By Norm Bossert

      On Erev Rosh Ha Shonah August of 2001, I was working in a new school and new job. 

      I was to serve Buncombe Community School as assistant principal. It was to be my first job as a school administrator. Needless to say, I was excited.

      It wasn’t easy to get the job. In addition to two more years of graduate studies, I needed to work full time teaching and working some nights as a desk clerk at a motel, then two years teaching full time and studying nights for my Masters in School Administration. Too, getting hired wasn’t easy. I was pretty old to be an AP. Along the way in my job search I interviewed at least 12 times for a job as a school’s assistant principal…. any school!

     I couldn’t seem to find a school interview team that thought I would be a good match for their school. You see, what I know now and intuitively knew then is that, a candidate can be the most competent and well prepared person imaginable. But what a principal wants as an AP is someone who they believe will be the right fit for their building. In fact, they also want you to be able to drive a bus. I had no such licensure. SO, for a dozen times, I was not the right fit.

      I interviewed in Henderson County, Transylvania County, and Buncombe County. Finally, as the new school year approached, 2001, I decided that I would only sit through one more interview . . . one final interview. If I didn’t get the job, I would abandon the search for an AP spot for good. DONE. OVER. NEVER AGAIN! Truth be known, after interviewing, there was a time or two when, even had I been offered the job, I would not have wanted it. My last, final, never again interview happened in a school that just couldn’t seem to find an assistant principal. It was at the alternative high school, Buncombe Community School. As always, prior to an interview, I studied everything I could to be knowledgeable about the school. I needed the right questions to ask and the right answers to give.

     The Alternative School was a last hope for many of its students (and several staff members as well). We had young women who were unwed mothers and kids who just didn’t show up to school. The school also had kids who had gotten in so much trouble in their regular high schools that they were no longer wanted. 

     As my interview there progressed, I found myself thinking that the Alternative ‘last stop’ high school may well have been a metaphor for where I was in my job search. After only a few questions from the team, I fell hopelessly in love with the thought that this school could be my school, too. As you may have surmised, I was offered the job. I would become an assistant principal.

     All this is background to explain that on September 11, 2001, in my first AP position, I was walking the halls of that school when I passed by the English teacher’s room. There he was, with his students, watching a stupid disaster movie. I thought it was something like the Towering Inferno or an earthquake movie. Buildings were falling down. 

      I knew that I had to remind the teacher that he was supposed to be teaching Huckleberry Finn, not some disaster movie. Anyway, to help the teacher know that I had ‘high expectations’, I walked briskly into the room. I was prepared to turn the TV off. I stood in the back of the classroom and looked at the television. “Wait a minute!” I thought aloud. "Are those the Twin Towers?" The kids turned to me. I asked them what was going on. 

     In absolute silence, they were watching the twin towers collapse. “My GOD,” I said aloud.

     Together we all stared at the TV in disbelief. I couldn’t imagine that such a thing had happened.

As an FYI, that same morning, my older son Aaron was in the United States Army. He was running late, but was headed to the Pentagon where he was assigned. By inadvertently oversleeping, Aaron’s very life may have been saved. He didn’t get to the Pentagon that morning. Thanks be to God.

      Today it is September 11th and it is Rosh Ha Shonah. And this year, it starts on the evening of September 11, 2026. In 2001, September 11th, the Brevard Jewish Community was preparing to observe Rosh Ha Shonah for the first time. That was 25 years ago. A quarter of a century ago.

      We have celebrated these Holy Days through good times and sad times. Like all congregations, any congregation, membership has ebbed and flowed. Sometimes more, sometimes fewer, but always . . . I can say . . . always our central mission has been the same simple mission. We are here, without a dues structure . . . without a building fund . . . without the typical trappings of a synagogue . . . to be available when one of us, or all of us, or any of us . . . need to say Kaddish.

     While gaining new members, we have lost precious founding members, people who set the tone for what the BJC has become. I mourn the loss of Pat and Jay White. Pat was our second President and openly wept when we blew the shofar here in Brevard for the first time ever. I mourn the loss of Ken, our second treasurer, and my dear friend, Marvin. I mourn the loss of so many and think of them all . . . who, like shadows on a sunny day, envelope us in a cover of hope, fellowship, and love and love.

      Tonight, when we say Kaddish, I will invite any of you who can stand, to join me in remembering those who may or may not be remembered from the Holocaust and the destruction of the Twin Towers on that fateful 9/11 so many years ago. At the time we thought we lost about 3000 people. Now, we know that the heroes who struggled to save lives and clean up the smoldering decay of the towers add another 7000, casualties killed from the illnesses caused by the wreckage.

     Today, too, we can point to the chaos of carnage that has grown making our powerful country a vulnerable target for those whose lives have been made chaotic during our righteous anger and search for justice. Sadly, the chaos has been made more so by leaders who neither understand nor value the dreams of generations of American citizens who came here searching for something better for themselves and their families.

      The United States doesn’t seem united just now. Maybe unity has always been an aspiration, if not a fact. As we worship today, may our prayers for healing extend beyond the walls of this building and encompass all those who, worldwide, are struggling, challenged by an unsympathetic American government. May we pray, too, for the citizens of too many countries who struggle today in war-torn nations and regions.

      All this doom and gloom brings me to the final point I would share today. Friends, we have no time to wallow in frustration and fear. As a congregational prayer leader, I have just done that for all of us. We, each of us, must do our bit, each of us . . . in fact, we Jews are commanded to repair the world. Tikkun Olam. This Biblical injunction is a requirement, not a choice. However, in Pirkei Avot (the Wisdom of our Fathers) we are taught that it is not our obligation to finish the work, but we are still required to work on making progress. It is past time for the killing to stop.

     If we can make progress . . . sometimes inch by inch . . . then we have nothing for which to hang our heads. There is hope when we try. There is hope when we embrace one another. There is hope when we feed the hungry. There is hope when we greet the young among us with hopeful messages. There is hope when we go to the polls and vote. There is hope when we listen, before we judge.

     I have heard it said that hope requires action. I believe that. Tonight, as we worship together, let us acknowledge the wounds in the world, but know that they can be repaired with righteous action. WITH HOPE AND HEART!

     Oh, the next time I walk by a classroom and see the TV on, I will not assume that the teacher is off task! Too, for a quarter century, the Brevard Jewish Community has been the warm hug we all need.               Finally, I will gratefully remember that for 54 years, I have been walking into schools to be inspired by great teachers and great kids. And, as long as I can, I will continue to do so. Retire? What is that?

     L’Shana Tovah.