Sonia Voynow: First Day Rosh Hashanah Davar Torah at Minyan Dorshei Derekh 2013/5774

Shana Tovah

The Torah and Haftarah portions we read on the first day of Rosh Hashanah are dominated by the theme of long-awaited babies.  Sarah experiences the joy of motherhood in her advanced years, long after she thinks it is possible.  When she perceives a threat to her son Isaac, coming from Hagar’s son Ishmael, Sarah feels the need to secure her son’s future, and convinces Abraham to send Ishmael and his mother away.  Hagar, exiled to the desert, is about to lose faith that she can protect Ishmael and herself from certain death, but ultimately, her eyes are opened to the way she can sustain them both. 

In our Haftarah reading, Hannah transforms her despair about her childlessness into an act of prayer that looks so idiosyncratic that she is accused by Eli, the priest, of being drunk.  The strength of her prayer leads to her ability to conceive at long last.  She bears a son whom she names Samuel.

So the question arises:  Why, on Rosh Hashanah, are there all these stories about birth and babies?  One of the things I learned is that Rosh Hashanah is not the birthday of the world, as I had once thought, but rather the anniversary of the sixth day of creation, the day on which God creates man.  The Torah portions we read today, then, remind us of the miracle of new life and of new generations.

As I was preparing this talk, I had originally wanted to find something else in the text to talk about, but I kept coming back to babies. It finally dawned on me that my focus on babies might have some connection to my latest TV watching obsession: the PBS drama, Call the Midwife.  This series is based on memoirs written by Jennifer Worth, a British nurse who served as a midwife in the 1950’s.  When she was in her early 20’s, Jenny worked with an Anglican order of nuns in a town called Poplar, located in the poverty-stricken East End of London.  Jenny and the other midwives were exposed to conditions that were completely alien to what they had known before:  crowded tenements, often with no indoor plumbing, under-age pregnancies, prostitution, binge drinking… and so many babies.  This was a time before effective contraception, and in this small town of maybe 8 square miles, there were on average 100 babies born per month.  And Jenny and the other midwives would ride off on their bicycles to deliver these babies, day and night, often with very little in the way of sophisticated equipment to help them. 

Each episode of the show contains the drama within a drama of the miraculous act of childbirth.  There is a purity in the way that the midwives connect with the expectant mothers, joy in the shared effort of welcoming new life. 

But Call the Midwife is first and foremost a character study, not just of the colorful Poplar residents, but about the power of that community to transform Jenny, and the other midwives and nuns who worked there.  The neighbors in that community became Jenny’s teachers about love, caring and connection.   

Today, on this first day of Rosh Hashanah, I am going to talk about babies and birth, and even midwifery, but in a more symbolic way.  The central themes of Rosh Hashanah:  Teshuvah, Tefilah and Tzedakah:  repentance, prayer and charity…point to our capacity to be fruitful and to multiply.  All of us have the potential to be giving birth, if not to children, then to the important work and endeavors that are uniquely ours to accomplish.  We can re-imagine giving birth as the realization of our own particular gifts that we are able to bring out into the world.  And this fertility is possible, not in a vacuum, but in the context of community.  Community is the arena in which we not only learn about our gifts, but also get the chance to become a midwife and encourage someone else’s gifts to emerge.    

I came to this symbolic way of looking at baby-making from a wonderful teacher of psychotherapy, Paul Koehler.  Koehler believes that the work of the therapist and client is, at its best, a kind of baby-making.  It provides the freedom, and even, at times, sense of play, to produce something utterly unique:  expanded possibilities for oneself that comes from the ability to accept all of who we are.  As a psychotherapist, one valuable way to look at your relationship with a client is to ask yourself:  “Are we creating something new here, or, are we stuck rehashing stale and rigid ideas about oneself and others?  Can I help this client let go of fear, and encourage him or her to find possibility, even in the places that feel most hopeless?”  

During the month of Elul, which has just passed, we are told to read Psalm 27 daily, and in this Psalm we plead:  “Let me live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life.”  I didn’t know what “the house of the Lord” meant, but translations of this psalm, particularly one recent translation by Rabbi Yael Levy, have led me to think of living in “the house of the Lord” as growing our ability to discover the truths about our lives:  who we really are.  Seeing through all of the static of daily life to these truths is incredibly difficult, in large part because it is so hard to look at the unvarnished truth.  As my Mussar teacher, Rabbi Ira Stone, has said, we are imprinted with the record of every disappointment and every rejection we have ever experienced.  These wounds retain their power, even years after they are inflicted, and we are tempted to move as far away as we can from these parts of ourselves.  We don’t want to think about them.  We might even believe our only option is to disown the aspects of ourselves that we imagine connects to this pain. 

But what if these so-called defects were really the most powerful part of who we are?

The Jungian psychoanalyst, James Hillman, held the view that we are each born with our own peculiar genius, “like an acorn slowly blossoming…that is fate working through us”.  He believed that the trouble in realizing our destiny, is that this “acorn” often shows up in childhood as pathology, as traits gone awry that need to be fixed.  Hillman wrote a book examining the lives of great artists like Picasso, Zola, and Faulkner, and he looked at how “symptoms, genius, and destiny all mix together…a kind of preventive medicine, holding you back from a false route…limiting life to the only possibilities that are actually yours.”  Hillman believed that we are too often trying to change the essential parts of ourselves…. the parts that are the most powerful and unique.   He said, “The puzzle in therapy is not ‘How did I get this way?’, but ‘What does my angel want with me?’.” 

The question of what is true within us takes a lot of courage and discernment to answer.  So how do we begin to reveal what Hillman referred to as the acorn?  Today’s Torah and Haftarah portions contain some clues.  The stories we read, about the struggle to give birth, serve as lessons about the doubt and fear that can get in the way of our own ability to see what is true within us, and be fruitful. 

In Sarah’s doubts about her ability to have a child, we can hear a familiar refrain, “Who, me?  How could I ever do this thing?” Sara protests that she is too old, but when we are faced with something difficult, we have possibly come up with our own variations.  Perhaps we say: “I don’t have the skill” or  “I don't have time right now” or “I could never have that much patience.”   For Sarah, ultimately, age wasn't a factor; she was not only able to give birth but also to nurture her son.  In order to take the daring step of discovering and giving birth to our unique gifts, we learn from Sarah that we cannot take refuge in excuses.  

In the story of Hagar, there seemed to be no place for her and her baby.  The community she had been part of rejected both her and her child, and Hagar viewed this rejection as the truth. In her state of despair, we read that she placed her child “a bowshot away.”   That is a considerable distance.  In her pain, Hagar can't even look at her child.  She is paralyzed by fear, and we read that she raised her voice and wept.  But then, we read that God heard the child’s voice.  God hears Ishmael, not Hagar, and it was this voice that led God to open Hagar’s eyes.  Ishmael represented what was true and essential, not Hagar’s fears. Hagar found the well that she needed to nurture Ishmael, who eventually thrived as the father of the Ishmaelites, the people of the desert.  In the story of Hagar, we learn that we need to find the right place for our gifts, and not necessarily taking rejection as the final decision.

Hannah’s source of pain was her childlessness, and she did not try to hide this pain.  The text translation reads…"and she was in a bitter mood, and prayed to The Eternal, while she wept and wept.”  The sadness and bitterness that Hannah felt became the source of her strength, and we read that Hannah’s prayer reached God because of, not despite this pain.  Hannah’s son Samuel became one of the most important figures in Jewish history; our sages describe him as the equivalent of "Moses and Aaron combined."

            So in today’s Torah readings we see doubt, desperation and bitterness.  Even hopelessness. This seems to me a perfect reflection of what happens to us when we are confronted with certain aspects of our own truth.  There can be parts of ourselves that seem distasteful, even cringe-worthy.  There may be other parts of ourselves, a talent or an interest, perhaps, that feels too scary to explore.  We may feel defeated before we even begin. We definitely don't want to make a fool of ourselves.  We might say, “Who am I, to do this thing?  There is surely someone else who can do this.” 

But, as our Torah readings suggest, these sources of pain turn out to have tremendous power. Alan Lew, in his book, Be Still and Get Going, discusses the Torah passage in which Moses sees the burning bush and hears God’s name: “Ehiyeh asher Ehiyeh,” which means “I am that I am”, or “I will become what I will become”  Lew writes, “The will of God is expressed in the need of everything and everyone on earth to become what they are, what they are supposed to be.”

But Lew goes on to relate the bad news that many of us don't become all of what we are supposed to be.  The main reason is fear.  Lew says, “We are afraid of our lives, as afraid, perhaps, as we are of our deaths.”

This work of giving birth to our unique abilities and skills is clearly not something that can be done alone.  We need each other, to show us parts of ourselves that we might reject or hide, and to embolden us to continue along the path of becoming who we are. And here is where the strength of community comes in. 

James Hillman, the Jungian psychoanalyst I quoted earlier, felt firmly that our destiny, the sum of our gifts, only comes to light in the community.  He wrote, “Your true self is a self among, not a self apart.”

Engaging with community is a vital part of learning the truth about ourselves, and recognizing our “peculiar genius”. For one thing, community gives us the chance to experiment.  And here, I want to quote David Geffen, the music producer and philanthropist, with thanks to my friend Irene McHenry, who shared something that he wrote for the Jerusalem Post:

“My friends, the consensus may be that with aging we rust with “disuse” or grow musty with “stagnation.” But – it can be different. If you have a feeling that there is something special you are endowed with; a talent which can be well-utilized, grab hold of yourself and give it a try. Even if you do not succeed wildly, the effort will add a dimension to your life you never expected.”

And this is one of the gifts that community can give us, if we devote our energies to it.  In the Dorshei Derekh community, we have the good fortune of having the energy and talents of generous members who often step out of their comfort zone to try something new.  Our lay congregation does a wonderful job.  I have seen how people transform over time as prayer leaders.  Reading from the Torah is demanding, but we have people who volunteer to do this every Shabbat.  People step up to create a beautiful kiddushes.  Others, like me, overcome their feelings of terror and give a talk based on the Torah portion of the week. And many have spent time as leaders, doing the legwork and coordinating these various jobs so that we can put together services for Shabbat and holidays throughout the year.

Along with this energy and willingness, an essential part of a vital community is gratitude.  When we can access gratitude for the people who volunteer, knowing what it takes to do each and every task, we take on the role of midwife.  We can encourage others and let them know that they have given us something valuable.  And we can draw inspiration from others to try something new ourselves.  In other words, the gratitude and appreciation for peoples’ gifts facilitates their own journey of finding out about their acorn, the work they are meant to do.  This is the gift of community.

Margaret Wheatley, an organizational consultant, writes about the journey of giving birth to our own unique gifts.  She calls this journey becoming warriors for the human spirit.  She writes:  “As warriors for the human spirit, we discover our right work, work that we know is ours to do no matter what. We engage wholeheartedly, embody values we cherish, let go of outcomes, and carefully attend to relationships. We serve those issues and people we care about, not so much focused on making a difference, as on being a difference.”

So, as we embark on these Days of Awe with this backdrop of babies, let’s keep in mind the roadmap we are given: 

Teshuvah: repentance

Tefilah: prayer

Tzedakah: charity.

Teshuvah is being able to take a second look at the things that are difficult to uncover, those aspects of ourselves we imagine to be shameful or ugly.  Instead of rejecting these things outright, teshuvah encourages us to be curious about these things, to learn what they can tell us about ourselves.

Tefilah, or prayer, is what Rabbi Ira Stone describes as the stance we take in life.  Can we become more expansive, and take risks?  Can we, like Hannah, dare to pray in a way that expresses our truth, even when it draws criticism from others?

Tzedakah, acts of charity and acts of justice, is described beautifully in the Mahzor, Kol HaNeshamah : “Tzedakah is all about community, reminding us that our own salvation or self-fulfillment cannot exist apart from those with whom we share past, present and future.”

On this Rosh Hashanah, may we all be encouraged to be fruitful and multiply:  accepting and incorporating more of ourselves, learning new and surprising things about one another, and savoring the communities that give us the energy and inspiration to do this work.

Sonia Voynow serves as Dorshei Derekh Coordinator-in-Chief.  You can read about her work as a therapist at Surviving and Thriving.

Nachamu nachamu ami: where is solace to be found?

Rabbi Dayle A. Friedman

ReBoot Mitzvah 20 July 2013/ 13 Av 5753

Shabbat shalom! I’m so honored and pleased 
to be sharing this moment with all of you.

To begin, I’d like to locate ourselves in Jewish time. This is the Shabbat after Tisha B’Av, our collective day of mourning for destruction, desolation, and exile. Two things characterize this day ritually. First, the reading of Parashat Va-etchanan, which we are treated to a reprise of the giving of the Torah, as well as the Shema. Secondly, this day features a special Haftarah,  Haftarat Nachamu, first of 7 haftarot between Tisha B’Av and Rosh Hashanah, collectively known as the haftarot of consolation.

I’d also like to take a moment to locate this day in the context of my life. I am 57 years old, past the middle of life (unless I should be blessed, like Moshe, to make it to 120!). This season of my life has been both a time of renewal and reinvention after a professional disappointment and a season of great sorrow. My family is companioning my Dad as he takes the slow path toward letting go of this life, and my sister, Jill, who is gravely ill with a disease that will rob her of length of days.

I am drawn to the question of our Haftarah, which begins: nachamu nachamu ami--take comfort, take comfort my people. The prophet asks: where is solace to be found in the wake of the breaking apart of that which we’d held to be our center? In the case of our people, Bet ha-Mikdash, the holy Temple was our sacred center, our place of connection...to one another, to God, and to the very possibility of beginning anew that the sin offerings provided.

Kabbalah teaches that shattering and destruction are woven into not just the story of our people, but into the very fabric of the universe. The world came to be through a cosmic shattering, shever–God attempted to create a world, but all did not go well. There needed to be space that was not God in order for there to be a world, so God withdrew just a bit. God created vessels to hold the world, vessels that would have divine light in them, but not be completely occupied by the divine. There was a cosmic accident--the vessels could not contain the divine light, and they shattered. The light that was previously everywhere and always was fragmented into sparks. These sparks were scattered, and encased in shards.  The human task in this world of darkness is to seek out and lift up those sparks of the divine, the work called tikkun.

My exploration of aging over the past 35 years as a rabbi and chaplain has shown me that shever and tikkun are shot through our individual human lives, as well. Particularly in the second half of life, we are confronted by myriad shatterings--moments when things simply cannot continue as before--professional disappointments, physical limitations, and, most of all, losses of dear ones.

What has intrigued me is the human capacity to emerge from shattering toward tikkun--many, many of the elders I have accompanied manage to BEGIN AGAIN...to reach with zest for life, for love, for growth. I wonder what it is that fosters the desire, will and ability to seek out and find new light in the wake of destruction.

This, of course, is the task our people faced after the Hurban, destruction and exile. So what can we learn from the text of this Shabbat that can point the way toward solace and tikkun?

The comfort/solace/tikkun

A voice calls out in the wilderness:  clear a pathway, forge a path toward our God…

Behold the Eternal your God will come in strength.  Like a shepherd guiding her flock, God will gather the scattered ones, and take the babes to her breast.

In the wake of shattering, we need and can find new pathways to spiritual connection, to solace, to tikkun. I want to focus on two particular pathways toward solace and renewal:

Belonging...we who suffer are taught that we are connected--to each other, as we are addressed as ami--the people, to God, whose we are, and to ourselves. After the calamity, the Jewish people had to hold on to each other, perhaps getting past petty hurts and insults from the past (sinat hinam). They learned that holding hands, or silently being together, or embracing, they could gain strength and courage to go on toward light.

Torah--after shattering, downfall, destruction, we receive the Torah anew. Just as after the sin of the Golden Calf, new tablets were given to the people, so, too, after Tisha B’av, we get to experience Matan Torah once again.  When we pass through darkness in our lives, says the Slonimer Rebbe, we get to receive new Torah. In this way, every loss is a preparation for the possibility of new growth and flowering.

Pathways toward solace in my life

Connection: I am most profoundly sustained by the relationships in my life: my beloved, David, who both accepts me totally and calls me to grow and to refine my neshomeh. My beloved children, Anya, Anat, and Avram, who pull me toward new pursuits (baseball, swimming!), who humble me by calling me on my shortcomings and my wardrobe, who inspire me with their passion for what they see as right, for love and their willingness to continually, as Anat says, “just start over.”

I am sustained by my connection to my original family--tho’ we are spread from coast to coast, the threads of love and concern that connect me to Mom, Jill, Glen, and Dad and Jeannie, as well as my step-siblings, are precious and ever-present. I am sustained by the family I married into--I so delight in the warmth, exuberance and caring that I share with Doris and Ari, and with all of the cousins. I am rich in connection of my dear ones, my precious friends, those who have traveled the path of life with me from childhood (Lisa), from college (Elyse), and from my single days (Sue), my Rosh Chodesh sisters, with whom I am tenderly traversing all of life’s bitterness and sweetness, and my precious friends, neighbors and community members who share everything from a casual schmooze to showing up when my family or I really need help. Solace surely comes from precious connection.

Torah. The unwelcome shatterings of this part of my life have given me an opportunity to learn more, and to learn differently. A year and a half ago, my job ended--the money ran out, and the program I had considered the fulfillment of my vision ended. I needed to reinvent my professional life. I decided to take a gap year (or 2 or 3) to reflect, and to write, and to re-imagine my career.

One of the things I realized when I began to reshape my professional life was that I had always been in a gigantic hurray. I realized, too, that I had never started a single learning process of my adult life at aleph (a)...when I was 17, I began ulpan in Israel in Kittah Bet (2^nd level). When I decided to go to rabbinical school, I skipped the first year and started in the 2^nd year. When I became a chaplain, I was grandfathered into certification with one unit of Clinical Pastoral Education instead of the requisite four.

There were costs to this hurry--a feeling of never having the strongest foundation...of always “making it up as I went along,” of not connecting as deeply as I might have with those I learned alongside. There were holes and gaps, in my knowledge, and in my confidence.

Now, I want to learn--and live--with more spaciousness and more intentionality.

Part of what I want to offer professionally as a resource for aging is spiritual direction. I was a spiritual director at RRC 13 years ago, when the College first began to offer spiritual direction for the students. All of us directors lacked formal training...we read, we learned from each other, and Bobbi and Jacob, who actually had formal training, and we practiced by the seat of our pants. This time, I decided to start at Aleph--I enrolled a year ago in Morei Derekh, a 2 1/2 year training program in spiritual direction. I treasure the gift of filling in my gaps and learning with a peer group, of deepening as a human being, not just grabbing the knowledge I need for the task at hand. The learning is precious--sometimes frustrating, always humbling, and often surprising.

This ReBoot Mitzvah is part of my story of learning differently, of starting from Aleph. Temple Micah, my classical Reform congregation did not have Bar or Bat Mitzvah, only Confirmation at age 15. When I was in Israel on Eisendrath International Exchange program at age 17, those of us who had not had a Bar/Bat Mitzvah were invited to read a few verses of Torah on the top of Jebu Musa, the purported site of Mt. Sinai. It was exciting, but definitely didn’t have the feel of a Bat Mitzvah for me--I didn’t get to share the occasion with my family and friends, I didn’t give a d’var Torah, and I did not chant Haftarah….and, I hasten to add, I didn’t have a party! Last summer, on Shabbat Nachamu, I realized that it was 39 years since I had read from Parashat Va-etchanan on Mt. Sinai. I decided that the 40^th anniversary, today, would be a great moment for a REBOOT, to fill in the gaps of what I had done so long ago by sharing it with my dear ones and community, and to finally learn haftarah trope, which I am embarrassed to say I had managed to miss even in rabbinical school!!!

I had to overcome not inconsiderable sheepishness in deciding to share this occasion--isn’t it a bit ridiculous for a RABBI who has been spending the last 28 years immersed in Torah and practice to have a bat mitzvah? I decided to go ahead anyway, for two reasons: one, there is always room for another simcha!!! I want to practice what I preach, in terms of marking moments of the second half of the lifespan with ritual and celebration and community. And secondly, I want to share this occasion as an example of beginning again, of tikkun through rebuilding or reinforcing a foundation, of never ever being finished learning and growing.

Here’s my blessing- -on this Shabbat Nachamu, for all of us. In the wake of life’s unavoidable shatterings, may we all find tikkun.  May we be nourished by connection to others who can offer humor, perspective, assistance, and most of all, presence. May we be sustained and challenged by new learning. May we never be too proud to be curious, may we reconstruct our foundations and awaken new depths. May we forge new pathways to light, to hope, to solace, and to love.

Questions for discussion

1. What have you found has given you solace in the face of shattering, destruction, loss?

2. What gets in the way of experiencing solace, finding the hidden light?

3. What new beginnings have emerged for you after shatterings?

Out at Shul... and No Big Deal

Out at Shul… and No Big Deal - reposted from Keshet.

By Ruth Loew | Tagged allies, coming out, family, featured, Keshet Parent & Family Connection, parents

8

A series by Jewish moms and dads with LGBTQ children.

When a child comes out, a coming out process begins for the entire family. In honor of Mother’s and Father’s Day, we bring you our third post in a series by parent leaders of Keshet’s Parent & Family Connection. The Connection is a confidential peer support program for parents and family members of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer Jews. We celebrate the support and love that these parents give their LGBTQ children – and the support they now offer other parents. This week’s post is by Ruth Loew, wife of a rabbi and mother of twin gay sons. You can read the previous posts in this series: one, by a mother of a queer daughter in Colorado, here, one by an Orthodox parent from Baltimore, MD, here, one by the mother of a gay son in the Philadelphia suburbs, here, and a celebration of Mother’s Day/Mothers’ Day here.

Ruth, on right, with sons Aaron and Nathan Tabak

A couple of decades ago, thesynagogue to which my family belongs hired a young rabbinic student, who happened to be gay, as its youth group adviser. In short order, its leadership then fired him, not because of any transgression, but merely because of who he was. The congregation’s membership turned out to be more liberal than its leaders. Shul members, appalled, rallied to the adviser’s support, and he was quickly rehired.

At the time, this incident didn’t seem very relevant to me. My three sons were nowhere near youth group age yet, and I didn’t know many LGBTindividuals very well. I wholeheartedly supported the synagogue membership in its adamant opposition to discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation. Apart from that, though, I didn’t give homosexuality much thought, amid the ongoing pandemonium of parent-teacher conferences, carpools, swimming lessons, and squabbling siblings.

Then, during the adolescence of my two younger sons, identical twins, I started to wonder if one or both might be gay. They weren’t overt about it, but they certainly didn’t seem to be at all interested in girls. They were both fervently interested in justice for minorities in general, the minority that concerned them most seemed to be the LGBT community, and the worst criticism either could level at a politician was to call him homophobic. My husband’s response was generally: “They’re young, they’re shy, and they depend on each other socially; maybe they just haven’t figured out their sexuality yet.” Maybe so, I said; but if they look like ducks and quack like ducks, maybe they ARE ducks. By their senior year in high school, when they insisted on attending a seminar on gay marriage, even though it meant making their own travel arrangements and delaying our familyShabbat dinner, I was pretty sure. I didn’t want to talk to local friends about the matter, though, because I didn’t want to say anything that might embarrass the boys later.

As I became more convinced that one or both boys were gay, I found it immensely reassuring to realize what a non-issue this was in my synagogue and how much support we, as a family, had there. By then I had come to know a number of LGBT individuals as friends, fellow synagogue and Jewish community members, and key contributors to that community. Once my sons were comfortable withbeing out in the Jewish community, I began to tell fellow congregants. As one gay friend said, “You can talk to me any time. It’s one thing to be liberal in the abstract, but it can feel different when it involves your own family.” I like to think that this synagogue environment made it easier for our sons to come out to us. Certainly it continues to support my husband and me in accepting and celebrating their sexual orientation as they have grown into responsible, compassionate, interesting young men.

Jewish institutions need to be, not merely passively supportive of LGBT rights, but proactive in being welcoming and fully inclusive. We need everyone’s talents to build a community. We are enriched by the involvement of all. And where LGBT individuals are truly welcomed and valued, parenting a gay child becomes infinitely easier, too.

Wil Gafney Davar 5/25/13 - B'Ha'alotechah

Here's a link to Wil Gafney's [as always] fantastic Davar Torah on Shabbat.
Thanks, Wil!

Join with Dorshei Derekh at Kol Zimrah, 5/31, and for Shabbat Dinner

Click on the flier and it will enlarge

GJC Hosts Mega-Tikkun Leil Shavuot - Tuesday night, May 14th

Time to Pony Up for Purim!

GJC’s 2013 Purim Tsedakah Collective Welcomes Your Participation

This Purim, GJC and Minyan Dorshei Derekh will join together in an expanded Mishloah Manot tzedakah project, which Dorshei Derekh has done for nearly a decade. It allows us all to fulfill two of the important mitzvot of Purim: mishloah manot (giving treats to our friends) and matanot la’evyonim (giving gifts to the poor).

Here’s how it works:

• You donate between $18 – $108 to the project.
• Donations can be made via PayPal or by sending a Check made out to GJC to the office (for checks, please indicate on envelope and check that payment is for the Mishloah Manot project).
• The bulk of the proceeds is donated as tzedakah to four food-based organizations that help the hungry.
• A small percentage of the proceeds will be used to provide a mishloah manot goodie basket for each household that attends the evening Purim celebration on Saturday, February 23 in the Charry Sanctuary.

Some of the 4 food organizations are old DD favorites and some are new – we will be feeding people near and far:

1. We will once again be supporting a Weavers Way Community PRogram, the community garden at Stenton Family Manor, a homeless shelter in Germantown.  The grant  helps a farm educator teach residents how to raise food.  The produce raised is used directly in the kitchen to feed residents.

2. Hazon has carved a niche supporting the new Jewish food movement, Jewish Farm School, CSA’s and generally promoting local, healthy, sustainable agriculture. Many GJC members have participated in Hazon’s famous bike rides.

3. Philadelphia’s own Female Hebrew Benevolent Society distributes $50 supermarket gift certificates to impoverished clients to help them cover Passover food expenses.  This will be the Ma’ot Chitim donation, specifically given to the poor for Passover provisions.

4. Through our emissary Nomi Teutsch, who was a Tony Blair Interfaith Social Justice fellow at United Sikhs last year, we will be contributing to the Sikh Food Pantry inKenya, used to feed the hungry suffering famine conditions in the Horn of Africa.  The need is ongoing as is their wonderful work.

We are so proud of the work these organizations are doing and that we can support them, filling the mitzvah of feeding the poor.

We are seeking volunteers to put the packages together. Come shmooze and assemble baskets from 4-6 PM on Thursday, February 21, in the Charry Lobby. Kids ages 7 and up accompanied by a parent are welcome to help with this mitzvah!

We need clementine boxes!  Please drop them by the GJC synagogue office anytime up until Thursday 2/21

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