Just two months ago, we were happy to welcome to our midst, Rabbi Norman Lamm. At this time, we are pleased to welcome another to our family circle, Mrs. Norman Lamm. Since Rabbi and Mrs. Lamm were recently married, we take this opportunity to wish them Mazeltov and best wishes for a very happy life together. At the same time, we consider ourselves fortunate to have with us such a charming and wonderful couple. It is our earnest desire and fervent hope that together the strength and enthusiasm of Kodimoh will grow ever greater. Mrs. Sanford Kimball, President.

We — like our forefathers of old — must "rebuild the Temple." Long have we thought about it. The day for action has come! KODIMOH means FORWARD! When Kodimoh was built only a generation ago, the founders chose her name well. It represented their Faith, their Vision, their Loyalty to a long tradition of three thousand years. These founders were our grandfathers, our fathers — ourselves! They believed they were building for many years. But progress, growth and change have swept over the world, and over our beloved country, like a mighty tide. KODIMOH can no longer contain all her sons and daughters. It cannot welcome “the stranger within our gates.”What shall we do? — We have decided! We shall again, in this year 5718, prove ourselves worthy of our great heritage, as the founders of our Congregation did in 5684. To strengthen that heritage we shall build a new and greater Synagogue — worthy of ourselves, of our great and growing community, of our centuries of unbroken Jewish tradition, of our eternal Torah.We shall make it a true “Mishkan” or Tabernacle where our growing families — and families yet unreached — shall gather together as one great Kodimoh family, to work, to study Torah, and to “worship the Lord in the beauty of Holiness.”In a world torn by doubts and fears, we shall prove ourselves worthy of our firm Orthodox tradition — by building on that firm foundation a noble House of God that shall daily be witness to our faith in the Creator and Father of us all.The Founding of A CongregationOne of our KODIMOH families lives in what is believed to be the oldest house in one section of Forest Park — and it is only 45 years old! So, our founders of 34 years ago were pioneers. A small, but dedicated, group of Orthodox Jews who had early settled in this section of Springfield gathered together and decided that they should have their own Synagogue. Already there were relatively large groups of Jews in other parts of the city — but that was not enough. They wished to …

Rabbinic Committee Seeking a Successor: At a membership meeting this August, the resignation of Rabbi Norman Lamm from Kodimoh was accepted with regret. Rabbi Lamm, who came to us on January 1, 1954, will be leaving as of Oct. 15 to become associate Rabbi of The Jewish Center in New York City. Meanwhile, a Rabbinic Committee appointed by Dr. Izenstein, our President, has been interviewing candidates for the post of Rabbi of Kodimoh. Following are messages from Rabbi Lamm and Dr. Izenstein.God Speed: Dear Rabbi Lamm: It is indeed with considerable regret that our Congregation has accepted your resignation as “Rabbi of Kodimoh,” to take effect on Oct. 15, 1958. In January 1954 you arrived in our midst to undertake, with great enthusiasm, the task of welding together the family of Kodimoh. During the years of your ministry and under your spiritual guidance and leadership, our Congregation has gone forward, as its name implies. It has progressed in every field of Congregational endeavor, to reach heights never before attained. We are resolute in our determination to continue the high standards set by your inspiration.The officers and members of all the groups which comprise the Kodimoh family join me in wishing you, Mrs. Lamm, and your family Godspeed in your new undertaking.Tsays’chem L’Shalom, Louis A. Izenstein, M.D.Farewell: It is with a great sense of regret at having to leave all my dear friends of Kodimoh that I say farewell. For Mrs. Lamm and me, so many of you have become almost as members of our family. The friendships we have formed, from very young to very old, will always remain part of us. It could not be otherwise.I leave Kodimoh with an expression of gratitude for the cooperation it has always shown and the readiness with which it has always responded to its spiritual leadership during the past five years. Now that major hurdles of the Building Program have been crossed, I hope Kodimoh will expeditiously bring the project to a successful conclusion. It …

The appearance of Rabbi Leo Jung’s eighteenth volume is a happy and fortunate event that will be warmly welcomed by all to whom the Jewish tradition is dear. Guardians of our Heritage (New York: Bloch Publishing Company, 1958), edited by Dr. Jung, is a significant contribution to a field of Jewish study which has not yet received sufficient attention by Jewish researchers and historians – that of the most recent past of Torah Jewry, from 1724 up to the last day of the year 1953.The structure of the book is in the form of short biographies — mostly, one might say, intellectual profiles — of some of the most out-standing guardians of the Jewish heritage writ-ten, in many cases, by disciples or relatives, and usually by people who were personally ac-quainted with their subjects. There is a ring of authenticity in these essays which will serve to enhance their scholarly value, as well as their readability for the layman.There is a cosmopolitan quality attained in the variety of the subjects. They range from Italian bibliophiles to Lithuanian Roshei Yeshi-bah, from modern German scholars to early American rabbis, and from a founder of Miz-rachi to a stalwart leader of Agudah. The one element that unites the illustrious "Guardians,” subjects of these brief but penetrating biog-raphies, is — their common "Heritage.” They are all champions of the Jewish Torah tradition. Reading through these informative essays about such fundamentally different personalities, who are all, nevertheless, "Guardians” of our "Heri-tage," one becomes aware of the multifaceted character of the heritage itself. Judaism, to judge by its foremost exponents, is decidedly not a monolithic structure which encases its communicants in a rigid ideological pattern.It is this total impression that makes Rabbi Jung's own contribution so felicitously appro-priate. In the introductory essay, entitled "The Rabbis and Freedom of Interpretation," Rabbi Jung points out that while Halakhah (Jewish law) is authorit…

In recent years a number of American Jewish writers have returned to an ancient Jewish vocation: prophesying. Having seemingly exhausted all studies of the past and the present, they have turned to the future and the prediction of what it holds for the American Jewish community. With a certain glee, these prognosticators – including sociologists, historians, professors, and novelists (all non-traditional) – have prophesied the demise of Orthodox Judaism. Orthodoxy, they tell us, does not stand a chance. Its following will dwindle down to a few insignificant die-hards who will themselves sooner or later be assimilated by some form of “modernistic” Judaism. Torah and Tradition, they report, have no place in the future. One ought not be dismayed by such reports from non-Orthodox circles. Without a commitment to Torah one cannot, after all, truly know its inner vitality and its uncanny capacity for attracting the hearts of Jews and surviving in all environments. What is disturbing is the underlying pessimism one sometimes detects in some – by no means all – observant and loyal Jews. Are we indeed a vanishing race? Is Israel doomed to remain an alman, deprived of the company of Torah? The question is one of great importance. First, it affects a principal tenet of our faith: the eternal loyalty of Israel to God. Second, there is the question of morale. No one wants to be identified with a lost cause. Third, the answer to that question will determine the policy of Orthodox Jews vis-à-vis the general Jewish community. Our answer to the question is a resounding “No.” Orthodox Judaism is here to stay, and it can and will survive even in the free and democratic atmosphere of modern America. We say not only Ha-shem melekh (the Lord reigns) and Ha-shem malakh (the Lord reigned) but Ha-shem yimlokh (the Lord will reign). It is our sacred duty to believe, and act upon the basis of the belief, that the Torah which survived the persecutions of Hadrian, the interdictions of Antioch…

Ever since the Emancipation, religious Jewry has suffered a constant attri­tion. This deterioration in numbers and intensity of commitment has been most noticeable the past two or three decades. How have we reacted to it? What ought be our policy? Several tendencies are worthy of mention. The first is the way of despair. One contemplates the unfavorable circum­stances and merely posts an obituary notice. But nothing is done; one goes about the old ways without any change. In the face of hopelessness, fear drives one to dull, mechanical repetition. Thus, heavily endowed American Jewish organ­izations continue in the same rut, repeat the same tired formulae, and chant the same irrelevant litanies. They bravely fight anti-Semitism, while Semitism is dying within them. They are heroic partisans of “the wall of separation” between Religion and State, at a time when Religion is being drained of its vital sap. Today's “liberals” often fight yesterday’s battles; it is a sign of despair in today’s campaigns. They have given up on tomorrow.There is a second tendency. There are some who maintain a stubborn refusal to yield, who have high resolve and persistent determination to continue on the highest level of Judaism, but in ever-shrinking circles. Theirs is the gesture of withdrawal, of isolation, of a conscious and conscientious ignoring of the rest of the world, of all other Jews. The prize they want to capture is “tomorrow”; the price they are willing to pay is “today.”As between these two attitudes, I would much rather choose the second. 1 do not for one moment believe that the Jewish people and the Torah will ever disappear. If I were faced with the choice of totally embracing this world or totally rejecting it — I would reject it. Our civilization, never let us for one moment forget, is the one which sired an Auschwitz and other such illegitimate obscenities; it is a civilization which, without any affront to its conscience, produced a Hiroshima. Our culture is neither…

However, fortunately, we are not called upon to make this tragic choice between the ghetto and the wasteland. We are not restricted to the two options of either “Neturei Karta” or assimilation. This contemporary dilemma is at the core of the famous story of the cave, related in the Talmud (Shabbat 33b). R. Simeon bar Yohai and his son R. Eliezer made slurring remarks about their contemporary Roman civilization. By an indiscretion, they were found out and condemned to death. They fled and eventu- ally hid in a cave, where they were forced to spend some twelve or thirteen years. During this time they lived on nothing more than carobs and water. This long interval was spent by them in growing spiritually, in the study of Torah, and, according to tradition, in achieving tremendous mystic insights which were later incorporated in the book Zohar. After the end of this period, they were told that Caesar was dead, and it was safe for them to leave their hiding place. When they emerged, they saw people — their compatriots — occupied in the normal business of living: planting, reaping, buying, selling. They were shocked: Is there no one who studies Torah all his days? Wherever and whatever they looked at was immediately consumed by fire! At which a bat koi, a Heavenly voice, issued forth and exclaimed: “Have you left your cave only to destroy My world? Return to your cave!”This they did, remaining in the cave another twelve months. Then another bat koi called forth: Leave your cave. The two scholars left, and, surveying the scene about them, were again deeply distressed. R. Simeon said to his son: apparently you and I are the only ones left; the two of us shall have to continue Judaism by ourselves. But then something remarkable happened: it was Friday afternoon, just before the beginning of the Sabbath. They saw an old man rushing, and carrying in his hands two bunches of myrtle twigs. “What are you doing this for?” asked the two scholars. He answered: li'khevod shabbat, I …

What does the Talmud mean to tell us in this parable of the cave? R. Simeon and R. Eliezer are the symbols of the gedolei Yisrael of all generations. They recog­nized the rot and the decay of their contemporary civilization and hence preferred to retreat into their own enclave of Torah and piety. They would not pollute the pure spirit of Torah and piety with the corruption of the world. When they did ventuie forth to meet the rest of the world, they were dismayed. Their own standards had grown during their isolation, while the rest of the Jewish world had remained static. Everywhere they turned their fiery gaze, the institutions they beheld were “burned” — they saw through them, they reduced the pretense of “normal” life to ashes. They had honed their own spirits to a keen edge, so they could not tolerate people engaged in their dull, regular, profane pursuits of business or professions or universities — anything, indeed, but the Yeshivah, the Beit Ha-Midrash, the Kollel. From that vantage point, the rest of the world was, indeed, nothing!Rut — the bat koi calls out: this can destroy the Jewish world! Back to your cave! With an attitude of this sort, you are not yet ready to venture into the wider community. Neturei Karta may be fit for Meah Shea/rim, but the rest of the Jewish world cannot live this way. Such attitudes are dangerous, precisely because they are too holy, too remote, too demanding. Jewish society cannot abide such a perspec­tive — and God wants to save His world even as He wants His Torah to prevail.But then R. Simeon and R. Eliezer leave their cave again and are finally reconciled with the world. They learn that Judasim can survive outside the cave, even in the Roman environment.How are they reconciled? How are we — who consider Torah absolute and modernity relative, who yearn for the beauty of pristine pure Jewish life and fear contamination and pollution in our semi-pagan technological society — how are we to be reconciled with the rest of the wo…

It is easy enough to point to religious youth and the growth of day schools and Yeshiva University. True, these are the symptoms of a revival. But without a special kind of attitude by the mature generation, the elders of our community, our whole enterprise is doubtful. Hence, the Talmud tells us: the giants of Torah who emerged from the cave beheld a most remarkable sight — an old man in the dusk of his life, the Friday night and the twilight of his career, was racing and running. Where to and what for, old man? Preparing for a new Shabbat! Carrying that which will make Torah sweet, which will endear Yiddishkeit to all! When questioned closely as to why he had two myrtle branches, his answer was illuminating; one for zakhor, remembei-ing, and one for sha- mor, observing. The old man not only perfonns the commandment to remember; he not only entertains ancient memories, espouses a religion of murky sentiments, and recalls faded glories. No! It is true that there are hosts of noble memories worth cherishing, but the old man at the dusk of his life also affirms shamor, “Observe the Sabbath!” Guard your heritage for the future, transmit Judaism to a new generation, prepare for posterity. The old man does not despair, does not give up and return to the womb of yester-year’s memories. He is oriented to a future which he wishes to sweeten and to adorn today. His Shabbat is not a relic of the past, but a symbol of the future.That old man’s indomitable optimism is something we dare not fail to learn. It is a source of optimism for us that we have progressed beyond the experimental stage, that there are already some of us in this country who have reached full maturity and have survived with their Judaism intact despite their willing encounter with contem­porary society. But this mature generation must also be sufficiently motivated to provide for the future, for shamor. If it will do so with sweetness and not with bitter­ness; if it is confident and working and striving, ev…

In the Ethics of the Fathers (Chap. IV), we read a paradoxical remark. The Rabbis say that one hour of repentance and good deeds in this world is more beautiful than all the life of the world-to-come. However, by the same token, one hour of satisfaction in the world-to-come is worth more than all the life of this world. Is this a contradiction? No, it is not. What the Rabbis meant to tell us is that “this world,” outside the cave, is the arena of progress and action, of repentance, of conviction, of growth, of good deeds, of unceasing effort. The “other world,” inside the cave, is the arena of satisfaction and warmth, of spiritual rewards, but not much opportunity to convince and to persuade and to build and to transform.R. Simeon bar Yohai craved his cave; he found gratification there. I confess: I would too! The world we live in is false, it is evil and corrupt, it is often unspeakably cruel and mean. Every once in a while it is good to retreat into the cave of the Beit Ha-Midrash, the totally Jewish atmosphere. We need occasionally to shut out the harsh and jairing noises of the market-place and return to the cave. Certainly we will derive from it a great deal of spiritual satisfaction and emotional happiness.But it is in this world, outside the caves and enclaves, in the world of business and the professions, of science and the schools — in this inhospitable and alien and difficult and spiteful atmosphere — where we shall indeed work out our eternal destiny! It is here where Judaism will stand or, Heaven forbid, fall. Assuredly, it is not always a serene world of quiet satisfaction. Often it is filled with frustration and disappoint- ment and irritations of all kinds. But Judaism cannot grow in caves. It must have a whole world in which to flourish.