By VIRGINIA SMITH
Staff Writer
ORMOND BEACH -- A year ago a young man died. On Sunday a Torah was born.
N-J | Pam Lockeby | BUY THIS PRINT
With a photo of Jay Sappington nearby, Rabbi David Golowinski writes letters on the Torah while Rabbi Pinchas Ezagui officiates at Chabad-Lubavitch Jewish Community Center on Sunday.
Outside the Chabad-Lubavitch Jewish Community Center on Granada Boulevard, it drizzled. Inside, under bright lights, the family and friends of Jay Sappington chatted happily and sipped fruit punch, watching.
This Torah, commissioned by Sappington's family in his memory, was not yet finished. David Goliwinski, a scribe from Miami, labored over the vast parchment scroll, adding the final letters of the scripture it contained.
Most of the 304,805 Hebrew letters -- containing the books Genesis through Deuteronomy -- had been penned by a scribe in Israel. But to ship a completed Torah is considered improper. So the last letters had to be written here, where it would remain. At the last stroke of Golowinski's quill it would be deemed holy.
Jewish law mandates that every believer help write a Torah, but realistically it is a tough commandment to keep.
Torah commissions are rare and costly, at upward of $35,000 apiece and taking nearly a year. The parchment is made from the skins of animals slaughtered in keeping with kosher laws, tanned according to a millennia-old formula. The ink and feather quill must also be kosher; the parchment is threaded with the veins of kosher animals. A silver crown and silver breastplate adorn the dormant scroll.
For the Chabad members, it was a special opportunity to honor the commandment, while also honoring Sappington, who died at 21 in a traffic accident. "Today his soul hovers in this room. A whole Torah was written for this soul," announced Rabbi Pinchas Ezagui.
This Torah would, moreover, be part of the new synagogue and school that Chabad-Lubavitch, a missionary sect of Hasidic Judaism, broke ground on last month after 14 years in Ormond Beach.
Sappington, a college student and musician, had been a devout member for more than a decade. "He was my right-hand man," said Ezagui. "A humble, talented man." Avri Ben-Hamo, a friend, said Sappington was "proud of who he was. It's hard living in an environment like this, predominately Christian, to be Jewish. "
Sappington's family and many of his friends had sponsored letters, donating $180 apiece -- a number with spiritual significance, but a little stiff for a group of four girls, who went in on their letter.
When their names were called they stood over Golowinski to watch him work. Roberta Sappington, Jay's mother, supervised the process in a pink suit and pink hat -- this was a happy day, after a year full of sad ones. "When the last letter is written a big bomb of holiness lands in this room," announced Ezagui.
An incomplete Torah is just parchment, the rabbi continued. "If there's one letter missing the whole Torah is disqualified!" he said. "You're either pregnant or not pregnant -- kosher or not kosher."
Golowinski carried a razor blade along with his ink and his quill. If he erred making a normal letter, he could scrape it off with the blade. If he erred in inscribing the name of God, the whole page would need to be removed, and ritually buried. Thankfully, he did not need to do either.
Then suddenly, the Torah was done. "The last letter was written!" Ezagui said.
It was time to lift it up -- and celebrate. Sappington's brother Gabriel Genauer held the scroll; the guests danced and sang as though at a wedding. Plates of eggplant, pasta, olives, peppers and chicken made their way from the kitchen.
In the rabbi's office, an exhausted scribe rested. Golowinski had driven from Miami in the wee hours of the morning. Soon he would have to drive back.
The scribe's profession was in his blood, he said. "My mother used to say I was born with a feather in my mouth," said Golowinski, whose parents emigrated from Poland. "Her maiden name means 'artist.' "
But she did not encourage his vocation. "The scribes were considered to be impoverished," he said.
"You won't get a convertible out of it," the rabbi concurred.
Most Torahs today are written by Israeli scribes, with local ones, like Golowinski, adding the final 100 or so letters.
There are very few scribes, though, outside the Hasidic communities of New York City. Golowinski said he is one of three in South Florida, and he didn't know of another until Baltimore.
"I'm an itinerant scribe," he said, girding up for a long drive, alone, in the rain.
virginia.smith@news-jrnl.com
Staff Writer
ORMOND BEACH -- A year ago a young man died. On Sunday a Torah was born.
N-J | Pam Lockeby | BUY THIS PRINT
With a photo of Jay Sappington nearby, Rabbi David Golowinski writes letters on the Torah while Rabbi Pinchas Ezagui officiates at Chabad-Lubavitch Jewish Community Center on Sunday.
Outside the Chabad-Lubavitch Jewish Community Center on Granada Boulevard, it drizzled. Inside, under bright lights, the family and friends of Jay Sappington chatted happily and sipped fruit punch, watching.
This Torah, commissioned by Sappington's family in his memory, was not yet finished. David Goliwinski, a scribe from Miami, labored over the vast parchment scroll, adding the final letters of the scripture it contained.
Most of the 304,805 Hebrew letters -- containing the books Genesis through Deuteronomy -- had been penned by a scribe in Israel. But to ship a completed Torah is considered improper. So the last letters had to be written here, where it would remain. At the last stroke of Golowinski's quill it would be deemed holy.
Jewish law mandates that every believer help write a Torah, but realistically it is a tough commandment to keep.
Torah commissions are rare and costly, at upward of $35,000 apiece and taking nearly a year. The parchment is made from the skins of animals slaughtered in keeping with kosher laws, tanned according to a millennia-old formula. The ink and feather quill must also be kosher; the parchment is threaded with the veins of kosher animals. A silver crown and silver breastplate adorn the dormant scroll.
For the Chabad members, it was a special opportunity to honor the commandment, while also honoring Sappington, who died at 21 in a traffic accident. "Today his soul hovers in this room. A whole Torah was written for this soul," announced Rabbi Pinchas Ezagui.
This Torah would, moreover, be part of the new synagogue and school that Chabad-Lubavitch, a missionary sect of Hasidic Judaism, broke ground on last month after 14 years in Ormond Beach.
Sappington, a college student and musician, had been a devout member for more than a decade. "He was my right-hand man," said Ezagui. "A humble, talented man." Avri Ben-Hamo, a friend, said Sappington was "proud of who he was. It's hard living in an environment like this, predominately Christian, to be Jewish. "
Sappington's family and many of his friends had sponsored letters, donating $180 apiece -- a number with spiritual significance, but a little stiff for a group of four girls, who went in on their letter.
When their names were called they stood over Golowinski to watch him work. Roberta Sappington, Jay's mother, supervised the process in a pink suit and pink hat -- this was a happy day, after a year full of sad ones. "When the last letter is written a big bomb of holiness lands in this room," announced Ezagui.
An incomplete Torah is just parchment, the rabbi continued. "If there's one letter missing the whole Torah is disqualified!" he said. "You're either pregnant or not pregnant -- kosher or not kosher."
Golowinski carried a razor blade along with his ink and his quill. If he erred making a normal letter, he could scrape it off with the blade. If he erred in inscribing the name of God, the whole page would need to be removed, and ritually buried. Thankfully, he did not need to do either.
Then suddenly, the Torah was done. "The last letter was written!" Ezagui said.
It was time to lift it up -- and celebrate. Sappington's brother Gabriel Genauer held the scroll; the guests danced and sang as though at a wedding. Plates of eggplant, pasta, olives, peppers and chicken made their way from the kitchen.
In the rabbi's office, an exhausted scribe rested. Golowinski had driven from Miami in the wee hours of the morning. Soon he would have to drive back.
The scribe's profession was in his blood, he said. "My mother used to say I was born with a feather in my mouth," said Golowinski, whose parents emigrated from Poland. "Her maiden name means 'artist.' "
But she did not encourage his vocation. "The scribes were considered to be impoverished," he said.
"You won't get a convertible out of it," the rabbi concurred.
Most Torahs today are written by Israeli scribes, with local ones, like Golowinski, adding the final 100 or so letters.
There are very few scribes, though, outside the Hasidic communities of New York City. Golowinski said he is one of three in South Florida, and he didn't know of another until Baltimore.
"I'm an itinerant scribe," he said, girding up for a long drive, alone, in the rain.
virginia.smith@news-jrnl.com
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