Elisha ben Abuyah is the main character in Milton Steinberg’s famous novel, As a Driven Leaf. Elisha is born in second century Palestine, under Roman rule and Hellenistic influence. His mother dies in childbirth. He is raised by his father who is sympathetic to Greek culture and philosophy, but he dies when Elisha is ten. His uncle now raises him in a traditional Jewish environment. He is brilliant, becomes a rabbi and a member of the Sanhedrin. He increasingly grows disillusioned by strict Orthodox law. He moves to Antioch, leaves his family, adopts the philosophy of stoicism, is expelled from the Jewish community and lives his life searching – a life that ends in despair, loneliness and poverty.

The title of the book, As a Driven Leaf, is taken from the Book of Job, who also spends his life questioning and challenging the wisdom and goodness of a faith that can cause such human suffering. He protests to the god in whom he wants to believe – “Why do you hide your face, and treat me like an enemy? Will you harass a driven leaf?”

Both Job and Elisha ben Abuyah are trying to make sense of a life where they feel helpless in the face of injustice and human suffering over which they have little or no control. When i asked a former student and friend how he and his family were doing, he responded that they were doing fine, but then he observed that is a common response, but that “fine” is not good enough. They needed to have some hope, a vision that life would be better, that they and their young children would know a future where life would not seem so unsafe, where they could feel more secure and unafraid, a future in which they felt in control of their lives.

We may be feeling like a driven leaf in the face of this pandemic. At the same time, the events of the recent past, in which hundreds of thousands of people the world over have marched to bring justice and humanity to our societies, point to a different virus that has plagued our planet. Millions of people have been willing to risk their health and their lives because they know that racial injustice also is an epidemic, and that conquering it is within our control. The disease of COVID-19 descended upon us from life forms below us on the Darwinian scale and we hope will be defeated by the science of medicine. The disease of racism has been endemic in our human life form for centuries and will only be defeated by our moral consciousness. Perhaps this moment has taught us the difference between what we can control and what we cannot. A virus from without is very different from a sickness from within. If we have learned from this pandemic that nature does not distinguish among Black or white, Asian or Arab, young or old, straight or gay, that we all are equally vulnerable and therefore, we understand that we all are equally human, then perhaps hundreds of thousands of   us will not have died in vain.

In this week’s Torah portion, titled Pinchas, from the Book of Numbers, Moses is instructed to go to the top of Mount Abiram, in other sections called Mount Nebo, and look over the land which he will not be allowed to enter.  He will die, not stepping foot onto the promised land with the people he led for forty years, because, according to the text, he disobeyed instructions when giving the Israelites water from a rock.  Moses asks the god whom he worships to appoint a new leader. Rashi, in his commentary on the text, makes the point that Moses understands that the virtues of the righteous are that they disregard their own needs and occupy themselves with the needs of the community.  Moses lobbies for his own son to inherit his position. It is not to be. Rather, it is Joshua. Again, according to Rashi, Joshua’s great strength is that as a leader he will tolerate each person according to his individual character.

Milton Steinberg, the leaders of Black Lives Matter and Civil Rights movements of any name, the authors of this Torah portion— all bring us to this critical moment in our lives and in the life of our country. We are on this earth as visitors, all inheriting a divine image. We are equally vulnerable to natural forces beyond our control, but we are in charge of our own lives and who we are as human beings. The tzadikim, in the words of Rashi, the righteous, will always occupy themselves, not with their own needs, but with the needs of the community and will tolerate each person according to his individual character.  We seek those qualities in ourselves, and we must insist on those qualities in those who will lead us to a better future. 

In his search for meaning, Elisha ben Abuyah sets forth this philosophy:

“A man has happiness if he possesses three things–those whom he loves and who love him in turn, confidence in the worth and continued existence of the group of which he is a part, and last of all, a truth by which he may order his being.”

Those are values we must hold dear through these trying times. We seek to love and be loved. Each one of us is a small part of human life on this planet. Its healthy continued existence must be our primary goal – one nation, one world, with liberty and justice for all. That is the truth by which we must order our being.

The march of science and the march of people says there is hope. There is a future. There will be an end to the flood and the dove will find a resting place, and with our determination and because of our innate goodness, a rainbow will appear in the sky.

Shabbat Shalom

D’var Torah delivered July 10, 2020.

Rabbi Maderer delivered this sermon on June 5, 2020. 

Our congregation mourns the brutal killings of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and countless others whose stories we see in the news and whose stories we do not see in the news, such as Tony McDade.

Tony McDade was a Black transgender man killed in Tallahassee, Florida, on May 27. His death is believed to be the at least 12th violent death of a transgender or gender non-conforming person this year in the U.S.  A toxic mix of transphobia, racism and misogyny put black people, LGBTQ people, and especially LGBTQ people of color at greater risk for violence every day. 

The original Gay Pride—the uprising at the Stonewall Inn police raid, June 28, 1969 in Greenwich Village that launched the gay rights movement—the original Gay Pride, was not a parade. Stonewall was a riot.  And Tony McDade’s story reminds us: Stonewall was led by trans women of color. The most vulnerable; the most powerless. As the Human Rights Campaign stated this week in response to racial injustice, “We understand what it means to… push back against a culture that tells us that our lives don’t matter.”

This Shabbat, as we launch Pride month, and this season as we are shaken out of our of pandemic hibernation perspective to see more clearly the systemic racism that was always present, let us recommit to dismantle white supremacy and all of its parts: homophobia, racism, transphobia, antisemitism and sexism.

Rabbi Freedman and I have been in conversation with colleagues of color, listening, learning, both physically and metaphorically standing with them and taking a knee with them, seeking to more deeply understand how to transform ourselves and our world. 

The destruction and looting in our city bring yet another layer of loss and fear to an already challenging time of pandemic in our lives. I am thinking of all of you in our Rodeph Shalom family, with love, and prayers for safety.  And I want to be careful, that the focus on looting, does not eclipse the focus on the injustices of white supremacy.

To begin with our Rodeph Shalom family, this week, I spoke with one of our congregants who is African American, who gave me permission to share. She expressed her sadness at the destruction, especially for a neighborhood grocery and small businesses — including black-owned businesses– targeted by looters. She shared her pain in witnessing how differently disobedience is treated, depending on race.  When white men armed with guns in Michigan, or white men armed with baseball bats in Fishtown protest, there’s no tear gas. And then she added, Jews have been there too, facing discrimination. And Jews are always there with others, advocating for civil rights.  Stay with us, she said. She believes in her Jewish community’s commitment to stand with her.  And so do I.

This week’s Torah portion, Naso, is the origin of the beloved words of Birkat ha-cohanim/the three-fold priestly benediction:

Yivarechecha Adonai v’yishmerecha/ May God bless you and keep you.

Ya-er Adonai panav elecha vichuneka/ May God’s light shine upon you and be good to you.

Yisa Adonai panav elecha, y’yasem l’cha shalom / May God’s presence be with you, and bring you peace.

Consider with me: what is the meaning of those words?

Line 1: Yivarechecha Adonai v’yishmerecha/ May God bless you and keep you.

What does it mean for God to bless us?  Traditional commentary teaches the word “bless” indicates basic material needs. Each of us should have what we need. Simply put, it is not fair if I have what I need and you do not, for I am no more deserving than you.

In this moment, it is critical that we hear: we do not all have what we need.  In our nation’s history, we never have.  

Most of us identify with groups that are targeted by white supremacy—when my grandfather built his business, he had to physically stay there all night to protect his property from local anti-semitic vandals; some of us identify with groups that benefit from white supremacy—that same grandfather returned from World War II to the GI Bill—a mortgage black men could not access; my grandfather built his business, and his wealth, and I had a college fund, before I learned how to spell my name. Some of us identify with groups that are targeted by white supremacy; some of us identify with groups that on the surface, benefit from white supremacy. Many of us identify with both at the same time. 

But are financial or other gains that rely on white supremacy, really a benefit? If I am entitled to a college fund, in a society originally built on the enslavement of human beings, does that really benefit me? If, as was my experience 19 years ago, I can get job interviews knowing my colleague was rejected because she was queer, does that really benefit me?  Is that the world I wish to inhabit? What does that do to my soul? To our soul? How can we be whole, in our privilege, how can we be whole knowing others are not?

To put King’s words “injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere” into religious, Parashat Naso terms: Only when all of us have access to the blessing, can any of us really be blessed.

Line 2: Ya-er Adonai panav elecha vichuneka/ May God’s light shine upon you and be good to you.

What does it mean for God’s light to shine upon us? Torah commentary suggests God’s light indicates divine purpose.  What is God’s purpose for you, for me?  Our circumstance – our privilege– helps to determine: for what are we responsible?

Privilege. Some of us have white privilege; some male privilege; middle or upper class privilege, ability privilege, or straight privilege. Most of us have privilege in one area but lack it in another.  Privilege is not about guilt, or shame; it’s about responsibility. When sixteen years ago I wedded my beloved, in a time before marriage equality, I was no more deserving of marriage than my queer friends were. That didn’t mean I was guilty, but I was responsible. Understanding privilege is about acknowledging that some groups have unfair, unearned advantages, and I ought to take responsibility to help to repair this world in which some other groups have unfair, unearned disadvantages.

First step: I need to listen to people with less privilege, especially to voices that stretch my thinking. Riots and vandalism are not the kind of activism I support. Still, I need to work to understand. 

Kareem Abdul-Jabbar wrote a challenging piece for the LA Times this week, and I’d like to share passages. 

“The black community is used to the institutional racism inherent in education, the justice system and jobs. And even though we do all the conventional things to raise public and political awareness, the needle hardly budges. I don’t want to see stores looted or even buildings burn. But African Americans have been living in a burning building for many years. What you should see when you see black protesters… is people pushed to the edge, not because they want bars and nail salons open, but because they want to live. To breathe.  So what you see when you see black protesters, depends on whether you’re living in that burning building or watching it on TV.”

In the metaphor, I am watching the burning building on TV.  That’s me.  That privilege – the power it affords me in our society — sheds light on my divine purpose.

Every one of us can consider: what is my privilege, how can I listen to others who do not share my privilege, and what do I have the power to do. Here are two ways to join me this week:

To stand in solidarity with Philadelphia’s multi-faith, multi-race community, join me on a Virtual Call of Lament and Active Hope, this Saturday, 3:00pm, info in the chat and on our website.

To join an RS Anti-Racism Journey Group that will begin with learning and work on ourselves, and that I hope will help to inform our congregational Equity, Inclusion Diversity work, join me this Tuesday, June 9, 6:00pm, info in the chat and on our website.

Each of us can rediscover our divine light—our purpose in dismantling white supremacy.

Line 3: Yisa Adonai panav elecha, y’yasem l’cha shalom / May God’s presence be with you, and bring you peace.

What does it mean for God’s presence to be with us? Our spirituality is a critical part of who we are, as souls and as Jews. We stop and pray, we pause for Shabbat, so that we can re-center ourselves, deepen our understanding of Jewish teachings, ground ourselves in community and intention, and affirm the holiness of humanity in all that we do.

Our society is sick, and that sickness infects us all. White supremacy is the virus that, long before COVID-19, has infected not only the races, genders, religions and sexual orientations that it targets, but it infects all of us who are made to exist in a society, that does not treat all humanity with equal dignity.  Only when we heal, will God’s presence be with us, in all of its wholeness, and all of its holiness. 

Yivarechecha Adonai v’yishmerecha

May we do the work, that all of us, will have access to the blessing.

Ya-er Adonai panav elecha vichuneka

May we discover our divine purpose.

Yisa Adonai panav elecha, y’yasem l’cha shalom

May we see the divine, in the eyes of every human being.

Amen.

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In one of Michael Hauptman’s Yom Kippur speeches, he recalled the story of the building that was made without light fixtures, so that each member of the community would feel compelled to bring their own lamp. Mike, thank you for bringing your contributions—your lamp.

Your gift to our congregation is the way you have led by example, bringing your extraordinary talents—your vision for sacred space, membership, connection groups, and financial sustainability.

Your gift to our leadership is the once-in-a-generation change through which you thoughtfully led our governance. You shaped a structure that has transformed our lay leadership, and most recently, has allowed them to act nimbly in the unprecedented challenges we face.

Your gift to me is the sacred partnership we share. Built on extraordinary time, intention, and trust, not to mention good humor, I cherish our relationship. Mazel tov on your three years of distinguished service as president of Congregation Rodeph Shalom.

Our congregation is blessed to welcome our next president, Hank Bernstein. Hank—I treasure your wisdom and our relationship. We have been studying Torah together for a many years, and I look forward to bringing that Torah into our new partnership.

Your message from your Bar Mitzvah Torah portion, Beshalach, feels as though it is meant just for us, just for this day.

For when the Israelites feel lost as they face the wilderness, and they cry out with worry, Moses says to the people—he says to us all—push through your fear, and witness the deliverance the Eternal will work for you today. Go forward!

Along with the world, our congregation faces loss, fear, and uncertainty. The message of Torah calls out to us as we today go forward. Our congregation’s path forward is unmarked; our health, our finances, and our capacity to create profound connections in this season of pandemic, uncertain.

Even still, our vision—immersed in Jewish time, guided by enduring values, compelled to moral action, we create profound connections—our vision, and our responsibility to the future of the Jewish people, remains steadfast.

On our congregation’s path forward, we are immersed in Jewish time. How powerful it has been to join together virtually for Shabbat and Pesach, soon Shavuot, even for weddings, funerals, and starting this Shabbat, B’nai Mitzvah.

Looking forward to the High Holy Days, it is not likely that we will be able to gather in person, and this is a great loss. The insights of our High Holy Days workgroup, a new partnership of the board of directors and clergy, have deepened our understanding about what is most sacred about our High Holy Days for our congregants, and will serve as a foundation for the adaptation we create.* I have faith that, in the creative adaption demanded, Jewish time will continue to bring us together in ways that transcend distance.

On our congregation’s path forward, we are guided by enduring values, from virtual Torah study to Days of Learning. Our Director of Youth Education, Jennifer James, brilliantly re-trained her faculty and transformed the entire Berkman Mercaz Limud to Zoom. And she established methodology for all of our congregational online adaptations—that is: Connection, Continuity, Content.

Enduring values remain the foundation for consideration to phase-in future in-person experiences. Our values demand that, even through the heartbreak of distance, we lift up our highest mitzvah; pekuach nefesh/preservation of life. Committed to protecting ourselves, our community, and our world, our benchmarking workgroup, a partnership of the board of directors and senior staff, is our thought leader for scenario-planning for all different aspects of congregational life.

On our congregation’s path forward, we are compelled to moral action. Through tzedakah, our moral work has already been sustained. Rabbi Freedman is leading the path towards deeper justice work with adapted versions of Breaking Bread on Broad, and Get Out the Vote civic engagement.

On our congregation’s path forward, we create profound connections. Connections groups have gone virtual and tech angels have helped members participate. Cantor Frankel partnered with Fran Martin to create a weekly check-in with clergy. I’ve spoken to so many of you in these past months, and more importantly, so many of you have spoken with each other as we have discovered new paths for connection.

As it turns out, discovering new paths is an approach for this entire pandemic. Our leveraging disruption workgroup, a partnership of the Board of Directors and senior staff, is ensuring that we not only manage crisis, we also move on a path into the future that is vision-driven, risk-facing, and clear that there is no going backwards, only forward.

The wilderness is hard. And so, it is all the more important that we get to travel this path forward, together. I am grateful for my co-clergy, senior staff, and rabbis emeriti, and for Jeff Katz’s enormously heavy lift in planning scenarios that will sustain us. I am uplifted by the tremendous work of our entire professional staff, who has reinvented with care and with pride. I am inspired by the devotion of our congregants, reaching out to each other with compassion and supporting this congregation in every way possible, even during extraordinarily difficult times. And I am grateful for the dedication of our lay-leaders and their partnership in establishing a financial path forward rooted in our vision. Board of Directors: I have faith in our partnership with one another, and with God, for our next steps on this path forward.

*As we create an adapted High Holy Day experience for the likelihood that we will not be in person, it is so helpful for the clergy to have a deep understanding of your spiritual needs. To share the perspectives, messages, and experiences that make the High Holy Days feel sacred, please contact us at Clergyoffice@rodephshalom.org.

(Annual Meeting remarks delivered May 27, 2020, adapted)

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Thank you, Michael, for your kind introduction and for serving as my mentor and guide throughout this last year, helping, along with Rabbi Maderer, to prepare me for this role. I believe I now have a more complete understanding of my role, and, from what I’ve seen, if I can be as devoted and diligent in my service to this sacred congregation as you have been, Michael, I will feel my leadership is successful.

I first came to Rodeph Shalom High Holy Day services in 1971 as a Penn freshman forty-nine years ago. Sophie Gordon, Rabbi Wice’s sister, was a member of my home congregation in Louisville, Kentucky, where five generations of my family, including my great-great grandfather Henry, had sat in the family pew. Sophie Gordon suggested that I go to Rodeph Shalom, as she said it was very similar to our temple—she was so right—the service, the music, and the old sanctuary at RS immediately felt like home.

My family was always active in the Temple in Louisville. Prayer, education, volunteerism and tzedakah were modeled for me by grandparents and parents, from whom I learned that being Jewish was not just something you were, it was something you strived to live each day of your life.

About twenty years ago, after the death of a close friend, one of those transitional nodal moments, I took my annual accounting of myself during the High Holy Days, saw that there was something that had been missing from my life, and decided to return to my true self, as the rabbis say. I began to come to services regularly and then after a while, started to attend Torah Study. Prayer and study, each in connection with others, entered my life again.

I was asked to be on the board during Fred Strober’s tenure as president, then asked to be assistant treasurer, then treasurer, VP, then president-elect. I have been a member of the finance, audit, and investment committees, and have had the privilege to serve on the senior rabbi search and lead the executive director search, visioning group, and recent cantor search. And now, Hineini, here I am ready to serve RS as president.

I can say that my natural trepidation about taking on the leadership now sometimes reaches biblical proportions because of the challenges we all face—the double-whammy of a pandemic that threatens our very lives, and a recession that threatens our livelihoods and the financial health of important businesses and institutions, including this synagogue.

I am comforted by the fact that this sacred congregation has faced and overcome incredible obstacles in its 225-year history—including disease, wars and recessions—and RS has survived and thrived.

I am comforted that we have visionary clergy and staff who work seemingly around-the-clock to ensure that our Congregational activities continue, especially in these times of emotional and financial upheaval. They lead the way and show us that our congregation’s vision and mission—spiritual strengthening, education, caring community, social action, and connection—are even more important than ever during this difficult time.

I am comforted that this congregation has a strong board of directors and board of advisors who are actively engaged and continually lend their skills and expertise to the congregation that they cherish.

And I am comforted by our members who are engaged in all aspects of our congregational life and whose support is critical.

Without the stressors of the current time, my presidency would be one that emphasizes financial sustainability. It is now even more important than ever that we continue to take action in the areas that the board has identified—growth and retention in membership, growth in our endowment, growth in facility usage, and growth in our special purpose funds. Each of these is being worked on currently by staff and lay people.

It’s important to me that everyone know that I do not want to be perceived as being tone deaf here.

Of course, what is of utmost importance to leadership at this time is the health and spiritual well-being of our congregants. As Rabbi Maderer has said, we need to lead, we must serve as an example and vigilantly model appropriate action, and we must act in such a manner that keeps our congregants and our greater community safe.

But even in these times, we cannot lose sight of financial realities that face our congregation.

The most important financial consideration most immediately facing the congregation is this coming year’s membership commitments. Membership commitments are vital this year—these revenues fuel our operating budget and are needed more than ever as we endeavor to pivot and rethink all our activities. We understand and appreciate that there will be congregants who will need to pull back this year—but if you are able, please consider increasing your membership commitment.

I think it may be important for you to know the sacrifice reflected in this coming year’s budget that each of our senior staff has voluntarily made: Rabbi Maderer has volunteered a 12% decrease in salary; Executive Director Jeff Katz has volunteered a 7% decrease in salary; and other senior staff have voluntarily forgone planned annual contractual increases. In addition, other staff members will not be receiving a merit or cost of living raise in this fiscal year, as part of the budget tightening measures that the board of directors has approved.

At the same time, there have been no budgeted increases in membership commitments for congregants at this challenging time.

I ask everyone to please serve as the congregation’s advocate and ask other congregants to support RS as their top priority, or at least as one of their top priorities—we need, now more than ever, to ensure the future operations of RS; the important values, vision, and mission of this community; and the voice of Reform Judaism in this city.

Our clergy, our Executive Director Jeff Katz, and our professional team responded very quickly to the necessity of continued connection without physically gathering—and from the very beginning of our Zoom offerings, we’ve seen growth in the number of folks attending services, Torah Study, and other RS activities—there is a yearning for connection and spirituality that RS has been meeting in this period of isolation, and we must continue meeting that need in the normalized future for those who cannot make it to our facilities. We need to make livestreaming one of the tools in our toolbox that we use to gain and maintain membership. Of course these are new costs to our budget—if you are interested in helping to fund this important project, please see me!

In closing, I want to thank you for the privilege of serving this sacred community. During periods of uncertainty in my life, I have challenged myself by remembering the words of my bar mitzvah portion, Beshalach—the Israelites are faced in front with a wall of water and behind them the approaching Egyptian chariots, and they are afraid, they complain, they want their old lives back and are immobilized. God says to Moses, “Why do you cry to Me; speak to the children of Israel that they go forward!”

May we as a sacred congregation continue to move forward!

Thank you.

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Don’t Act on Fear: Catherine Fischer’s Torah in Honor of Her Retirement delivered by Rabbi Maderer

When, almost 2 decades ago I came to know Catherine Fischer, she was working at the Union for Reform Judaism’s then regional office as the part-time coordinator of Outreach.  I remember our 1st phone call.  It was early on in my time at Rodeph Shalom and she was preparing me to teach the Introduction to Judaism class.  What could have been simply a perfunctory conversation quickly became a trusted bond as I listened to her speak about synagogue affiliation, engagement, commitment, and a sense of belonging. At that point, Catherine had only just begun to enter her life of Jewish professional leadership.

When it comes to the next steps, I like to take credit.  Because some time after her work at the URJ, I was sitting in a Kehillah oversight meeting — the Kehillah is the network of synagogues and Jewish organizations based in each region of Greater Philadelphia.  About to hire a new coordinator for the Center City Kehillah, the oversight group established 2 descriptions of the ideal candidate.  They said: we are looking for someone young, and someone who lives in Center City. (Descriptions that probably are not kosher, actually)…  But anyway, after they said, “someone young and in Center City,” I replied:  I have the candidate.  She is not young and she lives in NJ.  But trust me.  We’re calling Catherine Fischer.

Catherine brought the Kehillah to new heights, and to this day, clergy of all denominations, throughout Center City, admire Catherine.  When it came time for Catherine to complete her time at the Kehillah, Rabbi Kuhn, and all of us, knew enough, to recruit her to Rodeph Shalom.

Catherine has brought superior vision, strategy, practice, integrity and joy to our congregation.  And I believe she wins the award for the most times anyone in history, has spoken the words “profound connections.”  Catherine’s accomplishments abound and, in many ways, you are her accomplishment– every one of you who feels her impact so deeply in your own sense of belonging.

Ask her, what is her secret sauce, what is at the foundation of every Catherine Fischer email, event, meeting, phone call, and her answer is clear every time: Catherine roots her work in vision– in Torah.  In these moments, I would like to lift up Catherine’s Torah.  There is the Torah of listening.  There is the Torah of relationship.  And there is the Torah I’d share tonight– Catherine’s Torah of faith over fear.  It’s found right in this week’s Torah portion.  

The story in this week’s portion, Beshalach is the very story we tell at the seder table.  After generations of the Israelites’ slavery in Egypt, God hears their cries, sends Moses, Miriam and Aaron to lead them, sends plagues to the Egyptians, and finally guides their escape through the parted waters of the Sea of Reeds.

Now, picture the moment just before the Israelites enter the Sea.  Frightened, the people long to turn around to go backwards.  Moses’ response?  He instructs: Al tira-u / don’t be afraid.  Rabbi Alan Lew teaches: “Don’t be afraid” does not mean, “don’t feel fear;” it means: Don’t act on fear. 

And he expands: An inconsistency in the Hebrew makes the point more provocatively.  At first in the story, both noun and verb are plural: Egyptians pursue.  But a couple sentences later, a change to the singular: Egypt pursues.  Bothered by the switch, medieval commentator Rashi explains: the Torah must be trying to emphasize the Israelites’ perspective.  In that later sentence, when the Israelites gaze upon the enemy, they see not the Egyptians themselves, in the plural, but the spirit of Egypt, in the singular.  They see not what is really there, but a phantom– their idea of Egypt.  They see the Egypt where they cowered as slaves, and were abused for generations.  They saw– or perhaps, they conjured — their fear. 

Egyptian chariots pursuing, or not, every one of us can be threatened by a paralyzing fantasy we convince ourselves to fear.  And a community, too, can stop in its tracks, long to turn around, surrender to fear.

But Moses says to the people, and Moses says to us: Al tira-u / don’t panic.  Don’t run away from worry.  Don’t submit to phantoms.  Don’t let fear decide your future.  Push through it and transform it.

In every moment, when our Rodeph Shalom professional team and leadership, ask important questions about our next initiatives in community building, Catherine brings Moses’ message: Al tira-u / don’t act on fear.  When we face the waters, Al tira-u / don’t act on fear.  When we worry that people won’t commit to Jewish life, Al tira-u.  When we conjure the phantoms of scarcity, Al tira-u.  When we are reluctant to challenge the community, or to take a stand, Al tira-u.  When the old status quo feels less risky than the new innovations we need to experiment with, Al tira-u / don’t act on fear.

Years ago, when our Caring Community wanted to create a meal delivery initiative for members recovering from illness, but we feared that a mitzvah meal would invade people’s privacy, Catherine helped us see: Al tira-u.

When, in our commitment to include everyone in membership, regardless of financial capacity, we have wondered whether everyone will really contribute, Catherine has helped us see: Al tira-u.

When we sought to commit to having greeters at every service and program, but we worried that our members might not come regularly enough to guarantee that we would have greeters every time, Catherine helped us see: Al tira-u.

When we envisioned deeper connections among members, but we felt uncertain whether congregants would bring their vulnerability into their relationships with each other in the BoomRS in Transition discussion group, Catherine helped us see: Al tira-u / don’t act on fear.

For when Catherine sees us, she feels inspired by faith.  She opens every possible door for members, because she has faith.  She sees the good in us, because she has faith.  She believes we will rise to the occasion of Jewish life and commitment, because she has faith.  Faith in God, faith in the Jewish people, faith in humanity, faith in every one of us who walks through our sacred doors, and faith in every person who has yet to walk through our doors.  

Catherine’s actions are bold, and she seeks out study for creative thinking. Leading thinkers in the broader Jewish community have taken note of Catherine’s work and thought leadership.  Scholars from the Reform Movement and beyond, have engaged her in think tanks, and sought out her mentorship.  Catherine Fischer’s contribution has not only been transformative for Rodeph Shalom, it’s been transformative for the American Jewish community.  We decided Catherine needs to go down in history!  And so we have created a piece for the Jewish Women’s Archives.  Their website now includes a tribute that reads: Honoring the retirement of Catherine Fischer… Thank you for your bold thinking and action,that has us helped to live with faith over fear, and to build a joyful place of belonging and becoming for Jewish community.

To Richard, and the whole Fischer family, thank you for sharing your beloved Catherine with all of us for so long.

So how will we get along without Catherine?  In Catherine’s well-earned retirement, she leaves us strong, because she taught us her Torah.  (also, I still have her phone number).

And we get to be her legacy.  

Catherine, know that you have taught us well. 

And that we know, the best way to honor you, is to bring our love and commitment

to our community. 

May you, and we all, go strength to strength.  Amen.

Catherine and I first met over coffee at the Starbucks at 16^th & Arch in January 2008.  She was the newly hired Membership Director, and I was Membership Chair.  We discussed the broader points of synagogue membership and our visions for membership at Rodeph Shalom.  It was the start of a beautiful partnership.  

For the next eight or so years, I learned about relational Judaism and about Catherine Fischer, for they were one in the same. I learned of her deep love for Judaism and Jewish values, and how she applied them to all of her work; of her expectation of excellence in herself and inspiring it in others; of her insistence on intentionality, visionary thinking and meaning in her work and ensuring that all who participated found meaning as well. She sweated the details of every initiative and regretted every imperfection that no one else noticed.  Her unwavering integrity always leaned us toward being transparent and candid in all that we do. Working with Catherine made us better people.  And one day, I plan get something started before she’s already finished.

There is a generation of members who will tell you that they are here today because their first contact with Rodeph Shalom was through Catherine Fischer.  Her warmth, her humor and her ability to connect with people is a rare gift that RS has had full benefit of.  There have been times when I’ve been in her office while she was on a call with a prospective member and listening to her end of the conversation was like auditing a seminar in 21^st century Jewish thought about transformational community building.  In fact, Catherine has become one of the Reform Movement’s star leaders of relational Judaism and has helped put Rodeph Shalom on the map of synagogues who are making a difference.

I won’t be going over a list of Catherine’s accomplishments over the past 12 years because you know them all, and we just don’t have enough time.  We live and breathe the results of them every day, and it is obvious to me that we wouldn’t be who we are without her contributions and her consistent and extraordinary vision.

So, as you begin a new life chapter as Oliver’s grandma, may all your nodal moments be joyful, may all your connections be profound, and may you always know that your community that you worked so successfully in making as vibrant, warm and welcoming as you are yourself, will always be here for you.

Yosher Koach, Catherine, Yosher Koach.

Michael Hauptman

On behalf of the Congregation, thank you Catherine and Richard for your amazing gift—establishing and funding the Community Engagement Innovation Fund.

We’re here to celebrate and honor Catherine for all she’s done for our Community and for each of us here, and it is so Catherine to give us a gift.  It is just so Catherine.

Richard—I’m really happy for you that Catherine will soon be devoting full time to you and your family.  Many of you here tonight may not know that I’ve had an ongoing three-year philanthropy affair with Catherine—meeting with her on Mondays for three years, having lunch together and talking about philanthropy and everything else under the sun —

Over the years we’ve been working together, Catherine has given me at least three things that I will always be thankful for and treasure—her leadership, her mentorship and her friendship.

Thank you for all that you’ve done for this sacred community—we love you.