Spring Cleaning Items for Passover: Gossip and Privacy

The season of Pesach (Passover), often called The Feast of Freedom, provides an opportunity for seeking out and removing any tangible and spiritual burdens we may be carrying.


The Torah instructs us that every year we shall eat only unleavened bread and re-tell or re-enact the hasty departure of the Hebrew people from enslavement by Pharaoh in Egypt at Pesach time. We observe this commandment by removing ‘fluff’, or chametz in our homes; things that have fermented or leavened beyond their simple state over the year, as a way of creating a physical memory of how to pare down to simplicity and basics. We can then become less burdened and more receptive to the greatness of simplicity, enjoy the grandeur of Nature, and each other.

Let’s look at two related areas of chametz for which most of us could use a good Pesach Spring Cleaning: Gossip and Privacy.


First of all, what is Gossip? Is it merely idle conversation to pass the time with friends? Or do we use gossip as a transaction currency? For example, currying favor by suggesting we have some ‘material’ about a boss at work, or about a neighbor. Some of us want to attract a circle of friends through gossip that defines who is ‘in’ and who is ‘out’.

This doesn’t read as being very nice, does it? Well, research about social intelligence bears out the fact that we use gossip as a social transaction currency. Gossip can be a lucrative commodity, and we all exchange that commodity as gossip currency at times. Some of us are more strategic about this than others, but nonetheless we all do it.

Judaism recognizes that we gossip and also the seriousness of harm done by gossip. Three types of gossip are defined in our texts: Slander–LaShon HaRa, literally translates as ‘the evil tongue’; Lying–Motzi Shem Ra; and Tale Bearing–Rekhilut.

Slander does not involve lying, it is the damage to the person’s reputation that is the harm done by sharing truth inappropriately. Slander means making a true yet derogatory statement about another person. An unjustified derogatory remark about another person, the evil tongue wagging, even though it is the truth, is forbidden.

Lying about somebody, making false statements about them, is called defamation of character (Motzi Shem Ra) and the harm done is self-evident.


Rekhilut (Tale Bearing) is like a peddler (Rokhel) buying from one person and selling to another. The tale peddler hears a remark, wants to profit from it, and then goes to tell the person spoken of what was said about them; this leads to harm done via the conflict and controversy that arises, with some anticipated benefit for the gossip peddler who spread the tale.

What is the difference between Slander and Tale-Bearing? Slander is defined as making a derogatory but true remark about somebody, while tale-bearing means going to the person who was spoken of and reporting this fact to him, saying, “So-and-so said such-and-such about you.”

In the Jewish perspective, gossip raises a whole class of ethical and moral concerns because the root intention of gossip is to harm a reputation. In the Torah, one’s reputation is their name, and if their name is tarnished or destroyed, so is that person or clan. For example, when Moses speaks to the burning bush he asks God, “What name shall I give?” He doesn’t ask God “what powers or weapons should I say I have”, or “what punishment shall I tell them I’ll bring”. Moses asks “whose name shall I give for who sent me?” And God answers, “Yi’h’yeh asher Yi’h’yeh” I Am that I Am. God’s Name=Reputation is God’s Power. Although Pharaoh believed his magicians were as powerful as Moses’ God, in the end God’s reputation as powerful was upheld at the closing of the Sea of Reeds upon Pharaoh’s army.

We each have our own unique reputation and name. Next to murder, the most destructive thing we can do to someone is destroy their name. Think about this. It is said that if what you spread is true, it’s gossip: if what you spread is false it is like murder. Just a little misinformation can sully forever how a person is perceived by others. Rumors or private matters spread in the public domain ruin businesses and politicians.

Publicizing what is private is powerful medicine. Navigating in close quarters requires maintaining a delicate balance between being who we know we are and appearing to be what others want us to be.

Gossip invades privacy. The Jewish model for building healthy communities that preserve privacy comes from the story of Balaam, who blessed the Israelites, rather than cursing them as Balak had ordered him to do, in Num 24:2-5:

How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, thy dwellings, O Israel!


The Gemara, Talmudic commentary (Bava Batra 60a), gives Rabbi Yochanan’s explanation:

What was it that Balaam saw that so inspired him? He saw that the entrances of their tents were not aligned with each other, ensuring that each family enjoyed a measure of privacy. And he said: If this is the case, these people are worthy of having the Divine Presence rest on them.

The Talmud Oral Law, in Bava Batra II, tells us how this passage of Torah Written Law is applied to a situation in which privacy is violated by poor alignment of adjacent homes:

If the damage occurs immediately, or it begins to take effect immediately and its effects gradually increase, it is considered as though he has shot his neighbor with his arrows, and the neighbor can object to his activity. This applies to damage that is caused by one’s actions to the neighbor’s property, e.g., his walls, pit, and various plantings on his property, as well as damage that is caused by noise or foul odors.

In this Blog post about cleaning out our inner and outer lives for Pesach we learn that gossip invades privacy and murders the victim’s reputation; and invading a neighbor’s privacy with loud music is like shooting that neighbor with arrows.

Do we need to seek out gossip or can we simply go next door and ask how our neighbor is doing? do we need to have our radio or TV on mega speakers, or can we tone down our technology and enjoy the simple beauty of birdsong in our yards?

Here are a range of Passover Spring Cleaning tips, from physical to spiritual actions, to help with defining and removing the leavening that burdens:

*Make time to review what you own or possess. Compare that list to what you really need. Find ways to let go of the chametz; give things to charity, apologize to a neighbor. It’s like cleaning the caches in your computer, which also runs better when the caches are cleaned regularly.

*Jewish Prayer: Central to liturgy is the Amidah silent devotion, said three times a day. At its close, is this meditation about gossip: הש”ם נצור השוני

…Guard my tongue from evil and my lips from speaking bitterness; protect my soul from those who would slander me; I shall present myself, humble as dust. Frustrate the evil plots of others upon me; may their plots be as dust, protect me from them; Do this for the sake of Your Name; of Your Eternalness; of Your Holiness; of Your Torah, in order that we may be delivered to Your Embrace…

*Watch your own courtyard and enter others’ with respect. If they let you know that your radio or TV is too loud, turn it down; don’t continue to ‘shoot them with arrows’ with your TV. You might like the sounds of nature in your yard, too.

*Curiosity. This is nature’s best remedy for relationships. If you are not sure who someone is, ask them. If they seem different than you, engage them with friendly questions though your genuine and natural curiosity rather than ask someone else and rely upon hearsay or gossip that may or may not be true.

Feel motivated to dig in and clean? That is great! Me too.

May we all grow and thrive through knowing one another.


Shabbat Shirah: drama, drums and dancing*


“And Miriam the Prophetess, Aharon’s sister, took the drum in her hand; and all the women went forth after her, with drumming and dancing” 

from the ‘Song of the Sea’, Ex. 15:20

Torah is filled with mechanisms for bringing us closer to God through sacred words and music. Shabbat Shirah, which is on January 27th this year, is a special Shabbat for focusing on the power of music in celebration and with re-creating sacred moments.

Here is what the Song in Ex. 15:1-21 looks like in a Torah scroll; notice especially the unusual layout and design:

We can tell from this special text arrangement that this is a song rather than prose.

The Song of the Sea can be read, chanted or sung. For verses 1-3, there is a tune that is not the regular Torah trope; it is a bittersweet musical mode, designed to reflect the gravity of receiving redemption from Egypt at a high cost to the Egyptians.

This bittersweet melody brings up a personal memory for me; that of a moment in the Jewish weekday service.

It is a moment of reliving the revelry and the sadness of the scene at the Sea of Reeds. The sacred sound that comes to me is of the voices of the staff and students of the Jewish Theological Seminary (JTS) Cantorial School in New York, where I studied Sacred Music.

Every Wednesday morning our ‘mifgash and minyan’ service was the place where we Cantorial students and staff met, and prayed, in our own space. I recorded precious moments of sacred sound, of these klei kodesh (holy vessels), singing as a minyan ‘off pulpit’ during one of our services:


Is there a melody, or song, or nign (chant sans words) that transports you, too, into a sacred space?

Therein is the power of music and song; it creates sacred time and space, whether in a house of worship or while out running errands.

energy gateways.com

Sometimes in my work as a Spiritual Care Chaplain, I might hum this melody or maybe another nign, to transport myself into a prayerful or grounding mode between seeing patients, on my way to meetings, or during my breaks. These chants are a simple, portable, and direct conduit from everyday busy-ness to a different dimension–of sacred place.

Now as we come to the end of the Torah’s passage of the Song of the Sea, the Torah gives us another treat.

We read how it was the women who sang the closing lines of the Song. Led by Miriam the Prophetess, the Israelite women all take up drums and dance, singing the closing words of the song.


Torah tells us Miriam was a Prophetess, in fact that is her name, מרים הנביאה Miriam haNevi’ah in 15:20, Miriam the Prophetess; then after that she is called אחות אהרון Aharon’s sister. Her relationship to Moses is not mentioned here.

Torah describes how Miriam picked up a drum, and the next thing, all the women do the same; and following after her, drumming and dancing, they sing the words that close the Song of the Reed Sea in 15:21.


The next musical memory of the Song of the Sea: from my year at JTS, at Commencement.

Truth be told, I was not in the Cantorial School to become a pulpit Cantor, but to learn the traditional music of the Jews so that I could adapt it to musical instruments.

Nonetheless, they made me learn to sing! and there I was, with lots of coaching and mentoring, an Alto in the JTS choir, singing my heart out alongside some of the world’s finest Cantors.

At Commencement, the newly ordained and invested rabbis and cantors queued up on the marble stairs inside the great JTS inner atrium for a group photo. Someone started a nign from the Song of the Sea, ‘Ozi v’zimrat Ya’, from 15:2.

Here is the melody, sung in 2015 in Jerusalem at a gathering of Women of the Wall:


My next encounter with the Song of the Reed Sea

My summer with JTS included a Chaplaincy Internship with the VA Hospital in Brooklyn. Having a Middle-Aged–Jewish–Woman, as a VA Chaplain was a stretch for some of my male peers and teaching supervisor! But when the VA Staff Chaplains heard I was a Musician, they snapped me up, to facilitate a weekly ‘Music and Spirituality’ group for the VA’s new Substance Abuse Rehab program.

The participants in this program were amazing. All of them, except one Jewish man, were Black or Hispanic; the Jewish Veteran sadly had lost his connection to Judaism over the years. Most of the dozen men were Veterans from Vietnam, fifty year ago. Somehow they survived long enough to make their way to this VA Hospital and this rehab program. They had been coping and using drugs for 50 years.

My first session with the guys, after having been abandoned to sink or swim by the staff Chaplains, began with my playing a powerful oboe solo piece, Britten’s ‘Pan’:



The piercing, plaintive sounds told them I knew the territory. After breaking the ice, they talked—a lot. Each week I tried something different: they never knew what the little Chaplain Lady was going to do next!

It became time for me to put off my fear of singing for them. Mulling over what I could pull off, I realized that the best thing was to lead what I know; always a good thing for an artist. I chose two nigunim and one of them was ‘Ozi’, the same tune as with the Women of the Wall.

I chose these Hebrew nigunim rather than a familiar song in English. I did not want the words to interfere, I wanted them to sing with their own heartsong-voices.

I put the transliterated words on the blackboard and sang it once for them, then invited them to join me:

Ozi vezimrat yah; vayehi-li lishu’ah

First a baritone sang along, then a couple more hesitant voices. The baritone got stronger and shortly we were all singing, as if a mighty locomotive had slowly chugged out of the station and was now steamrolling full throttle down the tracks.


Soon, they were on their feet, and then I knew it was time for me to step back and get out of the way. The song from the Torah now took on the timbre of a Sunday morning Harlem Gospel Church chorus. They bent, and shimmied, clapped in time, singing, fully liberated– rocking the room as it filled with warmth and love. The love train barreled down the tracks.

I now engaged the most important lesson in Davvening (Prayer) leadership training: how to bring a train like this safely back in to the station! I resumed singing with them, bringing in hand gestures to match theirs, then slowed them down, then sat them down, then wound down the volume and tempo until the train puffed to a rest.

The room was silent. They knew from experience what to do next. The camaraderie from the singing had created a new sacred space to share with each other, and heal.

I can’t say that I am a singer or a successful pulpit Cantor, but I can say that I know how to adapt the power of music and the stories it carries as a medium, for creating healing opportunities.

As Karl Paulnack, head of the Boston Conservatory of Music, tells us through a lecture to his new students:

“If we were a medical school, and you were here as a med student practicing appendectomies, you’d take your work very seriously because you would imagine that some night at two AM someone is going to waltz into your emergency room and you’re going to have to save their life. Well, my friends, someday at 8 PM someone is going to walk into your concert hall and bring you a mind that is confused, a heart that is overwhelmed, a soul that is weary. Whether they go out whole again will depend partly on how well you do your craft.

You’re not here to become an entertainer, and you don’t have to sell yourself. The truth is you don’t have anything to sell; being a musician isn’t about dispensing a product, like selling used Chevies. I’m not an entertainer; I’m a lot closer to a paramedic, a firefighter, a rescue worker. You’re here to become a sort of therapist for the human soul, a spiritual version of a chiropractor, physical therapist, someone who works with our insides to see if they get things to line up, to see if we can come into harmony with ourselves and be healthy and happy and well.”

Those of us who are musicians, including Miriam haNevi’ah, understand that what we do is intangible; and thus will seldom be given the honors it deserves.

In today’s Song of the Sea, Music and Women are given the Crowns and Honors. Shabbat Shirah shows us that the most celebratory moment in our history was captured in song, and sealed with the music and dancing of women, led by a Prophetess.


Shabbat Shalom

*D’var Torah Sermon, given Shabbat Shirah January 27 2018 at Congregation Beth Shalom, CA



Lights, Candles, Chanukah!

It’s the penultimate day of Chanukah, the seventh of the eight days of celebration. Last evening, just as sunset was approaching, I set up and lit my new Chanukiah (Chanukah candelabra) to enjoy its warmth and welcoming light. The candle flames, at once familiar and comforting, glowed in their new arrangement, reminding me of many other firsts this year: that I haven’t bought a new Chanukiah in decades; this is my first celebration of Chanukah as a resident of the USA since I was a teenager; and, in keeping with life in a very remote region, this was my first time buying a Chanukiah by online ordering.


Yet, the many themes to this חג האורים Holiday of Light remain comfortingly constant over time. After lighting the candles, I always look forward to sitting next to them; this year it was by a little table at my front window to enjoy the many images that arise as the burning candles glow.

Here are some gleanings of those Chanukah reflections:

photo: Tom Hogan

A Festival of Light. It gets dark early now, and it is truly dark here in this official Dark Sky Community. No street lamps or outdoor lights are allowed here unless they are blunt and point downward. The natural rhythms of night and day are much more activated. The impact of how special and sacred lights may have been in Maccabean times is keenly experienced here. Stars explode forth and blanket the sky when the moon is new or waning; animals are busy with owls hooting, coyotes yelping, bats squeaking; bedtime shifts from midnight to 9pm.

Lighting candles reminds us of our human ability to adjust the rhythms of nature, but not nature itself.


Tradition! Just like in the song from ‘Fiddler on the Roof’, lighting the candles at the appointed time of year and singing the special blessings provides a familiar landmark in the onward unfurling of the unknowns that lie ahead. Even still, as I hold the lit shamash candle and gently touch each candle in the proper order, a liminal time machine transports me back into the amazed and agog infant/toddler, brown eyes brightly reflecting the magical flames of the pretty rainbow candles, taking in the warmth and light when so dark and cold outside, the smiling faces of family as they watch our little countenances transfixed with the first rapturous gasp of the glowing candles, the familiar songs, and Chanukah foods.

Time travels forward, but for humans, it goes in spirals, with each new year forward replaying familiar holiday cycles and bonds.

Rededication. This for me is the core of what Chanukah is. What does that mean, rededication? The story of the Maccabees tells us about how these brave warriors prevailed over Antiochus IV and recaptured the Great Temple in Jerusalem. Antiochus had enacted a series of harsh decrees against the Jews, such as worship was forbidden; the scrolls of the Law were confiscated and burned. Sabbath rest, circumcision and kosher dietary laws were prohibited under penalty of death. And worse, many Jews had adopted Hellenistic ways, wanting to assimilate rather than endure harsh punishment. The Maccabees prevailed and were able to remove the pagan idols, foods, and installments, and restore the Temple to its Jewish ritual purity.


The underlying theme is that the Jews themselves had left behind their own traditions and either heeded the siren call of the indulgent Hellenistic lifestyle or allowed themselves to be coerced into it. Taking exception to this, the Maccabee Hasmonean family, some think of them as the ‘Jewish Taliban’, were strong-handed in their ways of upholding Jews to their Jewish values. Yet, if it weren’t for that zeal, Judaism may have become assimilated and absorbed beyond recognition.

They fought to keep Judaism pure and as a living faith tradition. Did they succeed? Well, look what happened to the Seleucid and Greek Empires (hint: they’re gone). Jews are still around and lighting Chanukah candles to celebrate the miracle of surpassing that danger.

By reflecting on the benefits of observing our Jewish traditions, even if they may be obscure or droll, we can stand up to and say “No” to diversions.


We can recall the value of our traditions and rededicate ourselves to our core values of study, giving charity, and doing good works in the community. We can resume with fresh dedication our core practices of how we worship, eat, dress, care for one another, and observe Shabbat.

As each new year of Chanukah arrives, it simultaneously creates new lights and rekindles old memories; it mingles stories of heroic and dedicated ancestors with modern day challenges to preserving Jewish traditions. What is familiar helps us to undertake the new.

Whatever your spiritual grounding is, be it a religion or faith, nature, or a chosen community of fellowship, take this time of winter night to remember and recall, and rekindle you inner sparks of light.


!חג אורים שמח

Happy Chanukah, Holiday of Lights!

Va Yetse: And He Went Forth


Yaakov (Jacob) left Beersheva and headed toward Haran. When it became dark he placed a stone for a pillow and lay down to sleep. Then he had a dream of a ladder, its base on the ground and the top reached up toward heaven. God’s Angels were going up and down on it.

In many theologies, from Taoism to Judaism, humans are the link between Heaven and Earth. This is apparent in how the ladder has its feet on the ground and top in the heavens. The link between these realms is Yaakov.

As a sleeping dream, Yaakov then sees God and hears God telling him that Yaakov and his descendants will inherit the land upon which he sleeps. The waking Yaakov still has a sense of God’s Presence over the next 20 years.


During those 20 years Yaakov works for his uncle Lavan (Laban). At first, Yaakov works toward having the hand of Rahel (Rachel) in marriage. But Lavan tricks him and provides his other daughter Leah. Although Yaakov can marry Rahel a week later, he must work another seven years to pay for her hand. After those 14 years, when Yaakov is ready to leave with his share of livestock, Lavan creates a complicated system of accounting of them. It takes Yaakov another six years of tending and breeding before he can take the right portion, those animals with marks or streaks.

This story begs the question, how much do we allow ourselves to be in apprenticeship, servitude, or manipulation by our superiors before we learn to overcome and surpass, and regain our individuality?

Yaakov was spoken to and appointed by God, yet for 20 years he worked as a servant to Lavan. Eventually, Yaakov reaches the point of seeing his own value and wanting to resume the destiny set out by God, to inherit the land where he lay in Haran.

Fate interceded. Yaakov was waylaid by Lavan. This was a necessary step in the formation of Yaakov’s destiny. Under the servitude of Lavan, Yaakov developed the understanding that he must move on. He then also learned how to master his Fate and become a mature and confident strategist, necessary skills for leadership of his family clan and nation of descendants.


I am reminded of the story of the disciple who dutifully moved stones for his Master as requested as part of his training. He grew tired of moving the stones and asked when he would advance from apprentice to master. His Master laughed, pointed and said, “Move more stones!”

We believe it is a Master, teacher, or employer, who dictates when we are finished with our education. And although sometimes we must earn a certificate or degree, we still find ourselves going back for more education, CEUs, PD, and even higher level degrees. You will continue to carry stones until you are ready, as Yaakov was, to forge ahead with your purpose, work or destiny.

Yaakov spent time growing from resentful youth, into a man who could use the knowledge he’d gained from years of tending Lavan’s flocks to reward himself with the fortune he’d earned for Lavan. Even Lavan acknowledged that Yaakov was lucky for him: his flocks and wealth were nothing until Yaakov showed up.

In addition to leaving as a wealthy head of a very large household, Yaakov had confidence. You might even say Hutzpah. Lavan, angry that Yaakov left without his knowledge, was cajoled into having a treaty land pact with Yaakov that was satisfying to them both. Indeed, Yaakov no longer carried stones for Lavan.


With regard to the American Thanksgiving holiday this week, Yaakov was grateful to God. He made pillars to God both before and after his life with Lavan. Lavan for his part, never really seemed grateful until Yaakov created the pact with him. Lavan’s outlook was changed, he acknowledged with gratitude Yaakov’s contributions and his own gains; he then blessed his grandchildren, Yaakov’s clan.

Truly, when we act as a link between Heaven and Earth, we may fulfill our Destiny; to bring gratitude, acceptance, and holiness into the lives of others as well as to ourselves.

©Susan J Katz 11/2017

Noach and Texas: Lessons from the Floods


This post is a D’var Torah (sermon) that I was invited to give on Shabbat Noach at Congregation Beth Shalom in Bermuda Dunes, CA on October 21st:

Last Shabbat, our Spiritual Leader, Ken Hailpern, gave an inspired d’var Torah about how so many of our Jewish values of caring for others and taking responsibility come from the earliest chapters of Beresheit (Genesis).


We heard how God brought words of comfort to Cayin (Cain) whose face fell after seeing how his brother Hevel’s (Abel’s) sacrifice was accepted, but not his own. And we heard how Cayin replied to God, “am I my brother’s keeper?” when God asked Cayin where his brother Hevel was. I will return to these sacred moments later.

Today’s parasha (weekly Torah reading), about Noach (Noah) and the Flood, apparently was an inspiration for Ken. He asked me to explore the Biblical Flood story in the contexts of recent worldwide natural flood and hurricane events, and with my participation as a volunteer American Red Cross Disaster Spiritual Care Chaplain, assisting with evacuees in southeast Texas.

But I have to go further back, to my first encounter with the Flood story, when I was about 3 or 4 years old,

plunked down for my first time in a Jewish Sunday school classroom, somewhere in the San Fernando Valley,

just as they were about to sing the “Arky-Arky” song. Anyone know it? (🎶 Noah, he built him, he built him an Arky-Arky [repeat]🎶).

I wasn’t sure who this Noah fella was, but the song was great!

This fabulous song was followed by a discussion about who or what God was–did he sit on a throne in the sky? was he old? did he have a long white beard? or was God invisible and wise?

I was hooked on Judaism from that day onward.


now let’s go forward many decades to my current version of Jewish engagement:

In 2010, after decades of volunteer and lay leadership in the Jewish communities of Vancouver, BC, I decided to begin the arduous path of training to become a spiritual care chaplain. It took about 5 years of full time study and I am now an NAJC Professional Jewish Chaplain.


I moved to the Southern California desert this past May, not to take a job; but to enjoy better health in a serene and protected desert locale.
And then, just as I was unpacking and wondering what I might want to do in my new community, hurricane season came to the United States.

In response, my professional chaplaincy associations sent out emails for those who wished to fast track to join the American Red Cross for deployment.



I did not have to think much about going, except–that this deployment would not be restful, and it could cause me some health problems from exposure to contaminated water and lack of good sanitation.

I responded to the email anyway, went to my regional American Red Cross (ARC) Head Quarters, and after an introductory ‘boot camp’, I was sold.

I had responded online on Friday, and was in Houston four days later, on Tuesday September 5th.

I had the privilege of meeting the National director of Disaster Spiritual Care (DSC) at Houston HQ, and with his approval, was assigned the George R. Brown Convention Center mega shelter, which now housed 1,200 evacuees, down from 5,000 at one point.

The second day there, just as I was settling into getting to recognize residents’ faces and enjoy the company of newfound colleagues from other faith groups, I was told to join two others and drive to Beaumont-Port Arthur, Texas. There were as yet no DSC chaplains at all, and the 3 of us would attend to shelter work for that entire region.

We each had our own rental vehicle because unlike anyone else, the three of us were to cover the entire southeast Texas area. We were housed in a staff shelter with 200 other volunteers, on cots, with freezing A/C blasting to keep germs at bay, and no potable water to bathe in or drink.

Staff shelter, Beaumont

Over the usual breakfast of sugary granola bars and fruit cups and potato chips, we decided to split up and drive to different areas of the region to see where the greatest need was.

I settled on ministering in just one shelter—the Thomas Jefferson High School in Port Arthur, TX—“TJ”. Port Arthur is one of the poorest areas of southeast Texas, and the US in general. These people were now in their 3rd or 4th shelter, with all of their belongings stuffed into old bags or plastic storage bins beneath their cots.

I use the word ‘minister’; it is not a Christian word, it is noun and also a verb that is used in many contexts. For example, I lived in Canada for almost 40 years and there we have Ministers in our Provincial and Federal houses of government. Ministers administer services to people, both secular and faith-based. The work is ministry.

I had little trouble easing into ministry in Port Arthur. The residents, evacuees, were predominantly black, very low income, and often with health problems. Anyone affluent had already found alternative housing somewhere else, with a relative, friends, etc.

These remaining 250 or so people at TJ were looking for places to live, and were waiting for organizations such as FEMA to assess their homes for damage and give them funds to repair or rebuild.

Perhaps because of my life experiences as a cultural ‘outsider’, a single, middle-aged Jewish woman, living in predominately white Christian communities, and receiving chaplaincy training mainly with Christian peers–I was able communicate my otherness, go alongside others whose lives are not mainstream, earn trust, and be with them in their search for spiritual comfort.

I mainly roamed the vast rows of cots filling the two gyms at TJ, checking in with my eyes and ears and ‘Spidey Sense’ with residents. I was their advocate when needed services were not being given, a guide and motivator when the chips were down, prayed with and for them, held their hand if waiting for the ambulance, comforted and debriefed when traumatic incidents happened, ran interference when tempers flared, got crabby volunteers to loosen up, and made referrals to my colleagues in Disaster Mental Health and Disaster Medical Assistance Teams.

I also made sure kenneled pets were watered and fed, cleaned up childrens’ toys, and played maid and waiter to pamper burned-out parents.

When I arrived at TJ, the residents had already been there 10 days, and found their spiritual leaders—amongst themselves–an assistant minister and his wife; the maintenance man for the school itself was a church pastor.

I thought about other Bible characters, such as Amos and Elijah.


The example of the spiritual leader who is a regular person, someone who tends orchards, plows their own fields, and cleans schools for a living. We don’t know what Noach did for a living, but we do know that he was by nature righteous, and someone who walked with God; perhaps strolling together in conversation, as one would do with an earthly companion.

No one at TJ ever asked me, “Why did God do this to us?” or “God has sent a Flood like in the Bible, to punish us and the earth”

Instead, almost everyone I sat with talked about Faith. They had Faith that there would be relief. They had faith that despite the disaster, God was walking with them, and watching and taking care during this disaster. They often had anecdotes of previous hurricanes or floods they’d evacuated from, and how by trusting God and accepting the help that God had sent, that they had been taken care of then, and were certainly being helped now.

I think we Jews don’t talk enough about Faith like this. Much like the term ‘Minister’, Faith is seen as a Christian concept. In Judaism, we talk more about ‘Mitzvoth’ and Actions.

But I want to tell you that Faith and Mitzvoth are the same thing.

As an example, it is a mitzvah to keep kosher. Many of the rules of kashrut do not make logical sense. But observant people do them anyway. Why? because it is an act of faith.

Faith works in that we do not have to understand why, that by being consistent and having these structures of precise foods or ways of blessing them, we will grow inner, rather than outer, strength, grow stronger as individuals and as a people, and thus know God better.

In this same vein, the people of Port Arthur knew how to recognize God’s faith in them. They could graciously accept help because they knew they could not get by on their own–and that God was at work when neighbors helped neighbors, rescue operations came, shelters went up, and agencies came to assist.

They knew how to reach out to one another because their Christian teachings told them that that is the right thing to do; people from all over the world reached out to help.

It was a privilege that after only 3 days with them, the two TJ preachers asked me to co-lead a Sunday morning service. Having had the privilege of attending black gospel churches in Harlem and Brooklyn during my chaplaincy education, I was so very pleased to join them.

Sunday service

On Sunday, alongside a mighty preacher with his golden baritone voice, this man motivated by personal loss, by the flooded homes, and the pain and longing in that shelter; and alongside the assistant minister lovingly reading Psalm 27; I gave prayers of thanks to God for spreading his sheltering wings; and encouraging all to reach out to give help; and to reach out to accept help; and all of us came together in song to close.

These men and women of faith have become life-long friends. We led another service together the following Sunday in yet another shelter, which these 250 residents had been transferred into.

Now: Let’s go back to the stories of Beresheit, of Cayin and Hevel, and of Noach. From the story of Cayin we learn that even if we are God and try to reach out to comfort someone when their face has fallen, it is up to that person to accept what is. We cannot arrogantly expect to change or fix others, even when wearing an ARC cap and vest:

As a chaplain, I have learned to accept my clients’ choices. I stay out of their way because I have faith in them. Sometimes, by seeing my non-judgmental faith in them, they find restored faith in themselves or with God.

In parashat Noach, although the story of a destructive Flood outwardly seems so apropos to my situation, it was really the character of Noach and the instructions that God gave for building the Ark that characterized what I experienced amongst the evacuees.

In Gen 6:9, “Noach was a man of simple righteousness amongst his generation. A man who walked with God.”  נח איש צדיק תמים היה בדרתיו את־האלהים התהלך־נח׃

Religion is not mentioned in the Noach story. God tells his walking partner, Noach, a man that stood out amongst others, that humans and all life have made a mess of things, and that he will destroy all of it but save a few good seeds, and start fresh.

And in Gen 6:14 what does God tell Noach to line this protective ark with, to keep it watertight and safe, inside and out? כפר pitch. The same root letters as kippur, as in atonement.

When we are ‘at-one-ment’, when we trust inside and out, when we follow illogical algorithms of faith, our lives become straighter and less complex.

We are then walking with God.

Far from being a punishment, many of the shelter residents expressed their belief that the hurricane was a blessing because it caused so many lives to be repaired.

Indeed, family members who had been estranged were now reaching out to each other to provide homes and assistance; people who had been isolated before were now flourishing by finding meaningful helping roles; people were returning to church; having lost excess baggage, many were now finding blessings and gratitude for small things.

In this hurricane flood Ark/shelter, they were finding at-one-ment.

Ken, you picked a great Shabbat for this d’rasha; I feel that my life has come full circle: my childhood affinity for Judaism and Jewish ways that began with the “Arky-Arky” song became manifest in the most unlikely of environments, and I thank you for allowing me this opportunity to both share the stories of the people of Beaumont Port Arthur, and to create a deeper understanding of the stories of Beresheit.

It was a privilege for me to know these people. I was fortunate to have a role where I could freely do my job. No one told me how to offer DSC to these people; we were deployed because we were seen to have the expertise to be self-directed and create an ark of at-one-ment for the people of Port Arthur.

I saw faith enacted, and it gives me comfort to see how powerful faith; in God, in one another, and in oneself, can be.

Shabbat Shalom

©Susan J Katz 2017