Rabbi Cooper's Letters

December 10, 2020 / 24 Kislev 5781

Dear Friends,

The other night, I watched a PBS documentary from a series entitled “Reframing America”.  This episode highlighted Jews and their relationships to their respective communities.  The communities presented were small, located in places you may have heard of but, certainly, never visited. Most of the stories revealed the struggles of the Jewish Communities in these small cities, as they face problems similar to those in larger cities:  declining membership, and the inability to attract and recruit young families to move to, and reside in cities like Latrobe, PA, Bozeman or Butte, Montana.

Each city, however, had one or two spark plugs, individuals who had the energy, the commitment, and the knowledge, both Jewish and institutional, to provide guidance, leadership, and enthusiasm to keep things going.  But we saw, as well, that slowly but steadily, demographics and attrition would have their ways.  In Latrobe, it was no longer possible to gather ten members for a minyan.  In Butte, the last Jewish child in the city celebrated becoming a Bat Mitzvah.  The trajectory of these, and other communities, is clear.

The fact that small communities are dying in many places in this country, is unfortunate and sad.  But this reality comes as no surprise to viewers of the film, nor to the residents of these communities.  Since their “heydays” in the 50s, these communities have been in decline.  The end point, sooner or later, would arrive.  That is the story of Anatevka, the city in which Tevya lives, in “Fidler on the Roof”.  And this will be the story which will be told about each of these communities.  So, why wait if the future is known?  Why not pick up, leave, and migrate to a larger city where there is a larger and thriving Jewish Community? 

In a small Jewish Community, even as they struggle to assemble a minyan of ten, each member has a sense of personal connection with the synagogue, affection for others in the community, and dogged determination to keep it going. As sad as they are to be speaking of closing their doors, the members of each synagogue were doing everything they could to stay open, just one more year, month, or day.  Why did they stay?  Simply put, they stay to remind themselves and us that being Jewish means keeping  the flame alive.

A couple living in Los Angeles is filmed as they call the wife’s mother, to break the news to her regarding their impending move.  When the daughter says, “We’re moving to Alabama”, the mother is inconsolable.  How could they move from LA to Alabama?  And not just Alabama.  They are moving to Dothan, Alabama, just about as removed from a thriving Jewish Community as one can get!  Right?  Located midway between Montgomery and Tallahassee, Dothan is a quaint town, as far away, culturally, from LA as one could get. Why then did this couple go to Dothan?  Of course, jobs and costs of living are far below those one finds in LA, but they chose Dothan for the Jewish Community. 

A small group of less than 100 families comprises the Jewish Community.  But, when they were in the looking stage, the family was embraced as they arrived at the airport.  They were invited into peoples’ homes and taken to the synagogue to meet the rabbi.  And the LA family knew immediately that this place was for them.

Tonight is the first night of Hanukkah.  The miracle of this Holiday is that, when the Maccabees were ready to light the lights in the Temple, they found only one cruse of oil, enough oil for one day. Yet, the candles remained lit for eight days.  Hence, the miraculous part of the holiday was seven, not eight days.  And, if that is correct, why celebrate eight days rather than seven?

In a powerful essay about Hanukkah, Rabbi David Hartman, z”l, speaks of the first day of Chanukkah as being a celebration of something different from the seven-day miracle:

The miracle of the first day was expressed in the community’s willingness to light a small cruse of oil without reasonable assurance that their efforts would be sufficient to complete the rededication of the Temple.  The “miracle” of Jewish spiritual survival throughout history…may best be described by our people’s  strength to live without guarantees of success and to focus on how to begin  a process without knowledge of how it would end.

Jewish life in small towns teach us this Hanukkah lesson.  From small towns, whose futures and survival are threatened, they continue to keep the lights going as long as possible.  They try to preserve hope and optimism by fighting, against all odds, despite knowing the eventual outcome, to keep Jewish Life alive. 

But the couple who moved to Alabama understood something else.  While living in LA, with all of the Jewish opportunities available, with dozens of choices of synagogues to join, with an over-abundance of rabbis and learning opportunities, they could find no way in.  They found that the larger city had facilities, numbers, and options for affiliation. But they wanted something more.  They wanted to be part of a small group, where their presence made a difference.  They wanted to feel that others were glad that there would be another set of hands to do the lifting, another source of support for Jewish Life in the city.  That LA/AL family wanted to help to preserve the light, they wanted to be a part of a synagogue where they could contribute, they wanted to be part of keeping a small flame alive.  They do not know if that small community might lose its critical mass of members, but they are committed to helping that flame stay around at least one more generation.

Tonight, as we light the first flame, we should think about Latrobe, PA, Montana, and Alabama.  We should think of those who have the courage to work each day to keep the flame going without assuming someone else will do it.  A small community exists only by virtue of each person helping to hold the light.  And, despite the outer trappings and numbers of members in our community, I believe that we cannot overlook the lesson of the first candle.  We must each help to keep the lights burning here. For, like the Maccabees who fought for Jewish Life, in a world which is, once again, hostile toward us, we must re-double our efforts to keep the flame going.  And if they can do it in Alabama, we can do it in Wynnewood. Throughout the holiday, we will be lighting the candles outdoors at our synagogue (with masks and socially distanced). You are invited to join us in lighting the flames.

I wish for you a Chag Urim Sameach:  A lovely and luminous Holiday.

Rabbi Neil S. Cooper