Speech Given at Melbourne Graduation
By Leon Orbach, Mini-School student

Carl Jung wrote: One looks back with appreciation to the brilliant teachers, but with gratitude to those who touched our human feeling. The curriculum is so much necessary raw material, but warmth is the vital element for … the soul of the [student].
We are indeed grateful for our teachers' gentle touch. We have been carried along by our resident Rabbi Roni, our erudite ethicist Paul, our irrepressible Rebecca, our devout mystic Debby and our ever inventive Elana. They have woven the fibres of the curriculum into a magic carpet that has transported us from our daily routine to soar among the clouds of ideas that make up our traditions.

In those traditions, stories are important vehicles for imparting ideas. So to express my gratitude I propose to retell a Chassidic moshal, a fable, which of course has a nimshal, a moral. Yiddush stories never have 1 lesson to be learnt, so just like in our classes feel free to make up your own nimshal.

This moshal is an edited version of one retold by Rabbi Fred Scherlinder Dobb.
When the Baal Shem Tov would face a crisis, a time of calamity (which was not uncommon in the Eastern Europe of his day ..) - when he was unsure of what to do & how to lead - he would go to a particular place in the woods that had special significance to him. He would light a fire there, in a most particular way that seemed to help. And he would say a very particular prayer. After that, the Baal Shem Tov would offer his own spontaneous prayer: Ribono shel olam (Master of the Universe!) - I beseech you to come to our aid at this perilous moment Upon his return to town, he would know what to do, and every time …. the crisis would be averted.
The Maggid of Mezrich would face similar problems, and he tried to recall the teaching of his late mentor, the Baal shem Tov. He had some of the parts, but not all. He was able to go back to that same place in the woods, and to say the same particular prayer - but along the way, the secret of the fire was lost. He said: Ribono shel olam - I know that our ancestors in such times would turn to you in a special way. I am afraid that I can no longer light the particular fire, but I have come to the special place, and said the special prayer. May these be enough. And, according to the story, he too returned, and knew what to do; and the crisis was averted.

A generation later, Rabbi Moshe Lieb of Sassov faced similar problems, and he too tried to recall the teaching of his mentor. In this intergenerational game of broken telephone, he too had some of the parts, but not all. The fire was long ago lost, and though he still knew the prayer, by now he was far from the land of his teachers - he couldn't go to the same sacred spot in the woods. He sent a message to his friends … to go to that place on his behalf - but no one there, either, could recall the place. So he recited the prayer, and then said: Ribono shel olam - I know that our ancestors in such times would turn to you in a special way. I am afraid that I can no longer light the particular fire, or go to the special place, but I have said the prayer. May this be enough. And, according to the story, he too returned, and knew what to do; and the crisis was averted.
By the time of … the great Rizhnitzer Rebbe, the troubles for the Jews in Eastern Europe had only intensified. He faced great calamity, and needed to marshal all the spiritual resources he knew of, in order to get himself and the community through these trying times. But by now, even the language of the prayer was lost. So he thought and thought, and finally, he sat down in his own special place, and said: Ribono shel olam - I know that our ancestors in such times would turn to you in a special way. The knowledge of this is lost -- I can no longer light the particular fire, or go to the special place, or even say the particular prayer. But I do have one thing, and that is the story. May this be enough. And sure enough, according to the story, he too returned, and knew what to do; and the crisis was averted.
This story is like an Olympic relay race with the baton being passed down to us through the ages. The stakes are high, nothing less than keeping the fires of the Jewish spirit burning.
So what is the nimshal that this story tells me?

The 1st runner is the sources, the sages and the rich exploration of the human condition as it struggles with the unknowable. The 2nd runner is Florence Melton and those that work with her to provide a vision of Jewish life that is not trivialized by its brevity of the material gathered. The 3rd runner is the teaching staff who teases us and urges us on and who make the text accessible. Finally, along comes the 4th runner, students like us. Too few of us know that place in the woods, much less how to light the fire. The special prayer is lost to us. All we are left with is the spontaneous expression of …? Of what? For each of us it's something different but for each of us it is mixed with the joys of questioning and of discovery. Or perhaps we have recreated the parts. That place is where Jews get together and struggle over the meaning of being Jewish. The fire is the spark of Judaism that still burns fiercely in our consciousness, the 'pintele Yid' in each of us. The special words are the questions and debate over the text and about the text. And lastly the spontaneity is evident when you consider that we are making space in our hectic lives for a course that we couldn't possibly have known what it would have on our lives and are probably still unaware where it will take us.
So I would like to think that we have accepted the baton passed on to us down the generations and that our participation in the Melton course is our small but significant contribution to keeping the fires of the Jewish spirit burning.
It would be remiss of me if I didn't make special mention of Brenda. Great teachers, willing students, all would so much more difficult without her efforts to keep everything running smoothly. Of course, she is ably assisted by a Florence of another complexion. Not Florence Melton or Florence Nightingale, but our saviour none-the-less during those long nights, ever present, ever smiling, Leah, handing out comfort in the form of biscuits and tea, a word of encouragement here, a personal aside there and the not-to-be-forgotten plug for some activity at the Museum or elsewhere.

To sum up the two years, it has been a privilege for me to sit in the classrooms at Bialek and at the Jewish Museum with you, with people who have so much to share and who are so obviously eager to learn. Or, as Mary Catherine Bateson, renowned anthropologist and daughter of Margaret Mead said:
We are not what we know but what we are willing to learn.

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