October 2024 – A Floor, But Not a Ceiling

Stories for Shemini Atzeret & Simchat Torah

When I was 23 years-old, I packed everything up and headed south towards Los Angeles to begin my program towards an MAED and MBA at the-then University of Judaism (now American Jewish University). How I, with my Bay Area Reform Jewish background, wound up choosing the UJ is a (great) story in its own right, but suffice it to say, I made a choice to put myself in an environment where Judaism was going to live very differently than how I was used to or even knew to be possible. Nothing is more emblematic of the culture shift (shock) than this little anecdote that I am reminded of each year at this time…

Like a lot of rabbinic and education students (at that time), I lived on campus and the day began with breakfast in the cafeteria. One my strongest memories from that time is when I got up early for school and, as per normal, headed down the hill for breakfast just to find the cafeteria empty of students. I remember asking a (non-Jewish) cafeteria employee what was going on, where was everybody? Oh, I was informed, there is no school today. Why is that? It is Shemini Atzeret.

“It is Shemini Atzeret.” – that was the first time I had ever heard those words before, let alone, knew them to be the name of a Jewish Holiday. And, so, back to bed (and not to shul), I went.

Whenever, I write a blog post about Jewish Holiday observance, or Jewish observance at all; whenever I engage in any conversation with or about adult education, this is the first thing that pops into my mind. I went half my life not even knowing the names of all the Jewish Holidays; who am I to judge the background knowledge or experiences of other Jews? I know how it feels not to know things you assume others do – or worse, to not know things you assume others assume you do know – and it doesn’t feel great.

Here’s another example from that time. We used to shul-hop all the time to soak up different experiences. We wound up in a large Conservative synagogue in the Valley and, as is common for newcomers, we are given honours. I am given the honour of hagbah which, like Shemini Atzeret, was a word I learned for the first time at that moment. I did not know what it meant (to lift and display the Torah after reading) or that it is done in any particular way. Which is why, in the moment, I flubbed it and needed some emergency assistance to prevent a fast-able situation. And that is why, almost thirty years later, I have not and will not do hagbah.

I have deep empathy for the many adults whose children become the catalyst for Jewish journeys. I have deep empathy for the many adults who feel uncomfortable in synagogue. No one likes to feel foolish and no one invites anxiety. For all the people who continue to live within the exact same faith tradition they were raised, there are many people who do not. And it is explicitly to those folk that I reach out to through these posts and through opportunities for adult learning…

My first Simchat Torah that year was also one of my first “a-ha moments”. Growing up, Simchat Torah was essentially Jewish Halloween. At my little Reform synagogue (and I am not trying to generalize my experience in the 80s at one synagogue to all of “Reform Judaism”), we literally would go outside and collect candy. I have no memory of us even reading the Torah, let alone dancing with it. So, when I attended Simchat Torah services that first fall, I did not know how to process what I was seeing. It was a room full of adults, including very esteemed professors and rabbis, drinking and dancing with the Torah – there likely were children in the room, but they were not the focal point. The focus was on joy, adult Jewish joy. Who knew?

That is what I am aiming for in these posts…and in my professional life. Give yourself permission to step out from behind the children and seize the joy of Jewish living. Don’t let not-knowing or not-knowing-how steal your joy – we would never let our children get away with being afraid to make a mistake as an excuse for trying new things, let’s not let ourselves as well. What is Shemini Atzeret? Find out on Thursday. Do you think dancing with the Torah is only for children or those observant or knowledgable families? Show up on Thursday night and Friday morning and seize the spotlight.

Yes, it is easier said than done. And yes, it is a little uncomfortable that this plea coincides with the Hebrew anniversary of “October 7th”. And, yet, we are taught that in Ecclesiastes 3:4 that there is…

A time for weeping and a time for laughing,
A time for wailing and a time for dancing;

Let’s make room for both this week. Chag sameach.

The Fragile Stability of Sukkot

The twin calendars of secular and Jewish life sometimes means that anniversaries are multiple depending on which calendar you mark the first event. For example, the secular date of my father’s (Z”l) passing is seared in for commemoration as is the Hebrew date which serves as yahrtzeit. To me this is an extra opportunity to remember, to celebrate his life and to be inspired to carry his legacy forward – I find the double anniversary welcome. As we prepare to usher in my most favourite of Jewish Holidays, Sukkot, it occurs to me that although we just went through all the first anniversary of October 7th experiences, the Jewish Calendar will echo the sentiment come Erev Simchat Torah, when most of us heard of the horrific events.

I’m going to share below most of my usual thoughts and suggestions about how to best celebrate what is supposed to be the most joyous of our holidays – literally named as the “season of our rejoicing” – but I recognize that those whose lives are equally governed by both second and Jewish calendars, may not yet feel ready to celebrate with full or even bifurcated hearts. For those, I simply remind that part of what Sukkot brings by virtue of dwelling in temporary structures is a concretization of life’s fragility that we should always bear in mind…but perhaps even more so now. There may very well be new traditions to consider in a post-October 7th world, perhaps you leave a seat empty for the hostages or you include victims like Hersh amongst your ushpizin. We are all still trying to figure it out and you should land wherever you feel comfortable…”Sukkot as normal,” “Sukkot filtered through October 7th,” or anywhere between.

And now I am going to pivot back to “Sukkot as normal” for those who wish…

After having shofar-ed into Rosh Hashanah and leaned into Yom Kippur, it is time to hop into my favorite holiday of them all…Sukkot!

Our OJCS Sukkah is up and we’ve added a few satellite sukkot as well to give our growing school enough space to for all the eating, celebrating, shake-shake-shaking and hopping as a school community that will make up a significant portion of next week. Great thanks to all our teachers for the hard work that goes into holiday preparation/celebration and keeping the normal routines of school moving forward as per usual.

As I mentioned above, Sukkot is absolutely my favorite holiday of the entire year. There is nothing else like it on the Jewish Calendar – sitting outside in a sukkah you built yourself (which is pretty much the one and only thing I actually can and do build), with handmade decorations from your children, enjoying good food with friends and family in the night air, the citrusy smell of etrog lingering and mixing with verdant lulav – this is experiential Judaism at its finest. There is a reason why this holiday is also known as Moadim L’Simchah – the Season of Our Rejoicing.

My annual, completely non-judgy plea for this weekend is a reminder that if our children – if we – only experience the Judaism of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur and not the Judaism of Sukkot, then we are not exposing them – our ourselves – to the full range of beauty and joy that our tradition has to offer. So why, in fact, is this such a common occurrence?

No one likes to feel uncomfortable, and adults especially, are wary of feeling under-educated or unprepared. I know how I felt encountering new Jewish rituals for the first time as an adult – it was scary. The amount of “stuff” Judaism asks of us to do – building the sukkah with precise specifications, shaking the lulav and etrog in the proscribed way, chanting less-familiar prayers, coming to synagogue on unfamiliar days – can be overwhelming.

But don’t lose the sukkah through the trees…

If the idea of building a sukkah is either overwhelming or unrealistic at this time, in the spirit of trying to turn etrogs into etrog-ade, think of this year as an opportunity to once again pick one new tradition to experiment with. Shake a lulav and etrog. Eat in the sukkah (or in something sukkah-adjacent). Attend or livestream a service. Ask your child(ren)’s Jewish Studies Teacher(s) to send home stories, questions, or ideas. Come use the OJCS Sukkah. Come borrow OJCS lulav and etrogs.

How can I help? What can I do? These are actual questions – email me and it would be greatest pleasure. My sukkah doors are open as well. Literally, be my guest. Let this Sukkot truly be the season of our great rejoicing. I hope many students find their way to synagogue and into sukkot this Sukkot. I hope many parents push themselves out of their comfort zones and join the fun. But most importantly, I hope we – OJCS – are up to the task of educating, inspiring and working in partnership with our families so that those who wish to, are able to add Sukkot as a next stop on their Jewish journeys (#NorthStar).

Chag sameach!

There is a concept in Judaism called hiddur mitzvah which is the “beautification of the mitzvah” and it calls upon us to think of ways to go that little extra mile to make a mitzvah extra-special. There is no better holiday for this concept than Sukkot! Here are two ways you can amplify your Sukkot celebrations this year:

For the musically inclined, please enjoy this Sukkot Playlist courtesy of our friends at PJ Library:

For the fermentedly inclined, please enjoy this recipe for making homemade etrog liqueur…

…and for the inebriated-ly inclined, please enjoy this link to the many artisanal etrog cocktails you may enjoy.

Leaning Into Forgiveness 5785

We are near the finish line of the עשרת ימי תשובה (Aseret Yemei Teshuvah) —the Ten Days of Repentance between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Each year, I look forward to choosing a personal growth goal, something general enough to guide my interactions with students, teachers, parents, colleagues, and the broader community. By sharing this publicly, I hope it inspires others to reflect on their own growth and adds a layer of public accountability to keep me honest.

At least once a week, I compose the perfect social media post in my head. Sometimes it’s funny. Sometimes it’s biting. Sometimes it’s provocative. It’s always about a topic I care deeply about, something with real-world impact and significance. But each time, after writing it, I delete it.

I am jealous of people who live in outward philosophical purity. These people tend to fall into two categories. Some are rabbis serving in pulpits who have managed to align their personal beliefs with their communal roles so seamlessly that they are able to be their truest selves, both personally and professionally, without compromise.

Jealous.

Then, there are those who prioritize their philosophical purity above all else. They either carve out professional spaces that align with their values, or they are unafraid of facing the consequences when their values conflict with their roles.

Jealous.

This may seem like an odd choice for teshuvah—repentance for not being more provocative or polarizing. But I worry that in trying to balance discretion and authenticity, I end up standing for nothing. Silence is not neutrality. As Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel famously said, “In a free society, some are guilty, but all are responsible.” Remaining silent, especially when something needs to be said, isn’t neutrality—it’s complicity.

Here’s an example:

In 2016, we were living in Florida during the election, and my older daughter wanted us to put out a lawn sign for our preferred candidate. (Notice how I’m still hedging?) I had to consider carefully whether it was wise, as someone running a school in a divided community, to do something so public. In the end, we put out the sign. But even then, I said nothing in person or online. Why? I didn’t want to create unnecessary tension in a divided workplace and culture. And yet, I’m 99% sure that anyone who’s ever met me, or spent five minutes researching me, could easily guess my political views. And still, I said nothing.

There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to insert personal politics into a professional setting where it’s not welcome. The question I wrestle with is whether, as a private individual who holds a communal role, it’s wrong to express personal views. Is there a meaningful distinction between what I espouse as “head of school” and what I espouse as “Jon Mitzmacher”? My heart says there should be; my head says that’s wishful thinking.

Pirkei Avot reminds us, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? And when I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?” (Pirkei Avot 1:14). I cannot reconcile the way I am raising my daughters with my own silence. I cannot advocate for students to be civically active while avoiding the same. I cannot run a school based on deeply held principles and then be afraid to live those values beyond the school walls.

So, my goal for this year is to take a step—to dip a toe into the waters of personal expression. Nothing dramatic is on the horizon, and it’s possible that whatever I do say will yield no ripple or echo. But I’ll take a whistle in the wind over silence. As Rav Kook once said, “I don’t speak because I have the power to speak; I speak because I don’t have the power to remain silent.”

I don’t want to look back and wonder why I chose to say nothing when I had so much to say.

Additionally, during this time of introspection, let me take this opportunity to ask forgiveness for anything I have done – purposely or unknowingly – to cause offense or upset during the last year. I am sincerely sorry and ask for your forgiveness. As you ponder the purpose of this season for you and your family, I hope you find the time for introspection and the inspiration for the teshuvah you are seeking. From my family to yours, wishing you a tzom kal (easy fast) and a day of meaning.

G’mar chatimah tovah.