“Harmful Side Effects May Occur” Maven in Fanwood, NJ
By Vicky Glickin

How lucky can a girl get? Not only did I have the opportunity to write and perform my very first start-to-finish show with a terrific partner, fellow cantorial student Joshua Breitzer, but we also got to perform the show twice! 2 for the price of 1 = AWESOME. Our Maven for Parsha Toldot “Harmful Side Effects May Occur” first premiered on Monday, November 16 at Hebrew Union College – Jewish Institute of Religion (HUC). On Friday November 20, Joshua and I brought the same show to Temple Sholom in Fanwood, NJ, a 230 family Reform congregation where I serve as the Student Cantor.

As you might have read in Joshua’s reflection on our HUC performance, our Maven centered on a restless Jacob the night before he reunited with Esau. The bullseye: how can we take care of our loved ones while pursuing our individual visions? While the show was written specifically for the HUC community, Joshua and I kept the audience of Temple Sholom in mind throughout our creative process. Originally, we played with the idea of having different bullseye questions for the two communities. However, in the end we decided that the same bullseye would be relevant and enticing to both communities. Thus, with the exception of minor details, such as the examples we provided for calling up the aliyot, we performed an almost identical show twice. Or, did we?

While the show was basically the same both times, the experience of doing it twice demonstrated to me that the Mavens (or, Mavens-In-Training in our case) write and perform the show, but it is ultimately the members of the audience who morph and shape the tale into its final form. While we guide the stretch and provide pointers for the direction of the conversation, the overall affect of the stretch and the show itself are hinged on the goodwill, investment, and creativity of the audience. Thus, the show and the lessons gathered from it by the audience were different at Temple Sholom than they had been just a couple of days earlier at HUC. Some of the pleasant surprises from the Temple Sholom performance included the unabashed participation from about ten sixth graders, who were present at the performance, as well as the very deep insights from the adult audience members. Regardless of age, most of the audience members were experiencing Storahtelling for the first time and they absolutely loved experiencing Torah in such an exciting new way. What an honor to be a part of their first such journey and discovery!

Mavens-in-the-Making at Hebrew Union College: Last Minute Tweaks
By Josh Breitzer

On Monday, November 16, Vicky Glikin and I had the wonderful opportunity to present a Maven for our classmates and teachers at Hebrew Union College in New York during that morning's t'filah. Our take on Parashat Toldot, "Harmful Side Effects May Occur," centers on a restless Jacob the night before reuniting with Esau. He recalls his early childhood, how he craved his father's attention and how unappreciated he felt, and ultimately relives the infamous birthright purchase, knowing that he must face Esau in the morning for the first time in years. The bullseye: how do we take care of those close to us while in pursuit of our individual dreams? We were blessed with the support of the HUC administration, some extremely generous sh'lichei tzibbur (one of whom was a fellow Maven-in-the-Making), and the presence of our friend and teacher Jake Goodman. None of us anticipated the presence of a large group of visiting out-of-state synagogue delegates, but we relished the opportunity to include our surprise guests in the maven. They participated eagerly in the aliyot and in the stretch, contributing as much as (if not more than) the resident HUC community.

One thing that surprised me during the rehearsal process was that despite all the hours we had set aside, we were still tweaking the show right up until that very morning. While I was never really able to divorce myself from the script, I still found opportunities to "play" within the characterization of Jacob, improvising whenever the moment seemed to allow for it. We also had to improvise when the sh'lichei tzibbur moved right from returning the Torah to the 'Aleinu, skipping right over our chatimah. Fortunately, some split-second communication allowed for us to offer the chatimah before the Mourners' Kaddish. I was very grateful to have worked with such flexible service leaders, and came away from the experience even more certain of the need for good communication - before, during, and after the maven!

Living to Hope: “Oh, Well” Maven in NJ & NY
November 14, 2009
By Jake Goodman

Just over a week ago, I traveled to Temple Shalom in Succasunna, NJ for a Maven Shabbaton Weekend. I presented a Solo-Maven Torah Reading Ritual of Parshat Chayei Sarah called “Oh, Well” and a Meet the Maven workshop for a bunch of adults. The week before, I had performed the same Maven at the 14th Street Y in NYC. The story was the same, of course, but the performances were very different because the gig in NYC also featured musician Justin Wedes and was geared toward multi/non-denominational families with children ages 2-5, while the gig in NJ was geared toward a Reform congregation of people ages 6+. There is a lot that I could say about both of these gigs and the shows, but there was one very sweet moment I want to share.

On Shabbat afternoon at Temple Shalom in Succasunna, NJ, I facilitated the Meet the Maven workshop for a lovely adults, most of whom were my parents age or older. Secret: this workshop is actually my favorite part of the Maven Shabbaton Weekend (even more than the performance) because it allows me intimate and deep interaction with members of the community about the power of story in our own lives, the history of the Maven, and it leaves us with a mandate to actually take the responsibility upon ourselves to do the work of making meaning of story through translation.

Every time we lead this workshop, we include the infamous “Shema Exercise.” This exercise has been a StorahStaple for years (long before I joined the company), and often ends up being a very powerful experience. In short, we engage people in a word-by-word translation of the Shema, the proclamation/prayer that so many of us are told is the most important piece of dogma in Judaism: there is one god. The purpose of the workshop is to prove to people that anybody can translate, that there is not such thing as a literal translation of any text, that we can find deeper meaning that we are perhaps given.

Milton was one of the workshop participants. Milton is approximately 83 years old, and a lovely, genial person. 80 minutes into the workshop, just after we had completed the Sheme Exercise, I began to do my standard wrap up: stories matter, we have to do the work to make these texts meaningful to us, we have to find how and where these texts try to make us wrestle with bigger/difficult ideas. Just as I was about to say my goodbye, Milton raised his hand and said, “Jake, this has been eye opening for me, but I’m curious. How does this help you?”

I stopped, caught off guard. Normally when teaching, I do my best to leave my personal beliefs slightly obscure so as not to influence other people’s opinions (except when I want to influence other people’s opinions). Also, despite everything, I am not a particularly religious person.

So I began giving what is, for me, a standard answer: “Well, this helps me because it helps me see that there is no such thing as a literal understanding of any text…” As I was speaking, I could feel that I was losing Milton, as well as the rest of the participants. So I stopped. “Maybe I’m not understanding your question, Milton. How does the Shema help you?”

He said, “I say it every morning when I wake up and every night when I go to bed. I said it before I had my hip surgery, and before I get on airplanes. It is a rock for me.” And then he looked at me, expectantly. At risk, I felt, was all my authenticity. At risk was any impact this workshop might have, and all of Storahtelling’s programming, because if I am a fake, who cares?

So I responded in a way that I do not always: transparently, with full disclosure. “I hear you and what you said is very beautiful to me. But I’m 30 years old and I’m just not there yet. The Shema is not a rock for me right now. I’m not where you are in terms of belief in god, in general. I hope to be, but I’m not there yet.” There was silence and then, I could just feel all the tension break. They seemed relieved at my answer. They liked that I owned up (or down) to my age, without being self-effacing, just honestly. And I felt relieved, because I spoke my truth while I was trying to be professional.

This was a lesson to me, a challenge: this work we engage ourselves in is rooted in exciting theory, but ultimately, the main question is: How can I/we use this in our lives? If I feel no commitment to the actual message—only on the methodology of understanding the message—what is the point? Why am I doing this?

Milton, I thank you.

Mavens in DC: Identifying the Other
By Daliya Karnofsky

Two weekends ago, David Schiller and I went to Washington D.C. to perform Parshat Vayera: Child's Play for two very special communities. We had two incredible experiences. Our first performance was on Friday night for Gay and Lesbian Outreach and Engagement of the Washington DCJCC (GLOE), in collaboration with Bet Mishpachah Congregation. The Saturday morning performance was for the Jewish Foundation for Group Homes (JFGH), in collaboration with GLOE.

We adapted the story of the exile of Ishmael and Hagar to become something deeply personal to these communities.

Ishmael and Hagar live with Sarah, Abraham, and Isaac as one family, until one day Sarah sees something pass between the boys that she does not like and this is the straw that breaks the camel's back. Sarah insists that Abraham break the family up and send Ishmael and Hagar into the desert on their own, leaving Isaac as Abraham's one and only heir.

When David and I first received the script for Child's Play, the main characters were Sarah and Abraham, and the focus of the story was on whatever it was that passed between Ishmael and Isaac that incited Sarah to take such a dramatic step. The word used in the Torah is "metzachek", and has many different meanings: from playing to laughing to fighting and even fooling around.

But for these two communities, we decided it was not important to decipher what exactly was meant by this word and what exactly transpired between the two brothers. What was more important was the aftermath of this crucial moment. The breaking up of a family, and one half of the family being made to feel like the "other". The notion that not everyone belongs in a family, and must be sent on their way because of their "other"ness. We chose to highlight the voices of Ishmael and Hagar; to feel what it was they felt as they were cast out into the desert. This is a topic that is viscerally relevant to the two communities for which we performed.

As Alex Greenbaum (a lay leader for GLOE) stated as the last point in a riveting discussion that could have gone on all night with the GLOE and Bet Mishpachah communities, the "other" in this story is exactly equivalent to a queer family today. A family that is not good enough to be a family. That is told that because of who they are, they are not fit to be part of a family. This point summed up a lot of the emotions that had been coming out that night, and Ishmael and Hagar's voices were poignantly heard.

Performing this point of view for the members of the group homes was equally touching. The families formed in the group homes are certainly not traditional and are made up of people who have lived their lives as the "other". Our audience recognized that what Sarah did was wrong, as they empathized with the importance of inclusion and the different definitions a family can have.

All in all, mission accomplished. The voice of the "other" was heard; the notion of a non-traditional family was explored. We wanted to give these communities the opportunity to voice this for themselves as well, and that they did. The discussions we had during and after the Maven were eye-opening and encouraging, and will continue for many years to come. Hopefully with very different endings.

Learning to Get Along
JCCA Conference, Ramat Gan, Israel, 11/4/09
The Birth of Laughter: Parshat Vayera, B’reshit 21:6-10
By Annie Lewis

The word L’Garesh! is spray-painted in red letters on a stucco building near Tel Aviv’s Central Bus Station. I am on the way to a maven demo, about to shout that word, in translation, in its first appearance in Torah. It means to banish, to expel, to exile, to divorce, to deport. The neighborhood of Tel Aviv’s Central Bus Station is home to many foreign workers, from the Philippines, Nigeria, Romania, Ghana, Ukraine. Last Sunday, the decision came down from the Prime Minister’s office that the children of foreign workers in Israel illegally are to be deported at the end of the school year. The Jewish Telegraphic Agency reported:

“Yishai, the Shas Party leader, has been leading the call for deportation. Yishai claims that allowing the children to remain and giving them citizenship could damage the Jewish character of the state.”

In our Torah cycle, we are telling stories of Sarah, the First Lady of the House of Abraham. I had the privilege of assuming Sarah’s voice at last week’s maven as Israeli maven, Eran Kraus, read the words from the Torah and led the crowd in discussion. In Parshat Vayera, God sends Sarah into bouts of laughter, informing her that she will give birth to a bouncing baby boy. At ninety years of age, she expects to be in a nursing home, but nursing?

Our maven took place at the conference center at K’far Ha-Maccabiah, the original Jewish Olympic village. Executives from Jewish Community Centers all over the world were gathered to build relationships and share best practices. Our audience included people from Argentina, Russia, India, Estonia, France and Colorado. We invited them to the Weaning Feast of Sarah’s miraculous first-born son, Yitzhak (Isaac/ One who will laugh).

Sarah is cracking jokes, and getting fahklempt about Yitzhak getting older, and the crowd is singing siman tov! All of the sudden, Sarah panics. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Avraham’s first son, Yishmael, m’tzahkek, an ambiguous word which might mean to play, to mock, to fool around, to rough-house, to abuse.

“Get out! I want them out. Out of my home - that woman (Hagar) and her son. Avraham, Get them out!” Sarah orders. She claims that Yishmael is endangering the safety of her son, Yitzhak.

Eran asked our audience, full of parents, and decision-makers in the work place, to step into Avraham’s shoes. What would they do if presented with such a demand? One man, from Israel, looked to the verses and pointed out that the Torah’s original letters describing Yishmael’s m’tzahek, say nothing about Yitzhak. Becoming the Sarah of our Maven, I have nearly forgotten that this voice of hers is built from layers of midrash; sages seeking to justify the severity of her demand to banish this other mother and her child into the wilderness. Perhaps our rabbinic predecessors didn’t want to see Sarah’s decision as rash or jealous, or based solely on concern about sharing the resources of her home and husband.

Another woman in the audience mentioned that if she were Avraham, she would ask the boys what happened. Eran asked the others whether they, too, wanted to hear another side of the story. As decision-makers at home or at work, what do they do when a conflict arises between different people under their care or supervision? Eran told a story about a time he and his brother came to their father hitting each other and yelling, “He started it! No, he started it!” His father slapped them both, simply saying, “Get along.” The sting of the slap and the truth of those words are with him today.

We ended our sample maven with a dedication to a different Yitzhak. November 4th was the fourteenth anniversary of the murder of Yitzhak Rabin, a tragic casualty in the continuing conflict between the children of Yitzhak and Yishmael, the sons of Sarah and Hagar. We closed with a prayer for shalom bayit, peace in the House of Abraham, for all of his children. With all our sides of the story, may we learn to get along. May we laugh together and heal the rifts of our past.

This short and bittersweet telling of Torah, storah-style, was received with open arms by audience members from around the world! I am grateful to Eran for the experience and to Bruce Shaffer, our hevruta from Boulder, Co, for his support.

Oseh Shalom Bimromav, Hu Ya’aseh Shalom Aleinu, V’al Kol Yisrael, V’al Kol Yoshvei Tevel.

May the one who makes peace in the heights, make peace for all of us, all of Israel, and all us dwellers of this whole wide world.

A LETTER OF THANKS
Storahtelling Maven Weekend in DC
by Alexander Greenbaum
November 11, 2009

This past weekend, Storahtellers Daliya Karnofsky and David Schiller went to Washington, D.C. to perform two different performances of "Child's Play," Parshat Vayera. The program was organized by Gay and Lesbian Outreach and Engagement of the Washington DCJCC (GLOE), in collaboration with Bet Mishpachah Congregation and Jewish Foundation for Group Homes (JFGH).

I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for a marvelous weekend. Storahtelling brought the Torah to life for two communities that often find it difficult to connect with out ancient texts (the LGBT Jewish community and those with special needs). The room was packed for the joint Friday night GLOE-Bet Mishpachah serivce and judging by the laughing, discussion and positive comments from those who attended, the event was enjoyed by all and provided a very meaningful experience.

For me personally, the Shabbat morning Storahtelling event was even more exciting. Volunteers from GLOE and Bet Mishpachah assisted with the event at the Jewish Foundation for Group Homes. I am not exactly sure how many residents attended, but the room was chocker-block. Though many of the residents did not fully understand that story, the fun matter in which it was presented, the singing and the opportunity to participate in the service were a big hit! Quite a number of residents came up for all three group aliyot and the excitement on their faces as they made the brachot was priceless. Approximately five residents mentioned that it reminded them of their Bar/Bat Mitzvah. Storahtelling truly is opening up the Torah to the entire Jewish community.

FROM THE DEPTHS

by Shawn Shafner

October 6, 2009

Last Saturday, October 3rd, I had the great pleasure of joining forces with Amichai Lau-Lavie, Avi Fox-Rosen, Katie Down, Isaac Everett and Jess Lenza in presenting Raindance: A Musical Sukkot Celebration at the 14th Streety Y in New York City. With songs and dances, learning for adults, fun movement for kids and a big, huge story and lulavim to reckon with, the event offered up something for everyone. But I often find that, within big stories, there are little moments sticking out, opening up windows into larger, communal stories.

King David has decided to build a large temple on the highest mountain in Jerusalem, and to dedicate the space to God. He and his men roll up their sleeves and begin digging the foundation. Deeper and deeper they dig, when the lower and upper waters were being separated. This rock is the celestial plug that holds back the Leviathan, the chaos inherent in creation. King David, disregarding the rock's warnings, digs it up, and the earth is flooded. Problem! Relying on Talmudic marriage counseling, David is instructed to write the ineffable name of god (representing order) on paper and throw it into the water. Doing so, order is restored, but the water recedes down so deep that a huge drought falls on the land. Problem! Again. And at this moment, the King begins to cry.

At this moment, I, the actor, sit on my "throne," my hands over my face, my shoulders heaving in theatrical sobs. I hear young voices from in front of the stage: "Look, he's crying. The King is crying, mommy." There is a silence and a weight spread over all of us. Amichai, our MC, explains that King David, in his sadness, composed 15 psalms. I step downstage and begin to sing Mi Ma'amakim: "From the depths, I call you. Hear my prayer, listen to my song!" I look out at a sea of eyes--from the youngest toddler to the oldest adults--and can see that at that moment, we are all together. We are all together, have together transformed the theater to a field of dying plants, a burning sun and dry, hot air all around. The need for water, for measured chaos, is palpable. When I teach the song to the audience, there is a visceral sense that this can change everything. If we get the notes just right, perhaps, by singing these words together, we can bring the water back.

Near the end of the afternoon, Amichai asked us all what kinds of things we wanted to rain down. Amidst cries for cookies and calls for candy, I heard young and old alike ask for love and peace. But when we work together, believing all as one, perhaps we can transmit something important. Perhaps together, with songs, letters, actions and stories, change can occur. From deep dark depths, we can bring the water back.

10 Day High Holiday Residency in California

By Naamah Harris

Now, we all know the Torah says rain is a blessing, but it was an absolute pleasure being out in sunny Los Angeles with Naomi Less for Rosh Hashanah Yom Kippur and all the days in between. Naomi and I had one of the best, craziest, (longest) and most rewarding gigs ever! We had the privilege of doing a ten day residency at Valley Beth Shalom, in Encino, California, where we were able to work with many facets

of their “all-in-one” synagogue; this included the youth programs, the day school, the Hebrew School, as well as their clergy, educators and congregants.

We started off the first day of Rosh Hashana by doing...well, what else...storytelling!! In “Child’s Play,” a Maven based on Parashat Vayera, we focus on the rift that happens between Sarah and Hagar, and how our interpretation of their story is only one of many. We come to recognize the difference between truth, lies and myths and how these stories that are told over and over, year after year, change depending on the storyteller. We must be open to all tellings and recognize that our version is not necessarily the only one.

We kicked off the second day by doing a production of “Like A Prayer,” a fully staged Storahtelling show, that focuses on the different ways and places in which we can connect with God. We shared the stories of Sarah, Hagar, Chana, and Aaron, and how they each found their own way of praying to God, through laughter, crying, pleading and even finding secret, special places to pray.

Throughout the week we had the opportunity to run several workshops for the Hebrew School, the Day School and even an educators’ workshop, lead by Naomi Less, Storahtelling’s Director of Education and Training, in addition to several performances of “Like A Prayer.” We concluded our time at Valley Beth Shalom with a Maven for Yom Kippur called “Innermost,” based on Parashat Acharei Mot, that deals with the responsibilities of the High Priest and what he must do in order to erase the Jewish people’s sins. While we no longer have a High Priest, we suggest to search for people within our communities who fill that role today, as well as figuring out what we can do as individuals to cleanse ourselves of our wrong doings.

While Naomi and I had many meaningful experiences during our time in L.A., there is one that really stands out in my mind. During the Days of Awe, where we as Jews are working to improve our ways from the previous year and better ourselves and others, Naomi and I had the honor of having Shabbat dinner at Valley Beth Shalom, with people who fight for improvement not only on these ten days but every moment of their lives. These people are members of the Beit T’shuvah community, a Jewish residential treatment center and a full-service congregation, whose vision is to reduce the incidence of addiction and other harmful behaviors through individual and family education, with a focus on Judaism and Jewish values. It was truly inspiring to be around fellow members of our Jewish community who continually have the power and courage to recognize and admit their mistakes, lift themselves up and devote their lives to becoming better people.

People are often so quick to pass judgment on others and exclude anyone who appears to be “different.” Therefore, it was dually inspiring to spend the High Holy Days in a congregation like Valley Beth Shalom, whose clergy and congregants openly and willingly invite and accept members of the community who do not always feel like they have a place in the world. In Judaism we are taught to lead by example, so I would like to extend my gratitude to the members of the Valley Beth Shalom and Beit T’shuvah community for paving an exemplary path for me and others to follow. Thank you and Shanah Tovah!

FINAL RE:VERB FOR THIS CYCLE
RE:VERB FIFTY / V'ZOT HABRACHA / KISS
A weekly torah takeaway by Amichai Lau-Lavie
Featuring a personal note from Amichai

A year-long Jerusalem Journey, action by action, verb by verb. Each week I pluck a verb from the Torah portion and set it reverberating both with its context and with my own. Let's make this a conversation, and talk our walk.

KISS

I ended Yom Kippur with a private kiss. Semi private. With my back to the congregation at the City Winery, our fantastic venue for the High Holiday services in Tribeca, at the back of the stage, I leaned in and kissed the top of the wooden wine barrel that served as our makeshift ark. I hadn’t planned to kiss it, merely went over to close the tiny doors, right after the Tekia Gedola – the big blowing of the shofars and just before the wave of joy swept us as we ended a powerful day together. The kissing, a familiar gesture of approach to holy objects – just happened, came, perfectly, to my lips. I started the day, 11 hours earlier, with kissing the corners of my talit, as I wrapped myself with sacred silk and stepped up to the microphone to begin the morning service. Kissing the ark at the end of it all became my private way to mark the end of a charged day, and to take off my talit, my role. I kissed the Holy Ark with gratitude and a full heart and big smile and a face wet with tears. Then came hugs and kisses with the friends who were with me on stage to lead these worship ecstasies, and then many more cheeks, many also wet with tears, and more kisses with the hundreds who attended. Then a glass of brisk Riesling from the Winery’s finest to break the fast. A verse from the Song of Songs popped into my head as I drank the first sip: “Kiss me on the mouth, for your love is better than wine.”

A lot of sacred kissing happens in Jewish life. Kissing the mezuzah when one enters or exits a room; Kissing a holy book should it fall to the ground; kissing the fringes on the talit; Kissing a prayer book or a Bible when one is done reading; Kissing the Torah scrolls when they parade through the community; Kissing the exact spot in the Torah scroll as each new chanting begins and ends. Kissing, through the air, when the chanting is complete and the open Torah scroll is raised and revealed. Then there’s just all the kissing that happens when people meet – social kissing - equally, and differently, sacred.

Kissing is the last thing that Moses does before he dies and ends the Torah. It is, in fact, the action that kills him: He kisses God, on the mouth. The air got sucked out of Moses’ lungs and mouth into the mouth and being of the Creator and with that he was gone – evaporated, with no corpse or grave to mark where once a prophet lived.

The peaceful kiss of death is how Jewish tradition depicts the death of its mortal creator. The tradition is based on one obscure expression that appears several times in the Torah and makes its last appearance at the very end of the book. ‘God’s Mouth’ is often translated as ‘God’s Word’, but the Hebrew expression undeniably enables both translations and has thus yielded many possible interesting interpretations. Next week, during Simchat Torah - the Celebration of Torah holiday, the final Torah portion will be chanted, followed by the first few lines of Genesis, in celebration of the perpetual continuity of our story. The final Torah portion is V’zot Habracha - 'This is the Blessing,' and its last eight verses begin with the kiss, and describe the death, and are supposedly not written by Moses anymore:

"So Moses, the servant of the LORD, died there in the land of Moab, according to the word of the LORD." (D’varim 34:5, JPS)

Some translations replace ‘according to the word of the Lord’ with ‘at the command of God.’

But some of the Aramaic translations, and the bolder among the ancient sages preferred to read ‘Al PI ADONAI’ not as commands but rather as the source of command itself:

“Thereupon God kissed Moses and took away his soul with a kiss of the mouth, and God, if one might say so, wept as it is written in the Psalms, ‘Who will rise up for me against the evil-doers? Who will stand up for me against the workers of iniquity?'" (Midrash D'varim Rabba)

Goodbye Moses, and goodbye to a full cycle of your Torah, a complete heroic journey from birth to death and all the wandering and trials in between. I always get sad when this verse is read, and the ones that follow – the death of the hero, the end of the story, the end of a year. It doesn’t matter that I know that this story will pick up again in just a week, and that another full re-run is upon us – when Moses dies each fall, something within dies as well. And when Moses kisses God again, something within is kissed also. The Torah is like this eternally recycled spiral, contracting and expanding, like breath. Is that how our lives are lived? These spirals of our living and loving and leaving?

The death of Moses is another opportunity for us to pause and stand facing our own mortality, our hopes, fears, the promised lands we are marching towards, the doors we will never open again.

The death of Moses, his last kiss, becomes signposts, mythic reminders of all the goodbyes of our lives. Several dear friends lost loved ones this past week, just before and right after Yom Kippur. Does one kiss a tombstone? A photograph? We look to the old rituals and these simple human ones, for comfort, for physical affirmation of that is still present, when the physical love is gone. Something remains, as elusive as a the memory of a kiss. May those memories be blessings.

And so, also: Goodbye, RE:VERB, for now anyway. Kissing is verb #50, last one, closing a year of 50 gates into the Torah, a year of verbs and reverberations and revelations. It has been quite a journey. I started it in Jerusalem with ‘hope’ and will end again in Jerusalem, next week, with ‘kiss’. In between, many inspiring conversations happened, many questions, many words, some kisses. Now it’s time for that bittersweet kiss of goodbye.

I imagine holding an open, beautifully bound book, pages empty just a year ago, and then gently closing it, kissing its cover, and putting it down on the shelf. Its siblings will follow one day, hopefully.

But not just now. Many - and I am so grateful for each one - have written me notes, replies, suggestions and questions during this year of reverbing and many request that this blog continues. I am honored and flattered and eager to continue – but need some time out from the responsibility of regular blogging in order to focus on some of my urgent and very exciting tasks and responsibilities at Storahtelling. Occasional musings are assured, more consistent format, perhaps monthly, is also in the works.

Before we kiss goodbye – a request, an invitation, and a gift:

Request: Is this the first blog entry of this series that you are now reading? The fifth? Tenth? Here since ‘Hope’? Please take a minute to share any feedback at all – even just a ‘hey, read some of it, cool’ note. Feedback means a lot to me and will be really appreciated. Got suggestions or requests or ideas for next blogging topic, theme, style or format? Want to help make it happen? I’d love to talk about it. Can you help to get RE:VERB online as its own easily searched webpage? Talk to me!

amichai@storahtelling.org is the best way to reach me with any of the above.

Invitation: Join me in making the stories and secrets of Torah accessible and exciting to many more people of all ages and faiths, worldwide -RE:VERB style. In the following months I am building Storahtelling’s new training programs for clergy, artists, early childhood educators and other community leaders. One of our goals is to enable ample opportunity in our communities for inclusive, creative, free or affordable forms of Jewish culture and education – much like this blog. I invite you to join me in making this vision manifest and change the way we tell and celebrate our sacred stories in generations to come.

Got time? Got talent? Got a Wallet? Your honoring my vision and joining me in any way you can to make change happen will be truly appreciated. No amount insignificant. All love matters.
Investments in Storahtelling, tax deductible clickable here: I support Storah

Gift: Behold, a poem: 50 verbs; Footsteps in the Sands of Sinai, 50 invitations to more sacred living, one action at a time.

Sealed with a kiss
Amichai



Sealed with a kiss

HOPE (like water), GET OUT, LOOK UP.
RUBBERNECK, FALL (in love).
SCREAM,
DREAM,
SHUT, SIT, SHAVE, WEEP.

BURY.

SPEAK UP, DELIVER, BLESS.
ARM, CHOOSE, READ.

SANCTIFY
DRESS
REVEL
GATHER
CALL
SCRUB
OPEN

HUSH.

COUNT: LOVE
CURSE: REMEMBER

GUARD, HEAR
DESIRE, DESCRIBE.

CRITICIZE!

SING, SIN.
LEAD, TRAVEL, BELIEVE

WRITE.
THANK.

DEMOLISH/FORGIVE/BURY

TRANSLATE.

WITNESS
PRAY
ENTER

KISS.

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Yom Kippur Special
Enter
A weekly Torah takeaway by Amichai Lau-Lavie

A year-long Jerusalem Journey, action by action, verb by verb. Each week I pluck a verb from the Torah portion and set it reverberating both with its context and with my own. Let's make this a conversation, and talk our walk.

The ‘enter’ key on my laptop got stuck yesterday, just wouldn’t work and neither could I. Restarted the computer, wiped the keyboard, hoped, and prayed. Click. It ‘worked’. Once again I was able to enter the domain of words and communications, vital, urgent, in the midst of this busy season. For a moment I pondered how I would manage without this ‘key’: A physical and technological command absolutely essential to who I am and what I do daily. Who thought of calling this familiar keychain into so many doors, indispensible to our modern lives - a ‘keyboard’? Funny how the key that reads ‘enter’ is sometimes labeled ‘return’.

Entering and returning are simple daily act -physical, psychological and electronic - but they are superimposed with gravity during this season of return – Teshuva –these high and holy days of awe. The invitation that these days summon is to enter the inner life, to enter, in the footsteps of the ancient high priest of Israel, into the Holy of Holies – for the purpose of at-one-ment.

(The traditional selection from the Torah for the Day of Atonement is Leviticus 16, describing the detail by detail instructions for conducting the atonement rituals in the sanctuary – the desert tabernacle that then became the Jerusalem Temple. The highlight of the high and holy day is the moment, the only one during the year, when the High Priest, all in white linen, parts the veil and enters the sacred innermost chamber, the holy of holies. The Hebrew term used in this context is KODESH - Robert Alter translates it as ‘the sacred zone.’ Once inside, in the presence of the Divine, he fills the chamber with the cloud of incense. He then quickly exits – returns - and prays privately on behalf of the people. The atonement is complete.)

I’ve been reading and teaching a lot in the past two weeks about the lost mystery of the high priest and the access to the sacred zone. With no temple, no holy of holies, and no highest ranking Levite to enter the sacred on our behalf – how do these symbols, if at all, still mean something, still serve as keys into the inner life, into the process of returning, focused, to the center of self?

What would it mean for me, for you, to enter, this Yom Kippur, the sacred zone, ever so briefly, click restart and return and live, and live better?

I asked this question this past week on three different occasions: at a private study salon in a beautiful library on the Upper East Side, at an open study session in a hip Tribeca loft, and at an interfaith event in Midtown Manhattan. The answers varied from terror to giggles. R. recoiled from the possibility of identifying what ‘holy and holies’ may mean to him and what it may mean to enter. ‘It fills me with terrible fear’, he said. B. imagined standing on the beach outside her home on Yom Kippur and writing the word ‘compassion’ on the sand, over and over again. K. talked about the ritual of going to therapy – entering that room. At the very moving midtown event (check out www.faithhousemanhattan.org ) S., a minister, spoke about entering through the front door and encountering the ‘other’ and the sacred within each one of us. Others spoke of entering the sacred through the liturgy, the music, and about the paradox of being surrounded by so many people in these modern new temples, yet being called to enter the intimacy of this sacred chamber and be alone. (And are we ever?)

Last night I flipped to the last few chapter of the Torah – this week’s portion, Ha’azinu, is but one before the last. And there, just at the end I was reminded of the other, darker side of entrance – the closed door.

Moses’ epic poem lingers through chapter 32 of D’varim, and as its epilogue is the dry narrative reminder of his fate. On the threshold of the Promised Holy Land – his destination for so long – access is again denied by the God of mysteries:

‘You will see the land afar off; but you will not enter into the land which I give the children of Israel’

(Dvarim 32:52)

Some doors have no keys, and sometimes keys are lost or stuck, and we cannot enter.

The Holy of Holies, like the Promised Land are not merely geography - they are also metaphor and symbol, markers on the maps of our inner life.

Like Aaron, the first High Priest, we are invited annually to face the mystery and enter the sacred, and exit, and return to our ordinary lives in peace. Like Moses, his brother, we are reminded that despite all our yearnings, sometimes, some doors will not be ours to enter. This too requires our inner peace.

What will it be like for each of us to take a minute on Yom Kippur and imagine, visualize, utilize the key and enter our own private sacred zone?

When the sun sets this coming Monday, the Neila will conclude, and with it the final prayer of Yom Kippur, and the doors will close, and the Book of Life will be a closed book, sealed and delivered. I hope, and pray, that for many of us, a door opens (is it an eternal revolving door with no keys at all?), and we will re enter, returning to our sacred tasks on this earth, renewed and restarted.

Gmar Chatima Tova

May we be signed and sealed in the Book of the Good Life.