Congregation Adas Emuno

Rabbi Schwartz's Sermon for Yom Kippur 5781

October 06, 2020 4:43 PM | Lance Strate (Administrator)

SAY MY NAME

Yom Kipuur, 5781

Rabbi Barry L. Schwartz

On the afternoon of June 6, with masks and social distancing, Debby and I walked up Broad Avenue to join the Leonia Black Lives Matter protest. It was the largest gathering I had seen in our town. We marched to the library, and were led there in a rally. What moved me most, what gave me goose-bumps, despite the sweltering heat, was the chant, call and response style: Say my name! Say my name: George Floyd! Say my name: Breonna Taylor! Say my name: Ahmaud Arbery!

Say my name. The power of three words.

On this Yom Kippur, permit me a brief reflection on the power of naming, and the imperative to keep alive the story and the legacy behind every name.

The acclaimed Israeli poet Zelda published a poem in 1985 which has achieved iconic status. It is called L’kol Ish Yesh Shem—Each of Us Has a Name. It begins:

Each of us has a name

given by God

and given by our parents.

The notion that there is a divine-human partnership in the sacred act of naming goes all the way back to Book of Genesis:

And the Lord God formed out of the earth all the wild beasts and all the birds of the sky, and brought them to the man to see what he would call them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that would be its name. (2:19)

And when a baby is born in our tradition, we welcome this child into the covenant with a baby naming ceremony. The newborn becomes a person in the fullest sense once the baby has its own unique name.

Speaking of newborns: it is with the greatest of joy that Debby and I announce the birth of our grandson yesterday! Adin Doron Schwartz, Reuven Hershel ben Nadav v’Ita- welcome to the world.

(Too bad Adin is missing this sermon).

The Hebrew Bible attests to the significance of naming over and over again. God says to our first patriarch,

And you shall no longer be called Abram, but your name shall be Abraham, for I make you the father of a multitude of nations. (17:5)

And to our first matriarch,

As for your wife Sarai, you shall not call her Sarai, but her name shall be Sarah…I will bless her so that she shall give rise to nations… (17:15-16)

A name change also explains what we call ourselves. Jacob famously wrestles with an angel, who says

Your name shall no longer be Jacob, but Israel, for you have wrestled with God and men and prevailed.

That’s our collective name as the Jewish people, Yisrael–the one who wrestles with God.

Do you know the meaning of your name? Do you know how it was chosen? Do you have an English name and a Hebrew name? Chances are that your parents thought long and hard about your name. They chose it for a reason. The liked the sound, yes, but they also cared about the meaning. They wanted your name to say something about you. In the Ashkenazic tradition your name may also bear the memory of a loved one. Your name has meaning. Your name has power.

It was not just a man who died in Minneapolis; it was George Floyd.

It was not just a woman who died in Louisville, it was Breonna Taylor.

It was not just a jogger who died in Atlanta, it was Ahmaud Arbery.

Names bestow personhood and names tell a story. Names keep alive memories and names perpetuate a legacy.

When I was first an assistant rabbi in the DC suburb of Chevy Chase, MD in the late 80’s I went to the National Mall on the day before Yom Kippur. I went to see the National AIDS Quilt. It was the last time that the Quilt was going to be seen in one place at one time. Sadly, because of that plague, it had grown too big to be displayed as a whole.

My parents, children, Debby and I walked up and down the rows, and I was overcome with emotion.

I knew how many people had died of Aids. I knew the statistics.

But seeing name after name lovingly stitched on a vibrant, colorful, unique square—that was what got to me.

Every person—with a unique name and a unique soul.

The dead cry out to us: Say my name! Remember me!

On this Yom Kippur in the midst of pandemic and protest, let us pause and reflect:

Who will say our name? Who will remember us?

And on this Yom Kippur in the midst of pandemic and protest we ask:

Who should we be naming? Whose legacy should we be remembering?

Those final words from Hamilton haunt us on this Yom Kippur: Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?

Say my name: keep alive the story of George Floyd; the story of Breonna Taylor; the story of Ahmaud Arbery; the story of ordinary men and women who did not deserve to die.

Say my name: keep alive the story of John Lewis; the story of Ruth Bader Ginsburg; the story of extraordinary men and women who did not give up.

Say my name: keep alive the story of Yisrael; our story, our people, who bear witness to the suffering and to the quest for equality and justice generation after generation.

Say my name: keep alive the story of America, also our story, our people, and do not give up on the dream of a more perfect union from sea to shining sea.

Here, now, on Yom Kippur, on behalf of the dead and on behalf of the living:

Say my name! Say my name! Say my name!

Rabbi Schwartz's Sermon for Kol Nidre 5781

October 06, 2020 4:24 PM | Lance Strate (Administrator)

DEMOCRACY GRIEF

Kol Nidre, 5781

Rabbi Barry L. Schwartz

Soon after the death of George Floyd and the nation-wide protests that ensued, my colleague Rabbi Lance Sussman of Philadelphia, wrote this poem, entitled “I Can’t Breathe”:

I Can’t Breathe

by Rabbi Lance J. Sussman

I can’t breathe,

The knee of oppression

Is on my neck.

I can’t breathe,

The air of my city

Is filled with tear gas.

I can’t breathe,

I am filled with rage

And the smoke of burning buildings.

I can’t breathe

Because the air is filled with contempt for people of different colors.

I can’t breathe

Because my country is suffocating

And the air of democracy is getting thinner and thinner.

I can’t breathe

Because I am grieving for America

And praying its dreams aren’t dying

In the streets of our nation tonight.

I found this poem altogether powerful, but it was the end that struck me most—the line that “the air of democracy is getting thinner and thinner” and “I am grieving for America”.

I realized then that I was suffering from a malady that has recently been named, Democracy Grief.

The term is an outgrowth of another illness of recent coinage: Climate Grief—the despair felt by environmentalists watching helplessly as our planet suffocates. As columnist Michelle Goldberg explains, “Those who pay close attention to the ecological calamity that civilization is inflicting upon itself frequently describe feelings of rage, anxiety, and bottomless loss.” Greta Thunberg, Time magazine’s 2019 Person of the Year, has described falling into a deep depression after grasping the ramifications of climate change and the utter refusal of people in power to rise to the occasion. “If burning fossil fuels is so bad that it threatens our very existence, how can we just continue like before?” she asks.

I ask:

If prejudice and hate and racism are so bad that it threatens our very democratic existence how can we continue like before?

If the original sin of this nation still has us in shackles, how can we be free?

If the political discourse has so degraded that it keeps us at each other’s throats, how can we manage?

This summer I began my Independence Day Zoom Shabbat discussion by asking how people were feeling about our country. I asked our members to pick one word. The most common was fearful. Others were anxious, depressed. Only one member of our Zoom Shabbat congregation chose a positive word, optimistic.

In a recent Pew opinion poll on the same subject the most commonly chosen word was angry and the second scared. Only 17% chose proud.

Feelings like this are unsettling and they are unhealthy. They indicate, to my mind, more than malaise. They are a sign of deep anxiety about our nation. Democracy grief.

I spoke on that July 4th weekend about being a nation on edge because our feelings of disunion were overwhelming our feelings of union.

We feel disunion when our leaders fail to protect our nation during a pandemic.

We feel disunion when our leaders fail to seek common cause in a time of protest.

We feel disunion when our leaders fail the common test of decency in a crisis.

We feel disunion when other fellow Americans acquiesce in this recklessness.

We feel disunion when truth-telling falls victim to deceit and deception.

We feel disunion when courage bows to expediency and vision is lost to triumphalism.

In short, we feel disunion when our country is not pulling together but pulling apart.

We fear for our democracy.

And who among us does not tremble at least a touch at what may happen the day after the election in November?

Yes, the air of democracy is getting thinner and thinner.

But if there is one bright spot it is the American spirit that refuses to die.

The American spirit that dreams and marches for a more perfect union.

Maybe what we saw this late spring and summer and even now is that we are finally starting to move past denial.

Maybe what we have witnessed is the beginning of a reckoning like never before.

Henry Louis Gates, the esteemed Harvard professor, acidly observes that, “Racism has been part of America’s cultural DNA since before the ink dried on the Constitution. Dominant in some and recessive in others, it’s a gene that has mutated over time yet remains part of the inheritance weighing us down, one generation to the next.”

Dominant in some and recessive in others….

Not all of us are perpetrators, we know that. But all of us are bystanders. In one way or another by turning a blind eye we are enablers.

Is it not true that we abided by slavery for 250 years, from the earliest settlement of this continent until the Civil War?

Is it not true that we abided by Jim Crow segregation for another 100 years, from the Civil War to the Civil Rights era?

Is it not true that we have abided by de-facto if not de-jure discrimination for another 50 years since then?

We do the math and that adds up to four centuries; four hundred years. That has a painful resonance for us Jews. The Torah tells us that is how long the children of Israel were slaves in Egypt.

The same Torah that reminds us again and again, “Do not oppress the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”

The same Torah that warns: “you shall not stand idly by”.

The same Torah that commands, “Justice, justice shall you pursue.”

On this troubled Yom Kippur we ask:

Are we calling out prejudice in our schools? In our workplaces? In our very families?

Are we demanding reform of our police? Of our prisons? Of our courts?

Are we narrowing the inequality gap or widening it?

Are we advancing affirmative action or stymying it?

What are we, as ordinary citizens, doing to strengthen the democratic foundations of our country? Our little part? In our little corner?

Here’s the thing about democracy grief vs. mourner’s grief. When we lose a loved-one, we grieve for a life that is lost forever. Our deceased have departed and will not return. What is lost is lost. Gone forever.

“Democracy grief isn’t like regular grief,” writes Goldberg. “Acceptance isn’t how you move on from it. Acceptance is itself a kind of death.”

Our democracy may be damaged but it is not dead.

The air may be getting thinner, but it can be replenished.

More Americans joined in protests after the horrifying death of George Floyd than in any other time in American history. More than the height of the civil rights era. More than the height of the Vietnam War era.

If this is an awakening of the American spirit, then our democracy will revive.

If our protests lead to an unrelenting call for reform, then we are breathing new air into our suffocating lungs.

If we understand, in the words of Dr. King that “injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere,” and refuse to be satisfied with the mediocrity, hypocrisy and duplicity of our political establishment, then the arc of the moral universe, long as it is, will indeed bend toward justice.

The promise of that day has never been forgotten by our faith and by our country. It is captured in another remarkable poem, by Judy Chicago. With it, I conclude, knowing that though our grief is real, so too is our hope. We have come a long way. We have a long way to go. But a better day is waiting to dawn:

And Then

And then all that has divided us will merge.

And then compassion will be wedded to power.

And the softness will come to a world that is harsh and unkind.

And then both men and women will be gentle.

And then both women and men will be strong.

And then no person will be subject to another’s will.

And then all will be rich and free and varied.

And then the greed of some will give way to the needs of many.

And then all will share equally in the Earth’s abundance.

And then all will care for the sick and the weak and the old.

And then all will nourish the young.

And then all will cherish life’s creatures.

And then all will live in harmony with each other and the Earth.

And then everywhere will be called Eden once again.

Rabbi Schwartz's Prayer for Rosh Hashanah Evening 5781

October 06, 2020 4:04 PM | Lance Strate (Administrator)

Rosh Hashanah Prayer for 5781

Rabbi Barry L. Schwartz

Eloheinu, velohei avotenu,

Our God, God of all generations:

Help us to thoughtfully reflect on the year just past and to courageously embrace this year just born.

Let us begin by remembering the overwhelming without despairing.

This past year will be forever etched in our memory as the year of the pandemic and the year of the protests.

We mourn the 948,000 souls who have perished in this pandemic worldwide; the 198,000 here in our own country; the 16,000 here in our small state of New Jersey.

Open the gates of healing for the bereaved and the bereft. There are so many mourners.

We bemoan the loss of lives and the loss of livelihoods—families shattered, businesses shuttered, jobs lost, dreams dashed.

Open the gates of our compassion for the hungry and the homeless, for the dispersed and the displaced—for all those suffering economically and emotionally.

Yet in this time of darkness let us also recall the points of light that illuminated our way—the heroic healthcare workers, the valiant front-line workers, the bus drivers and the grocery clerks who went to work to save lives and to sustain lives.

Open the gates of our gratitude for all the essential people in our families and communities.

Let us also acknowledge that the dark days of this past year grew darker still when another virus again reared its ugly head—the plague of systemic racism that has never gone away in our country. We are compelled to acknowledge that racism is indeed lodged in our nation’s DNA, born of the original sin of the enslavement of African Americans and the subjugation of Native Americans.

We must contend with our collective sins of commission as well as our sins of omission, for have we not all stood idly by?

In a free society, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel taught us, some are guilty, but all are responsible.

Open for us the gates of insight and courage for the hard work of reconciliation and reparation that lies ahead if we are to form a more perfect union befitting our country.

Poised before a watershed election amidst bitter partisan divide, may we search anew for common ground that affirms the basic human dignity of every American regardless of race, religion or gender.

Open for us the gates of freedom and equality; the gates of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

In a nation so richly blessed make us more compassionate, more generous, more just.

Our God, God of all generations—at this New Year of hope and possibility may we find common purpose to do Your will; to rise to our greatest potential; to reflect our creation in Your image… and to walk forward, to peace and purpose.

Rabbi Schwartz's Sermon for Rosh Hashanah Morning 5781

October 06, 2020 3:59 PM | Lance Strate (Administrator)

PANDEMIC MEMORIAM

Rosh Hashanah, 5781

Rabbi Barry L. Schwartz

Friends, I began my Rosh Hashanah prayer last night:

Eloheinu, velohei avotenu,

Our God, God of all generations:

Help us to thoughtfully reflect on the year just past and to courageously embrace this year just born.

Let us begin by remembering the overwhelming without despairing.

This past year will be forever etched in our memory as the year of the pandemic and the year of the protests.

We mourn the 948,000 souls who have perished in this pandemic worldwide; the 198,000 here in our own country; the 16,000 here in our small state of New Jersey.

Open the gates of healing for the bereaved and the bereft. There are so many mourners.

This Rosh Hashanah morning I ask: How can we begin the New Year of 5781 without first pausing in memoriam?

If our tradition teaches that “he who saves a life saves an entire world,” how can we comprehend the enormity of our loss in such a brief time?

After 9-11 the New York Times published the names and photos of all who were lost. It took many pages to include the 3,000 lives lost. Behind each photo was indeed an entire world—the world of a mother, father, daughter, son, sister, brother, husband, wife, friend, colleague. Even at that number we struggled to comprehend the loss we had endured.

Multiply that loss by 50 for our country and by 150 for our world and the magnitude of our loss is unfathomable. No newspaper can print all the names and photos of the dead; it would take volumes for that. No list can be complete; the final number will never be known.

When we say the kaddish on this Rosh Hashanah we cannot comprehend with the mind but we can empathize with the heart.

When we recite yizkor on this Yom Kippur we cannot name all the names but we can we can ask for mercy upon every soul.

After bowing in acknowledgment to the enormity of our loss, what else is there to say about the pandemic that has gripped our nation now more than six months—a half year ordeal with no immediate end in sight?

My Rosh Hashanah prayer continued:

We bemoan the loss of lives and the loss of livelihoods—families shattered, businesses shuttered; jobs lost, dreams dashed.

Open the gates of our compassion for the hungry and the homeless, for the dispersed and the displaced—for all those suffering economically and emotionally.

Yet in this time of darkness let us also recall the points of light that illuminated our way—the heroic healthcare workers, the valiant front-line workers, the bus drivers and the grocery clerks who went to work to save lives and to sustain lives.

Open the gates of our gratitude for all the essential people in our families and communities.

Let me tell you about one essential worker in NYC. She is a speech pathologist at Columbia Presbyterian right across the river, involved in acute trauma care. During the height of the pandemic when most of us were sequestered at home, she rode the subways and buses every day. She did not miss a day of work. She donned protective gear every morning, wearing mask, gown and face-shield for hours at a time. At first she was treating her usual list of sufferers of head, neck and throat cancers. Then the Covid patients started coming off the respirators. They were so weak they couldn’t swallow, couldn’t eat, and couldn’t talk. They were in desperate need of help. The number of Covid patients she treated grew and grew. For a stretch of several weeks in the spring her caseload was 95% Covid. Who is this unassuming hero? My daughter Talia Schwartz.

Think about all the healthcare workers like Talia. Think about the bus drivers and the truck drivers. The clerks and cashiers. The policemen and firemen. And the teachers who did not stop teaching our children.

I am appreciative to our mayors and our governors. They didn’t get it all right, but they tried, and they communicated, day after day. I am less kindly disposed to our president and federal government. We should decry our nation’s shortcomings during this crisis, even as we should hold our national leaders accountable. But this is not the time or place to go into that. We can applaud the thousands upon thousands of our fellow Americans who have helped get us through this ordeal.

Which brings me to our own community of Adas Emuno, and the gratitude I feel for your support—now, listening to this High Holiday service from afar, and throughout these last six months? Your response to my pre-recorded messages, to Zoom Shabbat, to Zoom Torah study, to Zoom Book Club, to Zoom Confirmation, to Zoom Family service, to Zoom B’nai mitzvah lessons, to Zoom religious school, has been phenomenal.

How we miss everything we took for granted—sitting next to each other in the sanctuary, joining hands for the healing prayer, touching the Torah during the procession, shaking hands to greet each other with a Shabbat Shalom, and Shana Tovah, enjoying the oneg in the social hall… the list goes on. I am confident all this will resume, but it will take time, a long time. I know I am speaking for the leadership of our synagogue when I say that we are grateful for your support and for your patience.

I think about how past generations of this synagogue survived the great pandemic of 1918. The Great Depression. The First and Second World Wars. I know they would smile to know that next year we will reach our milestone 150th anniversary. I indeed hope we can have a no-holds-barred in-person gala celebration. But even if we can’t, we will still rejoice.

This High Holiday marks my tenth year at Adas Emuno. I did not expect to complete the decade in this fashion. I do confess that looking out at an empty sanctuary is sad and unsettling. I miss you. But it is not hard for me, after all these years, to picture all of you right in front of me.

Life goes on, with its sorrows and joys. The absence of my father is still keenly felt. But any day now, with God’s help, Debby and I will be grandparents. Just think of all the stories we will be able to tell our grandson about the year he was born!

One point I hope to remind our youth who are too young to remember is that this pandemic, like all crises, brought out the best and the worst in us. The worst is grim: it led to tens of thousands of deaths that could have been averted. We pray that at the very least our government has learned enough to be better planned with a coordinated national plan to face a future disaster. It led to a national failure of resolve. It led to national loss of basic human empathy, as in “It is what it is.” We pray to never again become that callous

But we will also tell our children that millions of Americans sacrificed for the sake of others; that countless citizens embraced the timeless ethic of our tradition to “love your neighbor as yourself” and to protect the most vulnerable in our society. Even now we are called to rise to that challenge.

During the height of the pandemic I wrote these words to you and with them I conclude:

A Time to Every Purpose

To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven

The ancient words of Ecclesiastes reach across time to our lives in a pandemic.

A time to be born and a time to die

As the rebirth of spring unfolds around us we mourn those taken from us.

A time to weep and a time to laugh

Even in our sorrow we reconnected to family and friends in new ways.

A time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing

“Social distancing” entered our vocabulary unwanted, but we found ways to hug from afar.

A time to rend and a time to sow

Many have lost livelihoods and more, yet we will rise up and rebuild.

A time to keep silent and a time to speak

We stand speechless at the dedication of our first-responders,

And are grateful for our leaders who inspired by word and deed.

A time for war and a time for peace

Our battle continues yet we do not lose hope that the storm will abate.

This Week at Adas Emuno

October 01, 2020 4:12 PM | Anonymous member (Administrator)

Oct. 1, 2020

Dear Friends,
Having welcomed the New Year and Day of Atonement in unique fashion this year, onward to the celebration of Sukkot and Simchat Torah.

Our Livestream Shabbat-Sukkot Evening Service (7:30 PM) will be followed by our Zoom Oneg Shabbat (8:15 PM).

No pizza-in-the-hut this year, but on Sunday we have a special treat for you, a *Livestream Sukkot Concert* (5:00 PM) featuring our talented musicians Elka Oliver, Peter Hayes, Michael Scowden and Iris Karlin singing many of your favorites from the American and Israeli songbooks. This is special—we hope you will tune in!

Please note that our Shabbat Morning Torah Study will not meet this week, but for a very good reason, as the brit of our grandson Adin Doron Schwartz will take place at the very same time!

And keep in mind that our Shabbat-Simchat Torah Family Service is next week, Oct. 9 (7:30 PM), via Zoom, with a big (virtual) celebration of the Torah.

Shabbat shalom and Hag Sameach,
Rabbi Schwartz

PS- Kindly return your Holiday prayer books to the bin on the school porch at any time.

For Livestream Shabbat (7:30-8:15 PM) and Livestream Sukkot Concert (Sunday, 5 PM)
Go to YouTube.com and enter Adas Emuno Streaming in the search box, or try this link:
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCftctPu9pRG4bBQCR6RH4Dg
Look for a picture of the Temple with the word "Live" and click and wait for the service to start, or join the service in progress.

This Week at Adas Emuno

September 24, 2020 8:30 AM | Anonymous member (Administrator)

Sept. 24. 2020

Dear Friends,
The Sabbath between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is called Shabbat Shuva - The Sabbath of Return - and features a unique blend of sabbath and holiday music.
Experience this blend at our Livestream Shabbat (7:30 PM) followed by our Zoom Oneg Shabbat (8:15 PM) where we have the opportunity to reflect on the remarkable legacy of Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

The second meeting of our Zoom Torah Study (10:00 AM) takes place on Shabbat morning, and it’s not too late to join our year of studying the weekly portion with the great medieval commentator Rashi.

Our Religious School meets virtually on Sunday morning (9:00 AM). Then, of course, comes the Day of Atonement with Yom Kippur Evening Service (8:00 PM), with Student Cantor Ilana Goldman and her mother Amy Goldman playing cello in a stirring new rendition of Kol Nidrei that you will not want to miss!

On Monday: Yom Kippur Morning Services (10:00 AM), Children's Service (2:00 PM) and Afternoon, Yizkor, and Neilah Services (4-30-6:30 PM) will keep us soulfully busy all day.

Shabbat shalom and Shanah tovah,
Rabbi Schwartz

For Livestream Services
Go to YouTube.com and enter Adas Emuno Streaming in the search box, or try this link:
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCftctPu9pRG4bBQCR6RH4Dg

Look for a picture of the Temple with the word "Live" and click and wait for the service to start or join the service in progress.

This Week at Adas Emuno

September 17, 2020 8:57 AM | Anonymous member (Administrator)

Sept. 17, 2020

Dear Friends,
We will so miss seeing each other in person for the New Year.
But we sincerely hope you will tune in to our livestream Shabbat/Rosh Hashanah services:

Evening (8:00 PM), Morning (10:00 AM), Children's (2:00 PM).

I know you will love the singing of Student Cantor Ilana Goldman and we have worked hard to make this an enjoyable and meaningful worship experience.

If you feel comfortable attending, we will meet and greet each other in person at Tashlich on Rosh Hashanah afternoon (3:30 PM) by the water at New Overpeck Park. Bring your mask, breadcrumbs, or pebbles, for the very short, socially-distanced ceremony.

With warmest wishes for a new year of health, peace, and justice,

Shabbat shalom and shanah tovah,
Rabbi Schwartz

Note-Holiday prayer books are now available in the bin on the school porch.

For Livestream Shabbat and Holiday Services
Go to YouTube.com and enter Adas Emuno Streaming in the search box, or try this link:
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCftctPu9pRG4bBQCR6RH4Dg

Join Us for High Holy Day Services on Youtube

September 16, 2020 11:49 AM | Anonymous member (Administrator)

Dear Friends,

As we approach the High Holidays this year it will certainly be a season of firsts at Congregation Adas Emuno. Our Holiday services are always a highlight of our year and an opportunity to come together as a community in prayer and reflection. As you know, this year we are compelled to gather virtually using our new live-streaming capabilities. We hope that you will join us with the same spirit you have historically brought to our in-person services. I know that Rabbi Schwartz and student cantor Ilana Goldman along with accompaniest Beth Robin will inspire you!

Shanah Tovah,
Michael Fishbein
President

Schedule of Services and Events:

Rosh Hashanah

Erev Rosh Hashanah Service
Friday, September 18 - 8 PM
Rosh Hashanah Services
Saturday, September 19

Rosh Hashanah Service - 10 AM
Rosh Hashanah Children's Service - 2 PM
Taschlich (Overpeck Park - Boat Dock) - 3:30 PM

Yom Kippur

Kol Nidre Service
Sunday, September 27 - 8 PM
Yom Kippur Services
Monday, September 28

Morning Service - 10 AM
Children's Service - 2 PM
Afternoon, Yizkor and Concluding Service - 4:30 PM

Live -Streaming Tips

Access YouTube in a browser or on a Smart TV
Search Adas Emuno Streaming
When a service begins streaming the live video will appear on your screen. Before the service begins you will see a static photo of either the front of the temple or the interior of the sanctuary

This Week at Adas Emuno

September 10, 2020 8:22 AM | Anonymous member (Administrator)

Sep.10, 2020,

Dear Friends:
We are off and running with Livestream Shabbat!
Tune into our YouTube Channel (see below) to enjoy our Shabbat Evening Service (7:30-8:15 PM).
   I think those who joined us last week will agree that Student Cantor Iris's singing and piano playing is something special!
Then just click on the link for our Zoom Oneg Shabbat  (8:15-8:45 PM) for sermon and schmooze.
I'll offer some thoughts on the fast approaching New Year.

Our Shabbat Morning Zoom Torah study begins this week (10:00 AM).
Our Religious School likewise begins this week, on Sunday (9:00 AM) with a virtual gathering and an exciting program of on-line learning, under the direction of our new educator, Shira Friedman.

Please come by (with your mask and social distancing) to say hello, see our butterfly garden, and pick up your Holiday prayer book, and a gift from me, on Thursday (7:00 PM) or Sunday (1:00 PM).

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Schwartz

For Livestream Shabbat (7:30-8:15 PM)
Go to YouTube.com and enter Adas Emuno Streaming in the search box, or try this link:
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCftctPu9pRG4bBQCR6RH4Dg
We recommend that you subscribe by clicking the big letter "A" in a circle.
Look for a picture of the Temple with the word "Live" and click and wait for the service to start, or join the service in progress.

This Week at Adas Emuno

September 03, 2020 8:22 AM | Anonymous member (Administrator)

Sept. 3, 2020

Dear Friends:
Welcome to Livestream Shabbat!
Tune into our YouTube Channel (see below) to enjoy our Shabbat Evening Service (7:30-8:15 PM).
We formally welcome student cantor Iris Karlin.
You are not going to want to miss Iris's singing and piano playing!

Then just click on the link for our Zoom Oneg Shabbat (8:15-8:45 PM) for sermon and schmooze!
Our discussions have been lively of late, and we will see each other's smiling faces.
That's our weekly plan,and we hope to see you early and often!
And this week I have invited Lance Strate to lead the discussion based on his provocative article in The Jewish Standard about how we are (mis)handling the pandemic even now.

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Schwartz

For Livestream Shabbat (7:30-8:15 PM)
Go to YouTube.com and enter Adas Emuno Streaming in the search box, or try this link:
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCftctPu9pRG4bBQCR6RH4Dg
We recommend that you subscribe by clicking the big letter "A" in a circle or the word “Subscribe.”
Look for a picture of the Temple with the word "Live" and click and wait for the service to start, or join the service in progress.