Jewels 2013

Dear Friends, Thank you for being a part of our 9th year of Jewels of Elul. I hope that you found the Jewels from the past 29 days to be mind and heart opening. This year’s edition on The Art of Welcoming took on extra significance as it coincided with the opening of the new Pico Union space downtown. When we took possession of the property in January, I had no idea how quickly our dream of creating a multi-faith house of worship and cultural arts center would become a reality. For our first three events, hundreds of people from

Years ago, I was invited to visit the home of then Senate Majority Leader Trent Lott. It was the first time a U.S. Senator had allowed me to see how he lived in private and I was quite nervous. Not surprisingly, his home exuded a warm southern charm, just like his wife Tricia, and it was neat and orderly, just like Trent Lott. Correct that – it was immaculate. I studiously avoided touching anything that could drop, break, shatter, or otherwise disrupt such a perfect home. I had been in the door not 60 seconds when Mrs. Lott asked me if I wanted a freshly powdered donut. I glanced at

The Book of Genesis (18:1-2) relates that shortly after Abraham’s Circumcision, G-d appeared while he sat recuperating in the groves of Mamrei. While he was communing with G-d, Abraham noticed, off in the distance, three nomads approaching across the desert. Without so much as an, “Excuse me,” to G-d, he immediately stood up and ran to greet them and prepared a meal for them. From this strange incident, the Talmud derives the equally strange lesson that, “Welcoming guests is more powerful than welcoming G-d.” The Talmud does not ponder if this was the right thing to do because clearly Abraham knew—without

Last summer, I met a group of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) Jewish teens at a Shabbaton for LGBTQ youth. Each teen described the experience as “the first place I’ve felt like I could be both queer and Jewish, like it was a normal thing.” I will never forget their expressions of joy and profound relief at finding a community where they could just be. The teens shared a sense of wonder at how good it feels to be fully seen and understood. When you can be your full self in a community, they reflected, you do not

“And all the congregation of Israel are forgiven, along with the strangers living in their midst…” (Inspired by Numbers 15:26, used in liturgy for Kol Nidrei Service on Yom Kippur) On Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur, we encounter “the strangers living in our midst,” those who only show up to synagogue for the holidays and disappear for the rest of the year. The stranger is one who stands on the outside, an “other,” not one of us. The Hebrew allows for a playful interpretation of the phrase quoted above. We can also read it as, “…and the stranger who resides

Fifteen years ago I experienced a serious bout of depression that was devastating and painful. The mental anguish and the hopelessness that entered my world at the moment when I was at a wonderful place in my career were overwhelming. It was as William Styron has termed it, a period of “Darkness Visible” with a suffocating closure of life and joy. Through getting the right help, therapy, and medication, and through the support of good and devoted friends, I was able to survive and emerge from that challenge. The aftermath of that experience and subsequent battles with depression have left

When imagining welcoming a new life into this world, we often envision a birthing mother, sweat dripping from her brow after hours of hard labor, staring lovingly at the face which she has dreamed for many months. Pictures are posted instantly for all to see, announcing the birth within nanoseconds. Even before the umbilical cord is cut, this new soul is tied to the world. What manner of gift do we give a new life before it even enters the world? And by “gift,” I do not mean cribs, pacifiers, and bouncy seats. Babies need what we all need to

As a sixth-generation American whose relatives fought in every war from the Civil War to the Iraq War, I wanted to do something to give back to our troops who have sacrificed so much for our country. Five years ago I organized a program called Project M.O.T., which delivers care packages to deployed American Jewish troops far from home and far from their loved ones. This small gesture of giving brings joy to the lives of our brave heroes who are risking everything. Practically speaking our packages contain small things like CDs, dried fruit, honey, and notes to the soldiers telling

At Ritz-Carlton, every one of the ladies and gentlemen who work for us carry a wallet-sized credo card with them at all times. It states our three steps of service: 1. Extend a warm welcome. 2. Anticipate and fulfill stated and unstated needs. 3. Provide a fond farewell. As you can see from number one, welcoming is our top priority. But, in fact, all three steps are about welcoming. Only if the totality of an experience is authentically meaningful can a person truly feel welcome. What is true of a hotel is true of a home. How often are we

The art of welcoming rests on a central Jewish idea: every human being is created in the image of God. When we see each other as an embodiment of Godliness, welcoming someone becomes an act of profound spirituality. Welcoming is the first step in building a relationship with another. So when I see someone walk into a worship service or JCC, I have a choice to make. I can ignore the person or I can initiate a conversation with a simple greeting of welcome. Without that crucial move there is no possibility of relationship. Abraham and Sarah practiced the art

Each summer my wife, Merle, and I host storytelling workshops at our North Carolina home. About two-dozen people are with us for these events. Attendees are people who have followed me as a performing storyteller and are coming in hopes of discovering personal stories of their own. As we planned the first of these events seventeen years ago, our first task was to decide how to initially welcome these guests to our home. This was especially important as the indication was that, for many of the people, this week was the high point of their year. We decided to have

For me, the word “welcoming” is deeply associated with the word “opening” – opening a door, a heart, a mind. Opening your eyes in order to truly see those around you, opening your mind to new ideas, opening your heart, even to what seems threatening, frightening, ominous, with the knowledge that we fear most what we are unfamiliar with. Reaching out to those whom we are suspicious of, those whom we have formed weakly based opinions of, is the key to dissolving fear and making way for growth and acceptance. “The art of welcoming” – yes, art is all about

Welcome. What a lovely word. Welcome to my home. Nothing pleases me more than to stand at my front door and welcome guests arriving with smiles on their faces, in anticipation of having a good time. Welcome: “a person whose arrival gives pleasure,” says the dictionary. Come and be well. I try never to have people to my house whose arrival does not give me pleasure. I always want to be honest when I say the word, “Welcome.” My parents taught me early on that entertaining was really an act of generosity. Welcoming people into your home, whether it be

In the early 1980’s as a law student in the Pico Union neighborhood of Los Angeles, I noticed several times a week people gathering in the neighborhood to march and rally. I was curious and wanted to learn about their cause. The people who had gathered were refugees from Central America – Salvadorans and Guatemalans protesting the brutality of the military dictatorships that were killing their people. The Salvadoran refugees gave testimonies about how the military would come into the classrooms and kill teachers in front of the students, how priests, nuns, youth, union leaders and teachers were kidnapped and disappeared. We

The art of welcoming is an integral part of Nefesh B’Nefesh’s daily efforts to help build a stronger Israel. Our organization has made its mark on the Jewish world by welcoming over 35,000 Olim (immigrants) since we first opened our doors in 2002. A warm welcome is a critical element in the successful absorption of these new Israeli citizens. The Oleh should feel proud of their decision, welcomed by their new neighbors, applauded for their courage, and honored for their brave and life-changing choice to come home. Along the way we have been privileged to encounter many inspirational stories –

The New Year is a time to take stock of what you have accomplished in the past year as well as dream of what could be if you only have the courage to stay true to your convictions. I have dedicated my life to making pluralism a reality in Israel. I want Israel to be a spiritual home to Jews from all countries and denominations. It is a process that requires dedication and faith that, sooner or later, equality will win the day. Last year, I was arrested at the Western Wall for wearing a tallit and saying the Shema,

No one would ever choose to join our club. We don’t want any new members. We welcome them sadly; they come to us reluctantly. And yet, in the darkness of a horrible storm, we are there, arms open, ready to provide comfort, assistance, and most importantly, hope. There are common diseases and there are rare diseases; and then there’s our disease, an ultra-rare disease called familial dysautonomia, or FD, the most Jewish of the Jewish genetic diseases. Only about 650 people have ever been diagnosed with it; only about 350 are alive with it. A complex dysfunction of the nervous

As a child at Jewish summer camp, I liked playing drama games. One of my favorites was “mirroring.” Facing my partner, we tried to mimic each other’s movements so closely that a bystander couldn’t guess who was leading and who was following. Fast-forward about twenty years, I became a volunteer Mikveh Guide, showing and teaching visitors, many of them first-time users of any mikveh, through a new and potentially frightening ritual. And yet, I discovered that I wasn’t ever the leader. As a Mikveh Guide I would mirror the energy of the person who came to immerse in the ritual bath.

For more than a century, American Jewry’s passionate effort to ensure that America was a welcoming country for immigrants was infused by powerful historical lessons. We were, of course, the quintessential immigrant people, fleeing from land to land, looking for those rare countries that would welcome and perhaps even protect us. Our effort was, as well, a reflection of biblical values. We take pride that the most oft-repeated command of our tradition is to treat the stranger as ourselves. But what of our own community and our synagogues? In 1978, Rabbi Alexander Schindler vigorously called on us to reach out

It’s when you’re all around a dinner table. / Sitting. / And talking and laughing. / When nobody has their phone on. / When dinner starts at 6:00 and continues until 2:00 because no one has anywhere else to be. / No bars to stop at or social appointments to fulfill. / When the entire community knows that no matter how funny the rumor or how juicy the grapes on the grapevine, gossip is not ‘cool.’ / It’s when you find that you really, truly, honest-to-God care about what the people around you have to say. / When conversations couple

In his book, Relational Judaism, Dr. Ron Wolfson describes the engagement strategy of Chabad as “radical hospitality.” He portrays Chabad rabbis as those who “build personal relationships, beginning with a nonjudgmental welcome.” While reading this insightful book, I asked myself, “How can radical hospitality be infused into synagogue buildings?” I have worked as a sacred space planner since 1970 and have learned that synagogues are unique in that they are specifically designed as places for liturgy, learning, and community building, whereas most other houses of prayer are set aside for worship only. Hospitable temples and synagogues are barrier-free, making it easy

The final scene of the movie Love Actually is worth a quick look. The closing is particularly meaningful in parity with the opening of the more-interesting-than-average love story. We hear, as preamble, a voiceover explaining, “Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport.” In the sixty-second post-script the audience is treated to a moving montage of airport arrivals. Children gleefully bolt into the waiting arms of parents, parted lovers fold into one another, and separated friends or family reunite in tearful embraces. Director Richard Curtis stationed a camera crew

We welcome the companionship but wish the circumstances were different. Will we know the meit (the deceased) or recognize the body that was loaned to him for his journey on this earth? We were told his name and the name of his parents – not much more. We know even less about his neshama, his soul, the essence of his being. But it is our task to usher his soul onward, to help him continue on his journey. Entering the tahara room, we ask forgiveness for anything that we may do that might be inappropriate. The tahara (purification) requires us

My family’s story in Los Angeles begins humbly. One side of my family crossed an ocean to flee persecution in Poland and Russia. The other half crossed a border to escape war in Mexico. Both sides were looking for a better life and they were able to find it in the Boyle Heights neighborhood of Los Angeles. As I start my term as the 42nd Mayor of Los Angeles, I keep in mind that I do so standing on their shoulders. For so many, Los Angeles has been the last and best frontier. It is a place where difference and

You know that feeling: when you walk into an impossibly chic boutique or a country club as someone’s guest and people let you know, you don’t really belong. The insiders are polite; they will greet you and even help you navigate your way. But they don’t truly welcome you. You’re a guest, a visitor, not expected to become a member of the club. For a long time, this is how the Jewish community has also treated the non-Jews in our midst. Not just those who come into our synagogues and JCC’s as one-time visitors, but those married to Jews or raising

The Talmud: dense and legalistic, tales of rabbis, matrons, kings and folk, surprising, challenging, cryptic, dry, fascinating, multilayered, heavenly, earthly – This is the Talmud for me. I especially love it when the Talmud, the very mouthpiece of the Jewish people, engages in critique of the Jewish people themselves. Thus, it informs us that Amalek – symbol of ultimate evil – came into being following Jewish rejection of a prospective convert: And Lotan’s sister was Timna…Timna was a royal princess…Desiring to become a proselyte, she went to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, but they did not accept her. So she instead

Welcome to Heaven! / Did I really make it here? I didn’t think I was all that great. / Oh, you were fine. / Really? What about all those times in my car when I yelled at other drivers with language that would cause plants to die? / Everyone’s a maniac in their car. If we denied entry to everyone who had road rage, this place would be a ghost town. / It sort of is a ghost town when you think about it. / Haha yeah, you’re right! That’s hilarious! You’re funny…you should sign up for the open mic.

Let’s be honest. The world doesn’t always welcome us. Sometimes, it’s up to us to find our own way to welcome. I grew up in the heart of the Chicago ghetto during the Depression. Not the greatest welcome. Each block was a spawning ground for just about every gangster, black and white, in America. But still I had choices. And I started to make some good ones. After all; there may have been gangsters living around me; but mostly, there were good people. One was my father. Every day, he would say to me, “Once a task has just begun, never leave

“The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.” ~ Emily Dickinson An inviting tap on the empty chair next to me was enough. Jackie turned to her husband at their otherwise empty table, nodded yes, and got up to join us. At my request, the eight people at our auction table inched their chairs closer and our friends slid comfortably into place. Later I got an email from Jackie saying, “Thank you for welcoming us to your table. It made all the difference for our night.” The week before, I witnessed a similar gesture at my

“Let all who are hungry come and eat.” We associate those words with the Passover seder. They express an imperative that applies all year long: Jewish tradition encourages us to open our arms, our homes, and our hearts. The first environment in creation is a garden. As God has provided for us, so too must we provide for others. These short essays are not only about welcoming; they are themselves a kind of welcome. Each jewel coaxes us to join the ancient dialogue. Each is a kind of embrace. Through stories and lessons we gradually feel our own arms opening, preparing to welcome

Dear Friends, The theme of this year’s Jewels, The Art of Welcoming, was inspired by a project on which I recently embarked. Last January, I purchased a church that was originally built 105 years ago as the first home of Sinai Temple in Los Angeles. Our dream – fast becoming a reality – is to create a multi-faith cultural arts center that will help reinvigorate the surrounding community and reflect the great Jewish value of being a light to all nations. As we worked on opening our center and on this year’s Jewels, I came to realize that welcoming is