Stephen Wise Temple member Bryan Behar delivered his Wise Story on Friday, Sept. 15, 2023, Erev Rosh Hashanah 5784, during our services in the Westwood Sanctuary.
For those who don’t know, I’m Bryan Behar. Or as I’m known on this mountain, Beth Behar’s less-popular, less-attractive husband.
That’s okay. My wife has served, warmly and wonderfully, as Wise School‘s Director of Admissions for the past 15 years.
So why am I speaking to you tonight?
Because Stephen Wise has been my home, surrogate and spiritual, for the past 55 years. I joined the temple with my parents in 1968 and apparently never left. For half a century, in a city whose modus operandi is incessant change, the one constant, besides Vin Scully and Apple Pan, has been this synagogue, the “Shul With the Pool.”
As anyone who lives in L.A. can attest, there’s nothing Angelenos enjoy discussing more than homes: Remodeling, refinancing, Zillow-ing a friend’s property the second you leave their driveway.
But tonight, I want to talk about the other meaning of “home.” A place that makes you feel secure, that provides you meaning, community and the occasional Purim Carnival goldfish.
Is anything tougher, in this era of Covid isolation, than finding genuine human connection? Is anything trickier, in an age of extreme tribalism, than discovering acceptance, not just from a Facebook group, but actual people. That’s precisely what Wise has provided.
I’ve commemorated all of life’s important moments under this roof. Simchas and sorrows. I grew up right there, in the hills of Encino. The Jewish Alps.
But our life centered around Wise. I went to nursery school here. And Hebrew school. And wore a blue and white Zionist beanie to day camp and threw up on the bus eating a bag of dry Cheerios.
I’ve been here so long, we had a clergyman walk across campus, strumming an acoustic guitar not named Yoshi.
I was even here when Vidal Sassoon said, “If Israel doesn’t look good, we don’t look good.” Still the best line ever.
I was bar mitzvahed here. So were my brothers. So were my parents. So were my children.
Rabbi Zeldin performed my bar mitzvah. Rabbi Herscher, our wedding. Rabbi Stern, my kids’ b’nai mitzvot.
Both kids graduated from Wise – immersed in our people’s cherished values, blessed with lifelong friendships.
My dad and Grandma Gerry were memorialized here, having spent their adult lives in this congregation.
Stephen Wise tells the story, not just of the Jewish people of yore, but of my family and yours.
Two examples– one sad, one joyous.
In 2008, out of the blue, my father took his own life. In an unspeakable tragedy, there are no words to fix it, no shortcuts to processing grief. But in the days that followed, the Wise community held my family close, enveloping us with kindness. They helped us find comfort in the pain, meaning amidst the tragedy.
My dad’s memorial was in Plotkin, on the same bima where he passed me the torah 30 years earlier. That’s what this place is about. Midor l’dor.
I sat in this Sanctuary, year after year, with my parents. And I honor them, by doing the same with my own children.
A happier story: A year ago, my daughter burst into our bedroom to tell us that she’d been accepted to her dream law school. The first people we called were Beth’s mother and mine. The third person we told was Sandi Volterra– Sammy’s second grade teacher at Wise.
My daughter read later than many. But Mrs. Volterra made her (and us) understand it would all work out. This was a smart girl who just needed a little extra cooking.
Why am I telling you this? Because who teaches your children matters. Where you worship, build community and raise family matters. For 55 years, Stephen Wise has mattered to me and the people who matter to me.
My stories aren’t unique.
Everyone here has made their own memories, their own connections to our people’s history and each other.
That’s what I want to leave you with this Rosh Hashanah: A sincere hope your family’s able to find the same sense of “home” on this beloved mountaintop
that’s long been in abundance for mine.
Shanah tovah.
