Torah All Around

The Berkshires of Western Massachusetts are a sacred place to me. Ever since my first summer working at the Eisner Camp, all the way back in 1973, the Berkshires have held a special place in my heart and my life.  That has become more profound as our family all claim this beautiful place (both the Berkshires and Eisner Camp) as a precious anchor in our lives.

But it is not just the beauty, or the cultural banquet table of this part of New England that is special. All the way back to that very first summer, this has been a place or Torah for me. To be sure there are many other “Torah places” I hold dear in my life – the communities in which I have served as a rabbi; Jerusalem in particular, and Israel more broadly; and the many coffee shops, batei midrash (learning spaces) and public libraries in which I have sat to share words of Torah with a colleague, friend or student.

But the Berkshires and Eisner Camp are high on my list. This past week has offered me at least two concrete examples which reinforce that sentiment. Having pondered why this is so over the course of four-plus decades, I am convinced that this “place” is extra special for me as it is not solely a place of learning Torah. Beyond the learning there is the living of Torah. 

Most people have long since forgotten (or perhaps never knew) that full name of Eisner Camp is the URJ Joseph Eisner Camp-Institute for Living Judaism. It is a place where campers and staff come together anew each summer to form a nurturing and nourishing organic community based upon Jewish learning and living Jewish values. Eisner offers the full array of what one expects at a summer camp: sports, swimming, lakeside activities, campcraft, arts and crafts, music, dance, drama and so much more. Watching my four children grow and develop into the people they are is in no small measure due to their experiences within what is lovingly referred to as “the Eisner bubble.” For each of them, camp has not only been a place where they were nurtured as campers.  Each, in his or her own way, has risen through the ranks of staff and leadership. This means a lot to me as I believe that so many of my own leadership skills and my important learning took place at Eisner in the 70’s and 80’s when I served for many summers on full-time staff.

Last night I had the fortune to be present for the closing events of camp’s annual Maccabiah, a three-day festival which allows campers of all ages to participate (and yes, compete) in events spanning the full gamut of camp’s activities.  What inspires me each year is the ways in which the campers, and staff stretch themselves in a supportive and nurturing way to allow each participant to feel accomplished, in spite of the outcome. The perennial chant of “it just doesn’t matter” after the identity of the winning team is revealed speaks volumes about the higher goals and ideals of camp and this part of its programming.  It’s hard not to feel that all are winners, even after one of the four teams has been declared victorious. The community has won as a whole because of the learning and living of Torah and Jewish values. Last night was a powerful reminder of why this place is so sacred for me in my life and the life of my family.

This past Sunday I had the good fortune to be on the lawn at Tanglewood for the Boston Symphony Orchestra’s performance. I relish the opportunities to attend concerts each summer. I especially enjoy the confluence of my ability to attend when the concert includes a performance by master cellist and musician extraordinaire, Yo-Yo Ma. Last Sunday was one such occasion.  I have used Mr. Ma’s artistry and skills as lessons, “Torah” if you will, on numerous occasions in my past High Holy Day sermons. This past Sunday, Yo-Yo Ma lifted it to a new level for me. He played with the BSO in the second of its three selections for the afternoon, Schumann’s Cello Concerto. While I could not see the orchestra nor Yo-Yo-Ma from my vantage point on the lawn, from past experiences I knew he was totally immersed in the piece.  Friends who were sitting in the Shed confirmed, noting that they had never seen a soloist interact with the different sections of the orchestra as Ma had that afternoon.

Then came intermission. People all around us were standing up to stretch when suddenly a voice came over the loudspeakers. “Excuse me. I don’t if I’ve ever done this before . . .” It was Yo-Yo Ma  asking for our attention. It was not for himself. Rather he was sharing that the afternoon’s conductor, David Zinman’s dog had gotten lose from the home in which he and his wife were staying. Ma was calling attention, not to himself, nor to the orchestra. He was enlisting the help of the audience, which as he noted, surely included many who’d be returning to Stockbridge and Lenox neighborhoods in locating the Zinman’s beloved pet. Seemingly a simple matter, yet as pet owners know, and share in common, a beloved pet is a cherished family member. We were all stunned. Though with whom I was (now) standing and I noted, here is a man who could have asked for our attention for a million different reasons. His request was totally selfless, totally an act of kindness and, I would say, of menschlikiht. To me it was Torah values come alive, from a teacher, not Jewish himself, from whom I have learned many Torah lessons over the years, simply by sitting in his audience and watching this incredible human being make music, and live life.  It’s a moment of kindness and the best of humanity that will long remain with me.