What inspired you to write Amen: Seeking Presence with Prayer, Poetry, and Mindfulness Practice?
I have always had an active inner life—curious about the spirit, wondering about the magical beauty in the natural world, observing how people interact, and contemplating the connection between it all. As the years went on, I became a lifelong student of the spirit. Amen is the poetic and prayerful expression of my inner life, turning the inner monologue into a dialogue with students, readers, and seekers.
How did you approach the writing process?
I am what is called an iterative or discovery writer. That is to say, I do not write from an outline. Rather, I begin my writing practice by quieting down; most often sitting quietly, reading poetry, or philosophical thought. I light candles and make my writing space serene and beautiful. And then magic happens. The muse stirs, and without hesitation, I follow her lead. But there are many days where writing is simply hard work, one word at a time. One sentence. A practice that demands the determination not to walk away and simply push through. Either way, for me, writing is part compulsion and part practice and all parts love.
Amen is your second book with CCAR Press. How does it differ from your first book, Omer: A Counting?
The counting of the Omer is a spiritual practice that lasts seven weeks. The book offers original writing and secular writing, which walks us through seven spiritual principles— decide, discern, choose, hope, imagine, courage, and pray—that, when practiced, can help us move from spiritual construction to personal freedom. Amen has two sections. The first section has prayers and poems that give voice to the inner life. The second section offers techniques for spiritual practice.
How do you recommend that readers use Amen? How can they incorporate it into a mindfulness practice?
I invite you to read as I write—in a nonlinear manner. Find a quiet moment, a peaceful corner, and randomly open the book. Let the prayer find you. Linger with the words, the images. Ask why this piece found you. What is its message in this moment? Or, use it as a reference. If you need a poem about peace, look it up; if you’re going to a meeting and need an opening prayer, it’s in the book. Let the poems be your companion as you search for the words to describe the life of the spirit.
Rabbi Fred Guttman (left) with his successor, Rabbi Andy Koren, at a civil rights rally in Raleigh, North Carolina.
Summer is often when many congregational rabbis begin new jobs, while others choose this time to retire. Here, Rabbi Fred Guttman shares insight into how retired rabbis can stay connected to rabbinic successors while enjoying retirement.
I was ordained in 1979 and retired three years ago at the age of sixty-nine.
I believe that in retirement, I have learned some very practical lessons that might apply to others. Here are nine reflections on retirement and succession:
Retirement is not the end of life. It is literally a time when you “put new tires on the car” (re-tire-ment!) and go someplace, whether literally or figuratively.
In retirement, realize you have a finite amount of time before you or your partner/spouse gets sick. Therefore, every day is precious! Carpe diem!
Find something or some things to do in retirement. Embrace them with the same gusto, strength, and dedication you had when working. In my case, I have led two trips of public-school Holocaust teachers to Poland, taught a college course, and became a member of the North Carolina Democratic Party State Executive Committee.
Travel. Travel frequently. And extend your stay if you can afford it. My wife and I have been spending lots of time in Atlanta and Israel, where we have kids and grandkids.
Speaking of grandchildren, if you are blessed to have them, cherish them! Hug and kiss them and enjoy every moment that you have with them!
Try to cultivate a good relationship with your successors. Do not get in their way. Give them the benefit of the doubt. They will do things differently. Realize that some of those things might actually be better!
Try as hard as you can to cultivate this friendship. In my case, this was easy because my successor and I worked together for eighteen years, and outside of my family, I still consider him to be my best friend!
To clergy successors: If the emeritus(a) clergy is still in town, ask him/her to do something occasionally. It doesn’t have to be much. It could be an adult study class or an occasional sermon. Invite them to give a tribute or eulogy along with yours at the funerals of our friends. These things make us feel useful and build on our friendship with you! Remember that the previous clergy still might have connections in the community and that they might have been and still could be an important part of the community.
“Respite for Ravs”: I believe that the last few years have been the most difficult years in the rabbinate that I have ever seen. From Covid, to sociological changes in the American Jewish community, to October 7, rabbis serving congregations have had to face incredible challenges. Many of our younger colleagues are really stressed out. Therefore, I propose that as retirees, we offer a program called “Respite for Ravs.” The program would suggest that a serving rabbi literally take the Shabbat/ weekend off and the retiree would cover in the congregation for no charge or honorarium. For rabbis in remote areas, the congregation would be expected to cover travel expenses. Doing this could give our stressed out colleagues a much-needed short break. Retired rabbis can also apply to join the Reform Movement’s Small Congregations Clergy Collaborative or apply to become an interim rabbi.
World Zionist Organization (WZO) Election: In the last elections, our slate garnered 31,000 votes. While this may sound like an impressive number, in actuality, it is quite low. We can do better! I suggested to Rabbi Josh Weinberg, the Vice President of the URJ for Israel, that we find fifteen to twenty retirees who could become regional captains for a “get-out-the-vote” (GOTV) campaign. Colleagues would be in touch with serving rabbis, offering encouragement, advice, and materials with the goal being to at least double our votes in the upcoming election. If interested, please contact Josh or me.
It is now time for the younger generation of clergy, politicians, and others to take over. Our generation did as well as we could.
I really love the Jewish concept called the “chain of tradition,” which as you know is based upon a tradition from the first Mishnah in Pirkei Avot: Moses received the Torah from Sinai and gave it over to Joshua. Joshua gave it over to the Elders, the Elders to the Prophets, and the Prophets gave it over to the People of the Great Assembly.
Every generation receives tradition and wisdom from the past, but eventually a new link in the chain needs to be created and a new generation needs to take over.
The “chain of tradition” will always need to add a new link. As retirees, we should welcome it and help in any way possible to make the new link as strong as possible!
Rabbi Fred Guttman in June 2024, teaching 36 public school teachers from North Carolina at the site of the Ghetto Wall in Krakow Poland.
Fred Guttman (HUC-JIR NY ‘79) served as Senior Rabbi of Temple Emanuel of Greensboro, North Carolina from 1995 to 2021.
Rabbi Dalia Marx, PhD, is the author of From Time to Time: Journeys in the Jewish Calendar from CCAR Press. In this interview, she discusses bringing her Hebrew book to an American audience, the importance of time in Judaism, and shares a playlist of songs featured in the volume.
From Time to Time has now been published in several languages. What does it mean to you to bring this book to English-speaking audiences?
It is a great privilege to open a gate to the largest Jewish community outside the State of Israel. I am very committed to Jewish communities around the world. I’ve spent around twenty-three years teaching North American rabbis-to-be at Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion. I have had many opportunities to visit North American communities and other English-speaking communities. So this is a great privilege to build bridges between Israel and English-speaking countries—not only to build bridges but to be bridges. I think this is one of the things From Time to Time is trying to do—to build a bridge and be a bridge between Israel and beyond.
This book is divided into month-based chapters. Can you share a bit about what readers will find in each chapter?
The book is divided by each Hebrew month. Every month there is a beautiful “medal” that the graphic designer made. It is a little bit like a riddle because later in the chapter we explore the different graphic images in the medal. Then there is some brief information about the month like the zodiac, the tribe of the month according to Jewish tradition, and the stone of the month. Then we have a kavanah, a meditation for the month. Next comes a song of the month—either a traditional, classical, or modern poem or song. Then we have iyunim. We kept the Hebrew terms because they fit so well. They are short considerations and conversations about what happens in the month. I tried to be concise, comprehensive, and to bring things that are not necessarily known to many people from different fields of Jewish life—different ethnic groups, eras, and different voices—especially marginalized voices. Each chapter ends with a prayer or prayers of the month with modern applications.
Why do you feel understanding the Jewish calendar is essential for fully comprehending Judaism?
I think the way we as Jews and human beings understand our existence, our reality, our relationship with other people, and the world and our communities is through time and by time. I think this is especially true for Jewish time. This is something we all share together—Jews in the four corners of the world—in Israel, North America, other places. The more you feel time, understand time, explore Jewish time, the more you immerse more fully and meaningfully with our Jewish identity and being.
That was my task with this book—to enhance the comprehension and celebration of the Jewish calendar. And to my great satisfaction, I hear more and more about people who are planning a Rosh Chodesh group or plan an adult education course based on the month, or make the book the text for Introduction to Judaism, sisterhood groups, and confirmation classes. I think it is wonderful that they choose this as a resource for exploring and enhancing Jewish life—among other books, of course.
How do you suggest that readers incorporate From Time to Time into their Jewish practices?
I know some people read the book cover to cover, but I think most people read it when the time calls. That is to say, before the holidays and festivals or at the beginning of the month. And different people have different practices, and it is very moving to hear how people use it. Some people leave the book on their bedside table, or they read it as their Rosh Chodesh practice. Some families leave it on their dining room table and read parts of it on Friday night. Some leave it on their coffee table and they open it occasionally. It can be used for different occasions and different times. I hope people will really be inspired by it.
This is not an encyclopedia—it is not aiming to be fully comprehensive. On the contrary, it invites us to continue exploring, considering, and learning from it and enhancing our knowledge. Audrey Honig, an HUC–JIR rabbinical student, created an absolutely fabulous study guide for the book. It follows each month, has questions for consideration and learning, and also includes activities to be done. The study guide makes the book much more than a traditional volume bound between two covers—it’s something to contemplate, explore, and then apply to one’s life. There is even a Spotify playlist with all of the Israeli music referenced in the book!
Rabbi Dalia Marx, PhD, is the Rabbi Aaron D. Panken Professor of Liturgy at Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion (HUC-JIR) in Jerusalem. She is the chief editor of T’filat HaAdam, the Israeli Reform prayer book (MaRaM, 2020). From Time to Time: Journeys in the Jewish Calendar was first published in Israel in 2018 as Bazman and has been translated into German, Spanish, and now English.
Rabbi Debra J. Robbins is the author ofNew Each Day: A Spiritual Practice for Reading Psalms, recently published by CCAR Press. In this interview, she discusses how this book differs from her first volume focused on Psalm 27, the musical accompaniments written to complement the daily psalms, and how readers can engage with psalms in their own lives.
What inspired you to write New Each Day?
The readers of Opening Your Heart with Psalm 27inspired and encouraged me to write New Each Day. It was so gratifying that people found the daily practice of reading Psalm 27 over a seven-week period so meaningful that they wanted to continue their connections to psalms and their spiritual experiences throughout the year. I felt Shir Shel Yom, the daily psalms of our tradition, might be meaningful.
What was the most challenging part of creating this book?
There were two challenging experiences in working on this book. First, it was important to make the introduction new and fresh while maintaining the core of the spiritual practice laid out in the first book. I was able to address this challenge by learning a lot more about other authors’ writing practices, and I was able to enrich the introduction by doing research about how the seven psalms were selected and understood across history. The second challenging experience was how hard some psalms are to understand and confront over and over again. I found this especially with Psalm 94 for Wednesday. I just kept reading it, writing about it, and trying to find inspiration in it for my life and our world.
Cantor Richard Cohn wrote and recorded nigunim to complement the written text of New Each Day. How does music contribute to the book’s spiritual practice?
As Richard and I write about in the book and as we’ve taught, music helps our minds and hearts encounter sacred texts in new and inspiring ways. The suite of nigunim build upon each other and come to manifest qualities of each day in the cycle. As he writes in the Composer’s Commentary, “the seven nigunim are offered as a scaffolding…the meaning or significance…will emerge organically…”
New Each Day is your second volume with CCAR Press; both focus on a psalm practice. How does this new book differ from Opening Your Heart with Psalm 27?
New Each Day is different from Opening Your Heart primarily because it provides an opportunity to read and write, and sit and sing, with eight different psalms (seven for the days of the week and for the start of each month) instead of only one psalm over seven weeks. The spiritual practice is the same, but the organizing structure is a bit more complex to navigate. I think we developed tools to help the reader easily make their way through each month. The Opening Your Heart app has a variety of musical settings for verses of Psalm 27, as well as prompts for writing, and photographs to accompany each Reflection for Focus. I hope someday we might have these resources for New Each Day as they have been very popular with readers.
How do you recommend that readers use New Each Day?
There are many ways to use New Each Day. It was designed to be used for daily practice, following the flow of the designated psalms throughout the week and then back again, with each new month punctuated with Psalm 104, and a thematic Reflection for Focus. It can also be used monthly, using only the Psalm 104 section, or it can be used as an anthology to explore and reflect on a range of emotional, spiritual, and intellectual ideas, all raised by the ancient psalms and deeply resonant with our modern world. I look forward to hearing more from readers about how they are using the book!
One of the many rabbinic roles that the CCAR helps Reform congregrations fill is that of the interim rabbi. Congregations searching for interim rabbis may need additional time to hire the right rabbi: a long-term rabbi may have retired or left, or there may have been a crisis in the synagogue community, and the synagogue is in need of revitalization. Interim rabbis fill a crucial need in synagogues, partnering with lay leaders and staff to prepare a congregation for the arrival and success of a long-term rabbi, helping bridge important gaps in Reform communities, and ensuring that these communities receive the care, attention, and strong Jewish leadership they so deserve.
For most congregations, rabbinic transitions function best when an interim rabbi steps in to help maintain continuity, drive necessary change, and help ensure and grow vitality.
The work of an interim rabbi can be extraordinarily meaningful as much of the focus of this work is on strengthening Jewish communities in ways that will help the congregation’s next settled rabbi succeed. All kinds of rabbis—included retired or active—should think about doing interim work.
What makes a good interim rabbi? Rabbis interested in helping communities navigate and maintain strength during a year of transition, or active rabbis who are looking for a change or a new challenge.
The CCAR offers annual training for rabbis interested in the interim rabbinate and provides ongoing learning opportunities for members currently serving in an interim capacity.
Below are some voices of current interim rabbis who share the many reasons why this role is so meaningful.
We encourage CCAR members to consider becoming an interim rabbi.
Serving a congregation that has acknowledged their transition is fulfilling. My very presence opens a space for them to expand their thinking about who they are and who their next rabbi might be. Sharing best practices with the staff and leadership offers new possibilities that they may never have considered or thought too difficult to enact.
Seeing the institution as a whole, including systems and things that have receded to the background, because that is the way that it has always been done, allows them to reflect on what is working for them. Listening to a broad swath of the constituent communities of their congregation uncovers strengths and challenges that might not have been considered.
No matter what else, the congregations and institutions that we serve are not static, they change. That change might be long-planned or sought. That change might be abrupt or tragic. All institutions change and all institutions go through transition. Interim training is key for those of us who are serving as interim rabbis or are interested in serving as interim rabbis, but it is helpful for rabbis serving congregations in general because it helps us to understand how to support congregations in transition, and all congregations are in transition. The skills learned in interim training will be useful in your rabbinate.
RABBI DENNIS ROSS
As an interim rabbi, I’m often asked if it’s hard to leave each year. It is. We go through intense times together, on a personal level and as a congregation. It is hard to leave. But it is also my privilege to serve the Jewish people this way. An interim rabbi serves, as well, albeit one congregation at a time. We sustain and build communities, address congregational needs, and enhance the leadership capacity of staff and leaders. Everything we do helps prepare the congregation for the next rabbi, who benefits from a smoother transition, stronger start and, hopefully, a longer and a more fulfilling tenure.
I’m going into my sixth interim position, and it continues to be my “privilege” to:
Support a staff member in finding a less confrontational way to express their upset in challenging situations.
Ensure that the synagogue governance structure is working effectively and efficiently
Take initial steps to rebuild or recreate a teen engagement program.
Bring reassurance, hope and focus following a congregational trauma.
Uplift the legacy of an emeritus/emerita when years of service are taken for granted.
… And more.
It is only recently that our movement has begun to embrace the idea of interim service. For many years, a congregational rabbi would retire or take another position, a new “settled” rabbi would arrive, and the congregation would move forward in a positive direction, and this still happens in many situations. Yet, our congregations and entering rabbis find they are in a much better place when an Intentional Interim Rabbi serves the Jewish people by serving them.
Congregational leaders and staff enjoy a morale boost when an interim highlights the community’s strengths that were “hiding in plain sight” until the interim speaks about them. The community benefits when longstanding and beloved practices are identified, sustained, and strengthened. Everyone is better when unaddressed program needs are met, and the capacity of staff and leaders is enhanced.
RABBI DARRYL CRYSTAL
I have served 18 congregations as an interim rabbi over the last 20 years. I have learned that without a doubt that interim rabbis do important and meaningful work: An interim year is a critical time in the life of a congregation. A colleague may retire, move to another position, become ill, or there may have been conflict related to the colleague’s departure. Congregants are concerned about the present and future of the temple. Interim rabbis learn about the dynamics of transition. Interim rabbis can be an experienced leader who is a non-anxious presence.
There is also the rich opportunity to learn from congregations: As each person has a unique mitzvah that they bring to a congregation, so does each congregation have unique gifts. It may be a dynamic musical tradition, inspiring tefillot, social justice, new ways to engage people, commitment to youth, or Jewish learning. There is incredible creativity in the Jewish world today.
Overall, interim rabbis get to become part of the great story of Judaism in North America. Many of the congregations I have served are part of the extraordinary history of Jewish life in the United States. From Congregation Mikve Israel, the third-oldest synagogue in the United States, to founding congregation of the Reform movement, to temples that represent the growth of suburban Judaism, to synagogues that are embracing the future and shaping Judaism for today and tomorrow, as an interim rabbi you are part of the story and a messenger of the dynamism of Judaism.
On July 28, 2006, a deranged antisemitic man with a gun entered the Jewish Federation of Greater Seattle and murdered my congregant and dear friend Pamela Waechter. She was one of a handful of American Jews who have been murdered for being Jewish.
The Islamic terrorist was found to be sane by the jury and sentenced to life in prison. Pam‘s life was over in a bloody barrage of gunfire.
At her funeral, our temple was filled with fellow Jews and many government officials and others, well over a thousand people who were still in shock. That was most traumatic and yet most important day in my life as a rabbi, when it fell to my shoulders to bring comfort to her family and to the community. Pam’s memory will stay with me forever. She truly died al kiddush HaShem—for the sanctification of the God and the Jewish people.
When she converted many years prior, I am sure her rabbi reminded her that historically being a Jew can be a source of personal danger and persecution (as is required in the Talmud), but no one could have imagined that it could lead to her being gunned down in cold blood just for being a Jew or working in a Jewish setting.
Fifty years of thousands of funerals, weddings, bet mitzvah, and other life cycle events. All meaningful at that moment, most of them forgotten in the details.
But every once in a while, having served in the same community all fifty years—and I pray more to come—someone will see me on the street and say something like, “Rabbi, you really made a big difference in my life.”
These are the moments in which I know I made the right decision fifty-five years ago when I entered HUC-JIR in Los Angeles with a college degree in philosophy and a hundred dollars in my checking account. What a journey. I have been blessed in so many ways.
Baruch HaShem.
This year at the CCAR Convention 2024 in Philadelphia, we celebrated all of the CCAR rabbis celebrating 50 years in the rabbinate. We are honored to include Rabbi James Mirel in this year’s 50-year rabbis and ordination class of 1974.
Rabbi Dalia Marx, PhD, is the author of From Time to Time: Journeys in the Jewish Calendar, now available from CCAR Press. In this excerpt, she discusses the importance of acknowledging the crucial role that women play in the Passover story and elsewhere in Jewish tradition.
Many women sense that elements of Jewish tradition leave them mute and unrepresented. We cannot deny the exclusion of women from the public realm over the course of far too many generations, but if we take a close look at the events that form the basis of the Passover holiday, we will find that strong, active, and optimistic women occupy a central place in the narrative. This is an important precedent for women in our time who are looking for their place in Jewish tradition. The story of the redemption from Egypt began and was made possible by dint of the actions of dedicated women who refused to give in to despair.
The Hebrew women refused to knuckle under to Pharaoh’s murderous order and continued to bring life into this world. Jochebed, Moses’s mother, is one of them; she gave birth and protected her son from Pharaoh’s decree. Her daughter, Miriam, hid the newborn in a basket of reeds and set him floating on the Nile. The midwives who attended Jochebed also chose the path of rebellion and showed mercy to the Hebrew babies. Who were those midwives? Pharaoh called them “the Hebrew midwives” (Exodus 1:15). It is possible to read this and understand they are “Hebrew midwives,” but it is also possible to read the phrase as “the midwives of the Hebrews,” meaning that they themselves were not Hebrews but bravely cooperated with the women of the enslaved nation to keep the newborn boys alive.
Pharaoh’s daughter herself refused to take part in her father’s murderous plans. When she saw the helpless baby brought to her by the Nile, her human compassion overruled her social and class attachments. A midrash calls Pharaoh’s daughter “Bityah” (see Babylonian Talmud, M’gillah 13a), and she has been regarded by the Jewish tradition as a righteous woman and even a Jew-by-choice. Miriam then ensured that Jochebed, her mother, would be the one to nurse Moses in Pharaoh’s house, so that he would imbibe—both literally and figuratively—his first human experiences in the arms of the people Israel.
Reading Jewish sources with a fresh eye makes it possible for women to demand their rightful place. This is not a mere act of intellectual sophistication, nor is it bending the texts to one’s own will. Just the act of reading the sources anew is liberating. It gives expression to multiple pure voices that have been suppressed and silenced—and after all, liberation is one of the central themes of Passover. Many people are now attempting not only to make the place of women equal to that of men at the seder table, but also to find special ways to highlight their function and role in the story of the nation and the family.
Rabbi Dalia Marx, PhD, is the Rabbi Aaron D. Panken Professor of Liturgy at Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion (HUC-JIR) in Jerusalem. She is the chief editor of T’filat HaAdam, the Israeli Reform prayer book (MaRaM, 2020). From Time to Time: Journeys in the Jewish Calendar was first published in Israel in 2018 as Bazman and has been translated into German, Spanish, and now English.
CCAR Press Editor Rabbi Annie Villarreal-Belford discusses bringing a rabbinic touch to the work of guiding authors and their books through the publication process.
When I left the congregational rabbinate after eighteen years and started working for CCAR Press as their new editor, I had no idea what to expect. It is true that I worked for the URJ Press for two years as an intern while in rabbinical school, but my entire working life since ordination consisted of serving congregations. Being a rabbi, for many of us and definitely for me, was never just a job—it was holy service, it was my identity, it was my soul’s calling. What kind of rabbi would I be now?
We all have a different understanding of what it means to be a rabbi: a teacher, a leader, a guide, a counselor, a sh’liach tzibur (prayer leader), a manager. The list stretches on, and while I spent a great many hours in all of these roles, I have always believed that being a rabbi means recognizing and affirming others’ inner lights, and helping them shine those lights into the world. I worried that even though I was ready to leave congregational work I would no longer be able to do that work of seeing and uplifting inner light. In the past two years as editor at CCAR Press, I learned how pointless that worrying was.
As an editor, I am extremely privileged to read and work with our authors, phenomenal colleagues who already have a strong sense of their inner light. Sometimes, though, it is hard to translate that sense into words on paper, and this is where I can lean into my sense of what it means to be a rabbi. I try to find the essential voice that flows through the books I edit and clarify, refine, and shine a light on it. I am an editor, yes. And I am also serving as rabbi to the text and its author—recognizing and affirming the author’s inner light as revealed through their words, and helping them shine their lights even more clearly and brightly into the world.
When I left the congregational rabbinate after eighteen years and started working as an editor, I didn’t know that I would still be serving as a rabbi, albeit in a novel (no pun intended) way.
Rabbi Oded Mazor is a Reform rabbi living in Jerusalem, where he leads Kehilat Kol Haneshama. During CCAR’s annual rabbinic Convention—held this March 2024 in Philadelphia—he was asked to address an audience of his rabbinic peers and reflect upon life in Israel during the war, specifically the day after the war ends. Below are his powerful reflections.
We were asked to talk about “the day after.”
In the last few days, two quotes from the תפילה (t’filah, prayer)passed before my eyes, bringing two different feelings that many of us feel these days, about the present and about the future.
On Shabbat, the words that struck me the most were not easy ones. Do you remember the words ואל תטשנו יי אלוהינו לנצח (Al titshenu Adonai Eloheinu l’netzach)?i How should we translate these words? What does the word לנצח (la’netzach, forever) refer to in this phrase? Does it mean, “God, don’t ever forsake us?” Or does it mean, “God, don’t forsake us forever?” It’s not the same thing.
I’m going to refer to a few people in my congregation, Kol HaNeshama in Jerusalem.
The first, her name is Esther. She is eighty-seven years old. She teaches a Torah class every other week, for twelve years now. She’s incredible! And she comes to me every other week with a suggestion for an alternative Haftarah for the next Shabbat, a different reading that we can have from the נביאים (n’vi’im, Prophets) or from the כתובים (k’tuvim, Writings), to understand the Torah portion in a different way, two weeks from now!
Two years or so ago, when we were in the middle of Covid, and I met with her and spoke with her—and, thanks to her, we still have a morning meditation twice a week on Zoom, because even now that we’re allowed to be in the synagogue, the pace that we set during Covid, to meeting on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 9:30 in the morning for meditation, we’re still doing it, with more than a minyan on most days. I remember sitting with Esther in her room, and the way she looked at reality and היום אחרי (ha-yom acharei, the day after), she said, “I know the cure is going to be found. We’re going to get over Covid. I’m just not sure I’m going to be here.” ואל תטשנו יי אלוהינו לנצח (V’al titshenu Adonai Eloheinu l’netzach). This feeling of my personal נצח (netzach), my personal “ever,” I feel that I’m already forsaken. Maybe this is going to be the reality. That’s what Esther was feeling during Covid. I think she feels like that again right now, these days.
But when we were saying the Hallel here in Philadelphia, the verse לא אמות כי אחיה (Lo amut ki echyeh, “I shall not die but live”) came to me from the Hallel, as an answer to my feeling of ואל תטשנו יי אלוהינו לנצח (V’al titshenu Adonai Eloheinu l’netzach), insisting on this לא אמות כי אחיה (Lo amut ki echyeh), ואספר מעשי יה (V’asaper ma’aseh Yah), “I will not die but live, and I will tell the deeds of God” (Psalms 118:17). Now obviously, we all know we’re not going to live forever; but as a mental source of strength to ourselves, we may affirm: לא אמות כי אחיה (Lo amut ki echyeh, “I will not die but live”).
Thinking about the day after, I’m also thinking about the manager of our congregation, Anna. Her cousin is Karina Arayev.She’s one of the women soldiers kidnapped from the Nachal Oz base on October 7. For many, many, many awful weeks, Anna’s uncle and aunt (Karina’s parents), and the whole family—which is a rather small family of Ukrainian Jews—didn’t know anything about Karina and her situation. Three weeks ago, Hamas released a short film with three women talking. One of them was Karina. That’s the first time that they received any message, if we can call it that.
When Anna is thinking about היום אחרי (hayom acharei, the day after), there is no יום אחרי (yom acharei, day after) without Karina coming home. Karina’s parents, Anna’s aunt and uncle, told her that very explicitly: If she doesn’t come home, there is no day after. We try as a community to be there with Anna and her family the whole time through. When we say “the whole time through,” it means that, weeks ago, too many weeks ago, when the first groups of hostages were released, every time a group of hostages came back home and Karina was not amongst them, we were rejoicing with the families who received their loved ones back home; but we were in pain with Anna’s family, with Karina’s family, and the families of all the hostages who are still waiting and have no idea—and had no idea, until the first group of people came off the Hamas vehicle, and still have no idea.
Nati is not a member of our congregation. She is definitely a very close friend of our congregation. She’s not a member of our congregation because she lives on Kibbutz Or Haner, a few kilometers from Gaza. The next kibbutz up the road, further from Gaza, was not evacuated. The next kibbutz to the west was the kibbutz that stopped the terrorists from infiltrating Or Haner, Kibbutz Erez. Nati and others from Kibbutz Or Haner were moved to Tiberias on October 8. They were there for a month, and then they were offered to move from Tiberias to Jerusalem, to the Orient Hotel. Have you ever been to the Orient Hotel? That place was, for three months, a refugee camp for the people from Or Haner. Nati is the chair of K’hilat Sha’ar HaNegev, led by our dearest colleague, Rabbi Yael Vurgan. When they were moved from Tiberias to Jerusalem, Yael made the connection between Nati and me, and we met in the lobby of the Orient Hotel, which didn’t look anything like what you remember from the Orient Hotel’s lobby. The walls were the same, but nothing else. And I sat there with Nati and her husband, Damian. From that meeting on, every Kabbalat Shabbat and every Shabbat morning, Nati and their younger son, Noam, were with us at Kol HaNeshama. Noam would come and stand next to me and with the other children from Kol HaNeshama for opening and closing the Ark. And his job came to be holding my סידור (siddur, prayer book) when I put the Torah Scroll inside the ארון (aron, Ark), and then I would give him a hug when we sang דרכיה דרכי נועם (d’racheiha darchei no’am, its ways are ways of pleasantness).
A month ago, they returned to their home in Or Haner. What does היום אחרי (hayom acharei, the day after) mean, when you return to your kibbutz, just a few kilometers from Gaza, and the kids go to school, and some of their friends are not there anymore and will never be? And some of their friends will be there, but still are someplace else around Israel and not yet allowed to come back. What it meant for Nati: Returning home is to go pick the lemons from the lemon tree in their yard. היום אחרי (hayom acharei, the day after) will be to know that this lemon tree will give lemons again next year as well.
And if we’re talking about picking lemons, Debbie is a member of our congregation. Debbie retired from being a lawyer at משרד הרווחה (Misrad HaR’vachah, the Ministry of Welfare) just a few months ago, in August. She didn’t know what she was going to do in her retirement. What she has been doing for the past five months—on top of worrying about her three children, all three of whom were recruited to the army—she has been organizing our volunteering in agriculture, twice a week, every week, for the past four months. Ten to twenty people on each group from Kol HaNeshama, from the area, and people from abroad who hear about it and ask, “Can we join?” One of them is a very dear friend of mine, Rabbi Aaron Goldstein from London. When he told me that he was coming to visit a month and a half after October 7, he asked, “Can I do anything with you?” I said, “OK. Let’s join the agricultural volunteering,” and we planted broccoli. The name Aaron gave it is “brocco-therapy.” It was walking in the field and planting broccoli, one after the other, one after the other. “The day after” will be when Aaron comes again with his congregation and shows them, “You see, this field? Now we’re going to plant another line of broccoli together.”
My deepest sense of היום שאחרי (hayom sh’acharei, the day after)—and I hope this time I won’t dissolve into too many tears—every day is when I drive my children to school, to the יד ביד (Yad b’Yad, Hand in Hand), bilingual school in Jerusalem, that has been functioning incredibly in these months. Since it’s a rather new building, they have enough shelters in the building, so they were able to return to a regular schedule in the school as soon as anyone was allowed, because they have enough shelters. Many other schools had to require the children to come in shifts—a day yes, a day no; in the morning or in the afternoon—because they only had so much room in the shelters. But the Yad b’Yad school in Jerusalem, of all places, has enough room in the shelters to have everybody coming on the same day from the first day that was allowed in Jerusalem. And every day when I get the privilege that my schedule allows me to drop them off and pick them up at school, and see their teachers and see their friends—Jews and Arabs, Palestinians who live in West Jerusalem, Palestinians who live in East Jerusalem, Palestinians from across the checkpoint to Bethlehem, from Beit Sahour and Beit Jala.
Some of their teachers were not allowed to come to school in the first few weeks, because they’re on the other side of the checkpoint. Some of their teachers couldn’t come to school because they have little children who had nowhere to go, and the other parent was in מילואים (miluim, reserve duty). And these teachers have to come to school and teach in the same class. And I was told an incredible story by one of my kids’ teachers. In another class, the Jewish teacher was teaching, and the Muslim teacher was there with her. One of the grown children of the Jewish teacher walked in the room in uniform, having come back home from the army. He asked his mother to go out with him for a coffee. His mother told him, “I can’t go. I’m teaching now.” And the Palestinian teacher said, “Of course you should go with him! He’s your son! He came home!” She understood that as a mother, even though that son came into the class in uniform, and I can only imagine what that meant for the Palestinian teacher. That mother had to go with the son who came from the battlefield. What they didn’t know was that the reason he came to get her to go out for coffee was that, at the coffee shop, the other son who came home from מילואים (miluim, reserve duty) was waiting.
My children came with us to many of the הפגנות (hafganot, demonstrations) in Jerusalem in the past few months. The two younger ones said that they’re not willing to come any more after, at one of these demonstrations, they saw how I was screaming, לא תהיה לבן-גביר מיליציה (l’Ben-Gvir lo tihyeh militziah, “No private militia for Ben-Gvir!”). There was a proposition that there would be some kind of force that would be under Ben-Gvir’s direct supervision. I think that got them really scared, not so much Ben-Gvir’s militia, but seeing me screaming that way. They prefer being with their Arab Palestinian homeroom teacher, their Jewish homeroom teacher, and their friends, whom they might get along with or not get along with. It’s OK. They’re children in school; that’s what happens. It’s not heaven in that school. It’s the normal life that we want to see.
It’s the day after that we pray for.
Will Esther live to see it? Will Karina come back to see it? Will Nati really be able to feel it also in Or Haner, seven kilometers from Gaza? Will Debbie’s three children, coming back from the army, be willing to take part in it, after what they have experienced?
But my children are going to school. And on מוצאי שושן פורים (motz’ei Shushan Purim, the night that Shushan Purim ends), in Jerusalem, in the courtyard of Kol HaNeshama, we’re going to have an Iftar meal for the families of our daughter’s class.
Rabbi Vanessa M. Harper is the author ofLoaves of Torah: Exploring the Jewish Year through Challah, recently published by CCAR Press. In this interview, she explains the importance of challah in Jewish tradition, her creative process, and why it’s important to embrace alternative ways of engaging in Torah study.
What is the significance of challah in Judaism?
Challah is no ordinary bread. It is rich with religious and spiritual resonance, as well as powerful sensory memories that are often connected to community and culture, making it one of the few loci on which the increasing number of Jews who identify as cultural or non-religious—as well as religious and/or spiritually-oriented Jews of all denominations—are able to come together with equal levels of enjoyment, access, and license to innovate.
Religiously, challah connects back to the biblical practice of tithing (still in effect today for those who perform hafrashat challah with their dough; see Numbers 15:17–21) and to the sacrificial altar (many challah shapes are inspired by the twelve lechem panim described in Leviticus 24:5–9). On a spiritual level, making and shaping challah dough also offers a microcosmic connection to Creation. Culturally, challah has taken on many different flavors and shapes over the centuries, but it has always been a beloved feature of the Shabbat and holiday table. It’s a beautiful and delicious form of identification, as well as physical and spiritual nourishment!
Why did you choose challah as your artistic medium?
It might be more accurate to say that challah chose me. This project started as an experiment, and it turned out that challah dough happened to be a medium that ignited my creativity. One thing I love about working with dough is that it is a medium with boundaries—it’s not as versatile as clay, for instance, and you have to learn how to work with it—and that it is alive, and thus has some input into the final product, based on how it rises, etc. In that way, it’s very much like studying with a chavruta (study partner).
When planning one of your challot, how do you choose the symbol or image you want to bring to life?
I always start by reading the parashah, or studying texts on the holiday or month for which I’m shaping. I try to go in with my mind open to any words, images, or concepts that stand out to me, and I take a very broad idea to the kitchen counter. The interpretation usually starts to take shape as I’m actually working with the dough. I don’t always know exactly how it’s going to turn out, and sometimes the best shapes emerge when I go into shaping without any ideas in mind at all.
Why is it important to incorporate creative techniques when studying Torah?
Studies show that when we are actively using our hands, we activate different pathways in our brain, and we make connections we may not have otherwise made. I know that I certainly think differently and see through different lenses when I’m shaping dough than I do when writing a sermon or preparing a traditional text study, and so for me one of the great personal benefits of this practice is that it expands my understanding of Torah. For many people who do not process or express themselves best in traditional formats like reading, writing, and speaking, incorporating creative approaches to Torah study opens up an ability to approach the text at all, or to express a novel interpretation of its wisdom—one which might not have surfaced if the opportunity to work in another kind of expressive language wasn’t made available.
What are some lessons you hope readers take away from Loaves of Torah?
A person’s Torah is only revealed when we create space for the language which their soul speaks to flourish, and my deepest hope is that Loaves of Torah creates some of that space for new Torah to be revealed by inviting more languages and more voices into our Jewish learning and living spaces. This book is, at its heart, an invitation to engage with Torah in a way that is playful and personal, modern and multifaceted, and through that engagement, I hope you’ll find a lens that helps you make Torah your own.
Rabbi Vanessa M. Harper is Senior Director of Adult Jewish Living at Temple Beth Elohim in Wellesley, Massachusetts, and Reform Rabbi in Residence at Gann Academy. She is the author ofLoaves of Torah: Exploring the Jewish Year through Challah(CCAR Press, 2023).
