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We are a community of Hebrew Seminary faculty, staff, rabbinical students, lifelong learners, Kabbalists, scholars, spiritual seekers and kind supporters.

The mission of Hebrew Seminary is to train rabbis and Jewish educators to serve all Jewish communities, including the deaf community. Hebrew Seminary has been an inclusive and egalitarian community for the study and practice of Judaism since our founding in 1992.

We hope that within this blog you will discover moments of insight and inspiration, practical and spiritual guidance, as well as a path to further study.

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We Return to Health When Our Body and Soul are Balanced

 

Well-being includes physical and spiritual health.

We return to health from sickness when our body and soul are balanced.

Join Hebrew Seminary for a panel discussion on

 

NEW DIMENSIONS IN MEDICINE:

Where Body and Soul Meet

 

Sunday, October 28, 2018 from 2:00-3:30 pm 

Rabbi Dr. Douglas Goldhamer is Senior Rabbi of Congregation Bene Shalom in Skokie, Hebrew Seminary President and Professor of Jewish Mysticism, and author of two books on Kabbalistic Healing Prayer.

Dr. Roberta P Glick is a Professor of Neurosurgery at Rush University and Rosalind Franklin Chicago Medical School. She worked for over 30 years at Cook County and Mount Sinai Hospitals where she was dedicated to improving care for low-income patients with malignant brain tumors and traumatic brain injury.

Dr. Gary Slutkin is founder and CEO of Cure Violence and Professor of Epidemiology and International Health at the University of Illinois at Chicago School of Public Health. He initiated the first national programs for AIDS in Central and East Africa for the World Health Organization (WHO) and created and led WHO’s Intervention Development Office.

 

HEBREW SEMINARY

A RABBINICAL SCHOOL FOR DEAF & HEARING

4435 W. Oakton, Skokie, IL 60076

847-679-4113  info@hebrewseminary.org

ASL interpreted      Refreshments served

Malchyot Reflection

by Student Rabbi Dr. Roberta Glick

Malchyot: Kingship.  What relationship does that word evoke in you?

Is it the “radical amazement” of Heschl trying to explain the awesome mystery of the transcendent Divine Presence?

Is it the fear and trembling of judgment, like Adam when he heard the kol of G-d who asked: “Ayekah? Where are You?”

Sometimes we need a Malchyuot, someone else to be in charge. As Sylvia Boorstein said (at our recent retreat):     “Cosmos, you drive, today!”

What is this relationship we have with the Divine, and how, in any relationship do two distinct souls join together in one union/ Echad without either compromising or diminishing itself: How does 1 + 1 =1 and still remain 2?

Reflecting this year on the stranger, perhaps we are also the stranger, and have become estranged from ourselves, from others, and from G-d.

I would like to share, briefly, a teaching (with my comments) from Sfat Emet on the very question of our relationship with G-d, which reflects our relationship with ourselves and with others. Sfat Emet suggests this relationship is one of reciprocal love.

As most of you know, Elul, this month of preparation leading up to the The Days of Awe, is also an acronym for                Ani L’dodi V’dodi Li  – I am to my beloved and my beloved is to me (Song of Songs)

It also emphasizes another vital aspect – that a relationship is a reflection: You and your beloved mirror each other:      “Like the face reflected in water, one heart [is reflected] in another” (Proverbs 27:19).

However, Sfat Emet sees the words in a slightly different light. G-d is being the initiator.  Creation and redemption were all gifts given to us, not for any of our doing, not out of our merit, but out of love. The same with the revelation at Sinai, Torah and the commandments. And just like in any love relationship, sometimes the recipient is not ready to give back love, to return the gift, to commit, to reciprocate. Instead we built the golden calf and turned away. Elul then becomes a time of repentance, of Tsheuvah, of turning and returning, of turning toward, of cleaning up our messes, of returning to our true essence, of taking the first step to reach out to G-d. Then, with Tsheuvah, and the building of the mishkan, a place for G-d to dwell, we earned G-d’s love, and ready to return the love. Now we can have a reciprocal love relationship.

The mystics say Tsheuvah was created before the world: The cure was there before the disease existed. And today, the mishkan is no longer the external place out there, but rather, your hearts. Rabbi Menachem Mendel says: “Where do we find G-d? Wherever we let G-d in”. In the opening and the breaking of our hearts, we find the Divine.

Sfat Emet ends by saying that we can see Elul as lovers seeking each other, and Tshevah fills us not with fear, but with a yearning to become closer to G-d.

But as the final step of tsheuvah, after our awareness of our problems, and after making amends with others, and re-establishing relationships, why do we have to come before G-d and confess our sins.  Doesn’t G-d know everything?     Rabbi Balinsky offered this answer: It’s because our words create our consciousness.  Our words create our world.

The high holidays are about the consciousness in our relationships. Mindfulness, is heartfulness.  Jonathan Sachs writes says that tsheuvah, tzadakah and tefilah are about relationships: Tsheuvah: our relationship with ourself; tzedakah: our relationship with others; and tefillah: our relationship with G-d. And I recently realized that it’s one process:  we must clean up our own mess and purifiy our hearts (tsheuvah) so we can reach out and help others (tzedakah), leading to a relationship with G-d (tefillah). Our liturgy says: “Before G-d we will be pure”, or “we will be pure before G-d” On Yom Kippur, G-d purifies us. It is not up to the High Priests. G-d is our Mikveh. Our most intimate relationship.

Daily we say: “YHVH, Hoshiah, Ha Melek yayenyu, byom karenu”: G-d, save us, answer us on the day we call out to you”. Our call today is: Malchyot, G-d, “Purify us, so that we may have hearts of wisdom, from which forth flows generosity, and compassion and kindness, to ourselves and to all beings.

In the Space of Tekiyah: Reflections on the Start of 5779

By Student Rabbi Stacey Z Robinson

This is about the 19th iteration of my personal reflection.  The 19th of today, and the 19th written down.  There have been infinitely more than 19 iterations playing in my head, ever since I was so kindly asked me to write one for Rosh HaShanah.  Knowing what I want to write has not been the issue.  Getting it right, finding all the words and hearing the flow of it— that’s been a bit of a challenge.

You see, there are too many words, too many ideas and things to say, floating around in my head.  I know, somewhere, somewhen, that they connect.  I can feel that, feel them all jostling for position, taking up residence in some little known and cobwebbed corner of my head, leaving a faint pattern in the dust and clutter.

“Pick me!”

“Pick me!”

“Start here…”

Except, when I poke around, to find which of the eleventy-seven stories running around loose in my head is whispering “start here…” I get lost.  That internal torch gutters, sending bizarre fun-house shadows to distort my visions, and then they all go skittering about, playing hide-and-seek with the shadows and light.

And so, since I can’t find the beginning of this thread, can’t seem to be able to tease and coax the end out from the tangled ball of string it has become, I thought about starting at the end.  I could, but I don’t know what that is yet either.  So, I will pick one bright and shiny things to start with, and see where that leads.  It may be a beginning, though more likely, it will be a middle.  There are many more middles than beginnings.  I will pick one thing, and see what happens.  I’m pretty sure I’ll at least recognize the end, whenever we get to that.

So.  First — redemption.  It’s all about redemption.  My redemption, to be exact, and my quest for it.  And my fear that I will never find it.  Or receive it.  And it’s about God.  It’s all about God, too.  Always.  And my quest for God.  And my fear that I will never find God or forgiveness.  And that I will never be able to forgive God.  The pain of this fear is almost unbearable.

I spent a couple of decades denying God and redemption both.  That pain was unimaginable.  I am reminded of the midrash of King David and the origins of the Adonai S’fatai, which is the prayer we say at the beginning of the Amidah.  David, the rabbis tell us, had sent a man to his certain death for the sake of satisfying his own selfish need.  The man, Uriah, was a man of honor.  He would not be  dissuaded when David had a sudden change of heart.  He was killed in battle, along with most of his troops.  David got word of Uriah’s death just before eveing prayers.

What was he to do?  He knew that he would have to talk to God, to ask forgiveness.  But– and here’s the hard part– David’s fear: what if God said no?  What if God refused?  David ran into the fields, running from himself, from his fear, from God, until he could run no farther.  How could he ask God for forgiveness, when he couldn’t forgive himself?  He stopped, just as the setting sun hit the horizon, staining the sky with crimson and gold and purple, and he cried out, in his fear and longing “Adonai s’fatai tiftach ufid yagid t’hilatecha…”

God, open my lips, that I may declare your praise…

And with that prayer– filled to its very edges with pain and humility and hope and despair, David was forgiven.

Well sure, the voices in my head whisper, God can forgive David.  Let’s face it: he’s, well, David.  His very name means “beloved…”  And you’re not.  You’re… you.  All bet’s are off.

It is my greatest longing, my unrequited quest– to be redeemed.  To be forgiven.  To dance in the palm of God’s hand.  To believe, if even for an instant, that though I may not be David, though I may not be Beloved, I may find a small piece of it, and that that may be enough.

So it is fitting, I suppose, that I was asked that I give a personal reflection at this morning’s service.  Today is such a busy one!  The Book of Life and Death is opened and the Gates of Justice swing wide.  It’s the birthday of the world.  Today, we stand with awe and trepidation as we undertake the breathtaking majesty of diving inwards, a deep and long and solitary dive, into murky waters that make us gasp and shiver with cold.  But eventually, the water warms and the silt and grit settle and we learn to see, to shine a light on the inside, all the beauty, all the pain, all the hope and need.

It is all about redemption.

Today is redemption and majesty and reflection and God.  It is joy and celebration and hope and…

Whatever today is, whatever the ritual and tradition that surrounds this day may be, what today is, what today will ever and always be, is my brother’s yahrzeit.  While my head hears whispers of “pick me” and “start here,” my heart hears a steady murmur of “this is the second anniversary.”  And last year, for all the pomp and circumstance of Rosh HaShanah, for all my desperate yearning for redemption and God, drowning out the music and prayer and the triumphant sounding of the shofar that opened the Book and flung wide the Gate– all I could hear was the steady cadence of “This is the first anniversary of his death.”

This is one of those days that I am less forgiving of God.  This is the second thing.

I know– absolutely know– that God is not at fault in this.  God didn’t set the butterfly’s wings to flapping that ended in the hurricane of my brother’s death.  There was no Divine Plan here.  Randy smoked four packs of cigarettes a day, existed on caffeine and nicotine.  He was diagnosed with stage four metastatic lung cancer when he was 45, and died when he was 47.  Not a day goes by that I don’t miss him, though I don’t think of him every day like I did.  Stretches of time go by– a handful of days, a week, some small length of time, and I will suddenly stop, feeling the ache of his loss like a stitch in my side, sharp and hot, receding into a dull throb until it is more memory than real.  My breath doesn’t quite catch in my throat when I think of him.  Mostly.  I say kaddish every Shabbat, and I do not weep.  Mostly.

He died because he smoked.  He died because he got cancer.  But he died today, two years ago.  On Rosh HaShanah, the day of pomp and circumstance and joy and celebration.  I was with him in the hospital when he died, literally as the shofar sounded down the hall from his room,  And so the Book was laid open and the Gates swung wide and my brother died, all in the space of tekiyah.  And so today has suddenly become hard.  And I am suddenly less forgiving of God.

And for all of that, when I stood in prayer and my knees began to buckle from the weight of my sorrow, when I was filled with an ocean of pain and loss, when I wanted to curse God– when I did curse God– there were hands that reached out to hold me steady, and strong arms to carry me through to firm ground.  When I demanded of God, to God– where the hell are You?  I was answered: here.  No farther than the nearest heartbeat, in the still small voices of all those around me, who showed me, again and again, that I was not alone.  Even in my pain, even in my doubt and despair, I was not alone.

And so, the third thing: Redemption.

I started there, I know.  Perhaps my ball of string, with its jumble of tangled threads and hopeless mess, was less eleventy-seven different things and more a giant mobius strip of one.  Perhaps it is all reflections and variations on a single strand.  Perhaps, at least for me, it is all about redemption.  And God.  Ever and always.

I have spent a lifetime yearning for redemption.  I have spent an eternity of lifetimes searching for God.    I have declared my disbelief in God even as I feared that God didn’t believe in me.  I have shouted my rage and demanded answers and whispered my praise.  And the thing I come back to, again and again, like a gift of impossible and breathless wonder–

It is not what I pray that matters.  It is that I pray.

For all my yearning, for all my longing, what I don’t ever realize is that I am redeemed.  I have not been abandoned by God.  Neither have I been forgotten.    David had it right in his psalms: we cry out to God and we are healed.  He didn’t tell us “God only hears the pretty words.  Speak only of love and praise, only then will you be heard.”  No, it’s pretty clear: we find healing and redemption because we cry out in our anger and our fear.

I do not believe in a Santa Claus god, who bestows presents on the deserving: God does not provide parking spaces or jobs, nor do we win wars or sporting events as the result of our faith and prayers.  Good people will die, evil people will prosper, the sun will continue to blaze in the noonday sky. world without end, amen amen.

In my faith, in my prayer, what I find, again and again– what I am given, again and again, is grace.  What I get is strength and courage to face what life has placed in front of me in that moment…even if that thing is the death of my beloved brother.  My faith is not a guarantee that I will never know fear, or that only good and happy things will happen.  My faith, my prayer allows me to put one foot in front of the other and know that I will be carried through.  And in that exact moment,  the moment I take that step, I am enough and I am redeemed.  And in that moment, I dance in the palm of God’s hand.

 

For my brother, Randy (z’l)

May we all dance in the palm of God’s hand

 

 

Water and Fire – Unetaneh Tokef

By Student Rabbi Stacey Z Robinson

Ribbono shel olam,
Master of eternity,

Who numbers the stars
and the dust,
Who counts our souls –
our deeds –
our days.

You, who remembers
what time has forgotten,

Who writes and seals –
though we tell our own stories,
and live our own lives –
Blessed is the One
Who opens the gates
that we, ourselves, have closed.

God of stillness and secrets,
whose name is hidden
within our own,

Let me draw near
so that I may know
water and fire,
sword and beast,
famine and thirst,
riot and plague.

Sound the shofar!
I will hear your call
while angels tremble,
That I may know
rest and wandering,
harmony and dissonance,
peace and suffering.

Write upon my heart
poverty and richness,
degradation and exaltation.

God of power and compassion,
of mercy and hope,

Breathe into me repentance.
Sing into me righteousness.
Fill me with prayer.

Let me return, God.
Fling wide the gates.

On Rosh Hashana it is written
On Yom Kippur it is sealed.

Intend — by Student Rabbi Stacey Z Robinson

I had intended…

Wait. Let me start again, this time in the present. I intend…

Ugh. I have no idea what I intend, what I had intended, what I will have intended.

What I know is that I love the English pluperfect– past, present and future, all rolled into one. Even more than the pluperfect tense,  I love that in Hebrew, we consider not necessarily past, present or future, but completed versus not completed. Action over time, complete versus intended.

The holiness of completion and the grammar of intention.

They are intricately– intimately– connected, by time, by action, by desire. It is not enough to want. It is not enough, even, to do. The rabbis tell us that in order to satisfy the mitzvah of hearing the shofar on Rosh Hashanah, I must have intended to do so. I must consciously be in a place where I will hear it. If I merely happen to walk by a synagogue and hear the sharp burst of tekiyah, I will not have satisfied this commandment.

I strive for completion, for the mindfulness of my intention. I intend to fully engage, in my Judaism, in my continued and continuing conversation with God, in finding a path to wholeness that shelters me and the world entire.

My actions mostly support this. Sigh. My intention, though, can be– incomplete. I am subject to the laws of unintended consequences. My grammar can be faulty in this. I am less than holy, though I am human; no more, no less. I have hurt others, through my thoughtlessness. I have been unkind in my haste. I am unforgiving in my passion and self-righteousness. I am cruel in my fear. I am cynical in my doubt. I do not intend to be these things. My intentions are (mostly) good. Please God, don’t let me be misunderstood– least of all, by me.

One of my favorite of the midrash is one of creation. There are ten things, the rabbis tell us (except when there are seven) (because the rabbis can spin many plates at the same time)– there are ten things that were created before God ever created the world. Depending upon the rabbi and the midrash, these included the rainbow, and the burning bush and the ram’s horn. There were others, like manna and Miriam’s well that sustained in the desert. The greatest of these, though, to my mind, is t’shuvah.

How awesome is God! How great is the Creator of All, to know that there would be a disconnect between intent and result? How breathtakingly, achingly divine, to understand that before creating the heavens and earth, we needed to have a path back, a way to return? We will sin, but we will not be abandoned. The gates of t’shuvah will always be open for us, whenever we approach them, whenever we walk through.

Be holy, we are told, because God is holy, and we are b’tzelem elohim: in the image of God. But we are human, and so, for all our mindfulness, for all our drive towards completion and wholeness, we will fall short. We will hurt the people we love, we will be indifferent to the needs of others, we will turn away the stranger in our midst. even when we intend otherwise.

Just as God intends for us to find the way back, to return, to stand, once again at the Gates that are thrown wide (or openned only a small crack)– we will find forgiveness, we will find God, we will find each other, ever and always, there at the Gates. And in the very instant that we step through, in that breath, that heartbeat, that intention– there is neither past, nor present nor future. There is only wholeness.

The holiness of completion, the grammar of intention.

 

Where Body and Soul Meet

Well-being includes physical and spiritual health.

We return to health from sickness when

our body and soul are balanced.

 

Join Rabbi Dr. Douglas Goldhamer, Dr. Gary Slutkin

and Dr. Roberta Glick for a panel discussion on

 

NEW DIMENSIONS IN MEDICINE:

Where Body and Soul Meet

Sunday, October 28, 2018 from 2:00-3:30 pm

 

HEBREW SEMINARY
A RABBINICAL SCHOOL FOR DEAF & HEARING
4435 W. Oakton, Skokie, IL 60076
847-679-4113
info@hebrewseminary.org • hebrewseminary.org

 

ASL interpreted                                                     Refreshments served

Fall 2018 Semester Begins September 26th

In Avodah Zara (19a), we learn that one who learns Torah from only one teacher will never see blessing.  At Hebrew Seminary, I had the opportunity to learn from such a diverse group of faculty: not only from across the denominational spectrum, but who had such varied life experiences, and engaged in a wide range of practices.  I also greatly appreciated that each one of those teachers was deeply engaged in text, in thinking about God (and their personal relationships with God), and in the different ways in which they participated in the collective endeavor of klal yisrael.

It was truly a blessing to me to begin to understand that there was no single, monolithic way to be (or to do) Jewish, and what that might mean in my own life and personal practice.  My education at Hebrew Seminary went well beyond the subjects of the classroom, and included a wealth of personal advice.

— Rabbi Dena Bodian,Hebrew Seminary, Smicha 2010

 

Hebrew Seminary Course Descriptions

Fall Semester 2018

September 26 – January 24, 2019

Monday

10:00 – 11:30
Jewish Halachah: Pastoral Counseling

Tuesday

11:00 – 1:00
Rabbi Michael Davis
Advanced Biblical Hebrew

1:15 – 2:45
Rabbi Michael Davis

(History) Beyond the Pale:
Exploration of Cherem Across the Ages

Wednesday

10:30 -12:30
Rabbi Marcey Rosenbaum

(Bible) Parashat Hashavuah, with Rashi Commentary
This class will include practice reading texts aloud, pausing to then translate with a goal towards fluency.

Thursday

12:00 – 1:30pm
Debbie Fink
American Sign Language – multi level

This will be a multi-level class beginning with a four-week review of chapters 1-8 to bring everyone up to speed from the summer break. Page-by-page work will begin with Chapter 9 and include plenty of time for conversational practice.

2:00-4:00
Rabbi Daniel Vaisrub

(Talmud) The Status of the Heresh in Jewish Law
We will begin our inquiry into the status of the heresh (a deaf person) in Jewish law by first laying the groundwork of the fundamental concepts and principles that underlie Jewish law altogether—the notion of the individual as being created b’tzelem elohim (in the image of God), and the resulting kavod habriot (human dignity) ascribed and granted to the individual as a result. We will then look at the notion of halachic obligation and its relationship to these fundamental Jewish concepts. Finally, we will look at the specific case of the heresh, and ask the questions: Who exactly is the heresh? What is the halachic status of the heresh? How does the status of heresh differ from that of those who are blind, etc.? What might the intentions of the Rabbis have been in assigning this status to the heresh? Punitive? Protective? Descriptive? How does the ability to communicate (verbally, in writing, in gesture, etc.) affect the status of the heresh? How does the ability of others to communicate with the heresh affect his/her status? While often grouped with the “shote v’katan,” how is the status of the heresh different? What is the halachic trajectory of the status of the heresh, i.e., how has that status evolved? What does it mean to be “lav bar da’at”? What are the components of da’at? Do we have insights into the reality of the life of the heresh that would change any of the above rabbinic definitions or halachic decisions? If so, what are they? Should the halachic status of the heresh be changed? If so, what are the various approaches we might take to change the halachic status of the heresh? 

Sunday

 12 noon – 1:30pm (begins Oct 14th)
Rabbi Dr. Douglas Goldhamer & Linda Clark
Astrology, Kabbalah & Hebrew Commentaries

Jewish astrology includes a spiritual belief in God. To live out this belief and follow the stars requires some flexibility as medieval and early modern Torah commentaries and Kabbalistic texts reveal. In Astrology, Kabbalah & Hebrew Commentaries, Rabbi Dr. Douglas Goldhamer will enthusiastically share these often overlooked texts as well as the historic backstory.

Hebrew Seminary students will be taught how to translate mystical Hebrew texts by such scholars as Rashi, Ibn Ezra and the great mystic Nahmanides.

Linda Clark will teach contemporary astrological principles and schools of thought and discuss how the modern perspective compares and contrasts with the Jewish texts.

Ms. Clark has been actively learning Astrology since her youth. She is a member of the American Federation of Astrology, the Magi Society and the International Society for Astrological Research.

Rabbi Goldhamer will provide copies of the Jewish texts assigned for student translation and study.

1:30 – 3:00pm
Rahmeil  Drizin

(Zohar) Petachat Eliyahu from the Tikkuney HaZohar (17b)

Learn about the secrets of the universe in the famous section Petachat Eliyahu from the Tikkuney HaZohar (17b) that is found in the beginning of many Sefardic and Chassidic prayerbooks.

We are told by the Chida that reciting this selection is beneficial for opening one’s heart to successful prayer.

Call Hebrew Seminary at 847/ 679-4113 for more information on these classes.

Not Evening Not Morning

By Student Rabbi Stacey Robinson

It was not evening,

nor night,

not quite –

although the sickle moon,

dusted in orange,

kissed the passing clouds

 

It was not morning,

tho the sun

stained the sky

scarlet,

and shivered there,

on the horizon

that was sea and sky together,

and neither sea

nor sky

alone.

 

And so we prayed,

gathered at the water’s edge,

in the not-evening-

Almost morning.

We opened our lips

on the border

of land that moved

with fluid grace,

next to the dark glass

of an obsidian sea

that rippled with

the laughter of the stars

that skated its smooth surface.

 

And all the Hosts of Heaven

waited in expectant

and shimmering

Glory,

in that not-quite moment,

that sacred place

of not you

and not me;

That place where God lives –

at the very edge

of Heaven

and Earth,

That is the center

And calls to us

With bird song and wind

and the rippling

lightening

obsidian sea.

 

And there the shofar called

A single note,

Stretching out unto

eternity.

 

There was evening.

There was morning.

One day.

 

An Absence of Color and Light

By Student Rabbi Stacey Robinson

We sat among the willows,
and we wept,
there by the river
that flowed
clear and cold and swift,
–branches dancing,
barely dancing–
as they swayed
and swept the ground.

We stood among the weeping trees,
Prayers mixed with
visions of ash.
and smoke
that rose and billowed,
Black against purple-stained blue
— the blue of periwinkles
and royalty–
and a sky smudged with soot and
an absence of color
and Light,
and the altars we had left behind.

How can we sing
with no stone walls
adorned with lapis and gold:
— the blue of royalty
and the blaze of the sun–
How,
before that pillar of fire,
that billowing smoke
that is empty of God
and absent of Light?
That raged in a fiery, metallic storm,
licking at loose rubble,
that once was strong walls,
that once was adorned with
the presence of God?

We wept,
and did not sing,
and found no music
in our unstrung lyres
and broken harps.
We wept,
for how could we sing?

And after the weeping
and the fire
and the absent,
Empty,
broken altars–
Pale morning.
and skies of purple-stained blue
shot through with scarlet and gold.
Mist tangled in those willows,
their branches dancing–
barely dancing–
barely skimming the swiftly flowing waters.

A moment–
A breathless,
silent
sacred moment.
that was a psalm,
A hymn of color,
and holiness
Made anew.
And there was no absence.
And there was light.

And there,
among the willows
by that swiftly flowing river,
We found a new prayer
And sang.

 

For Tisha B’Av

 

Hebrew Seminary Celebrates its 25th Anniversary!

We cherish and honor our Board members who devote much time and energy to support our program and our students. In April we celebrated our 25th Anniversary with great fanfare and learning. We also honored the Golder Family Foundation — Joan Golder is seen here with Allen Meyer.

Because we are a 501c (3) not for profit organization, we rely on generous individuals and corporations to support our programs.https://www.hebrewseminary.org/donate_online.aspx

 

Hebrew Seminary’s 25th Anniversary also brought honor to Nona Balk who served as director for 20 years; seen in the top photo with her son David and President Rabbi Dr. Douglas Goldhamer. Below, Advisory Board member Allan Rosenblum greets guests.

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