Gut yontiff.
So many questions preoccupy us on Yom Kippur, this day of moral inventory, of heshbon ha-nefesh, of taking stock of our souls. It's a serious business. We've got to grapple with questions of self-worth and mortality; of reflection and renewal; and, of course, of forgiveness, repentance... and hunger. Those questions are made all the more pungent and sharp as we start, and then can't stop, thinking about pizza, coffee, and water some time around 8 am tomorrow morning. Which is kind of the genius of the fast. Answering that most basic of Yom Kippur questions -- why on earth am I doing this again? -- can't help but bring us back to the values, traditions, flaws, and memories that would cause an otherwise sane, even accomplished, people to voluntarily starve themselves for 25 hours.
And so, during the Kol Nidre, as the shofar blows, as we stand for one Amidah after another, Yom Kippur begs the question: what choices brought us here today -- and how do they shape where we hope to go? Our religious traditions wrestle with predestination and moral consequence in framing that question. I remember struggling, as a kid, with the very notion of a Book of Life, of G-d wielding pen and paper and seal -- however metaphorically -- to bound the paths ahead of everyone I loved. To define, in the stark and pretty terrifying words of our sidurim, "Who shall live and who shall die? Who shall attain the measure of a man's days and who shall not?"
So- I have always found solace and joy in the people and places that are vibrant and alive with choice and intention, who defy inscription, who unquestionably forge their own paths and help me do the same. The downtown synagogue, this congregation, is for me one of those places. I literally wouldn't be here today without it. And by "here," I don't just mean the bimma at the Beth El Community Transformation Center. I mean in Detroit. Full stop.
In mid-2012 – weighing a job opportunity that I didn't really deserve, but that spoke to my sense of justice and purpose – I found myself visiting Detroit from Washington, DC, barely knowing a soul in town, and knowing even less about the Jewish community here. During my first real visit, I googled “synagogues in Detroit,” then almost immediately got lost in Capitol Park. I eventually found the Isaac Agree Downtown Synagogue -- its distinctive, multi-hued windows aglow in the midst of a good old-fashioned downpour --and summoned the courage to knock on the door until someone answered, because I couldn’t imagine moving somewhere without a vibrant urban Jewish community.
I vividly remember that first IADS Shabbat: being not just warmly welcomed by folks like Anna, Ryan, Susannah, Miriam, and Leor, but also helping schlep up dinner from the kitchen, being dragged to D’Mongos, and receiving an exhaustive itinerary for that first weekend in the city. I ended up returning to the downtown synagogue whenever I was in town during that interview process – and by the fall, the synagogue's vibrancy, warmth, welcome, and, let's be honest, unapologetic weirdness made all the difference in my choice to move to town. At the time, I was re-reading Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities. It grapples with many of the impossible questions provoked by Yom Kippur and ends with the suggestion that we cope with them in part by seeking and learning "to recognize who and what, in the midst of the inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space." I recognized the synagogue then, as I do now, as one of those places worth making endure. I wouldn't have moved to Detroit without it, and it has been an anchor for me here ever since.
Nearly seven years later, and now on the board of the synagogue, it's a joy to return the favor, and to welcome everyone here to our IADS community. I hope that any and all of you looking for a Jewish home in the city consider joining us -- not just for the high holidays, but for our Shabbats, our dance parties, and our incredibly varied programming. You are all so truly welcome. It is the kind of community that doesn't just open doors for a soaking stranger on Shabbat, that doesn't just commit itself to providing free services to everyone no matter what, but also kindles and sustains the light of Jewish life in this city. For those of you who are fasting, I wish you a meaningful one; and to everyone here, g'mar chatima tova.