When a fortress is also an open tent
Parshat Vayeira begins with the following story:
God appeared to him by the terebinths of Mamre; he was sitting at the entrance of the tent as the day grew hot. (2) Looking up, he saw three figures standing near him. Seeing this, he ran from the entrance of the tent to greet them and, bowing to the ground, (3) he said, “My lords! If it pleases you, do not go on past your servant. (4) Let a little water be brought; bathe your feet and recline under the tree. (5) And let me fetch a morsel of bread that you may refresh yourselves; then go on—seeing that you have come your servant’s way.” They replied, “Do as you have said.” (6) Abraham RAN into the tent to Sarah, and said, “Quick, three seahs of choice flour! Knead and make cakes!” (7) Then Abraham ran to the herd, took a calf, tender and choice, and gave it to a servant-boy, who hastened to prepare it. (8) He took curds and milk and the calf that had been prepared and set these before them; and he waited on them under the tree as they ate.
Abraham offered morsels of bread and a little water. He returned with a feast- cakes, meat, and milk. It’s also the first example of chutzpah in the bible, as he really gets others (Sarah/servant boy) to do the bulk of the work while he does the running. Collectively, that’s the power of audacious hospitality.
The Babylonian Talmud (Shabbat 127A) relays the following discussion:
Rabbi Yoḥanan said: Hospitality toward guests is as great as rising early to go to the study hall…And Rav Dimi from Neharde’a says: Hospitality toward guests is greater than rising early to the study hall…Rav Yehuda said that Rav said on a related note: Hospitality toward guests is greater than receiving the Divine Presence, as when Abraham invited his guests it is written: “And he said: Lord, if now I have found favor in Your sight, please pass not from Your servant” (Genesis 18:3). Abraham requested that God, the Divine Presence, wait for him while he tended to his guests appropriately.
Welcoming others into our tent comes first, even before welcoming God.
Looking at our own community- how can we show acts of audacious hospitality- to those we know, and those we might not know?
It was back in February of 2009, roughly 15 years ago, that our Safer Shabbaton Scholar-in-Residence was Dr. Ron Wolfson, professor at American Jewish University and author of a recently penned book entitled “The Spirituality of Welcoming: How to Transform Your Congregation into a Sacred Community.” Using his research as our guide, our board and staff at the time began exploring best practices and what might prevent us—as individuals or as a community—from being fully welcoming?
Greeter training, better signage, colorful handouts, transliteration guides, come as you are, our doors are always open… A number of great ideas came from out of this Shabbaton. Some ideas were implemented, but with the passage of time, many of them were not – staffing and budgetary constraints, or conflicting ideologies (imagine someone being interested in a Green initiative while also printing hundreds of Shabbat handouts each week) played a factor. But in reality, the world changed a few times over. The board of directors (none of whom are the same from 2009), the professional staff (only 2 remain), and even the shabbat regular crowd (most of you weren’t shabbat regulars here at the JJC in 2009), is a different makeup from 15 years ago. We are the same synagogue, but we aren’t the same group of people that filled these pews back then.
That being said, there were four events that changed the trajectory of how we welcome people into our community.
When you enter our building, you’ll notice a large “Stand with Israel” banner created in the summer of 2014, following the kidnapping and murder of three Israeli teenagers in the West Bank, leading to the 2014 Gaza War. It was in its aftermath that we began to add more security measures than ever before.
5 years ago, the brutal murder of 11 souls at Tree of Life, meant a full time security staff; more training, cameras, and other security measures. It’s the reason I wear a smart watch with SOS capabilities. This is the new normal.
2020. Covid taught us about protecting each other; we returned to worship with no shared kippah bins or shared scarves, but rather with hand sanitizer and masks; we balanced the hybrid of welcoming those in person while trying to maintain a welcoming atmosphere online (often leaving both parties wanting something different), and as we emerged from that point to recognize the concept of mitigated risk- we can never prevent everything from going wrong, but we can be more mindful of how to prevent further harm.
And almost one month ago. Israel is at war with terrorist monsters. And we are broken, scared, and uneasy.
All of this has meant that we, collectively, have had to recalibrate the art of welcoming. And for November 2023, in this moment at least (or in the moment I wrote this sermon) it seems like I am consumed with the feeling, that this is a place, this is a safe space for Am Yisrael Chai; a feeling that every Shabbat, here, is solidarity Shabbat, and that is a very welcoming feeling to me, the not so outsider of this congregation. And I want to go into that for a minute.
Back in March of this year, I led a caravan of baseball loving, Israel supporting fans to a South Florida pilgrimage- Ben’s Deli, and a World Baseball Classic game of Team Israel vs. Team Puerto Rico. As I stepped onto the shuttle bus to the stadium, wearing my kippah and a personalized Israel soccer jersey, a large blue star draped in the front, the Puerto Rico fans on the bus jokingly booed- not because of my kippah, or my Jewish heritage, but because I was the rival team in a baseball game. I thought “wow, we’ve made it- maybe things are turning around in this country.” On October 8, following the events of the previous day, I wore the jersey walking to synagogue, with pride, and without fear. By October 10th, those feelings of safety dissipated. I wear my Israel gear to the JCA, to synagogue, but nowhere else. When I went to a Pro-Israel rally downtown, I wore a baseball cap. I pray that my fear will subside, but for today, this synagogue is that haven, that refuge where I can express my Judaism fully, and safely; a place where we pray for our ancestral homeland and recognize it’s right to exist and defend itself. This is what welcoming means to me, today.
And for those who wear your blue ribbon outside of this space, who hang their Israeli flags, thank you for being brave to extend the openings of this tent to more dialogue and understanding. Last year, when buildings downtown were desecrated by projections of hate, we countered with projections of love. And I hope I’ll join you soon, maybe I’ll be ready in a month, when it’s time to inflate my dozen or so Hanukkah inflatables on my front lawn overlooking Scott Mill Road.
When we have this laser, singular focus on Israel, I don’t want to forget that our synagogue is so much more than a haven from the darkness that surrounds us. We may never construct a perfect setup that makes every person feel safe, or welcome, but as we aim for that as our goal, as we pray not only for wholeness and peace in the world but wholeness of an inclusive community, the onus is on the jew in the pew– often sermons we say we are preaching to the choir- but here, you are the choir, the conductor, the instrumentalist, and the soloist to make this happen.
I think about a story about the residents of ancient Jerusalem portrayed in the midrashic work Avot de-Rabbi Natan.
When the Temple still stood in Jerusalem, that city was the destination of pilgrims from throughout the Land of Israel at the three harvest festivals. The rabbinic storytellers of late antiquity relate that Jerusalem’s residents opened their homes for free to those visitors. “No person ever remarked to another, ‘I couldn’t find a bed to sleep on in Jerusalem.’ No person ever remarked to another, ‘Jerusalem is too small [i.e., crowded] for me to be able to stay over there’”.
We see the remarkable spirit of the people of Israel today, in our ancestral homeland, as thousands of displaced Israelis are absorbed by other communities- creating makeshift schools, community centers, homes. I read an inspiring story about a group of adults and youth from the Masorti Kibbutz Hannaton and its surrounding Palestinian and Jewish villages, who gathered yesterday morning to paint signs that read, “Good Neighbors Also in Difficult Times” in both Hebrew and Arabic. They hung them on the main roads in the area and at the entrances to their villages. If they can have an open tent, having the courage and compassion, the knowledge and self-awareness, to honor diversity, to embrace the simple notion that we all belong here, then why can’t we do a few small steps towards the same goal?
We can be welcoming, and we can reach the next level of being inclusive. We can be welcoming, and we can make people feel a sense of belonging. How? At our synagogue, can everyone walk in and not be seen as an outsider, not be seen as exotic, not worry that they will be treated unkindly because of the color of their skin, that they and their families are seen as members of the Jewish community?
Yes these are questions that we must always be asking ourselves:
Do we greet people with questions or statements like:
- “So, how are you Jewish?”
- “Where are you from? No, where are you really from?”
- “You don’t look Jewish.”
Do we hear ourselves or others using these amongst a host of other microaggressions?
How do we welcome the convert? Those interested in conversion? The non- Ashkenazi?
I know I’m guilty at times of a number of microaggressions.
What about the questions that come our way- whether asked out loud or internally?
For Disability accessibility:
- How have you welcomed families with disabilities in the past?
- Are your facilities accessible for folks with disabilities? Is there access to the bima for those with mobility issues (i.e.: folks with a walker, cane or wheelchair)? Do you have large-print prayer books?
For Interfaith inclusion:
- Will my partner, who is not Jewish, be allowed on the bima during our child’s bar mitzvah?
- Will my partner, who is not Jewish, be a welcome addition to the synagogue during events or services that I cannot attend?
For LGBTQ Inclusion:
- Do your membership forms utilize inclusive language?
- Do you celebrate LGBTQ Jewish heroes in your religious school? Has your rabbi spoken about LGBTQ inclusion and acceptance during sermons?
For those with sensory issues: have we considered many aspects of a service that can be overstimulating for different people? Do we offer a space that’s scent free, has comfortable seating options, limits the # of attendees or encourages people to take breaks?
After Shabbat, I’ll be sharing links to a number of these sites- 18doors, URJ, Sensoryfriendly.net as a starting point to doing a little Heshbon Hanefesh, looking inward to how each of us can be more inclusive, more aware of what we say and how we act. I have no expectation that each of us will suddenly be the extroverted greeter who brings everyone into the tent, but it can mean an extra hello, a smile…I can do better, we can do better. Yes there are more questions than answers, but I hope that each of us heeds the call of Abraham from our parsha- Hineni- here I am- I don’t have the answers, but I am here, present, prepared to do the work; I am here to welcome the stranger and the estranged the newcomer and the frequent flyer; to get out of my comfort zone without feeling unsafe, to welcome an inclusive environment despite the challenges of our time. We don’t feel safe, but we can still feel the sacred obligation to welcome all into our tent. Kol Yisrael Areivim zeh Bazeh. All Jews are responsible for one another- to help build, bond, and belong to one sacred community. Shabbat Shalom Umevorach- may we all enjoy a shabbat of peace and blessing.
https://www.sensoryfriendly.net/how-to-make-your-synagogue-sensory-friendly/
https://urj.org/blog/welcoming-vs-belonging-key-step-making-our-communities-diverse-and-whole
Hazzan Jesse Holzer 
This is wonderful! Tremendously all-inclusive in so many ways.