3 min read
ByYoni Birnbaum, Yoni Birnbaum
Rabbi Yoni Birnbaum ponders what to say to the twice a year shul-goers
October 24, 2019 13:42It is a perennial problem for Rabbis. What to say to a congregation the majority of whom are unlikely to be seen inside the synagogue again until next year?
The phenomenon is so prevalent that it has spawned an entire genre of Jewish comedy, jokes which generally revolve around the presumed Jewish illiteracy of the infrequent shul visitor and the powerlessness of the rabbi to do anything about it. Thus, in one classic, a rabbi asks a congregant why he doesn’t see him in shul more often. “I’ll tell you the truth, Rabbi”, responds the man, “I would come more often. But I find it so monotonous. Every time I come, I hear exactly the same words, in the same tune. You know — Kol Nidrei.”
Jokes aside, however, one thing is clear. Saying anything along the lines of ‘why don’t you come more often’, is sure to backfire. They are here today. Making them feel guilty about not turning up the following week isn’t likely to be well received. Yet, the end of the High Holyday season must surely encourage some genuine rabbinic refection on this important question. So, for what it’s worth, here’s what I chose to say this year to the assembled masses in my own synagogue.
Towards the end of my pre-Yizkor sermon, pretty much peak-attendance time in my shul, I shared the true story of a man named Charles Plumb. Plumb was a fighter pilot in Vietnam who was shot down after 75 successful flying missions and subsequently spent 6 years in a Vietcong prison. After his release, he travelled the world speaking about his experiences. One day, he and his wife were sitting in a restaurant when a man approached him and greeted him like an old friend. “You’re Charles Plumb, aren’t you? You flew missions from the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk, were shot down over Vietnam and parachuted out of your plane!” Plumb asked the man who he was and how he knew all this information about him. The man responded with the words, “I packed your parachute that day. Looks like it worked!”
Plumb gratefully thanked the man, of course, appreciating that his actions had saved his life. Yet, later that night, he could not sleep. He kept thinking about how he must have passed this man countless times on the ship without even noticing him, because he was a fighter pilot and the man was just an ordinary sailor. He thought about the long hours the man must have spent carefully preparing and packing the parachutes that would save the lives of people he didn’t even know. From that day on, Charles Plumb resolved to always encourage his audiences to try and think about the people who pack their parachutes in life. Those who quietly help them get through the day. The bus drivers, the postmen, the shop assistants. And to always stop and thank them, rather than walking right past them.
I then turned to my congregation and said the following words.
As you leave shul this year, I’d like you to think about who in the community packs your parachute. I’d like you to think about the people who work quietly, day in and day out behind the scenes, so that on the day you need it most, be it in celebration of a family simcha, a bar or bat mitzvah, a wedding or, God forbid, at the other end of the lifecycle, your parachute is ready and waiting for you. The people who staff the community cares team, the dedicated security teams, those who prepare the Kiddush, the men who make up the minyan and those who organise all the High Holyday arrangements you have enjoyed today.
But I’d like you to do more than just thank those people who pack your parachute. I’d like you to commit today to playing your part in packing someone else’s parachute. It might be joining a care group or security team. It might be helping organise a social event. It might be helping out with the minyan occasionally. Whatever it is, please make it count. The community is there for you with your parachute when you need it. Please make sure that you pack one for someone else too.
I’ll let you be the judge of whether this was the right approach towards the twice-a-year Jew. But just in case you happen to be one of them yourself, thinking about who in your community will pack your parachute during the coming year can’t be a bad thing, can it?