Paint The Town Blue
A lot of people have asked me what I've learned from my time in Macon. Overall, I would say there's a lesson from the past - from the founders of the synagogue - that’s revealed to me a broader understanding of the word "community."
As you walk through our Hebrew Burial Grounds, established in 1844, you'll find something interesting on the gravestones. A square and compass. The symbol for the Freemason's. What's even more fascinating is the Temple itself. Embedded in the colossal stained-glass windowed dome - in the middle of the sanctuary - is an All-Seeing Eye. I explain to visitors that this eye isn't just a Jewish symbol. That the crafter's of our sanctuary settled on a cross-hybrid symbol – one that spoke to their allegiance of the Jewish faith, as well as their dedication and commitment to local, civic engagement - the development of their municipality. A town in which they resided, shopped, prayed, traded, and socialized. And this eye forged a bridge between the two worlds.
However, the eye is just the beginning. The intermingled rabbit hole goes even deeper. There's also a lovely stained glass window pane of a Bible. And I do mean, “Bible” (southern accent included). Because it doesn’t depict a parchment or a scroll. Our Bible is in the shape of an open book with a tasseled page marker. King James’ style. And in English, the inscription "Holy Bible," animates the lustrous fixture.
And the question I always ask visitors is this: "Do you recognize these symbols?" And because there's a church on almost every block in Macon, they inevitably say, "Yes!" And then I ask them a follow up: "Why would the founders of a Jewish temple place these "foreign symbols" (air-quotes) in the middle of their holiest space? What does that say about Judaism and the Jewish people?" And after hearing a few answers, all of them slightly on target, I end with the following sentiment: "It says that we share something. That we have something in common. That when you come into a Jewish space, a place that may feel unfamiliar, you're welcomed by familiar artifacts. An Eye. A book. And also, what they both represent. Which is a set of values that we all share. Laws that we, Jews and non-Jews, agree on.
My time in Georgia has pushed me to recognize that Jews can't silo themselves away from the rest of the world. We can't shy away from the betterment of our cities. To be Jewish is to be intrinsically tied to the sustainability and growth of the townships in which we live. The ones where our children go to school. Where we dine with our friends. Where we stroll around the block to unwind. In Macon, the Jews who settled there didn’t want to merely build a synagogue. They wanted to build a town. For everyone. Because they understood that being a good Jew, means being a good neighbor. After all, “a rising tide lifts all boats”
And before I finish that thought, let me put this in the context of our parsha, parshat bo:
Then the LORD said to Moses, "Hold out your arm toward the sky that there may be darkness upon the land of Egypt, a darkness that can be touched. Moses held out his arm toward the sky and thick darkness descended upon all the land of Egypt for three days. People could not see one another, and for three days no one could get up from where he was; but all the Israelites enjoyed light in their dwellings (Exodus 10:21-23)"
When I think about this scene, I imagine a sprawling 1940's suburban neighborhood Egypt. It's not exactly conventional but go with me here. It's this cluster of painted brick, ranch-style houses. Tents. Whatever you want to call them. And Bill and Susie Goodman, who live in the canary yellow house with red shutters - are just living it up. With their brand new color television set and microwave dinners. But poor old Flint Murdoch and his wife Bonnie (she's lovely by the way, makes a mean jello mold), they're sitting in this cold, dark house. It's so dark they can't even see one another. They're just bobbing around, grasping at their floral wallpaper, attempting not to slip on the Linoleum flooring.
And the reason why this scene gets me is the last line of the Exodus passage, “but all the Israelites enjoyed light in their dwellings.” And I have to imagine that not every Egyptian, especially not Flint and Bonnie, were on board with Pharaoh’s “All Israelites Are Evil” campaign. So what bothers me is that we never offered to share this dazzling light. And as a religion that prides itself on being a “light unto the nations,” we never bothered to offer up this particular light. We didn’t invite over MaryJo and Gerald. Alvin, Lester, and Virgil (I have a lot more names and I can keep going, but I won’t)
Ari Sytner, author of "The Kidney Donor's Journey" explains that:
"Judaism is a purpose. We exist as a means to something greater than ourselves. The mandate that the Almighty has given us, is to be a ‘light unto the nations,’ which empowers us to spread Godliness wherever we go...When we look around us and see those demonstrating incredible acts of philanthropy and kindness, it becomes a symbol of what Jews are really about — and by extension, what God is about."
I often say that synagogues have windows not so that others can see inside - to demystify Judaism for curious passerby’s - but so we can see out. They're reminders that what happens inside these walls, shouldn’t remain inside these walls. We have to share the beautiful words and sentiments shared in our programming and services. We have to take what we do "here," in our houses of worship and spread it around town. I call it “painting the town Blue” (yes, I just made that up, and yes, you’re welcome to steal it). It’s taking that magical feeling we get when surrounded by Jews and bring it out into the world with you. That’s the real meaning of community. Because what we have is beautiful. It’s pure radiance. Brilliant sparks of togetherness. Love. Friendship. Congregants and colleagues who care deeply for one another. Because community is a gift that’s okay to regift. That’s the spirit of God. That’s the purpose of Judaism. To see all. To include all. To create something greater than just a Jewish community. It’s building community. Period. For everyone.