Today is my last day serving Temple Beit HaYam in Stuart, Florida, as the congregation's rabbi. I will be leading a Shabbat service on the beach this evening (something I love to do), and then I will metaphorically ride into the sunset, onward to a new position far away.

I think I've learned a lot from my three years with this wonderful community. I came with a clear directive from the leadership to make a lot of changes. The congregation wanted more vibrant worship, more opportunities for serious adult learning, and a more visible presence in the community through social action and service projects. While I think we have had important accomplishments in all of those areas, there has been another goal – usually unstated – that this congregation has sought. 

Temple Beit HaYam, like all congregations, wants to be a place where people feel that they belong, where they connect with others, and where they find real, lasting and meaningful friendships. I have learned in my three years here that this unstated goal is at the heart of what it means to be a congregation.

So here are some rabbinic lessons I have learned that I will carry with me to Temple Sinai in Cranston, Rhode Island:

• Remember that the service is, at best, only half of what brings people to the synagogue on Shabbat. They also come for the oneg, or the kiddush – the time when they spend time with people they care about, when they connect with new people, and when they feel like the synagogue is a place where they belong.

• When people sit around a table to learn and study our tradition together, a great deal of the learning comes from listening to each other. There is something deeply powerful and moving about reading a text together and hearing others relate it to the most important moments of their lives. There needs to be time for that whenever we study together. There needs to be an opportunity for people to discover themselves in the text.

• Social action programs feel good when they give us a chance to help people in need. But that is only half the fun. There is a deep fulfillment in being part of a group that works to make the world a better place. No social action program is complete if it does not give participants a chance to reflect on their experience, share their insights, and enjoy the camaraderie of the group.

• We are living in a society in which people are, more and more, strangers to their neighbors. We spend so much of our time staring at screens and playing with gadgets. So much of our jobs and schooling isolates us from the people who live next door. When affluence places us in large comfortable homes, it creates a cocoon effect that makes us forego the pleasures of being with other people. Part of what draws people to a synagogue is that it fulfills a need that is otherwise unmet in their lives.

The job of the rabbi is to be an organizer and facilitator of these experiences. Perhaps even more importantly, though, the role of the rabbi is to be part of people's lives and to be a member of the community. That can be difficult when the rabbi feels the tension and ambiguity of being both friend and professional, participant and leader, on-the-job and in-the-moment, all at the same time. That is the dance of this profession. It should be danced with joy.

I leave Temple Beit HaYam with a lot of good feelings. I have made a lot of lifelong friends here. I have grown as a professional and as a person. I have seen that, no matter what the size, a congregation is a community only when people really want to be with each other. That is a great and joyful thing to see. I can't wait to dance this dance in my new home.

Goodbye, Temple Beit HaYam.

Hello, Temple Sinai.


Other Posts on this Topic:
Ten Thoughts about Being a Congregational Rabbi

Today is a very happy day for me and my family. We are moving to Rhode Island and today is the day that we closed on the purchase of our new home. We are so happy to have a beautiful home in the place where we want to live.

You might say that our prayers have been answered, but I don't think that is the way that prayer works. I think that prayer, when it is successful, is a way for us to answer God's wishes, not a way for God to answer ours. Let me tell you what makes me think about that today.

I have been beaming all day since I got the word from my wife up in Rhode Island about the completion of the sale. (I'm still down in Florida). This afternoon when I went outside, as I often do, to pray the afternoon prayers, I was stunned to hear myself speak the opening words of the service, even though I know them by heart and recite them regularly.

Ashrei yoshvei veitecha. Happy are they who live in Your house.

Wait. I was just thinking about how happy I will be to live in my new house. Now, all of the sudden, I hear my very own words telling me that it is actually God's house that I am happy to live in. And, I have to say, it is true. 

I am outside on a beautiful day. My heart is light and happy with the day's good news, even though I am more than a thousand miles from my family's new house. My happiness does not come from a yellow, center-entrance colonial structure in New England. How could it? I'm in Florida. My happiness comes from feeling good about the world around me. I am feeling good about my emotional connection to my family, even while they are far from me. I am feeling good about the joyful anticipation of a new job and a new life in Rhode Island.

If there is a house that I am happy to be living in right now, it is the house built out of the gifts I have received in my life. This is God's house, not mine.

Prayer is like this. It has a way of unexpectedly putting words into my mouth that provide insight, meaning and wonder. When I pray, those words become my words. I understand them differently than another person might understand the same words. The words of the prayer help me reflect on my life in the here and now. Because I am the one who is speaking the prayer, the words become personal and powerful. That is what Ashrei did for me today.

As a rabbi, I often recommend that people try prayer, but not because it is something that we are "supposed" to do or because I want to get them to be "more Jewish." I recommend prayer because it works. When a person accepts even a small and simple practice of prayer, it has the ability to make him or her more thoughtful, more patient, more accepting, and – honest to God – happier.

So, if you don't pray, why not try it? Why would you reject something that could make you happier? I often suggest that people set a time each afternoon to say "thank you" for three things that have happened that day. I suggest that people try beginning every day with a simple prayer of gratitude for being alive. I suggest that they go to bed every night with words of forgiveness for others and for themselves. Even these simple practices, spoken in words that you understand, can make you a happier person.

I believe down to the core of my being that God wants people to be happy. I believe that happiness is the natural state of the human soul. Prayer is a tool for gently freeing ourselves of the distractions and anxieties that keep us from knowing ourselves to be happy. When we pray, we help God to achieve the divine intention of allowing us to be happy.

Ashrei yoshvei veitecha. Happy are they who live in Your house.

May you know whose house you are living in, and may it make you happy.


Other Posts on This Topic:
Why Pray?
How to Pray?

This is the sermon I gave this past Shabbat at Temple Beit HaYam, on the occasion of my last service in the congregation's sanctuary.

Saying goodbye to friends is hard. Saying goodbye to an entire community of friends is harder still.

I will lead my final service for Temple Beit HaYam next Friday on Stuart Beach — an experience I really love, but one that does not lend itself to extended remarks. Tonight, I stand before you in this sanctuary for the last time, and this sanctuary is an important place for me. I would like to take advantage of the opportunity to make some farewells and share some thoughts.

This spot, where I am standing now, is the place I have stood to join couples together in marriage (including a couple here tonight). It is the place where I have stood next to 36 young men and women as they became b’nei mitzvah. It is the place where we have conducted funerals and mourned the death of dear friends. This bimah is a holy place for this congregation, and it always will remain a holy place in my life.

Not only this sanctuary, not only this building, but this whole community is a place where I have learned about being a rabbi and about life. Over the last three years, I have listened to people’s stories and dreams, held the hands of the sick, taught some Torah, raised money to fund our congregation’s programs, worked with remarkable volunteers, and have been myself a proud member of a community bound by genuine and heartfelt concern for one another and bound by a love of Judaism.

Thank you all for the wonderful experiences and the wonderful adventures you have given me.

Over the past three years, I think, Temple Beit HaYam has gone through some important changes. This congregation has seen a resurgence of adult Jewish learning and exploration of adult Jewish spirituality. We have innovated new ways of teaching our children to live Judaism joyfully. We have recommitted ourselves to meaningful action to help needy people in the larger community and to being a respected and notable presence on the Treasure Coast. We have experimented with new ways to organize and finance the Jewish community. So much has happened, both to me and to this congregation, in just a few short years.

Tonight, we struggle to find a way to properly say goodbye, and I am reminded of the Jewish teaching that we never really reach the end of anything that is truly meaningful. We read Torah from the first word to the last and then we return to the beginning to start over while the sound of the last words are still in our ears. Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav taught, “Kol ha’olam kulo gesher tzar me’od,”  “The entire world is nothing more than a very narrow bridge,” “V’ha’ikar lo lefached k’lal,” “but the important thing is to be fearless in crossing it.” There is, ultimately, no ending that is not merely another step along the path.

Our ending now is a new beginning as Temple Beit HaYam begins again to renew itself with a new rabbi and a new sense of vitality that comes with an optimistic view of the future. The wheel turns, the bridge stretches out before us, but it never really ends.

What has made this community successful up to this moment? Let me tell you what I see here, and what I think can bring even greater success in the future:

* Temple Beit HaYam is, first and foremost, a community. This is a place for people to gather, to celebrate good times and support each other in difficult times, to build friendships that last a lifetime, and a place that people come to because they genuinely want to be with each other. Never underestimate the importance of that as a critical Jewish value. The Jewish people are only as good as we are good to each other.

* You are thirsty for Jewish learning. One of my greatest joys as a rabbi has been teaching and learning together with the members of this congregation. We have amazing Torah study on Shabbat mornings, often with two dozen people or more crowded around the Social Hall tables to talk about words written thousands of years ago. That, in itself, is amazing to me. The members of last year’s Adult B’nei Mitzvah class and this year’s Adult Confirmation class had a transformational experience of friendship, learning, growth, discovery and joy. I have never had so much fun as a rabbi as I have had teaching here.

* You are a community that has a greater capacity to do good than you realize, and a fantastic capacity to enrich your own lives in doing so. The volunteers in the Souper Sunday program know that they have touched the lives of people in need in profound ways, and they know that the experience has changed them for the better, too. There is even more that this congregation can do to make Martin County a better place. There is even more you can do to enrich your own lives by helping others.

* You are a community that thrives because of a talented and deep core of leaders. The people who so generously give their time and energy to this congregation are its life blood. I have seen people here who find passion, purpose and meaning in life by giving their time and energy to Temple Beit HaYam. Many of the people in this room have had that experience, and I am deeply grateful to them all.

Tonight, I ask all of you to keep building on this congregation’s strengths by continuing to participate in the things that you love about Temple Beit HaYam. Come to services. Spend time with your Temple friends. Volunteer to help. Give more of your time and your treasure than you think you should. I guarantee that, in the end, you’ll end up wishing that you had given more. 

But also remember that Temple Beit HaYam is more than just a place to come together to be with friends. At their best, synagogues are communities that know who they are and have a vision of where they want to go. Being a leader in a congregation is about more than reviewing budgets and setting policies. It is about asking difficult questions about the future. It is about creating a shared vision and pursuing it relentlessly. 

Keep thinking about the kind of community you would like this to be. The Jewish people in the 21st century face some daunting challenges. The affiliation rate keeps dropping and the intermarriage rate keeps going up. We live in a society that is increasingly divided between the religious and the non-religious, with most North American Jews feeling more cultural kinship with the non-religious camp. Judaism today is deeply in need of new ideas and practices that draw Jews back to Judaism in ways that are meaningful in their lives. To do that, we need congregations that are driven by vision and excitement about throwing away old rules and reinventing the synagogue. Temple Beit HaYam is no exception. We need you to be part of Judaism's new future. 

Tonight, I am asking you to keep looking for new ways to make Judaism a meaningful reality in the lives of each member of this congregation. Keep experimenting with new ways to keep the vital energy of our tradition relevant in the lives of Jews young and old. Be passionate about finding models that work, and be fearless in casting aside models that represent nothing more than institutional inertia. 

Do not convince yourself that it is the rabbi’s job alone to be that kind of visionary. Doing so will not only make Rabbi Durbin’s job more difficult, it will be selling yourselves short, too. Make sure that each of you makes your own dreams heard in this community. Make sure that each of you takes a stand for what this congregation can yet become.

Because I am leaving Temple Beit HaYam after a short tenure of three years, there may be a temptation to think that this goodbye represents a kind of failure for the congregation. I don’t see it that way. Not every beginning is a victory and not every ending is a defeat. The transition Temple Beit HaYam is going through now is a new opportunity. It is up to you, in the way that you respond to the challenge, that will decide the difference between success and failure. I plan to make the most of the opportunities before me in Rhode Island. I hope that Temple Beit HaYam will do the same here.

So, goodbye, my friends. Goodbyes are hard, but they are also necessary for new beginnings. The bridge is narrow, but we are fearless to continue to walk along the path. Kol ha-olam kulo gesher tzar me’od, v’ha-ikar lo l’fached k’lal.

Shabbat shalom.

The 49th day of the Counting of the Omer begins on Monday night. Tonight we count seven weeks of the Omer, the last day of the counting. Tuesday night will begin Shavuot.

This is the day of Malchut within Malchut, nobility within nobility. Today, after walking through the previous 48 gates of paired qualities, I think about the big picture of my life. What, ultimately, makes my life worthwhile, meaningful and noble?

Each of us lives a life that is a paradox. We are all stuck inside of our own heads, never being able to experience life from any vantage other than through our own eyes, ears, memories and brains. We never really get to see the world directly through the experiences of another person. Yet, we also recognize that to live only for ourselves is not really any life at all. Without ever being able to be anyone else, we have to live our lives for the benefit of the strangers who live behind eyes we will never get to see through. 

This is what can make our lives noble. For me, the great leap of faith is not the leap of believing in a supernatural God high above us. For me, the leap is believing that, by living for others, we can stretch our existence beyond the limitations of being stuck in our own minds. We become truly and deeply noble when we give away our lives – the greatest gift anyone has ever received – and commit them to the service of others.

When we do that, we become champions and heroes. When we live unselfish and giving lives, we overcome our inborn instinct to gather up everything we can and keep it all for ourselves. We transcend the desire to withdraw into the familiarity of our own egos. We lift ourselves beyond the limitations that physics and biology have decreed upon us, and we become the champions of our own lives.

On this final day of the Counting of the Omer, I commit to living my life as if it matters beyond myself. I commit to living as if the whole world depends upon my ability to see beyond my own narrow needs and interests. In a way, the world does depend upon it. In a way, the world depends upon all of us living that way.

May this be a day for you in which you become the champion of your own life.


For the introduction to the Counting of the Omer, click on this link:
The First Day of the Counting of the Omer

The 48th day of the Counting of the Omer begins on Sunday night. Tonight we count six weeks and six days of the Omer.

This is the day of Yesod within Malchut, connection within nobility. Today I am thinking about how nobility is revealed in our relationships with other people. Could there possibly be a better way of demonstrating the highest within us than in the way we connect with others?

One of the great things about my job is that I get to see ordinary people doing extraordinarily noble things. Here are some examples:

• I have seen a group of churches and synagogues come together on their own to set up an emergency food pantry to feed hungry people in the aftermath of the worldwide financial meltdown.

• I have seen people make very generous donations, anonymously, so that the children of strangers could spend the summer at Jewish summer camps.

• I have seen a group of parents – many of whom were paying for their own children's bar and bat mitzvah celebrations – come together to pay for the celebration of another child whose family was going through a crisis. 

• Just this week, I have seen a rabbi's grieving family receive an outpouring of sympathy and support from members of the congregation he is about to leave. I have seen the same outpouring of sympathy and support from the congregation he has not yet even begun to serve. 

I know that I have been the beneficiary of such noble love and care many times in my life – and right now in particular. I am tremendously grateful. I have seen how people truly merit eternity in the selfless and beautiful things that they do for one another.

On this 48th Day of the Counting of the Omer, I commit to strive toward such nobility myself. I commit to connecting with people in small and profound ways that allow the best to shine through.

May this be a day for you in which you connect to others and discover the highest within yourself.


For the introduction to the Counting of the Omer, click on this link:
The First Day of the Counting of the Omer