I was born and grew up in Mars Hill, Maine, a town with a population of 1500, located in northern Maine two miles from the border of New Brunswick, Canada. The Jewish population was comprised of my grandparents Hiram and Katherine Adelman , 2 aunts, 2 uncles, 8 cousins, my parents, Yale and Mary Adelman, my older brother David and me. Our family businesses were potatoes, Maine potatoes, of course, while one Aunt and Uncle ran the dry goods store.

I suppose that living in a small rural town as a distinct minority is unusual. But it was a healthy lifestyle, based on hard work and family activities. In all, there were about 30 Jewish families in northern Maine and the neighboring communities in Canada. The closest synagogue and rabbi were located 150 miles south in Bangor, Maine.

Our family home had mezuzot on the doorposts; we celebrated the holidays at my grandparents table; and we contributed to Jewish causes. I knew I was Jewish, but had no formal Jewish instruction.

I learned about Judaism by attending a camp for Jewish children. In fact, I went to that camp for eight weeks for 14 consecutive years, first as the youngest camper, (I was six years old!) and later as a Senior Counselor and, of all things, archery instructor. Camp Lown , a co-ed not-for-profit camp located on the Belgrade lakes in Oakland, Maine, was where I met and socialized with other Jewish children.

Summers at camp were in sharp contrast to my being the only Jewish child in my public school class of about 25 children. At school, each morning started with reading from the Bible, saluting the American flag, and singing Jesus Loves Me.

The School year began early in August, which meant I always missed a couple of weeks of class because I was still in camp. Schools started so early because during the potato harvest season known as “digging,” the public schools would be closed for most of September and October. At that time children and adults would work for the local farmers, including the Adelman Brothers, picking potatoes.

Years later, the Jewish families living in the northern tip of Maine bought land in Presque Isle, Maine, a larger town 14 miles north of Mars Hill, where we erected a small building called the Aroostook Hebrew Community Center . (For clarity, I should tell you Aroostook is not a Hebrew word….rather it is a native-American word meaning beautiful river, and is the name of this northern most county in Maine.)

For the high holidays, the member families would hire a rabbinic student from the Jewish Theological Seminary to lead our services. It always tickled us to see the expression on the face of the city-slicker-rabbinic student when he finally arrived in northern Maine.

I assure you, farming is hard physical labor. But the most challenging time of the harvest season was during Rosh ha Shanah and Yom Kippur. Our family went to services, but I knew it was a difficult time for my father and uncle. They had to concentrate very hard, for while they were in shul, the entire year’s work and the financial security of our family was in the hands of the foreman and the hired hands. That took real faith.

And now I’ll fast forward to 1977. That was the year the Rudolph family moved from a Chicago suburb to Rye, New York, and immediately joined this congregation. There was not a moment’s doubt about becoming members.

In fact, the reason I shared with you a chapter of my youth was, among other things, to highlight an important self-realization. Growing up without a synagogue close by and not having Jewish friends and schoolmates have emphasized the importance of belonging to a community of Jews. To this day, I do not take that for granted.

Each of us, I know, has a unique story that eventually includes Community Synagogue. Just as we must remember our personal journeys, likewise we must not forget this congregation’s journey from the founding years to the present time, namely the beginning of our 7th decade of existence.

full text available at http://www.comsynrye.org/community/synagogue.php?page=16356

last updated : July 12, 2009