First Fruits and the radical expression of Gratitude: OZS Installation Shabbat

I didn’t always know that I wanted to be a rabbi. Frankly, for most of my life, I didn’t know I could be a rabbi. But so much has changed, and I am so glad it has. 

My parents, Sandy and Ellen Abramowitz, taught me almost everything I know about what it means to be a rabbi. And perhaps that wasn’t their intent, but here we are. For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be like them, have wanted to follow in their footsteps, and live up to the kinds of leadership, both formal and informal, that they modeled for me. For as long as I can remember, I have hoped to be worthy of the examples they set. 

From a young age, I watched as my parents built the shul community in which my brother and I were raised. Hoping to create community that embraced young families and kids, passers-by, and those who struggled to find their place in any of the other synagogues in town, my parents, along with several equally dedicated friends and peers, created something that quickly came to feel like home. In the early years of this new community, we were without a building of our own. And so we rented space from a local elementary school. We lived directly across the street from this school, and so our home soon became an extension of our synagogue. The door always open, especially on Shabbat and holidays; the Torah scrolls lived on our dining room table during the week; anyone in need of a place to stay always welcome. The line between shul and home, blurred. The line between sacred and profane almost invisible to discern.

My mom, Ellen, was a geriatric nurse, and since this was an orthodox community, she rigged up a partition, a mechitza, from pilfered IV poles and bedding from work. I have to believe that G-d overlooked this minor act of thievery, this act of chutzpah, and could instead see it for what it was: an unbelievable act of love and dedication to a community that was quickly coming together, growing up out of the ground, burgeoning into a home for so many in the Skokie community. 

And I took all of this for granted. And I realize now, as an adult, just what a gift that was. The kind of leadership and commitment that my parents modeled for me was certainly remarkable, but it was remarkable precisely because it seemed so ordinary, so automatic, so easy. I watched my parents build their own lives around the growth of this sacred community, and I knew that I wanted to be just like them. I wanted to do what they did: build community, grow in learning and relationship with other people; be open to all the ways that community changes, shifts, and transforms over time.

And the fruits of those early labors endure. Young Israel of Skokie, is a thriving, warm, heimish, shul to this day. The community finally has a beautiful building of their own, and my parents’ generation has handed the reins of leadership over to the next generation. Young Israel of Skokie will always be my first home, and ironically, will always be the place where I first learned how to be a rabbi. 

This week’s Torah portion, Ki Tavo, opens with the commandment to bring the first fruits of the land as sacrifice, or dedication to the Temple:

וְהָיָה כִּי־תָבוֹא אֶל־הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר יְהֹוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ נֹתֵן לְךָ נַחֲלָה וִירִשְׁתָּהּ וְיָשַׁבְתָּ בָּהּ׃ וְלָקַחְתָּ מֵרֵאשִׁית  כל־פְּרִי הָאֲדָמָה אֲשֶׁר תָּבִיא מֵאַרְצְךָ אֲשֶׁר יְהֹוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ נֹתֵן לָךְ וְשַׂמְתָּ בַטֶּנֶא וְהָלַכְתָּ אֶל־הַמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחַר יְהֹוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ לְשַׁכֵּן שְׁמוֹ שָׁם׃

When you enter the land that your God is giving you as a heritage, and you possess it and settle in it, you shall take some of every first fruit of the soil, which you harvest from the land that your God is giving you, put it in a basket and go to the place where your God will choose to establish the divine name.

One of the first things the Israelites are commanded to do when they finally rest in the land, is to bring the first fruits of their harvest as a sacrifice, a radical acknowledgement of gratitude, and commitment to G-d. The commentaries are fairly consistent in defining precisely which fruits we are talking about– and the consensus is that these refer to the seven special species that are native to the Land of Israel. And while the scope of this mitzvah is potentially quite limited, the act itself requires not just a grand gesture of generosity, but an immense faith that more will grow, that your land will continue to give its life to you. 

This idea reminds me a lot of Shemitah, the sabbatical year, during which we are commanded to let the earth lay fallow. Loans are forgiven, indentured servants go free. The land itself reverts to its original owner. And still, in the face of so much unpredictability, we are commanded to give something away. To let those essential things go, and trust that we will make it through that seventh year. 

As so much of the book of Deuteronomy does, Parshat Ki Tavo reminds us of the magnitude of this major transition that the Israelites are preparing for. We are preparing to take these important first steps: across the Jordan, into the Land of Israel, into a new chapter of our collective and individual lives. And when we arrive, we gather up our first fruits, and give them back to G-d.

This has been a tremendous year of firsts. My first job out of rabbinical school. My first pulpit. My first pregnancy, our first child. Next week, we will celebrate our first High Holiday season back in person in over two (very long) years. So many firsts to celebrate. So much learning, and so much growth. OZS was the first synagogue I interviewed with during the search process, and in that short 45 minute conversation over Zoom in February 2021, I knew almost immediately that OZS was my first choice– the synagogue that I hoped most would hire me, that Joseph and I both hoped we would raise our family in, the shul that we wanted to make home. 

In hiring me, in giving me the privilege to serve as your spiritual leader, you have given me a tremendous gift. And I feel that I have been the beneficiary of so many of your first fruits. In me, you have taken an incredible leap of faith, and you’ve all put your trust in me. From day one, you have accepted all of the firsts that I bring to this role– my first fruits, my expressions of gratitude and commitment. And for that, I am so grateful. 

In a million wonderful ways, OZS is a lot like the shul I grew up in in Skokie. It’s small, warm, heimish. Each of you has embraced Joseph, and Elisheva and me in ways big and small, and every day we reflect on how lucky we are to have found our way to you. Skokie and Lexington are different places on different points on the map, but coming to OZS has always felt like coming home. 

For so many years, becoming a rabbi, let alone the leader of a community, felt beyond reach, out of the question, totally impossible. I first learned how to be a rabbi in a small orthodox community in Skokie. And I feel so incredibly blessed to have the opportunity to continue that learning here, in our new home. Thank you for giving me the chance to jump in, feet-first, like Nachshon; to dive into this holy work together. May we continue to be blessed with firsts– as this wonderful new beginning continues to unfold. 

Thank you for it all. 

Shabbat Shalom!