Beth Shalom
Oceanside Jewish Center

In the Presence of a Mighty Fire:
What Judaism and Firefighting Have Taught me.
Yom Kippur 5764

Rabbi Greenspan in Uniform

It's one of the crazier things that I've done as a Rabbi.

I never planned to be a firefighter, but somehow God and history conspired to lead me to this unanticipated place in my life. Since arriving I've learned some important lessons about myself and I've gained some insights into being Jewish. I've also discovered that my two interests really aren't so different from each other.

So why did I join the fire department? The simple answer is September 11th. I suppose every boy wants to be a fireman at one time or another. To be honest with you, I don't remember harboring such fantasies. Until September 11th, I never gave fire fighting much thought. Then in the fearful hours of that morning I was riveted by the heroism of the men and women who entered burning buildings to save lives. I was inspired by Catholic Chaplain Mychel Judge who served the firefighters and gave his life to be with them even as the towers came down.

That year on Simchat Torah I approached Ed Sharfberg, chief of our fire department, to ask if they could use a Jewish chaplain. "Of course we'd love to have you," he said.

To make a long story short, I joined, became a member of a fire house and quickly realized I couldn't serve if I wasn't involved in the day to day operations of the fire department. At the very least I needed to understand what firefighters do. So I began answering calls. In May, together with another member of our congregation, Steve Levy, I attended training at the Nassau Fire Service Academy to become a certified Class-A firefighter.

Now I find myself rushing off to the fire house to don my gear and answer the call of duty. It's not that I'm so brave or talented. The truth is I still have a hard time remembering whether to turn the hydrant to left or the right to turn on the water. I'm all thumbs. The guys laugh at me but they're patient in teaching me the necessary skills, and their appreciative of my presence. And that's all the enough encouragement I need.

So what does all this have to do with being Jewish or Yom Kippur for that matter? Everything, I would suggest.

To begin with, I believe that this is a time of year when we should being thinking about our personal commitments - to our families, to our synagogue, to our community and to God. We're more than just individuals -we have a responsibility give something back to the people with whom we live. When a student asked Rabbi Israel Slanter how to develop "a spiritual practice," he answered, "By taking care of the physical needs of others." From my perspective there's no higher calling than saving a life and there is nothing more spiritual than caring for others. I've always tried to incorporate this into my work as a Rabbi.

This philosophy has taken me to some interesting places over the years: I've served as a chaplain in a hospital emergency room, coordinated special need adoptions for a non-sectarian Child and Family Service and served as a board member of hospice. I've been enriched by each of these experiences and I find that I always have something to contribute by sharing who I am, as a Jew, with others.

Second, I've learned that Tikkun Olam, "repairing the world," is more than a nice sentiment. It's something that you do. It's a way you live. For me working in the larger community makes me a better Jew. By combining Jewish identity with the service others, Judaism becomes a powerful force in the world.

Let me explain. When I first signed up for the Academy, I was a little worried. What were they going to do with a fifty year old rabbi? It turned out I wasn't the oldest person there - only the second oldest. But more than that, I was concerned because the fifth day of this course was also the first day of Shavuot. Obviously I couldn't be there. I wondered if they would simply send me home. I braced myself for rejection. As it turned out, fourteen out of the seventy students were Sabbath observant firefighters. Arrangements were made for us to make up our classes.

If I had been the only observant Jew I'm not sure what would have happened. But with so many of us, we had a voice. We made a difference.

The instructors understood that that we were committed to serving our communities and that we also cared deeply about our faith. So they found a way to work with us. From my perspective this was an example of Kiddush Hashem, sanctifying God, at its best. None of us felt the need to compromise about who we are. We could be observant and serve the community at the same time.

Too often we're afraid to stand up for ourselves. It's ironic that this is just as true here in New York as it was in the smaller communities I've served. When we're true to our way of life, people understand and honor us for who we are. If more of Jewish students took off from public school on holidays like Sukkot, for instance, schools would be more likely to respect Jewish observance. Too often we're afraid to be ourselves, afraid to live by our calendar and respect our heritage. What are we running from? Will one more day of school effect which college our children get into? Will a day off from work effect how we're evaluated?

Of course being a rabbi makes it easy to be a Jew. I understand that. Going to firefighting school brought me into the "real" world and reminded me that sometimes the most courageous thing I can do is to simply be myself!

So fire fighting and practicing Judaism grow out of a similar set of values though these two disciplines are very different from one another. Today I find myself living in two communities. Over the past year I've come to understand that there are some striking parallels between them. Both bring me into the presence of a power greater than myself, both involve serving others, both demand training and education, and both are only meaningful to the extent that we're prepared to invest ourselves in the effort.

Truthfully, both Judaism and firefighting are intimidating. For the first few months I had no idea what was going on at the fire house. People used terms to describe what they did that I didn't understand. They assumed I knew what was going on. Calls would come over my pager with codes I hadn't yet learned.

I began to understand just how some of you must feel when you come to synagogue. It's intimidating not knowing the language or understanding the customs. You feel like an outsider, a stranger. The truth is sometimes I still feel that way at the firehouse.

But I understand that anything worth doing takes time, preparation and practice. It doesn't just happen. It takes effort. In fact most of what you do in religion and in the fire department is practice for the "Big One." God is present in the details: in putting things away, in keeping things in tip top shape, in reviewing procedures, in developing rituals and knowing how things work. You keep doing it and doing it and one day the big occasion comes and you're called to serve.

People ask me: "Rabbi, I just don't get anything out of coming to services. What's the point?" My response is: "How much effort have you put into living Judaism? And how often do you practice? Community is built out of sustained involvement, not occasional visits both here and at the fire house. Have you taken the time to read, to learn, to experiment with Jewish living? A great deal that I learned at the fire house came about just from hanging out there. Have you tried making the practice of Judaism a constant in your life by simply being present here? And how attentive have you been to the details?" Spiritual experiences don't just happen. They take time, patience and openness. You can't enter these experiences with preconceived ideas.

And here's the most important lesson I've learned: even if you're not the best or the most capable at doing something, you still have something to contribute. I don't have to be the best fireman to contribute to my community. And I don't have to be the best or most knowledgeable Jew to make a difference. Of course I should strive to learn and grow. But just being there is important.

Being there makes a difference. Too many of us absent ourselves from Jewish living. We're intimidated. We're overwhelmed. We're not sure we have something to contribute. Or we have simply ruled out the possibility of developing a spiritual practice of our own. Maybe we don't know where to start.

Like the fire department, however, you can't do "Judaism" only when it's convenient. It has to be a part of your life. Similarly, Jewish living is something you must do everyday. It may not always be "the big one" but each day, each lesson, each rehearsal is a growing experience; it makes Judaism a little more meaningful.

So why am I talking about being a fire fighter on Yom Kippur? Because Judaism means nothing unless we make room for it in our lives and unless we're willing to take the first step to make Judaism a part of who we are. These steps may be different for each of us. For some these steps may be intellectual, for others spiritual, and for still others being Jewish may be more about the ethical and social dimensions of life. There is something for everyone. What matters is that Judaism is a discipline, something you do on a regular basis, not when it's convenient or when you have time. It's some thing you do because that's how a Jew lives.

I can't state this strongly enough. You can't be a part time firefighter. And you can't be part time Jew. This doesn't mean you have to be a rabbi or a fire chief. In small ways we each have something to contribute and something to gain. But it does mean that you have to find a way to practice each day even if it is in small ways.

So I hope you'll take the time this Yom Kippur to think about where Judaism fits into your life. Maybe, like me, your job will be to turn on the hydrant - don't knock it! You can't fight a fire without someone turning on the water! But you have to practice; you to be ready and you have to know what to do.

Similarly, it's not enough to feel Jewish. You have to do Jewish. Recite a berachah. Give Tzedakah. Avoid speaking gossip. Support Israel. Shake a lulav and etrog. Observe Shabbat. Open a prayer book even when you're not in synagogue. Study Torah on a daily basis. Pray at least once a day.

Is this intimidating? Fear not! That's what we're here for. Even a small effort can put out a fire! A tiny effort can enrich your life jewishly. And you're not alone. Your presence makes a difference. Walk into a Minyan. Attend a class. Or simply ask someone to teach you. We'll be glad to help.

This year OJC is starting Havurot, home- based groups in which you can learn and practice Judaism with other families or friends. We hope that this will help give each of us a safe place to learn more about our way of life, to create Jewish memories and to live Judaism.

My association with the fire department began with a burning tower. But Judaism also began this way. There's a Midrash that explains how Abraham came to believe in God. The Midrash compares Abraham to a person who came upon a "Migdal Doleket," "a burning tower," or a "tower that was all ablaze." He said, "Is it possible that such a tower should exist and there not be a builder? At that moment the owner of the tower stepped forward and said I'm the master of the tower." Similarly Abraham looked at the world and thought it appeared as a Migdal Doleket - and from his observations concluded that there must be a God in the Universe.

This is, of course, "the teleological argument" for God's existence. Basically the argument goes like this - if something complex exists in the world it must have a creator. Only there is an element which is not usually part of this argument. Why is the tower on fire or ablaze?

From a Jewish perspective, the proof of God's existence is not only order but also disorder. The very fact that we have a role to play in maintaining order in a burning world is a sign of God's existence. Abraham sees the burning tower and comes to realize that there is order in the universe but that he must help maintain it. He realizes that he is living in partnership with God. God created the world but he must put out the flame. The world exists but it's burning. What will we do? Judaism cannot prove God's existence - it teaches us what we must do with God's world.

Whether you're putting out a fire, creating harmony in a hateful world, or davening with a Minyan you make a difference! On Yom Kippur we're reminded that we can create or destroy the world. It all depends on whether or not we choose to answer the call.

What will you do?

Shanah Tova!

In memory of Assistant Chief Thomas Bettes