Tag: Shave for the Brave

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CCAR Convention General CCAR Rabbis Reform Judaism

Healing and Strengthened With Friends at the CCAR Convention

I come to the CCAR Convention every year for many reasons. I want to learn, refine, rediscover and build rabbinic skills, and I want to spend time with my colleagues and friends. And this year especially, I not only wanted to but truly NEEDED to be with my colleagues and friends.

It’s been a long six weeks since the fire at my congregation TBS that not only destroyed our kitchen, but also brought our building to its skeleton because of the smoke and soot damage.  For me, my entire staff and amazing lay leadership, days have been long and involved, and to be honest, we are all exhausted. Coming to CCAR was a welcome moment to step away and hope to fulfill the goals I set out with every year. But this conference would become something more.

As in this week’s Torah portion during which the priest is called to the house or bedside of someone with tza’ara (a visible growth or skin disease) he was expected to investigate if the person was in fact clean once again, in other words cured. This portion is one of two that is challenging because we automatically fall into the “gross factor” and challenge the portions relevance. However, there are positive blessings as the priest was not only the spiritual practitioner for the people, he was also the physician, seeking healing for anyone in his community. He brought support and strength.

This year’s CCAR is filled with many “priests” (aka, colleagues and friends) who seek to bring healing and invite me, and actually all of us to recognize that the tza’arot that plague our lives are not insurmountable. That they can be cleaned and we can be made whole and able to embrace a new normal.

I have been overwhelmed by the love and support of every CCAR colleague and friend who read my post about our TBS fire and have offered support on all levels. Many of you I know and some are new to me. Each of you are a part of my rabbinic family and your compassion is felt deeply. Everyone of you have overwhelmed me in the most amazing way and I am feeling inspired, healed, whole and ready for the next chapter of our congregations journey toward recovery.

10003475_10152094270038196_640183136_nAnd the support knows no boundaries. Last night, 54 rabbis shaved their heads, participating in St. Baldrick’s 36 Shave for the Brave in loving support of our colleagues and friends Rabbis Michael and Phyllis Sommer and in memory of their son, Sammy, z’l, who lost his battle to leukemia in December. Last night we gathered to support those who shaved (and I even wielded the shears for one shavee) as we celebrated raising over $575,000 (and that number continues to grow) toward childhood cancer research. We also mourned because  this event reminds us that too many children are dying. While some may say this is only a drop in the bucket, we know that every drop counts and eventually the bucket will be filled and we pray no family will ever have to lose another child to cancer.

We come to the CCAR Convention to learn, grow and yes, to heal. And together, we find it and create the moments. And tomorrow, we will leave stronger, more whole, and blessed. I know I am.

Rabbi Heidi Cohen is the rabbi of Temple Beth Shalom in Santa Ana, CA. This post originally appeared on her blog, ravima.com

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CCAR Convention

#36rabbis – Why I’m Moved to Shave

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I am about 2 hrs and 10 minutes away from shave-time, and it occurs to me that I should probably try to put into words why it is that I’m heading up to the local SuperCuts to shave my head for the first time in my life.
(What does it say about me that I still get my hair cut at SuperCuts?)
I should probably not be surprised that the SuperCuts website, which promotes these recommended hair styles if I aspire to be ‘cool like a rock star’, does not feature the bald look.  That’s a shame, because it turns out that there are plenty of famous rock stars that are bald.  (Yes, I voluntarily paid good money as a kid to see Phil Collins in concert.  File that under #whatnerdyfuturerabbisdo.)Anyway…I digress.  Why will I be shaving off all of my hair (at the aforementioned SuperCuts) in 1 hr 55 minutes?

To begin, you might notice from the picture above that I’ve already shaved off my beard.  (For some reason, every time I say the word “beard,” my three year old son Avi hilariously gives me a sing-song shout-out by proclaiming “your beard!!!” and then he spontaneously cracks up.  It’s funny and mysterious all at the same time).  

I’ve had a beard pretty much permanently since….college?  I typically shave the beard off only once a year: the day before Passover, as a way of connecting to the spiritual meaning of growth that I believe is implicit in the season of the Counting of the Omer.

In that sense, the first thing that is disorienting for me today is the fact that my beard is gone…two weeks early.  I’ve lost something….a part of myself….and even though the loss was voluntary…and even though it is entirely cosmetic…and even though it will (God-willing) grow back…it is a loss nonetheless.  On some level, simply by shaving my beard, I have entered into the world of grief and mourning.

There are other emotions and sensations that I am aware of.

Simply by shaving my beard, I am becoming re-acquainted with how my face feels.  It’s a funny way of saying it – but a beard is something of a firewall against certain facial sensations.  With the beard gone, I can feel again…the smoothness of my face, and in doing so: I feel…younger.

In this wonderfully liberating way (akin to when I put on a Phillies hat instead of a kippah), I feel less like a rabbi, and more like a regular person. That’s important to me right now….with 1 hr 35 minutes to go.  Because even though, on the surface, this is about rabbis (Phyllis and Michael are my colleagues, and someone decided to call this group #36rabbis), being a rabbi has absolutely nothing to do with my reasoning to shave my head.

My colleagues and I are prone to tweet pithy status updates with the hashtag #whatrabbisdo.  But, honestly, for me….a more honest description about my act might be #whatpeopledo.  Or at the very least: #whatpeopleshoulddo.

We should care, I think, that in the year 2014, when we are privileged to live in moment of history in which it is possible to accurately measure the age of the universe, and when it is possible to send messages to one another from our phones from one side of the globe to the next….I think we should care that in this moment, that it is wrong…existentially speaking…that children should inexplicably die from incurable cancer.

And so, rather than complain about it from the sidelines, I’ve decided to do something about it.  I’m going to shave my head (in 1 hr 21 minutes) to raise awareness (on the presumption that people will be asking me 1000 times over the next few weeks why I’ve shaved my head).  And I’ve made (in brutal honesty, a relatively minimal) gift of tzedakah to do my part to work for a cure.  (You can give too, via St. Baldrick’s.)

But there’s another reason that I’ve decided to go down this road.

We are supposed to say Baruch Dayan Ha-Emet when news reaches us of a loved one’s death, acknowledging that however painful the loss, that there must be a divine sense of justice/order in it.  God has God’s reasoning, even if we are not privileged to know it.

I’m relatively far removed from Michael, Phyllis, and their family.  I don’t think I ever had the honor of meeting their son Sam – I was going to write “may his memory live on to be for a blessing” but the absolutely extraordinary thing is that, from my vantage point, it already has – anyway…I never had the honor of meeting Sam (again I think of my son, Avi, and their shared identification with Superman), and yet…for me: Baruch Dayan Ha-Emet was not something I could say when I learned of Sam’s passing.

I knew it was coming.  I had been following all of the Tweets, and the Facebook messages, and had heard through the grapevine.

And yet in the moment of hearing the news, I would not and could not say the words.  There was/is to me an absurdity associated, this year, and on this day, with the notion of believing in a God that would want Baruch Dayan Ha-Emet to be recited on the loss of a child.  I have still not been able to make sense of that, theologically.  As a rabbi: sure…I would be happy to refer you to Kushner, or if we’re feeling more bold, maybe Rubenstein.

But I’m not a rabbi right now.  I’m a person.  

I’m a person that – during this entire journey that Phyllis and Michael have been on – I’m a person that only succeeded in picking up the phone once (went to voicemail) to offer my support.  Three times I sat down with pen and paper to write a real, live letter to them – and all of those wound up in the trash, along with countless draft emails.  Mostly because, as a person, I could not summon the necessary empathy…could not begin to imagine whatever it was that they have been feeling.

Yes, I’m a father.  But the fact that I’m a father I think has actually made it harder for me to empathize in this case.  Because even though the Sommers’ loss has spurred me to new heights of gratitude, in terms of appreciating the miraculous and blessed existence of Siona and Avi (I feel selfish in this moment admitting that)…nonetheless: how could that possibly enable me to connect (on some human level) to the way that their family has changed?

It is no doubt utterly selfish (yikes, there’s that word again) of me.  But I am shaving my head – not just out of a sense of solidarity with Phyllis and Michael, and all of the other friends and colleagues that are gathered at this very moment in Chicago, while I remain here in New York…but also out of the misguided hope that shaving my head will spark .00001% more empathy for me, that I might have a tiny additional sense of what it means to be a human being (and to connect to others human beings) in this world.  

To put it another way: I hope and pray that this act of ‘othering myself’ in 1 hr 2 minutes will actually have the opposite effect: that I will grow into a deeper sense of awareness, and maybe even peacefulness.  Not with God…for the time being, that ship has sailed.  I cannot claim to understand the logic of God in all of this.  But maybe a deeper sense of awareness and peacefulness with the rest of humanity….of what it means to be alive, and grateful for that gift of life…and of what it means to love, and to lose.

…הִנְנִי מוּכָן וּמְזֻמָּן

I am hereby ready and prepared: to try harder at fulfilling the mitzvah of being present for friends and colleagues; to try harder at fulfilling the mitzvah of tikkun olam by addressing all of brokenness that pervades our world; and most importantly: I am ready and prepared, to shave my head, and to perhaps attain a fuller sense of what it means to be human in the process.

Sending my hugs, and all of my love…or at least as much as the Internet can carry…to Phyllis and Michael, and to every one of my friends and colleagues in Chicago.

48 minutes to go.  SuperCuts: here I come.

Rabbi Jeffrey Brown serves at Scarsdale Synagogue Temples Tremont & Emanu-El. This was first published on Rabbi Brown’s Blog.
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CCAR Convention

It’s my parents’ fault I’m shaving my head

As I awoke this morning and ran my fingers through my hair, I tried to recall my earliest memories of doing g’milut chasadim (acts of loving kindness) and taking action for social justice.  I was flooded with memories that go back many years.

Probably my earliest memory is of my father Mark Novak running for United States Congress.

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I recall hanging out in his campaign office, my first ride in a convertible as we participated in a Fourth of July parade.  As a 5-year-old I’m sure I didn’t quite understand what it was he was doing, but now I know that it was one of his many efforts to put values into action.

One of my favorite family stories to tell is of my grandfather, Elmer Novak, who singlehandedly integrated the elementary schools in his small southern town of Salem, IL.  When some of the farmers came to him and said, “Mr. Novak, what are we going to do?  So-and-so’s daughter is now old enough to go to school!”  My “friend” Elmer said, “She’s going to go to school!”  And she did.

I remember collecting quarters for JNF to plant trees in Israel, and visiting the elderly at the Jewish Home.

I remember my mom not buying grapes and teaching us about the grape boycott.

I remember teacher strikes and my parents commitment to not crossing the picket lines.

I remember that dinner at Bob’s Big Boy on evening after Hebrew school when mom and dad suggested to Debbie and me that perhaps instead of getting bat mitzvah presents we should ask our family and friends to make donations to tzedakah. Debbie and I chose two temple funds that our family had been active in supporting: relief for Soviet and Iranian Jewry and relief for Cambodian and Vietnamese refugees. I still have the list of all the people who made donations, with our 13-year old scribbles of who wrote which thank you note.

Just months earlier our family had participated in sponsoring a Vietnamese refugee family so that they could find safety in the United States.  Debbie and I cleaned out our closest of clothes and toys in hopes of helping a frightened 5-year-old girl and her family (mom, dad, older brother). We helped mom pull together housewares and essentials for this family who became a part of our own.  Mom is still close today with that little girl who is now a grown woman and mother.

And this is all before high school!

So, when I reflect this morning on why I am shaving my head I have come to two conclusions.

1. It’s my parent’s fault.  We can blame our parents for lots of things.  They get lots of positive credit for this one.  My parents taught me the importance of helping others, for fighting against injustice.  They taught me to take responsibility in our world and help make change. They taught all of us – my sister and brother and me – to live out the Jewish values with which they raised us.

2.  It’s who I am.  My dear friends and colleagues know that I live by the teachings of Rabbi Tarfon.  My parents, my Jewish community, my teachers and mentors have all taught me that I can make a difference in the world.  So, when my friends Rebecca and Liz and Phyllis invited me to participate in#36rabbis Shave for the Brave, I could not sit idly by.

shave for the brave

Today is for the Sommers and all the families who have experienced the loss of a child.

Today is for those in my life who are currently fighting their own battles with cancer.

Today is for all those who have helped me reach – and surpass – my fundraising goal.  (Let’s keep it going!)

My daily meditation these past couple months has been from the lyrics of a traditional gospel song, recently adapted into Hebrew with the verses of Psalm 118:19.  It is with these words on my heart, that I shave my head tonight.

Lord prepare me to be sanctuary Pure and holy, tried and true
And with thanksgiving, I’ll be a living Sanctuary for you.

Pitchu li sha’arei tzedek avo-vam ode Yah

Open the gates of righteousness for me that I may enter them and praise God.

Rabbi Laura Novak Winer serves as the First Vice-President of the Board of the National Association of Temple Educators. This was originally posted on her blog, Rabbi Laura.

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CCAR Convention

Health and Healing, Wholeness and Holiness

In the Torah portion this week, the priests of ancient Israel find that their religious responsibilities include a role as a public health official.  With ritual and commandment, they help individuals confront a particular disease.  Physical health is an important component of spiritual well-being, and the priest has an important role to play in both.  Their goal is to help bring into the world health and healing, wholeness and holiness.

I am not a priest of ancient Israel.  I am not a doctor or a medical researcher.  I can’t cure cancer or heal an ailing child.  But I can raise awareness of pediatric cancer and raise money for research into its cures.  And I will shave my head tonight, along with so many of my rabbinic colleagues, in order to do so.  We stand together in the proud tradition of those seek the spiritual and physical well-being of others.  And our goals are the same as our priestly forbearers:  to bring into the world health and healing, wholeness and holiness.

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CCAR Convention Rabbis

Why I am shaving my head – to bring holiness into my life and our world

I have made lots of jokes about growing my hair out (as best as I could) for this fundraiser for St Baldricks Foundation in honor of a little boy who died this year… A boy whom I have never met. I am only acquaintances with his parents – fellow Reform rabbis. As I see women and men start to shave their heads in solidarity with this family and these children who are fighting their cancers, I am truly in awe.

I am in awe not only for the almost two dozen women who are participating in this “36 Shave for the Brave,” not only because there are 100 rabbis signed up for this, not only because they have raised over $528,000… But because there is an energy around people making a difference and doing something that is holy.

These shavees are walking around with hair longer than they ever would have tolerated before: unkept, hard-to-manage, not so appealing… to emphasize their experience in the shave. I am reminded of the Nazir in the Torah who takes on an oath and separates her/himself, takes on additional burdens, in order to designate her/his life to serving God in a unique way. It wasn’t necessary for these people to choose to do this. But they did it anyway. At the end of their service, they shave their hair that was previously consecrated to God. While they were in this temporary status as a Nazir, they could not shave their heads. Here at the annual conference of the Central Conference of American Rabbis, representing Reform Rabbis in North America, I see a whole host of people consecrating their beloved hair to God, preparing to shave it off in order to fight childhood cancer, to honor the spiritual courage of a family who experienced a loss few of us can understand, to remember a little boy who was a superhero to many, and to bring some holiness to our lives when the chaos embedded in Creation strikes.

May Superman Sam’s memory be an enduring blessing to his family and to all of us. May we reach this goal of $540,000. May people be inspired to do their part – through shaving their heads, making acts of tzedakah, and bringing comfort to a family still in pain. And may we bring holiness into our lives and our world by making a difference and showing God we care.

You can support my shave, read about the back story, or view the live stream on Tuesday night.

Thank you for supporting my modest fundraising efforts and for enabling me to do this holy act.

Rabbi Frederick Greene serves Temple Beth Tikvah in Roswell, GA. This was originally posted on his blog, Ayekah – Where Are You?

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CCAR Convention General CCAR Rabbis Reform Judaism Social Justice

Shave for the Brave: A “Magical” Moment

I was thinking so much about Sammy this past Purim.  He was a kid who loved all things fun and magical and creative.  One of the things I learned early on with Sammy is that you have to have a gimmick with him in order to get “in” to his world.  He loved jokes and so we were able to connect a little bit over humor.  He loved Angry Birds, and so I was thankful when I learned I could get him to sit on my lap if I handed him my phone with Angry Birds already open and ready for him to play with.  He  also LOVED magic.

I’ve known Sammy since the day he arrived.  His parents are some of my best friends and I was there a few days after he was born.  I remember it like it was yesterday – I walked into their home and crept up slowly to the sleeping newborn, just to get a peek of him.  Suddenly, like magic (or my loud footsteps) he awoke and shined those bright eyes on me. It was a great moment.  And there were many great moments to follow.  Until, the not-so-great moments came.

Sammy Magic 2After Sammy’s cancer relapsed in 2013, I went to go visit him, in May, at the hospital.  Determined to bring a little something that I thought would brighten Sammy’s day, I came into the room with my bag full of tricks.  Literally!  I brought Sammy some magic tricks with lights and balls and bags.  But, the thing he loved the most, that day, was the Magic Hat I brought him from FAO Schwartz.  He could even pull a stuffed bunny out of the hat!!! It all brought a smile to Sammy’s face that I will never forget. It looked like my work as “Auntie Liz” was done!

Sadly, it was not.  I was there a few days after Sammy was born and I was there the day after Sammy died, in December.  I sat and cried with my friends and family and their family who are like my own family. I helped David, Sammy’s brother, buy clothes for the funeral.   I helped carry Sammy’s body, through the cold and snow, at the cemetery to help bury Sammy and say goodbye to his physical presence.  It was the greatest honor I could have, as his Auntie Liz, to be there for him, even when he was no longer there.

We are still here for Sammy, and we are here for many, many other families that are struggling with the pain associated with pediatric cancer.  While Sammy was sick, there were so many people from around the world that were touched by the Sommer’s story and their blog.  Everyone wanted to help, but really didn’t know what to do.  Well, now there is something that is being done.  Phyllis Sommer and Rebecca Einstein Schorr decided that they could convince 36 Rabbis to shave their heads and raise funds for pediatric cancer research, in honor of Sammy’s memory.  The “shave” is being run through the St. Baldrick’s foundation and is taking place on April 1st at the CCAR convention in Chicago, IL – Sammy’s hometown.  The intention was to raise $180,000 from 36 rabbis.  But so many people signed on that we have almost 100 people who have raised more than $420,000 for this event.  It’s almost like, magic….

And that moment, at the Shave on April 1st will truly be magical.  We will watch as Sammy’s parents, Michael and Phyllis, shave their heads.  We will watch as other Rabbis, men and women, shave their heads in honor of Sammy’s memory and in honor of so many other kids out there who struggle every day.  We will watch, in these next few weeks, as our numbers of dollars raised continue to rise and rise and rise.  I am so proud of what my colleagues have done and I am so proud to help be an event organizer for this special and magical moment.  But, most of all, I am proud that I got to know and love Sammy, that I got to be his Auntie Liz, and that he has inspired so many people to continue to work their own magic, in the world.

Sammy and Liz

Rabbi Elizabeth S. Wood serves The Reform Temple of Forest Hills, NY.

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CCAR Convention Rabbis Social Justice

Why I am Shaving My Head: Shave for the Brave

Beginning on April 1st our community will have a bald rabbi, at least for a little while, as I will be participating with about 60 of my colleagues in a fundraiser to raise awareness of and funds to combat childhood cancers. We are participating as a rabbinic community in a St. Baldrick’s event which will take place at our annual CCAR rabbinic convention. While it is a public event, it feels deeply personal. Every day when I awake I give thanks that I and my family are healthy and well. I give thanks with the humility that comes from knowing that our good fortune is not shared by every family in our community. I suppose that there is inside of most rabbis a recognition that while we are able to walk with families in their pain there is little we can do to prevent it.

I am allowing my head to be shaved because there is so little else I can do. I am not a big fan of personal public spectacle except on Purim. The idea of sitting on a stage while my head is shaved makes my stomach turn. For Jews head shaving is biblically symbolic of outrageous grief and it is historically connected to the utter horror so many in our community suffered through during the Shoah. I know that for the St. Baldrick’s foundation head shaving symbolizes solidarity and connection with those who lose their hair to cancer treatments. It is different for me and I suspect for many of the rabbis I am participating with in this campaign.

I am allowing my head to be shaved out of frustration, and helplessness, and grief, and pain from seeing too many children suffer and some die from cancer. Frankly and honestly I am allowing my head to be shaved as a small gesture to raise awareness and money for research to combat childhood cancers. The fact that I cannot save these children or spare their families from fathomless pain does not allow me to do nothing. So, I am shaving my head to raise a little bit of money to help fund cancer research so that as a society we may one day reach a point where families like  Michael and Phyllis Sommer’s no longer have to mourn the premature death of a child and so that families like Lee Kantz and Rebekah Cowing’s are able to find a speedy cure for their nephew Ben.

So, do not worry when you see me without hair. I am fine. I am shaving my head because many other families are not. If you would like to donate please do so here.

Rabbi Max Weiss serves Oak Park Temple in Oak Park, IL
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Ethics News Rabbis Reform Judaism

Thank You for Sharing: Going Public With the Private

The editors at MyJewishLearning.org posted a question on its website a week ago Monday.  Commenting on an article the death of “Superman Sam” Sommer, they asked, “What do you think about publicly sharing a loved one’s illness and death?”

Anyone who resides under the expansive tent created by Rabbis Phyllis and Michael Sommer, and Phyllis’ powerful and poignant blog, Superman Sam, know heart-achingly well of the struggles, early triumphs, later set-backs, and the awful, awful path along which they have had to travel.  One stage of their journey ended very early Shabbat morning, December 14 when their beloved, precious Sam took his final breath, not long after Phyllis recited the bedtime Sh’ma to him.

The reason why I, a friend and colleague, but far from their inner circle, know these details is simply because Phyllis and Michael bravely chose to share their family’s story with us, publicly.  Yes, I was moved to tears, often, because of their willingness to share intimate details of their family’s anguish.

I do feel somewhat self-conscious writing about the Sommer family in this forum.  Any rabbi following Facebook recently has read far better reflections from people much closer to them. After all, I am not a close friend, I do not live in their community, I have not yet met their children, nor did I have an opportunity to meet Sam before he died.

Yet despite my geographical distance from the Sommers, I feel very close to them.  That is the power of their story, of using a blog as catharsis, as communication, and as a way of forming a larger community that can provide essential unconditional love and support.

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Jason Rosenberg, Chuck Briskin and Michael Sommer at a recent CCAR Conference

Sam’s story has touched thousands of people simply because his parents chose to share his life and his death with us.

On Shabbat at the URJ Biennial, a small handful of us who were moved by Sam’s story to join Rabbi Rebecca Einstein Schorr’s and Rabbi Phyllis Sommer’s “36 Rabbis Shave for the Brave” campaign gathered at the CCAR Oneg Shabbat.

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L-r: David Widzer, Chuck Briskin, Elizabeth Wood, Alan Cook, Paul Kipnes, David Levy at the URJ Biennial

As we enjoyed a light moment among colleagues, and friends—new and old—little did we know that 1500 miles away from us Sam had died.

When we learned of his death the next morning, we found one another.  We held one another.  We cried together.  Many words offered throughout the Biennial morning service made us think immediately of Sam.  We read a Torah portion called “and he lived” which is really about death, blessing and memory.  The Sommers’ loss was our loss too.  A vastly different loss, but a loss nonetheless.  I selfishly wanted to hug my children who were home in Los Angeles. More than anything, we wanted Phyllis and Michael to be able to hug Sam.

It seemed strangely fitting then, if Sam’s was to die, that he would die on Shabbat, at the same time as the URJ biennial, where so many people touched by his story were gathered.  It was a gift he gave us.  Those of from different circles of relationship with the Sommers could find each other, and draw strength from one another.  We are friends, colleagues, acquaintances; some were classmates with Phyllis and Michael, others knew them from conventions, several from the world of social media.  Many have never met Phyllis or Michael but feel a close connection nevertheless.

Those of us gathered at that oneg Shabbat, and dozens more are doing something small and relatively inconsequential.  Hair grows back.  It is our small way to restore some power and control since we’ve felt so powerless. We can’t return Sam to his parents’ loving embrace, but we can raise funds to try to make sure that there are fewer families who will have to travel along the same path as the Sommers.

Briskin3Rebecca and Phyllis hoped that 36 rabbis would raise $180,000. More than 60 have signed up, and the initial $180,000 has been met. God willing we will double, even triple our goal.  It’s the least we can do, to honor Sam’s valiant fight, and to help others fighting today.

To answer MyJewishLearning’s question; the answer is an unequivocal yes.  Share, draw strength, use social media to bring people into this tent.  Because of Phyllis and Michael’s sharing, so many know of Superman Sam.  And as long as we keep talking about Sam, and sharing his story with others, his memory will endure.

Rabbi Charles K. Briskin serves Temple Beth El in San Pedro, CA.