Zachor! Memories From Italy

My First Holocaust Memorial Day

January 27, 1945 marks the liberation of the Auschwitz death camp where one million Jews were murdered by the Nazis. Sixty years later, in November 2005 the United Nations General Assembly resolved that January 27 should be observed as a day to honor the memory of Holocaust victims and encourage the development of education programs about Holocaust history to help prevent further acts of genocide.

The calendar pages have turned and January 2013 marks my tenth year as rabbi in Italy. I began my work in the north, in Milan, where I served Italy’s first modern liberal synagogue as Italy’s first woman and first non-orthodox rabbi.

My father, Antonio Aiello (z’l) was a liberator of the Buchenwald death camp and his experiences, coupled with my living and working as I do  as an Italian Jew on the “doorstep” of the Shoah, gave special significance to each January 27 – known throughout Europe as Holocaust Memorial Day.

One in particular touched my heart.

It was the morning of January 27, 2006 when Milan was hit with the biggest snowstorm in a quarter century. But that did not deter us – we were eight hearty souls from Synagogue Lev Chadash who, in the driving snowstorm, accompanied me, their rabbi, to the prison at San Vittore to remember the incarceration of Italian Jews and the murder of the Jews of Europe.

As the snow fell we recalled the horrors of death camp life. One of our group, a young teen, noted that although the snow was deep and the temperature in Milan was below freezing, we Jews were dressed in coats and hats, scarves, gloves, boots and heavy shoes – things the Jews of Auschwitz never had.

Streets of Milan

In front of the prison, we cleared snow from a park bench to make a place for our candles. Our ceremony included the lighting of six candles to represent the Six Million and to recall the significance of “Zachor,” the Hebrew word which means “remember.” 

“Zachor,” we said, in voices loud enough for passersby to hear and for some of them to pause and listen. The first candle, recalled “Shabbat Zachor” when we hear the story of Amalek and we remember as well that Haman was a direct descendant of one of the first men who set out to kill the Jews.  The first candle served as a reminder that evil still exits in our world. 

“Zachor,” we said to candles two and three. Additional definitions of Zachor include “to mention,” and “to articulate.” We remember to speak about those we lost and to tell their stories, like our own Becky Behar Ottolenghi, now of blessed memory, a survivor of the Jewish massacre at Meina (near Lake Como) whose tireless efforts at sharing her experiences with school children earned her Honorary Citizenship from cities all over Italy.

Zachor also signifies remembering those who are different. Our fourth candle recalled all of those who, along with the Jews, were also killed, including homosexuals, gypsies, disabled persons and political prisoners. 

As the candles struggled and hissed in the falling snow, the Zachor of candle five recalled the murdered children.  We honored the Holocaust survivors who frequented our synagogue and we paused to honor our own child survivor, Fernanda Diaz, who was saved from certain death by a righteous gentile, an Italian pescatore who shoved her into a trap door in the floor of his fish market. We pondered a horrific statistic; that for every Jewish child that lived through the Holocaust, thirteen Jewish children were murdered by the Nazis.

The sixth candle is the Zachor of Shabbat.  We are reminded that the first strand in the braided challah, the bread of the Sabbath, is called Zachor. “Remember Shabbat and keep it holy,” Torah tells us.  And no matter what our trials have been or will be, Shabbat brings us peace, hope and joy.

Later on as we sipped cappuccino in a nearby bar, we learned that in the early morning, just hours before our ceremony, former German President Johannes Rau had passed away. He was the first person to speak the German language in the halls of the Israeli Knesset. The mission of Rau’s presidency was to improve German–Israeli relations by first seeking forgiveness for the Holocaust.  He told the Israel Parliament, “…I bow in humility before those murdered and … I am asking forgiveness for what Germans have done…”

Sadly international news services hardly mentioned President Rau’s death that day, in part because the news was dominated by events in the Middle East. On that January 27, Europe was reeling. Hamas was officially designated the winner of the Palestinian elections. This prompted journalists all over Europe to ask how we Jews felt about the upset victory by an organization that vowed to destroy the Sate of Israel. 

Image of Auschwitz.

As we readied ourselves to brave the cold, the bar’s television set blared overhead.  Mittens and scarves in hand, we stopped to watch as a sprightly BBC journalist asked an Auschwitz survivor, “Just what lesson did you learn from your experiences?” Without missing a beat, the elderly gentleman pulled the microphone close and said, “Dahling, this I learned.  If someone says he wants to kill you, believe him.”

Our ceremony of remembrance on January 27, 2006 in Milan was a day filled with contrasts. Leaving the warmth of the bar behind us, we visited our candles once more.  As they flickered in the snow we offered the Kaddish Memorial prayer and ended with the words of Psalm 133.  Hinei MaTov, How good and pleasant it is when we dwell together as brothers and sisters.” We joined hands, sang and promised to remember.  Zachor. 

Havdalah: Seniors Say Good-bye to Shabbat

On Friday night, either at synagogue or around the family table, we light two candles to welcome the day of rest and renewal. As we kindle the lights of Shabbat we invite the light of creation to enter our spirits and, after our hectic work or school week, we allow the Shabbbat lights to “nudgie” us toward a well-deserved breath of peace.

With light we inaugurate Shabbat and with light we conclude it. That’s what Havdalah is all about. It is beautiful ceremony that allows us to say “Shalom” to Shabbat and prepare ourselves for the week ahead. 

The origin of the Havdalah ceremony has been attributed to the men of the Great Assembly in the fourth or fifth century B.C.E., and for the last 1500 years we Jews have honored Shabbat, not only by saying hello, but also by taking time to say good-bye.  Havdalah comes from the Hebrew word, “l’havdil” which means “to separate.”  And that’s just what Havdalah does.  It is a time divider, creating an important division between the serenity of Shabbat and what has become the workaholism of our busy weekdays.

Here at the Kobernick House, a senior independent living campus where I live and work as the resident rabbi, we have begun a weekly celebration of Havdalah.  Thanks to local Sunday school students whose creative hands crafted individual spice boxes for our residents, each one of us can interact with the Havdalah symbols and give personal meaning to our ancient traditions. 

The Kiddush cup and wine, the spice boxes and the large braided candle are the ritual items that make Havdalah come alive.  As we begin it is customary to overfill the kiddush cup so that some of the wine spills over.  We are reminded of the words from psalm 23: “My cup overflows,” which signifies that we have all we need for a good week ahead.

We gather around the card table in the center of our Activity Room and begin by making the familiar kiddush blessing. Then each of us takes in hand an individual spice box and, giving it a shake, we take a deep sniff of the fragrant spices inside.  We make the blessings to remind us that these beautiful mixed scents symbolize the calming of our souls that are saddened at the departure of that “extra soul” that comes to us during Shabbat. We celebrate our Shabbat soul as we share special Shabbat memories.

“My grandchildren came for dinner!”  says Freda. 

“I had my 105^th birthday party,” says a beaming Philip.

“I heard from my best friends from grade school,” says Dorit.

The spices literally unlock our memories as their mingled fragrance fills the room.

Finally we dim the house lights and light the braided Havdalah candle.  The candle is made of two twisted pieces with multiple wicks at the top.  Different colors, usually blue and white, demonstrate how our lives are entwined and that the material and the spiritual aspects of our lives are always linked.  Our challenge, our candle tells us, is to create a place for God’s light in all that we do. We recite a blessing over the flame which recalls the midrash that explains that light was first created on Saturday night when Adam hit two stones together. A divine light illuminated the world during the first week of creation.

As the candle glows, our residents follow many different traditions while they enjoy the Havdalah flame. Some of us hold our fingers near the flame so that we can see the light reflected on our fingernails.  Why?  Some say this reflection reminds us of the work our hands will do in the coming week.  The reflection asks us to conduct our daily lives with the love and peace that Shabbat has given us. Then, holding the candle high, we lean it into the kiddush cup and extinguish the flame in the wine. The light makes its way to the wine, as we make the “zzz-ing” sound in unison. The wine douses the flame and Shabbat has ended.

As an Italian Jew, I’ve added a piece from my own heritage to the familiar Havdalah ceremony. After we extinguish the flame, it is an Italian Jewish tradition to pass the kiddush cup to each person, allowing each one to dip a “pinky” finger into the wine. Then we place two drops of wine, one drop each on the cheek of  the person next to us. It’s the Italian way of embracing the sweetness of Shabbat for one last moment.

We sing Eliahu HaNavi, as we share our hope for the messiah to come speedily and in our time. Then our seniors, who range in age from their seventies to our oldest, Fay at 107, join hands and sway back and forth. “dancing” to our “sitting Hora,” as we sing Shavuah Tov (A Good Week) together.

Wine and spices, light and song. Each combines to signify our hope for a week filled with sweetness, brightness and joy. 

The Midnight Shofar

Tales from Jewish Italy

Reventino mountain range in Southern Italy.

It is New Year’s Eve in Calabria, the deep south of the Italian peninsula. At the stroke of midnight the bells in the church tower in the tiny village of Serrastretta ring twelve times. But if you are very quiet and the night is very still, you will hear something more. From deep in the forest of the Reventino, a local Calabrian mountain range located in the “instep” of the “boot,” you will hear first one, then another, then another long low moan of the ancient ram’s horn. The same ram’s horn that in Hebrew is the “shofar.” The same ram’s horn that inaugurates Rosh HaShanah, the Jewish New Year. Yet, for centuries on the night that marks the beginning of the secular New Year, families in southern Italy blow a shofar-like instrument that is the hallmark of the Jewish celebration that occurs, not in December, but in the autumn of the year.

It is a custom that on the surface seems strange, but a deeper look into the life and traditions of the B’nei Anousim (a Hebrew term that means “force ones”) who inhabit this area makes sense of it all. Centuries ago, during Inquisition times, the Jews of Spain and Portugal had one of two choices: convert to Christianity or leave their homes. Those Jews who were forced from Spain and Portugal found refuge on the island of Sicily and on the tiny islands that make up the Aeolian chain. There they lived in relative peace until the long arm of the Inquisition reached them there as well. Forced to flee yet again, Jewish families made their way onto the Italian mainland, first to the “toe” and then north through the “foot” of the Italian “boot” and into the Calabrian mountains.

For centuries these Jewish families lived in relative safety but fear is a “minestra,” a soup that cooks slowly. Stories of persecution, arrests and public burnings percolate through these mountains – so much so that if one were to ask about a family’s Jewish heritage, the downcast eyes and blank expressions say it all. That’s why it is such a great challenge to connect these B’nei Anousim with their Jewish history. But for me, the first rabbi of the first synagogue in Calabria since Inquisition times, it is a “sfida e gioia” a challenge and a joy. 

During my ten years in the Calabrian hills I’ve finally learned to ask the right questions.  No longer do I ask, “Do you think your family was once Jewish?” No. Calabrians have learned that admitting to a Jewish heritage can be dangerous.  Instead I ask, “What does your family do when a baby is born? When a couple marries? For a funeral and mourning? Do you have special family customs to celebrate the holidays?”  That is how I learned about the shofar at midnight.  

Francesco, a local baker, explained it all to me when he said, “Tanti anni fa… Many years ago our families celebrated a different new year. It was the at the harvest time when we found a ram and made his horn into a musical instrument. But it was dangerous to be different so we learned to wait. To wait for the last day of the year when everyone else was celebrating. Now there are fireworks and trumpet blasts. When the ram’s horn is sounded, it is not so strange anymore.”

Cautiously I asked Francesco, “Do you know that the ram’s horn is a Jewish tradition?” Francesco replies that he once heard something like that but he prefers to say that the practice is an ancient family tradition.

And so it goes. For centuries we Calabrians took our Jewish traditions into our homes and our hearts and slowly, at first for safety reasons, and then for cultural reasons, the religious meanings of these rituals were lost.  Our precious Jewish customs became family traditions and sadly, nothing more.  

Serrestretta, Calabria: View from Sinagoga Ner Tamid del Sud

It has become my mission and my passion to uncover more of these family traditions that were once a part of a thriving Jewish past. It is my hope that I can continue to give my Calabrian relatives, my meshpucha, the B’nei Anousim who have so carefully and cautiously preserved the vestiges of their Jewish heritage, an opportunity to discover and embrace their Jewish roots.  

A Jewish View of Jesus

Several years ago when I was a synagogue rabbi, I had an interesting and eye-opening experience. Our synagogue was host to 38 eighth graders from St. Joseph's Catholic School. They were studying about world religions and their teacher brought them to the synagogue to learn about Judaism. Before my presentation, I asked them to write down any question they had about Jews and our religion, and the one question that came up a dozen times or more was this one;  "What do Jewish people think about Jesus?"Rabbi Joseph Telushkin, author of "Jewish Literacy," talks about Jesus as a young observant Jew, who grew up in provincial Galilee. Jesus spoke Aramaic, a dialect of Hebrew that was the language of the marketplace, the street and the family table. Jesus never questioned his allegiance to the Jewish faith, a religion that was already a thousand years old at the time of his birth. Rabbi Telushkin goes on to add that Jesus lived within the community of Jews, paid his dues to the Temple and attended the "Bet Knesset," the Jewish house of assembly – or, to use the Greek term, the synagogue.

In the Christian New Testament we find that Jesus was a law-abiding, highly nationalistic Jew, who was deeply concerned about the morals and ethics of the society in which he lived. Like many of the great rabbis within the Jewish tradition, Jesus believed in the Torah—the Five Books of Moses that Christians refer to as the "Old Testament." Jesus believed what the Torah taught about the central theme of the Jewish religion, which is, "What is hateful to you do not do to another." As a good Jew, Jesus preached, "Love your neighbor as you love yourself."

Christ the Redeemer, Andrea del Sarto

What was Jesus like? We Jews turn to Jewish scholars who tell us that at the time when Jesus was growing up, there was great activity in the ancient Jewish community which boasted more than 26 different Jewish denominations. As a young man, Jesus was attracted to one of these.

Historians believe that Jesus joined a branch of Judaism called the "Essenes."  They were highly disciplined, lived communally and pooled their resources and income. Jesus' long hair wasn't just an artist's depiction. It was accurate. For religious reasons the Essenes deliberately did not cut their hair and Jesus followed in that tradition—the same tradition that Samson followed, because he also was an Essene.

Most likely Jesus dressed in a loose fitting linen or wool garment, with four fringed corners, (described in the Book of Numbers) which was the typical dress of the pious Jew.  And when we Jews wear the tallit (the prayer shawl) today, we are wearing the vestiges of the long garment that religious Jews, like Jesus, wore in ancient times.

Some Jewish scholars believe that Jesus may have been a prophet, in the style of Micah, one of our own recognized prophets. Micah was courageous and fearless in his denunciation of the leaders of Judean society who often used their position to abuse the disadvantaged. Like Micah, Jesus had a deep sympathy for the underdog, the poor, and the victims of social injustice. Yet many scholars believe that Jesus never saw himself as the founder of a new religion.

The Last Supper, near to Stamford, Lincolnshire

Jews and Christians have more in common than many might think. Most of us are aware that Jesus was observing the Jewish holiday of Passover when he celebrated “The Last Supper.” But there are more examples of our common heritage – a heritage that affirms that the values and ethics that are attributed to Jesus are the values and ethics that are the bedrock of the Jewish tradition.

If Jesus said, "Love your enemy," then he got it from the Jewish tradition that tells us that "if your enemy is hungry or thirsty, give him food and drink." And if Jesus did indeed say, "Turn the other cheek," he was talking about the essence of his own Jewish traditions from the book of Lamentations, which tells Jews, "He gives his cheek to him that smites him.”

 

Jews appreciate Jesus, just as we appreciate Micah, Ezekiel, Jeremiah, and all the other prophets and holy men and women of ancient times. We hold Jesus in esteem because we Jews are grateful to Jesus for teaching Torah, for living Torah and for being the fine Jewish man that he was.  

Candlelabra of Calabria

Italian Anousim – Celebrating Shabbat with Unique Candlelabra

For thousands of Italians who live in the southern Italian region of Calabria, the island of Sicily and the Aeolian Islands as well as for many more Italian Americans and Italian Canadians, connecting family traditions with an ancient Jewish heritage can be little more than a lucky guess.  But as we continue to search for our lost and hidden Jewish roots, one ritual item, the Shabbat candlelabra offers an important clue. 

The triple candlelabra pictured here is Rabbi Barbara Aiello’s family heirloom. Her grandparents descended from a Calabrian crypto-Jewish background where a three-branched candlelabra was integral for the family Shabbat table.

“The middle candle served as the “shamus” or helping candle, and just as Jews use the shamus to light the eight candles on the Chanukah memorah, a shamus candle was used to light the two candles for Shabbat,” says Rabbi Barbara, who now lives and works in Calabria where she searches for hidden traditions such as these.

The peacock motif offers another Jewish clue. For the Jews of Calabria, the peacock was an important element in Jewish design. Originating with the Kabbalists, the Jewish mystics of medieval times, it is the male peacock’s special feather configuration that is reminiscent of the Kabbalistic “third eye.”  This symbol connects with the message of Shabbat by reminding us that with the “third eye” we can see into a person’s soul and thus bring peace to the world.

Families in Serrastretta, the tiny village where Rabbi Barbara organized “Ner Tamid del Sud, the first active synagogue in Calabria in 500 years since Inquisition times, recall the three branched candlelabra at their own Friday evening dinner table.  Some recall a beautiful ritual where the matron of the house first lit the middle “shamus” candle, removed it and then passed it to the youngest family member. Each person around the table had her/his own personal candle which was kindled by passing the shamus candle from person to person.  Finally the shamus candle returned to “Mama” who then kindled the last two candles, the lights of Shabbat. 

Questions and comments welcome below!

Shul on a Shoestring

 Creating and Sustaining a Jewish Community in Tough Economic Times

Dressing the torah with Service Leader, Rena Morano.

“Everybody’s hurting,” is the one thing that politicians can agree on and for synagogues throughout United States, the lament rings true.  In fact, only one half of all American Jews are members of synagogues and only 8% of the membership attends on a regular basis, i.e. at least twice a month.

To add insult to injury, philanthropist Edgar M. Bronfman, of the World Jewish Congress confessed, “I don’t like going to synagogue. I generally find the atmosphere stultifying, the services overly long, boringly repetitive and mostly without meaning to the young Jews of today.”

These were the challenges faced by Bradenton, Florida’s Congregation Ner Tamid, a rabbinically advised, lay led small congregation that set out to meet the needs of disaffected Jews, many of whom were tired of the constant appeal for funds and fed up with synagogue politics that created a less than pleasant atmosphere within many synagogues of all Jewish denominations.

Ner Tamid, which in Hebrew means, “Eternal Light,” began 8 years ago and started as most new congregations do, when a small group, dissatisfied with Jewish business as usual, decided to create a new community.  But unlike other split-off groups, Ner Tamid did not fall into what Einstein called the definition of insanity; doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

Ner Tamid founding members: Shepards and Solomons.

Instead Ner Tamid’s founders examined the pros and cons of traditional synagogue organization and made the conscious decision to create a congregation that was vibrant, accessible and affordable for Jewish and Jewish interfaith families. 

“From the beginning I have served as Ner Tamid’s rabbinic advisor,” says Rabbi Barbara Aiello, who helped create the foundation of the shul.  The largest single expense for any synagogue is the rabbi’s salary, says Rabbi Aiello, “so the first thing we tackled was eliminating the need for a full-time full service rabbi.” 

With founding members Elaine Mittler and Miriam Gooslby (z”l), Aiello suggested that another founder, Rena Morano, be asked to serve as lay leader for the fledgling congregation.  Morano, an experienced Jewish educator, had worked previously with Rabbi Aiello.  The two knew each other well and shared the same commitment that Shabbat and festival services should be accessible and participatory so that young and old, and Jewish and interfaith members could share in the experience. 

Ner Tamid's Purim spiel, Jews in the Jungle.

When Aiello left Florida to take a pulpit in Milan, Italy, the Board and the rabbi continued to work together continent to continent.  “The internet is a wonderful thing,” says Morano who regularly communicated with the rabbi as they planned festivals and other special events together.

On the financial front, Board Chair Elaine Mittler reinforced Ner Tamid’s commitment to affordability by finding a centrally located building that agreed to share space with the fledgling shul. “We determined what our rent would be and then asked everyone to donate two dollars at the door.  We did this before lighting the Shabbat candles so that everyone would feel comfortable and every week we covered our costs.” 

When it came time to announce a membership drive, dues were kept at an affordable level. “With no rabbi’s salary to cover and no building fund or maintenance fee, we could ask that families donate at first $54 and then $72 for an annual membership.” 

Rabbi Aiello and Service Leader Morano shared ideas for organizing services and special events, and together they planned congregational experiences ranging from rousing Purim parties (The Jews of the Old West, The Jewish Pirates of the Caribbean and Fashion and the Jewish Influence) to High Holy Day services where parents, children and grandparents all take a part.

Maddie portrays founders of Suriname's early synagogue in the Purim play.

The rabbi’s presence within the congregation has varied throughout the years and has included special lectures and, at congregational request, the rabbi has officiated at life cycle events. Rena Morano, as service leader, has tapped the rabbi’s expertise at officiating at funerals and memorials, baby namings, weddings and  B’nei Mitzvah celebrations and today Morano, who also serves as director for Ner Tamid’s Hebrew school and adult education program, conducts the majority of these life cycle events on her own.

What makes it work and work so well?  Beyond the commitment to keep costs down, the Ner Tamid Board, the lay leadership and the rabbinic advisor are all on the same page. “We see how synagogues are suffering,” says Aiello. “Membership is in decline and as more traditionally organized synagogues must continue the donation drum beat, spirituality is lost in the din.”

Not so with Ner Tamid.  Certainly the congregation has its struggles, but above all there’s that “meshpucha” feeling that never fades. One interfaith couple who are long time Ner Tamid members put it well when they said, “At Ner Tamid we feel accepted for who and what we are. We’ve found loving and caring people.” Others agree. “It’s a feeling that we’re all in this together,” says one long time member. “We work together and year after year we pull it off.”

*To contact Congregation Ner Tamid, see www.nertamidflorida.org

And, of course, feel free to comment below!

Out With the Bad, In With the Good

Tashlich Symbolizes the Jewish New Year’s New Start

Vintage photo of Tashlich from Brooklyn Bridge

Back in the day, on one of the first two days of Rosh HaShanah, Jews traditionally walked together to a stream, pond, lake, river, or even an ocean. The idea was to find a body of flowing water, preferably filled with swimming fish, so that we Jews could throw away our sins. That’s the meaning of the Hebrew word, tashlich – to cast off or throw away.

The Tashlich ceremony itself, which includes psalms, readings and the actual tossing of bread crumbs to symbolize our last year’s sins, originated in the 1200’s. It quickly caught on in Jewish communities around the world, to the chagrin of many rabbis who were afraid that tashlich superstitions would become more important than the more solemn themes of Rosh HaShanah, such as forgiveness and teshuvah (return).

So what happens at a Tashlich ceremony? When the group arrives at the flowing stream, they gather close to the water. Then, after psalms, readings, prayers and poetry, we Jews  empty our pockets of their crumbs – crumbs that become tangible symbols of the sinful things we’ve done in the past 12 months.

Prophet Micah’s words provide the tashlich theme; “God will take us back in love and cover up our iniquities. God will cast all of our sins into the depths of the sea.”

On the Kobernick campus in Sarasota, Florida, where I serve several hundred Jewish seniors, we’ve created our own version of the ancient Tashlich service. Although we begin with readings and psalms, ( Psalms 18 and 130 are traditionally appropriate), we offer suggestions as to the specific sins that need tossing out. For example, we read a list of transgressions that include:

So what happens at a Tashlich ceremony? When the group arrives at the flowing stream, they gather close to the water. Then, after psalms, readings, prayers and poetry, we Jews  empty our pockets of their crumbs – crumbs that become tangible symbols of the sinful things we’ve done in the past 12 months.

Prophet Micah’s words provide the tashlich theme; “God will take us back in love and cover up our iniquities. God will cast all of our sins into the depths of the sea.”

On the Kobernick campus in Sarasota, Florida, where I serve several hundred Jewish seniors, we’ve created our own version of the ancient Tashlich service. Although we begin with readings and psalms, ( Psalms 18 and 130 are traditionally appropriate), we offer suggestions as to the specific sins that need tossing out. For example, we read a list of trangressions that include:

I gossiped about someone.

I neglected to say thank you for a kindness.

I isolated.

I let negative thinking dominate me.

I didn’t reach out to a friend.

  

These sins and many others are written on small slips of paper and as they are read, residents decide which sins apply to them. Volunteers distribute the appropriate sin to the resident who requests it, including the all-purpose general sin, “I did something wrong but I don’t want to say.”

With sins in one hand and fish crackers in the other, we take our “fishy sins” to the water and do the tashlich – we literally throw them away.

In her book, Celebrate! The Complete Jewish Holidays Handbook, author Lesli Koppelman Ross notes that many historians believe that ancient superstitions influenced the popularity of Tashlich, probably because “primitive people believed that the best way to win favor from evil spirits (who) lived in waterways, was to give them gifts.”

Koppelman goes on to say that there were communities, “including the Babylonian Jews, who sent ‘sin-filled’ containers out into the water.”  She writes that the Talmud records an ancient practice where Jewish families wove baskets for each child in the family. The baskets, filled with beans or peas representative of last year’s sins, were held above the head, swung around and then tossed into the water.

It was Prophet Ezekiel who received God’s guidance near a body of water and throughout Jewish history our heroes and sages have felt God’s presence beside lakes and streams, rivers and wells. Whether it’s history or folklore, in recent years tashlich has become a popular Rosh HaShanah ritual as well as a special time for families to gather, “toss” and nosh. Our Kobernick, Anchin and Benderson residents have had that same opportunity as our very special tashlich ceremony goes a long way to bring hope and a fresh start to the new year. Shanah Tovah!