Have you ever wanted to pause time, put the brakes on, and take a moment?
Maybe it was a special day with loved ones or a day spent in nature, maybe a snowy evening warm inside with a cup of tea and a good book. Maybe you wanted time to slow down so you could savor it, hold on to someone just a little longer, laugh with friends a few minutes more. We’ve all felt that, haven’t we?
If it’s all right with everyone, I just want to take a moment.
I want to be present in this moment with all of you.
If this were any other Friday, I would use this moment to teach. That’s what we do, after all. In just about every dictionary, the primary definition of “rabbi” is “a scholar or teacher”. And the definition of “sermon” is “a talk on a religious or moral subject, especially one given during a religious service based on a passage from scripture”.
This Friday, I would talk about Exodus 3:8 and how the Lord our God “descended to deliver them to a good and expansive land…a land flowing with milk and honey,” Not only that, but that “The Lord was going before them by day in a pillar of cloud.” All they had to do was trust and follow His path.
And yet, in Deuteronomy 1:22, they said, “Let us send men before us, and they will spy for us.” Think about that. They will spy for us? Spy on what? Of course, they sent spies ahead to check out the promised land.
That would bring us to Numbers 13:2 and this week’s parsha, Shelach. The Lord God said all right, “Send agents to scout the land of Canaan, which I am giving to the Israelite people; send one participant from each of their ancestral tribes, each one a chieftain among them.”
Why would God command that they do this? He had already described the Land of Israel to them, “For the Lord your God is bringing you to a good land.” (Deuteronomy 8:7) But these leaders were prideful. They held on to doubt. They were not content to trust in His word. As we read in Psalms 78:10, “They refused to follow His Torah”. And, of course, He knew this.
But. This is not any other Friday.
As I stand here tonight—honestly, as I have stood here time and again over the last twenty years—I think of you. I think of this community that I have been proud to call my home for yes, twenty years.
I think of the continuity of cantors that have stood here before me. The greats—Abraham Shapiro and Nathaniel Sprinzen. Murray Simon. Beloved Cantor Jerry Held. Albert Sturmer. Bruce Benson. My immediate predecessor, Lee Coopersmith. Each of them brought their hearts, souls, and voices to the prayers of this congregation, filling this room and many others with beautiful music. Each left their mark on Temple B’nai Abraham. I am honored to be part of that chain, each of us keeping the fire of Newark’s musical legacy alive.
Truly, this has been a special place.
On any other Friday night, if this were a typical sermon, I would come back to the spies and quote Nehemiah 9:16-17, “…They did not heed your commandments. They refused to heed and did not remember Your wonders.” They could not trust the word of God, this is why they sent the spies ahead. They wanted proof instead of faith and trust. They dared to think they knew better.
In his teaching, the first century sage Rabbi Yehoshua asked, “To what were they comparable?” He told a story about a king who arranged a marriage for his son, a wedding to a beautiful, wellborn woman of means, or so his father claimed. Upon hearing this, the son said, “I will go and see her for myself,” because he did not believe his father.
This put his father in a quandary. “What should I do? If my son asks why I did not introduce them, he’ll assume she is neither beautiful nor wealthy. He’ll think, that is why my father hid her from me.”
Ultimately, he told his son, “Go, see her, and decide whether what I described was true or not. But because you did not believe in me, I vow that you will not see her in your home. Rather, I will give her to your son instead.”
Likewise, Adonai said to Israel, “The Land is good,” but they still did not believe. They said, “Let us send men before us, they will spy the land for us.” The people trusted the word of their spies above that of Adonai. And like the king in the story, God said, “If I prevent them from going, they’ll say, ‘It is because it is not good that He didn’t show it to us!’ So, I will let them see it, but by My oath, not one of them shall enter into it. I will give it to their children.”
Now, that’s a lot to unpack, and I can’t say I’m thrilled by the rabbi’s analogy. “Son, I have arranged for you a marriage with a beautiful, rich woman,” “Ewww, dad, what if she’s ugly and poor?” But there is a kernel of truth to this. Children don’t always listen to their parents, we all know that. And of course, we don’t always listen to Hashem either, do we? We try, goodness knows we try.
The point is, the Israelites were prideful and lacked faith. Like the son who didn’t trust his father, God decided they weren’t worthy to enter. Thirty-nine more years of wandering.
But this is not a typical sermon, is it?
All through that teaching, I would stand here, thinking about the people I have known, the journey we have taken together. I might look up to the choir loft and see Sandor Szabo, organist and musical partner. Depending, I might see the choir. Kevin Brown with us over twenty years as well. Elise Brancheau, Kathryn Whittaker, and Adam Cromer. I might look to my right and see Ilya Maslov, Mitch Endick, Alex Pryrodny, Bob Mellman, and…
Here’s the thing about journeys: you will lose people along the way. I would remember my dear friend, Mark Dunn, who passed away some time ago far too young and very suddenly. He was our music director and organist for many years as well. I hope I’ve made him proud.
All of these musicians are part of that continuity as well. Their music, their talent has lifted me—and lifted us—to heights each of us could never have reached alone. Our prayers have risen on their melodies, harmonies, and accompaniment. Community. Friendship.
I think about Rabbi Kulwin who brought me to Temple B’nai Abraham, and Lee who was able to step in when I had two more babies. I was thankful for their support then and throughout my time here. They welcomed me into the heart of this community and made this my home. I also want to thank Max for his strength, his listening, and for being such a mentsch.
And tonight of all nights, I think about the generations of families I have served here from births to b’nai mitzvahs, weddings to funerals. We have been through so much together. Joys and sorrows. Young people I taught as children are now married and have children of their own. And sadly, I have buried so many beautiful friends here. Evi and Marilyn are just two. I will never forget them.
When you think of me, know this. I will miss you all. It has been an honor to serve you.
No, this is not any other Friday night. This is one Friday night I never wanted to see.
This is why I want to take a moment. To hold on to this moment for as long as I can. As long as we can.
Journeys will always take turns we can’t foresee. We may not be given a choice in the path we take. The pillar of cloud may be hard to see at times.
But as one door closes, another door opens. I came to Temple B’nai Abraham in 2005 as a young cantor with a newborn baby. Now, I leave you as Rabbi Cantor as I go to the Temple of the High Country in Boone, North Carolina, with two daughters in college and one staying to finish high school here. The road goes ever on.
No matter what happens in our lives, what trials we may face, what obstacles may stand in our way, we have to trust in Hashem. Unlike the Israelites and their spies, we have to listen to what He is saying, follow His guidance, and hold fast to His Goodness. We must believe that He really does draw straight with crooked lines.
And we pray that wherever the road leads, we will all be found worthy of one day entering the Land of Promise.
Shabbat shalom.