On my way home from work today, I decided to stop by an old Conservative Synagogue in my town. The synagogue has previously been sold and will soon be torn down. My assumption is a declined Jewish population in the immediate area which used to be a thriving Jewish community when it was established. As I walked around the outside, examining the broken windows and overgrown vegetation, I was reminded of my one attendance here with my Protestant Confirmation class. I remember having to wear a kippah (Yarmulke) and today I was wearing one, but now by choice. (There is some kind of “full circle” symbolism there, I just know it)

I worked my way around the very large “ten commandments” monument and to the back. There it was… an open door! I had to go inside. I walked into the kitchen area where I am sure many oneg (fellowship meal after Shabbat (Sabbath) service) meals and children’s school lunches were prepared. I stepped into a large foyer. The floor was covered with shards of glass and the blinds rapped the window frames in the breeze of the day. Padding from pews haphazardly lay piled on the floor. I moved forward to the large circular sanctuary, every step echoing the sound of crunching glass. I stood there humbled; speechless.

How many services? The walls would no longer contain the sounds of the Hebrew Torah readings I witnessed as a child. I could see the compartments at the back of the platform that contained the Torah scrolls. I looked up through the large sky light and noticed the roof timbers in the shape of the Star of David. There were side rooms where the Rabbis would have prayed and prepared for service. The sanctuary was void of seating and simply a shell of what once was.

I made my way through the halls carefully, as the inside roof tiles were torn down. I walked by classroom after classroom. The walls had large rectangular spaces void of paint from where blackboards once hanged. The floors were littered with broken glass, Hebrew flashcards and books.

This house indeed was laid waste and my thoughts were drawn to Gaza. The scene I was witnessing, how much does it resemble a synagogue abandoned in Yisra’el? I can’t really put into words the emptiness and sorrow I was feeling. Though it was not my congregation, I felt connected. This synagogue faced adversity over the years. It had suffered the abominations of swastika graffiti and a pig’s head placed on the doors. I remember the disgust upon hearing of this on the news.

I’m not sure what made me stop by today before Shabbat, but I felt, even if only slightly, some of the pain of Gaza.

Shalom.