PHIL JACOBS AND ADAM KATZ-STONE

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hen the children went to
open the ark one Sabbath
morning, the Torah was
leaning from the inside
against the door.
They opened the doors of
the ark, and it tumbled to the
. floor. Silver ornaments made
a clanging sound when they
hit the ground.
Yet nothing was as loud as the silence that
gripped Shir Tikvah that morning.
Rabbi Arnie Sleutelberg tried to get a
word out. Instead, he felt the warm, salty
tears rolling from his eyes. He also felt him-
self tremble. Everyone wanted to speak, yet
no one knew what to say.
Rabbi Sleutelberg, hearing almost an echo
of his voice, said, "Aleinu, we bend our
knees, bow, and acknowledge our thanks
before the King who reigns over kings."
Everyone then, still in what Rabbi
Sleutelberg describes as a "primordial gasp,"
approached the bimah.
"We made a circle," said the rabbi. "I took
the Torah out and kissed it and hugged it.
Then I passed it to the person next to me. I
don't remember saying anything. We passed
it around, people were kissing it, people were
crying. It wasn't until after the service that
people could say anything."
Shir Tikvah's experience did everything to
heighten the awareness of the Troy congrega-
tion about its Torah. The mishap inspired
learning among the congregants. It brought
people to the Torah who had never even held
it before. It also spurred enough interest
from members to fund the building of a new
ark.
"How precious the Torah is to me," said
Rabbi Sleutelberg. "How much joy and ful-
fillment and meaning it brings to my life.

Adam Katz Stone is an Annapolis-based free-
lance writer.

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That the entire community around the world
will simultaneously finish reading the Torah
[on Simchat Torah] is an overwhelming expe-
rience. And we're celebrating not so much
the finish, but the start of the cycle again.
And it's because all of us have had the experi-
ence of reading and touching a book that we
didn't want to end."
Jews for ages have been turning to the par-
sha or portion of the week, to kindle the
flame of learning. Judaism divides the first
five books of the Bible into portions, or
parshot. Each week has its own parsha, and it
takes a year to read the entire cycle — a cycle
that concludes, and begins again on the holi-
day of Simchat Torah, which begins Friday
night, Oct. 24.
Traditionally, one studies the parsha along
with various commentaries, beginning with
those of the medieval scholar Rashi. Dozens
of books offer diverse parshot perspectives,
and several groups also offer weekly com-
mentaries via e-mail and the Internet. Yet a
single value still unites all parsha studies: the
basic Jewish commitment to education.
Rabbi Karmi Gross, the headmaster of
Akiva Hebrew Day School, said the Torah is
God's revealed words to us. To say that, how-
ever, sometimes doesn't get across the point
he's trying to make. So Rabbi Gross tells a
story:
It's about a woman in Israel who had a
son. That son was in the army, and when he
came home from duty, she'd wash his uni-
form. The neighbors knew the son was
home, because the woman would hang the
uniform out to dry each time.
The story goes that the son was killed in
action. A month later, the neighbors see his
freshly washed uniform hanging outside to
dry. When they approach the woman, she
tells her neighbor that even though her son
isn't alive, every time she touches the uni-
form, she feels she is touching him.
"In a way," said Rabbi Gross, "that's

Torah. "We're touching God's words, we're
touching God. God gave something of him-
self to us, and we are fortunate to be able to
touch his letters, his words and his bless-
ings."
Learning, say the scholars, is limitless. But
one should never allow that limitlessness to
create a feeling of surrender. The parameters
of the parshot allow us to set goals within
ourselves, within that limitlessness. So we set
our goals each week, progressing through the
text until Simchat Torah, when we roll up
the sacred scrolls, dance a bit, and start
again.
The parsha system is endlessly renewed
and endlessly renewing, say the learned,
because Torah is never the same book twice.
Rabbi Gila Ruskin, formerly of Detroit, is
the spiritual leader of Congregation Chevrei
Tzedek in Baltimore. When she introduces
her eighth-grade Bible class to Bereshit, there
is generally a grumble of "we already know
this." Eden? Noah? Been there, done that.
That's when she brings out the beans, a
big opaque bowl full, and asks for volunteers.
When the first child dips into the bowl and
unexpectedly pulls out a shiny coin, the oth-
ers soon clamor for their chance.
"This is how the commentators thought
about the Torah," she explained. "They
would look at the surface and see nothing,
just dried beans. But they believed there were
secrets in the Torah, that they would find all
the secrets of life hidden inside. And if you
believe this, you can never stop digging."
For Rabbi Sleutelberg, it's a "guidebook
that helps us know.what makes for a fulfill-
ing, meaningful and spiritual life. It helps us
connect to the source of the universe and the
spirit within."
It was that spirit that he and his congrega-
tion tapped when they hugged and kissed
their fallen Torah. Yet it was the Torah, they
learned, that was touching them.

10/24
1997

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