The Menorah and the Bow-tie: Beth Am’s Double-Chai Anniversary
27 Kislev 5771 / 4 December 2010
Rabbi Daniel Cotzin Burg
Pop quiz: What do Croatian Soldiers and Maccabees have in common? The answer? Absolutely nothing. So for those of you skeptical of rabbinic musings, you will be glad to know that the following remarks are no more accurate than they are intended to be.
So, in this vein again I ask, what do Croatian soldiers and Maccabees have in common? Why the bow-tie of course! Some of you may have noticed that I have chosen to don, in honor of our 36th anniversary and in homage to a number of Beth Am gentlemen for whom I have a great deal of respect, a particular article of clothing known in certain circles as the cravat. It is called a cravat, it seems, because Louis XIV deeply admired the neckwear of Croatian mercenaries during the wars of the 17th Century. Croat, corrupted, became “cravat.” What, then, of the 2nd Century BCE freedom fighters and their Judean revolution against the Seleucid Greeks and their Hellenized Jewish counterparts? It’s a simple matter of military garb. Let’s just say that should Judah Maccabee have lived and done battle during the 30 Years War, improbably I admit, he might possibly have worn a primitive bow-tie. This then, on this Shabbat Chanukah, in honor of the Croats, the French, Judah Maccabee and Gilbert Sandler is my attempt at full Beth Am dress regalia. For anyone concerned whether I might be taken somewhat less seriously in said attire, I quote Warren St. John of the NY Times who wrote (2005), “…wearing a bow-tie is a way of broadcasting an aggressive lack of concern for what other people think.”
And, of course, it is bashert that we celebrate this particular shul anniversary on Chanukah if only for the suspiciously Dan Brown-esque numerological relationship between the Chanukiah and the number thirty-six. Thirty-six, you see, is equally divisible by the number of candles on the menorah – which is eight… plus one. And since nine times four is thirty-six, it is eminently clear, at least to this rabbi, given the four corners of Efrem Potts’ tallis as well as the four distinct protrusions of the bow-tie, that it is nothing less than fate that brings us together today.
But permit me to be serious for a moment – or at least as serious as my current neckwear will allow me to be – because I want to mention three ways in which this Shabbat Chanukah really is an auspicious moment on which to celebrate our congregation’s anniversary. Let’s call these, in the spirit of the season and for lack of a better literary reference, the ghosts of Beth Am past, present and future. The word Chanukah means dedication and, of course, it was on this Shabbat in 1974 that Dr. Louis Kaplan, the rebbe and his talmidim, celebrated the inaugural Beth Am Shabbat service and, no less important for a Jewish institution, the inaugural Beth Am Kiddush lunch. It was a stunning choice because the imagery of a sacred building reclaimed, as it were, for the maintenance and furthering of Jewish community, worship and study is as elegant as it is poignant. December 14, 1974, was, quite simply, our chanukat habayit. As we consider our past, the generosity of Chizuk Amuno in helping us to continue Jewish life on Eutaw Place, the vision of Dr. Kaplan and a group of founding members (many of whom are present today), the musical legacy of Hazzan Weisgal and so much more, we should take great comfort in knowing that this historic building, if not our raison d’être, has certainly been a glorious canvas on which to paint the first thirty-six years of our shul’s life.
But the number thirty-six, itself is significant, I think. As we consider not just our past but our present, this Shabbat Chanukah 5771, I cannot help but think of a wonderful Jewish folk tradition which began with the Talmud and aged, like a fine wine, in subsequent kabbalistic and Chasidic teachings. The story goes that, at any given time in Jewish history, there are thirty-six righteous individuals, the lamed vavnikim, on whose merit the very world exists. When one of these dies, another takes his or her place, so maintaining the universe’s delicate balance. What might be the meaning of this tale for us, on this our thirty-sixth anniversary? In a way, this folk-tale is a perfect description of how a shul like Beth Am can thrive. There is a certain congregational homeostasis which is required, a balance of lay and professional leadership, the dedication of individuals like Eileen Fader and Nancy Bloom who give of their time, energy, financial, emotional and organizational support to make sure that the lamp of Beth Am continues to burn brightly. Over the course of more than three-and-a-half decades, we have been blessed to draw upon the collective wisdom of able trustees, rabbis, committee chairs, cantors, educators and other lay and professional Jewish leaders who take their turn sustaining the universe that is synagogue life. You, those of you who give, have given and those who of you who have yet to give of these things, are our lamed vavnikim. It is for your sake that Beth Am survives and thrives and without you, I dare say, we would cease to do so. I thank you for your service, your commitment to and love for our shul.
So what of our future? What hidden wisdom might be revealed upon closer examination of the number thirty-six? It is, of course, not so hidden at all – the reason why the number resonates in the first place. Think of a time you had to explain to a non-Jewish friend why Jews write checks in the strangest of denominations – $18, $72… $126 for God’s sake! “Why not $10 or $35 or $150?” these innocent gentiles ask us. And we inevitably reply, with an odd mixture of ethnic pride and fatalism – “it’s a multiple of the Hebrew numerical equivalent for ‘life,’ you see.” And then there’s that response, of our friends looking at us at first utterly non-plussed, and then with something like pity as they are clearly thinking to themselves – “oh it’s another one of those ‘Jewish things.’ Why didn’t you just say so?” Thirty-six is, as they say, “double-chai.” It is, quite literally life times two, a rebirth or as Louie (the French king not Kaplan) would say: a renaissance. And that, my friends, is what I would suggest we are experiencing right now. We are on the cusp of a renaissance of Jewish life in America, in the city of Baltimore, in Reservoir Hill, and at Beth Am Synagogue in particular. On this festival of lights, we can take comfort in knowing that our future is bright. We have tremendous resources in our midst. We have a congregational thirst for learning that stimulates the intellect and prayer that nourishes the soul. We have our congregant-to-congregant committee which reaches out to ailing members. We have an active and passionate social action committee, an innovative service-learning component to our religious school, thirty-plus people studying and eating together downtown each month, and a women’s group which is much too cool to be a “sisterhood.” We have a think-tank exploring the many ways in which we can build on our position as the most vibrant and dynamic synagogue in the city of Baltimore. We have the strongest board of trustees that I have ever encountered. We have a talented cantor committed to musical innovation and promoting participation. We have parents from our religious school exploring new youth group offerings and others revitalizing our young families’ services. And we have a core group of young leaders breathing new life into our BAYITT group for 20’s and 30’s. On this double-chai anniversary, as our founding members did in 1974, we celebrate a renaissance, a renewal of life, a rededication of our altar once again.
Rabbi Niles Goldstein coined the phrase “gonzo-Judaism,” and perhaps this is what we need – a bit of reckless abandon in our approach as we look to the next thirty-six years in the life of Beth Am. It is not, perhaps, our style to proclaim “Onward Jewish soldiers.” But if we did – if we were Maccabees surging forth to rededicate ourselves to Jewish communal life in Baltimore, we would need a uniform, a symbol, an image to serve as rallying call to muster the troops. I am sure that there are those in this room who would argue for the bow-tie – surely it worked well to conceal the chests of those Croatian soldiers in the 1600’s.
But, in truth, the Maccabees did have a symbol. What was the seal of Judah and his clan over 2100 years ago? The menorah of course – the seven branched candelabra. And, I would suggest to you, that the menorah is the perfect symbol, on this Shabbat Chanukah, of our past, our present and the future of Beth Am. The menorah is, quite simply, the most ancient symbol of our people. It is much older than the Israeli flag, the bagel, even the magen david. The Hashmoneans carved its image on their coins, Zechariah describes it in detail in the Haftarah and the Torah itself outlines its construction for the Holy Tabernacle. It is the symbol of any Jewish past and a rich part of the history of this building where these menorot were added not long after the dedication of our sanctuary – which occurred, of all days, on Friday night, the second candle of Chanukah, 1922. But the menorah is also an apt symbol for our present, representing, like the lamed-vavnikim, the interdependence and inter-connectedness of individual Jews. In order for the menorah to function, to shine, the base gives way to seven individual branches, each with its discrete flame and each no higher or lower than its neighbor. What a wonderful metaphor for Beth Am…our fierce egalitarianism and also our warmth. And looking to our future, we need only look as far as the menorah as well – in this case the particular menorah for this holiday. In the great debate between Hillel and Shammai about how to light the chanukiah, the house of Hillel proclaims “ma’alim bakodesh, v’lo moridim,” we only INCREASE in holiness and our rituals ought to reflect that aspiration. On this double-chai birthday we celebrate a re-birth, a renaissance and a renewal of our commitment to one another and this community. As we do so, we might declare, each to the other, our intention to be: ma’alim bakodesh, increasing in holiness and in many other good ways as well.
Today is the third day of Chanukah. With each subsequent night the candles grow until the chanukiah stands fully lit, bequeathing its light and warmth to these dark winter nights. The miracle of Chanukah is not only the oil, not simply the fuel, but the light that shines when we can harness our resources effectively and with a bit of courage and even reckless abandon. May we all be blessed as we go forward into our thirty-seventh year with confidence and wisdom, with determination and optimism for the future and with faith that miracles can occur in every generation if we recognize that there are always things worth fighting for.
Shabbat Shalom, Happy Chanukah and Happy Birthday!