The Calf and the Chapel - What We Build With Our Gifts (Rosh Hashanah 5777)

Flickr: Jennifer C.

Shortly after we graduated from college, Annie and I joined a synagogue. The membership packet included a form for volunteer opportunities, with spaces for us each to write our skills and interests. Perhaps you've filled out something similar. My column contained skills like “great with kids” and “loves arts and crafts.” Annie was volunteering for Habitat for Humanity at the time, so her column said, “great with power tools” and “loves to hang cabinets.”

Clearly, building projects are not my area of expertise. So it’s a great irony that I’m going to speak this evening about not one but two building projects. Tonight I want to tell you two stories. A story about building a calf, and a story about building a chapel.

If this sounds familiar to some of you, it means you were kind enough to live-stream my senior sermon last year. I am thrilled to share a new version with our community tonight. I hope it’s even better the second time.

Let's begin with the building of the calf. Our ancestors trembled in terror at the foot of Mount Sinai. Moses had ascended the mountain 40 days before, and they started to worry that he would not come down. Panic reverberated across the community. “Moses has abandoned us. He took us out of Egypt. He showed us miracles. He led us here. And now he’s gone... and he’s taken God with him. Who are we without him?” In fear, they approach Aaron and demand, “Make a god for us, for Moses, our leader, has vanished.” [i]

Aaron, fearing for his life, tells the people to bring him gold, so the men and the women pile their golden earrings in front of him. Then they go back to their tents, proud of themselves for “doing something” and eager for Aaron to solve their problems. What Aaron builds is the infamous Golden Calf. When Moses returns the next day, he and God are furious. They burn the idol down and they punish the people for their faltering faith. The calf is the spiritual low point of our journey in the desert.

Now for the second building story: The chapel. At the exact moment that Aaron is forging the calf at the foot of the mountain, Moses is high above, talking with God and receiving the instructions for the Mishkahn – the portable sanctuary where the Israelites will worship in the desert. It was an elaborate tent, at the center of which was the Ark, the ornate golden box that housed the tablets of the commandments. The mishkahn will serve as the Israelites’ chapel – their spiritual center during their time in the wilderness. And building it will require the people to bring gifts. At first glance, these gifts are a strange echo of the golden calf. But unlike with the idol, when they complete the Mishkahn, God’s presence will come and fill it. [ii] It will be a dwelling place for God.

There’s a striking contrast between the mishkahn and the golden calf. At the top of the mountain the people are commanded to build a sanctuary. At the bottom, the people demand an idol. A chapel and a calf. One is sacred, the other is sacrilegious. One building project is a dwelling place for God, the other God finds detestable. So we are left to wonder, whenever we are building, how do we ensure that we build a chapel, and not a calf?

The story of the golden calf is just 35 verses, while the Torah spends whole chapters explaining the precise blueprints for building the sacred structure of the Mishkahn. “This wall should be this many cubits. That curtain should be that many cubits.” Like I said, I’m not a construction expert. That’s really Annie’s department. I can see her reaching for her phone to google the conversion of cubits to feet. But I read the blueprints as a metaphor – they are instructions for building sacred community.

God commands: 

וְעָ֥שׂוּ לִ֖י מִקְדָּ֑שׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּ֖י בְּתוֹכָֽם: [iii]

Build me a sanctuary and I will dwell among them. But even before that, Six verses before God tells us what to build, God tells us the spirit in which we should build:

דַּבֵּר֙ אֶל־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל וְיִקְחוּ־לִ֖י תְּרוּמָ֑ה מֵאֵ֤ת כָּל־אִישׁ֙ אֲשֶׁ֣ר יִדְּבֶ֣נּוּ לִבּ֔וֹ...׃ [iv]

“Tell the children of Israel to bring me gifts from every person whose heart is so moved.” The Hebrew word for “gifts” is Trumot, or Trumah in the sigular. Before we can even imagine building the mishkahn, God inspires us to bring our trumot – our gifts. The difference between the calf and the chapel lies in how we build them. When we want to build the chapel, we bring the fullness of our gifts.

When we think of trumot, we tend to think of material gifts, of gold and silver, gemstones, and acacia wood. But the text implies that equally important are the offerings of people’s hearts. God calls for the participation of: “everyone who is wise of heart, whose spirit I have filled with wisdom.” [v] And later, God commands: “Let all among you who are skilled come and make all that I have commanded.” [vi] The gifts that the Israelites use to build the mishkahn are not just their gold and precious gems. It is their sacred skills and the wisdom of the hearts. Only with these trumot can they build a dwelling place for God.

This is the difference between the calf and the chapel. When the Israelites start to build an idol, they bring their gold. But when they start by thinking of the gifts each of them can offer, what they build is a sanctuary. 

And this is not just a story about an ancient construction project. Rashi, the 11th Century commentator, says that every generation has to build a mishkahn. [vii] In preparation for this sermon, I asked, but the board insisted that there is no line item in the budget for acacia wood. So we have to find another way to answer Rashi’s call: how will our community fulfill the commandment to build a dwelling place for God?

The answer is the trumot. Every person has a gift, a sacred talent to share.

Like Moses, Jewish leaders must ask people to bring their gifts, knowing that each is sacred material in the construction of a dwelling place for God. Our community is a vessel overflowing with abundant talent.

In his book, 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, Steven Covey describes dichotomous worldviews: a scarcity mentality and an abundance mentality. A person or organization with a scarcity mentality looks at the world and says, “I don’t have enough. How can I get more?” An abundance mentality says, “I have everything I need. How blessed am I?” Both mindsets look at the same data, but draw different conclusions. Covey challenges us to move from a mentality that sees only scarcity to one that appreciates abundance.

The golden calf is the kind of building project that comes out of scarcity – built out of the fear that Moses had left. Aaron tells the frightened people to drop off their gold and he builds the calf for them. They pay their dues and say, “Do this for us.” What Aaron builds is an empty vessel, instead of an invitation to holiness. The move from the calf to the chapel is a transition from a mindset of scarcity to a mindset of abundance. It’s the abundance that comes when we ask for people’s gifts, not simply their gold.

It is easy fall into the trap of scarcity, and see only what we do not have. But Jewish tradition reminds us that there is another, more abundant way of seeing the same circumstances. There is a midrash that even Moses up on the mountain had a moment of scarcity thinking. When God tells him about all the gifts that the Israelites are going to bring, Moses asks how these former slaves who escaped with only what they could carry, could possibly have all the precious items needed to complete the project. But before he can even finish the question, God interrupts and says, “Not only do the children of Israel collectively possess the necessary materials to build the mishkahn, but in fact, every Jew could do so singlehandedly.”[viii] If the Israelites only bring their gold, they can only build a single calf. But if they are willing to bring their gifts, their sacred wisdoms, then there’s no limit to what they can build.

Trumot can transform our community by enabling us to peer past perceived scarcity and see an abundance of talent dwelling here.

I learned to look for abundance, not from Covey, or the Torah, but from my mother. She was a non-profit consultant who specialized in volunteerism. But more importantly, my mother was a guru of gifts. If she were here, she would look out on this sanctuary and see an ocean of trumot. She believed that each of us has unique gifts to share, and that organizations need to be better at helping us share them. This was more than her vocation, it was her conviction. When she looked at people, she saw wellsprings of talent. When she met someone, on a plane or in line at the grocery store, it took barely a second before she got them talking about their passions. This was her gift: she was a diviner of talent. When I read the Torah’s description of the building of the mishkahn, it is her voice I hear whispering, “Imagine if each of us could develop skills to find and bring out the gifts in one another.”

My question for you is this: what gift could you can share with this sacred community? Maybe it’s a professional skill. Perhaps you are a marketing expert, or a teacher, or a finance person. Or maybe it’s a passion. Perhaps you love to write, or weave, or paint. Maybe your gift is that you have a big idea or time to spare on a day we need it. Maybe you are great with kids. Maybe you are great at baking. Whatever it is, that’s your trumah. It’s not just a donation, it’s not just a volunteer hour – it’s a gift you give in the construction of this sacred dwelling place for God. For the many, many of you who share your gifts here, we are grateful. Your gifts of time and talent not only make this place run, they make this place a sacred community.

And maybe others of you don’t even know what your gift is yet. And then it’s our job, as a community, to help you figure that out. Two weeks ago, I was sitting in my office before Kadimah, our Monday-night educational program, when a 10th grader named Julia walked in and asked me if I had minute. She said she didn’t understand why more of her classmates didn’t bring tzedakah to class, and she wanted me to make an announcement that everyone should bring more. As far as “things rabbis like to hear” go, this is pretty much as good as it gets. When I recovered from the realization that I’d peaked so early in my career, I realized I had a choice. There were two ways I could respond to Julia’s wonderful request. I could thank her for her passion and assure her that I’d say something to the students about bringing tzedakah. But that’s the calf model – a scarcity response – thanks for your gold. The second option was to see that something sacred was being offered. A trumah. She was offering a gift she didn’t even know she had. “You have a gift,” I told her. She looked at me skeptically, but I continued. “Not everyone has this passion, this commitment to tzedakah.” Then we talked about why she cared so much, and about all the strategies we could use to help other people learn to care, too. I told her I could not do it for her, that it would not have as much impact coming from me. But if she were willing to share that gift, I bet we could make a real difference. I suggested she come back the next week and to bring two friends who would offer their own, different gifts. I wasn’t sure she’d do it. I feared my rabbinic excitement had gotten away from me. But the very next week, three passionate teens showed up in my office. And now we are well on our way to building something truly sacred, something impactful. Not a calf, but a chapel.

We at Beth Haverim Shir Shalom want to know what your gifts are. And if you don’t know yet, we want to help you find out. In this year of building and rebuilding, we want to create new avenues for you to offer your gifts. We grateful to all those who already share their gifts, and we want to find new ways to sanctify your offerings. And, if you have not had a chance to share your gifts here before, or if you have not done so in a while, and you are willing to take a step, we want to take a step to meet you in return. We’ve put together a group of board members and committee chairs who want to meet you for coffee and learn about your life. We are not asking for a commitment. We are not even asking for you to know what your gift is yet. We are asking a cup of coffee and a conversation to get to know you better. As you leave tonight, the ushers will have blue cards. Fill out your name and phone number and return it to me, so that we can set up a one-on-one conversation to get to know you and your gifts in a new way. These blue post-cards are a request for your partnership in the work of building sacred community.

Now, since we are asking, we are going to do our best put your gifts to use. That’s on us. Some of us have been hurt before when we have offered gifts to organizations which were not ready to receive them. I won’t promise we will use every offered gift right away, and I won’t be so hubristic to say that we will be instantly good at this. But if you meet with one of us, we are going to do our best to find places where your gifts can be used in ways that are meaningful to you and the congregation. We know how difficult it can be when a congregation does not live up to this promise. As we navigate these years of transition in this congregation, we want to learn to be better stewards of each other’s gifts.

But you are busy people. And perhaps you already volunteer somewhere else. So what makes sharing your gifts here different? According to the Torah, when we build with our gifts, it’s not just our communities that we make into a sanctuary; it’s our own lives. The verse I read earlier hints at this sacred transformation:

וְעָ֥שׂוּ לִ֖י מִקְדָּ֑שׁ,

וְשָׁכַנְתִּ֖י בְּתוֹכָֽם

“Build me a sanctuary that I may dwell in them.” [ix]

That last word is not what you would expect. You’d think it should say “v’shachanti b’tocho” –so that I can dwell in it  in the sanctuary. But it says B’tocham – So I can dwell in THEM. The Divine presence came to rest in the hearts of the Israelites, and “not in the wood and metal of the mishkahn.”[x]

If we bring our gifts, if we put them to sacred use, God will dwell in us. Offering your gifts is not just a way you serve your community – it is part of a spiritual life, a way we seek the One who gave us gifts in the first place.

I think there are a lot of you here who, like me, are searching for meaning. We are eager to find purpose and encounter the mystery that we call God. We feel scarcity and crave abundance. Know then, that God has placed in us something special. A gift that only we can offer. If we let it, it can be an expression of the divine within us – a higher purpose to which we can aspire. Think of Julia, who came in with a question, and found that she had gift – a spark of the divine that had been hiding in her all along.

Rashi says we have a sacred obligation: To help each other find our trumot. And to build sanctuaries where those gifts can be shared. Let us build. Let us build out of abundance. Let us build a mishkahn that can stand the test of time. Let us build with our gifts of artistry and wisdom, which are the pathways for God to be present in our lives. Let us build for our community, places for God to dwell in our sanctuary and social hall - and in our homes and hearts. This is not a means to an end, but the essence of the call. Let us build together. Because when we do, we will discover God dwelling among us.

[i] Exodus 32:1

[ii] Exodus 40:34

[iii] Exodus 25:8

[iv] Exodus 25:2

[v] Exodus 28:3

[vi] Exodus 35:10

[vii] Rashi, commenting on the seemingly superfluous phrase in Exodus 25:9, "וְכֵ֖ן תַּעֲשֽׂו"comments: "This is an additional commandment, extending the obligation of building the Tabernacle to future generations.”

[viii] Shemot Rabbah, as quoted in The Midrash Says (Exodus), p. 239

[ix] Exodus 25:8

[x] Language from Meam Loez on Exodus 25:8

Building With Our Gifts: Senior Sermon on Parashat Trumah, February 11, 2016

The following is the Senior Sermon delivered at the Hebrew Union College - Jewish Institute of Religion in New York by Josh Fixler, 4th year rabbinical student.

Shortly after we graduated from college, Annie and I decided to join the synagogue where I had been teaching. The membership packet included a form for volunteer opportunities, with spaces for family members to write their skills and interests. My column contained skills like “great with kids” and “loves arts and crafts.” Annie was volunteering for Habitat for Humanity at the time, so her column said, “great with power tools” and “loves to hang cabinets.”

Clearly, building projects were not my area of expertise. So it’s ironic that I’m here to talk to you about a Torah portion that is mostly blueprints.

The blueprints are for a sacred structure – the mishkahn – our portable sanctuary in the wilderness. These instructions are thorough and practical. There are a lot of cubits involved. I’m sure if we put Annie in charge, we could build the thing today.

But, the blueprints in Parashat Trumah are ALSO instructions for building sacred community. God commands:

וְעָ֥שׂוּ לִ֖י מִקְדָּ֑שׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּ֖י בְּתוֹכָֽם׃

“Build me a sanctuary and I will dwell among them.”i This is not just a town center. It’s a dwelling place for God.

Rashi puzzles over a seemingly superfluous phrase in the next verse, וְכֵ֖ן תַּעֲשֽׂוּ, “and so shall you do.”ii He interprets it to mean that building a mishkahn was not just a commandment for our ancestors, but an obligation for all time. We are all called to be mishkahn builders. Now since I assume we’re not going to get contractors in here to install a new mishkahn, reading Rashi raises the question, how will we fulfill the commandment to build dwelling places for God?

So much of our time at the College-Institute is devoted to asking how we will build sacred communities, where people come joyfully to pray and learn and act. This is a theme that speaks loudly in the parasha, but it also whispers another, subtler message. The commandment does not start with schematics. Six verses before God tells us what we are building -- v’asu li mikdash -- God explains the spirit in which we should build:

דַּבֵּר֙ אֶל־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל וְיִקְחוּ־לִ֖י תְּרוּמָ֑ה מֵאֵ֤ת כָּל־אִישׁ֙ אֲשֶׁ֣ר יִדְּבֶ֣נּוּ לִבּ֔וֹ...

“Tell the children of Israel to bring me gifts from every person whose heart is so moved.”iii Trumot – Gifts. Before we can even imagine building the mishkan, we must inspire people to bring their gifts.
When we think of trumot, we tend to think of material gifts, of gold and silver, dolphin skins, and acacia wood. But the text implies that equally important are the offerings of people’s hearts. God calls for:

כָּל־חַכְמֵי־לֵ֔ב

“everyone who is wise of heart”

אֲשֶׁ֥ר מִלֵּאתִ֖יו ר֣וּחַ חָכְמָ֑ה

“whose spirit I have filled with wisdom.”iv

Nachmanides argues that the material goods are also a metaphor for the wisdom and skill that the people brought to the project.v The people are the gold and the acacia wood.vi The expression of each spirit is a vital element in the construction of the mishkan. Each person shared her gift, and the result was an abundance of talent so great that God and Moses were overwhelmed.

Every person has a gift, a sacred talent to share. This is their trumah. Like Moses, Jewish leaders must ask people to bring their gifts, knowing that each is a sacred material in the construction of a dwelling place for God. Our communities are vessels overflowing with talent.

In his book 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, Stephen Covey describes dichotomous worldviews: a scarcity mentality and an abundance mentality. A person or organization with a scarcity mentality looks at the world and says, “I don’t have enough. How can I get more?” An abundance mentality says, “I have everything I need. How blessed am I?” Both mindsets look at the same data, but draw different conclusions. Covey challenges us to move from a mentality that sees only scarcity to one that appreciates abundance.

So many Jewish organizations operate from a place of scarcity – there is never enough time, never enough people, never enough money to do the work we want to do. Our synagogues are so desperate for more dues paying members that the dream of gifts overflowing feels like a fantasy. But Trumot transform our communities by enabling us to peer past perceived scarcity and see an abundance of talent living in our communities.

I learned to look for abundance, not from Covey, or the Torah, but from my mother. She was a non-profit consultant who specialized in volunteerism. But more importantly, my mother was a gratitude guru. She made a daily practice of listing out loud the many gifts for which she was grateful. She often shared that this practice of gratitude had been transformative, helping her to navigate even her darkest days because she never lost sight of her abundant blessings.

If she were here, she would look out on this sanctuary and see an ocean of Trumot. She believed that each of us has a unique gift to share, and that organizations need to be better at helping us to share them. This was more than her vocation, it was her conviction. When she looked at people, she saw wellsprings of talent. When she met someone, on a plane or in line at the grocery store, it took barely a second before she learned what they were excited about. This was her gift: she was a diviner of talent. When I read this Torah portion, it is her voice I hear whispering, “Imagine if each of us could develop skills to find gifts in every person we encounter.”

During my internship last summer, I met Barbara. She and some friends had approached their Rabbi, Danny Zemel, with the idea to start Wise Aging groupsvii at the synagogue. Rabbi Zemel, who has a natural abundance mindset, saw in Barbara and her team gifts of passion, organizing skill, and vision. With his blessing, they started 3 Wise Aging groups, which have already engaged more than 40 people.

Evelyn participated in one of these groups. She had been a member of the synagogue for years, but had not been particularly active. This program offered an exciting opportunity to explore her Jewish identity. At one meeting, she shared that in her professional life she runs a program connecting dance and spirituality. At the next meeting, she led her group in a spiritual movement exercise, which everyone found powerfully meaningful. Weeks later, she was in Rabbi Zemel’s office, discussing how she could share this gift with even more congregants. Now, she is building a new place for God to dwell in her community. My mother used to say, “Every person in your community has gifts they would be eager to share, but most have never been asked.”

The Torah portion teaches us to ask for gifts. As a non-profit consultant and a believer in abundance, my mother’s language for this was volunteer engagement. She wanted Jewish leaders to become volunteer engagement experts – masters at identifying Trumot and builders of opportunities for the sharing of gifts. Often, these gifts will match projects we are already doing, but sometimes, like with Barbara and Evelyn, new ideas will emerge from the unique talents within our community. We can’t say yes to every program idea, but we must learn to say yes to every talent -- to match people’s talents to our mission. What if we planned our program calendar in dialogue with people’s gifts? We see this in the Parasha. God does not start with program – “make me a sanctuary” -- God starts by asking for gifts. God knows people aren’t motivated by building funds; they are motivated when we connect to their hearts and their wisdom.

In two weeks, we will read about a very different building project: the Golden Calf. Aaron tells the frightened people to drop off their gold, and he builds the calf for them. They pay their membership dues and say, “Do this for us.” What Aaron builds is not a dwelling place but an idol. The Golden Calf is the kind of building project that comes out of scarcity – built out of the fear that Moses had disappeared. The move from the calf to the tabernacle is a transition from a mindset of scarcity to a mindset of abundance. It’s the abundance that comes when we ask for people’s gifts, not their gold.

If we want to build our modern mishkanot out of abundance, we need volunteer engagement that permeates every aspect of our institutions. And as leaders, we must model this engagement to our staff and lay leaders. A few weeks ago, I met with a congregant who works as a corporate consultant. We discussed his worry about declining engagement in Jewish life, and he shared ideas for how we might create a unified message of engagement around the High Holy Days. I said, “It sounds like your gift is messaging. You could help us to articulate our vision more clearly.” As we moved from talking about his idea to talking about his gift, I could see his eyes brighten, his demeanor change. Something holy happened in that moment. What if Rabbis, Cantors, Educators, professors, and administrators made a spiritual practice out of sitting with people and helping them to name their gifts?

But it is not enough just to identify the gifts. We have to create opportunities to share them with the community. It’s not enough for me to say, “Your gift is messaging.” We must figure out how he can put that gift to use. Perhaps over the summer he will work with the rabbis and lay leaders to envision a unified message for the High Holy Days. When I started this sermon, I told you a story about filling out a synagogue volunteer form. The sad but unsurprising ending is that nobody ever called us about anything written on that form. They asked us to identify our gifts but never gave us a place in which to share them. From the Golden Calf to our own organizations, we’ve seen what happens when we fail to engage our members around their gifts. Parashat Trumah is about asking for our gifts and putting them to use.

Let us imagine for a moment, a synagogue that pursues volunteer engagement at every level. Picture meeting the congregants and staff of Temple Ohev Mitnadev.viii

Shira is a market researcher who volunteers while her kids are at the preschool, helping the office to interpret data from a recent parent survey. She loves it because she can use her professional skills at a time that works in her schedule.

Adam’s Bar Mitzvah is in May. For his mitzvah project, he planned a workshop for older adults to learn computer skills so that they can FaceTime with their grandkids.

Miriam has been exploring her love of prayer in an advanced liturgy class with the cantor. Soon she and the other participants will be ready to put together meaningful shiva minyanim.

When new members join the congregation, they meet a retiree named Edith, one of the synagogue’s “trumah coaches,” who helps them identify their gifts and connect them to synagogue activities they might find meaningful.

Rebecca, the Director of Volunteer Engagement, works with every staff member to tap into this expanding pool of talent.

Congregants here don’t just serve on committees. I’ve never met anybody whose sacred gift is the ability to sit on committees. Rather congregants share their time and talents, in ways that enrich their lives and the life of the congregation. Some are eager to share their professional skills, while others offer surprising, hidden talents. Some people’s sacred gift is as simple as a free hour and an eagerness to help. The work of the synagogue is not simply programs. It’s finding and sharing gifts.

In the Torah, the Israelites eventually come back to Moses and say, “The people have brought more Trumot than we know what to do with!” When we ask for gifts, abundance overflows. When we engage people around their sacred talents, together we build a sanctuary.


When we build with our gifts, it’s not just our communities that we make into a sanctuary; it’s our lives.

וְעָ֥שׂוּ לִ֖י מִקְדָּ֑שׁ

“Build me a sanctuary,”

וְשָׁכַנְתִּ֖י בְּתוֹכָֽם

“that I may dwell in them.”ix

Not b’tocho -- so that I can dwell in IT -- the sanctuary. B’tocham -- So I can dwell in THEM. The Divine presence came to rest in the hearts of the Israelites, and “not in the wood and metal of the mishkahn.”x If we bring our gifts, if we put them to sacred use, God will dwell in us.

The people we serve are searching for meaning. They aspire to understand their place in a confusing world. They are eager to find purpose and encounter God. They feel scarcity and crave abundance. When we walk with them on a journey of discerning their trumot, we give them a path to find what they are looking for. When we help people to identify their gifts and offer them to their community, we invite them to experience the unique wisdom God has placed inside them, and see their sacred purpose. Think of Evelyn, who discovered that her dance could speak to her Judaism, and that her gift could move her community to a higher place.

This is different from other volunteerism. Jews already volunteer in incredibly high numbers, coaching youth soccer or delivering meals on wheels. But serving in or with a Jewish organization feels different. This is the core of trumah. The root of the Hebrew word is unclear. Some scholars trace it to an Acadian word meaning, “lift up.” Jewish leaders help people to lift up their talents by reminding them that those talents are gifts they receive from God. At the PTA bake sale, saying thanks to God for your brownie prowess would be cause for concern. But in sacred community, this is our goal. My mother showed me that gratitude is a deeply religious conviction. When we say thanks for our blessings in a Jewish context, we have a language and a community in which to acknowledge their source. Whether people use their talents to transform our community or turn them outward to change the world, we help them to lift their gifts from the secular to the sacred in the service of the One who gave them. This is not a tool for us to do more work. This is a means for us to change more lives. We can move people from the scarcity of “Who am I?” to the abundance of “I have purpose.”

As Jewish leaders, we have a sacred obligation: To help people find their sacred trumot. and to build sanctuaries where those gifts can be shared. Let us build. Let us build out of abundance. Let us build mishkahnot that can stand the test of time. Let us build with people, with their gifts of artistry and wisdom, which are the pathways for God to be present in their lives. Let us build for our community, places for God to dwell in our sanctuaries and social halls. This is not a means to an end, but the essence of the call. Let us build together. When we do, we discover God dwelling among us.

Footnotes:
i. Exodus 25:8 
ii. Exodus 25:9 
iii. Exodus 25:2 
iv. Exodus 28:3 
v. From Mikraot G’dolot, Nahmanides on 25:3 These are the gifts. Literally, "this is the offering" (OJPS). According to the True interpretation, "this" refers to the Shekhinah and the wisdom provided by it, as when God said to Solomon in 2 Chron. 1:11, "Because you want this, and have not asked for wealth, property, and glory ... but you have asked for the wisdom and the knowledge to be able to govern My people...." The word is used the same way in Gen. 49:28, Deut. 33:1, and Ps. 118:23. Genesis Rabbah alludes to this interpretation as well. 
vi. Exodus 25:3-7 
vii. Based on the book Wise Aging by Rabbi Rachel Cowan and Dr. Linda Thal 
viii. Hebrew for “Lovers of Volunteerism” I want to express deep credit to Beth Steinhorn, my mother’s thought partner and President of the JFFixler Group, for helping me to develop these examples. 
ix. Exodus 25:8 
x. Language from Meam Loez on Exodus 25:8

Parashat Shoftim: Radical Gratitude, August 18, 2015

This is a slightly adapted version of the words I shared at the 2015 Wexner Graduate Fellowship Summer Institute

Last week I went to see the magicians Penn and Teller. Besides the magic, there is one thing that stood out to me about the show. Before the last trick, they stopped everything and said, “The real trick is convincing you that it’s just the two of us that pull this off.” Then they listed everyone who helps them perform, from the people who take the tickets to the people who sweep the stage. How powerful it must be for those people to hear every night that they are the ones that make the magic happen. It got me thinking about the power of saying thank you. It’s something I think about a lot. Gratitude is my spiritual practice.

I probably don’t have to tell you about the scientific research on gratitude. We’ve all seen the nearly weekly news reports about studies that reveal that people who keep some kind of daily gratitude journal are happier, healthier, and more resilient . 

And I probably don’t have to tell you that a daily practice of gratitude is deeply Jewish. The first words a Jew utters upon waking are Modeh Ani l’fanecha – “I offer thanks before you.” Before we sit up, or put on our glasses, the lens through which we see the world is gratitude. Nearly one third of our daily prayers are on the theme of gratitude. Gratitude is part of our spiritual DNA. 

But what I want to talk about today takes this practice a step further. If you want to hear about strategies for ritualizing a daily gratitude practice, find me sometime this week. What I want to talk about here is how we might develop a pervasive sense of gratitude that could shape us as leaders and transform the organizations we serve. I’m calling it Radical Gratitude.

This week’s parasha contains the commandment that judges should not take bribes. The Talmud, in Ketubot, relates a story of Rabbi Amimar, who recused himself from a court case because one of the litigants had once wiped away a feather that had fallen on the rabbi’s shoulder. Rabbi Samuel did the same because a litigant had offered him his hand when crossing a rickety bridge. 

These small acts could hardly be described as bribes. Were these rabbis really so fallible that their judgement could be swayed by such tiny favors? One modern commentator, Rabbi Pam, suggests that this question misses the point. He proposes that the Rabbis lived with such a pervasive sense of gratitude in their lives that these small acts were big deals to them . Their approach to the world was one of Radical Gratitude, where every tiny interaction was an opportunity to see the face of God. 

Remember, these are the same rabbis who came up with the idea that a person should say 100 blessings a day. Think about that for a minute. In 16 waking hours, that’s a blessing about once every ten minutes. Can you imagine finding something to be grateful for every 10 minutes, something deserving a blessing? You’d be in a constant state of blessing.

Blessings are miracle highlighters. They help us notice hidden holiness. I was once an educator at a summer camp, and I did a unit with the youngest campers about blessings. I taught them that there are two blessings we can say when we see a miracle of nature, one for big miracles and one for small miracles. That summer, I invented a game for myself. When I would see something beautiful, I would ask, which blessing should I say here? Is that stunning sunset a big miracle? Is the way the rain makes patterns in the lake a small miracle? Soon I realized I was seeing things to bless everywhere. The practice of blessings opened my eyes to the abundant wonders around me. What if we could live in that state of wonder? How might it transform the way we interact with the world? How might it shape our leadership?

Gratitude helps us move from scarcity to abundance. People who live with scarcity feel like there is an insatiable hole in their lives, and nothing they do will ever fully fill it. People who live with abundance look around and say, “Look at all these blessings.” Pirke Avot says, “Who is rich? Those who rejoice in their own lot.” (Pirke Avot 4:1) It’s the same water glass, but we learn to focus on a different half. 

I worry that in many Jewish organizations there is a pervasive feeling of scarcity. There is never enough time, never enough money, never enough programs, enough volunteers. Our membership is declining, our staff is overworked. In scarcity, we can feel undervalued. No matter how much we give, they always need more. A recent Gallup poll found that 65 percent of Americans say they don’t feel appreciated at work.  Under-appreciation leads to low morale, decreased productivity, and high turnover. The culture of scarcity affects everyone, it feeds on itself. I imagine that there have been times when all of us have felt underappreciated for the work we do.

But what if we could transform our organizations into Radically Grateful organizations? What are the miracles we are missing? What gifts have we yet to bless? Personally, I think it’s a miracle that anyone comes at all. People have a choice in how they spend their time, and they are choosing to spend some of it with us. Many synagogues in which I have worked  some time griping that people do not come often enough. Would it change our work if we spent more time marveling at how much they do come? Instead of wondering who is missing, we would remind ourselves that the people who walk through our doors have gifts they are eager to share. Our organizations are overflowing with people who are eager to offer their expertise and energy, and we have to notice it if we want to harness it.

So how can we be Radically Grateful leaders of Radically Grateful organizations? How can we become like those rabbis who noticed every gift they were given? Some of this easy. We could say “thank you” more. Who are the people in our organizations who are not thanked enough? Whose work is invisible? Whose work has come to be expected, so that it is no longer celebrated? Do their contributions go unnoticed by the people who participate in our programs? Leaders who say thank you publically contribute to a culture of Radical Gratitude.

And we can find sacred ways to thank our volunteers. One volunteer engagement expert I know likes to remind me that this recognition must go beyond an annual “rubber chicken dinner” – thanks for your help, enjoy this plate of rubbery chicken and an hour of speeches. How can we continually recognize their contributions in ways that feel natural and central to the work of our organizations? Here, I think the Jewish technology of “blessing” may be helpful. Imagine if we found opportunities, from the bimah or in the newsletter, to say blessing about the work our volunteers do – to mention them by name and share their contributions publically. With blessings we elevate a culture of Radical Gratitude though sacred ritual. What would it mean for every program to end with a blessing for our volunteers?

And Radical Gratitude can change how we understand our work. How many times have we heard that dynamic organizations celebrate their failures, as well as their successes? But building a culture that celebrates failures as learning opportunities takes courage and work. A ritual of gratitude after a program helps us shift our focus from what failed to what blessings emerged. In my own life, I’ve seen how gratitude can help me shift my thinking. Every day, I make a list of 5 things for which I’m grateful. The days that it’s hard to get to 5 are also the days it is the most transformative. Living with Radical Gratitude asks us to wrestle with our failures until we can extract a blessing from them. 

 

I believe that Radical Gratitude is more than a life-hack. It is a fundamental overhaul of the way we see the world. It centers us on our blessings and calls our attention to the source of those blessings. In my life, gratitude is a pathway to God. 

I learned about Radical Gratitude from my mother. It was her life philosophy. Even in the darkness times, she found light through blessings. Some of you know that last fall my mother passed away after a prolonged battle with cancer. I want to share with you words she wrote just 3 months before she died, when her sickness was at its worst. This was her Torah. This is the transformational power of gratitude:

My gratitude journey began [nearly 20 years ago] when [my husband] Peter’s father Bob was dying of lung cancer. It was an unbelievably difficult time. Dinner became the complaining opportunity for all that was wrong in the world. I was worried and frustrated about what we were teaching [our son]. And then one day I happened to see a TV program on gratitude (OK it was Oprah, I admit it). With all that Oprah has, she takes time every day to write in her gratitude journal. She interviewed a breast cancer survivor who was grateful for getting dressed that day! I realized then and there that we were focusing on the wrong thing.

The power of gratitude would come to mean a lot to us as that very night we began each meal with what we were grateful for that day. This little act was transformational.  I looked forward to Josh and Peter’s gratitude. It was meaningful and helpful for my family. Somehow after gratitude, life didn’t seem that bad after all. And I continued to practice gratitude while I was ill, counting my blessings instead of sheep at night. I had so much to be grateful for. It gave me strength and I was content with my life even through the

Even in her absence, my mother continues to teach me. So to that end, let me say thank you. Thank you to all of you, for this opportunity to share the blessings of my life. Our lives are overflowing with blessings. May they never be hard to see.

 

For Further Reading:

Here are some great resources on building a culture of Radical Gratitude in your workplace: