Here’s a good bar trivia question for you: How often is the Golden Gate Bridge repainted to maintain its famous orange color? Answer: EVERY SINGLE DAY. Well, not the whole bridge end to end. But I was astonished to learn, when I was visiting the Bay Area at the start of my sabbatical, that not a day goes by when one of thirty dedicated painters or twenty dedicated iron workers isn’t busy checking for corrosion, replacing rivets, or repainting sections of the bridge that are constantly under threat from San Francisco’s moist, salty air.
I was in the Bay Area for a week-long immersive learning program at Svara – a non-traditional yeshiva that values traditional talmud study, without the benefit of English translations. The program is called Queer Talmud Camp, and indeed all the attendees identified either as LGBTQ themselves or as allies. It was certainly emotional to be able to connect with other parents of LGBTQ kids, and to learn side by side and bond with young trans adults not much older than my own trans son. And the learning was incredible. As our sages teach, “Turn it, and turn it again and again, for everything can be found within it” (Teachings of Our Ancestors 5:22). Sitting in sacred study, with a partner who challenges and broadens my perspective, in a community that celebrates diversity in learning and in belonging, was an incredible way to see new sides of an essential text. I felt renewed, and more whole at the same time.
The bridge of my sabbatical stretched from a yeshiva in Petaluma, California, in early July to the UCB theater in the East Village in the middle of August. That is where I reported, all day long, from Monday-Friday, to a tiny classroom with fifteen other performers for the Upright Citizens Brigade’s vaunted Improv 101 – normally an 8-week class but compressed into a one-week intensive each summer. It was a diverse group of students – computer programmers, stand-up comedians, a playwright, a military wife, actors (including a current star of Hamilton on Broadway??), and one very nervous cantor. Many of you have probably heard of longform improv’s famous dictum, which has seeped into popular culture: When your scene partner establishes a reality, your job is to say, “Yes, and…” By doing this, the act of walking across a tightrope with no net (and no rope!) is made bearable with the knowledge that each partner is truly listening and responding to the other. Each choice is heard and honored, commitments are made second by second, and together the willing performers create an absurd and hilarious scene surrounded by an ever-changing scaffolding of agreed-upon truths, erected by its death-defying construction crew of improvisers. When I say this is one of the hardest, scariest things I’ve ever attempted, I’m not lying. And not just at our performance for friends and family on the UCB stage that Saturday (we killed!). But at every moment in that tiny classroom, when my scene partner was depending on me, I needed to be fast on my feet, with ears and heart wide open to the possibilities of each moment.
As we travel together across the bridge from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur, may we all have the fortitude, the awareness, and the courage to identify and remove the corrosion that might be holding us back, strengthening rivets of connection and applying a fresh coat of paint to our souls and our relationships. May we also be able to truly listen to one another, creating and renewing a collective reality that speaks to a world filled with empathy, joy, and boundless possibilities.
Wishing you a year of sweetness and sustainability,
Cantor Eric
