Beth Shalom
Oceanside Jewish Center

To Whom Does Judaism Belong?
Parshat Ki Tavo 5764

18 Elul 5764  -  September 4, 2004
By Rabbi Mark B. Greenspan

David walked into a synagogue in his neighborhood. This was not his parent’s regular congregation. The usher stopped him, “Excuse me - do you have a ticket?” “No, I don’t,” said David “I don’t attend services here; I just need to see my uncle for a moment.” “I’m sorry,” said the usher, “No ticket - no entrance.” “Look,” said the young man, “I’m not going to stay; I just want to give my uncle a message from my mother!” Reluctantly, the usher let David in, but as the boy walked away the usher called after him, “I’ll let it go this time, but don’t let me catch you davening!”

In less than two weeks the halls of the Oceanside Jewish Center will be filled with people coming to celebrate the Yamim Noraim, the Days of Awe. For a few days there will be very little room in this building as we gather shoulder to shoulder in prayer and meditation.

For some, this will be a spiritual homecoming, a chance to reconnect with God and good friends. For others it will be an uncomfortable necessity. They’re not sure how they feel about prayer, about the holidays, or about Judaism, for that matter. They’re not certain that they feel at home in the synagogue, or if they even believe in God. Still they’ll come.

For some people the holidays are primarily about quality time spent with family and loved ones. But there are those who have no family and they come to synagogue all alone. The holidays can be a lonely time of year for such people.

People will come to shul next week from all types of backgrounds and with all different types of expectations. What they encounter may affect their attitude toward Judaism not only for the next year but for many years to come. How we greet them can make a big difference in their lives.

Unfortunately, not everyone feels at home when they come to the shul. There’s nothing new about this problem. In fact there’s a discussion related to this issue in this week’s Torah portion. It addresses the question: to whom does Judaism belong?

At the beginning of this week’s Parshah we learn about Bikkurim, the ceremony of the first fruits. Each year the people of Israel were commanded to bring the first fruits of their fields to the Temple in an elaborate ceremony. Each person would come to the temple with a basket and place the fruit in the hands of the officiating priest. The celebrant would then make a declaration: “I acknowledge this day before the Lord God that I entered the land that the Lord swore to our fathers to assign to us.” He would then continue with a brief but powerful synopsis of Jewish history which began, “Arami Oved Avi; My father was a fugitive Aramean” Of course, we know this synopsis from the Haggadah.

Almost nine hundred years ago a man known as Obadiah the proselyte wrote a letter to Moses Maimonides questioning him about this and related practices. A convert to Judaism, he was troubled by the fact that there are so many references to “the God of our fathers” in our liturgy. No doubt there were people who questioned the authenticity of a convert’s identity and said that they were not real Jews because in truth they were not the children of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Obadiah asked Rambam if it was permissible for him to make such declarations even though technically he was not a son of Abraham.

In a powerful and sensitive letter, Maimonides wrote to Obadiah: “Anyone who accepts Judaism and whoever acknowledges the unity of the Holy One ¦is a disciple of Abraham our Father. They all belong to his household. It follows that the Patriarch Abraham is the father of all his seed who are worthy and follow in his ways and is the father of all his disciples which implies every proselyte. You should therefore say “Our God and God of our fathers,’ since Abraham is your father!”

Moses Maimonides, in this now famous precedent, made it absolutely clear that Judaism is not defined by race but by creed and practice. The convert, no less than the naturally born Jew, is a member of the Jewish people and a descendent of Abraham.

As we approach the High Holy Days, I find myself thinking about Obadiah and all those people who feel like strangers and outsiders when they come to the synagogue. They sit there wondering, “Do I belong here? AM I a hypocrite for coming to synagogue just once or twice a year? Am I really a part of this community? What happens if I don’t come to synagogue regularly, if I can’t read Hebrew, if I don’t understand the prayers in the Machzor?”

Maimonides chose to define membership by creed, but even this doesn’t work for us today. It seems as though far more Jews live at the periphery rather than in the center of Judaism. How can we make people feel at home in the synagogue? Shouldn’t we welcome everyone, even the non-believer? How can we let them know that the God to whom we pray is just as much their God whatever shortcomings they may feel they have? And the community with which they pray is just as much their community even if they have doubts about their beliefs.

On the eve of Yom Kippur we begin the Kol Nidre service with a powerful declaration in which we say, “By authority of the court on high and by authority of the court below we hereby declare that it is permitted to pray with those who have transgressed”

In other words we begin Yom Kippur not only by permitting the transgressors to pray with us - by acknowledging that we are all transgressors - so we can all pray together. No one is better than anyone else, here. We come together as a community and together everyone has a right to say that God is Aveenu Malkaynu, Our father, our king.

So in a week or so when I look out across the throng of people who have gathered inexplicably for High Holy Day Services once again, I hope that we can find a way to make each person feel at home. In the end we are all in the same boat. We have come home to reconnect with our spiritual heritage, and we need to take the time to make others feel at home as well. This is even more important for those who are “regulars.” We have an even greater responsibility to make people who are outsiders feel that they are at home.

In the final analysis, what people will remember about the High Holy Days is not the depths of the sermons or the quality of the davening. They will not remember if services ended at 12:45 or 1:30. They will remember if someone warmly greeted them when they walked into the shul. And they will remember even more if no one said Gut Yuntif to them.

Shabbat Shalom