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Home Presentation for Yom Kippur Symposium 5770, September 28, 2009
I can state unequivocally that preparing for this symposium is the most challenging thing I have done in the year 5770.
To prepare for this talk, I read sermons by our rabbis and every single congregant talk that has been given at a Yom Kippur symposia. I did not read these for ideas or to write my story, but for inspiration. I carried a notebook for weeks and even took vacation days to work on this exercise.
I grew up in Brooklyn. Outside of Israel, I do not think there are many places where it is easier to be a practicing Jew. There are over a million Jews in NYC and the surrounding suburbs---one can find any flavor of Jewish life. There are neighborhoods where there are several synagogues on a single city block. In fact, the start times for 4 major sporting events were adjusted yesterday to enable Jews time to attend Kol Nidre services. Sports fans might consider this to be true divine intervention.
Both of my parents experienced hostility and violence as a consequence of their religious upbringing. My father was born in the late 30s and raised in Budapest-certainly not a welcoming place for Jews. The horrors of the ghetto and of losing relatives in the Holocaust stayed with him his entire life and he virtually never spoke of these events.
My mother was raised in Brooklyn by a Jewish mother and a Catholic father. Sadly, my grandmother was disowned by her parents due the decision of marrying outside of the faith. While the exile from her grandparents was not absolute, my mother never felt fully accepted by her Jewish grandparents.
It is not surprising that my parents' response to Judaism was indifference. We did not belong to a Temple and lived a secular life. I did not attend religious school and did not have a bar mitzvah. Religion was not something that would be thrust upon me but something to be considered as an adult. The Jewish holidays were sporadically celebrated with friends and family. Some years, the greatest impact of the High Holy Days would be school closure and the suspension of alternate side of the street parking (a surprisingly important aspect of urban life).
In my neighborhood, almost everyone was either Jewish or Catholic. Our afternoon street hockey game was interrupted daily when my teammates went to Hebrew school.
Living a Jewish life is like listening to a metronome, but the sounds can only be heard by fellow Jews. Our worship, our calendar, our holidays, and the fiber of the Jewish soul are certainly off-cycle to the secular world. Perhaps my early independence came from not fully hearing the beat.
My parents did not refer to it as tzedakah but giving back was very important. Within one week of being 14 and being old enough to do so, I began to volunteer at a local Jewish hospital. Not a token amount; some years more than a thousand hours. On rare occasions, I would feel frustrated by what little impact I could make sitting in high school class and would play hooky in order to work a 12 hour shift at the hospital. I began to have a sense of community-not just self. Having a meaningful impact in the world and leaving each place better than how I found it became important motivators. As an adult and in our family, I identify these as core Jewish values.
I was accepted into a unique program in college in which I was guaranteed acceptance into medical school but was required to select a non-science major. I chose philosophy-a chance to think, challenge beliefs, and be introspective. This major offered a chance to study and analyze and compare major philosophies which often had religious origins. Medical ethics, right and wrong, significance of the soul, life and death were all academic discussions.
In my existentialism class, we studied conflicts facing believers of many faiths. A paradox exists between an omnipotent and omniscient G-d and explaining how evil could still exist in this world. Our final exam was to explain in 10 words or less what is meant by the term G-d. I do not recall what my answer was (but did get an A in the class). I do not know if this was designed to either be the easiest and quickest exam to grade or perhaps the most challenging to complete. Even to this day, I struggle with this question.
In many ways, the story of my extended family is a microcosm of the Jewish people. I have relatives that left Spain in 1492, presumably due to the Inquisition. I have relatives that have lived in DP camps, Siberian prison camps, and in refugee camps; some that have stood in bread lines and some who lied about being Jewish to immigrate to the US when quotas were exceeded. Some were killed in Nazi forced labor camps, some killed in concentration camps, and some survived but were severely scarred.
Like the survival of the Jewish people, my relatives found new homes, languages and skills and rebuilt their lives. As I stand here today with my fellow congregants, I know that in 6 continents in the world, in Israel and in the Diaspora, my relatives are linked both to their communities and the Jewish people.
When I visited an absorption center in Israel, I understood their plight. When I pay my annual Federation pledge, I know what it means not to have. When I see anti-Semitism rob Jews of their potential or their pride or their lives, I understand their agony.
Jewish leaders lament that Jewish education and involvement in the Jewish community may dwindle after a bar or bat mitzvah. But there are those, like myself, who find commitment and involvement and interest in Jewish education later in life.
My wife Amy (who celebrates her birthday today) and me and our children are active members of Temple and the local Jewish community. They are all the greatest joys in my life. It gives me great pleasure watching my children learn and celebrate their Judaism with us. Despite this, cries of “No fair, you did not have to go to religious school and study Hebrew” have been heard on many an occasion.
Our daughter Elana and our son Robert have had their bat and bar mitzvahs. Drew will have his bar mitzvah in 2011 and soon thereafter, I plan to enroll in the adult b'nai mitzvah class, ideally to have my bar mitzvah at age 50. One is never too old to be considered a Jewish adult.
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