Dear Friends,

Last week, in our Elul workshop, we began our exploration of the tzava’ah–the ethical will. The practice of sharing written wisdom and exhortations with family and friends towards the end of life is ancient Jewish practice. Its roots reach down into the earliest layers of the tradition–Moshe sharing final thoughts with the people before they enter the land, the moment when Ya’akov, whose family life was often haunted by vast silences, finally gathers his children around and talks to them about his hopes for the future. 

Over the millenia separating Ya’akov from us, tzava’ot have taken many forms, and those that have survived offer intimate and diverse portraits of Jewish lives from the past. Among the most famous examples, which a few of us explored last week, is the tzva’ah of Yehudah ibn Tibbon, a medieval philosopher, physician, and translator, who mostly made his career in southern France. His tzava’ah is truly a remarkable piece of writing–warm, cantankerous, learned, loving, and extraordinarily alive–and reading it feels like having a conversation across a great expanse of time. 

Its addressee is his son, Shmuel, a boy who was, according to his father, good-hearted and talented, but who was also (and despite dad’s assiduous efforts on his behalf!) indolent when it comes to his studies, especially as related to Hebrew, Arabic, and science. Over many pages, Yehudah excoriates his son–lovingly but also harshly–on account of this laziness and, later, on account of his arrogance. With great specificity he enjoins his son to rededicate himself to the study of Torah, science, and philosophy; to always maintain warm relationships with his sisters and with his extended family; to keep an organized library; to proofread carefully; to never prescribe or ingest medicines that he does not understand; to eat well; to avoid being overly argumentative even when he thinks he is in the right. And he goes on. And on.   

One of the salient features of Yehudah ibn Tibbon’s tzava’ah–and this is true of other famous tzava’ot as well, including the incredible Memoirs of Gluckel of Hamelin–is that it was clearly written over a protracted period of time, a reminder that we need to wait until the end (or until the Yom Kippur) to try to say what we mean and put things right. In Yehuda’s case, he seems to have begun writing around the time of his son’s bar mitzvah–when, according to his father, Shmuel was neglecting his studies–but then later on in the text he writes about Shmuel’s wife and children, beseeching him to treat them well and to be gentle with them. And while it isn’t clear when, exactly, Shmuel first saw his father’s tzava’ah, one hardly gets the impression that dad was ever shy when it came to sharing his opinions or giving advice.

Very often, of course, the after-affects of historical documents like these are left to our imaginations. Whatever happened to the child who received such a letter? How did he react, or not react? What impact did it have on the trajectory of his life? Remarkably, when it comes to Shmuel, we don’t have to guess. Shmuel ibn Tibbon, son of Yehudah ibn Tibbon–that lazy student, that shirker of responsibility–went on to become the greatest translator in the medieval Jewish world. A correspondent of Maimonides, a polymath, a decorated philosopher and physician, he did not only achieve stature on par with his illustrious father, but rather, in all likelihood, surpassed him. 

The morals here–and I find myself thinking a lot about all of this as the Holidays approach–are twofold. The first is that Yehudah ibn Tibbon, for all of his hectoring, really did know his son. Shmuel’s prodigious talent was not a figment of his imagination, but rather a latent potentiality that only needed to be drawn out. It is not always easy for parents to see their children as they are and not as they wish them to be. Yehudah ibn Tibbon apparently did and I find that inspiring. The second lesson, it seems to me, is that sometimes people do listen; often what we say does matter, though it might not appear to matter in the moment. As parents–and even though my children are young I’ve learned this already–it can be wise to hold our peace. But often–maybe most of the time and certainly in the end–it is worth telling the people you love what matters to you and why. 

Circling back to Ya’akov, I’ll close by sharing an astounding midrash from the ancient rabbis, who once suggested that the Shema–“Here O Israel, YHVH is our God, YHVH is one!”–was first spoken not by Moshe but by Ya’akov’s children at their father’s deathbed. Highlighting the fact that Ya’akov’s name was also Israel, the midrash teaches that the Shema’s original addressee was not the entire community or God, but instead a dying man who at last found a way to talk to his kids. Finally, all those children–those quarrelsome, complicated children–came together and said, Shema yisrael! Listen, Israel, listen, dad, we hear you, your God is going to be our God, we understand, we get it. And according to the midrash, it was then, and only then, that Ya’akov uttered the line that his descendants–all of us–would say after the Shema for all time: Baruch shem kevod malchuto l’olam va’ed…Blessed is the glorious name, whose sovereignty endures forever.

I hope you’ll join us as we continue to explore tzava’ot in the coming weeks on Tuesday nights (9/10 and 9/24).

Brachot,

Rabbi Benjamin Resnick 

Ben

 ״הָפַכְתָּ מִסְפְּדִי לְמָחוֹל לִי פִּתַּחְתָּ שַׂקִּי וַתְּאַזְּרֵנִי שִׂמְחָה״.

תהילים ל׳:י״ב

"You turned my lament into dancing, you undid my sackcloth and girded me with joy”

(Psalms 30:12) 

In June this past summer I joined The Jewish Education Project’s Solidarity Mission (Mishlachat Areyvut) with the goal of bearing witness to the atrocities and the unbearable pain inflicted on Israelis on October 7th. The mission spent four days visiting the sites, meeting survivors and bearing witness to the worst tragedy that happened to the Jewish people since the Holocaust. The conversations, stories, and sights I experienced during those days left me with deep and disconcerting feelings, still raw and unpolished. I hope, with time, I will be able to share some of those stories. I need to gradually find ways to process and untangle the complexity that still bubbles up inside me as everyday news from Israel just keeps adding up to this unthinkable reality. On the first day, we visited the town of Sderot, then went on to Kibbutz Kfar Azza, the site of the Nova Music festival, and a Bedouin village, all in the south of Israel, in the area called “The Gaza Envelope”.

My family and I used to live in that area, in Kibbutz Bror Chayil, located right across from the town of Sderot. That’s where our children Hila and Yoni were born, and that’s where I first worked as a first grade and kindergarten teacher. Some members of our kibbutz were married to natives from Sderot. We used to go camping with our children and friends at that same Zikkim shore the terrorists attacked on the morning of October 7th. My colleague at the Regional School where I taught first grade, was a member of Kibbutz Kfar Aza, her youngest son now one of the victims of the massacre there. Those were the landscapes and sweet memories of the beautiful years of my life, and I could never have imagined they would be devastated in the way I encountered them last June. As I tried to process the images, sounds, smells and stories I encountered, I turned to the ways in which Israelis try to cope with it; much with the help of art, such as through the words of songs and poems.

One song that kept being played this summer is called “My heart”, or “Halev Sheli”, by the Israeli singer and songwriter Ishay Ribo. This song actually came out in 2019, but its words resonate so truly with all that is happening in Israel, it became almost an anthem of October 7.

(Here’s the link to the song on Spotify, and here’s the link to the lyrics on Shironet:)

The first lines of the song are:

“My heart is torn in two, which a slave girl has seen on the water, not like the sound of a storm from the sea, but like Miriam’s drum, it beats and there is no cure in the world, for the heart”

Or, in Hebrew,

״הַלֵּב שֶׁלִּי נִקְרַע לִשְׁנַיִם/ מָה שֶׁלֹּא רָאֲתָה שִׁפְחָה עַל הַמַּיִם/ כְּמוֹ סוּפָה מִן הַיָּם ,הוֹלֵם/ כְּמוֹ תּוּפָהּ שֶׁל מִרְיָם, פּוֹעֵם/ וְאֵין תְּרוּפָה בָּעוֹלָם לַלֵב״

The song is full of hints of Scripture, and especially talks about the power of the sea, the water, both as healing and as a source of danger (“the storm”). Ishay Ribo makes reference to the “slave” and then to “Miriam’s drum”. This is the slave Miriam, Moses’ sister, turned into a prophetess at the edge of the Sea of Reeds, singing the Song of the Sea to the beat of her drum while the Israelites are in the midst of their flight for freedom from Pharaoh’s chains. The singer’s broken heart beats at Miriam’s drum beat. The song then continues to evoke lines from the Jewish sources, as Ishay Ribo seeks, like all of us, sources of healing when facing the worst; in the song’s chorus, he writes,

“and only You can turn my mourning into dance, purify the sand, soften everything”, a reference to Psalms 30:12, “You turned my lament into dancing, you undid my sackcloth and girded me with joy.”

Or in Hebrew, as Ribo writes in the song,

״וְרַק אַתָּה יָכוֹל/ לַהֲפֹךְ מִסַּפַדִי לִמְחֹל/ לְזַכֵּךְ אֶת הַחוֹל/ לְרַכֵּךְ בִּי הַכָּל״

Ishay Ribo’s powerful song “Halev sheli” (My heart), played on repeat in my head as I recalled the stories of October 7 that were unveiled to our group during our visit. Then, one day, I found myself alone looking at the sea - not the Sea of Reeds, from the song, but the Mediterranean Sea, from which shores terrorists disembarked killing young and old who happened to be there on that fateful Shabbat morning.

As I looked at the waves, I felt the need to scribble down a few words that turned into a poem. Some of the imagery in my poem/prayer were inspired by Ishay Ribo’s song, and some were inspired by two other popular Hebrew songs, from different periods in Israeli history: Hannah Szenes’ “Eli, Eli” (My G-d, my G-d) - from the time of World War II, and Aviv Geffen’s “Livkot Lecha” (To cry for you), originally written about a friend who died in a car accident, but that later became an anthem following Rabin’s assassination in 1995. All three of them are melancholic songs about loss that invoke the power of the sea, and the waves, as both immensely saddening, frightening and healing. As the lyrics of all three songs danced together in my head, I took out my phone and started writing my attempt at finding closure and healing looking at that same sea that inspired so many before me:

Sitting by the water

Listening to the sound of the waves

The same waves

that broke Hannah Szenes’ heart 80 years ago

I listen to the deep hush

The broken sound of prayer

Coming from the water

Around me 

families with little children

Speaking in all languages

Spoken by Jews around the world

I hear their voices

Against the beating sound of the waves

Mama, eema, mamãe, mammy, mamushka

And I, consumed with pain

moving with the waves

In prayer,

Up, down, fast, slow

May these things never end

The sand, the sea, the hush of the waters

The prayer of mankind

My heart is shattered 

in a million pieces

I ask the sea for healing

Remember our people

Still kept in chains

In the tunnels and caves of Gaza

Can they hear the waves?

Can they see the horizon?

Can they hear our prayers?

Can they pray?

Can their hearts heal?

I pray with the waves

As Miriam the prophetess

My heart beats to her drum

Let my people go

Let them be free 

Turn their captors’ hearts

Heal the wounds of this folk

And help us, oh G-d 

May the voices of children 

Reach the heavens 

May the eerie prayers of men and women

Change history

May our weeping chants

Be heard

Across this sea 

to the end of the world 

My heart is broken into pieces

And only You can find the way into it

And only You can soften my pain

Only You can restore your promise

I am sitting by the waters of the same sea

That took Jonah away from G-d’s charge

The same sea that brought the Philistines, Greeks,

Romans, and many more 

To inflict pain on our people

The same sea 

that brought the devil to Zikkim beach

On that Black Shabbat morning

The same sea that brought in 

the ma’apilim, the illegal refugees

After the Sho’a

to Palestine’s shores

The warm, limpid, 

crisp and embracing waters

salty from all the tears we wept

Throughout millennia and more

The sea that is now the source of clean drinking water to the people of Israel

The sea that brought the Exodus ship

That rocked into sleep 

the hopeful hearts of the weary and desperate 

Oh G-d only you can turn

My mourning into dance

Please hear our prayer

Soothe our hearts

Heal our people

I close my eyes 

The waves come and go

The waters bathe the children’s feet

Their sand castles crush 

Just to be built again

Against all odds

We will stay here,

My people

We will dance again 

To Miriam’s drum 

We will cross the waters on dry land

And reconnect to our souls 

Those who were here before us

Those who are still in chains 

And the many more waiting to come

Please almighty G-d

Hear the prayer

Of the waters

Of our children 

our mothers 

and fathers

Protect our soldiers 

Bring back our hostages

Bring peace to this land

And to all who live on it

Heal our broken hearts

Lift our spirits 

Strengthen our resolve 

Unite all people in harmony 



As we were once your children in Eden 

And let us say 

Amen

Thank you Ishay Rebo, Hannah Szenes,

 Aviv Geffen and the sea for being my inspiration

Ana Turkienicz

Am Israel Chai,

Ana

This is George - more times than I would care to admit. We walk at a local park full of trails, paths, vast woods, ponds and streams. Dogs have free reign. Most of them behave.

George loves mud and is very skilled in finding and immersing himself in it. You would be right to think, the fact that this keeps happening, is on me. That perhaps I might invest in training or even a leash. Maybe we should find new trails. But we are supposed to have a deal. Run, return (clean), treat. It’s not complicated. The other dogs

seem to understand.

So the other day, when George once again came back to me a sludgy mess with a big grin on his face, my friend Patricia laughed and said "I think George was brought here to remind us of joy".

She is right. In these most aggravating moments, he is unbridled joy.

Which brings me to September, which often instills not joy but dread. I read an article

recently that said summer is like the long weekend of the year, which made me think that

September is like the Tuesday that forces us back into reality. Back to school, back to

routine, back to all those things we pushed off until, well, September.

I love this time of year. I am anxious this time of year. There are too many

contradictions. I love the cooler weather; I am sad when it gets dark early. I love seeing friends who have been away; I am sad my free time is limited. I love the sweetness of Rosh HaShanah; I dread fasting on Yom Kippur.

We can’t escape the contradictions, these opposite emotions live within us. But as part

of the PJC we collectively manage the dread. I know we do not always have to handle the hard stuff alone. PJC doesn’t do alone; we do things as a community.

As for George, I love how he makes me laugh; I hate that he is so mischievous. When we go to the Pet Pantry, a do-it-yourself dog wash, they know us by name. We are regulars. I am not alone.

Looking forward to seeing everyone at High Holiday services starting with Selichot on

September 28. The year ahead will be full of ups and downs, and I am comforted by knowing I am not alone here either. This brings me joy.

Lisa

Dear Friends,

The Hebrew calendar year Tishrei 5785 has begun. We leave behind a challenging year for the Jewish people - in Israel, in the diaspora - as well as at the PJC. We pray that the war between Israel, Iran, Hamas and Hezbollah will end and the hostages will be returned home safely. Sadly, this year we lost our members Carey Hochberg and Bernie Steinberg. We hope the new year will be filled with the sweetness of apples and honey, our New Year symbols.

Speaking of honey, did you know that one spoonful of honey is enough to keep a person alive for 24 hours?

Here are some fun facts about honey and honey bees:

. Propolis, a substance produced by bees, is one of nature's powerful antibiotics.

. Honeybees save people from starvation in Africa.

. Honey contains life-preserving enzymes. Unfortunately, eating with a metal spoon kills these enzymes. Ever wonder why apple and honey kits always have wooden spoons? The best way to consume honey is with a wooden spoon.

. Honey contains a substance that helps the brain function.

. The bodies of emperors were buried in golden coffins covered in honey to prevent them from rotting.

. The term "honeymoon" was based on the idea that the young couple consumed honey for fertility.

. One of the first coins in the world featured a bee symbol.

. Honey has no expiration date!

. A bee lives less than 40 days. In that time it can visit a thousand flowers to produce less than a teaspoon of honey. But for the bee it is the work of a lifetime.



We each must do our part.

I wish each of you Shanah Tova U'metuka!

A good sweet year!

Barbara

I want to extend a hearty yasher koach to everyone who led and participated in Kabbalat Shabbat and Shabbat morning services during the past three weeks while the rabbi and his family were in Israel. It was wonderful hearing your voices in prayer, delivering Torah, and guiding us, which truly made our beit knesset special. If you have thought about learning a part of the service for a future date, please do not hesitate to contact me if I can be of help.

      כָּל הַכָּבוֹד

Jeremy Schulman

Religious Practices Chair 

The Hebrew Teacher

by Maya Arad

The Hebrew Teacher is a compilation of three novellas which provide a snapshot of three Israeli women and the challenges they face in the diaspora. In Maya Arad's hands the feelings generated are universal.

The first story, "The Hebrew Teacher", resonated with me as a former Hebrew teacher. Indeed, as Ilana, a veteran Hebrew instructor at a midwestern college writes, this is a difficult time to be teaching Hebrew. Maya Arad wrote this novella in 2018, but it is even more relevant today in the post October 7th climate of anti-Semitism.

The second story, "A Visit" (Scenes) follows an Israeli grandmother visiting her two-year-old grandson, Yonatan, for the first time. She plans to stay in California with her son, Yoram, and daughter-in-law, Maya, for three weeks. The tug-of-war between generations is all too real. I could empathize with Miriam, the grandmother, as well as the young couple. The surprise ending illustrates the power of the concept of "mother".

"Make New Friends" touches on the many forms of friendship. In particular, it addresses the difficulties of forming friendships in the smart phone era. Efrat, and her 13-year-old daughter, Libby, struggle with teenage "exclusivity" at a time when social activity is documented "live" with on-line photos. This can be devastating to the teens left out. And, Arad illustrates how difficulty forming friendships can be passed down from generation to generation.

According to The Jewish Review of Books, the author, Maya Arad, is "One of the most talented Israeli novelists of her generation offering profoundly moving and universal vistas of experience, sorrow, and humor by observing her local reality with humane intelligence."

Barbara

Jews in the Land of Israel

by Yehuda Amichai translated by Chana Bloch

We forget where we came from. Our Jewish

names from the Exile give us away,

bring back the memory of flower and fruit, medieval cities,

metals, knights who turned to stone, roses,

spices whose scent drifted away, precious stones, lots of red,

handicrafts long gone from the world

(the hands are gone too).

Circumcision does it to us,

as in the Bible story of Shechem and the sons of Jacob,

What are we doing, coming back here with this pain?

Our longings were drained together with the swamps,

the desert blooms for us, and our children are beautiful.

Even the wrecks of ships that sank on the way

reached this shore,

even winds did. Not all the sails.

What are we doing

in this dark land with its

yellow shadows that pierce the eyes?

(Every now and then someone says, even after forty

or fifty years: "The sun is killing me.")

What are we doing with these souls of mist, with their names,

with our eyes of forests, with our beautiful children,

with our quick blood?

Spilled blood is not the roots of trees

but its the closest thing to roots

we have.

Mazal Tov Becca!

Our own Becca Ploski is double majoring in History/Judaic Studies and minoring in Arabic at SUNY Binghamton. 

"Share a Simcha" allows congregants to share their news with our PJC community. Please submit news about family members -- engagements, births, job updates, kid achievements, community acknowledgements and any other milestones -- to the HaKol Editor, Barbara Saunders-Adams.

. Mazal Tov to our September Birthday Celebrants:

Victor Birutti, Ariel Spira-Cohen, Naomi Jaffe, Helen Stephenson, Rachel Radvany, Talia Rossman, Tina Kasper, Lydia Read, Anne Bresnick, Naomi Smyser, Sarah Grossman, Nicklas Breskin, Jonah Birutti, Dahlia Winquist, Chenxi Jiao, Eugene Holtzman, Yelena Spitzer, Mila Novick, Theresa Breskin, Gloria Horowitz, Harrison Peck, Eleanor Einzig, Alexy Scholl, David Teitell, Lucy Masson, Rachel Cochie, Sheldon Horowitz, Avi Malkis, Kimberly Pauley, Matthew Sigel, Steve Almo, David Grossman

. Mazal Tov to Darren & Claudia Lee on the aufruf of their son, Max Lee and soon-to-be daughter-in-law, Erin Walter

. Mazal Tov to Jason & Roselle Glick on the upcoming Bar Mitzvah of their son Zach

. Mazal Tov to Adam & Maria Abeshouse on the upcoming marriage of their daughter, Emily Abeshouse

Share a Simcha is a regular HaKol feature, so keep your news and updates coming!

Tributes

. Jonathan and Marjut Herzog in appreciation of Christine Elliott

. David and Jeanne Radvany in memory of Carey Hochberg

. Hal and Audrey Beerman in memory of Mimi Steinberg's father, Bernie Steinberg

. Jonathan and Marjut Herzog in memory of Carey Samuels Hochberg

. Sam Adams and Barbara Saunders-Adams in memory of Carey Hochberg

. Jeffery Mittleman in memory of Susan Carey Samuels-Hochberg

. Michael and Sheri Silver in memory of Marvin Silver

. Iris Kasten

Donations to the Rabbi's Discretionary Fund

. Gary and Evelyn Trachten in memory of Morris and Shirley Trachten

Billing statements are emailed monthly. 

Checks made out to the Pelham Jewish Center can be mailed to Pelham Jewish Center, P.O. Box 418, Montvale, NJ 07645. Credit card payment instructions are on your monthly emailed billing statement, or go to https://thepjc.shulcloud.com/payment.php. 

If you are interested in paying via appreciated securities or IRA distributions, please email Mitch Cepler.

It is the policy of the Pelham Jewish Center to make every effort to assist members experiencing financial challenges. Financial challenges should never be a barrier to being an active member of the PJC community. You can reach out to President, Lisa Neubardt, Treasurer, Mitchell Cepler or Rabbi Benjamin Resnick to speak confidentially concerning your ability to pay PJC dues and Learning Center tuition.