Working to Paint a Brighter Future (Temple Beth Or)

In one of my favorite talmudic stories, the great Rabbi Eliezer, one of the most learned sages and revered teachers of his generation, is excommunicated from rabbinic society for obstinance. Save for a few minor exceptions, he spends the rest of his life distanced from his former peers, unable to learn from them—or teach. The Talmud (Sanhedrin 68a) recounts how, on his deathbed, he laments all the missed opportunities of the foregoing years. He calls out:

“Woe to you, my two arms, which are like two Torah scrolls that are rolled up, [never to be opened again.] Much Torah have I learned, and much have I taught: Much Torah have I learned, yet have I but skimmed from the knowledge of my teachers as much as a dog lapping from the sea! Much Torah have I taught, yet my disciples have only drawn from me as much as a paintbrush from the tip of a tube of paint!”

Rabbi Eliezer’s pain feels so real. His two arms—like two Torah scrolls—have been rolled up for so long, never opened up for anyone to “read.” His learning has been stunted, and he has only acquired the most superficial—almost meaningless!—amount of wisdom from an ocean of Torah that could have been at his fingertips. And as for his ability to teach, to reach his students? It has only accomplished as much as a paintbrush, scraping at the tiny opening of a tube of paint. His wisdom—the paint deep in the tube—remains hidden away; his impact as a teacher has been virtually nonexistent.

Especially right now, Rabbi Eliezer’s pain should be palpable. No, we have not been excommunicated; but, since mid-March, we have been unable to spend time together, to study, in-person. Services have all moved to Facebook Live and Zoom. Tanakh study has been online. Our Torah scrolls sit, literally, rolled up in our ark, which we cannot access. And Makor, of course…

Of course, Makor will not be reopening until the fall. With all Ohio schools remaining closed through the end of the school year, this might seem obvious, the least of anyone’s concerns. But it brings me great pain. Pain similar, I can only imagine, to what Rabbi Eliezer would have felt.

In a time like this, despair can come easily. Nevertheless, maybe, hope is more appropriate. In these horrendously difficult times, our community is finding brand new ways to come together. Who would have ever thought that Rabbi Chessin would be teaching Tanakh and Hebrew online to large classes, weekly? Who could have anticipated that we would have been able to transition a large part of our community engagement to take place by phone, video chat, and Facebook?

I am undoubtedly biased, but I’m especially proud of the students and teachers of Makor. We haven’t missed a single day of classes on account of the Coronavirus. Our school’s brilliant teachers quickly transitioned to our new Zoom format, rethinking their lesson plans and learning strategies. Our families, too, deserve bountiful credit: from day one, they have supported us as we’ve navigated a brand new way of bringing education to our children.

I’ve long felt that it was important that Judaism not be bounded by the walls of any synagogue. What could be more important than meeting people “where they are,” helping them to bring Judaism into their homes? Well, we’ve certainly found new ways to do that! No—this wasn’t plan A (or B…or C), but there’s something beautiful about the way that all of you have invited us into your homes and helped to demonstrate the radiant brilliance of our community. There’s nothing like opening up my laptop on Sunday mornings, sitting at home in my office, and seeing all of our kids’ and teachers’ smiling faces pop up on my computer screen. We might be living through a pandemic, but that doesn’t mean we’re not ready to learn.

All things considered, on second thought, perhaps we don’t have so much in common with Rabbi Eliezer. Now that I think about it, I’m starting to feel like we’re painting, if anything, an even more colorful Jewish future than ever before.

With wishes for health, healing, and learning,

Rabbi Ari Ballaban