Rabbi Eric Rosin
Temple Beth-El, Richmond , Virginia
July 24, 2004

Packing to move is, at the same time, a profoundly stressful and an almost therapeutic exercise. George Carlin has a famous comedy routine about the way that we accumulate stuff. He ranted that our whole lives are dedicated to the enterprise of accumulating stuff, more stuff, and better stuff and that the reason that we usually move is that eventually we accumulate so much stuff that we need a bigger place to store it all.

I have a very large apartment for a single person with a lot of closets and a lot of nooks, crannies and corners that can hide stuff, so I didn't think that I had that much stuff. I was wrong. I didn't think that I was materialistic or that I cared about my stuff. I was wrong about that too. I am amazed to discover that I have five different stereos between my home and my office. I am amazed that, now that I am packing up, I don't want to discard any of them. I am surprised to find that I have a shelf full of hats, and that even though I rarely wear hats, all of them are getting packed.

As I was going through boxes which I had not unpacked from my last move, I was dismayed to discover a broken phone and a nonfunctional walkman in a box along with a collection of gag gifts from a birthday party that took place at least six years ago, all of which had weathered two previous moves. At least that stuff I can part with.

And clothes. I have adopted the rule of thumb that if an article of clothing has not been on my body since my move from Los Angeles , I will probably not mourn its loss in Pennsylvania . Nevertheless, I am taking enough clothes with me to West Chester to open up my own preppy rabbinic outlet store.

And finally, more shocking than the amount of stuff that defines my life is the unbelievable amount of paper that I will be moving. Even though I have already taken the painful steps of throwing away all of my back issues of The New Yorker - even though I have been able to sort of out most of the junk mail that had become lodged in the piles in my study and on top of the washing machine, even though, I have thrown away the reams of paper and literature that I collected during my job search, and even though the vast majority of my law school books and notes were jettisoned years ago, I will be paying to ship boxes and boxes of books, notes, papers, and cards,

Finding time to go through all of my belongings while still attending to my duties here has been stressful, and I've only been semi successful at doing it, but as I mentioned before, the process has also been somewhat therapeutic. It has made me face the fact that I am actually leaving.

Transitions are never easy. Moving is not easy. Occasionally in the past, I've been happy to move. Paradoxically, I count myself lucky that more often than not, leaving has been a difficult and sentimental process. I am gratified that leaving Richmond will be so difficult because that shows how much I have grown here, how much I have enjoyed living in these physically beautiful surroundings, and how deep the relationships are that I have formed here.

While packing up my office, I have assembled a binder that includes all of my sermons. I have collected all of charges that I have given at weddings and at B'nai Mitzvah. I have assembled all of the eulogies that I have delivered and I have looked through all of the personal cards and letters that I have received from congregants over the past two years. It's hard to believe that it has only been two years.

And during the entire time that I have been preparing to pack, and thinking about packing and starting to pack and during the next few days when I will be very busy packing, I have been wondering to myself, what do I want to say on this last Shabbat? How can I express my gratitude to this congregation for your friendship, for your thirst for Torah, for the appreciation and warmth and hospitality that you have shown me? What should I say during my last sermon on this bimah as your assistant rabbi?

Well, as always, God has come through for me. This week when I opened to the Torah portion, it was Devarim, the first Parsha in the Book of Deuteronomy. The name Deuteronomy is derived from Greek and it means, the second telling. In essence, Deuteronomy contains the farewell addresses of Moshe Rabbeinu, Moses, the prophet and the archetypal role model for anyone who seeks to lead or teach in the Jewish world.

I don't want to push the comparison between myself and Moshe too far. In our liturgy, when we conclude our Ma'ariv services with Yigdal, we acknowledge that there will never be another prophet like Moshe. God spoke directly to Moshe. Moshe led the Jewish people out of Egypt , to Mount Sinai and to the very edge of the Land of Israel . I can make none of these claims.

Additionally, Moshe was almost certainly taller than I am and was probably never late to the morning minyan.

Nevertheless, there are certain parallels that can be loosely drawn between our circumstances, and in his situation, when he was to be parted from the community that he had led; Moshe took the opportunity to retell the journey that he had taken with the Jewish people from his own, unique, perspective. He went on at great length and with great detail, filling thirty chapters of the book of Devarim with three separate speeches. Presumably, the people of Israel listened attentively to every word. Inspired, I too, will take this opportunity to share with you my perceptions of our last two years together, although I will endeavor to be a little more concise.

I have often said that one of the greatest privileges of being a rabbi is the opportunity to perform weddings. In addition to all of the intuitively wonderful things about participating in a wedding, there is the experiential and emotional rush of standing under the chupah with the hatan and the callah, the groom and the bride, and being physically located at the focal point of both the love between the bride and groom and also the love for the bride and groom that is being projected forward by everyone who is in attendance. The bride and the groom get to see their love for each other, but they have their backs to everyone who has come to be with them. The people who have come to the celebration can sense the sanctity of what is happening, but they can't see the way that the couple looks at each other. Only the rabbi gets to face both the bride and groom and also the rest of people assembled and fully realizes the degree of kedusha present.

And I think that that is a fair metaphor for what it is like to be a pulpit rabbi. There is now way to fully express what it feels like to be at the focal point of this sacred community. I know that the all of the parents and grand parents and aunts and uncles who attend Tot Shabbat, or the family Shabbat services or the Consecration, the B'nai Mitzvah or the Confirmation recognize all how special it is to see the children enter into our community. Only the rabbi gets to see all of that.

Over the past two years, I have seen infants graduate into tot Shabbat, I have seen third graders lead the entire service. I have watched the children who come to the family service lead the entire service and give life to some of my most ambitious dramatic creations. I have learned with B'nai Mitzvah, and by that I mean that I have tried to teach them and frequently they have taught me. I have taught the confirmation class, and by that I mean that I have tried to teach them and luckily I have emerged relatively uninjured.

I do not want to name names, because I do not want to omit names, but right now my head is full of individual experiences with individual children. Getting to know the children and young adults in this community has been an absolute joy. There is no way to think about my work with them and to be pessimistic about the future of this community. I hope that I will continue to stay in close enough touch to hear about how all of them grow up and about all of the simchas to come.

If my work with the religious school students had been the sum total of my last two years, dayenu, it would have been enough, but it was only one part of what I have been privileged to witness and experience over the past two years. In addition to the children, it has been inspiration to see all of the work done by the sisterhood, the school committee and the Men's Club. The degree of care, effort and expertise that goes into the volunteer organizations that support this synagogue is incredible. There were nights when I left a productive school committee meeting, exhausted after a long day and the Men's Club volunteers were still working to wire the school for the internet and there were Friday mornings when I was finishing a sermon . . . and Friday mornings when I was starting a sermon . . . and I would wander down to the social hall to a flurry of mothers preparing the trays and tables for that weekend's Simcha. (These cooperative onegs and kiddushes always struck me as the Jewish version of barn raisings. The Amish gather with hammers and nails, we gather with brownies and ruglach. And the rabbi not only gets to witness this, but also to snag a few cookies.)

And in addition to the religious school students, the Men's Club, the Sisterhood and the school committee, I have seen the Tikkun Olam committee extend hospitality to the homeless for one week of caritas each year and also collect funds and goods, and disseminate information to benefit the Jewish community in Cuba . I have heard truly moving and inspirational sermons from our laity during the summer months and on special shabbatot during the year. I have watched the genesis and evolution of our young adults group. I have attended the Beth-El auction and I was even auctioned off.

Only the rabbi gets to see all of this and only the rabbi gets to begin each Monday with the morning minyanaires, around lunch time to touch base with the Bingo volunteers, some of whom have the longest histories with this synagogue and are among the most dedicated volunteers we have. Monday afternoon, the rabbi gets to catch up with the afternoon minyan crowd and Monday night, to learn with the Basic Judaism students and to watch their awareness of Judaism blossom over the course of the year.

It has been my privilege to see all of the contributions that each one of you brings to this community. Watching the work that the board and leadership devote to this synagogue and witnessing as individuals have stepped forward to offer their expertise and their time to create the sacred context in which we have worked and lived together, these things have sustained and inspired me for the duration of my time here in Richmond.

And, as many simchas and events and meetings as I have seen here in the synagogue and at the school on Parham road, you have also invited me into your homes where I have gotten to see young children greet Shabbat with the song from Tot Shabbat and where we have grown to be friends as well as clergy and congregants.

Again, I can't begin naming names because there is no appropriate place to stop, but when I think of any specific aspect of this community, in my mind's eye, I see the faces of individuals and I remember conversations and interactions that we have had. I think of the life cycle events we have shared, and the happy and sad events we have experienced together. This has been the view from my pulpit. I have had the privilege of being able to appreciate the scope of all of the wonderful souls who direct their abilities, their concerns, their labor and their resources to this institution. I reflect this back to you this morning in the hope that you will be able take the kind of pride in this community that I have developed over the past two years.

But, turning back to this week's parsha, the parting between Moshe and the Jewish people was particularly one-sided. Moshe was near the end of his life, but the people of Israel continued on their journey. Moshe parted ways with his people before they entered the Land of Israel , but he was secure in his knowledge that they would reach their destination. So too, I leave you before I have been able to achieve some of my goals but I leave secure that you will continue your journey and continue to grow and evolve into an even greater community than the one that I have come to know.

Rabbi Creditor will continue to lead you through the wonder and joy and community that can be achieved through the participation in a Conservative Jewish community. Rabbi Covel will continue to teach and guide and nurture the Jewish lives of your children. And I am sure that all of you will continue to turn your souls towards this community, that the leadership will continue to honor the sentiments and recognize the talents that people bring into this space, that you will continue to strive to satisfy your thirst for Judaic knowledge and to sanctify this sanctuary with your weddings, your baby namings, your b'nai mitzvah and your Shabbat and holiday davening, that you will continue to support each other and other members of our Jewish and non-Jewish communities who need our support, and I am sure that this community will reach its goals and its sacred potential and you will continue to make me very proud of the time that I have spent here.

And so, as I leave Temple Beth-El to continue on its holy journey, I will pause to thank Rabbi Creditor for his guidance and his friendship, and Cantor Cohen for his unflagging support, and I will wish you all lives filled with happiness and health and, as Helen Zimm says, nothing but simchas, I wish you also an awareness of God's presence in good times and bad. And more precious than any of the stuff that I will take with me, I take the experience of living at the locus of such holiness and with the privilege of becoming acquainted with all of you.

Shabbat Shalom and stay in touch.