the beginning of Shabbat services at our kibbutz. This is the first time I remember being excited to go to services. As George Burns said: "I was glad to be anywhere!"

        God had saved me for something important. This was not Ron Barshop’s time nor the place. So my third and final bargain: I was His for something special, and I was to listen closely and pay attention. He’s guided me as He did down that cliff. A postscript: I later fell in love with rock climbing as a hobby, but with proper training and equipment. This, as you can imagine, really went over well with my wife, her mother, and mine.

        The four most important events that profoundly impacted how Judaism affects my outlook were these: my upbringing; my marriage to Beverly; the birth of our three boys, Kenneth, Jonathan, and Alex; and my adult learning of our Torah these past ten years.

        My upbringing was watching Dad’s running off to another fund-raising meeting or a Jewish board meeting, and Mom’s becoming a de facto Mom for dozens of New Americans arriving from Russia. My Bar Mitzvah was fun, but left me feeling hollow. My real Bar Mitzvah was a year later when Dad blew out his back the day before he was to dedicate the Joe Barshop Gymnasium. This dedication would cap off a brilliant capital campaign Dad had led to modernize the JCC Campus. As the oldest son, I stood in.

        However, as I arrived at the podium in front of virtually all of Mom and Dad’s friends and our family, I had forgotten the speech Dad wrote back as chair. I was way too nervous to retrieve it. Somehow I pulled it off as the calls to Dad all afternoon testified. I became a man in my own eyes that afternoon, because of Dad’s tzedakah work. Think of the lesson there and it’s no wonder all three of your kids have chosen to follow your lead in our communal work. You showed us the way, Dad and Mom. I love you for that.

        Beverly is my best friend and advisor, my true love. Her strengths are my weakness and visa versa. She’s so organized that my boys’ toy soldiers are categorized in Ziploc bags by era. They catch hell if World War II and cowboys and Indians are mixed. Without getting too philosophical, marriage is the ultimate way to honor God by loving the stranger. To share the greatest love of all with someone other than blood- this is what teaches us to love the stranger as ourselves. I think it is the most profound lesson of our Torah.

        I think a lot about how to judge my own life as I approach my 40^th birthday this July. In the end, it’s not the fame, the financial success, or the fun we had that we leave behind. Funny, you never hear at the eulogy about their alma mater, net worth or SAT scores. If my Pre-Confirmation class is listening (these are high school freshman): No one cares about the car you drove, either. "Here lies Warren Teitelbaum, MBA at Yale, SAT of 1380 and a net worth of $1.1 million, Olmos Park home, 5,200 square feet and a maid’s quarters. And his Mercedes - a real peach!"

        My permanent legacy will be if Bev and I raised mentschen. If goodness is their motto, generosity their creed, we did it right. Sure, I’d love to write the great American novel and leave behind a major endowment that makes a difference in peoples’ lives forever. I’m already resigned to the fact I’ll never be the famous drummer of a rock’n roll band (my secret desire). But those boys of mine are our legacy and our primary job: to teach them, to love them, and to pass on what my Papa Joe passed on to my father about tzedakah, and what Dad has handed on to me.

        My last Torah teacher is Dennis Prager, through his excellent tape series on our Jewish Bible. His number is (800) 225-8584. I receive nothing for selling you on these three superb teachers of mine. The reward will be all yours.

        Torah means teachings. It comes from the same word as horeh, parent, and moreh, teacher. It’s not meant as a history book. Rather, it is like beautiful poetry or an artistic masterpiece. The words come alive with great power and say things to me at different times and stages of my life. Torah’s always fresh that way. Like hearing a beautiful symphony, I’m touched in unimaginable ways. We read it as lovers read a love letter by squeezing every drop of meaning from each word. I feel as close to God as possible and sometimes the afterglow lasts all day. It’s my religious high.

        I mentioned my upbringing, marriage, fatherhood, and Torah study. A fifth event shaped me, or rather, my Judaism emerged in a beautiful way. This story affirmed my and Beverly’s faith in Judaism more than any other event of our lives. (Beverly’s not expecting this, so, honey, get the tissues out.)

        Four years ago this week, we both lost a beloved friend a few days after delivering her fifth child in seven years. Her husband is one of my two or three closest friends, as well. They are evangelistic Christians and were our ideal and model for parents – deep and beautiful human beings, a beautiful family.

        Her loss was faith affirming, because all the supporters of my widowed friend offered their prayers in 24-hour vigils around her bed. Bev and I saw people speak in tongues. As a prayer team, we all would hold hands and pray for her often. We bonded as a family of God-fearing, hopeful troops fighting for her health in the spiritual realm, while the doctors did battle in the physical. This continued for three days until the moment her life support was cut off. This was a novel experience for most of us and immensely profound.

        I stood next to my friend as 30 or 40 religious Christian friends and family bid farewell at the hospital. They repeatedly said, "I’ll pray for you," with tears in their eyes. While this was extremely touching, my faith encouraged me to put together a blueprint for action. I did this with the help of a good man, Merle Smith. I later learned this structure is the same model the Amish and Lubavitch Jews use in similar circumstances, though we didn’t know that at the time.

        When the action plan was completed, hundreds of Christians were involved. They delivered home-cooked meals for over a year. They built and fenced a backyard for the cost of materials only - heavily discounted. Beverly organized the writing of hundreds of thank you notes. Formula and diapers were donated for the new baby - a two-year supply. Nearly $100,000 was donated to a foundation and to a fund that allowed the five children to continue home schooling. A myriad of other things happened to rally support for this family to move forward.

        The message of this story: as a Jew, actions are trusted much more than words. Jesus’ brother, James, said: "Faith without works is dead." First, this is a very Jewish concept. My Jewish faith gave me a clear direction which provided an outlet for well-meaning Christians in my friends darkest hour of need.

        I want to close by thanking you, Rabbi Stahl, for this honor and opportunity. It means a lot for me to be here today for two reasons: #1- This is a once-in-a lifetime chance to ask Rabbis, "So, how’s your Yom Kippur sermon coming along?" And second, I was consecrated on this spot and confirmed, Bar Mitzvah and married at this bimah. My sons were all blessed by you and Barry. I hope they, too, spend a lot of time on this spot, as they mature in our faith. I’m not certain what God saved me for on that cliff in Israel twenty years ago. Maybe something really big is in the works. But I count my many blessings whenever I’m a little down. Maybe I’m doing exactly His will.

        I’m a father of three wonderful sons and have a loving, supportive wife. I have taught an extremely challenging age group at Temple Beth-El’s Religious School for three years now. That’ s two years longer than anyone else the past twelve years. These high school freshmen are my other kids and I love them all, present, and past. My fellow teachers, Dylan Ashworth and Rob Eichelbaum, and I agree, they’re an impressive bunch. I suspect I’ll be teaching a long time.

        I’m lucky to be able to enjoy the company of a grandmother who is well, thank God. My parents are two blocks away so we’re close in more ways than one and I see them a lot. My in-laws, Bea and Morris Rosenstein, are world- class grandparents and we have a very solid relationship.

        My day time work allows me time to help to build our community in my own small way on the volunteer side, while giving peace of mind and satisfaction to my clients on the financial services side.

        I live in the most interesting city, in the most exciting state, in the most admired nation on earth.

        My health allows me to train for Marathon #2 with my friend, Alan Petlin, "the human greyhound."

        My spiritual life is rich and my friends are plentiful and deeply appreciated.

        And hindsight being 20/20 has taught me I was immature to bargain with God. He’s not what Dennis Prager calls a "Celestial Butler," who makes deals or even a Deejay who takes requests. What is God to do, for example, when a farmer in Helotes prays for desperately needed rain at the same time a mother prays in earnestness for clear skies for her daughter’s outdoor wedding? God can’t be put in this impossible position. He’s there for us, but not this way.