Years ago, I made a serious mistake. I was president of a small schul that met in a storefront. We’d been struggling for years to build a building, and it looked like our dream was in sight.

The board was ecstatic. We couldn’t wait to tell the congregation. So we announced it to the community – just a few more details and then we’ll break ground.

And then suddenly, everything fell through. Construction costs spiked, the bank withdrew their loan offer, and it looked like our dream would never come true. And the situation kept changing. Every day, it seemed, we discovered a new way to pare down the costs, another lender who might help us. And the next day, things would fall through.

How do you tell a community that their dream may not happen? How do you convince them to stay with you, to sacrifice and to double their donations? And most importantly, how do you continue as a holy community?

I called a congregational meeting, and I stood there in front of a crowded room. “I’ll tell you everything tonight,” I told them, “but first I want to thank you.” And I told them the story of the congregation, from its earliest days until the day that we moved into the storefront, reminding them of everything we had achieved.

“You did these things,” I told them. “It wasn’t me. And through your generosity, we’ve build up financial assets – a property that we can build on, furniture, a Torah scroll.” And then I did the bravest thing I have ever done. I asked them to join me in Shehecheyanu.

I didn’t know whether they’d join me or throw things at me. But I knew one thing: I couldn’t go on without thanking God for their commitment, for their generosity, for the holiness they brought to our community.

We thought we’d lose half of our members that night. And standing there, as I started to say Shehecheyanu, I thought I’d be thrown out of the room. But I did what I had to.

And as I raised my voice in prayer, as I thanked God for the miraculous things that my congregation had done, everyone joined me. We didn’t lose a single member or a dollar in donations.

We Jews are known as Hebrews, a word that comes from ivri, one who stands on the other side. We do what’s right, even if the entire world stands on the other side, and somehow, we succeed.

I’ve been a lay leader for thirty years, and I’ve learned that leadership takes courage – the courage to speak the truth, to stand on the other side, to see miracles where others see gloom.

But the greatest kind of courage is the courage to admit our mistakes. The courage to grow, the courage to admit our mistakes is at the center of the High Holidays. And all of you can do it.

Courage and honesty are contagious. And if you are willing to grow, people will forgive you.

The congregation stayed together. We worked, and we sacrificed, and we dug deep into our pockets, and finally our dream came true.

I will never forget the first service in our new building. It was Kol Nidre, the night when we confess our failings and ask for forgiveness. And as we chanted the ancient words, we realized that all our vows had been forgiven. With courage, with honesty, with a willingness to grow, there is nothing we can’t do.

Shabbat Shalom,
Art