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His lips moving almost imperceptibly, Rabbi Shimon Kraft of Los Angeles writes the first word of Congregation B'nai Shalom's new Torah — Beresheet ("In the beginning").

The words, written Sunday, mark a new beginning that this small, friendly Walnut Creek synagogue had been anticipating for many months, since members learned that their beloved Torah, rescued from Holocaust-era Czechoslovakia, was beyond repair.

A page has been ripped and many letters are faded beyond legibility. The cover's cloth is disintegrating. According to halachah (Jewish law), any one of those conditions makes a Torah pasul — unusable.

So congregants in the sanctuary murmur excitedly as Kraft continues writing on the new scroll. Flash bulbs pop like champagne corks, but the rabbi hardly seems to notice. With deft flicks of his turkey quill, he adds crowns to letters he's already penned, pausing every once in a while to check against a copy of a Sefer Torah.

Accuracy is paramount. Since the Torah must not vary, even an iota, from its 3,300 year-old model, there are many rules to ensure each Torah is flawless.

The sofer or scribe recites each letter before writing. When the new scroll is completed, it will be checked again by three other authorities. Any mistakes — such as an overly elongated yud or an insufficiently pointed shin — must be corrected within 30 days.

The 304,805 letters in a complete Torah are written on parchment made from the skin of a kosher animal. Kraft uses veal skin, which is light and supple. The Torah must be kosher, he says, because "it's our instruction book, part of us, and should be something we can literally ingest."

Every step "is crucial," he continues. "Even the person who cures the animal skin in lime must announce that he is doing it for the sake of the holiness of the Torah."

While synagogues are constantly being built and renovated, the creation of a new Sefer Torah, or Torah scroll, is rare. Sunday's event marks the first such undertaking in the Bay Area in 12 years.

Each step is a critical part of an age-old process, and no detail is too small to be overlooked, including the kind of ink employed. "It's made according to a recipe handed down from Talmud times," says Kraft, "a combination of lampblack, gum arabic, copper sulphate and gallnut solution."

Leading a short ceremony before the writing begins, the synagogue's Rabbi Gordon Freeman speaks of the original covenant between Moses and God at Mount Sinai, where Jewish souls from all ages were said to be present.

"We're shutafim — partners with God — through the continual process of creation," says Freeman. "By receiving the Torah, we are helping to keep creation going."

It will be a year, however, before Freeman and his congregants will be able to unfurl a new Torah. The writing — some 2,000 hours of it — will be completed in Israel, and in 12 months the congregation will meet again, with Kraft to dedicate the scroll.

In the interim, B'nai Shalom will teach about the Torah. "We're looking forward to having the congregation be partners in this process," says Freeman.

He hopes that the coming year will be "a wonderful community celebration, in which people are rededicated to Torah."

During Sunday's celebration, Rabbi Stuart Kelman of Congregation Netivot Shalom in Berkeley, himself a sofer, discusses "The Art of the Classical Sofer."

"Writing a Torah is nothing if it's just written and put away," says Kelman, who has recently been repairing a damaged Torah from Cuba. "Many people have never seen a Torah up close, or opened one; I enjoy teaching them about how a Sefer Torah is written."

While it still is relatively unusual for a Torah to be completely replaced, Kraft says "there's a tremendous need for new Torahs to be written" because so many old scrolls are deteriorating.

Based in Los Angeles, where he owns The Mitzvah Store, Kraft often travels to repair and finish Torahs, but only begins a Torah about once a year. He will remember B'nai Shalom, he says, for its "very sweet crowd — wonderful people."

For Freeman, the most joyful moment of the afternoon comes when he is able to show the parchment off to the congregation. Holding aloft the scroll fragment, its ink still wet and gleaming, the rabbi walks around the sanctuary while congregants clustered around him.

"The first words of our Sefer Torah — can everybody get a chance to see?" says Freeman, with a grin that wouldn't have disgraced the Cheshire Cat.

"One line takes that long!" exclaims 7-year-old Elan Lubliner of Lafayette. His friend, 9-year-old Aron Korney of Dublin, announces, "I thought it could only be done by a computer to look that good."

Belle Lipsitt, a member of Netivot Shalom, had brought granddaughters Kara and Ilana to the ceremony. "I thought it was lovely," says Lipsitt, "and thank God, I found out that he can correct a mistake."

Martin Fohrman, co-chair of B'nai Shalom's Torah project committee, observes that "there was a closeness between the sofer and the congregants. The afternoon was about perpetuation and renewal, and it brought the whole congregation to a higher place."

B'nai Shalom vice president Karla Smith notes that participation in the Torah writing was "a rare opportunity, a once-in-a-lifetime chance."

She is particularly delighted that the congregation's children had participated in the mitzvah of Torah creation. "They were all so excited," she says. "It was a precious, precious moment."

Freeman confirms that he had been moved beyond expectations when he showed the parchment to congregants.

"Sometimes, as a rabbi, you wonder what's going to work," he says. "But when I was taking the parchment around, I was very moved. It was great. The Torah is very powerful."