Kol Nidrei Sermon 2018
KOL NIDREI SERMON
September 18, 2018
RABBI AMY B. BIGMAN
I want to tell you a story: a true story. A story about the power of words, the power of our Yom Kippur liturgy, the power of the prayers — even if you don’t understand the Hebrew or the Aramaic, even if you aren’t sure what or if to believe — the power of this moment of “Kol Nidrei.“
The Forest Cantor
Zalman Bronstein was drafted into the Russian army in 1942. As he noted in an interview much later in life, “Obviously, being in the Russian army wasn’t easy. Of those sent to the front, more than 50% did not return alive — and that’s where I was sent.”
“During hostilities I was in a bunker…very close to the German enemy. The bunker was like a small room in the ground, fortified and protected, from which extended long trenches that we walked in.”
One day Zalman was able to take a brief nap in the bunker before returning to his battle post. Suddenly, a Russian officer entered the bunker, humming an upbeat marching tune. Zalman opened his eyes, annoyed. The officer’s off-tune singing aggravated him… “Comrade Officer! Excuse me, but I have to tell you that in the original version, that song is sung differently.” The officer turned towards him with a look of surprise on his face. “You know this song? If so, you must sing it for me. I can’t get along without it.”
Zalman tried to refuse, insisting that in his present downtrodden state of mind, he couldn’t possibly sing a cheerful song, but the officer wouldn’t relent. With a shrug, Zalman began to sing. After a few bars, the officer’s face lit up with pleasure. When he finished singing, the officer’s expression became fierce. He began to rail against the Russian Army leadership. “How can it be that they sent such a gifted singer like you to the front? This is an unforgivable outrage. I shall raise this issue with headquarters as soon as possible, even today.”
A few days later, an announcement blared over the bunker’s loudspeaker system. “Paging the singer Bronstein. Report to headquarters immediately.” Zalman hurried to present himself before the commanding officer of the bunker. The latter told him, “I just received an order to transfer you to officers’ headquarters. Get your things right now and crawl out there. But be careful! One wrong move on the way could mean your doom.”
Zalman began his crawl along the muddy earth, his belongings on his back and his heart full of suspicion. What could possibly be the reason behind this incomprehensible transfer? Only when he reached his destination and was told to report to a high officer in the Culture Division who was in charge of the Army choir, did he realize the connection between what was happening and the words of that officer before whom he had sung the battle song.
The choir leader told him that he must now sing before a group of very high-ranking officers. Zalman well realized that his future depended on the success of his performance. He started by singing the same military marching tune, but this time with a lot more feeling.
The officers to a man reacted boisterously with excitement and appreciation. Each one wanted Zalman to be assigned to his own unit so that he could give a concert to the brigade under his command. So Zalman became the lead soloist in the Army choir and they traveled from base to base giving performances. Everywhere they went, the Russian officers in charge were very friendly to Zalman.
His performances and popularity became a particular source of pride for all the Jewish soldiers. At one of the concerts, a Jewish officer passed him a note requesting that he sing something in Yiddish. He complied, choosing a song that he felt would be sure to arouse in the Jewish soldiers memories of their religious roots.
The date for the next concert, the most important one on the itinerary, was already set. They were to perform before an audience of hundreds of commissioned military doctors. However, the date coincided with Yom Kippur, the holiest of holy occasions. Zalman was firm in his mind that no matter what the consequences, he could not and would not perform on the holy day.
On Yom Kippur morning, he informed the musical director that he had terrible pains in his head and throat and that it would be impossible for him to sing on stage. The director pressured him to change his mind, but Zalman was adamant; he could not possibly sing this day. The director had no choice but to accept that the choir would have to perform without its star soloist.
Zalman retired to his room, where he devoted himself to the Yom Kippur morning prayers, those which he was able to remember by heart. Afterwards he began reciting Psalms, while in the background he could hear strains of singing and musical instruments from the military concert that was proceeding without him.
Several sharp knocks on his door broke his concentration. Three officers, whose epaulets indicated very high rank, quickly entered the room. “Are you Zalman Bronstein?,” one of them queried. He nodded, whereupon one of the other officers demanded, “Do you know what day is today?” “Yes. It is Yom Kippur.” His guests’ faces softened visibly. “We too are Jews,” they said. “Please, could you sing for us a few sections of the holy day’s prayers?”
Zalman felt great relief upon hearing of their Jewish identity, and at the same time felt compassion for them. Nevertheless, he demurred, “How can I sing for you? In order to escape having to go on stage, I arranged to be officially registered on the sick list.”
The three officers did not give up. They presented a possible solution. “In back of the camp is a thick forest. Let’s go deep inside it; then we can hear you pray and sing without anyone around to bother us.”
They entered the forest. Under a tree with a thick trunk and large, draping branches, Zalman stood facing the three Jewish officers. He closed his eyes and began to intone softly “Kol Nidrei,” the opening prayer of Yom Kippur evening with its traditional, haunting melody. He repeated it a second and third time, following custom, each time successively louder.
Zalman continued with other music from the High Holy Days liturgy. As he finished, the three officers were bent over, eyes bulging, and sobbing like little children. In the midst of lethal war, their futures concealed in the smoke of daily battle, three Jewish souls became revealed in a forest, flaming brightly with Yom Kippur holiness.
“Who knows?” Zalman couldn’t help thinking to himself. “This could be the reason that God directed the steps of that non-Jewish officer to me that morning in the bunker.”
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Found in The American Rabbi’s “Pearlson’s Pearls 5779.”
Source: Translated-adapted by Yerachmiel Tilles from the Hebrew weekly Sichat Shavua, #1081, with a few supplementary words of biography from the son of R. Zalman. Found in Tilles’ book Festivals of the Full Moon (Koren Publishing). Supplemented by Zalman Bronstein interview in “Beis Moshiach” magazine, April 15, 2016.
Yom Kippur Morning Sermon 2018–100th Anniversary
October 1, 2020 by meiden • High Holy Days sermons, High Holy Days, Sermons •
YOM KIPPUR MORNING SERMON–100th Anniversary
September 19, 2018
RABBI AMY B. BIGMAN
…From [his] base in Montreal Ezekiel Solomon found his way to Michilimackinac (1761), to become the first Jewish settler in Michigan.
By the mid-1840’s, there were Jews in Detroit, Kalamazoo, Marshall, Adrian, Ypsilanti, and Ann Arbor. But only Ann Arbor could boast of a “community,” where the traditional minyan, the gathering of at least ten Jewish adult males for Sabbath services, was held. The minyan had crystallized at the home of the Weils — five brothers — who had come to German-speaking Ann Arbor from Bohemia, in keeping with the pattern that sent German Jews into locales where German populations and the German culture already existed. In 1847, Charles, Henry, and Emanuel Lederer…, found their way to Ann Arbor to enjoy the… minyan at the Weil home. The Lederers were to become Lansing’s first Jews.
Thus begins the article “Lansing’s Jewish Community: The Beginnings” by Daniel Jacobson. Dr. Jacobson was the Director of the Social Science Teaching Institute, Professor of Geography and Education, and adjunct Professor of Anthropology at Michigan State University. His article about the beginnings of our community was published in the January 1976 edition of “Michigan Jewish History,” the semi-annual publication of the Jewish Historical Society of Michigan.
According to the sources cited by Dr. Jacobson:
[I]n 1859, when Lansing was incorporated as a city, the population was just over 3,000; four years later, fewer than 4,000. Yet there were already “…within the city, eleven churches, five hotels, two flouring mills … three tanneries, two breweries, three sawmills, two sash and blind shops, two printing offices, several brickyards and a large number of mechanic shops.” …By 1870, Lansing’s population had jumped to 5,244, yet the Jews could only be numbered among the Lederers and Eksteins. …Individual Jews and individual families did begin to move into the growing capital in the ’70’s and ’80’s. Jacob, Edward and Andrew Born were residents in 1873 as was Joseph Lehman. The Glickmans may have arrived before the decade’s end and by 1883 the Beck families and David and Arthur Behrendt were also living in the city.
By the late 1800’s, Russian Jews, ancestors of many of us sitting here today, fled Russia and moved to the United States. They generally moved to large cities, but some moved to Lansing.
On November 10, 1918, eighteen men signed the Articles of Association of Congregation Shaarey Zedek. Several of these men’s descendants not only still belong to our congregation, but are seated here this morning. From those eighteen signers, we are now approximately 240 families, including over 80 students in our religious school (pre-kindergarten through twelfth grade), down from our high of 350 families in the 1990’s, but fairly steady in the last dozen or so years.
According to Article II of the Articles of Association, the purpose for which the congregation was formed is “the diffusing of religious knowledge; the holding of Divine Services, Sunday Schools and Hebrew Schools; and the acquiring of real estate whereon to erect a suitable building or buildings for such purposes.”
One hundred years ago, our founders felt the need to come together as a community, to learn and worship together. Similarly, our purpose today, as currently listed in Article 2 of our constitution, notes:
The purpose of Congregation Shaarey Zedek is to enable all of its members to develop a relationship with God, Torah, and the Jewish people through communal worship, study, and assembly. Shaarey Zedek functions in an inclusive and egalitarian atmosphere.
To ensure the continuity of the Jewish people, Shaarey Zedek promotes the fundamental and enduring principles of Judaism and applies those principles to the values and conduct of the individual, the family, and the society.
As I learned about greater Lansing’s Jewish history, I decided to review my history here in East Lansing, too. My first Shabbat on this bimah was July 6, 2007. The Torah portion that week was parashat Pinchas. In that portion, Joshua is chosen as Moses’ successor to lead the people into the next phase of their journey. In that first sermon I shared a bit about my personal journey and then shared the following:
We read in this week’s parashah God’s command to Moses and Eleazar, Aaron’s son, to “‘take a census of the whole Israelite community from the age of twenty years up, by their ancestral houses, all Israelites able to bear arms.'” [Num. 26:2, Etz Hayim translation, p. 920] The text continues by telling us who “the descendants of the Israelites who came out of the land of Egypt” were, listing each clan and the number of able-bodied men who could form an army.
Interestingly, most translations say “who came out of the land of Egypt,” using the past tense of the verb. But Rabbi Neal Joseph Loevinger…points out in his commentary on this parashah…[that] the Hebrew is actually in the present tense: “Those who are coming out of Egypt.” Rabbi Loevinger sees the use of the present tense as an important lesson. He notes that
at any point in the life of the Jewish people, individual Jews are in different stages of ‘leaving Egypt.’ Egypt is often understood not only as a physical place, but as a psychological stage as well: In ‘Egypt’…we feel overwhelmed, far from our sacred centre, far from God, unable to accomplish our proper spiritual tasks.
In any given community, there are people who are on different stages of the journey… Some people are ready to enter the land (understood as ‘settled’ self-confidence about their Jewishness), some people are just leaving Egypt — every Jewish community contains individuals all along the spectrum, and, of course, the challenge is to figure out how to all travel together.
Sometimes even as individuals, we go back and forth in our spiritual energy; sometimes it feels like we’ve just escaped Pharaoh, and sometimes it feels like we’re ready to join with others and build a strong Jewish community. The taking of a census reminds us of the importance of periodically assessing where we are on the journey, so that we can be ready for the next step. Whether as individuals or as a community, we can only go forward if we know who and where we are. [Kolel, Pinchas 5760, paragraph designations and emphases mine]
We are all on journeys, personal as well as communal. In that first sermon, I expressed my hopes for our congregation for the years to come: that each member will find their niche, their place in the congregation; that each person will feel at home in this sanctuary and in this building; and that each person who enters our building feels welcomed, safe, and secure.
Shaarey Zedek’s congregational journey is at a unique point in time; we have a great deal of history, a great deal of the journey behind us, and at the same time we move forward on a new part of our journey.
It is up to each of us to contribute to that journey, to participate in the process. This year as we celebrate our 100th anniversary, we will have many celebrations for members of all ages: At the end of October there will be a kickoff event; there will be 100th anniversary programming in the school and for PJ Library participants; and three rabbis and a cantor who grew up at Shaarey Zedek will return for special services and programs.
In addition to celebrating the 100 years that have passed, we will be looking forward to the 100 years to come, and so you will be hearing about fundraising for things that we need today, such as a new Torah scroll, to raising funds for our future through planned giving. In order to be the congregation we need and want to be, we have to be fiscally secure. All we ask is that you do the best that you can financially and otherwise in helping your congregation be the best it can be.
In good times and in bad, our people have turned to the biblical Book of Psalms for comfort and inspiration. And so, as we begin our celebrations of our 100th anniversary this year, we conclude with, appropriately, the 100th Psalm, the Psalm of Thanksgiving:
A psalm of Thanksgiving: Raise a shout for the Lord, all the earth
Worship the Lord in gladness, come into God’s presence with shouts of joy
Acknowledge that the Lord is God; God made us and we are God’s: God’s people, the flock God tends.
Enter God’s gates with praise, God’s court with acclamation. Praise God! Bless God’s name!
For God is good; God’s steadfast love is eternal; God’s faithfulness is for all generations.
As we say together: Amen.