Kabbalat Shabbat Remarks

11 Elul 5774
5 September 2014

This past Monday, Labor Day, I spent the day with my parents in Nippersink:  the Jewish summer destination in Southern Wisconsin where Northsiders go when Southsiders go to Indiana or Michigan.  Before I left I davened Mincha, the afternoon prayer.  And I did something I have only done one other time in my life:  I skipped tachanun.  Tachanun is the Jewish equivalent to the Catholic Confession or is the weekday version of the confessional we do on the High Holidays.  Tachanun is not said on holidays or Shabbat.  Nor is it said in the presence of a bride or a groom, in a synagogue or home that will host a bris, or if the Bears win the Superbowl.  But often there are times that I think we ought to skip tachanun and do not.  I do not skip it because, like any good Jew, guilt overcomes me and I decide that it is not a worthy occasion to skip it.

So, why did I skip it?  One, it was a glorious Wisconsin day.  From Nippersink to Camp Ramah, I have spent so many wonderful summer days under the wholesome Wisconsin sun.  But this day felt different.  It was, as my father would say, “A day for the ages.”  Besides for the weather, it was a day for the ages because I realized just how blessed I felt.  Nippersink is near and dear to my heart.  I am an overly sentimental person and I ascribe importance to nearly everything, but at the end of the day Nippersink is important because it means family, it means tradition.  It is Minkus family continuity.  And it is a continuity that, last year on Labor Day, I did not think I would get the opportunity, the blessing of being a part of moving forward.

As Hyman Roth said, “This is the business we have chosen,” and I thought last spring Ilyssa and I would be packing up our New York City apartment and shipping out to Somewhereville USA.  For several years Ilyssa and I tracked the job openings to see if there was anything in Chicago.  Three years ago nothing.  Two years ago nothing.  And then last spring it seemed like another interview season without a Chicago opening.

My mentor Rabbi Carl Wolkin told me that Congregation Rodfei Zedek in Hyde Park would be looking for a rabbi, but I was concerned it had came on my radar too late.  But, lo and behold, I got the job.  A lifetime of sheciyanu’s overcame us.  Or as Jo Reizner said to me, they could hear my family’s shouts of joy from Skokie here in Hyde Park.

So I skipped Tachanun because I realized how blessed I am.  I feel God has given me an opportunity that I, honestly, never thought would happen.  We get to have our first child surrounded by four grandparents, four great-grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends.  I skipped Tachanun because I get the opportunity to be the rabbi at a historic congregation.  To a community of learners and teachers.  I skipped Tachanun because I have been blessed with the opportunity to be in a community of mensches.  In a community that truly lives the motto of the Conservative Movement, of Tradition and Change.

Tomorrow I will speak to all of you, the Rodfei Community.  But now I am speaking to my family, our guests here, who are no longer unaware of this gem here on the South Side, at least they won’t be at the end of this Shabbat.  Last week we had a death in our community.  Sara Segal Loevy’s mother passed away.  And Tuesday I went to her and her husband Steven’s home for shiva.

I have never, on my own, paid a shiva call to a member of my own community, mostly because I have never felt a part of a community beyond my close friends at Camp Ramah.  I have gone to pay a shiva call for a family member, for a friend or to a friend of my parents.  But in all of those situations I could not ease the awkwardness and discomfort I felt after I offered my condolences to the family member.  But at the Loevys’ this did not happen.  Their home was filled with members of the Rodfei community.

Friends new and old came to support Sara, and in doing so, these visitors achieved the beauty and the insight our Rabbis hoped for when they created the Jewish system of mourning.  But on a selfish level, I took in the room and understood that I, now, have a community. I have a place that I am privileged enough to work and live in.

To my family who belong to a synagogue or have once belonged to a synagogue, you know this is rare.  And if you think it is not, you are mistaken.  This is a community that is actually diverse, this is a community that values each other and values each other’s voices.  This is a community that has already made great efforts to invest in Ilyssa and me.

I know of no former classmate or colleague who has spent his/her first two months having meals with fellow community members.  Every weekend Ilyssa and I have been welcomed into someone’s home, and we sat around dining room tables with a different and diverse group from the community (and we look forward to more in the future).  Many of you Minku, Gabels, Lappes and Foremans attend great shuls and have found a home in these communities, but I want you to fully take in this weekend.  I want you to fully absorb what makes this community so special and recognize the uniqueness of this synagogue.  And when you leave tomorrow afternoon, I am confident you will be able to understand why I skipped Tachanun.

Thank you for giving Ilyssa and me a new home.

Rabbi David Minkus

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