My childhood synagogue was destroyed on May 14, 2002.

In 1904, Derech Emunoh opened its doors in Arverne, Queens, New York. Its name means "the way of faith." That same year, Theodore Roosevelt, waving the Stars and Stripes and brandishing his "big stick was in the White House.

The once-elegant edifice was hit by an arsonist in 1994 and 1995, but this time the fire was due to faulty basement wiring.
I got my Hebrew/Jewish education at Derech Emunoh during the '40s and early '50s. Rabbi Eugene I. Cohen-
and teachers--taught me about Adam and Eve, the Garden of Eden, Noah's Ark, the flood, the significance of the Ten Commandments, Sholem Aleichem, the Blue Box (a "pushke" for charity), and the holidays. Here I met my first "Shabbos goy"--the non-Jew who did the shul's custodial work. From him I learned that "davenport" is a liturgical wine from Manischewitz and that a "Yamaha" is a religious skullcap for women. Just kidding!

During those formative years, we discussed the KKK (Ku Klux Klan); today the initials represent Kosher Krispy Kreme doughnuts. I heard my first pickup line: "I may do haghan with no difficulty, but picking up a girl like you is intimidating." I learned that one does not clap after a rabbi delivers his sermon. Recently I read on the www that the results of a computerized survey indicated that the perfect rabbi preaches exactly fifteen minutes, makes 15 calls daily on congregational families, shut-ins and the hospitalized, and is always in his office when needed. I planted trees in Israel, learned that "traif" rhymes with "safe," that my sign is "Taurus", not "tsuris," that matzo balls are called "knayd-lekh," that a sweater is a "svh-tehr," and that Molly Picon was known as "the Sweetheart of Second Avenue"

AdaCohen, a true Rebitsin, accompanied me to the "mikveh" prior to my wedding in 1958 and encouraged me to keep kosher.
In those pre-computer days, before we had Jewish websites like "Ask a Rabbi," " www.bubbe.com ," and "Chai Riders"--a Jewish motorcycle group--we met with the rabbi f2f (face to face) at his home on Beach 69th Street or at his synagogue office.
We never had panel discussions on "The Jewish Home: When to Decorate; When to Renovate; When to Evacuate" or courses titled, "Was There Jewish Life in Florida Before Wolfie's?" We did walk to the boardwalk during Tashlikh and cast all of our sins into the depths of the ocean. We did listen to the loud, piercing shofar blast which comes at the end of Neilah. We did learn how to play dreidel, and eat, drink, and be merry on Purim. We shared in the custom of shalakhmones by sending presents to friends.

This building held 98 years of spiritual life. Yes, everyone in Arverne loved the synagogue. As time passed, people became prosperous and their children grew up and moved to Long Island and Westchester. Urban blight moved in.

I, too, moved away, joined another congregation. What's left? A prayer for the loss of a synagogue:

To Hundred Sixty-Five Mourning a Synagogue.

Broken, tortured walls confront me.
Blackened shell of beloved place;
Here I learned to sing our cycle's songs.
Here was community and family. Torah.

Merciful One. You do not dwell in walls,
But these walls were holy;
Their destruction damages my very structure.
I too am shaken, displaced.

Yet harsh evidence of hatred cannot alter memory.
Remembrance dwells in hearts and souls;
Let mourning honor perseverance of community.
Immutable, it is the essence of heritage.

Merciful One, cleanse without and within.
Remove hatred from our midst;
Transform me, heal me, clarify my vision.
Soothe my anger, bring me peace.