APRIL 14, 2018 ♦ 28 Nisan 5778

Shabbat Shalom! Join us this Sunday,  April 15 at 11 AM for our Yom HaShoah Program where adoptive parents will receive adoption packets and the perished children will be remembered in a solemn way.
    Our Laura Durant support groups has a slight change in April. Groups meet Mondays in the Temple Rotunda 10 AM. Here’s some dates to remember:
    4/16 In My Shoes
    4/23 Tell Us A Story
    4/30 In My Shoes
    The Annual Meeting of Congregants is scheduled for Thursday, April 26 at 7 PM at the Temple. Nominating Committee chair, Steve Bijou mailed to members the slate for 2018-19. If you haven’t received this information, please contact the office. Consider getting involved in our Jewish Community.
    Now, there’s another easy way to support Temple Sholom. Amazon will donate 0.5% of the price of your eligible purchases to the Temple when you shop Amazon Smile— smile.amazon.com
    Allow us to help you make difficult decisions during a period of great stress and grief. Temple Sholom along with Forest Lawn North can help you get prepared. Contact the office at (954) 942- 6410 for more information.
    We’re glad you’re here—Hear Cantor Hesh describe how Jewish law fits today’s society. Attend the Talmud Explorer’s group this week— Temple Sholom
    Anti-Semitism means a hatred of the Jewish na- tion, religion and its culture; through name calling, dis- crimination, and violence. This type of hatred has been around for as long as Jews have been wandering the continents. Jews were targeted and blamed for almost anything: Disease, hunger, war, unemployment...All these problems were blamed on the Jews. Even when one thinks that Anti-Semitism appears to be eased, his- torically, we know that at any given time the movement can rear its ugly head. Sometimes in the form of graffiti on a synagogue, name calling from a passer by...
    In Eastern Europe, this sort of behavior boiled into a mass scaled Holocaust. Many of its victims were yours and my ancestors.
  In 1959 the Israeli Knesset passed a law creating YOM HASHOAH, Holocaust Remembrance Day. To be observed on the 27th day of Nisan. A day to memorial- ize the six million Jewish neshamas/souls who perished by the hands of the Nazi’s between 1933-1945. This date coincides with the beginning of the heroic revolt against the Nazis by Jews in the Warsaw Ghetto in 1943.
    At Temple Sholom, those congregants who survived the Nazi atrocities have been growing older and passing on. Soon there will be no one left who lived through the Holocaust. So, it is even more important for the next generation along with their children and their children’s children to remember those who perished.
   We must keep the memory of the Holocaust alive in order to prevent such a catastrophe from happening again. NEVER AGAIN – NEVER FORGET!

From Shoah to:
    One week following Yom Hashoah (April 12th) is Yom HaAtzmaut (April 19th) As Jews, we are all survivors of histories sorrowful tragedies, direct or indirect.
   In 1948, out of the ashes of the Holocaust the State of Israel was born. After two thousand years, we have our own homeland, ERETZ YISRAEL. Many of those who came to Israel were survivors of the Holocaust.                     

Cantor Hesh

Refuah Shlemah—Malcolm Black, Ron Shagrin, Herb Smith, 
​​​​​​​Bernie & Jeanne Arnold

Shemini by Rabbi David Hartley Mark

            I am Tsilya, daughter of Yitzhar, wife of Aaron, the High Priest, mother of my Lost Boys, Nadav and Avihu. You will not read my name in the Great Scroll of the Torah-Teaching; no; my name has been lost in darkness, for I spent my days mourning for my boys, my sons, Nadav and Avihu, who died blamelessly, for their mistake before the Most High.

That day, the Great Day of Coronation and Dedication of the Altar through Sacrifice, had begun so favorably, so full of promise for the future—I was exhausted, as usual, but running all about, as I had to, caring for our children; we had many—not just the four boys, but our three daughters; you will never read their stories, either. .

 Girls do not count; why should they? They cannot learn the Laws of the Hidden One, He Who Dwells in Smoke and Thunder. We women-folk are more quietly learned; we know the ways of the Earth-Mother, the Shechinah, the Old Goddess of Grains, and Fruits, and the Cycles of Seasons. We are the ones who cook, and bake, and sew; we bring Life to Being. We are kept from the Learning of the Scrolls, but we have our own Hidden Knowledge, unknown to the Men, who believe they know everything—but they are fools, in so many ways! And now, their so-called wisdom has taken away my sons, my babies, from me….

As I said… it began in triumph. My boys, my boys—Nadav and Avihu—they were anxious, though eager to serve God; they were nervous. Their father Aaron had instructed them; Moses, their uncle, had drilled them, over and over and over: so many details! So many ingredients! This, to make up the Holy Incense; That, to measure out the Sacred Oil—and of course, how to examine the carcass of a Beast to judge it fit for a sacrifice. Only perfect cattle could be offered to the LORD GOD.

           I know my boys so well—and, naturally, they were overwhelmed. I had laid out all of their garments, so carefully, so lovingly, the night before. I was their mother! Who should know better than I, who raised them? But, so quick-and-hurried are the Ways of Men, and of Priests, and Levites, that they yanked at their robes, and pulled at their holy shirts (which might have torn, had I not thought beforehand, and used the extra-strong Thread)—

           They were out the door, before I could gather my three beautiful Daughters, and bring them along, too—

           In hopes that, perhaps the girls, too, might gain a fraction, just a small, tiny portion of the Glory thereunto pertaining to their Famous Brothers—I hurried them along, but they were hard to hurry; they ran along, finally, giggling and whispering—but then, I heard the silver horns of the Tent-of-Meeting sounding a sennet, and the earthier tones of the shofarote, the rams’ horns, summoning the People, in the distance. I heard, and saw, the assembled multitudes of the Israelite Tribes cheering—

But, as I finally, desperately, snatched up my youngest, my dark-eyed, sweet, four-year-old Ariela, who was laughing and turning her head away from her Mother’s kisses, I rushed for the door of the tent—

           And there, there he stood: my Husband, my Aaron. Where was his Splendor? His Golden Headband, with its Golden Words, “Holiness to the Lord”? Instead, he stood there, his royal, priestly robes bedraggled, torn, and trembling. He did not—look at me. I gave Ariela to her sister Noa, to hold—the Little One wailed a bit, upon seeing her father, distressed, and fell silent—and then, I  approached him, slowly; he looked—strange.

           “How is it with you, My Husband Aaron, My Lord?” I asked him.

           He stood, stock-still. I took him by his priestly shoulders and shook him:

           “Aaron! It is I, Tsilya, your Wife and Helpmeet-Partner, who speaks to you!”

           He blinked, and looked down at me—and rasped; a throaty noise came from his lips, as if he had been drained of all juice in his body; as if he had become a piece of wood himself, like those piney chips he burns atop the Altar-Flame. He wiped a sooty hand across his lips, opened his mouth, and—

           “Dead,” he croaked.

           “Dead cows? Dead goats?” I asked, “Why do you speak to me of sacrificial beasts?”

           “No. Dead—“ he rasped.

           I then realized. Slowly. But did not wish to.

           “Aaron,” I said, and the words stuck in my throat, “Aaron. Where are my boys? Where are Nadav and Avihu? And Elazar and Itamar, my younger sons?”

           “Nadav and Avihu,” he muttered, more to himself than to me, “are struck down—by the Hand of the Invisible One. They—“

           Each word of his echoed in my ears, and tore a hole into my Mother’s heart. Nadav? Avihu? Dead? But I just saw them leave; they were going—were going—

           “How? Why?” I said.

           “They made a mistake,” he said, “Strange fire. They did something wrong; I cannot tell. The smoke—the fire—the clouds, all black—I could not see. They disappeared into the darkness—there was a lightning-bolt, an explosion—and then, I saw: they were lying there. Gone—gone, gone….”

           “I saw it happen,” came a voice, a strong, deep one.

I looked, and saw Moses—my brother-in-law, the Spokesman for our G-d—his G-d, at least. No more mine.

           “It was harsh, but justified,” he said to me—Moses, that is—“Your boys were wrong, in what they did. They did not follow my—that is, God’s—instructions. When a priest wields the Sacred Fire, he must do so correctly, strictly according to Torah, or God knows what might happen. As it did. And they are dead. I am sorry, Tsilya, but the ways of God are just! Amen; Selah.”

           “God knows, and—God—is—just—” I croaked, legs suddenly numb, so that I slumped to the ground, there in the dust before my-husband-my-lord and his-brother-the- Spokesman, “God may know, but I—but I….” 

I lay there, and wept. The men left, as men do who know not what to say. My daughters gathered ‘round, and we cried together, for my poor, dead, Lost Boys….

 Why? What did they do? Tell me God what did they ever do to You? You Who claim to love us so….

           …And that is why I left the Camp, and stay in this tent, this Black Goatskin Tent, outside the Camp Boundaries. I mourn; I pile dust upon my head; no one comes to visit me, but—Bless Her! Miriam. She is my solace.

My brother Korach has also been by:

           “There is no Justice, and no Judge,” he whispers, through the closed tent door, and, “You will be avenged, my Shadow, my Sister, my Tsilya.”

           Miriam does not agree. She weeps without; I weep within. We mourn my Boys together.

           I still do not know exactly what they did wrong.

           They were so young. Why must the Young die because of the Instructions of the Old?

           O Shechinah, Earth-Goddess-Mother! Help me to return to my People; help me to believe, again….

Fellow member, Arnold Greenhouse was honored by the organization called "Honor Flight, South Florida" , along with many other veterans of WW2 and the Korean War.  Arnold's son Larry, escorted (called "Guardian") his dad on a flight to Washington DC, where they were taken to all of the memorials on the Mall and to Arlington National Cemetery to witness the changing of the guard ceremony. Arnold, thank you for your service and Mazel Tov on your honor and Todah Rabah to Liz Greenhouse for sharing your great news!