Parashat Vayeilech Deuteronomy 31:1-30

Dear TBE Community,

This new year that we began together on Monday and Tuesday is conventionally spelled in Hebrew תשפ”ו, each letter’s numerical value adding up to 5786. The letter vav that makes for the 6 in 5786. Vav means “hook,” which is literally what the letter looks like, and is therefore often interpreted as representing connection. As I said in my welcome words on Erev Rosh Hashana: I wish us all a year of wonderful connections.

In Parashat VaYelech, Moses, toward the end of his farewell speech, establishes a ritual for the Israelites once they are in the land. It is a ritual of connection, of community; centered around Torah, the tree of life all generations since have tended and held on to:

And Moshe instructed them as follows: Every seventh year, the sh’mitta year, at Sukkot, when all Israel comes to appear before your God in the place that God will choose, you shall read this Torah aloud in the presence of all Israel. Gather the people—men, women, children, and the strangers in your communities—that they may hear and so learn to revere your God and to observe faithfully every word of this Torah. Their children, too, who have not had the experience, shall hear and learn to revere your God as long as they live in the Land that you are about to cross the Jordan to possess. (Deuteronomy 31:10-12)

This ritual is meant for a time when all Jews reside in the Holy Land. Yet since that is not feasible nor realistic, a symbolic version of this gathering is enacted during Sukkot following a shemitta year. Sukkot 2022, or 5783, was such a year and it coincided with my studies in Jerusalem. I remember the energy and the excitement of being at the heart of Jewish history, a feeling that can happen in Jerusalem, when people do things that were written more than 3000 years ago in places that are still shaped by the same topography.

In truth, that experience can go both ways: It can either be uplifting, inspiring, or feel oppressive and exclusive; like all mass events alienating those who don’t fall easily into any chanted chorus, who don’t resonate with what the majority does. My experience during Hakhel 5783 was somewhere in between: I was mesmerized by the vivacity of a Torah ritual, exhilarated to be in Jerusalem. At the same time, I was cautious, as I have always been, about crowds performing in unison and acting as one body. But my overwhelming feeling that evening was loneliness. I had tried to make friends at the Yeshiva to where my Rabbinical School class had been sent, but just as I didn’t fit my school cohort, I didn’t fit into the larger group dynamic at the Yeshiva either. Sukkot 2022 was a last attempt to break through this pattern, and so I had made plans for Hakhel at the Kotel with some students, but then ended up as the sole person away from the others, and it wasn’t easy to reunite. So, I stood there by myself among strangers, fellow Jews; wondering if I could continue toward the rabbinate for more than 2.5 years, isolated and unhappy as I was. Would I have the resilience to keep my eyes on the prize, as it were, and finish rabbinical school? And if I did, what would that do to my soul, to the way I would approach the rabbinate, to the way I would show up for people? Would it affect my love for Torah? I can’t point my finger exactly to the day when I made the decision to transfer rabbinical schools, but the seed was planted, a seed that wanted to grow into a beautiful tree of life along pleasant paths.

The pervasive irony to so many Jewish communities and institutions is that they point to Torah values, to their commitment to being warm and welcoming while the lived reality often looks different. To be fair, generally, our actions tend to fall short of our aspirations. That is what the Yamim Nora’im, the Days of Aw come to remind us: We can always do better. At least, we can always try to do better.

Temple Beth El is known for its warmth and enthusiastic embrace of community. It was one of the things that immediately struck me when I visited for the first time. I liked the vibe, the care, the personable approach, the unpretentiousness. Having been a rabbi here now for almost three months, this first impression has held up to the lived reality. And we can always do more. In this new year, let’s try to be even more inclusive and helpful with rides for those who no longer drive, with visits to the sick (note to self! I am sorry that I have not been able to visit as many people as I wanted during these recent weeks.) Let us take even more initiative to include new faces beyond the warm smiles at the door. Let’s invite them for a meal, whether they are members or not. Let’s give visitors time to warm up to us, see if they resonate with us, with the rabbi’s newsletters… Of course, not everyone will be friends with everyone, and there are guidelines that guarantee a certain flair and character. But let us always try to be a house echoing with voices of many waters, something that this community has been known and loved for since long before I started here. 

We chose the line on the !!!swag t-shirts!!! not only because it is a famous line from Psalm 93 with its maritime imagery, a line from a chant we’ll often offer at services, but also because it reflects a broader vision. Look for T-shirt Order Information COMING SOON! On this Shabbat Shuva, let us return to and renew our embrace of the many voices of our community, the many different ways with which they water the tree that is Torah: purple, blue, and green, like the waves on our Torah mantles, on our t-shirts, out on the ocean.

Shabbat Shalom! Shana tova tikateivu!
Rabbi Julia Knobloch
rabbiknobloch@bethelsp.org