Pekuday

NOTE: The haftorah is on p. 392 in the Hertz Chumash.

By Rabbi David Hartley Mark

            It is lonesome and harsh in the Wilderness, when the hamseen, the hot desert wind, blows;  I know this. In 1972, when Israel still held firm control of Sinai, a group of us students from Bar-Ilan University in Ramat-Gan, Israel, went on a tour of the Sinai Peninsula. We did not travel in buses; no. We rode in the backs of trucks with metal frames welded on top, open to the sunlight, and equipped with hard wooden benches. When there were sandstorms—and this was common enough—we dropped heavy, olive-drab army-canvas covers over the sides of the truck as a makeshift shield, covered our faces and noses with keffiyehs, Arab headdresses, and breathed the best we could. It became impossible to see, as the trucks crawled along through the dunes.

            Eventually, the wind would die down, and the sun would come out again. The desert sun, burning, burning….

            We saw many natural wonders which no Jew will ever see again, without an Egyptian visa: Ras Kennedy, literally “The Head of Kennedy,” a natural sculpture which, from a certain angle, seemed to resemble the profile of our late president; the Mountain of Sand, which we slid down, afterwards bathing in the cool waters of the Red Sea; Sharm al-Sheikh, with its two monstrous, British-mounted naval cannon, their inner coils blown out by victorious Israeli troops in ‘67; Mount Sinai—or, perhaps, one pretender-mountain, among a dozen claiming that title. We climbed Masada, as well, via the snake path, at four am, before the sun could come up, boiling, out of the sea.

            At night, we slept in our sleeping bags, beneath the stars, after eating Israeli canned goods, the only food that would last the entire time. There were no supermarkets in the wild; it was, truly, God’s country, and God did not see fit to rain manna upon us. We didn’t care; we were young, in our late teens and early twenties, mostly, with a number of Israeli Army veterans among us (Israeli youth attend university after fulfilling their national service), and a little sand or rocks in one’s sandals didn’t bother us. We carried just one, World-War-I-vintage Lee-Enfield rifle to defend ourselves from—whom? The Israeli Army assured us that we were safe. Not like today, sadly….

We hiked up hills and through wadis, taking pictures with our little Instamatics, finding where David and his gang of thieves had hidden from the mad King Saul. We posed, grinning like fools, by small oases, doing handstands to impress the girls, who wore either short shorts or denim dresses down to the ground. We listened to solemn guides, who stood before roughly-built monuments and told us about battles fought and won in the peninsula, in 1948, 1956, and 1967 (We had no inkling of the sudden cataclysm yet to come, in 1973, shortly after our return home; much less the passions boiling in Gaza.) I remember one, in particular: it was “decorated” with the top-plates of Egyptian-planted shoe-button land mines, along with the remnants of an Israeli jeep that had haplessly driven over it, exploding and killing its four occupants, all young men. They died that Israel might live.

            At midnight, the stars winked on us, and I thought about our ancestors trekking through that same land, following their mysterious, demanding Desert God, Who led them in the guise of a Pillar of Cloud by Day, Pillar of Fire by Night. Around this time in our Torah, God had also given the Israelites a visible symbol of His love for them: the Mishkan, the Sacred Dwelling-Place for His Spirit. There, they would gather, to offer sacrifices, incense-offerings, and ten percent of their produce, in gratitude for the blessings He sent them, or to atone for feelings of guilt, sin, or worse transgressions committed against Him. It must have been difficult, indeed, to claim loyalty to an invisible Deity in a world which either worshiped idols or mortal monarchs claiming superhuman powers. There were challenges to Moses’s leadership, questioning his (and God’s) authority, even rebellions, swiftly punished.

The Desert was unforgiving; it remains so. Pray for the peace of Israel.

OUR RABBI - David Hartley Mark

WATCH RABBI MARK , To Life, L'Chaim #217 - Rabbi David Mark (You Tube)

Rabbi David Hartley Mark was born in New York City, and grew up on the Lower East Side, that legendary Jewish immigrant neighborhood, attending Hebrew Day School. He was first from his school, the East Side Torah Center, to attend Yeshiva University High School for Boys—Manhattan. David attended Yeshiva University, where he attained a BA in English Literature, a BS in Bible and Jewish Education, and a Hebrew Teacher’s Diploma (HTD). He spent his third year of college at Bar Ilan University in Ramat-Gan, Israel, where he developed a fluency in Hebrew, and toured around the country. He has also attained a Certificate in Advanced Jewish School Administration from the Hebrew College in Brookline, MA.

David attended the City University of New York Graduate Center, where he earned an MA degree from Queens College, as well as an M.Phil. degree, majoring in 17th Century English, specializing in the work of John Milton, as well as the Romantic Poets. A year teaching Hebrew School in a Reform temple in Brooklyn convinced him of his great love of Judaism, and he began attending the Academy for Jewish Religion, Yonkers, NY, where he was ordained a rabbi in 1980.

He met Anbeth, who was hired as temple secretary the same day he was hired to teach. They were married in 1978. They have two grown children, Tyler and Jordan, as well as a grandson, Aidan.

Rabbi Mark served pulpits in Warren, NJ, Fayetteville, NC, and Portsmouth, NH, in which last pulpit he spent 22 years, a record for that state. Seeking warmer climes, as well as closer family members, he and Anbeth took the pulpit of Temple Sholom in 2009. He also fulfilled a lifetime dream of teaching English at Keiser University in Ft. Lauderdale.  

OUR CANTOR - ANITA SCHUBERT

 

Cantor Anita Schubert, grew up in Queens and Lynbrook in New York, says it was a combination of her love for both singing and religion that led her to train to become a cantor. “I grew up in a conservative synagogue. My parents weren’t super religious,” she said. “I started going to shabbat services and never stopped. I learned the musical chants . . . all the right stuff. I picked it up and was able to lead services as well. When I was a teenager I was asked to be one of the adult leaders in the junior congregation. I graduated to running it.”

Although she found her niche leading her congregation, it never occurred to her to be a cantor. “I was the wrong gender until the 80s.” As for her musical style, “It’s mostly a cappella. But I have been accompanied by someone on guitar and piano.”

Her academic background includes both undergraduate and graduate courses in music theory, sight-singing, ear-training, music history, conducting, choral arranging, voice building for choirs, vocal training, as well as studying the piano and flute. Plus, “I began singing in choirs starting in the third grade.”

She also took college courses in Hebrew, modern Jewish thought and the history of Jewish music.

Schubert said although women had been taking cantorial courses, they were not considered cantors at first. However, things changed for the better when women were finally accepted into the Cantors Assembly, an international association representing the cantorial profession.

Schubert has been actively working as a cantor at various congregations around the nation for many years before her new position at Temple Sholom. She realizes her coming here will be an historic event for the local place of worship. And what will she bring to her new congregation? “My spirit, my choice of music. We have a lot of options. We go beyond the traditional.”

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