Today's Haftorah is supposedly about the spies Joshua sends to check out Jerico. But it's really about Rahav, the woman who hides them and protects them from the king. She has only 2 thoughts in mind - fear and awe of the powerful G-d of the Jews who has performed incredible miracles for them, and protecting her family from the on-coming invasion. Rahav is fiercely loyal to her family - not just her nuclear family, but her entire extended family - in verse 13 she insists that the Israelite spies "save alive my father, and my mother, and my brethren, and my sisters, and all that they have, and deliver our lives from death". And she gathered them all together at her house, and they were all saved because of her kindness to the spies, and her bravery in demanding protection for everyone she loved.

For me, B'nai Moshe is an extended family. It is the place and people I remember in my earliest memories. And although I must honestly admit that I might not put my life on the line to save all 500 families from an invading army, I have a deep love and connection that make me feel like this is as much a home as the one Bruce and I have. And I'm thrilled to share just a few of my memories in celebration of B'nai Moshe's 90th Anniversary.

Have you heard the saying, "the more things change, the more they stay the same." That's how I've felt many times in the "new" West Bloomfield B'nai Moshe. The green stripes in the marble floor are perfect for hopping from one to another, just like the white and black hopscotch tiles in Oak Park. The librarian looks very familiar. All of Mrs. Lehrman's beautiful Judaica treasures are locked up behind some mysterious doors where you can't see them. The lobby gets as hot as you-know-what on those Indian Summer days that always come in time for Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur, sometimes both. A Gunsberg is running the place. I think it's time to ask them to pay for the name again. Yachad has been re-started, yet again. I believe it's on its 4th life. The average age of a Sisterhood member is 63. (It's great to be considered "youth" at 40+!) The Men's Choir still hides someplace weird, so you wonder where their beautiful voices are coming from. My Dad occasionally leads Musaf, and my Mom does the Prayer for the Country when asked.

Some things that seem the same are a little different. Mr. Ralph still hands out candies on Shabbat, only now he's joined by Boris Tobes with little toys and balloons. The Hebrew teachers still speak in foreign accents, but now the accents are Israeli instead of eastern European. I miss Bertha Goldman's dramatic rendition of "L'shana Haba-ah", but my siblings I will still mimic it at our family seders every year. The children all march into the Sanctuary en mass on Shabbat for the closing prayers, but they're coming from their classes, not Junior Congregation led by Mark Eichner.

There are still lots of things for my children to look at in the Sanctuary when they're bored, but the huge ark and unique Ner Tamid just aren't the same as the Mogan David skylights and stained glass windows of my childhood. The High Holiday fashion show is as interesting as ever, but instead of me admiring all the women's hats, they're all checking out which hat my daughter has on. The Rabbi still tells jokes, but they're not in Yiddish any more, so I usually get the punchline. My family stills sit on the right hand isle (facing the bimah), near the Jacobs girls (also known as Elise Fine and Gayle Taub), like in Oak Park. Only now we share the row with lots of people who grew up not in Oak Park or Southfield, but in other states or even countries.

There are some changes that are inevitable and necessary, but make me sad. I still love the peace and beauty of the Kol Nidre service led so capably by Cantor Berris, but I dearly miss Cantor Klein's dramatic walk up that long center isle, in his blinding white robes and tall crown-like hat.

I enjoy having as my Rabbi someone of my generation, someone that I met through our service on USY Regional Board in high school, and who shares the exact same wedding anniversary as Bruce and I. Rabbi Pachter and I will have another connection in a few minutes, when I chant the same Haftorah he chanted for his and Naomi's Aufruf 18 years ago. (I'm sure his rendition was much better.) I also cherish the memories of Rabbi Lehrman's fiery sermons, vast knowledge and loving compassion.

I certainly don't miss the small spaces at the JCC, but I miss the challenge of those years in "galut", of being one of just a few families with a young child coming to Shabbat services, of knowing that our individual contribution really helped our congregational family survive, and now thrive. I miss the excitement of watching each step of progress on the construction, and the thrill of the first services in this beautiful, unique and warm sanctuary. Most of all the changes, I miss members of my extended family - the ones who were always there watching me grow up and taking as much pride in my accomplishments as my parents. Rena Tobes, Sylvia Ross, Al Midgal, and Edith and Larry Kowalsky are just a few of blessed memory that really meant a lot to me.