Can you help me build a community?
Hi, my name is Lev, and I’m a rabbi. I’m here because I need your help.
I’m looking for a Jewish community. I’ve been trying to build one on my own, but it’s been so difficult.
Last week, I put on my best clothes, and sat in my living room alone saying “amen.” Honestly, it wore off after only five minutes. So I went into my kitchen, where I lay out a lovely spread of bridge rolls and fish balls. I stood around awkwardly with crisps on a paper plate, but there was nobody to make small-talk with.
It was worse during the Holidays. At Purim, I played every character in the spiel, and acted it out to myself. At Pesach, I had the Afikoman in a place I thought my guests would never find it, but then, I was the only guest, and I found it straight away. At Simchat Torah. I danced around fervently to klezmer, but there were no musicians, and the hora doesn’t work solo.
All I wanted to do was go to a bat mitzvah, find a friend, and kvetch about the rabbi. But there was no bat mitzvah. There was no friend. And I was the rabbi!
So I’m looking for your help. Can you tell me what I’ve been doing wrong?
It seems like in order to do anything Jewish, you need a community.
Apparently I’m not alone in coming up against this problem. In fact, the Talmud relates that even back in Babylon, rabbis needed communities in order to be Jews.
Once, according to the very beginning of Berachot – the tractate on blessings – Rav Nahman had not been to the synagogue for a little while.
Rav Yitzhak came to see him, and said: “where have you been? Why haven’t you been at shul?”
Rav Nahman answered: “I’ve been sick.”
So Rav Yitzhak suggested: “Gather ten of your students, and we’ll hold services in your house.”
Rav Nahman said: “I don’t want to impose on anyone.”
So Rav Yitzhak suggested: “Why not get a messenger who will come and tell you when we’re doing prayers, so you can join in?”
Rav Nahman went to protest, and then Rav Yitzhak finally asked: “what’s really going on here?”
And Rav Nahman finally answered: “You have told me many things the community could do for me, but nothing that I can do for the community. I need to feel like God won’t hear your prayers unless I’m there.”*
What do we learn from this story?
First, we learn that it really is important to come to synagogue.
Second, we learn that if you can’t come to synagogue, the synagogue can still come to you.
And, third, we learn that people need to feel needed.
A synagogue is not a subscription service. It’s a membership organisation. You only get out of it what you put into it. And people only come when they have something to put in.
It is the definition of community: we are all in it together, building it together, with a shared stake in its future.
Sometimes, in previous synagogues, Jews said to me: “I’m a member, but I don’t want to be involved.” And I used to say: “don’t worry, Judaism will still be here when you need it.”
But that’s not necessarily true, is it? Judaism needs people who believe in it; who turn up, week in, week out, to keep it living. There is no Judaism without Jews, and Judaism needs every single Jew.
In our Torah portion this week, Moses teaches that if you have an extra sheaf of corn, you need to set it aside for others. When you have olives left on your trees, leave them so that people wandering by can eat them. Got leftover grapes? Share them round.
The point is, in the economy of the Torah, you don’t just feed yourself. You feed everyone. Yes, you make sure you have enough to eat, and then you give away the rest.
The same is true with our religious selves. Yes, we all need the spiritual sustenance we get from coming to synagogue. We all need the companionship; the moments of the serenity; and the support through tough times.
But, when you feel full up on Judaism, that’s when it’s time to share what you have. If your cup overflows, make sure you give the other synagogue goers a sip.
Everyone in this community needs you here. You have skills, strengths, time, and energy that are completely unique to you.
We need you.
I need you. I’m here because I’m a rabbi and I can’t build a Jewish community alone.
This synagogue is in an important moment of transition. Just a couple of weeks ago, you said goodbye to your beloved rabbi of seven years, Rene. In the next few weeks, you will spend Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur with our wonderful colleague, Daniel. And then, at Sukkot, I’ll be starting with you.
I am really hoping that this will be a long term partnership, where we will grow together. For that to happen, I really do need your help. I need you to turn up to synagogue, do mitzvot here, and make all our Shabbats and festivals meaningful. I need you to offer up your time and skills, wherever you can, to make this community run successfully.
Above all, I am asking you to make room for me.
In this week’s haftarah, the prophet Isaiah says: “Enlarge the site of your tent, extend the size of your dwelling.”
So that’s my request to you. I’m a Jew looking for a community. Can you make your dwelling a bit bigger to let me in? Can I come and be part of your tent?
I can’t be a Jew alone. And I’d like to be a Jew with you.
Shabbat shalom.
*Not exactly what he says, but it’s a sermon, and I’m taking license.
Sim Lev 