As someone who doesn't particularly enjoy driving, I especially appreciate listening to audio recordings in the car. Not only does listening to these recordings help to pass the time, they create extraordinary experiences to the point where there are occasions when even having arrived at my destination, I continue to sit in the vehicle, listening to a fascinating passage or piece of dialogue. And the selection of what is available is so broad and varied. I am currently auditing Richard Feynman's introductory physics course at Cal Tech, given in 1961!
But I am also a mystery aficionado, and have avidly followed the adventures and exploits of Dorothy Sayers' Lord Peter Whimsey, Agatha Christy's Hercule Poirot, and Tony Hillerman's Joe Leaphorn while driving back and forth to the Hebrew Academy, the University of Maryland, or my weekly Shiur in Bethesda. Recently, I was listening to some of Harry Kemelman's Rabbi David Small mysteries. While others, such as Joseph Telushkin and Faye Kellerman have written books of this type featuring Orthodox individuals and calling into play Jewish ritual practices and beliefs, Kemelman's protagonist not only regularly invokes Talmudic principles to help his friend, Police Chief Hugh Lanigan, to solve murders in the New England town of Barnard's Crossing, but also finds himself continuously heavily embroiled in synagogue politics of one form or another. I remember reading these books many years ago, while in college, and thinking that the shul situations were quaint and amusing. Now, their realism has taken on an entirely different perspective for me, and the all-too-familiar scenarios have become sources of consternation and discomfort.
Take for example the following passage from Friday the Rabbi Slept Late (ibooks, New York, 1964, 2002, pp. 47-48) that literally made me break out in a cold sweat:
(Jacob Wasserman, the founding president of the synagogue, is
recounting to the Rabbi and his wife the history of the congregation)
"How do you think it was when I first tried to organize a temple? We
had fifty Jewish families here at the time, and yet when old Mr. Levy
died, just to get a Minyan so his family could say Kaddish -- it was like
pulling teeth! But little by little, I won them over. I got
figures on costs, estimates, prices, plans, and then when we finally
acquired a building, it was a wonderful thing. In the evenings, and
Sundays, they used to come down --- everybody working together,
cleaning, fixing, painting. There were no cliques then, no
parties. Everybody was interested and everybody worked
together.
Then we grew. Jews really began to come to Barnard's Crossing then. When there were only fifty families, everybody knew everyone else, differences of opinion were hammered out in personal discussion. But when you have three hundred or more families, as we have now, it's different. There are separate social groups now who don't even know each other."
Of course, it wasn't a revelation listening to this particular social dynamic, which has been playing out of late in the KMS community, described so succinctly in a Kemelman mystery novel. I am sure that similar processes have occurred countless times, in all sorts of social organizations, and that they will continue to do so for as long as people freely organize and seek to establish and develop communities, companies, or institutions that are reflections of their particular interests, beliefs, and aspirations. At first, either out of necessity or coincidence, members of the group emphasize similarities and push their differences into the background. But over time, as each interest and emphasis is reflected in an increasing cohort of individuals, as the community grows, more and more members afford themselves the "convenience" and "luxury" of focusing on their own needs and peculiarities. And when the differences among groups of congregants become too acute, for example within a synagogue context, it could first lead to a sense of alienation and isolation of these individuals from others in the shul. And if the issues remain unaddressed to these particular groups' satisfaction, a breakaway congregation(s) are organized that either due to its size, religious orientation, and/or commonality of interests and age cohorts among its constituents, is perceived to better serve the needs of these particular groups, than did the broader and larger spiritual community that spawned it.
During the past few weeks, I have had two occasions during which to raise before the KMS community aspects of how we might positively respond to the phenomenon of a rapidly expanding heterogeneous shul community, and resist the tendency to allow centrifugal forces to carry us in directions that lead us further and further away from one another. At the Special Needs Shabbaton, I reflected upon R. Simcha Ziesel MiKelm's personal emphasis in his writings upon one of the 48 means by which to acquire Tora listed in the sixth chapter of Pirkei Avot: "HaNoseh BeOhl Ihm Chaveiro" (s/he who helps his/her fellow carry his/her burden). At first glance, this particular attribute seems to be the mark of a kind, compassionate individual, rather than someone who is particularly able to successfully pursue Tora study. However, RaSha"Z (R. Simcha Ziesel) points out that since Tora truths are essentially spiritual, only the truly spiritual individual will be able to properly comprehend them. But how can one evaluate his/her degree of spirituality? One means of measurement is determining the degree to which the sensibilities of our souls take precedence over those of our bodies. While physically, we may be in competition with the next person for all sorts of material possessions and sensual pleasures, the spiritual perspective reveals to us that our soul and the souls of everyone else originate from the same source and consist of identical material. When we are sensitive to one another's spiritual essence, we sense that we are a common entity, sharing a single existence. Consequently, the degree to which one feels that the next person's burden is in fact one's own and therefore I have no choice but to help him/her, will enable us to properly fulfill the Tora dictum "And you shall love your neighbor as yourself," since s/he is spiritually identical with ourselves. And when we aspire to increasingly function on such a rarified spiritual level, Tora truths will become as self-evident to us as those that link us to one another on a personal level. Consequently, individuals with special needs may be limited physically, intellectually, and/or emotionally, but from the perspective of their souls, they are us and we are them; we must reach out to them and make them feel part of our community as much as we possibly can, since only in this manner do we demonstrate that we are a community that appreciates the unique qualities of spirit and the soul, rather than one obsessed with externalities and outward appearances. Naturally, such a sentiment not only applies to those who are may be recognizably disabled in one manner or another, but also to those with whom I may differ religiously, politically, socially, professionally, ethnically, etc. They are also spiritually identical to myself and must be approached from a similar perspective.
Then, last week, in the opening Dvar Tora at the recent open board meeting discussing possible future plans for modifying KMS' building, I invoked Hillel's tri-part admonition in Chapter 1 of Avot: "Im Ein Ani Li, Mi Li? VeIm Ani LeAtzmi, Mah Ani? VeIm Lo Achshav, Eimatai?" (If I am not for me, who will be? And if I am for myself, what is my worth? And if not now, when?) Understandably, it is important for a person to advocate for him/herself. If everyone could feel that his/her individual needs can be and are being seriously addressed, an atmosphere is created within the community that is positive, supportive and inspiring. And the only manner, by which the array of personal needs can be identified, is when each individual is afforded the opportunity to articulate what is deeply important to him/her. But unfortunately, more often than not, once the inventory of personal interests and concerns is relatively complete, and the community deliberates concerning how to prioritize, implement, and realize as many of these individual needs as possible within the realistic limitations of fiscal, space, time, and other logistic considerations, it usually becomes necessary to retreat from at least some of one's perceived desires in light of a strongly held communal value promoting interacting collectively with other individuals, even though they may be pursuing alternate, and often mutually exclusive, interests and concerns. Creating and maintaining community often means relinquishing at least some deeply held desires in the interests of the greater good, so that one does not end up narrowly egotistical and solipsistic, lacking empathy for and understanding of others who are also significant participants in the organization. And in case one thinks that having to decide between powerfully competing interests and objectives is too difficult and potentially divisive, it's not something that can be put off for long. Eventually, a tipping point will be reached when such conflicts and differences of opinion will come to the fore, and the result has the potential to be acrimonious and divisive. Addressing such matters courageously and forthrightly with forethought, before the consequences become inevitable, is called for in order to assure a consciously designed plan of action that can include reinforcing and promoting in the best possible way the greatest number of interests of the largest number of participants, rather than the sort of reactive response that is no more than a feeble attempt at keeping one's finger in the metaphorical dike holding back disagreement and controversy.
A much more articulate, elegant and wide-ranging presentation of this theme, can be found in an address entitled "The Community", given by R. Joseph Baer Soloveitchik, ZaTzaL, at the annual meeting of the Conference of Jewish Communal Service in Boston, on May 31, 1976 (Tradition, Vol. 17, No. 2, Spring 1978, pp. 7-24.) The Rav notes that the tension between individualism and collectivism has informed human endeavors for time immemorial. From the biblical perspective, it is not coincidental that Adam is first created alone, and only afterwards, becomes part of a community when God brings Chava into existence. Rather than insisting that a communal situation, where the individual submerges him/herself within the collective group structure, is the desired ideal, the Rav argues that a dialectic exists, and that man's singular and unique moments are as important to him as those when he is interacting with others. Only when s/he functions as an individual, can s/he pursue the specific meaning of his /her life and his/her ability to create and significantly contribute to the world. Yet to deny the importance and benefits of companionship and social interaction as crucial components of living a life of fulfillment, satisfaction, and meaningfulness, is impossible. Extreme ritual manifestations of these two dialectical modalities are reflected in Judaism's approach to death and marriage.
The sensitive Halachic rules pertaining to mourning are rooted in the Halacha's perception of the tragic singleness of man, in the awareness that man as a natural being exists once in eternity...
The biblical portrayal of the marriage community consists of two unique personalities: The male and the female represent two different existential experiences. When both join in matrimony, a community of two 'incommensurate' beings is formed. Woman and man complement each other existentially: together they form, not a partnership, but an individuality, a persona.
The Rav also draws attention to the phenomenon that while in a group, an individual's existence takes on importance when acknowledged by others. This is not only true when someone accomplishes something of significance and is given recognition for his/her achievement, but also by the simple interchange of greetings in social situations. The Talmud devotes two passages to the importance of verbally greeting and blessing anyone and everyone.
(Berachot 6b) "And R. Chelbo said in the name of R. Huna: Anyone who knows about his colleague that the latter customarily initiates an exchange of greetings of 'Shalom', should strive himself to be the initiator, as it is said, (Tehillim 34:15) 'Seek out peace (Shalom) and pursue it.' And if another says 'Shalom' to you and you do not return the greeting, you are considered a thief, as it is said, (Yeshayahu 3: 14) 'And you have destroyed the vineyard, things stolen from the poor are in your homes.'"
(Berachot 17a) A precious saying of Abayei: "A person should be clever in terms of demonstrating his awe of the Divine, s/he should answer softly, suppress anger, find means of increasing peace (Shalom) with his/her brethren, his relatives, with every person, even the non-Jew in the market square, in order that s/he be beloved Above, find favor in the eyes of those below, and acceptable by people in general." They said concerning R. Yochanan ben Zakai: that no one was ever able to initiate to him a greeting of Shalom, even a non-Jew in the market square.
I had always thought of these directives as matters of civility and etiquette. And when it happens either in a school setting or on a local sidewalk that someone fails to respond to a greeting, even looks right through you, I had always presumed that this was due to an upbringing lacking in social graces. But the Rav's approach treats the practice of exchanging greetings as much more that merely being polite. On the one hand, not returning a blessing is an act of negation of another's significance, no matter how much s/he may digress from the standards to which I hold myself; and to delay, and only respond when first spoken to, similarly suggests that I care to notice the other only if s/he makes the effort to notice and care about me. To attempt to engender more, rather than less, peace in the world requires sacrifice, readiness to be respectful (just because one may disagree with another does not mean that the latter is created any less in the Image of God, and therefore deserving of respect and consideration), and the willingness to interact with these individuals in all sorts of contexts, including them within the community that is evolving and being built.
So extrapolating from the Rav's moving presentation of our dialectical existential situation to our current shul deliberations within the KMS community, the challenge for all of us is in addition to assuring that we find and/or create contexts that resonate with us spiritually and socially, that we also provide and enhance such contexts for those who may not be of the same age, in the same economic situation, pursuing the same spiritual and intellectual interests, dealing with the same childbearing and rearing issues, involved in varied professional situations, etc. If I daven at the 8:45 Minyan, I have to try to make that experience as meaningful as possible. But KMS is much more than a single Minyan. I can't exclude from my concern -- refuse to extend greetings of "Shalom" -- to those that attend the 7:00 and 8:00 Minyanim, the LOLA group, the women's Tefilla group, the Youth Minyan, the Junior Congregation, the youth groups, and whatever additional programming either already exists or should be brought into existence in order to serve one constituency or another. The Strategic Planning process is providing all of us with the opportunity to engage in deliberations that focus upon what we are, what we should be, and what we want to become. Make sure that your voice is heard by attending one of these meetings, forthrightly and constructively expressing your views, and just as important, listening to and reflecting upon the needs of others, in order that we can all grow as well as improve as an exemplary spiritual community in every way possible.