Los Angeles Jewish Home

by Kay Carmona
Los Angeles Jewish Home Resident

Holidays are an important part of our lives. They mean different things to different people; but we all agree that more than anything else, they bring families together and enrich our lives with nostalgic memories — memories to treasure and fill our lives with the love and warmth of family. This is especially true of Jewish holidays because, not only do they bring families together and weave sweet memories that last a lifetime, they are our link, or connection to the generations before us who passed on the values, commandments, and traditions of Judaism — even under the most trying circumstances — keeping it alive and current down through the ages.

Spring ushers in the festivals of Purim and Passover. I think most of us have memories of our childhood days, dressing up in wacky costumes as Queens Vashti and Esther, Mordechai, King Ahasuerus, and the booing, banging, and noisemakers at every mention of Haman. The delicious hamantaschen goodies, and the atmosphere of camaraderie and joy among family and friends.

Passover is a little more sedate, but also happy, recalling how Moses with God's Mighty Power brought us out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage, leading us to the Promised Land. There, again, most of us have sweet memories — or maybe not-so-sweet memories — of Seders from our early childhood with our parents and relatives, and with Seders of our own families and relatives. I remember as a child how long and boring the Seder seemed. My Dad was a Hazan and insisted on doing the entire Seder from cover to cover, which seemed to me to last all night! Dipping in the salt water and making little matzoh sandwiches was kind of fun, and I really liked the haroset. I was so happy to hear my father say, "Now dinner is served." I remember the first time my husband and I hosted the Seder at our house. We had finally furnished our dining room, but it was barely able to accommodate so many people. We have learned from our folks that there is always room for one more, even if you have to bring in the barbeque table from the patio and the kitchen chairs. I remember how proud I was when I "graduated" from the children's table to the adults' table, and how it brought back memories when our children came to sit with us. Yes, the Jewish holidays bring fond memories of loving family and happy times.

Labels: Carmona, Family, Jewish Holiday, Judaism, Memories, Passover, Pesach, Purim, Seder, Staff

In some of my classes I have been discussing the subject of courage, following the recent Torah readings about the exodus from Egypt and the crossing of the Red Sea. Throughout that period the faith of the Israelites, that they can and will escape their Egyptian slave-masters and become a free people, swings wildly between moments of trust and confidence – Yes, God is on our side! – and times when they want only to remain slaves, for freedom is just too risky.

When the Israelites complain to Moses – Why don’t you leave us alone, to remain in Egypt as slaves? – they want to stay in the world they know, rather than take all the risks of freedom. Freedom carries the dignity of making choices, and the possibility of good and new things in our lives, but also it means we live without knowing what tomorrow brings. Willingness to face the uncertainties and the difficulties of life, as well as its possibilities, is what courage is all about. The alternative, in the words of one resident, is: Just give up, stay in bed, and pull the blankets over your head.

Does growing older call on us to have courage? A resident answered: Yes we need courage, because we never know what’s going to happen. Perhaps she was thinking about the sudden change in health she had recently gone through – without a negative word! Another resident told us her first words on waking each morning: No surprises today please!

It is not just the unknown. Some residents live in almost constant pain or discomfort; others get on as best they can despite physical difficulties. Most know the loneliness of life following the death of their long-time husband or wife. As I see how the majority of residents make the best of life without complaint, it strikes me that courage is indeed an important factor in making senior years a positive time of life. Here at the Home, the staff does a wonderful job in making the life of residents as comfortable, dignified and enjoyable as possible. What is sometimes overlooked is that the residents do a wonderful job too. For me, to see such courage is both humbling and inspiring.

The Torah expresses courage as faith in God. For instance, when the Israelites are facing the Red Sea, with the Egyptian army coming up behind them, they initially complain to Moses who tells them: Have no fear, stand by and watch how God will save you! While many people have courage which is not based on faith is God, there are others for whom faith can be a source of courage. Psalm 23 puts it: Though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me. A sense that one is not alone can give great strength.

I have very great respect for those who came through years in the Nazi death camps or work camps. I know from my reading that not everyone kept their determination to survive; some just gave up. I am not surprised, so I asked the Holocaust survivors in my groups what gave them the courage to keep going. All without exception told me their faith was very important to them. One said his recitation of psalms sustained him. Another said she felt God by her side as she volunteered for work – which turned out to be her route to survival. Another said her religion was important to her, but she also believed a person’s childhood upbringing made a big difference. She herself had had a very poor childhood, and that difficult time gave her the strength she needed to face the enormous challenge of life in the camps. I understand that; although we all want an easy life, it is very often difficult experiences that strengthen us to face even greater challenges in the future.

We talked a little about the courage to face death. One resident was sad about the relative shortness of the time still left for her, wishing she had achieved more. But not one person expressed fear about the future.

Perhaps that is why I love being a rabbi at the Jewish Home: while I am no longer young myself, I work amongst my seniors and my teachers, who help me to think that maybe I too will be able to face all the uncertainties and hardships that lie ahead. For that I am grateful.

Labels: Aging, Bible, Courage, Death, Elman, For the Spirit, Holocaust survivors, Inspiring, Israelites, Jewish, Judaism, Letter from the Rabbi, Moses, Rabbi

The thoughts for this letter came to me while walking in a beautiful rainforest in Costa Rica. There are so many different kinds of trees in the forest, trees of all heights and kinds, and vines and creepers. And beneath those trees and vines and creepers, the ground is covered with fallen leaves, twigs, branches, whole tree-trunks … all part of the rich life of the forest.

In the midst of the towering trees and the fallen logs, it struck me that there is no clear distinction between what is alive and what is dead. Rather, there is an astonishingly complex pattern of interdependence and regeneration. The creatures and the plant life need each other, and the so-called “dead” branches and leaves are part of that pattern. They are far from useless: they provide home and nourishment to insects and small animals and other organisms, and gradually they break down to fertilize the soil, giving new growth, new life. In fact they are essential to the life and health of the new trees.

In that way, what is fallen seems as alive as the tall majestic trees. Certainly in the grand scheme of nature, the fallen, the “dead”, seem just as valuable. How odd that we human beings don't regard our dead as alive and valuable and nourishing! But that's exactly what they are.

In the Jewish tradition, we place great value on life: this life. It is not, as in some cultures, merely a preparation for a future life after death. This life, what we do in it, how we behave towards others, what we do to help bring about a better world – these are what count.

So once we die, do we become irrelevant to the rich pattern of life? Do we lose all value? That is how many people think about death, but I believe they are wrong. Just like those fallen trees and branches in the forest, what we have been in our lives will continue to affect those we leave behind, contributing to their lives.

Let me give an example. I continue to be inspired by the man I still regard as "my rabbi", several years after his death. He was a deeply spiritual man, who would speak and sing to God with all his heart and soul, but he combined that with a passion for changing the world for the good. His example taught me that spirituality – our relationship with God – has little value unless it is reflected in how we try to bring good unto the world. Like a great fallen tree in the forest, my rabbi continues to affect the lives of so many people who knew him or studied with him.

It is not just the “big” people in our lives (like parents and significant teachers) who make a lasting difference. Don’t you find that when someone shows trust in you, it adds to your confidence? Or when someone laughs at you, or treats you badly, it makes you feel smaller and less confident in the world? Just think back on the love your parents gave you, or some act of kindness or nobility shown by a friend – how that made you a better person. Whatever we do in our lifetimes affects others, and that effect remains after we have gone.

Where do these reflections lead me? On the one hand, I feel I must try to live up to the good bequeathed to me by so many who have gone before. After all, my life has been enriched enormously by countless people who are no longer alive – not just people I knew, but also people who died even before I was born, like all those men and women over the centuries who contributed to Jewish life and culture.

On the other hand, I think it’s important for me to be aware that every act of mine, for good or for bad – like a leaf on the floor of the rainforest – will continue to do its good or its bad long after my physical death.

I have come to realize that I want to leave behind a real (even if invisible) legacy for good in the lives of others. When my earthly life comes to an end, my hidden influence will continue. And I want that continuing influence to be for the good.

Don’t you feel the same way?

Rabbi Anthony Elman is the Skirball Director of Spiritual Life at the Jewish Home and also serves as Rabbi of the Home's Grancell Village campus. His professional background is multifaceted, encompassing the fields of law, social work, and psychotherapy. Rabbi Elman has been with the Home since his ordination and graduation from the Academy for Jewish Religion-California in May 2007

Labels: Costa Rica, Death, Ecosystem, Elman, Influence, Jewish, Judaism, Life, Rainforest

This afternoon I was entering the Eisenberg Campus by way of The Heart Walk when I noticed that the late autumn winds had blown leaves into the candle holders of the bronze Chanukiah sculpture in front of the Newman Building. As I was removing the leaves I couldn’t help but think that in just a few, short weeks I would be gathering with the residents each evening of the eight nights of Chanukah to kindle the candles that would shine from this exquisite piece of ritual Judaic art. As has been our tradition in years past, we will make the blessings together and sing Chanukah songs—in Hebrew, Yiddish, Ladino, and English—before the Chanukiah’s flickering lights. I will remind the residents, as I always do, that the Chanukah candles may not be used for any practical purpose but should only grace our Jewish Home with their illumination and inherent beauty. The lights will be a link for all of us, not only to the miracles of our people’s shared history in days of old, but to memories of Chanukahs celebrated in each one of our uniquely individual pasts…long ago childhood twirls of dreidels, sharing latkes or sufganiyot with our children, watching the candlelight illuminate the faces of our grandchildren and even great-grandchildren. And I, as the Rabbi of Eisenberg Village, will watch the golden glow from the bronze Chanukiah dance on the beautiful, wrinkled cheeks of our beloved Jewish Home residents and marvel at the miracle of their long and fruitful years. When most of them were children, Chanukah was not a time for expensive gifts or commercial competition. Their memories are filled with gifts of the senses: the sight of a spinning dreidel; the scent of hot oil and the taste of delicious fried Chanukah treats; and, above all, the warmth that only love of family, community, and shared heritage can bring to the dark and bitter chill of winter. These were the children that would, indeed, become members of “The Greatest Generation.”

And so, as I take these moments to prepare the bronze sculpture that will soon spring to life and light, I am already filled to overflowing with the anticipation of sharing another Chanukah with the residents I am blessed to serve at the Jewish Home. They are, indeed, a collective light to the nations of the world, shining a warm glow of inspiration to everyone who is lucky enough to bask in their glow. Just by being themselves, they stand as a miraculous symbol of their people’s tenacity and longevity. For me, being able to share the Festival of Lights with these precious souls for yet another year, is the greatest gift of all.

Rabbi Rita Hertzberg leads synagogue services and provides spiritual guidance and pastoral care and counseling for the resident community of the Jewish Homes Eisenberg Village Campus. Among her well-attended spiritual education and outreach programs are her weekly Judaism class and the popular “Get Together with Rabbi Rita.”

Labels: Candles, Chanukah, Chanukiah, Dreidel, Eisenberg Village, Family, Hanukkah, Hebrew, Hertzberg, holiday, Jewish Holiday, Judaism, Ladino, Latkes, Rabbi, Staff, Sufganiyot, Yiddish

The act of becoming a bar mitzvah, a public acknowledgment of a young man’s obligation to fulfill the commandments, is a traditional part of Judaism. In today’s society, the spiritual commitment of young women is often celebrated as well. For most of the Jewish Home’s female residents, becoming a bat mitzvah was unheard of when they were twelve or thirteen.

This was true for Jewish Home resident Marilyn Matty. As a young girl, she and her sister attended Sunday school, but not Hebrew school. As a married woman, she learned to keep a kosher home. Marilyn became involved in a Conservative synagogue and, as a pianist, worked with the choir. As life brought its share of challenges, her connection with Judaism was loosened. One day, about three years ago, she realized she wanted to go back to her community and began attending synagogue again. “That was the beginning of my feelings of getting back to Judaism,” Marilyn recalls.
After moving to the Jewish Home in February 2010, the feeling became even stronger, leading her to become a bat mitzvah on November 5, 2011, at age 85. View photos of Marilyn here.

Rabbi Anthony Elman, the Jewish Home’s Director of Spiritual Life, worked closely with Marilyn for 1 ½ years in preparation for her bat mitzvah. He regards this as a valuable part of the overall work of the Home’s rabbis in enhancing the spiritual life of residents and of the Home itself. “We try to respond to the desire of individual residents to develop further in their spiritual tradition,” said Rabbi Elman. “We also provide learning opportunities to a range of resident groups and meaningful prayer services. Our goal is to create a climate for the whole community where the spiritual dimension of life is valued and respected.” In Rabbi Elman’s view, the Home’s rabbis are here not just to allow observant Jews to continue their religious practice, but to give an opportunity for all residents to live spiritually rich lives.

When he addressed Marilyn after she had read from the Torah, he said: “You, Marilyn, are truly worthy of being called to the Torah as bat mitzvah. You achieved the necessary learning and read from the Torah beautifully. Kol hakavod for that – all honor to you. But becoming a bat mitzvah is much more than learning and reading. In my eyes, it is who you are as a whole person who merits this honor today. Walking in the footsteps of our father Abraham, you exhibit the principle of chesed – loving kindness. It is a giving from the heart – not just on a whim, but in a solid, robust, long-lasting kind of way. I have been truly moved by how you have gone out of your way to help and support others, and to practice bikur cholim – visiting the sick.”

Here, in her own words, is Marilyn’s story of accomplishing this great spiritual achievement.

This week’s parsha, Lech Lecha, is the story of Abraham and Sarah. It tells the story of leaving your present home and going toward the unknown. God told Abraham to leave his land, his birthplace, and go to a place God will show him, and he will become a great nation. Abraham took his wife, Sarah, and started on a journey to a new, and unknown, life.

Leaving your familiar home to go to the unknown is scary and uncertain. Like Abraham, I believe a message from God gave me the choice to stay in my home or search for another place to live, with no guarantee of a great nation. With the able assistance and guidance of my daughter, Tina, we found the Jewish Home, Grancell Village. This was the unknown to me, a new place, new room, and new faces, and maybe not a great nation, but a lot of love. Abraham headed west to Canaan and I headed east to Reseda.

After Abraham and Sarah lived in Canaan for 10 years, we are told that Sarah was barren, she had no children. Commentators have suggested that this repetition means she physically had no children, but spiritually she had so many as she inspired so many people.

I in turn find this inspiring. I will talk later about a woman at the Home who inspired me so much, and changed my life.

Sarah decided that the best way for Abraham (and perhaps her) to start a family was for Abraham to take Sarah’s servant, Hagar, as a concubine, with Sarah’s blessing. I see this as a great act of giving, of generosity. I think it was a mitzvah from Sarah’s heart.

Like Sarah, doing something for someone else is very important to me: visiting residents who are ill, seeing new residents or seeing someone who needs company. I have made reaching out to others a part of my life at the Home, and it gives me great pleasure. But if we go back to the story of Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar, we see that there might sometimes be a downside to giving.

When Hagar became pregnant with Abraham’s child, she scorned Sarah, and this was very painful for Sarah, who perhaps had hoped that her relationship with her servant Hagar wouldn’t change.

Sarah told Abraham how badly Hagar was treating her, and he said she should do whatever she wished. Sarah was horrible to Hagar and made her life miserable.

Hagar ran away from her mistress, and, in the desert, she met a stranger in her path. Unknown to Hagar, this was an angel, a messenger from God. He asked her what she was doing and Hagar said that her mistress was unkind and she ran away. The angel of God told Hagar to return back to Sarah and that she, Hagar, would be granted many descendants, so many descendants that they would be uncountable. So Hagar returned home and had a son whom they named Ishmael – “God heard” – that is, God heard Hagar’s pain.

Why did Sarah do such a generous thing as give her servant to her husband for them to have a child? She hoped this would be like a child to Abraham and herself (so that Sarah would bring up the child), and fulfill God’s promise that Abraham would become father of a great nation. Sarah gave, but then it seems she regretted giving; she became filled with bitterness. This makes me question: can giving sometimes go too far?

A true mitzvah is one of giving unconditionally. But I also know that too much giving can deplete one’s resources. As well as giving, I’ve learned the importance of balance in my life. I personally find pleasure particularly in playing blackjack, bridge, reading, and allowing time for hair, nails and chit chat – things that are about fun rather than suffering. These allow me to go on being a person who can be with others in distress.

As we get older, we have to make choices and changes, especially when we are no longer able to be independent. It’s a big adjustment for everyone, but I believe God had pointed the way for me. The Jewish Home has given me a place and I’m finding communal living both beautiful and challenging. My choice to come to the Jewish Home’s Grancell Village was not at first an easy one, but it soon filled by heart and soul with joy. I adjusted, met a lot of people, and satisfied myself with love from the new feeling of community.

Being part of the Jewish Home community brought me back to Judaism, which had become misplaced from my life. I became aware of my hunger, so I started studying Hebrew and Torah, which led on to this exciting moment in my life.

When I first arrived at the Jewish Home, I met a woman who changed my life. She was a young 96 years and always eager to learn. We started reading the Torah weekly and asked questions of the Rabbi. Spending regular time with May Blank inspired me to fully understand and appreciate life. Like Sarah was to countless others, May was an inspiration to me. We developed a great friendship, so that at the end of her life she called me her “sister.” Memories of May will me daily and help carry me through to my Bat Mitzvah. May her soul rest in peace.

There was another woman who became important to me – a wonderful, brave person, Miriam, was part of a “learning threesome” with May and myself, and we became known as “The Three Ms.” Miriam was blind, and had lost a leg, but was active with us, learning and contributing her knowledge and wisdom, until her end.

There are so many wonderful people here at the Jewish Home, that my life is blessed with friendship and love.

I would like to thank Rabbi Elman for being my teacher and guide, helping me to take my place more fully as a Jewish woman. The story does not end here: I plan to continue studying Torah so as to learn and deepen my understanding of our beautiful Jewish heritage. I would also like to thank Rabbi Wendy for her support.

As I look out to the congregation and see my loving family, which include my devoted children and their spouses, grandchildren (and their spouses), sister, two nieces and a nephew, I feel such love for you all. Thank you all for being here with me today as witnesses – and my special gratitude to those of you who are participating in this service this morning. I am intensely proud of my family.

I know that my mother is giving me her blessing because this is the anniversary of her death. Rest in peace, Mom.

Finally, I wish to thank my entire Jewish Home family for their love, and for making this a wonderful Jewish community in which to live.

Once again, I am THIRTEEN!

Labels: Abraham, Around the Home, Bar Mitzvah, Bat Mitzvah, Bible, Elman, Feature Articles, Jewish Home, Jewish Home Residents, Judaism, Marilyn Matty, Remarkable Residents, Sarah, Staff, Thirteen, Torah

One of my classes is called “Conversation with the Rabbi”, and the conversation last week was real and fascinating. Everyone knows the disadvantages of aging: the loss of mobility and other restrictions, the aches and pains, the fact that one is no longer looking forward to a long life of dreams and possibilities, and, in many cases, the lingering loneliness after the death of a husband or wife. But I wanted to know the other side of the coin. I asked each resident present to tell me if there were any advantages to old age. (It’s natural I should want to know, as that stage of my life gets ever closer!)

I expected to get laughed at. But instead, almost every resident in the class was able to talk about some of the blessings of being older. Some talked of being wiser. Others spoke of the joy of watching their families – their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren – and that this time of life was filled with the love they could give to their families, and the love they received from them. With less responsibility now, there was greater time and freedom just for the good things. Another theme emerged, too. There was time and opportunity to reach out and help others here at the Home. Many talked of living in the Jewish Home as a blessing: they received so much, and could also give so much.

None of these residents was being starry-eyed. None pretended that old age was just paradise, without real disadvantages. One woman said: there are good things about being older, but there are more bad things. But even she was happy to tell me about the blessings in her life.

Let me tell you about one of the Torah stories we read this month. The Israelites, on their journey towards the Promised Land, passed through a country whose king was so frightened of them that he called on Balaam, a foreign prophet, to come and curse them. But God made sure that all the words that came out of Balaam’s mouth were not words of curse, but instead words of blessing, telling of the Israelites’ future success.

Just as God turned curse into blessing, we too have the ability – if only we are willing – to turn curse into blessing. I often talk of recognizing God’s blessing in the events of our life – even seemingly negative events. This is not something magical, like kidding ourselves that dark is really light. But we do have greater power over our lives than we often think. Many years ago I was asked, how does one become blessed? I answered that if we feel blessed, then we are blessed. Changing our attitude towards life can actually change the way we experience life. That is the way we turn curse into blessing.

A resident who has recently changed location within the Home has been finding it so painful leaving behind familiar people – both residents and staff – that she can’t enjoy life where she is now. I know this can be painful, but I have also been suggesting to her that each day she try to find one good thing about her new surroundings, one little blessing. She tells me she is still finding it difficult, but I believe she is beginning to experience good, to find blessing in her new life.

Labels: Aging, Around the Home, Blessings, Blog, Conversation with the Rabbi, Elman, Family, For the Spirit, Israelites, Judaism, Letter from the Rabbi, Seniors, Transition

Last week’s reading is known simply as “Holiness”, applying laws for every person to live a moral life. This week, we read about laws of holiness specifically for the priests.

But, the very first verse is peculiar:


Three times in this one verse the verb “to say” is used, and calling Aaron’s sons “the priests” appears to be redundant.

The Rabbis of the Talmud suggest that “saying” is much gentler than “speaking”, which is harsh and judgmental.   Perhaps what we have here is a gentle question for the kohanim.

The Talmud in Nedariis m 32b describes the kohanim as sheluchei didan. The kohanim act as our agents or emissaries as they perform the Temple service. Yet this idea - that the kohanim act as agents for the Jewish people - appears to violate the legal definition of the powers of a shaliach. An agent acts on behalf of the one sending him, executing his wishes. The agent cannot do that which the principal himself is incapable of doing for himself. So how can the kohanim perform the Temple service on our behalf, when non-kohanim are not permitted to serve in the Beit HaMikdash?

The parashah also opens with special directives for kohanim: "God spoke to Moses: Tell the kohanim, the sons of Aaron..." (Lev. 21:1). Yet the text appears repetitive — do we not know that the kohanim are descended from Aaron?

According to Rav Kook, these two terms — 'kohanim' and 'sons of Aaron' — indicate two different aspects of the special sanctity of kohanim. The first is an intrinsic holiness, inherited from one’s father. The phrase "sons of Aaron" refers to this inherent sanctity.

The second aspect is an additional layer of holiness — one’s actual functioning as a kohen. This aspect is designated by the term 'kohanim.' (The verb lechahein means 'to serve,' so the word 'kohanim' indicates their actual service.) Thus, the term "sons of Aaron" refers to their inherited potential, while 'kohanim' refers to their realized state of priestly service.

Usually a kohen will have both potential and actual kohanic-holiness.  This intrinsic sanctity cannot be revoked.

Perhaps we may now understand the description of kohanim as 'our agents.' How can they be our emissaries in their Temple service when we ourselves are forbidden to perform this service?

In fact, the Torah speaks of the entire Jewish people as "a kingdom of kohanim" (Ex. 19:6).

Non-kohanim may not serve in the Beit HaMikdash, for they lack the holiness of actual priesthood. Yet every Jew has a quality of potential kohanic-holiness. Because this inner holiness will be revealed in the future, the entire people of Israel are called 'God's kohanim.' And it is due to this potential holiness that the kohanim are able to serve as our agents in the Temple service.

This understanding of the role of kohanim sheds a new light on the ceremony of birkat kohanim. The significance of their daily blessing is to awaken the latent kohanic-holiness that resides within the entire Jewish people. As the kohanim extend their arms to bless the people, they reach out to Israel's future state of holiness. Their outstretched arms point to a future era, but whose seeds are planted in the present.

This week we are gently reminded of our potentiality of holiness. Just as Aaron’s sons must strive to be deserving of their special status, likewise we strive to live holy lives in accordance with kedoshim.

Shabbat Shalom

Labels: Aaron, Emor, For the Spirit, Judaism, Kohanim, Parshah, Pennes, Priesthood, Shabbat, Word of Torah

From the Spring 2011 edition of The Chai Journal


By Esther Berlin

The best part of the week for me is Friday evening at the Jewish Home. I shall never forget my first Sabbath here, six and a half years ago. I walked in for dinner and was unprepared for such a change in the dining room. It was obvious that something special was about to happen. Tables were set with white linens and each place had a glass of wine, a small challah, and flowers. Seeing this beautiful sight, tears of joy ran down my face. I realized how much I had missed celebrating Shabbos. It had been a long time since I made the same preparations at my home on Fridays. Once my two children went off to school and I was alone, I stopped our family's tradition of reciting the prayers and lighting the Shabbos candles.

Now, each Friday that I am able, I go to the Synagogue to say a special prayer for my friends and family who are ill. The Mi Sheberakh seeks physical cures as well as spiritual healing, asking for blessing for all human beings. Celebrating Shabbos with Rabbi Rita Hertzberg is very special for me. Her soft, lovely voice is very soothing and I find myself relaxed, peaceful, and calm. I particularly enjoy singing the Kiddush Motzi when everyone joins in. It seems that all who participate are filled with joy. In the dining room, Rabbit Rita always provides a helpful explanation about the various Sabbath rituals. And then to top it all off, we have that wonderful big bowl of delicious matzah ball and chicken noodle soup! I feel so blessed to be living at the Jewish Home where we observe the traditions of our faith each week.

Labels: Activities, Around the Home, Berlin, Chai Journal, Cross Post, Friday, Hertzberg, Judaism, Kiddush, matzah ball soup, Mi Sheberach, Mi Sheberakh, Prayer, Sabbath, Shabbat, Shabbos, traditions

As we celebrate Passover, it is good to ponder on what the holiday is about. Many of us remember the story: the Israelites had been enslaved in Egypt for many generations until Moses, directed and inspired by G-d, led them out to freedom. That coming out, that Exodus, marks the birth of the Jewish people. But the meaning of it has resonated around the world throughout time. In our own era, Martin Luther King, Jr. found inspiration in the story of Moses and the Exodus, as he led his people in their struggle for civil rights.

Passover is known as the season of our freedom. But why is freedom so important? Why are people across the Middle East and North Africa even at this moment struggling, and sometimes dying, for freedom? Watching the news of those struggles has led me to think more about what it means to be a free person, and part of a free people.

People held down by a dictatorship or foreign power cannot fully thrive. It is not just that they cannot choose what to do; something in the soul of a people is beaten down. Their imagination and inventiveness are squashed — they are a people without true dignity.

Is freedom simply about being able to do as one wants? (Can any of us really do everything we want?) In our Jewish story, leaving Egypt meant we did not have taskmasters telling us how to live every minute of our day. We were free from those restrictions, but that didn't mean we were free to live a worthwhile and dignified life.

That is why Passover — the season of our freedom — and Shavuot — the season of the giving of our Torah — are so closely connected. Torah gives us laws and ethical principles, so that we know that real freedom lies in how we interact in our community and our larger society. First and foremost, the Jewish people are obliged by Torah to love our neighbor as ourselves; we must not oppress the widow and the orphan; we are repeatedly told to be respectful of the stranger who lives in our society, remember what it was like when we were strangers in Egypt.

Torah reminds me that in a free society, I have a duty of care and consideration for my fellow men and women. The free society that Torah gives us is one in which we are bound together in relationship.

Ideally we do not celebrate Passover in solitude. We celebrate it in groups, in families, in communities. At the Seder, we read from the Haggada "let all who are needy come and celebrate Passover." It is together that we are able to taste the sweetness of this "season of freedom".

Rabbi Anthony Elman serves as Rabbi of the Jewish Home's Grancell Village Campus. His professional background is multifaceted, encompassing the fields of law, social work, and psychotherapy. Rabbi Elman has been with the Home since his ordination and graduation from the Academy for Jewish Religion-California in May 2007

Labels: Civil Rights, Community, Dignity, Egypt, Elman, For the Spirit, Freedom, holiday, Israelites, Judaism, Letter from the Rabbi, Moses, Passover, Pesach, Torah

The Sabbath immediately preceding Passover is known as Shabbat Hagadol, the great (big) Sabbath. What's so great about it? Would you believe it's the length of the service?

In the good old days, it was unusual for the rabbi to sermonize every week. Typically, a rabbi would speak at length only twice a year. The first time, on the Sabbath preceding Yom Kippur, to speak to the congregation about the importance of doing teshuva (repentance) and seeking forgiveness. The second time was on Shabbat Hagadol to teach the complex laws regarding chametz (leavened bread) and preparing for Passover.

Besides the age old yearning for shorter services, there is an additional reason. This week has a special reading from the Prophets, which contains the word "gadol":

Malachi Chapter 3

23. Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and terrible day of the LORD.

24. And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers; lest I come and smite the land with utter destruction.

This messianic prophecy regards the end of days and the belief that Elijah will return at Pesach to welcome the Messiah. The text speaks to the importance of Passover as the foremost of all holidays for the Jewish nation. But, what does Elijah have to do with Passover? He wasn't even born for centuries after the Exodus. Yet, as central part of the Seder is the Cup of Elijah, with our little ones staring at the cup to see if the wine is diminished.

The answer is to be found in a rabbinic disagreement concerning the number of cups we drink this night.

In Exodus 6 we read of the promise of redemption:

Wherefore say unto the children of Israel: I am the LORD, and I will bring you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians, and I will deliver you from their bondage, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm, and with great judgments;
and I will take you to Me for a people, and I will be to you a G-d; and ye shall know that I am the LORD your G-d, who brought you out from under the burdens of the Eyptians.
And I will bring you in unto the land...

Should this last verb, "bring you", be included as a term of redemption, thus requiring a 5th cup? Or is it not about redemption but the promise of the holy land made to Abraham, thus only 4 cups?

The question remained unanswered, and according to tradition, the prophet Elijah will resolve all disputes at the time of the coming of the Messiah.

We honor the dispute itself by pouring a special 5th cup, we call the Cup of Elijah. We welcome this prophet of peace to acknowledge that people can have honest disagreements without vilifying the other. And, as Malachi said, the hearts of parents and children will be turned to one another. What better place than the seder table?

Rabbi Sheldon Pennes is the Jack H. Skirball Director of Spiritual Life at the Los Angeles Jewish Home, where he oversees the many services and activities that educate, illuminate, and enrich the spiritual life and needs of those living in, or served by, the Home.

Labels: Chametz, Cup of Elijah, Elijah, For the Spirit, Gadol, Judaism, Malachi, Messiah, Parshah, Passover, Pennes, Pesach, Redemption, Religion, Seder, Sermon, Shabbat, Shabbat Hagadol, Word of Torah

Labels: For the Spirit, Judaism, Parah, Parshah, Passover, Pennes, Pesach, Shabbat, Torah, Word of Torah

In the Jewish tradition, life-cycle rituals such as becoming Bar or Bat Mitzvah serve as turnstiles, ushering us from youth to adulthood. It may also happen that ritual thrust us forward into the next stage of life, whether we are fully prepared or not.

There is, however, no specific time that ritual identifies to mark the passage from adult middle age into our elder years. Nor do we wake up one morning and say with certainty, “Today is the day I shall become old.” Instead, we recognize in gradual stages the process by which we come into our own as fully mature human beings.

For many of us, this time of life may be accompanied with physical or cognitive changes and challenges. Setbacks to the body can come at any time or age through accident or illness, whereas the full flowering of our awareness — our awakening to wisdom — is earned through years and years of experience and is never attained before its time.

The challenges of aging are not to be underestimated. The smoothly-running, well-trusted body that has been our companion faces an inevitable decline. It is not surprising that age-related depression is frequent among the elderly — we are not wrong to mourn our losses.

But what is truly the primary function of that beloved body? According to Jewish tradition, it is the vessel in which the soul dwells. The soul, or essence, of a human being is eternal. It lives on after the body's demise, not only in the memories and deeds of those it has left behind on the earthly plane, but in the great infinity that is its Creator.

Judaism teaches that ever since G-d breathed life into Adam, the original human being, it has taken three entities to create every person — the father, the mother, and G-d himself.

The divine spark that is the innermost essence of the human being's soul at birth cannot be extinguished by the years we record in this life. I suggest, rather, that our souls advance through the decades of life in a direction counter to the “age-related” decline of the human body.

Indeed, the eternal soul present at our births grows brighter as the years pass, gathering spiritual experience with every breath allotted to us in the course of our days.

If the soul ultimately returns to G-d, does it not make wonderful sense that its divine spark would be enlightened through worldly experience when it comes to dwell in its eternal home?

I sometimes picture our years of earthly life as a time in which the soul grows in brilliance until the physical self can no longer contain its radiance and it returns at last to the sheltering arms of the Divine Parent.

From this perspective, if we approach eldering as a time not of age-related physical decline but of age-related spiritual abundance we can find comfort, strength, and hope to assuage the assault of worldly years on the body.

With a creative outlook on the soul's advance through life, we shift our point of view from a focus on the body's decline to one of embracing the realization that we are all fueled by the ever-evolving power of the soul.

When we do so, we can all claim our elder years as a rich harvest and a comfort, partake of the bounty of the maturing spirit, and delight in the fruits that ripen for us even as our physical existence is challenged.

For, in the end, we all become pure spirit, sheltered under the wings of a wise and compassionate Creator, at rest in our true and everlasting home. And we, along with those whose lives we have touched, will be wiser for the journey.

Rabbi Rita Hertzberg leads synagogue services and provides spiritual guidance and pastoral care and counseling for the resident community of the Jewish Homes Eisenberg Village Campus. Among her well-attended spiritual education and outreach programs are her weekly Judaism class and the popular “Get Together with Rabbi Rita.”

Labels: Aging, Feature Articles, For the Spirit, Hertzberg, Judaism

The horrific earthquakes in Haiti and Chile and the suffering they inflicted have led to a remarkable outpouring of assistance from around the world. The scale of this humanitarian response has led many of us to reflect on the nature of giving.

Material help, like money or food for disaster victims or for the homeless in our own community, is just one of the ways we can, and do, give of ourselves. Some — in war and peace — give their life for others, for their country, or for an ideal.

But giving can also become a way of life. Each of us can choose to share our love or energy, time or advice at every opportunity. We can take a moment to listen or share a thought or a smile that makes someone feel understood, recognized, not alone.

A Culture of Giving

Jewish tradition has quite a lot to say about our personal responsibility to give. The Torah teaches us to protect the "widow and the orphan," which extends to all of the vulnerable in our society. And Judaism puts great emphasis on the concept of "tzedakah." This is a complicated word that draws much of its beauty and authority from its dual focus on doing what is right here and now, and acting in the pursuit of justice.

Thus, by acknowledging his or her cultural identity, a Jew is required to give, especially to relieve poverty and suffering. Tzedakah is not 'merely' an ideal. It is not something we choose to do when we happen to be feeling generous, but an obligation of our tradition and culture.

Giving of this type was exemplified by those many American Jews who worked and risked their lives in support of the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s. One woman involved in that struggle recalled that her actions were motivated by the principle from the Torah not to stand idly by when others are facing a difficult plight.

Giving as the Basis of the Community

In order to create a true community, must we each contribute in some way? Almost everyone I ask responds 'yes' to this question. But more than just enjoying the benefits of belonging to a community, people seem naturally motivated and energized to contribute, and are often creative about finding opportunities to do so.

For seniors who no are no longer independent, these opportunities are not as obvious as they once were. But by contributing our love and energy, time or advice, we can create the sense of community almost anywhere. A simple gesture of warmth, friendship, or conversation with others at a nursing station or attending an activity or a class — and actively participating at those events — is an act of giving that helps bring the community alive.

Meaning from Each and Every Day

I hear from many seniors who are experiencing a lack of meaning in their lives. Some feel that their time of giving in life — whether this was discovered through raising their family or having a successful career — is over, and with it went much of the meaning of their lives.

To those who wish to find meaning by giving to others, I suggest that the simple acts of kindness and generosity, or participation in community wherever and whenever the opportunity arises, are real and valuable moments of giving.

Indeed, every opportunity we take to contribute to the life and well-being of the community is a win-win. Others gain from what we give, and we ourselves gain immeasurably from the act of giving.

Rabbi Anthony Elman serves as Rabbi of the Jewish Home's Grancell Village Campus. His professional background is multifaceted, encompassing the fields of law, social work, and psychotherapy. Rabbi Elman has been with the Home since his ordination and graduation from the Academy for Jewish Religion-California in May 2007

Labels: Community, Elman, Feature Articles, For the Spirit, Giving, Judaism, Philanthropy, Tzedakah

At the Los Angeles Jewish Home, we understand that there is more to a person than body and mind. While we work hard to attend to the physical and intellectual needs of each person, we also know that in each person's spirit lies the source of their truest self.

Our beliefs define us. And attitudes about growing old, and especially about illness and suffering, are all affected by our belief structure. One person may feel suffering even in the absence of physical pain. Another may feel pain but not suffering.

How we handle life's difficulties, whether we see life as basically good or bad, is often a result — or an achievement — of our spiritual practice.

Spirituality and Aging

The rabbis believed that with aging comes wisdom. They believed that learning and experience over a lifetime leads to discernment and understanding. They also reminded us that we might live a lifetime before we discover what G-d wants from us or learn the meaning of our lives.

Consider two great biblical personalities — Abraham and Moses. Abraham first received God's call to leave for the land of Canaan when he was 75, and Moses heard the Lord's command at the burning bush when he was 80 years old! Fulfillment does not come to us until we are well prepared by life to receive it.

Still, many people fear growing old. Rather than welcoming the opportunity of each and every moment, they see advancing age as a time when physical abilities diminish, when they can no longer look after their own needs or stay in their own homes.

Psalms 71:9 best expresses the most basic fear of growing old when it says:

Do not cast me off in old age; when my
strength fails, do not abandon me.

But the anxieties of the moment must not blind us to the joy inherent in every day, or the immense achievement each one of our lives represents.

The Care of Our Elderly

Commandment number five of the Ten Commandments instructs us, saying:

Honor your father and your mother,
that your days may be lengthened...
Exodus, Chapter 20

The sages understood this commandment to mean that our responsibility — and the community's responsibility — is to ensure that our elderly are cared for. Indeed, if we practice this value, and teach it to succeeding generations, they will then care for us, thus extending our lives.

Enlightened care for our elderly is a function of our spiritual values. It respects the dignity of every individual no matter how old or infirm they are. It recognizes that our value as human beings is not determined by our productivity or by the size of our bank account, but by the fact that we were created in the image of G-d.

The Talmud teaches us that though we might be in the final stages of life — even in the process of dying — we are, each of us, as valuable, and invaluable, as any other living human being.

The Great Spiritual Questions

The Jewish Home is more than a place for Jewish elderly, for we serve people from diverse backgrounds and faiths. But our values are based in Jewish tradition and spirituality. Our beliefs about life and death and the dignity of every human life fuel our desire to care for our senior community with kindness and compassion.

We know that each soul must answer the great spiritual questions for him or herself. But here at the Jewish Home we seek to help seniors and their families find meaning and comfort from the wisdom and teachings, from the prayers, music and holy celebrations of our tradition.

Our spiritual and humanistic mission at the Los Angeles Jewish Home is to help ensure that no one in our community is overlooked or abandoned on life's long journey.

Rabbi Sheldon Pennes isthe Jack H. Skirball Director of Spiritual Life at the Los Angeles Jewish Home, where he oversees the many services and activities that educate, illuminate, and enrich the spiritual life and needs of those living in, or served by, the Home.

Labels: Aging, Feature Articles, For the Spirit, Judaism, Pennes