Project Tzohar: October 10, 2005

Rabbi Isidoro Aizenberg wrote this letter, which he calls "Finding God in Biloxi."

As a congregational rabbi for three decades I often witnessed people asking to say the Birkhat Ha'Gomel, the blessing recited by one who has recovered from a serious illness or who has survived any kind of danger. But in all those years I was never part of a community where all its members stood up to recite this blessing in unison. This was the case during the Torah reading service of the Jewish community of Biloxi, Mississipi, which I had the unique privilege in leading during the recent High Holidays. This was an exceedingly moving moment, being in the midst of a community where many of its members had lost so much to the ravages of Katrina, but who were grateful to have had their lives spared.

Retired last year from my congregational obligations, my wife and I had made all kinds of plans to celebrate the High Holidays. I had even rejected invitations to lead other congregations in these services, looking forward to joining other members of my community in prayer. Far was it from me to imagine that only six days before Rosh Hashanah I would receive a call from Harry Silverman, the southeastern regional director of the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism, asking me if I was still available and willing to lead the High Holiday services for Biloxi's Beth Israel Congregation, the only synagogue on the Mississippi coast. The United Synagogue would coordinate and defray the cost of our stay.

Mr. Silverman's call was obviously radically different from all the others I had received. This invitation represented an opportunity to fulfill such a great mitzvah and such a unique way of ushering in Rosh Hashanah that I could not refuse. I was left with exactly five days to prepare for the holidays, not exactly the time framework that I usually allowed myself during my years as a pulpit rabbi.

But prepare we did and together with my wife, Edna, I flew to Atlanta and from there on to Gulfport, the airport serving Biloxi. Along with us came Efrem Epstein, an enthusiastic young ba'al t'filah who had been asked to chant the prayers. Flying over the Biloxi area before landing, we could already spot the first visible signs of the hurricane's destruction. So many of the houses we could see were covered with a blue tarpaulin temporarily replacing roofs that had been blown away by the storm. As a member of the community told us, this is "tarpaulin city."

Upon retrieving our luggage and walking out to the warm, humid breeze of the Gulf coast, we were welcomed by a sheriff's car. Our initial surprise from this rather unexpected welcome was soon dissipated by the warm handshake of Sheriff Jerry Mathews, a member of Beth Israel, who had offered to take us to our hotel. On the way Jerry kindly took a detour so that we could see the devastation with our own eyes. No matter how much we had read about the hurricane's utter sweeping destruction, and no matter how many pictures we had seen in the press and TV news about the havoc caused by the sweeping 20-foot high waters and powerful winds, we could not be prepared for what we saw. Many of the neighborhoods brought back images of the black and white pictures of bombed Dresden after World War II. We were driving by blocks upon blocks where only skeletons of houses stood, twisted metal and torn trees. The partly sunken U.S. 90 coastal highway forced Jerry to bypass large sections of the road. An offshore casino built on two barges the size of a football field and eight floors tall had been lifted by the stormy waters and deposited two blocks inland destroying everything on its path.

Emotionally and physically exhausted from this "tour," we made our way to Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi. In light of the fact that much of Beth Israel's building had also been destroyed by Katrina, the community succeeded in just a few days in securing one of the base's chapels for the services, to be held there thanks to the assistance of Keesler's Jewish Chaplain, (Maj.) Rabbi Kalman Dubov. We, New Yorkers, were very conveniently housed just across the street from the chapel in one of the base's motels. Kosher holiday meals were shipped for us by Mr. Silverman from Florida. He also saw to it that the whole community of about 75 families would receive round challahs, honey and kosher wine.

After a short rest we were ready to usher in Rosh Hashanah. We had a full house. Each mahzor-all of them together with the Torah scrolls and other prayer books had been rescued before the hurricane hit-included a New Year card, one of the hundreds made and sent by children from Jewish religious schools from across the United States. Joining Beth Israel's members were a few of the enlisted Jewish personnel on the base and many Jewish volunteers who were in the area working with FEMA, the Red Cross, and other aid organizations. Wearing their ID tags and informal clothing and having taken off for just a while from their daunting work, they yearned-that is the word they used-to join with fellow Jews in turning the leaf and welcoming 5766. One young Jewish man originally from Puerto Rico told us after the conclusion of the services: "Thank you so much. I needed to be here tonight."

Among the volunteers we met young men and women as well as retirees from New York and from Oregon, from Texas and Florida. One of them was a specialist in evaluating which remaining housing was fit to be rebuilt, while two others were forensic dentists working to identify storm victims from dental records. They were all lodged in temporary housing, including airport hangars that housed as many as sixty people, while others slept in tents. All were united by the wish to help people rebuild their lives.

For as long as I can remember I have asked in the course of our services "Who shall live and who shall die? Who by fire and who by water?" But never before did these words affect me with such profound poignancy. While joining in the U'Netaneh Tokef with Efrem, I continued asking myself, "And who in the congregation lost their home and who did not? And who is despairing and who has gained the strength to rebuild? And who is asking if there is a God in the world and who has been left with faith unscathed?" I don't have answers to these questions. What I do hope, however, is that by our presence and by joining the community in the High Holiday prayers, we offered this congregation a measure of emotionalsupport and the validation of the millennial principle that all Israel are responsible one for another.

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