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Dear Chevrei, 

With the usual mixture of joy and trepidation, we find ourselves in the month of Elul – meaning that, in just a few days (the evening of September 20th, to be precise), a new Jewish year will begin. You and I will mark our 25th Rosh HaShanah together – joy of joys! And what, after 25 years, can I tell you that you haven’t already heard? Oy, the trepidation of expectations! 

We are taught that the letters of the month of Elul – alef, lamed, vav, lamed – represent the statement found in Song of Songs: Ani l’dodi v’dodi li – I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine. Elul, the month preceding Rosh HaShanah, is a special gift: an entire month for us to turn our hearts toward one anoth-er, to render both apologies and forgiveness, and so prepare ourselves for a new year. 

That month is partially gone, but nearly three weeks of it remain. I humbly ask your forgiveness for my many slights and unfulfilled promises. I pray to do better. 

As I write this, the great eclipse has yet to happen. And yet, all manner of other shadows have fallen on our country. We’ve seen it in the tightening of immigration laws, in the maltreatment of people of color, in political rhetoric , and in the terrifyingly bold expression of hate in Charlottesville, Virginia. 

But every cloud has a silver lining. As the haters have risen, so do we rise to meet them, to defeat them, to answer their hatred with love. 

The night following the murder of Heather Heyer and the injury of nineteen others in Charlottesville by a “white nationalist,” a demonstration against hate was held right here in Bakersfield. A motley crew of close to two hundred people – all races, all colors, all kinds – gathered at Mill Creek Park. Bearing signs and chanting slogans (“We are Heather! Heather is us!” “Black lives matter!” “No hate. No KKK. No Fascist USA!”), we made our way to the Liberty Bell on Truxtun Avenue, where we were regaled by an assortment of speakers, ranging from a representative of the NAACP to representatives from Faith in Kern, among other worthies. 

While it feels good to come together in common cause, it’s never enough just to march and rally. As in-dividuals, we need to be ever vigilant, and willing to go out on a limb to defend the humanity of our fellow humans. We need to be ready to intervene, not only when a Sikh is mistaken for a Muslim, but when an individual Muslim is wrongfully blamed for the deeds of Islamic extremists. We need to campaign for just and fair immigration laws that do not separate families, but allow upstanding persons from all over the world to join us, regardless of what languages they speak. We need to work to improve the learning ex-perience of every student in every school, especially in our public schools, so that we can end the sys-tem that labels children irredeemable and funnels them into our prisons. 

We who were once vilified and dehumanized by the Nazi regime, who were driven out and massacred throughout history because we were somehow “different; “ we, whose Torah commands us to love the stranger as well as our neighbors, are also commanded not to stand idly by when our neighbor’s blood is shed. 

As we approach the promise, and the uncertainties, of 5778, I pray that we find the chutzpah and the for-titude to do what is right: to stand up for love, to guard against hate, and to try to see and protect the di-vine candle that is every soul. 

My family joins me in wishing each of you a Shanah Tovah u’Metukah – a good, sweet New Year. 

Rabbi Cheryl Rosenstein

Dear Chevrei, 

I hope you all enjoyed a splendid Hanukkah! A hartsiken dank, to Lyle Gartenlaub and his incredible team of volunteers for another lip-smacking Latke Brunch. Special thanks to Pamela Elisheva for being Norma’s “right hand” in getting things organized. And another round of applause, please, for the Temple Beth El Torah Learning Center players (aka, our students), under the direction of Principal Stacy Davis, for their original theatrical performance, which reminded us of all the wonderful holidays we get to enjoy together between one Hanukkah and the next. 

I also wish to thank Irvin Pike, and all of you who so generously responded to his asks, for literally keep our roof over our heads. When the rain does come (and we pray it comes soon), we will be thankfully dry! 

I don’t know about you, but as we were kindling our Hanukkah lights this season, I was especially mindful of the power of fire. 

In recent weeks and months, hundreds of thousands of acres have burned in California. Lives have been disrupted. Beloved people and pets have been lost; precious homes and property have been melted, burnt and scarred. 

Yet, as we have learned over and over this past year, through hurricanes and floods as well as from fires, disasters have a mysterious way of bringing people together, of building connections between perfect strangers. 

Recently, I spoke with my dear friend and colleague in Ventura, Rabbi Lisa Hochberg-Miller. It had been just over a week since the Thomas fire scorched its way through her community, and the flames were still a threat. Ten Temple Beth Torah families lost their homes, and at least one enterprising young man, a product of their temple, also lost his business. 

Even so, as we spoke, I heard cheer in her voice, optimism breaking through the pain. Through all these losses, Temple Beth Torah has been and continues to be a source of healing and light – just as Congregation Shomrei Torah in Santa Rosa was during the fires that scorched Northern California during the holiday of Sukkot. 

I often describe Bakersfield as a town in which everyone is only one or two degrees of separation from everyone else. Everyone seems to know everybody, and when we don’t, we share a friend or acquaintance in common. It is also true that, from one day to the next, most of us take those connections very much for granted – at least until we need something from someone. 

The truth is that we need each other, in some way or another, every day. We need to know that we have each other’s backs. We need to know that, come sorrow or joy, our Temple would be here for us, and for our community. 

It is on all of us to make that happen, to keep making it happen. As the shamash lights the other candles of the Hanukkiah, we must be the shamashim that light up our friends and family and neighbors, by pointing out to them the importance of their connection to us and to our Temple. 

We need fire – not the sort that burns us, but the kind that inspires us. The flame we need to perpetuate extends beyond the candles of our hanukkiot. It is reflected in the Ner Tamid, the perpetual flame that burns steadily over our Aron HaKodesh, our Holy Ark. 

Hanukkah is over; Tu Bishvat, the Jewish Arbor Day, is on the horizon. But every Shabbat, we gather to celebrate the lights of faith, of community, and of connection. 

See you in shul! 

Livracha, 

Rabbi Cheryl Rosenstein 

Dear Chevrei, 

Like most siblings, Esau and Jacob fought. Unlike most siblings, and unfortunately for their poor mother, their struggle began in utero. From the very beginning, these twins were very different from one another. Practically opposites. Esau emerged red and hirsute; Jacob was fair and smooth. Esau was outdoorsy, fond of hunting; Jacob was a homebody. As the Torah tells us, Isaac makes the age-old parental error of seeming to favor one son more than the other. And Rivka responds by showering her affection on the less-loved child. 

The result? In interpreting God’s ambiguous statement to her regarding the fate of her offspring (one shall rule over the other, but truly it isn’t clear which!) she decides that Jacob, and not the older-by-minutes Esau, is more worthy of their father’s blessing. Rivka enables the deception of her blind husband, aiding and abetting Jacob in its theft. Isaac is flustered and remorseful; Esau is bereft, and then furious- mad enough to threaten Jacob’s life. 

Yet as Dr. Norman J. Cohen observes, these twins are two halves of one whole. Each of them goes through life needing what the other one has. How deeply wise is Torah, to acknowledge the complexity inherent in all sibling relationships! 

On a recent Sunday, I was again privileged to participate in the annual Global Day of Oneness interfaith dialogue sponsored by the lay-led Bakersfield Interfaith Group. Our theme this year was racism and prejudice as addressed by the wisdom of our various spiritual traditions. As I reflected on the message of the Oneness of all creatures and creation expressed by all the speakers at our gathering: Hindu, Baha’i, Sikh, Muslim, Christian, Science of the Mind, Native American and Jewish – the lesson of our interconnectedness was reaffirmed for me. Truly, we are all siblings – all children of the Divine, all members of the family tree rooted in the Garden of Eden. 

No wonder human relations are so fraught! No wonder there is so much grasping and greediness, as if life’s blessings were so limited that each of us fears we won’t get our share. 

Imagine my delight when the Hindu speaker retold a tale of heaven and hell which I have told often myself, having long associated it with rabbinic teaching. In this vision of hell, the guests are seated around a fine and lavishly-set table: snow-white linens, sparkling crystal, gleaming silverware. Plates heaped high with every imaginable delicacy. Decanters full of fabulous wine. The only trouble is, everyone’s elbows are locked. No one can feed themselves. The table quickly becomes a wasteland, the desperate and hungry diners swatting one another as they reach for dishes of food, and plunging their faces into whatever comes within reach. 

In heaven, the scene is precisely the same: clean white linens, gleaming cutlery, sparking crystal, the same generous serving dishes heaped high with delectables. Even the diners’ arms are again locked straight at the elbows. But in this high and holy place, the diners reach across the table to feed one another. 

At the end of their story, after many years and much fear as they faced their reunion, Jacob and Esau managed to embrace and forgive one another. 

If we were so to regard each person, not as a stranger, but as a member of our own family – our large, unruly, complicated and yes, sometimes disagreeable relatives – could we not find it within our power to feed one another instead of fighting, to embrace and forgive each other’s foibles? 

May the lights of Hanukkah illumine all that we share in common with our fellow human beings, and inspire us to change the world through acts of kindness, respect, and love. 

Chag Sameyach from my family to you and yours, 

Rabbi Cheryl Rosenstein 

Dear Chevrei, 

As many of you know by now, the fires that burned in Napa and Sonoma Counties last month were the most destructive in California history. As I write this, the casualty count is up to forty-two, and likely to rise. 

Alongside cherished homes and livelihoods, Camp Newman, the regional Reform camp for which I have served as faculty for fifteen summers, was also torched by the flames. Photos of the site tucked in the mountains between Calistoga and Santa Rosa reveal the gravity of the loss. Most of the cabins were less than six years old; the beautiful Welcome/Retreat Center and Mirpa’ah (infirmary), dedicated in 2016, was also lost. The photos brought the devastation home – but they also brought hope. 

That note of hope was struck by two articles that survived the fire. Above main camp, the white Star of David (commonly referred to simply as “The Star”), a favorite hiking trail destination that “shines” down on camp from a hillside, appears untouched. And within main camp, amid the ruins of the Bet Am, the largest indoor program space, a photograph shows the “Little Ambassador” – a smallish travelling Torah Ark, the last remnant of the late Helen Burke’s large metalwork installation originally made for Camp Swig’s Holocaust Memorial. 

Newman is a place of memories. It is a place where lifelong friendships are forged, where art is created and shared, where campers and staff find and rejoice in being their true selves, and where Judaism is lived and celebrated every day. It is a sacred space. 

Blessedly, Newman is also its people: its devoted administrators and caretakers, the regional rabbis, cantors, educators and social workers who support it in myriad ways, and most of all its thousands of campers, many of whom grow up and return to serve as counselors and rashim (unit heads) and specialists. 

As word passed over the internet of camp’s fate, the camp community rallied. There were conference calls, a flurry of Facebook messages and a Facebook Live siyum – camp’s end-of-day closing circle ritual. Pop-up “camp Shabbats” have happened at synagogues all over the state, and of course, fund-raising for the rebuilding of camp was almost instantly underway. (If you choose, you may contribute online at campnewman.org, #NewmanStrong). 

The Star and the “Little Ambassador” are symbolic of our Camp ruach (spirit). No fire can out-burn the passion that Camp Newman inspires. Like the Star, the light of Camp Newman shines in each soul she touches. Like “the Little Ambassador” Ark, we stand steadfast, that we may again hold our Torah close as we rise from the ashes. 

Newman will be rebuilt. In the meantime, its leadership is making plans and looking for a temporary home for this summer. 

I am grateful that Temple Beth El has been a supporter of Camp Newman, willing to share me with the camp community for two weeks each summer. I thank you for your support of Jewish camping generally, and for working to ensure that each of our children has the opportunity to build the memories, the friendships, the sense of self, and the passion for Jewish living that only Jewish camp can inspire. 

Happy month of Heshvan! 

Livracha, 

Rabbi Cheryl Rosenstein

Dear Chevrei, 

Well, we made it yet again into another new year! Mazel tov, and todah rabbah to everyone for your participation: to all of our “pulpit heroes;” to Peggie Soltis for moving and removing all of the Machzorim and siddurim; to Rose and Greg Broida for our pulpit flowers; to our musicians Doug Henirichs, Ron Kean, Jill Egland and Larry Thomas and to Rosh HaShanah soloist Stacy Davis; to our ushers and our baby-sitters, to Norma Schwartz and our oneg chag caterers, our break-the-fast crew, and to open house hosts Gail and Steve Magnus – and of course, to our Shofar blowers, Irvin, Kathi and Jess. Your presence and labors lift all of us, and all of our prayers, and make our High Holy Days rich and meaningful. Thank you. 

With poetry and poignancy, the Jewish calendar moves us from our interior worlds – those of our homes and sanctuaries, as well as our psyches and souls -into the exterior. The festival of Sukkot welcomes us into the shelter of temporary dwellings, into the realm of nature and creation. Many people – especially those without a regular spiritual practice – claim to experience closeness with the Divine when confronted by nature’s wonders. Sukkot is a harvest festival, an invitation to commune with God in God’s world. It is also reminder of our fragility and dependency. 

We will celebrate Erev Sukkot at 7:00 PM on Wednesday, October 4th at Temple Beth El with the shaking of the lulav and Etrog beneath our sukkah. We are all invited to join Congregation B’nai Jacob in their sukkah on that Shabbat, October 6th, at 6:30 PM, for dinner and services. (No services at TBE that night!). And all are welcome to continue the celebration with our religious school students at Temple Beth El on Sunday, October 8th with crafts, dancing, and more. 

The Sukkah is a golden place in which to reflect on the pledges and promises we made between Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur. It is also a place for us to count our blessings – and to act to increase the blessings in the lives of those who have less than we do. 

One Book, One Bakersfield, One Kern has chosen the book “$2.00 A Day – Living on Almost Nothing in America.” To read it is to be shocked, appalled, amazed, angered – and, I hope, motivated to act. By the time you read these lines, I will have participated on an interfaith panel discussing the many issues this book raises from a Jewish point of view. 

In sum: We need to be ever mindful of the sanctity of all human life. And we need to do all we can to raise those who are fallen – not just by filling our food pantries and supporting our homeless shelters, but by helping our legislators to make laws that restore justice, to ensure that no one if left in a state of such extreme poverty that they cannot find a way to legitimately support themselves and their families. 

If you have not yet read $2.00 A Day, I encourage you to do so. I hope that the righteous anger it inspires, paired with the sense of your own fragile humanity, moves you – moves all of us – to get involved in finding solutions to this painful societal problem. 

(I hope, too, that you will join us at Sukkot’s end to rejoice in our Torah at our communal celebration of Simhat Torah, Friday, October 13th at 7:00 PM!). 

Chag Sameyach, One and All! 

-Rabbi Cheryl Rosenstein

Nadav and Avihu, the sons of Aaron, each took up his fire pan… and offered strange fire before the Lord, which God had not commanded them… 

My friends and Rick and I covered a lot of ground during our recent brief trip to Israel, focusing on the Golan Heights and Jerusalem. Among our places of pilgrimage was David’s tomb, within the walls of the Old City. Like the burial places of other biblical, and even some rabbinic figures, David’s tomb is also a synagogue, complete with a mechitza, the barrier that separates men from women. When we visited, the pews were full of Orthodox Jews, praying individually and silently on both sides of the di-vide. 

By this point in our travels – our final day – our group (three Jews, eight non-Jews) had seen ruins in Capernaum, the Old City and Masada. Two of my new friends re-spectfully asked: We understand that Jews do not and did not include graven images in synagogue architecture and décor, and that you have no intermediaries in the act of prayer. How is it, then, that the tombs of the patriarchs and matriarchs have become houses of worship? Are people worshipping them? 

I responded that, when it comes to the prayers of our hearts and souls, it is human nature to seek any “in” we can. During the Amidah, our standing prayer, we invoke the names of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah, and ask that their merit may influence God’s receipt of our prayers. So, too, many Jews choose to pray at the graves of the righteous – even those of the great sages buried in Israel – hoping that mere proximity to their bones might ensure that their petitions are heard. 

I uttered no prayers at David’s tomb. Yet, like multitudes of other Jews, I did pour out the contents of my soul beside the stones of the Kotel, the Western Wall – both be-cause of, and despite the fact, that it is as close as one can get to the former site of the Holy of Holies, the innermost chamber of the Temple of old. 

I do not hope for the rebuilding of the physical Temple, nor for the resumption of the sacrificial carnage of which we read in the Book of Vayikra. Yet, the purpose of those ancient offerings – coming closer to God – does resonate. Whether we struggle with faith or deny it, I think the urge is primal, within our heart of hearts, to want to believe that Someone hears us in our moments of need and despair. 

Commentators tell us that Nadav and Avihu failed because their offering was vain and self-serving, and because they brazenly ignored the detailed instructions that were imparted to them as Kohanim. The Second Temple itself, our sages taught, was de-stroyed on account of sinat chinam, baseless hatred. 

The destruction of the Temple was surely a horror and a desecration of the Divine Name. But in the aftermath, we learned that God is everywhere we are, that we might choose to connect with God anywhere, at any time. If it seems that our prayers are louder or somehow closer to heaven in the land of Israel, perhaps it is because we know that we stand on the sacred ground hallowed by the lives and bones of our an-cestors. 

I hope that sometime next year, you and I can take that journey together. 

With blessings for a meaningful Omer and a sweet Shavuot (which we will observe at Congregation B’nai Jacob on May 30th), 

Rabbi Cheryl Rosenstein

(Dvar Torah for Annual Meeting Behar-Behukotai 5777) 

The Torah promises us, in a few places: “IF you follow My laws and faithfully observe My command-ments…”(you will reap the blessings of doing so – and if not, not!). 

IF you attended services, fulfilled a pulpit honor, hosted an oneg Shabbat, contributed in any way to a fund-raiser, assisted in the Judaica shop, planted or watered plants on our premises, taught reli-gious school classes, tidied the kitchen, or spent time organizing the library – thank you for your ser-vice! 

What a difference that “if” makes. Our Torah portion reminds us that what we do – and what we don’t do – bears consequences. Your activity and commitment keep us alive and sustain us as a community. 

One of the commandments included in our holy obligations is, of course, the prohibition against la-shon hara – evil speech. LaShon Hara does not only refer to words that are untrue; even state-ments that are true, when spoken behind someone’s back, are forbidden. 

Most of you know this, and have heard me teach this lesson before – which is probably why much of it does not get back to me. Nonetheless, I have heard some rumblings, people speaking ill of our own little shul! I’ve heard that people complain about how few people attend services, and how de-pressing you find it in comparison with the “good old days.” 

Twenty years ago, thirty or forty seats in the pews represented just 16 percent of the congregation. Now that we are smaller than we used to be, 15 bodies represents about 11 percent. So nu? Where are the other 4 percent? How do we “fix” that? How do we recapture the blessings of the “good old days?” 

Some of us are working overtime to try to recreate that feeling. Our Temple Board, led by our val-iant President, Elliott Magnus; our Vice President/ Membership Chair/Yard Sale Chair/ Food Festival chair (how’s that for a loaded portfolio?), Greg Broida (with a big assist from Rose!); Irvin Pike, our Financial Secretary/ Religious Practices Chair and all-around Shammus (that’s an old-shul term for caretaker), have done the lion’s share; each of them is surely pulling more than their weight. Let me share with you some of the good things that they and others have made happen here this year: 

Jill Egland worked closely with Dr. Ron Kean, Peggy Sears, Laura Wolfe and I to re-imagine the mu-sic of our High Holy Day worship experience, and recruited fellow Banshee member Brenda Hunter and her husband, Dave to provide a fresh sound. 

Thanks to member and theatrical impresario, Hal Friedman, we hosted November’s successful weekend run of “Fiddler on the Roof,” which played to great acclaim in our social hall. Our stellar cast and crew included our own Sakina Hansford, choreographer; Tim Fromm, Marc Schulman, Mar-sha Parr, Linda Morales, Stacy Davis, and Myriam Hansford. Besides being a moment of spectacu-lar “community presence” for Temple Beth El, it was also a very successful fundraiser. Cast mem-bers and their families were especially generous – and they were deeply touched when we dedicat-ed a leaf to them on our Tree of Life. 

Greg and Rose Broida headed up the previously-mentioned Yard Sale, another fund-raising suc-cess, with help from Gail and Steve and Elliott Magnus, Elaine White, Marsha Parr, Susie Easley, and Roy and Amy Snyder, among many others. Thanks to all of you who pitched in. 

Liz Sherwyn, Elaine White, Jill Egland, Susie Easley, Marsha Parr and Echo Kniffen created our stunning new Temple Beth El cookbook – which was a well-deserved success at the Food Festival and is still available for sale through our gift shop. 

Speaking of Liz and Greg and food – let’s not forget our first Matza Ball cookoff, co-chaired by Mi-chael Freedman. Too much delicious fun, missed by too many of you! 

Our continuing efforts to warm relations with our neighbors at Congregation B’nai Jacob moved for-ward with more TBE volunteers at their fairgrounds Pastrami booth, our quarterly Joint Board meet-ings, and shared Shabbat and holiday celebrations (which included Simhat Torah, Chanukah, Pu-rim, Pesach, and Shavuot). We made essential contributions to the celebration of the one hun-dredth anniversary of CBJ and of organized Jewish life in Bakersfield. And all of this, of course, led up to last month’s fabulous Jewish Food Festival, which continues to generate positive buzz every-where I go around town. 

Again, I want to thank everyone and anyone who has contributed to the many successes we have enjoyed this past year. Thanks to you, we are still here, and much stronger than we were a year ago. 

What’s the take-away in all of this? You are the source of the miracles that happen around here – you, and only you! And if (heaven forfend) you feel excluded by that comment, then I invite you to join us in becoming part of the solution. Though we may lack a swimming pool and tennis court, we are blessed to have the Community – you. I hope that we can count fully on your loyalty, your crea-tivity, and your support to make our Temple all that it is, can and ought to be. 

As the Torah promises: IF you fulfill all of My commandments… then you will reap the blessings. I promise you: IF you fulfill your commitment to Temple Beth El, and choose to participate fully in the life of this wonderful synagogue of ours, then you will reap all the blessings being part of this com-munity can bestow.