A Mourning Mover and an Unmovable Cart

‘Igrot Mei Hof Hayam’-Epistles from the Seashore
Emails from Rabbi Dov Gartenberg
Wednesday, August 1, 2007 Email #2

To my TBS and cyberspace friends,

I am entering my third week at TBS, my acronym of affection for Temple Beth Shalom. My old congregation was Congregation Beth Shalom (CBS) and people always confused it with a television network. I do not know any other famous networks or governmental agencies called TBS so I think I am fine. I will also call it “Shul” as well.

Temple is an interesting term for a Conservative congregation. In the 50s many Conservative and almost almost all Reform congregations were called ‘Temple’. Jews historically did not call their synagogues ‘Temple’, out of respect to the destroyed Temple of Jerusalem (Beit Hamikdash). Rather synagogues were called in Hebrew ‘Kehilah Kedoshah’ (Holy Congregation), (Adat) Assembly of …. , or Beit ….. (House of ….). The term Temple came into popularity in the 50s as a way to give synagogues a sense of greater dignity and majesty than had been associated with them in the past. It is no longer common for Conservative congregations to be called Temple, so I won’t use the term by itself. But I do respect the local tradition of designating our synagogue as a Temple.

I have been calling members from the roster bit by bit to say hello. I have found that there are some errors with the phone numbers. Because of this I have met some interesting people I would have not met otherwise. Instead of John Williams I met a friendly person named Brian who told me all the calls he got for John. He told me his life story and how appreciative he was to talk to a rabbi for the first time. I told him he was always welcome to come to TBS even though he was not Jewish and that we offered free circumcisions.

In the course of these errant calls I have met
· A tattoo artist
· A pornographic movie maker
· A full time surfer
· The mayor of Los Angeles
· A Laotian Shaman

I am grateful for this opportunity to meet such interesting people. If you feel this is wasting the rabbi’s time, please send in your amended membership form and give us your most updated information and I might be able to talk to you.

On Sunday I met with a Havurah of TBS to begin what I hope is a frequent encounter with small groups within the congregation. I asked people to share their Jewish journeys and shared my own. What followed was a most fascinating telling of people’s Jewish stories. One person was a survivor of the camps and told a touching story about how she met her American husband as a refugee in a mid-Western town. Another person told how he discovered he was Jewish in his 40s after having been brought up as a Christian. Another person told how they got out of Germany on the last boat and living in England with a new family during the war. There were many more amazing stories.

The participants in this Havurah had been meeting monthly for over 10 years, but had never shared their personal stories in this manner. This is something I hope to do with all of you. I want to hear your stories and have you share them with your friends and family. This is the way we build community. After all, the Jews are a storytelling people. The word, Haggadah (used for the Passover story), means ‘telling’. When we tell our stories we make meaningful connections and build lasting relationships.

Please let me know if you would like to host a gathering at your home with your Havurah or friends from the synagogue so you can experience this special time of storytelling and connecting to the hopeful future of our congregation.

Last Friday my movers finally came. One of the movers was a local Black man who helped the driver to unload my boxes. At the end of schlepping all my things we sat down for some refreshment. He asked me about my family and I asked him about his. He told me that his mother had died the night before. I asked him to talk about his mother and her life. I asked him how he could work given his loss. He told me that he wanted to work to get his mind off his sorrow and to earn a few dollars to help toward the funeral.

I gave him a generous tip and watched him as he walked away to catch the bus. Loss is so surreal. We try to keep the routine to diminish its shattering impact. I did not feel comfortable knowing my stuff was born by a mourner. The restrained grief sticks to my boxes and furnishings. I felt sorrow for him to have to work instead of being with his family.

I have been shopping a lot of late as I have had to acquire some household items to help in my settling in. I was at the new Target near the shul on Atlantic which just reopened (Yes, a new shopping opportunity in our neighborhood!). I was with my wife, Robbie, and we had parked our car on the street. As I made my way with my cart to the ramp leading to street, the cart jammed and would not go further. I kept on trying to free the wheel and to push the cart, but it refused to budge. I yelled out to Robbie, “I can’t move! I can’t move! I kept on trying for about 5 minutes until a Target employee came buy, helped unload my things and bring them to the parked car. Then he told me that the wheels have electronic sensors which when the cart reaches the ramp causes them to lock to prevent people from going down the ramp and possibly walking away with the cart.

What happened to the days when carts moved without effort? The tradition talks about the ‘locking of the gates’ on Yom Kippur. We live in a world of secret locks and gates. It is not as easy to get around in a world of multiple fears and insecurities. The next time you get stuck, look around for electronic sensors and wonder at how easier it is for things to be locked down in our world.

Shalom and Kol Tuv,
Rabbi Dov Gartenberg