Today is the first day of Elul, the month of the Jewish calendar that immediately proceeds Rosh Hashanah and the Days of Awe. The month of Elul begins the period of introspection and seeking forgiveness that prepares us for Yom Kippur. During this month, it is traditional to sound the shofar at the end of each weekday morning services as a kind of spiritual alarm clock to rouse us to renewed awareness.

Yet, I know what this time of year means to many American Jews. If you are a member of a Jewish congregation, the beginning of the month of Elul is a time to think about reconnecting with your Jewish community after the long summer. But, for those 70% of American Jews who are not affiliated with a congregation, this is the time of year you might ask yourself the question, "Where, if anywhere, do I fit in?" The American Jewish community has a lot of missing pieces. 

Congregational leaders often assume that unaffiliated Jews have made the choice not to care about Judaism and not to value the Jewish community. They think those pieces are missing from the puzzle because they have decided that they just don't want to be a part of it. But my experience is different. I encounter a lot of unaffiliated Jews who crave a connection, but they despair that they cannot seem to find a fit.

Some of these unaffiliated Jews anticipate rejection because of intermarriage. Some are searching for spiritual answers in life, but are put off by congregations that don't seem to address their questions. Some are just convinced that synagogue membership is too expensive or that the culture of congregations is too cliquey. Some have had bad experiences with previous congregations or previous rabbis and don't want to get burned again. There are more barriers facing unaffiliated Jews than many people imagine. 

So, at this time of year, many unaffiliated Jews wonder if it is really worth the effort to try. They think about the hassle of paying for High Holy Day tickets at a congregation where they may not feel welcomed, or where they might get badgered about joining. Still, they might remember positive associations with Judaism from their childhood, or hope that there is something meaningful to be experienced on Yom Kippur this year, despite the negative experiences of their past. Will it be enough to get them to walk through the synagogue doors?

This year, on this first day of Elul, I ask those who do feel connected and do feel part of a meaningful Jewish community, to think about those who are wondering whether it's worth the effort. Think about the experiences you have had that have made you feel connected. Remember how being part of Jewish community has been one of the most joyful and fulfilling parts of your life. Be mindful of how living and learning Torah has brought depth and meaning to your soul. Think then, also, about how you can help somebody else have a similar experience. 

Invite someone who feels disconnected from Judaism to have dinner with your family on Erev Rosh Hashanah. Ask someone to come to services as your guest. Encourage a Jewish teen who is on the periphery to go to a youth group event with your kids. Invite someone to enter into the social circle of your temple friends. Suggest that they sign up for an adult education class. Just forward this post to a friend and ask, "Is this you? Can I help?" The greatest mitzvah you can do this year, and the greatest act of repentance you can do on behalf of the Jewish community, might be to help put some of the pieces back together.

Rosh Chodesh tov. Have a good new month.


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Making such a visit during the days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is a mitzvah. It fulfills a sacred obligation to sanctify the memory of those we love who are no longer with us. It also helps us to prepare for Yom Kippur by placing within our minds and hearts an awareness of our own fragility, fallibility and mortality. 

Yom Kippur, which begins tonight at sunset, is the one day of the year we set aside for focussing on that truth for 24 straight hours. It is not easy. We have minds that habitually seek to think about just about anything else. We spend our lives distracted by the necessities of getting through the day, harboring opinions and pursuing personal preferences and desires. We seldom find the time to turn our thoughts to the great truths: we are temporary and we owe our entire lives to a source beyond ourselves.

After the formal part of Sunday's kever avot service, I watched people wander around the cemetery grounds, finding names of loved ones, old friends, and other reminders of memories that have faded but not disappeared. I watched as one person sat on the ground to get closer. People came up to me to ask a question about the cemetery, to share a story about their beloved, to whisper a name. They remembered.

In the first act of Hamlet, the prince is called to these difficult thoughts by a visit from his father's ghost. Shakespeare gets it just right when he has Hamlet say:

Remember thee!
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat
In this distracted globe. Remember thee!
Yea, from the table of my memory
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,
That youth and observation copied there;
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain,
Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven!
(Hamlet, Act I, Scene V)

Yom Kippur is our day for wiping away the trivial and focusing on what really matters, unmixed with baser matter. As we stand before the open ark and ask God to answer us and to be gracious to us, despite our meager deeds, we remember who we really are. We put our lives into perspective and confront some deep truths.

Our lives are small, the universe is vast. While we are here, the task is ours to do the best we can. Still, we can reach beyond our temporary selves by remembering, and making ourselves worthy of memory.


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This year, we are doing the same thing. I've asked the children in our religious school and the adults who attend our services, once again, to write down the ways they would complete the sentence, "For the sin we have sinned against You by… forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement." Here is the original version of the Al Cheit we will recite on Wednesday morning as we seek forgiveness on Yom Kippur:


For the sin we have sinned against You by not being patient with others, and for the sin we have sinned against You by being too hard on ourselves.

For the sin we have sinned against You by not taking the time to listen, and for the sin we have sinned against You by being too quick to speak.

For the sin we have sinned against You by not giving our time, and for the sin we have sinned against You by not taking time for ourselves.

For the sin we have sinned against You by not having an understanding heart, and for the sin we have sinned against You by not having compassion.

For the sin we have sinned against You by ignoring sales clerks, public servants and custodians, and for the sin we have sinned against You by not showing appreciation for all who serve us.

For the sin we have sinned against You by losing our temper with others, and for the sin we have sinned against You by not fulfilling promises made to ourselves.

For the sin we have sinned against You by pushing away those who are kind to us, and for the sin we have sinned against You through self-isolation.

For the sin we have sinned against You by getting carried away with selfishness, and for the sin we have sinned against You by not listening to what we most need to hear.

For all of these, God of forgiveness, forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement!
ועל כולם אלוה סליחות, סלח לנו, מחל לנו, כפר לנו

For the sin we have sinned against You by demanding perfection from our children, and for the sin we have sinned against You by losing our temper with our parents.

For the sin we have sinned against You by disavowing those who are kind to us, and for the sin we have sinned against You by withholding kindness from others.

For the sin we have sinned against You by being disrespectful to members of our families, and for the sin we have sinned against You by expecting respect without earning it.

For the sin we have sinned against You by wanting more than God wants us to have, and for the sin we have sinned against You by not wanting more for others.

For the sin we have sinned against You by talking back to parents and siblings, and for the sin we have sinned against You by not listening to their words.

For the sin we have sinned against You with words that are mean and thoughts that are unkind, and for the sin we have sinned against You by missing opportunities to apologize.

For the sin we have sinned against You by eating things we should not, and for the sin we have sinned against You by not taking part in pleasures we should enjoy.

For all of these, God of forgiveness, forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement!
ועל כולם אלוה סליחות, סלח לנו, מחל לנו, כפר לנו

For the sin we have sinned against You by lying, and for the sin we have sinned against You by telling the truth to cause hurt.

For the sin we have sinned against You by silently holding grudges, and for the sin we have sinned against You by failing to openly acknowledge kindness.

For the sin we have sinned against You with feelings of jealousy, and for the sin we have sinned against You by being bitter over the success of others.

For the sin we have sinned against You by not spending more time with people we love, and for the sin we have sinned against You by putting our work above our relationships.

For the sin we have sinned against You by letting other people’s agendas derail us, and for the sin we have sinned against You by not pursuing our own path.

For the sin we have sinned against You by not giving our best, and for the sin we have sinned against You by not being fully present.

For the sin we have sinned against You with impatience, and for the sin we have sinned against You by judging others too quickly.

For the sin we have sinned against You by placing ourselves above others, and for the sin we have sinned against You by not seeing greatness in each person.

For all of these, God of forgiveness, forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement!
ועל כולם אלוה סליחות, סלח לנו, מחל לנו, כפר לנו


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When I look out over the sanctuary during the Days of Awe, there are a lot of people. I see the people who are there all year long. These are the people who come to Shabbat services and adult study programs on a regular basis, who volunteer their time to help make the congregation work, or people who are generous with their resources to fund all that we do. These are the people—maybe 18% of the congregation—for whom every rabbi and every congregation is deeply grateful. We couldn't exist without them.

Of course, I also see some faces that are around the synagogue less frequently. There are parents of children in our religious school who might attend services sporadically over the year. There are people on the periphery of the congregation who attend and support the congregation occasionally, but who mostly stay on the sidelines. There are people who were very active in the past, or in previous congregations, but they feel they now have completed their duty. There are people who only come a few times a year, but make a big difference when they do participate with their enthusiasm and true love of Torah and the Jewish people. This is the largest percentage of the congregation. Let's say they make up 47%, just to pick a number.

Then there is the other 35%. These are the people who come to the High Holy Days, especially if they land on a weekend and if they don't have other plans. They send in their membership contributions every year, even though they say they, "don't use the Temple so much." They do count on the synagogue to be there for them when they need it. They want the rabbi to officiate at a funeral when a close relative dies. They want to be visited in the hospital when they are sick. However, it is unlikely they will come to the congregation's help when the congregation needs it.

So, here is my confession. Paying attention to the first 18% is easy. Every rabbi does that. Frankly, it is a privilege to care for people who care so much about the Jewish community. No problem there.

It may be surprising that we also worry a lot about the last 35%. We wonder if we are one bad holiday sermon or one unreturned phone call away from losing them. We worry if they will decide not to renew their membership, not to be a part of the Jewish community, not to keep Judaism in their lives.

We forget about the 47%, though. We forget that it is also our job to make sure that they stay connected—and not just with their membership dollars or by sending their kids to religious school. Many of the Rabbi's 47% are people who are on the periphery because they feel that there is no place for them in the center. 

They do not have time to volunteer or the discretionary funds to make a large contribution. They love being Jewish, but the adult education and other programs at the synagogue do not appeal to them. They have busy lives and the synagogue, while important, has to wait in line for their attention along with the PTA, their kids' sports commitments, their secular social circles, their jobs, their families, and the rest of their lives. We sometimes forget about these people … and we cannot afford to do that.

Most rabbis and most congregational leaders complain that It is always the same people who do all the work and all the giving all the time. Sometimes, though, rabbis and lay leaders do not realize the ways in which we create barriers for nearly half of the congregation. Many of this forgotten half, if asked to do something specific that would interest them, would be ready to pitch in. Many of them feel shut out of participating because they are not in the same age group or social circle as the congregation's leaders. Some just don't know how they can help, or they have never been asked. 

(Surveys and flyers don't count as asking. People want to be asked in person. They want to be asked in a way that respects their time and their abilities.)

It's my job to care about these people, too, and often I forget to do that. I am sorry for that. 

We are one people and there aren't all that many of us. Nobody can be left out. We are a people who celebrate our unity. When we divide ourselves into smaller and smaller statistical pieces, we forget to see the people behind the numbers.

On Yom Kippur, when I look out over the congregation, I want to see all of them. I want to see each of them as an individual with lives that are complicated, interesting, busy and beautiful. I want to open my heart to doing what I can to allow each person to find his or her joyful place in the community of the Jewish people.

L'shanah tovah tikateivu.