Rabbi Sabath on the Sabbath

The Meaning of These Days:
What Can We Celebrate This Yom Ha'Atzmaut?

As Israel celebrates 77 years of statehood and wrestles with heart-wrenching realities, how can we reorient ourselves to the ideals of Israel and the Jewish people?

I can still smell the salt air of the Mediterranean Sea, hear the sounds of the market in Akko, feel the warmth of the Middle Eastern Sun, taste my favorite Israeli foods, and feel the love of the embraces of family and friends. And yes, wherever we went, we had to take note of where the bomb shelters were as we noted the impact of recent missiles and other signs of the war. This is all still very palpable because our family returned from an especially powerful trip to celebrate Passover and be with family in Israel just two days ago. There’s so much to share about what we experienced, but this Shabbat I want to share a particular reflection as we approach Yom HaAtzmaut, Israel’s Independence Day, this Thursday. 

About a week ago, as our family gathered at the cemetery for the unveiling for my mother-in-law, Dahlia Zamir Beit-Halachmi z’’l, we listened and shared as four generations spoke about the legacy and values that Dahila lived, and about her parents who were among those who worked tirelessly to create the a Zionist, humanist Jewish state. Some of them gave their lives so that Israel could become an independent sovereign state and a renewed homeland for the Jewish people. They dreamed and lived their lives so that this new ingathering of Jews could be fully free and create a society that would be based on the best and most universal Jewish values, and be a beacon of justice, hope, and light for the world. Against all odds, with very few resources, medical care, and training, crippled by pogroms and disease, they worked together to make the impossible a reality. 

On May 14, 1948, at precisely 16:00, some 250 people packed the main hall of the Tel Aviv Museum. The crowd, solemn and tense, represented a heterogeneous cross-section of the Jewish population of the Yishuv: kibbutz members in sandals and khaki, socialist intellectuals in suits and wire-rimmed glasses, South African immigrants in their traditional garb, religious Zionists, clean-shaven and in skullcaps, and even ultra-Orthodox rabbis, bearded and behatted. The previous years had seen bitter wrangling among members of these different subgroups, ideological wars and mutual accusations of treason. Yet for that one hour in 1948, Jews across the political-religious spectrum set aside their differences, coming together to announce the birth of the sovereign State of Israel. Together, despite their differences, they signed Israel’s Declaration of Independence. 

Since the great denominational split of the early 19th century, when the Jewish people – scattered as they were throughout the Diaspora – further fragmented into narrow religious factions, there have been two unifying moments in Jewish history: the Shoah/Holocaust and the Declaration of Israel’s Independence. Jewish unity, it seems, can only be brought about by the greatest of extremes; nothing short of the depths of despair or the heights of euphoria can induce us Jews to overcome our differences. There certainly have been moments on and since October 7, 2023, when it seems that we are once again in the depths of despair. 

In many ways, these experiences have served to bind us closer together, and in other ways Jewish Peoplehood is more frayed than ever. As we search for shared values, I think that Israel’s Declaration of Independence remains the one cord that might still bind us together. Especially now, as the challenges Israel and its supporters face continue to increase, we need new strength and clarity about our values. Let the Declaration be for us today a source of renewed inspiration and a living presence in our Jewish lives rather than just letting it hang on the wall, silent, allowing us to conveniently forget its demands. 

Yes, it’s true that the Israel of 2025 is facing new challenges in determining what its commitment to democracy and human rights must be; challenges that its founders could not have imagined. Last Saturday night, as our family joined thousands of Israelis gathering to protest the current government, demand an end to the war, and the return of all the hostages, I was reminded of the distinction between loving one’s country and loving a particular government and its policies. Mark Twain once said that one should always love one’s country and be loyal to it, and to its government when it deserves it.

Especially now, when many of us struggle with the gap between the ideals of Israel and some of the realities on ground, it’s essential to remember that distinction. As we reflect on the Israel of today, it’s all the more important to reconnect ourselves with the core values and reason for Israel’s existence and find more ways to support those working to ensure that the society embodies and lives according to the vision that led to its creation, and can lead it into the future. 

In the  the days ahead, as we mourn with the families of Israel’s fallen on Yom HaZikaron (Israel’s Memorial Day), and celebrate the ideals of Israel on Yom HaAtzmaut, and study with Rabbi Michael Marmur (On Tuesday, May 6th at 7:30PM, register here), I encourage each of us to re-read the Declaration of Independence and find new ways to ensure that its values can continue to inspire reality on the ground. 

As we stand now on the eve of Israel’s 77th Anniversary of its statehood, it’s time to bring the Declaration of Independence back into the forefront of our sense of what Israel strives to be. Just as we must never let go of the ideals of what America strives to be; and we must not abandon America because of the failures of its leaders or a particular government. It’s time to let the spirit of pluralism pervade every classroom and courthouse, every synagogue and wedding hall, every bookshop and theater in Israel and throughout the Jewish world. It is time to recommit ourselves, and to encourage the recommitment of all Jews of every political and religious affiliation, to take part in “the great struggle for the realization of the age-old dream” that we can live as a free people in our land, embodying the ideas and values of the Jewish people. 

Whenever we live, the Jewish people are bound together by history, responsibility, and a shared future. As Sandy Cardin, with whom I worked closely in establishing the Global Jewry project, wrote earlier this week: “In a time when Jewish communities are feeling isolated, threatened, or divided, this week offers a profound opportunity to reaffirm our unity. Across continents and ideologies, we share a story, a homeland, and a future. And in remembering, mourning, and celebrating together, we strengthen not only our identity but our collective resolve to stand by each other, no matter what.”

The more we can reconnect with other Jewish people throughout the world, as well as with Israelis and people of all faiths, the more we will feel less isolated and divided. May this be a time when we recommit ourselves to the ideal that all Jews, including all Israelis, must be able to be free and at peace. The more we work for these and other shared values, the more we can all be a source of wisdom, aid, inspiration, and light for the whole world.

Shabbat Shalom!

Who Are We in the Midst of this Chaos

To state the obvious: this is a time of swirling events and chaos in so many contexts. 

As American Reform Jews, how should we respond given our shared values? This big and complicated question should be at the forefront of our minds as the ripple effects increasingly impact members of our congregation, our families, and the broader community. The question of how we should respond to this dramatic moment is, of course, what every thinking, caring person is asking. 

At the recent CCAR [Central Conference of American Rabbis] 136th Annual Convention, we had many lively discussions — and debates — about how we, as rabbis, should respond. In addition to our ongoing roles in supporting our congregants spiritually and emotionally, we asked do we all, as Reform Jews, have a role to play in maintaining civil society and responding to moral issues affecting our society? 

Many of our predecessors, including our founding rabbis David Einhorn and Benjamin Szold, and of course other giants like Abraham Joshua Heschel, were certainly outspoken, led their congregations in social justice work, and took personal risks in order to respond to the urgency of the issues of their day.  

As I have been saying every Shabbat, at times like these, it’s even more important to keep our core values in very clear focus. One example of clarifying our values for this moment is the Statement of Jewish Beliefs below. I am one of more than 600 rabbis — from multiple denominations — who have signed this attempt to articulate the core beliefs that should guide our lives and our actions. 

Please read and reflect on the Statement of Beliefs listed below as we continue to learn and discuss and determine together how we, at HSOSC, can respond to the urgent needs of this moment. If you have particular concerns you want to share, I encourage you to join us this Sunday at 12PM for a first conversation. (Please register here.)

Shabbat Shalom!

It Begins With You: The Meaning of Our Purim Celebration This Year

At this time of year — and especially this year — I find myself thinking about what kind of Jew I am. I revisit an ongoing debate I first had with colleague and friend, the well-known journalist Yossi Klein Halevi. Along with other Jewish thinkers, Yossi insists that there are essentially two kinds of Jews: The ‘Purim Jew’ and the ‘Passover Jew’. Passover Jews are motivated by empathy with the oppressed; Purim Jews are motivated by alertness to threat. The voice of Passover is a call for liberation; the voice of Purim calls us to celebrate our victory over the genocidal threat of Haman.

The Passover voice commands us to remember that we were oppressed and therefore we must be vigilant to ensure that we don’t become numb to oppression. This idea is so central to Judaism that in our weekly Shabbat prayers we affirm that all people — including immigrants — must be treated with human dignity through the ancient labor law of Shabbat. The message of the Passover experience is: Don’t tolerate cruelty toward any human being.

The Purim voice, on the other hand, insists that we remember the possibility of Haman in every age. The texts we read this Shabbat before Purim teach us that Haman was a descendant of the tribe of Amalek. Amalek was particularly evil not only because they attacked a wandering group of liberated slaves without provocation, but also because they attacked our most vulnerable little ones at the back. Our horror at such evil murderous crimes against our littlest ones was palpable last week as we watched the little coffins of the Bibas babies – who were so savagely murdered by terrorists – as they were carried to their graves, accompanied along the road by hundreds of thousands of their extended family of Israelis. Does not our challenging era remind us once again that an Amalek or a Haman is always present, ready to try to annihilate us? The message of that experience is: Don’t be naive about the presence of Jew-hatred. Always be alert to any possible threat. 

I’ve always thought of myself more as a Passover Jew. While focusing on living a Jewish life both in the US and Israel, I hear loudly the Jewish commands to pursue social justice and to be concerned for the most vulnerable. From an ethical and theological perspective, the messages of Passover are at the core of Judaism. 

But last Purim, after October 7th, I shared that I was beginning to think more like a Purim Jew. Perhaps we were all too naive about the eternal presence of Amalek? Perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised by the dramatic increase of antisemitism? And this year? Seventeen months later, like many of you, I am still processing what we have seen and heard and read these last 519 days – it’s impossible not to be heartbroken and enraged. 

At the same time, however, we cannot allow our suffering and rage to make us numb to the suffering of the innocent people on the other side. That’s why we need to balance the voices of Passover and Purim. Of course, it’s a false dichotomy.  We need them both, especially now because they allow us to see the world through many different lenses. Each holiday also invites us to take the long view of history — even in times like this. Or especially in times like this.  

As we gather to celebrate Purim this weekend and next, let us double down on all our core values and lift each other higher in our joyous celebrations. So on Saturday night: bring your favorite beverage to share, and come in costume and next Sunday morning, too. Your celebratory acts will add to the laughter and joy of our precious community. Let’s resist letting uncertainty or fear paralyze us or make us numb to the needs of the other –  let’s lean into Purim this year. Bring your biggest joy and give as much to tzedakah as possible in the spirit of the Purim mitzvot that Queen Esther established. 

This year, may we each personally hear the most profound question of the Scroll of Esther: “Who knows if it isn’t for such a time as this that you are exactly where you are?” (Esther 4: 12)  The future depends on each one of us living and celebrating our Judaism fully while ensuring that all people can celebrate in safety and peace. 

Shabbat Shalom and Hag Purim Sameah!

Preserving Our Dignity in a World of Moral Complexity

It seems so basic: Don’t steal anything that isn’t yours. It’s such a basic ethical idea which appears with more clarity in this week’s Torah portion, Yitro. “Lo Tignov” - “You shall not steal” is the basis of any ethical society. Even though it seems like such a simple ethical concept, there are few commandments in Jewish tradition which have generated so many conflicting interpretations and applications. 

Perhaps so much discussion in our tradition about such a basic commandment tells us that something much more complicated is going on. Such complexity around basic moral questions is too relevant in the ongoing war Israel must fight against Hamas to get our hostages back and to prevent another massacre of Israelis like that of October 7th, 2023. 

Among the commentaries of medieval sages there is little agreement about the applications of this core commandment. Rashi and Ramban interpret "lo tignov" as a reference to kidnapping, genivat nefashot, rather than theft. In other words: taking hostages is a violation of basic moral laws.  

Ibn Ezra and Seforno, on the other hand, claim that lo tignov — you shall not steal — includes stealing both people and property. Later commentators argue that the commandment alludes to theft of a person’s self-respect by not responding to his greeting, or attempting to win someone’s gratitude or regard through deceit, known as genivat da’at. 

At the core of these applications is the question of the basic human dignity of the person who previously was in possession of his freedom, his property, and his perception and has lost it. But from ancient times to today, an even larger question looms: is this protection of human dignity one that the Torah seeks for Jews, or does it extend to all people? 

As we shall see, it does not take a liberal 21st century interpreter like me to imagine that God’s sanctity depends on the respect of the dignity of all people and on the equal application of ethical principles to all human beings, not just Jews. 

A possible halakhic interpretation of the command not to steal — lo tignov — might include broadening its application along with the wider ethical considerations of those including non-Jews. But the ancient sages predicted this question and some sought to clarify it, lest we have any debate about the broader universal implications. 

Regardless of what’s happening around us, we must do everything in our power to preserve the dignity of all people. How do we ensure that both Jews and all people are protected? That’s what I’ll be discussing tonight and over Shabbat. 

Shabbat Shalom!

Beyond Mercy: Praying for Freedom with Our Hearts in  Our Throats

This has been a dramatic week for all of us. It’s hard to say what reverberates most loudly for me now as the week comes to a close and we turn toward Shabbat. 
 

• Was it those long hours holding my breath and weeping as we watched the first three hostages, those courageous resilient young women, step toward freedom and toward the arms of their mothers who had waited for them for 471 days?
   
• Was it hearing the fearful but relieved voices of my friends in California as the Wildfires started to be contained? 
   
• Was it listening to the Inauguration? And trying to imagine all the implications of the new executive orders? 
   
• Was it hearing the Bishop plead with the newly inaugurated president of the United States to “have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared”? Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde called on President Trump to have mercy on transgender children and immigrant families at a National Cathedral prayer service for the inauguration Tuesday. She bravely reminds us all that “there are gay, lesbian, transgender children, Democratic, Republican, independent families — some who fear for their lives.”  

All of these profound moments will likely reverberate in our hearts, minds, and souls for the foreseeable future. And each one has a powerful and enduring message we must hear. 

I want to remind all of us that many of these ‘vulnerable’ people are our family, our loved ones, our friends, our congregants. We must not only ask the government “to have mercy” but we must insist that they are fully protected. Strikingly, the messages of the Torah portion this week, Vayeira, offers profound parallels and even stronger messages about what our role must be in such times. 

The Torah teaches us over and over again, like a chorus, that because we were once “strangers in a strange land” we have an eternal responsibility to all who are strangers and vulnerable. What is that responsibility according to this recurring message throughout Jewish tradition? To be especially concerned for and protect and care for “the stranger, the widow, the orphan” and the most vulnerable in society. That is our most fundamental Jewish responsibility. If we fail to fulfill this responsibility, we are failing the core mission of Judaism. 

Our hard-won freedom that we’ll begin to read about in the weeks ahead demands that kind of special sensitivity and responsibility. We must remind ourselves every day that the sacrifices of our ancestors must not be made in vain, and that we insist that we make our freedom and our lives worthy by acting everyday to protect the most vulnerable. No matter how long that list gets. 

Today, day 476, as we enter Shabbat, we must also join and support the families of the remaining hostages whose “hearts are in their throats” as they await the return of their loved ones. I pray that we will see the release of four more of our sisters alive this Shabbat. And, God-willing, more and more hostages in the weeks ahead. 

We cannot give up working toward, praying, and hoping for the redemption of all captives in our time. We cannot cease to work to protect all the vulnerable as we pray for a sustainable peace. This is what it means to be Jewish. We are so blessed to be able to sustain each other as we work toward these core Jewish goals as a congregation.  

Shabbat Shalom!

"And Who By Fire?" A Message for Our Community as Wildfires Rage in California 

The contrast is mind-boggling. While we here in Baltimore are experiencing windchill temperatures below freezing, bundling up and trying not to slip on the ice, hundreds of thousands are running for their lives to escape pillars of fire and gigantic plumes of smoke. Very few of us have ever experienced the fierce power of a natural disaster, whether by water or by fire. Very few of us have experienced something that feels as though it is an environmental disaster of ‘biblical proportions.’ But that is exactly what is happening for huge swaths of people in Southern California as I write this message.

Several souls have been tragically lost and thousands have lost their homes and their livelihoods. Synagogues have been seriously and completely burned while others have only the skeletons of their buildings still standing. 

At the same time, however, the Jewish community in Los Angeles and throughout North America has already sprung into action. You can watch an LA Jewish community briefing here. 

This unfolding tragedy weighs heavily on us even as we watch from afar. So many of us have dear friends and family members who have been evacuated and affected in many ways by the raging wildfires and we are praying for their safety. I have just learned that nearly ten of my rabbinic colleagues have lost their homes, as have hundreds of their congregants. One of my Reform rabbinic colleagues, Daniel Sher, who serves the Pacific Palisades synagogue Kehillat Israel, lost his home and even as he tries to comprehend what it means for him and his family he is working around the clock to console his congregants and help members of the community find the immediate aid they so desperately need. While the enormity of the immediate needs are only just becoming clear, he inspires all of us to think about the power of community: 

“I do know that we will continue to care for one another, to reach out to one another, and we will rebuild,” Sher said in a video message. “So many of us are experiencing heartbreak. But when a community experiences heartbreak together, it means we can mend our hearts together as a community as well.” You can see his message to his community here. 

With deep pain for the suffering of so many, at HSOSC we express our heartfelt prayers that the Compassionate One protect all sacred human lives and give strength to the brave fire fighters so they may control and extinguish the fires speedily and with no further destruction. One beautiful prayer written by another LA colleague, Rabbi Guzik, can be found here. In it she writes:

"Ribono shel Olam, Master of the Universe, protect those that are impacted by the devastating Southern California fires. Guide them towards shelter and safety. As family, friends, neighbors and Angelenos experience physical and emotional loss, may [they and] we turn towards each other with open homes and open hearts.”

In addition to our prayers, however, I also want to encourage each of us to extend tangible support. The Associated – along with the Jewish Federation in LA and Federations across North America – have created the Wildfire Emergency Relief Fund to respond to urgent needs. You can contribute to that fund by clicking here.

May healing and hope grow and may the rebuilding begin soon.

Wishing all who are in harm's way in California – or anywhere else in our shared world – a Shabbat of safety, peace, and healing, 

What's in a Name? Dreaming, Wrestling, and Becoming

Facing our fears can transform us. By facing his fears on the conscious and unconscious levels, Jacob gains some very powerful insight into who he is and who he must become. In last week's portion, Vayetzei, waking from a dream he had while fleeing from his brother Esau, Jacob has an epiphany about God’s presence in his life.  This week, however, Jacob has a very different kind of nighttime vision while fleeing from his father-in-law, Laban, and traveling toward his estranged brother, Esau, from whom he stole both the birthright and their  father’s blessing. 

We can feel Jacob’s fear and trembling through the ancient text as he calls out to God: “Save me, I pray, from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau; because, I fear he may come and strike me down, mothers and children alike!” (Genesis 32:12)

At this point in his life, facing his fear throughout a long, dark night is not just about him. It’s also about whether or not he can protect the ones he loves. This experience also has a very different impact on him. Although he’s no longer alone in the world like he was when he left his parents home in last week’s Torah portion, he feels completely alone. (Gen. 32:22-25) 

It's not angels Jacob sees this time but a strange figure who wrestles mightily with him until dawn.  Even though Jacob prevails over the man,  the man injures Jacob – his thigh is wretched from his hip socket and Jacob leaves the scene limping. But that’s not all: the strange figure demands to know Jacob’s name, but when he tells the man his name, both Jacob and his name are transformed:

וַיֹּ֗אמֶר לֹ֤א יַעֲקֹב֙ יֵאָמֵ֥ר עוֹד֙ שִׁמְךָ֔ כִּ֖י אִם־יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל כִּֽי־שָׂרִ֧יתָ עִם־אֱלֹהִ֛ים וְעִם־אֲנָשִׁ֖ים וַתּוּכָֽל״”

"Then the man said, “Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with humans and have overcome.” (Gen. 32:29)

Fear isn’t what ultimately determines Jacob’s – now Israel’s – destiny. The Jacob we encounter in this week’s Torah portion demonstrates fear and supplication, but also extraordinary strength and courage. He models for us the capacity to embrace – related to the meaning of the Hebrew to wrestle with – whatever happens to us, and knows that even in the uncertainty of crisis and fear, we will find the strength to survive it, and the courage to be positively transformed by it.

I've been thinking a great deal about the remarkable strength of the Jewish people especially over the last 14 months when so many Jews and Israelis have felt like Jacob probably did: very much alone and terrified in the middle of the night. But what speaks to me most loudly about this story, especially this year, is that it’s because of the struggle that Jacob gets his new name: Israel. Today, we’re not known as the people of Jacob, but rather the People of Israel. It’s through the wrestling and through the struggle that we gain our eternal collective identity: Yisrael, the ones who courageously struggle and yet prevail. Injured, yes. Sometimes limping, yes. But always moving forward.

On this Shabbat, I hope that our name can remind us not only that we are the inheritors of an incredible mission but also that we have enormous capacity for finding strength and courage, even when we feel vulnerable. We can and will prevail over whatever threatens us, but at the same time we must be vigilant that we continue to grow toward having a positive impact on the world; that we are always becoming what God chose us to be in the world: “And you shall be a blessing” והיה ברכה v’heyeh b’rachah. (Gen. 12). 

This year I’ve also found myself returning over and over again to the following words that Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks – of blessed memory –  wrote about the Jewish people:

"What is remarkable is not merely that this one tiny people survived tragedies that would have spelled the end of any other people: the destruction of two temples; the Babylonian and Roman conquests; the expulsions, persecutions, and pogroms of the Middle Ages; the rise of anti-Semitism in nineteenth century Europe; and the Holocaust. What is remarkable is that after each cataclysm, Judaism renewed itself, scaling new heights of achievement…”

It's impossible to know today how we will ultimately emerge from the struggles of these precarious times or what we will have been able to learn from them.  I pray that we have the wisdom not only to prevail over whatever threatens us, but that we will also be transformed in positive ways that push us toward a deeper understanding of who we – as individuals and as a community – need to become in order to be a source of blessing for the future. 

Shabbat Shalom!

Family Drama: What Role Do You Play?

Our founding fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob were not perfect. Neither were our founding mothers, Sarah, Rebecca, Leah and Rachel. Each had challenges, each had flaws. Some deceived each other and others struggled to understand their role in a drama bigger than them. 

What’s remarkable about Rebecca, who’s role in her family leads to unforgettable drama in this week’s Torah portion, Toldot, is her persistence. Against all odds she embraces the full adventure of her life. In last week’s Torah portion Rebecca willingly leaves home and embarks on an adventure to meet Isaac. At first sight she falls in love with him. Immediately, we learn that Rebecca is the only one who can help Isaac find hope and love after his father nearly sacrificed him and his mother dies. Their love was the kind of love that heals. 

Rebecca later confronts her own challenges head on. For me, she is the original model of what it means to persist no matter what. In the face of uncertainty she seeks out God to help her understand her role and her destiny. She is the first woman to pray openly to God and who challenges God and who asks the eternal question: “Why Me?” But with or without clear answers from God, nevertheless, she persists and keeps moving forward. 

Her persistence isn’t just her insistence that she has a role to play in the evolution of her people. She persists even in the face of her own suffering and in the face of having to make difficult decisions. She’s inspiring because her suffering doesn’t dissuade her from ensuring not only her own destiny but that of her people. After struggling with infertility and praying to God together with her husband Isaac, she becomes pregnant with twins. But, as the text reads:  “...the children struggled in her womb, and she said, ‘If so, why do I exist?’ She went to inquire of Adonai.” The Hebrew actually says she went “Lidrosh et Adonai,” literally meaning that she went ‘to demand’ an answer from God. 

“And God answered her, ‘Two nations are in your womb, Two separate peoples shall issue from your body….’” From that moment, she learned what every parent and every sibling must learn: No two children are alike. Our job is to help each one find out who they are and strive toward self-actualization. Our job is to teach our children what it means to persist even in the face of huge challenges and uncertainty. 

Thanks to Rebecca's insight and persistence, however, she not only fulfilled her own destiny but she also ensured that the next generation was given the tools to achieve their destiny as well. 

May we each be blessed, like Rebecca, with full awareness of who we can be, the strength to move forward even in the face of challenges, and a deep awareness of the positive roles we can play in the lives of others.

Shabbat Shalom!

Building Toward the Future with Open Souls and Open Hearts

The Genesis family narratives reveal a consistent pattern of complicated and dysfunctional families losing and regaining faith, over and over again. In their experience, God's presence and attention appears and disappears, testing the covenant of devotion over and over again. What is so compelling about their stories is that despite violence, infertility, deceit and disappearance of loved ones, they maintain faith in God. And often they even maintain faith in each other.  

How was Abraham able to maintain faith even when God seemed to be delayed in fulfilling his promise to make Abraham the father of a great nation? How was Sarah able to maintain faith even through decades of infertility? When Sarah, now an elderly woman, hears that she will finally become a mother, her response is to laugh. Did she laugh because she’d already given up and thought it was absurd? Or did she laugh with deep joy? Or with utter disbelief? Or because she was afraid? Much has been written about her puzzling response. 

But what I want to highlight here is that this is the first of three significant moments in the text when God 'takes notice:' God pakad et Sarah (Gen. 21:1). The translation is difficult to render in English: God remembers, visits, takes notice of Sarah, when she had nearly given up. In other words: Don’t give up! The best is yet to come! 

Joseph, upon his death-bed, assures Israel that God will also surely "take notice of them:" "pakod yifkod etchem” and bring them up out of the land of Egypt. (Gen. 50:26). We easily could have dissolved into Egypt. But our ancestors had the kind of patience that sustained them over generations. They would not be slaves in Egypt forever. Our wandering in the desert would not be forever. Our wandering homeless throughout the world would not be forever. The current war in Israel will not last forever. Or as Israelis say – and inscribe on their jewelry: “This too shall pass” (Gam zeh ya’avor גם זה יעבור).

If we take the message of this text seriously in our own lives as well, perhaps we, too, can develop that kind of patience and optimism. We, too, can strive to take notice of the beauty in our lives and become more aware of God's presence. We, too, can decide to move through whatever life throws our way, always looking toward the future, and planning for the future, knowing that the best is yet to come. 

I know it’s not always easy. But I do believe that if we stay connected to our tradition – and especially to each other – we can find ways to keep our souls patient and our hearts and minds open. As a congregation we can remind each other that what we do today will ensure that the best is yet to come. What a blessing it is to be able to look toward the future this way as we continue to build our sacred community together.  

I can’t wait to celebrate our Fifth Anniversary Together next Friday, November 22! (There’s still time to register here!) 

Shabbat Shalom!

Before the Election and After the Flood: What Are Our Universal Values?

As we approach such a consequential election, this Shabbat is a very good time to pause and ask ourselves: what moral values should guide us? What kind of society do we want to live in? 

But first we must ask: What is morality? The Bible and Rabbinic literature are overflowing with texts and commentaries about what Judaism – often in comparison to other peoples or civilizations – considers moral. In its most earliest and universal theological phase, the Bible and later the Mishnah, declare that because all human beings are descendants of Adam and Eve (Genesis 1-2) who were created in the image of God (b’tzelem Elohim), every human being is of equal value. But in order to respect each other as equals, we also need to share basic values about what it means to be human and good. 

Might we find some theological and legal basis on which we can respect and trust each other? 

The crisis of Noah’s generation (Genesis 8-9) — which we read this Shabbat — certainly raises the level of anxiety about human morality to a whole new level. After the flood, human beings are held responsible for the morality of a whole society and not just for themselves. Even more strikingly, the possibility of a renewal of a covenant with moral standards becomes an eternal possibility. From these two narratives, the Talmudic sages create a list which is known from the fourth century CE forward as the Noahide Laws. 

These Seven Noahide Laws are a set of moral imperatives which are binding for all human beings; they even pre-date the birth of Judaism or any other religion. According to the sages, these Seven Laws define what every human being must uphold in order to be considered moral. Non-Jews who uphold these basic moral principles are considered ‘righteous gentiles.’ The Seven Laws are: 1) the positive injunction to set up courts that justly enforce social laws; 2) the prohibition of blasphemy; 3) the prohibition of idolatry; 4) the prohibitions of sexual immorality (incest and adultery); 5) the prohibition of murder; 6) the prohibition of theft; 7) the prohibition of eating the limb of a live animal – which represents human cruelty (Talmud Sanhedrin 56a). These seven laws remain essential for us today. 

But whether these Seven Noahide Laws were originally part of the Torah as Maimonides (1135-1204) claims, or only established later as earlier Rabbinic sages claim, nonetheless they represent what our ancestors understood to be shared universal values and hopes for humanity. Even those ancient minds who set the Jewish people apart from – and often above – all other cultures also knew that Judaism does not have a monopoly on morality. And perhaps more importantly, they knew that there must be a way to establish some universal common moral ground so that we can peacefully live in a shared society. 

The pluralism and mutual respect that can emerge out of such an ancient philosophy is astonishing and inspiring.  The Rabbinic understanding of the possibility of righteousness for the nations – depending on a basic moral structure – allows for a world view in which, even while it extols its own perfection, it is still possible to value the morality of another, to see another culture as righteous. 

The sages were even able to teach this idea of shared moral foundations in times of war and oppression.  In a world of such inter-religious violence and immorality, the idea of sharing moral principles across cultures today often seems absurd. But if it wasn’t unthinkable after the Flood, it shouldn’t be unimaginable to us.  

Belief in the morality of one’s own religious system, however, shouldn’t blind us to our imperfections.  While Jewish practice, according to the ancient sages, not surprisingly (almost) always leads toward the creation of a moral person and a society that strives toward social and economic justice, it is also possible that the system might fail. Nachmanides (1194-1270), one of the most revered medieval sages, famously commented that it is possible to be a completely mitzvah observant Jew and still be immoral: “A person can be a scoundrel with the full permission of the Torah." While the Torah seeks to create a moral person, the system may still fail because it can’t control every possibility. 

As we turn toward the elections and beyond, let’s remain focused on our shared goal of moral perfection. We do not want to be judged, nor should we judge others, by the lowest levels of morality of particular individuals in our society. Rather we should judge each other by who we strive to be and by the society we strive to create — one in which every human being is valued and respected. 

Shabbat Shalom and be sure to vote! 

How Can We Become Better?
Join Our New Middot/Jewish Core Values Journey!

Each one of us is a work in progress. Each of us has the capacity — and often a deep desire — to become a better human being. Sometimes we’re on the right track and sometimes we get in our own way. And sometimes the realities of our lives, or the enormity of a situation in our community, country, or world distract us from focusing on our core values.

Thankfully, there’s an accessible way to keep striving toward becoming a better human being even when we only have room in our brain or heart for just one basic idea — or even one word. This is where the idea of middot comes in. Middot are the most important character traits, values, virtues, or ethical practices for living a moral life. The goal is to focus on just one of them at a time. (I like to think of it as a “Jewish lifehack”).

Throughout the new year, some of our programming and study — for people of all ages and stages — will focus on one particular middah (singular form of middot). Especially in turbulent times, it’ll be good to focus on our core values and what we can change: ourselves, our relationships, and our community.

You are invited to join this congregation-wide initiative in programming and/or on your own. You may also want to get a copy of The Mussar Torah Commentary: A Spiritual Path to Living a Meaningful and Ethical Life, and With Heart in Mind: Mussar Teachings to Transform Your Life, both of which we’ll use throughout the year. Our first three middot are:

1. Responsibility - Achraiyut - אחריות (which will also be the focus of our Yom Kippur afternoon Social Justice Discussion! register here)
2. Honesty/Integrity - Yoshra - יושרה; and
3. Courage - Ometz Lev - אומץ לב

You might even see kids from our Religious School wearing colorful bracelets printed with each middah to remind them — and all of us — of the one idea we’re focusing on during that month.

So the question is not “how can we become better in the year ahead?” But rather: “When do we start?” Right here. Right now.

With blessings for a year of good health, spiritual and moral growth, unending love, and enduring peace.

PS: Yes, I did once co-author a book about middot called Striving Toward Virtue. But it’s now out of print. Maybe we’ll all write a new one together!

Getting Lost in the Desert and Finding Our Way Home:
The Wisdom of the Torah Portion for this Time of Year

Ki Tavo (Deuteronomy 26:1-29:8)
 

Relationships — even sacred relationships — are not static. Nearly all our relationships are as complicated as we are and, from time-to-time, they all need renewal. 

While there may have been glorious moments of deep commitment and mutual love in the past, sometimes the past isn’t enough to sustain the future. Because people change, and time and life’s experiences can be challenging, every relationship must evolve. Even the most profound covenants and commitments between us sometimes need to be renewed or reestablished. At least once a year we need to pause and check in our relationships – and check in ourselves. Who are we really? What should be our most important commitments? 

These questions pervade the Book of Deuteronomy. Throughout the final stages of Israelites’ journey from slavery in Egypt to the Promised Land of Israel, Moses is particularly worried that they might forget who they are. So, like a good rabbi, Moses offers sermons helping to refocus the Israelites on what their mission is about in the first place, and what God expects of them in the future when they inevitably face difficult challenges in the Land of Israel. After all, they are supposed to create a more just future for all — and it won’t be easy!

This week’s Torah portion, Ki Tavo, emphasizes something very powerful about God’s and Moses’ concerns about the future. In this third oration, Moses — on behalf of God — is very concerned that we might forget the focus of our mission. Like the Israelites, we too might lose our way in life and not just in the desert. In the craziness of our daily journey, we — like the Israelites — can easily forget who we are and who we are meant to become. What are we doing here, exactly where we are at this moment? What is your personal mission now? What is your role in the collective mission of our people? 

Because Moses knows them well, he doubts that the Israelites are fully committed to and are ready for the enormity of their mission, so God asks us to renew our covenant. “These are the terms of the covenant which the Eternal commanded Moses to conclude with the Israelites in the land of Moab, in addition to the covenant which He had made with them at Horeb” (Deut. 28:69). On the high-stakes journey between Sinai and Jerusalem a new covenant was needed.

A new covenant!? What was wrong with the first one!?

When the covenant was made at Mount Sinai, the people of Israel accepted it wholeheartedly and committed themselves to observe the Torah and its commandments, as we saw in Exodus: “Then he [Moses] took the record of the covenant and read it aloud to the people. And they said, ‘All that the Eternal has spoken we will faithfully do!’” (Ex. 24:7).

As the Israelites are straddled between two mountains on their way to a new reality, Moses advises them to rethink the covenant.  While the first covenant at Sinai gave them ethical standards, it was not enough. The covenant delivered on the plains of Moab created what can be described as the establishment of mutual accountability within the Jewish people. Without mutual responsibility we can’t create a just society.

True mutual accountability requires that we are mindful of each other. We are not just a collection of individuals; our future also depends upon our capacity to live as a community and to take responsibility for each other — and even more responsibility for the most vulnerable. The Israelites only became a people in the full sense of the word after the second covenant on the plains of Moab described in this week’s Torah portion; a covenant that is established on “this day…. in order to establish you this day as God’s people and in order to be your God, as promised you ... ” (Deut. 29:11-12).

While our sense of people hood began once we left Egypt and was declared at Mount Sinai, only upon entering the Land was it clear to the people themselves that their future depends upon mutual commitment. We become a people who are able to live out the possibilities of covenant only once we are committed to work together no matter what the future might demand.

When there is so much at stake on the journey toward the future, the opportunity to pause and renew our commitments not only to God, but also to each other, can be the difference between floundering and flourishing. 

All commitments — all covenants — are regularly in need of reexamination. And in order to embrace the future together it is quite possible that the covenants of the past will not be enough.

Especially at this time of the year, and in this age of Reform Judaism, we too need to renew our commitments and our understanding of covenant and mutual responsibility. To whom and what are we responsible? 

In fact, the value and character trait of Responsibility or Achrai-ut אחריות is what the students of our Religious School are studying this month as the Middah of the Month, or the Value of the Month of September. Every month, our religious school students will be focusing on a particular Middah or character trait. This focusing on what character traits we value most helps us all become better human beings. [Next month it’s Honesty, or Yosher יושר – Stay tuned for more about that in October especially as we approach the High Holy Days.]

Through studying the value of individual and collective responsibility, we will not only become better human beings, but we can also become a much stronger congregation. If we know what kinds of responsibility we want to share and enact together, we’ll be better able to build the kind of community that lives the values that are most important to us. I hope you’ll join us on Yom Kippur Afternoon during the Social Justice Discussion when we’ll do a deep dive into some of the texts that can challenge us and inspire us in the year ahead. 

In the meantime, take a few minutes in these final weeks of 5784 to consider what areas of your life — and which relationships — are most in need of renewal. What are your most sacred mutual responsibilities and how do you want to fulfill them better in the year ahead? 

Fortunately, none of us is on this journey alone. Each one of us is part of a congregation where we are invited to nurture our souls, our minds, and our hearts so that we can be more fully invested in our shared mission and our sacred journey. If we want to, we can strengthen each other as we renew ourselves and our world toward a better future in 5785. So grateful to be on this journey together. 

Shabbat Shalom!

The Necessity of Government: What Can We Learn from the Torah's Judges, Kings, Priests, & Prophets?

Shof'tim (Deuteronomy 16:18-21:9)

The very first human communities learned the hard way that some kind of government is necessary. In the early examples of Cain killing Abel, or the generation of Noah and the Flood, or the Tower of Babel, it’s obvious how each situation needed but lacked the most basic political structures and legal systems. And they definitely lacked ethical leadership. It’s not until we’re in the middle of the second book of the Torah that the hard work of creating a legal system and ensuring strong leadership emerge. 

But what kind of legal system is most likely to create a just society? What kind of government is best? What kind of balance of powers should be maintained? In other words, what is the best way to create the most ethical and the strongest society? Since the first political thinkers in the Torah asked these questions, the dramas of political power and legal authority continue to be mesmerizing until today. In every age and in every culture there is no shortage of debate about how an ideal society should function, and what should happen when it fails. 

In this week’s Torah portion, Shof’tim, the ancient Israelites begin to wrestle with these questions as they prepare to establish their own nation in the ancient Land of Israel. Their questions have an eerie resemblance to the questions facing every democratic society today. The Torah asks, as we do: Who is fit to be appointed a judge? How will political rulers be chosen? How will potential abuses of power be prevented? How will the most vulnerable in society be protected? 

Amidst an onslaught of new issues facing the Israelites creating a new society, the authors of Deuteronomy seem optimistic that these challenges can be managed if the right forms of leadership are in place and if there is an appropriate balancing of powers. The Deuteronomist proclaims: Yes, there will be complex problems in our new civil society, but here are the systems and forms of leadership that will enable us to overcome them.

The establishment of a working multilayered system of communal leadership is the genius of the Deuteronomist. Judges, kings, priests, and prophets separately and together are needed in order to allow for the Israelites to create the kind of society worthy of their history and their destiny. But were these four major types of leadership enough to secure our future? 

Parashat Shof’tim not only presents many different leadership dilemmas, but also succinctly offers multiple forms of leadership. The message is clear: No one single type of leader is sufficient. Each of these different forms and philosophies of leadership is both necessary and liable to fail. By himself, Moses dramatically failed God and the Israelites on many occasions. And Joshua, while a worthy warrior, by himself could not transform a nomadic rebellious tribe into a strong and just society. 

In times of transition, this Torah portion teaches not only that different kinds of leaders are needed in different contexts, but also that different skill sets are needed for different challenges. A smooth transition of power is essential to maintain a strong society. A good leader, however, must be fully rooted in the values of the society. What’s remarkable is that the values held high in the Torah are the same ones we value today: religious freedom, justice, and peace. 

But having ideals is not enough. Difficult dilemmas emerged for every ancient leader just like they do for leaders today. In the Torah, each branch of government — the kings, judges, priests, and prophets — have to work hard to balance the power of the other. They each must keep the other in check and make sure that they don’t misuse their power, or fail to protect or defend the nation. But who should make which decisions and how should they be made? How transparent should the process be? Which risks should be taken and what prices should be paid in order to achieve a goal?

Leadership, by definition, is a messy business. Presciently, the Deuteronomist knows how problematic leaders themselves can be. Even though the whole society is designed in order to ensure justice, nonetheless, there must be specific mechanisms established to ensure that, despite all the ugliness of what people might conspire to do to each other, there are special laws to protect the falsely accused and the most vulnerable. The Torah portion seeks to put those safeguards in place. 

Even with God’s involvement, the ancient political thinkers of the Torah knew that for a government to work, it must represent the people and be focused on serving the needs of the people, not the officials. As we think about our own society, we can be inspired by the Torah to stay focused on the ultimate goal of government: to ensure a society in which all can flourish and in which basic rights are protected for all. 

Can We Rise Above Ourselves to Create a Better Future?
R'eih (Deuteronomy 11:26-16:17)

Who are we? Who are we capable of becoming? These questions about Jewish identity have been core questions at the conferences I have been speaking at over the last ten days in South Africa. These mega-questions are also the core questions of the Torah portions we read during these weeks leading up to the High Holy Days. 

It’s in these portions of the Book of Deuteronomy we read about Moses’ attempts to clarify his legacy by offering his responses to these questions. Moses is deeply concerned about whether or not the Israelites will remember who they are and whether or not they will be able to fulfill their (our) mission to create an ideal society. Moses’ exhortations vacillate between confidence in the people and profound doubt in their capacities. Understandably, he’s worried that once we achieve the goal of reaching the Promised Land and have enough to eat, we will forget who we are and we will become too comfortable and fail to live according to our core values. 

In this week’s Torah portion, R’eih, Moses once again reminds the Israelites what they’ll need to remember about — and learn from — their past in order to succeed in the future. If they remember who they are supposed to become once they are no longer a nomadic tribe carrying their values on stone tablets in a portable ark but responsible for a sovereign society, then they might be able to do the hard work of applying those standards to the society they will create. 

So, who are we? According to this week’s Torah portion, Moses reminds us repeatedly that in God’s eyes we are an am kadosh, a “holy people”, a “people consecrated to the Eternal your God.” (Deut. 14:2). But what does that mean on a practical level? 

My teacher and mentor, Rabbi Irving “Yitz” Greenberg, was the first to teach me that the future of the Jewish people — at any and every juncture of Jewish history — depends on whether or not we know “who and Whose we are.” This makes sense for people who see themselves as ‘belonging’ to God. However you understand God — and whether or not you believe in God or feel a responsibility to perform any specific commandment — Jewish culture is built on a sense of responsibility to something beyond our individual personal desires. Throughout time, being Jewish means striving to live according to the highest ethical standards. 

In order to get there, most Jewish teachings emphasize two main goals: 1) for each of us to become the most ethical people we can possibly be; and 2) for all of us together to establish and maintain an ethical society even and especially in the face of all the challenges we face. In the Torah portion, Moses’ job is to make sure that in a time of dramatically new challenges, the Israelites have the knowledge and confidence to be able to fulfill these tasks. 

If you want to know whether a society is ethical or not, just look at how it treats its most vulnerable. Our Torah portion is clear about what this means: If you want to create an ethical society, you must do everything possible to prevent the most vulnerable from becoming destitute. And when, inevitably, there are such people in need, we have to go above and beyond to take care of them. (Deuteronomy 15:7-11). 

What’s remarkable is the way the Deuteronomist (the editor/s of the Book of Deuteronomy) holds up the goal of the ideal society — one in which no one will be in need — and at the same time acknowledges the reality of every human society. Within just a couple of verses, the Torah says both that there will be no needy in the land, and that there will be needy. And when there are needy, we must be sure to give generously and take care of them. The well-known medieval commentator, Rashi, emphasizes that we must not only open our hands and hearts, but we must give whatever is needed. (Rashi on Deut. 15:8, 15:12). Why must we respond this way? Because of our experience; because of our particular story: “Bear in mind that you were slaves in the land of Egypt” (Deut. 15:15). We act the way we do because of our experience of being totally vulnerable.

Our ultimate goal — as individuals and as a community — is clear: God redeemed us from slavery so that every day we might behave in ways that make our human society better for all. Freedom is what enables us to engage in tikkun olam — repairing the world. Telling us to choose ‘the good’ over and over again, as the Torah repeats like a chorus, defines each of us and defines us as a society and as a people. We are only worthy of our freedom if we know what to do with it. So the Torah gives us myriad instructions about how we treat other people, how we treat the earth, how we treat animals, and how we respond to the highest expectations of who we can and should become. 

Every single day we have the possibility of creating more blessings or more curses; every day we can act to strengthen our society and do more to take care of each other. And if we don’t, our society will ultimately fail because we failed to act according to our highest ideals. 

What causes us to succeed or fail? It depends on whether or not we can transcend our most base human tendencies to forget the past, and whether or not we can transcend our selfish impulses. If we transcend our own selfish desires, then our society has the possibility not only to survive, but it might even thrive for many years to come. Whether or not we thrive is ultimately up to each one of us as individuals and up to us as a community.

What Are We Doing When We Pray?
Chukat (Numbers 19:1-22:1)

An incredible mentor taught me that the experience of prayer should be like a great drama. Toward the end of his life — as I was just beginning my journey as a rabbi — he encouraged me not to be afraid to lead people into the emotional power of the prayer experience. Another great rabbi taught me that prayer can be like a beautiful classical music concert and the clergy are the conductors. 

Still another rabbinic mentor liked to compare the experience of communal prayer to jazz music. In jazz, each musician finds their own unique rhythm and then blends together with others. When a combination of beautiful and sometimes improvised sounds are woven together — incredible music is born. All three of these teachings are powerful metaphors for what communal prayer can feel like. 

But what, really, is prayer? 

Abraham Joshua Heschel, the great Polish-German-American rabbi who marched with Martin Luther King, Jr., and famously said of that experience: “I felt as though my legs were praying,” also taught that prayer is something mysterious that occurs “between the soul of [a person] and the word.”

I believe that prayer is what becomes possible when we engage together with the words and sounds of the ancient blessings in a way that brings us closer to our tradition and to a sense of the spiritual yearnings of those who came before us. Through their attempts to express their gratitude and their needs, we can be inspired to find our own ways to express ours to our most Significant Other — to the Source of Life — God. 

For most of us, it’s easier to pray when we recite and sing the ancient words together with others. Indeed one purpose of prayer is not only to bring us closer to our tradition and to God,  but also closer to each other. Prayer — if we’re open to it— strengthens us both as individuals and as a community. 

Throughout the millennia, prayer is one way we have found our place as part of the unbroken chain of our tradition. It connects us to all those who recited these words before us and who recite the same words right now, right next to us. Prayer can also connect us to something beyond ourselves; to something greater than us mortal human beings. Prayer offers us the possibility of connecting to the Source of Everything, to the One Creator of All, to the Power of Mercy and Forgiveness — which Judaism calls “God.”

Prayer Includes Both the Fixed (Keva) and the Spontaneous (Kavannah)

Jewish prayer, however, is also built on an internal tension. We have many ancient texts that tell us how to pray, when to pray, what to pray. Or, as Heschel put it: “There are fixed times, fixed ways, fixed texts.” This is called keva, or the fixed historically determined words, or formulas of words that make up Jewish prayer. 

At the same time, however, prayer is also “the worship of the heart, the outpouring of the soul…” This kind of spiritual experience is not fixed nor can it be predetermined but rather it bursts out spontaneously from the individual human heart. This is how new prayers and new musical interpretations are born. 

Heschel describes these two modes as two opposite poles: 

“Jewish prayer is guided by two opposite principles: order and outburst, regularity and spontaneity, uniformity and individuality, law and freedom.  These principles are the two poles about which Jewish prayer revolves.”  

But in my experience, whenever we come to a prayer service we are embarking on a journey that connects each of us to the ancient, repeated, and familiar elements of the prayer book that also bring us together as a community. And simultaneously it can also open up the possibility for the unscripted expression of our own spiritual needs. 

Heschel saw these two core elements of prayer — keva, the fixed, and kavannah, the spontaneous — as an internal contradiction, or as the central “problem” inherent in Jewish prayer. Should we be more focused on the fixed and scripted elements printed in the prayer book that we recite as a group? Or should we be more interested in our own personal and spontaneous spiritual experience? 

What Are The Goals of Prayer? 

I believe that part of the genius of Judaism is how it teaches us not to resolve tensions as black and white, either/or choices. Rather, Judaism teaches us about the power of “both/and.” Judaism offers us a spiritual and intellectual practice that teaches us to be able to hold onto and experience simultaneously many different aspects of humanity. 

Prayer experiences are most powerful, I believe, when we open ourselves up to these creative tensions: the tension between the fixed and the spontaneous, the individual and the collective, and the past and the present. Prayer reminds us what can emerge from such creative tensions — new and often inexplicable experiences— and even the transformations of our souls. 

We live — and I think we can thrive — in these tensions.  Emphasizing both the fixed and the spontaneous, the collective and the individual, the traditional and the contemporary, allows for continuously unpredictable new insights into Judaism and spirituality. 

In these intense moments of prayer and song, some of us find what we might call a closeness with God, and/or a deep sense of joy in celebrating with other people. Sometimes prayer is simply the experience of hearing the sounds of the words or the music which allows us to become more mindful of the blessing of simply being alive.

I hope that our prayer services are regular opportunities for a spiritual pause. I hope that this service offers you — as part of the community here today and as an individual — an experience through which you gain more clarity about what really matters to you, about who you want to be, and about the ultimate purpose of your life at this moment. 

May each of us find that our hearts, minds, and souls can continue to grow through our shared experiences of prayer at Har Sinai-Oheb Shalom.  

Shabbat Shalom!

Jealousy, Adultery, and the Spiritual Power of the Truth
Nasso (Numbers 4:21-7:89)

In a world where power and knowledge can control one’s destiny, there are very few cases in our ancient Jewish literature where women had either. Especially in a world where men’s jealousies could determine a woman’s fate, it is remarkable to encounter a Talmudic story in which a woman’s knowledge and spiritual strength prevail. 

This week’s Torah portion, Nasso, tells the infamous story of the suspected adulteress — the Sotah —  and the public ordeal — she was forced to endure simply because her husband was jealous and suspected that she committed adultery. Whether or not she was guilty, she was forced to undergo this public ordeal. 

A woman whose husband was overcome by jealousy was not only publicly accused and humiliated, but she was also forced to drink a special concoction of “bitter waters” or “mei sotah.”  If the woman was indeed guilty of adultery, then the bitter waters she drank would cause significant physical suffering in her abdomen which would become distended. The potion, it seems to me, would cause a miscarriage of a fetus that might have been conceived through an adulterous relationship; in other words, a forced early abortion. (Yes, some men have sought to control a woman’s uterus and her choices for a very long time.) 

Most discussions of this text focus on the power of the public ceremony to punish an adulterous woman and thereby perhaps serve as a deterrent. But more contemporary interpretations focus on the powerlessness of the woman and her suffering at the hands of a suspicious man and the culture of men which supported him and not her. 

But what was the goal of such a public ritual? In addition to the punishment of an adulterous woman and its deterrent for other women, the public ritual highlighted the ancient priest’s authority to oversee an ordeal which sought to publicly establish the truth and re-establish the marital relationship. Nothing can be more destabilizing to a relationship and a community than the lack of trust and the absence of accepted truths. 

So after the ritual the truth of what happened behind closed doors could be acknowledged publicly and the husband and wife as a unit could continue without him worrying about whether or not she was carrying another man’s child. (If only they had DNA tests back then…!) 

But one of my favorite sections in the Talmud (Babylonian Talmud Tractate Berakhot 30-31) turns the whole Biblical ordeal of the suspected adulteress on its head. Referring to the story of the infertile Hannah praying for a child — the text of the Haftarah that we read on Rosh HaShanah — the Talmudic sages bring forth an extended series of pleas that Hannah makes to God as she prays for a child. Some of the prayers the sages put in Hannah’s mouth challenge God’s greatness and sensitivity. 

Even more shockingly, in one of Hannah’s pleas to God, she brilliantly uses the text of the Biblical ritual of the Sotah — the wife suspected of adultery — that we read about in this week’s Torah portion to threaten or even force God to give her a child! She knows that at the end of the description of the ritual in this week’s Torah portion the text also tells us what happens if the woman suspected of adultery is actually innocent. If she is falsely suspected of adultery and drank the sota water, the Torah says: “And if the woman was not defiled, but was pure, then she shall be acquitted and she shall conceive.” (Numbers 5:28)

In the Biblical text, Hannah asks God to “look upon” her and to “take notice of her,” and allow her to bear a child. This doubling of the idea insisting that God must pay attention to her leads to a wild new interpretation in the Talmud. In interpreting the Biblical verse, “if you will truly look upon [im ra’o tireh] me,” 

“Rabbi Elazar said: Hannah said before the Holy One, Blessed be He: Master of the Universe, if You will look upon [ra’o] me now, fine, and if not, in any case You will see [tireh].” In other words, she threatens God: “Either grant me a child or you will see how I will use Your own words of Torah to force You!”

What was Hannah threatening? She said: I will go and seclude myself with another man before Elkana, my husband. Since I secluded myself, they will force me to drink the sota water to determine whether or not I have committed adultery. Since I didn’t commit adultery, I will be found innocent, and because I know that You will not make Your Torah false, I will bear children. With regard to a woman who is falsely suspected of adultery and drank the sota water, the Torah says: “And if the woman was not defiled, but was pure, then she shall be acquitted and she shall conceive.” (Num. 5:28 quoted in Talmud Berakhot 31b.) 

Hannah, in the eyes of the Talmudic sages, was a brilliant Talmud scholar and able to use her knowledge to force God’s hand. Throughout the text, the sages argue about whether or not these kinds of arguments against God make Hannah irreverent. Shockingly, they conclude that Hannah’s powerful prayer and capacity to argue against God to change one’s fate make her not irreverent but rather a very powerful force. In fact, the sages compare Hannah to Moses and Elijah because of their chuztpah and because of their fearlessness and ability to argue, even with God, in order to force truth to emerge. All three engage in passionate and even angry prayer with God in order to make change possible. 

Perhaps we, too, can find inspiration from Hannah. Let us not hold back in our prayer, as Hannah did not hold back. Whatever is in our hearts, the Talmud seems to say, “bring it on!” God wants to hear what’s truly in our hearts and what we believe can and must change. When we are in distress — like Hannah was — let us be prayerful, courageous and empowered to act. 

Shabbat Shalom!

The Meaning of Time and Living a Life of Meaning
Behar (Leviticus 25:1-26:2)

This is the season of our transitions and transformation. From graduations to confirmations, this time of year is ripe with an awareness of time and its meaning. It is a time of imagining the possibilities, of hope in the future and a sense of accomplishment of the past.

Every culture measures time in particular ways, but Judaism teaches us to constantly reframe it, to measure it and even to try to transcend it. There are, for example, many different interpretations of the meaning of these weeks between Passover and Shavuot. But whether one understands this period of time traditionally, as a period of semi-mourning; or of preparing for the revelation at Sinai; or of celebrating the meaning of Israeli independence; or of simply being aware of the turn from spring toward summer, there is a common theme that connects each of these interpretations: the significance of counting days and years toward something of greater significance than any particular day itself.

A life of meaning comes from an intense sense of time, in which we have the possibility of living out our deepest values. As a system, Judaism promotes a life of daily rituals and a year of holidays that reinforce numerous core values, including human equality, the supreme value of life and the communal ethics of the Torah. Daily prayer teaches the individual gratitude for the opportunities of each day, and reinforces one’s sense of responsibility for how that day should be spent.

The holidays approach time and duty on a grander scale. For example: Hanukkah teaches about the importance of religious freedom and tolerance; Passover reminds us to ensure that those held captive are freed and the vulnerable are protected.

Through the rhythms of holidays and life-cycle events, values are reinforced and the individual and the community have an intense sense of the passage of time and the particular possibilities of each day, of each season, of each phase of our lives.

The Book of Ecclesiastes is probably the best-known ancient text that expresses an intensified sense of the significance of how we should understand the potential significance of each period of time:

“There is a season for every purpose under heaven: A time to be born a time to die… a time for peace and a time for war…. A time to speak and a time for silence.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8)

We liturgically read Ecclesiastes’s somewhat powerless sense of time and even depressed sense of its possibilities only in the fall, on Sukkot, when uncertainty about the autumn harvest and what the coming winter will bring prevails.

Yet on Shavuot, as we turn toward summer, we read the Book of Ruth, which begins with a sense of loss of time and a depressed sense of the lack of possibilities of the future, but suddenly surprises us with new possibilities for the future – even when it seems that there may be none.

The Book of Ruth opens as Naomi weeps over the loss of husband and sons and her lack of options, insisting that her daughters-in-law, Ruth and Orpah, return to their fathers’ homes, where they will have more possibility for the future. Yet Ruth rebels against this rational advice, and clings to her mother-in-law and insists on returning with her to Bethlehem (Ruth 1:14).

Ruth then makes a declaration of faith and commitment, which has come to characterize what it means to be part of the Jewish people: “For wherever you go, I will go, and wherever you lodge, I will lodge. Your people shall be my people and your God, my God” (Ruth 1:16).

The story of Ruth is the story of a radically different understanding of the meaning of time and the possibilities of the future. Rather than choosing the safe, rational option of returning to her father’s home, Ruth chooses to reattach herself to a people whose sense of time transcends the immediate experience of it, even in our darkest hours. She has a sense that maintaining this kind of faith in a person, in a community, and in God is, quite literally, stronger than death itself. Ruth takes risks in order to give her life a completely new meaning.

By the next season, she is indeed remarried and the mother of Obed, who will become the grandfather of King David. Her sense of time and its possibilities transcends the obvious. Ruth thus embodies the ultimate hope. It is no wonder that Judaism makes her the first ancestor of the Messiah.

Measuring our days carefully through the counting of the Omer or in the mindful celebration of new phases and opportunities of life should not only ensure that we make good use of whatever time we have, but help us each focus on the essence of what we want our lives to mean. 

A Prayer for This Shabbat Before Mother's Day
Kedoshim (Leviticus 19:1-20:27)

For the new mothers who have just given birth and are nursing and caring for their babies through endless sleepless nights; 

For every mother who worries about the water her children drink, the air they breathe, the school they attend, and the neighborhood they live in;

For adopted moms, foster moms, “super-moms,” “tiger moms,” working moms, stepmoms, and self-doubting moms;

For mothers estranged from their children and to mothers who talk and text with them all the time;

For the mothers who labor long hours every day day in roles that require nurturing skills – such as as teachers, nurses, doctors, police officers, EMTs, therapists, and clergy – who come home late at night or early in the morning to children who need help with homework, a shoulder to cry on, and someone who believes in them no matter what; 

For the mothers serving in the armed forces in the US and in Israel while their children remain at home;

For the mothers with children in the military, who pray for their children’s safe return; 

For the mothers in prison, jail, and detention centers whose interactions with their children are relegated to visiting day, visitors’ hours, visitation rules, and monitored phone calls; 

For every mother who has endured the loss of a child;

For the not-yet mothers who yearn to have a child; 

For the widowed mothers, divorcees, single moms, welfare recipients, and Medicaid participants;

For mothers rich and poor, straight, gay, bisexual, and trans, mothers of every religion and race;

For all mothers and grandmothers and great-grandmothers, happy and unhappy, perfectly content, and utterly exhausted;

For all the women who are ‘like a mother’ to us: 

Whoever you are, wherever you are, and whatever you do, we pray that the Shechinah, God’s sheltering presence, is always near you, guarding you, comforting you, giving you strength, and blessing you with peace. 

Happy Mother’s Day from All Your Children.

(Rabbi Rachel Sabath Beit-Halachmi, Ph.D., adapted from prayer by Rabbi David Wirtschafter)

Human Sexual Fulfillment and The Song of Songs
Pesach Shabbat Chol haMoed (Exodus 33:12-34:26)

The Song of Songs is traditionally read on the Shabbat of Passover. For Rabbi Sabath's full commentary on the Song of Songs click here.

Among all the canonized texts of the Jewish tradition, the Song of Songs is the most erotic. No other text describes female desire in such vivid terms, with an urgency that immediately pulls us into its passionate search for sexual fulfillment. Is it possible that female sexual desire is not only acceptable but also even glorified in a sacred Jewish text? Traditionally read in the synagogue on the Sabbath of Passover, the Song of Songs is a poetic and potent tale of sexual desire. Some scholars understand the text to be a collection of ancient love songs, while others are certain that it is a unified composition. Regardless, one is struck by this sacred Jewish text in which a woman's desire is the central subject and force of the text. How does our tradition handle such a text? Like the female protagonist of the Song of Songs, might we understand our own sexuality as a natural part of what it means to be human and whole?

While other biblical texts speak of sexual encounters and even of love to the point of tears, only the Song of Songs speaks the language of passionate love and desire for the body of the beloved. Sexually charged images and dialogue flow from nearly every verse.The opening verse itself proclaims: "That he will kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for your love is better than wine" (1:2). In the majority of such verses, the woman is the main actor: It is she who speaks, acts, responds, and turns repeatedly to the chorus of the daughters of

Jerusalem, saying: "I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem; do not stir up, nor awake my love, until it please" (3:5). And it is she who turns over and over again toward her beloved, seeking him out both in dreams and while awake (chapters 3 and 5). This is not a model of a passive or hidden woman. Unique to this book is the fact that the woman does not hide her sexual desire. She proclaims to her lover, without shame: "If I met you outside, I would kiss you, and no one would despise me" (8:1). She is willing to seek out her lover all through the night and against all odds.

The possibility of human sexual relationships devoid of power struggles or manipulation is certainly a central element of feminism as well as of modern ethics. While the woman in the Song of Songs is repeatedly hindered in her search for her beloved by a variety of factors -watchmen and foxes, for instance- the very fact of her search and passion is not denied. This woman is never thwarted because of her gender; she is neither shamed by others because of the force of her passion, nor is she ashamed of it herself. The intensity and importance of a woman's quest for fulfillment are equal to those of a man. For Jewish feminists, this awareness allows for the creation of a religious system and spiritual community in which men and women are allowed equal expression of their full selves, intellectually, religiously and physically.

The world we seek to create is one in which desire to seek full union with the beloved, both human and Godly is unhindered by the law, or by gender.

Ultimately, among many lessons, the text teaches us that as human beings we are by nature dependent on each other in order to find fulfillment. We need the love of another human being, and we will be frustrated without a sense of his or her complete love and support. The woman of our text calls out: "His left hand should be under my head, his right hand should be embracing me!" (2:6) She is aware of the interdependence of humanity in every realm and is aware that to be denied such fulfillment is not only unhealthy, but signals the lack of wholeness in the world itself. Such a conclusion necessarily means that the repair of the world is dependent on the establishment of equally supportive and fulfilling relationships among all humanity.

Can Our Past Redeem the future? Our Passover Celebrations Must Affirm our Moral Identity.
Tazira(Leviticus 12:1-13:59)

Does Jewish history define who we are? Will the present moment define who we become? Not necessarily. But how we remember and interpret it will define us. How we remember our history ultimately determines not only our cultural identity, but it determines our moral identity for the future as well. 

As we approach Passover, we drench ourselves in history and its meaning. At the Seder table, we’ll remind ourselves that “we were slaves.” We’ll read and internalize — especially as we eat the maror/bitter herb — that we, as a people and as individuals, are deeply aware of what it means to suffer. We also know the experience of being free. Soon after Passover, when we celebrate Shavuot, we’ll celebrate the gift of Torah and the morality it gave to the world. And soon thereafter, on Yom HaShoah, we will commemorate the near genocide of the Jewish people; and soon thereafter we’ll celebrate our rebirth in the creation of the Jewish-Democratic State of Israel as we celebrate Yom HaAtzmaut.

Why do we concentrate all of this intense celebrating and commemorating in the space of just a few weeks? To immerse ourselves anew in the moral focus of what it means to be Jewish. 

To the onlooker, given the intensity of these ritualized remembering, Jewish tradition might seem preoccupied with the past. In many ways, we are, but not just because it’s our unique story. We return to relearn and reflect on our past because of who we have become because of it. How we understand the moral implications and imperatives of our past can teach us how to redeem our future.   

Passover is the supreme example of how the interpretation of history determines morality in the future.

The story of the Exodus from Egypt wouldn’t have such a deep influence on the character of Judaism if we weren’t both 1) constantly recalling it in our daily prayers and rituals — re-enacted and brought to a climax at the Passover Seder — and 2) interpreting that history toward moral imperatives of what it means and how we should act because of it. 

The ancient sages were wise to teach us not to remember the past as though it happened to someone else, but to remember it as though it happened to us. As the Haggadah insists: “Each of us is required to see ourselves as though we personally went forth from Egypt.” As Jews, we feel and know in our bones and in our hearts, what is moral-- what is just.  

It’s not just retelling our story that Passover encourages. Rather, our tradition encourages us to engage anew with our story in a way that makes us more — and not less — sensitive to the plight of all human beings. All Jewish celebrations may seem like we’re just telling stories. But in fact, if we dive into them, we learn that each one reorients us to act to create a world in which all are free; a world in which all people can know justice and peace. 

May our celebrations this Passover fill us with joy as well as with the moral clarity and courage we'll need for the journey ahead.  

Shabbat Shalom!

What Kind of Leaders Do We Need? Learning from the Precision, Ethics, and Leadership of the Ancient Priests
Tzav (Leviticus 6:1-8:36)

For most of us, some sections of the Torah might seem irrelevant, incomprehensible, reprehensible, or all of the above. This is particularly true of much of the Book of Leviticus, which we began reading last week. It is filled with details of the complex rituals of animal sacrifices in the ancient Temple and the specific roles of the ancient priests. These details might seem far away from anything that we might consider meaningful, much less relevant. 

What can we possibly learn from the minute details of how Aaron and his sons were supposed to burn animal sacrifices in a Temple that was destroyed two thousand years ago? 

In fact, for decades, many of our Reform prayer books have omitted, rephrased, or reinterpreted all liturgical references to the priesthood (sorry to all the Cohens, Kohans, Katzs etc.!), the Temple, and, of course, the whole idea of sacrificing animals as a way of communicating with God. And yet we still read all of these passages in the Torah every year. Yes, Reform thinkers sought to find meaning in the ancient priesthood and in the culture of the ancient Temple cult, but generally they found them to be archaic, hierarchical, meaningless, and/or a barrier to spirituality. 

So why should we keep studying these passages so carefully when their direct relevance is long gone and their meaning for us is often hard to find? 

Consider, for example, this week’s Torah portion, Tzav, which focuses on the role of the priesthood in offering each of the sacrifices. The text emphasizes how very careful the priests must be in carrying out these rituals and emphasizes that they do so on behalf of the community. 

When I read these texts they strike me as incredibly relevant. The priests had to have the necessary knowledge, ability, precision, and character. These are precisely some of the qualities we definitely need in our leadership today, whether it be in the religious, educational, political, or military context. It’s not just what leaders say, or even what they do that matters, but who they are, and how carefully they attend to their responsibilities that matters. 

Leaders also need to be transparent about what they ultimately intend to achieve, and how their goals mirror what the people they serve need and want. The work of the ancient priests shaped not only the way society functioned, but how it saw itself and its potential, its way forward. In fact, according to the great 20th-century anthropologist Clifford Geertz (1926-2006), all kinds of leaders can transform how we see ourselves. Real leaders put the needs of the community first, and can help us see ourselves as greater and better than we believed we were before.

The Torah reminds us that our leaders today, like the ancient priests, must also demonstrate the clarity of who they are and what their goals are. In every fiber of their being they know that, ultimately, they are public servants with absolute and sacred obligations to create the best possible world for all the people in their communities, countries, and — as much as possible — the entire world.

May we be inspired to uphold the highest standards for our leaders and for ourselves. May we have the courage to demand of ourselves and our leaders the kind of knowledge, ethics, and commitment that will ensure that our community is a place where all can thrive and experience holiness not only in our time but far into the future as well. 

Shabbat Shalom!

Finding Hope and Strength in Each Other
Pekudei (Exodus 38:21-40:38)

Learning with our Hoffberger Scholar, Prof. Shaul Kelner, this weekend couldn’t be more timely. Shaul is a professor of sociology at Vanderbilt University and his work is crucial for us to better understand what’s happening to us, American Jews, in this time of dramatic cultural and political shifts. Some read the shifting winds and the increasingly extreme voices of antisemitism — from both the right and the left — as causes for anxiety and pessimism. An important piece from this perspective is the recent article in this month's Atlantic, “The Golden Age of American Jews Is Ending.”

I totally reject such a conclusion. While I don’t disagree that we have had a wonderful “Golden Age'' in America, it’s far from over. Yes, the data show the increase in antisemitism and the political outrage about Israel’s rightful response to Hamas post-October 7th, but our situation today in America is not at all comparable to any previous moment in history. We may be accustomed to keeping memories of past destruction in mind, but let’s not declare “the sky is falling”, when there is still so much to do to prevent it. For so many reasons our situation is not only unique, but the character – or ‘goldenness’– of our era in America is still in the making. And, as Shaul says, it’s a very un-Jewish stance to give up. We must not give in to dooms-day thinking, especially while we’re thriving! Instead of crying about the end, let’s focus instead on the many opportunities for us to emerge from this moment even stronger. 

As I write this, the War against Hamas continues, and our hostages are still being held in Gaza. We Israelis are still burying our dead. For these reasons alone it is much too soon to say what the impact of this storm is while we are still in the midst of it. We can’t possibly declare defeat. Yes, we must be vigilant and report and raise our voices against the rising anti-semitism directed at Jews now more often because of what’s happening in Israel. But we also can’t ignore how so many are inspired by this moment to connect ever more deeply to their Jewish identity and are increasing their involvement in Jewish communal life. 

So, please, let’s not let our hand wringing overtake us and prevent us from seeing and acting upon the possibilities of this moment. The conversations we should have might instead focus on how we can ensure that we Jews and Jewish identity continue to thrive. Simultaneously, we must organize to leverage our influence – political, financial, social – to ensure that America lives up to its pluralistic and democratic promises to us and and to other minorities. 

Perhaps this is the moment to re-evaluate old political alliances and create new ones. 
Perhaps this is the moment to re-think Jewish education to take into account the complexities of Israel and the realities of the current war. 
Perhaps this is the moment to increase the breadth and depth of how we listen and work with Millenials and Gen-Zers who are experiencing this moment very differently than Gen-Xers, Baby Boomers, and those of the Greatest Generation. 
Perhaps this is the moment for bold and daring experiments in rethinking Jewish life.

A Midrash on this week’s Torah portion gives voice to our collective strength and clarity of vision while in the midst of the storm of slavery in Egypt. Somehow, even while suffering a horrific reality when the Pharaoh separated men and women and prevented them from creating a future, the ancient Israelites found courageous ways not only to deepen their identity but they also ensured their ability to procreate even in such harsh circumstances. How did they do that? 

The Midrash (Midrash Tanchuma, Pekudei 9) offers a wild R-rated story about how incredibly successful the Israelite women were in their fishing, in their gourmet cooking, and in their commerce. This gave them the financial means to cook for their husbands, meet them in the fields where they were forced into backbreaking labor, and seduce them into having sex. These regular and daring seductions ensured the future. 

We, too, need to find the possibilities of this moment. We, too, must not fall into the pull – or trap – of pessimism. To do so, will be to hand those who have sought – and still seek – to destroy us, a terrible victory. The Midrash can inspire us not to give up on the future even when things seem as though they can’t get any worse. 

Let us be inspired by the daring women and men of our people who never give up. Let us also find the courage to learn whatever new capacities we need for resilience and to ensure that we, too, will thrive long into the future. May our future be at least as beautiful and may our actions in our time make us worthy of the inheritance that their courage made possible for us.

What Makes Our Congregation Whole and Holy?
Parshat Terumah
Terumah (Exodus 25:1-27:19)

What makes a community whole and holy?

That depends on much more than what or how much each person gives. Don’t get me wrong, all the membership dues and additional annual gifts are incredibly important and without them we cannot do what we do! But building a sacred community depends on so much more. It depends on how each one of us gives, our intent, and on our ability to work together to create something whole, stable, sustainable, beautiful, and focused on its values. Only then can it be holy. 

The complex architecture and interior design of the Tabernacle, the Mishkan, is explained in great detail in this week's Torah portion, Terumah, and will continue to be a central theme for several weeks. The Mishkan is an elaborate tent designed to be the place where the tablets of the covenant were kept in a special ark and where ancient sacred rituals took place. (Yes, think Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark.) 

The Mishkan, God tells Moses, will also be the place where God comes to dwell among the people, to be present among us — not just at the top of Mount Sinai but also on earth with us, with the Israelites. “Make for Me a sanctuary so that I can dwell among them” V’asu li mikdash v’shachanti b’tocham. (Exodus 25:8) 

Our sanctuary, like the Mishkan, is also the place we go together to be spiritually close to the sacred and to God. V’no’adeti l’cha “There I will meet with you.” (Ex. 25:22) Our sanctuary’s ark, in fact, is designed to recall core elements of the first holy ark that we learn about in this week’s Torah portion. 

But the Mishkan wasn’t just any tent. It was composed of several different kinds of wood and precious metals and colorful linens all meant to be connected by hundreds of special clasps. The complex details of how each of these elements is connected to the other and integrated into the whole is what makes it particularly glorious. 

All the clasps and heavy hardware made of gold and copper and silver had to come together just so in order for it to become one whole. The whole thing stands only because of how the elements and the people work together. They must have had to work very carefully and mindfully together to make it work. 

Repeated throughout is the reminder that the Mishkan is created not from the basic taxes or membership dues of the community, but it is created from the additional gifts, the gifts above and beyond all requirements that each person’s heart moves him to give, “Asher nidveinu libo” (Ex. 25:2). Building the Mishkan depended on generosity of heart and mind and skill, along with the capacity to work toward a shared vision of something grand and worthy of God’s presence and blessing. 

But it wasn’t just about creating a beautiful space for us to meet God and engage in offering up gratitude to God. The most sacred place inside it was a set of values. Also inside the Mishkan was the Ark which held the Ten Commandments. At the center of it all was the reason for the whole structure, the reason for the project, the reason for our people. The Ten Commandments are the closest thing we have to the words that ultimately make us who we are — a people focused on creating a more equal and ethical world. 

Similarly, our Har Sinai-Oheb Shalom community is also only as strong and as beautiful as we make it and only as worthy as our commitments to our shared values. Ultimately, it is how we, each member of our community, generously bring our resources, our hearts and minds, and how we live our shared values that makes us whole and holy. 

We must continue to work generously and holistically together while keeping our values clearly in focus. When we do this, we, too, can fulfill our core mission of creating a flourishing sacred community that inspires people from within and without with a sense of God’s presence and God’s blessing. 

Shabbat Shalom!

The Triumph of Hope: How to be Jewish Even in Times of Despair
Vaera (Exodus 6:9-9:35)

The Jewish people are, by nature, incredibly optimistic.

You could even say that Judaism is a religion of optimism. Being Jewish is about having hope even in times of darkness. Spiritually, we are called upon to always embrace hope over despair. Given what we’ve been through and what we’re going through, this is not at all an obvious cultural norm. 

Saying that being Jewish means being optimistic may sound trite but it is historically true. Our synagogue – and most of us – wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for the ways in which our ancestors were incessantly optimistic about the future. Whether we were successfully flourishing or whether we were facing profound challenges, our ancestors modeled for us an insistence on holding on to hope. 

From a religious perspective this optimism is embedded. Jewish faith and practice include turning to God for strength and hope even in the darkest moments. We’re constantly referring back to being slaves and, at the same time, we’re constantly celebrating being freed from slavery. We read about being lost in the desert and about all the arguments Jews have about every detail of the journey but at the same time, we’re always focused on reaching the Promised Land. We’re always focused on how the “best is yet to come.”

For some, this has meant feeling a sense of God’s presence especially in times of trouble. The Biblical books of Genesis and Exodus are filled with how our ancestors experienced this. It often happened when they had the greatest doubts or were experiencing paralyzing fear. God says to generation after generation of the descendants of Abraham: "I am with you, and I will be with you." 

Initially, our ancestors connected with God over and over again because of what they called “the covenant of our ancestors” or brit avot. In the Book of Genesis it’s about how God showed up somehow for individuals, but in the book of Exodus God shows up for an entire people, enslaved in Egypt. The Covenant of the Jewish People with God is about knowing that God is with us, even when God seems absent. 

Enslaved, without a sure sign from God for generations, a hidden God, ultimately does take notice, visits, and hears the cry of the Israelites crying under the burden of slavery and still hoping for freedom. Now too God takes notice, but the verbs become stronger and more numerous: God remembers, God hears, God sees and God knows the suffering of the Children of Israel. (Exodus 2:24-25). While hidden for centuries, God turns to a new kind of leader, Moses, and through the burning bush and a mysterious voice, makes Godself be heard (Exodus 3:1-2). This is how the saga of the Exodus of the Israelites from Egypt and our future as a people begins: We hear each other, we take notice, we believe. 

Even generations later, the theme and the same verbs repeat in the text, reminding us of the foundations of a life of faith. In the Book of Ruth, the narrative begins with her mother-in-law, deep in mourning, hearing that after a long famine in the Land of Israel, God has again pakad, visited his people and given them bread. Once again, God appears in the historical narrative, takes notice of his people and brings hope and faith back to those who seemed otherwise lost. 

This underlying chorus of assurance and optimism about the future is felt throughout the Torah. Today we also have this choice to make. We can throw up our hands and give up, as some of the Israelites certainly wanted to do, or we can look around us for sources of inspiration and light. 

Perhaps if we carefully notice all the good that is happening, see and hear how people are showing up for each other, we will be inspired to act similarly and we, like God, can show up for others with our presence and support. Then we can all turn toward the future with courage and optimism. 

Shabbat Shalom! 

What's the Meaning of Life?
Our Unbreakable Covenant with the Land of Israel

Vayechi (Genesis 47:28-50:26)

What is the meaning of life? How do we ensure a life of meaning for ourselves and our descendants? Such big questions return like a chorus over and over again throughout the book of Genesis. At the climax of the Book we read this Shabbat, our first fathers respond to these questions. What better questions can we also ask ourselves this Shabbat as the year 2023 reaches its finale?

For our patriarch Jacob, the very fact that he lives to see his beloved son Joseph again after thinking he’d been killed, is a source of profound meaning. 

This Shabbat we can’t help but think of the families of the Israeli hostages who, like Jacob, wonder if they will ever see their loved ones alive again. Have they been murdered like Jacob thought Joseph was? Or taken hostage as the Torah tells us Joseph was? 

Thankfully, by the end of the book, Jacob embraces his son Joseph and even witnesses him reconciling with his estranged brothers. Jacob even lives to meet and bless his grandchildren. All of this surely gives his life profound meaning. What more could he want? 

The words of the blessings Jacob gives his grandchildren are, to this day, the introduction to the evening blessing for children in the traditional prayer book:

“May the Angel who has redeemed me from all harm— Bless these lads. In them may my name be recalled, and the names of my fathers Abraham and Isaac. And may they become great multitudes upon the earth.” (Genesis 48:16) 

What greater blessings can we ask for our children than that they 1) be protected from all harm; 2) be connected to their heritage; and 3) that their future will be bright?  Even on his deathbed, however, Jacob is aware that these blessings are not enough. Even though he and his family have survived and are thriving in Egypt, this kind of success is not the only source of meaning of life. As Jews, we seek out greater meaning and purpose because we are part of a much bigger story. 

Jacob has a vision for his family that is greater than his own lifetime. “I am about to die,” Jacob says to Joseph, “but God will be with you and bring you back to the land that He promised on oath to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob.”  Even on his deathbed, Jacob knew that no chapter of our story should end our connection to the Land of Israel. It’s our historic homeland. The Jewish people are more than indigenous to the Land of Israel from the beginning and throughout our history until this very day — we are from it, of it, headed toward it, and committed to it always — no matter what. 

While we struggle to process and better understand the horrors of October 7th and as we seek to find ways to support Israelis as they are forced to fight a defensive war on multiple fronts, we are also called upon to consider the purpose and meaning of our lives. Is it enough just to thrive where we are? Or is our destiny ultimately interlinked with the destiny of the Jewish people? While we  may not always agree with what a specific government is doing or saying, being Jewish means to connect to Israel as the place of our origin and the place where more than half of the Jewish people live. Our covenantal commitment means we have a responsibility to them. No matter what. 

Our Covenantal commitment today, however, is also to help ensure the safety of the Jewish people and all citizens of Israel. And yes, being Jewish means we must also weep at the loss of life of all innocent people. To fail to feel the pain of the suffering and loss of life of innocent Palestinians would be to fail our Jewish commitment to the value of the life of every single human being, created b’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God. This is the fundamental principle of the ideal society we must continue to seek to create in Israel. No matter what. 

In the meantime, regardless of how difficult things get, we need to continue to model, like Jacob and Joseph did, our intergenerational covenantal commitment to Israel. In this way, we will be ensuring the continuity not only of the Jewish people, but of the dream of our eternal ethical commitment to strive to create an ideal society in the Land of Israel. If not today, then tomorrow. No matter what. 

Shabbat Shalom!

Sexual Violence, Rage and Revenge: What Can the Torah Teach Us Now?
Vayishlach (Genesis 32:4-36:43)

Please note that the following includes a discussion of sexual violence in the Torah and today, and may be disturbing. 

In the midst of all that we — the Jewish people — are facing at this moment, this week’s Torah portion, Vayishlach, is both deeply disturbing and startlingly relevant. 

In the section we read on this Shabbat, the text depicts scenes of violence, rape, pain, rage, deception, failed negotiations, and the desire for revenge. Hardly a story for children! Although it seems highly unlikely, the text also includes the power of the yearning for peace even with one’s enemies. On this Shabbat, the text and its interpretations can offer us some affirmation of how many of us are feeling and perhaps some consolation and inspiration.  

Our Torah portion begins with the horrific story of the rape of Dinah, Jacob and Leah’s daughter, followed by the violent responses of her father and her brothers. First they negotiate with the rapist, then deceive his whole nation, and then two of Dinah’s brothers massacre all the males of the village of the rapist. It is perhaps one of the most sexually violent and disturbing texts in the whole Torah. I offer these reflections today with both hesitation and a sense of urgency of this moment. 

The test reads: “Dinah … went out to observe the daughters of the Land.” But then: “Shechem … saw her. He (the Prince of Shechem) took her, lay with her, and violated her.” (Genesis 24:1-2) According to the chronology, it’s possible that Dinah was only 6-8 years old at the time of the rape. 

Today, such violence against girls and women is still too prevalent. According to a recently released international study, women are the targets of the vast majority of violent threats online and the victims of increasing rates of sexually violent crimes. How shockingly relevant is this week’s Torah portion– especially because of the sexual violence and murder of Israeli women on and after October 7th. 

On this Shabbat, it’s impossible to read this text without hearing the screams not only of Dinah, but also the screams of our Israeli sisters during the massive and brutal attack on Israel on October 7th and in its aftermath. Like many of you, I cannot hear the stories about what happened to our people or read this text without feeling not only some of Dinah’s pain, but also a sense of her brothers’ rage, desire for justice, and perhaps even revenge. Today, we are not Dinah’s brothers, but we are all the brothers and sisters of all the victims of sexual violence in Israel and of all those fighting terrorism everywhere.

We have no idea of what Dinah’s desires might have been, or what she needed to heal, or what kind of justice she wanted. But we do know that her father and her brother are appropriately enraged. The powerful rapist offers her father any price to be able to marry her. He even agrees to having himself and all of the males of his city circumcised in order that they be acceptable to Dinah’s family. But while all the men are weak post-op, two of Dinah’s brothers – Simeon and Levi – slaughter them all. Much later, we learn that on his deathbed, Dinah’s father Jacob never forgives her brothers for their horrific act of violent revenge against a whole city, largely because of how it compromised their ability to negotiate to protect their whole tribe. 

How can we not weep at the ways such acts of rape, violence, revenge, collective punishment, and war continue among nations in our time? 

Yes, the response of Dinah’s brothers to those who ‘defiled’ their sister was likely a ‘necessary’ and historically ‘normative’ response. But let’s not forget to first and foremost be victim-focused. After being raped, Dinah is silent and completely disappears from the narrative. There is no mention of Dinah’s return from captivity. In fact, we never hear anything of her until the Torah makes a single mention of her in Genesis 46:15, long after being abducted and raped: her name is mentioned as one of the 70 who descended to Egypt.

We’re also hearing another kind of silence following the horrific sexual violence against Jewish women today – the ‘deafening silence’ of too many organizations and rights groups following the rape of so many Jewish women in Israel. Organizations that we might have previously thought of as our allies in our shared fight for human rights for all women have failed to condemn the horrific acts of sexual violence by Hamas and other terrorists against women in Israel and in Gaza. (Please listen to this podcast for an excellent analysis and discussion on gender and sexual violence in the current conflict).

As one scholar writes: “Ignoring the unprecedented, premeditated and extreme cruelty of the sexual violence committed by Hamas," means that they [human rights organizations] are not only failing Israeli women but failing the entire international human rights system. Prof. Halperin Kaddari adds, "I still am a believer in this system. But this was a huge blow to this belief." Amazingly, to mark this year's recent International Day for the Prevention of Violence against Women, Israeli women – Jews, Muslims, Christians, and Druze – gathered at the President's Residence in Jerusalem with First Lady, Michal Herzog. Amazingly, they met “in the lingering shock of the violation of our rights, and with the profound sense that all of us who believe in those rights have been betrayed.” 

Despite this silence and betrayal, Herzog concludes: “Yet we will persist in presenting the truth to the world and to every human rights organization. We owe it not only to our own victims, but to all women who will face these crimes in the future and must know that they are not alone.” 

Continuing to present the hard truth of these experiences and our sense of betrayal by parts of the international community is one important way we must express our rage and desire for justice in our time. This is also one way we can be sure to remember and honor the victims of sexual violence before, during, and after October 7th. May this also be one way we honor the memory and experience of Dinah and ensure justice for all victims.

With prayers for healing, justice, and peace.

"None Shall Make Us Afraid
Toldot (Genesis 25:19-28:9)

The following was originally published in JMore

Especially in times of crisis, our sacred Jewish texts can offer us enormous wisdom. So what can we can learn from the Bible that can help us in this moment?

While we may not be able to discern military wisdom or political predictions from the Book of Genesis, we can nevertheless gain profound insight into how our collective experiences and core values might apply to this situation. Some of these insights can be found especially in the Genesis narratives we read during these early winter weeks.

From Abraham to Joseph, the ‘first’ families of Genesis — like all families — certainly know their share of suffering, jealousy, deceit and love. But no narrative is filled with more hope than the narratives of Joseph and his brothers reconciling with each other (Gen. 44-45). 

In his youth, Joseph, the wild dreamer and over-confident little brother, is thrown into a pit and nearly murdered by his brothers. Sold into slavery and later into jail, it is his capacities not only to dream but to interpret the dreams and hopes of others that enable him to save himself repeatedly (Gen. 37-41). But the story is not only about his individual survival.

Joseph’s struggle in the pit, his survival, rise to power and use of his power to save and protect his family are not just about that particular family, but ultimately it is about the family of the Jewish people as a nation and that nation’s longing not only for survival but for homeland. The last demand Joseph makes is that his bones not be buried in Egypt but that they be brought to the Land of Israel (Gen. 50 and Ex. 13). From the pits of history we have survived, and from the thrones of power we have responsibility.

The possibilities of peace and reconciliation always seem most impossible in the midst of conflict and war. Not every conflict can end in reconciliation the way the Joseph narrative does. The Bible also teaches us that even in a time of peace, we need to be aware of every pharaoh who comes to power and the ways they might seek our destruction.

This is so difficult to do, especially in the midst of war. Like you, I am deeply mourning all of the innocent people in Israel who were murdered on Oct. 7th and since. As I write this, we are all praying fervently for the speedy and safe return of all the captives and for the protection of the Israel Defense Forces and all of Israel’s citizens. Yes, it’s much too soon to say anything about the current war that our beloved present day State of Israel is facing, but it is never too soon to pray for peace and to imagine “the day after.”

It may take months, but one day we will get there.

How many months — or years — will we need to process the events of the current reality? How best can we support the State of Israel, the world Jewish community, and each of us individual Jews as we respond? How many years — or generations — will we continue to be overwhelmed by the horrors and suffering of this time and for how long it will cloud our vision of the future?

I pray that —while we continue to mourn every soul we have lost, rebuild the destroyed communities in Israel, and begin to incorporate all the lessons we need to learn— we will also be able to transcend this suffering and this war in ways that will enable us to dream beyond this moment.

This may not be possible until we reach Simchat Torah next fall, but when we do, we will be able to focus anew on the grander humanistic goals of the State of Israel and of Judaism itself. Even in these terrible moments, we cannot forget that we are a people committed to the sanctity of human life.

And we must not forget our ultimate goal — articulated best by the prophet Micah (4:4) — to bring about a world in which each of us, every human being, “can sit beneath our vine and fig trees, and none shall make us afraid.”

Shabbat Shalom.

Especially in the Face of Evil, Remember Who You Are
Vayera (Genesis 18:1-33)

These past few weeks have definitely been dramatic and terrifying. And at the same time, there have been so many inspiring stories of courage and we’re witnessing incredible communal solidarity. As sad and worried as I have been about what’s happening in the US, Israel, and throughout the world, I have also been deeply moved by how our congregation has mobilized all kinds of resources and demonstrated solidarity with Israel and witnessed great courage. In particular, I am moved by the ways in which we — the Jewish people — even when facing the unimaginable, still strive to maintain our identity, our moral character, and our human values.

In just the last month, we — the Jewish people — have experienced unprecedented antisemitism in North America, Europe and Russia, while at the same time our people in the sovereign State of Israel have experienced an unspeakable massacre and are now fighting a terrible but necessary war of self-defense. Nearly 250 innocent people are still being held hostage by terrorists and we are praying for negotiations to save the hostages and, at the same time, we pray for peace and an end to the loss of innocent lives. 

Over recent weeks, the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) have spent many days and terrifying nights trying to protect the innocent even while simultaneously seeking to eradicate evil forces and free hundreds of innocent captives. It has been an impossible war filled with constant choices between terrible options.  

Although Israel has the absolute right to defend itself and to destroy forces that seek to kill its innocent civilians throughout Israel and elsewhere, because of its own code of purity of arms, the IDF continues to do everything it can to avoid causing civilian casualties. No matter what other sources might claim, the IDF trains and judges its soldiers and officers according to uniquely high standards. If ever someone has failed to uphold them, Israel itself brings to trial those who fail. While any other military in the world might largely consider such civilian deaths as unavoidable ‘collateral damage’, the IDF constantly strives to avoid such tragedies — even when this compromises its own military goals.  

These dilemmas are in fact the focus of this week’s Torah portion, Vayera. The Torah portion includes the powerful story of Abraham arguing with God about God’s plans to destroy the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. Abraham argues that God must save the cities if there are any innocent people living there. While God is ready to destroy them entirely, Abraham argues that regardless of how many evil people are living there, if there are any innocent people, God must protect them. 

Abraham argues with God and defends the innocent. According to the Biblical text, Abraham questions God:

“Will you actually sweep away the righteous with the wicked? ….Far be it from You to do such a thing, to bring death upon the innocent as well as the guilty so that they innocent and guilty fare alike. Far be it from You! Shall not the judge of the whole earth do what is just?” (Genesis 18:23-25)

According to a Midrash (Genesis Rabbah 49:9), this is exactly the kind of argument that God wants to hear because this is exactly the kind of person God is looking for:

“The Holy One, Blessed be He, said to Abraham: "Abraham, 'You love justice' — you love to justify my creatures, 'and you hate wickedness' — you hate to condemn them; 'Rightly has your God, your God, chosen to anoint you….”

In other words, Abraham’s impulse to protect the innocent even in a sea of evil is exactly why God chose him. This is the story of the first Jew in the midst of crisis. He didn’t abandon the innocent even while he was running to save his own live. Even in the face of evil, Abraham argues for what is just and right. While we must always protect and defend ourselves, to be a Jew also means seeking to defend and protect all innocent people — even if it means arguing with God. 

Even in these days of the necessary war in Israel and our own rightful demand for security and protection wherever we live, let us not forget who we are — people who seek not only justice but morality as well. 

With prayers for safety, peace and the speedy return of all the hostages.

The Joy of Torah: Turning it Over and Over Again
V'zot Habracha (Deuteronomy 14:22-16:17)

Tonight we reach the final climax of the holiday season: Simchat Torah. After the blasts of the shofar on Rosh HaShanah, the fast and repentance of Yom Kippur, and the shaking of the lulav and etrog fruit on Sukkot, we finally reach Simchat Torah. We’ll sing and dance with the Torah scrolls and we’ll celebrate both completing a year of reading the entire Torah and then we’ll immediately begin again. There isn’t a moment without a focus on Torah and all that it gives us. 

As we begin a new year of reading and exploring Torah, it’s a good time to ask: Why study Torah? What role can it have in our lives? The appeal, the necessity, and the personal meaning that comes from Torah study is different for different people and in different stages of our lives. Why did our ancestors love to study Torah?  Throughout Jewish life for millennia and throughout the Jewish world today, there are so many reasons to study Torah and so many ways of approaching Torah and Torah study. Consider these three models: 

1. Studying Torah as a Spiritual Practice:   

“Oh how I love your law, it is my meditation all the day” (Psalms 119:97) 

In the first model, Torah study needs no rationale; it is simply inspired by a natural desire to hear the word of God. A love of Torah, for the Psalmist, emerges from a love of God and desire to know the Giver of Torah. Torah, as our best access to God, is a living entity – affecting everything about one’s existence as all real love does. Studying Torah is a way of encountering God, engaging the Supreme Teacher of law and ethics in conversation, and coming to know God’s character and will. 

2. Studying Torah to Learn about Judaism 
“You shall teach them diligently to your children and shall talk of them” (Deuteronomy 6:7) 

The second model, followed by the majority of Jews today, views Torah study as the core of Jewish education. Torah becomes the source of one’s knowledge of Judaism, its central stories, holidays and values. A great deal of resources are thus invested in teaching Torah to young people, ensuring every Jew starts out her or his life with the basic knowledge of the narratives and values of Judaism. Yet because this learning is rarely continued into adulthood, for the majority of the non-Orthodox Jewish world Torah study is about as relevant to adult life as 8th grade geometry. Nonetheless, most Jewish adults still desire a basic Jewish education for their children, many seeking much greater depth and detail then they themselves had.   

3. Studying Torah Helps us Navigate Our Lives and Our World
"Turn it and turn it again, for everything is in it." (Pirkei Avot 5:27) 

  Far beyond being a mere handbook of Jewish law, the Torah can be a wellspring of wisdom on virtually every aspect of one’s life. Whether it is a question of ethical conduct, political ideology, or economic policy, metaphysical conviction or how to approach the climate crisis, Torah study can help us clarify our core values. What kind of a world do we want to live in? What kind of a society takes care of its most vulnerable? What kind of person do I want to be?  

When we become engaged in Torah study, we can begin to appreciate its power to guide us through our daily existence, inform our understanding of the world around us, challenge our beliefs and preconceived notions and inspire us to strive to achieve more and to be more. 

This Shabbat Simchat Torah, let’s celebrate all the joy that being connected to Torah can bring us. I look forward to beginning a new cycle of reading the Torah and experiencing together in all the adventures that await us!

Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach! 

What is the Ultimate Meaning of Your Life?
The Possibility and Promise of Yom Kippur
Nitzavim-Vayeilech Ha'Azinu (Deuteronomy 32:1-52)

How would you summarize your life? What do you want the next generation to learn from you? 

To answer these questions, you’ll need to be in the right frame of mind and find the time and the space to think carefully, right? It’s exactly this opportunity that is the great promise of Yom Kippur. 

In this week’s Torah portion, Ha’Azinu, we hear in Moses’ words a shift toward a more reflective mode about his life, God, and the future. (How appropriate for this time of year!)  He takes a long pause to try to glean from the most significant moments of the Israelites’ history the greatest lessons. In a way, Moses models for all of us the powerful practice of writing “a living will.” In poetry and reflection, Moses clarifies what matters most. We, too, need to pause and think about what matters most. 

Although none of us is like Moses preparing to leave behind the most influential living will in the history of humankind, and hopefully none of us is close to the end of our life, nonetheless we have a similar opportunity. Yom Kippur offers us precious time to hold a powerful resource [the High Holy Day Machzor/prayer book] in our hands for hours at a time and to reflect. Yom Kippur offers us time to sit still and think more deeply about our lives and our relationships. Even just listening to the music and the sounds of the prayers can give you more clarity about what and who you care about most, and perhaps even clarify what you want the next year/s of your life to mean. Yom Kippur focuses the mind, heart, and soul. And it’s from this reflective place that we might consider writing down what we want the next generation to know. What we believe is worth passing on.  

In his final speeches, Moses reframes his own story and the story of the Jewish people.  Moses even speaks about God differently. He quotes God less as the God of war, and more of God as the gentle teacher and parent. “May my discourse come down as the rain,
my speech distill as the dew, like showers on young growth,
like droplets on the grass.” (Deuteronomy 32:2).

But sometimes the words of a parent, teacher, or mentor may not feel so gentle. Sometimes we need to hear the less gentle words so that we can better see ourselves and so that we can grow. The medieval commentator, Rashi, teaches that the idea of God’s words being gentle as dew is a poetic description of Torah as the Source of Life. 

Just as the grass needs the rain and the dew, so do we need the words of Torah. But what about wind (another way to understand the Hebrew word s’irim, translated above as showers)? They might not be so gentle. But Rashi explains, quoting a Midrash: “How is it with the winds? They strengthen the herbage and promote their growth! So, too, the words of the Torah promote the moral growth of those who study them.”

This Shabbat and Yom Kippur offer us both gentle rain and strong winds. Especially at this time of year, we need to be aware not only of where we’ve succeeded, but also where we failed. We need to study the words of the prayer book and hear both gentle words of affirmation and words of criticism that can challenge us to change and grow.  

Each of our lives is filled with opportunities for growth. Yom Kippur in particular helps us look at our flaws, not just so that we can feel contrite and ask for forgiveness, but mostly so that we can recognize where in our lives we most need to change and grow. Yes, this may be hard at times, but it’s all for the sake of making us stronger and better in every way. And if we are stronger and better people, then we will be able to hear the moral voice inside of us more clearly and use it to call for moral repair to our broken world. Our lives will then have great meaning. 

The promise of Yom Kippur is the possibility of repair not only of ourselves but of the whole world.  How could we not grab onto this kind of opportunity with all our strength? 

Shabbat Shalom and Blessings for a Meaningful Yom Kippur!

Ensuring Freedom and Justice for All:
Reflections on the 60th Anniversary of "I Have a Dream"
Ki Teitzei (Deuteronomy 21:10-25:19)

A few weeks ago, my family and I visited Philadelphia and had the chance to see the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall. I hadn’t been there since I was a child, and I have to admit that I remembered the bell being much bigger and the US Constitution being much less interesting. Since then, however, I understand both the symbol and the text through the lenses of much more learning and experience. And, given the many challenges we face as a society, we should not underestimate how fragile they both are. 

Probably because this coming week marks the 60th anniversary of the March on Washington – where Martin Luther King Jr. delivered “I Have a Dream,” one of the most influential speeches in American history – I was stunned anew by what was inscribed on that old cracked bell in 1751 – a quote from the Book of Leviticus (25:10):

“Proclaim liberty throughout the land and to all the inhabitants thereof.”  

וּקְרָאתֶ֥ם דְּר֛וֹר בָּאָ֖רֶץ לְכל־יֹשְׁבֶ֑יהָ

Sixty years ago, on August 28, 1963, the nonviolent protest in Washington D.C. attracted as many as 250,000 to the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Historians and legal experts argue that that march in that sweltering summer helped prepare the ground for passage of federal civil rights and voting rights legislation in the following years. But some of those same rights are under attack today. As one commentator wrote this week about the 60th Anniversary: It “is not an occasion for kumbaya — not in the face of eroded voting rights nationwide, after the recent striking down of affirmative action in college admissions and abortion rights by the Supreme Court, and amid growing threats of political violence and hatred against people of color, Jews and the LGBTQ community. The issues today appear eerily similar to the issues in 1963*.”

Our shared dreams of the kind of society we want to inhabit remain unrealized.

From the Bible to today, what “freedom and liberty for all” means remains the most fundamental and the most important debate in our country. From Leviticus to the Gettysburg Address; from the Women’s Suffrage Movement of the early 1900s; from Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” sermon in 1963 to the debates of our day, we learn and relearn that constant vigilance and activism are necessary to protect and ensure freedom and equality for all.

In trying to explain my excitement about taking the kids to see the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, I found myself thinking about the parallels in our Jewish liberation narrative. Like our Exodus song, Mi Chamocha, that rings out in every service, we also need constant reminders of how fragile our hard-won freedom really is. And the Constitution is like Deuteronomy, a long and very wordy attempt to summarize a wide range of values and laws into a document that can be accessible and maybe even “user friendly” for a young nation. In the Constitution, one can hear the echoes of what Moses sought to teach our ancestors. He spends the entire Book of Deuteronomy trying to explain to the Children of Israel the fragility of freedom and the precariousness of justice. 

Freedom is not a moment, not even the Exodus from Egypt. Freedom is a constant journey on which any number of threats can throw us off track. It took the Israelites 40 years of wandering in the desert and plenty of missteps to get to the Promised Land. And every human society ever since has experienced its own threats. The Israelites also had to learn that simply reaching the Promised Land isn’t enough. The Promised Land isn’t simply a place but a way of life that ensures freedom and equality for all.

Today, we too must recognize how far we’ve come and just how far we have yet to go to fulfill both our Biblical and our contemporary dreams of freedom and equality. Engaging as a congregation in our current national debates is an expression of how much we still hold those values to be paramount. Like our ancestors, we too have to learn and relearn every day that it’s not enough to dream. Ensuring freedom and equality for all demands clarity about our core values, determination, perseverance, and the commitment to act for a better future not just for ourselves, but for every citizen. 

As Martin Luther King Jr. said 60 years ago, on August 28th 1963, we can walk the road forward together because we have come to realize that “our destiny is tied up” with the destiny of people of all races and identities. Allowing for racism today will surely ensure the future of antisemitism. 

None of us can be truly content until “justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream**.”

Shabbat Shalom!

*Aaron Morrison, “At March on Washington’s 60th anniversary, leaders seek energy of original movement for civil rights.” August 23, 2023. (read here)

**Amos 5:24

Are We What We Eat? Or How We Eat? Food, Jewish Spirituality, and Ethics
Eikev (Deuteronomy 7:12-11:25)

Does what we eat really define who we are? To some degree, yes. Whether or not we’re aware of it, what we eat says a great deal about us. But who we are is much more fully defined by how we understand the relationship between the food on our plate, the realities of the world in which we live, and the kind of world we aspire to create. 

Every day, what we eat, how we eat, and with whom we eat speaks volumes about our culture, our upbringing, our education, our health awareness and concerns, and –quite often– our socio-economic class. What some call ‘food identity’ varies greatly around the world and throughout time. What one culture may consider a gastronomic delight, another may find disgusting. Just think of some of the insects that are delicacies in one part of the world but revolting in another. Eating, however, is never just about geography or biology.

Although our cultural or economic identity may influence what we eat, how we eat and what we do with the food we have access to speaks volumes about our ethics and our spirituality. In many ways, it’s the best indication –three or more times a day– of who we are. 

What and how we eat is also about how we relate to the people and world around us. Jewish identity has long been expressed through our various beloved foods whether it be bagels, matzah ball soup, or latkes. While none of these foods existed in Biblical times, the Torah certainly pays great attention to three main questions about food: 1) What types of animals and foods are permissible? 2) How should permitted animals be slaughtered [as humanely as possible] in order to be “kosher” or fit for eating? and 3) Most importantly, what state of mind should we have before and after we eat?  

These may seem like separate questions, but in this week’s Torah portion, all three aspects are deeply interconnected. Of course, most Reform Jews are less concerned about what the Torah says about what exactly is permissible and whether or not the meat on their plate is kosher. But we care very deeply about health, ethics, and gratitude. Even while most of us may not be looking for kosher labels on what we buy, all of us are likely very concerned with the quality of the food we eat and its impact on our health. Many of us are also deeply concerned about how the animals or field or workers are treated in the making of the food on our fork. Hopefully, we’re also keenly aware of the horrific absurdity of food insecurity and hunger in a world where there is more than enough food for everyone. Eating is a profoundly biological, environmental, sociological, religious, and political subject.

At Har Sinai - Oheb Shalom, so many are involved in helping to assuage food insecurity and constantly seek to relieve some inequities through ongoing commitment to Weekend Backpacks, Bunches of Lunches, our High Holy Day food drives, and other initiatives. But do we understand these deeply ethical acts on a spiritual level as well?

In this week’s Torah portion, Eikev, Moses reminds us of both the fear of hunger as we began our ancient trek from Egypt to the Promised Land, and the experience of miraculously receiving “manna from heaven.” In recalling this, the author of the Book of Deuteronomy, reminds us that it wasn’t just the experience of being fed that we should remember, but that we should also learn that “a human being does not live by bread alone.” (Deuteronomy 8:3)

For the Deuteronomist, it’s not just bread that makes survival possible. Rather, a human being fundamentally needs more than food. For our ancestors, when facing death in the desert and all the unknowns of the road ahead, their survival depended not only on food but also on a sense of God’s presence; a sense that their deeper needs and spiritual yearnings will be fulfilled. Yes, food itself was a necessity for physical survival, but spiritual survival depended on understanding where/Who the manna came from (God) and the responsibilities of having food— that we must express gratitude every single time we eat, and every single day we must be sure to share what we have with others. 

Part of building that constant awareness of gratitude and responsibility is the reason why we say blessings before and after we eat. Every time we say blessings ‘over’ the wine or the challah bread, we are actually blessing God for the creation of those things. In doing so we are acknowledging that human beings are not the source of everything. We are connected to a meta-ecosystem filled with miracles. We are also deeply connected to the earth and responsible for its health. Saying blessings helps us to build that awareness and a sense of awe and gratitude. 

While the sages of the Talmud cared a great deal about what food was “safe” to eat, how it should be prepared, with whom we should eat, and how animals, fields and workers were treated, they also focused on our state of mind before and after eating. This week’s Torah portion and its commentaries emphasize the importance of blessings as expressions of gratitude for the land and its produce, and create a culture in which every meal is an opportunity to affirm our identity and our connection to each other and to God. In Judaism, it’s not just what and how we eat, it’s about what eating means spiritually. Eating Jewishly –or eating with our Jewishness in mind– means being rooted not only in our concern only for our own bodies, but also in a sense of gratitude for creation, a concern for the earth, and for all of humanity. 

As Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel writes: “Our goal should be to live life in radical amazement… get up in the morning and look at the world in a way that takes nothing for granted.”

Before you begin a meal, pause for just a moment and, in whatever way works for you, express gratitude for what is on your plate — and perhaps for all your blessings. But even more important than blessing the meal beforehand, this Torah portion teaches us to pause with gratitude after a meal. It’s obvious to be grateful when you are hungry and have food in front of you ready to eat, but it’s an even deeper state of spirituality to pause after you’ve “eaten and been satisfied.” That’s when we take our reality for granted and may forget about the larger reality in which we live. Rather than just running ahead to the next thing, pause for just a moment, consider all the processes that needed to happen and work that needed to be done in order for your meal to have been possible. Pause and refocus on what you want your relationship with the greater ecosystem of our existence to be.

When we bring this kind of gratitude and amazement to everyday experiences including to every meal, it can make us more spiritually rooted as human beings and strengthen us as we strive to create a world in which no one’s plate is empty. 

Shabbat Shalom!

Saving Israeli Democracy for the Sake of Our Shared Future: Tisha B'Av in Light of the Current Crisis in Israel
Devarim (Deuteronomy 1:1-3:22)

Shabbat Shalom!

How We Disagree For The Sake Of The Future
Korach (Numbers 16:1-18:2)

This week’s Torah portion is especially potent for this moment. For the ancient Israelites, as for us, intense national debate can threaten to destroy the entire people.  On our way to the Promised Land, we experienced both incredibly joyous moments of celebration and revelation as well as times of deep discord when it all seemed to hang in the balance. 

Korah, from the house of Levi, gathered around him others who disagreed with Moses and Aaron’s leadership. Together with “two hundred and fifty Israelites, chieftains of the community, chosen in the assembly, men of repute” Korah called for an uprising against Moses: “They combined against Moses and Aaron and said to them, ‘You have gone too far! For all the community are holy, all of them, and the LORD is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above the LORD’s congregation?’” (Numbers 16:1-3)

For generations, every person who reads Korah’s question finds his question powerful and perplexing. Why are some people chosen over others to lead? When and how should we be part of a protest or uprising against leadership? Yes, in every human endeavor there will naturally be those who will question the leaders and their decisions. But at the same time, no community or society can exist without leaders and some shared values that unify them. We need leaders who are humble enough to hear critique but who are also supported by the community so they can be strong enough to lead toward shared goals. 

Korah’s challenge to Moses and Aaron, however, was not just the result of differences of opinion. It was the result of ongoing infighting and the emergence of destructive sub-groups who ultimately led a catastrophic rebellion. Although Moses responded to the challenge of Korah and his gang with humility and clarity, the conflict escalated and essentially led to a division within the people, a kind of civil war, the result of which was that a good portion of the people never made it to the Land of Israel. 

Over the ages, our sages debate what the problem with Korah’s challenge really was. Most of them point to Korah’s problematic motivation (jealousy) and to the manner (destructive and not creative) in which they protested. Their uprising led to division and death and not to respectful debate and unity in their shared mission. In this case, the disagreement was ultimately not constructive but destructive. 

The Mishnah also points to this Torah portion when it categorizes disputes: “Every dispute that is for the sake of Heaven, l’shem shamayim, will in the end endure; But one that is not for the sake of Heaven, ayno l’shem shamayim, will not endure.” And in case we weren’t already clear about which is which, the Mishna brings us two well-known examples: “Which is the controversy that is for the sake of Heaven? Such was the controversy of Hillel and Shammai. And which is the controversy that is not for the sake of Heaven? Such was the controversy of Korach and all his congregation.”  (Ethics of Our Ancestors, Pirkei Avot 5:17) 

From this week’s Torah portion we can learn that even when we disagree, there are ways of doing it that are constructive and other ways that are destructive. When we want to challenge others we should be very aware of what our motivations are. Is it really for the best interests of the community? Or are we really motivated by jealousy? When we disagree, is there a more respectful way of doing so? Is there a way we can articulate our views that can be constructive and not only destructive? 

It seems to me that these are also good questions to ask ourselves about our interpersonal disagreements as well. Before we criticize others, consider carefully 1) what our motivations really are; 2) what the purpose of our critique is; and 3) what the consequences might be, especially given our method of critique. Pausing to consider each of these aspects might help us be more careful in our own lives to ensure that respect is at the core of how we approach others and also take greater care to ensure that our words and actions lead to greater strength of the relationship and deepening possibilities of shared joy in the future. 

Shabbat Shalom!

What Do We Really Want?
Naso (Numbers 4:21-7:89)

Sometimes the words of the Torah seem very ancient and far away. How can we possibly relate to ancient nomadic tribal people who had multiple wives and engaged in strange rituals? And, according to what we read in the Torah, it seems that they dealt with their fears, uncertainties, joys and sorrows, and expressed their ultimate desires through sacrificial cult practices.  

In other ways, however, it seems that these ancient characters are very much like us. Like us, they faced fertility concerns, family dramas, interpersonal jealousies, warring nations, illness and the loss of loved ones. Like us they also felt passionate love, and yearned to protect their children and loved ones. And like us, they also had big dreams for the future. 

This week’s Torah portion, however, includes the prayer that reaffirms how similar we are to those ancient folks from whom we inherited so much. While there are many prayers throughout the Bible, the Priestly Blessing — which appears in this week's Torah portion, Naso— includes our oldest and most fundamental human desire for connection to God.  

May God bless you and keep you;
May God’s light shine upon you and be gracious to you;
May God turn his face toward you and give you peace.

We recite these words for baby’s when they receive a Hebrew name, for a couple under the wedding chuppah, for Bnai Mitzvah standing before the ark, and on our most sacred days. The Priestly Blessing expresses our most profound human desires and helps us focus on what really matters. While we may be distracted by the superficial or material aspects of the ceremony or the people involved, this prayer reminds us that ultimately we all share the same ultimate needs: physical safety, being valued, and being at peace. 

These three things are what we ask for from God and what the ancient priests/rabbis could and can bestow upon us. Today we still need and crave a sense of security, knowing that our life matters in God’s eyes, and knowing that we will be blessed with peace, even if we’re not experiencing it in the moment. Knowing that God’s presence, light, and blessing can rest upon and within with each of us can comfort us and strengthen us. It can deepen our experience of joy and all the blessings in our lives. 

The former Chief Rabbi of the United Kingdom, Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, of blessed memory, emphasizes that this is the best example of “we are what we pray for.” In his analysis,

"The Jewish people did not ask for wealth or power. They did not hunger after empire. They had no desire to conquer or convert the world. They asked for protection, the right to live true to themselves without fear; for grace, the ability to be an agent for good in others; and peace, that fullness of being in which each of us brings our individual gifts to the common good. That is all our ancestors prayed for, and it is still all we need."

This summer, let’s also strive to focus on what really matters and focus on what we can give of ourselves to the world. Let us reclaim who we really are and what we really want.

Shabbat Shalom!    

Our Bodies, Our Stuff, and Our Souls
Behar-Bechukotai (Leviticus 25:1-27:34)

How we treat our bodies, our belongings, our space, and our time defines who we are. 

We live our connection to Judaism and the Jewish community by pausing on Shabbat and holidays to celebrate. Shabbat helps us pause in the blurry rush of time to reflect on the preciousness of time and relationships. And coming to this sacred space helps us feel more connected to each other and to our traditions and values. Community gatherings like this one are essential for sharing our joys and dreaming the future together. 

Figuring out how to manage our bodies and our souls can be more complicated. These final two Torah portions of the book of Leviticus, however, offer some tools to help us figure it out. First of all, the idea that the body is sacred and that we must respect all human life is a core value. The Torah doesn’t shy away from how bodily functions might make us feel and affirms the life-giving capacities of the human body. 

Because our bodies are gifts, we cannot misuse or mistreat them, and we certainly can’t mistreat or objectify anyone else’s body.  

The Torah also reminds us to have a unique relationship with our stuff — with our material possessions and our property. The laws of Sh’mita/the Sabbatical Year and the Jubilee Year (every 50 years) are ways of ensuring that our land is treasured and protected. In our Torah portions, the commandments of the Sabbath and Sabbatical year are powerful mechanisms to achieve a higher level of relationship with our stuff. During both the Jubilee and the Sabbatical years, working the land is prohibited. Not only that, but sold real property reverts to its original owner, outstanding monetary debts are erased, and slaves are set free. As Sarah Rinder reminds us in her article entitled “Leviticus, Leonard Cohen, and the Paradox of Rest,” “The quote inscribed on the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia, ‘And thou shalt proclaim liberty in the Land for all its inhabitants,’ derives from the Jubilee as described in our Torah portion. This description of the Jubilee year might lead one to assume that the underpinnings of the mitzvah are, at heart, economic or social. In truth, the relevant context in our Torah portion is almost purely theological. As God declares (Lev. 25:23): ‘But the land must not be sold beyond reclaim, for the land is Mine; you are but strangers resident with Me.’” 

Yes, you read correctly: We are just sojourners on borrowed land living in borrowed time.

These ancient ideas confirm both environmental and theological ideas: even if we use the land, it ultimately ‘belongs’ to itself, to God who made it. The Sabbatical Year is one way of ensuring that the land and those who tend it are not abused. It’s also our first Labor Law. Respect for human beings includes ensuring a sustainable life. 

In other words, whatever we think we “own” is really just on loan. What we have are gifts and it’s our responsibility and privilege to strive to merit continuing to “use” it. We can only ‘have’ or ‘use’ natural resources in the long term if we also protect them. 

In a 19th century commentary about the idea of the Sabbatical Year, The Mei Shiloach teaches, this ancient set of laws corresponds to how we should act. It helps us live in ways that are less about ownership and more about creating a shared civil society. This way of acting is also mentioned in the Pirkei Avot [Ethics of the Fathers, 5:10]: 'One who says "What's mine is yours, and what's yours is yours," this is a righteous person'. This approach to our stuff is an existential stance about the material versus the spiritual.  

In other words, every single day we show who we think we are. If we strive to be righteous then we know that our stuff is not really ours, but meant to be shared; we know that all human bodies must be cared for; and we know that time is sacred and every moment is precious. 

The psalm we recite each night after counting the Omer from Passover to Shavuot says it even more clearly: “Teach us to number our days so that we will attain a heart of wisdom.” (Psalm 90:12)

May we each be blessed with this kind of heart,

On Sharing Our Torah in Israel
Achrei Mot-Kedoshim (Leviticus 16:1-20:27)

What an amazing journey we had in Israel! Our inaugural congregational journey in Israel concluded just yesterday and many of the participants will share their insights and experiences in our May newsletter. All of them, however, highlighted the power of loaning one of our 15 Torah scrolls to a Reform congregation in need in the Galilee. In the meantime, I want to share the prayer we all said together at the ritual celebration:

Blessing for Sharing Our Torah Scroll:

Creator of the Heavens and the Earth,
We stand here together – your people – Am Yisrael 
just as our ancestors stood at Sinai so many years ago.
From that day to this, the earth has continued its journey around the sun,
the seasons have passed, and we, as your people, 
have traveled through many lands where we have loved and grown, 
sorrowed and rejoiced, prospered, and suffered.
We have cared for this Torah Scroll at Har Sinai-Oheb Shalom for over 150 years. Throughout the years it has been with us, Torah has been our faithful companion,
guiding us, sustaining us, and lighting our pathways.

On the fifth day of the week, the 29th day of the month of Nissan, in the year 5783 
since the creation of the world according to our accustomed reckoning, 
corresponding to April 20, 2023 in the City of Tel Aviv: 
We, members of the inaugural Har Sinai-Oheb Shalom Congregation 
Journey to Israel hereby share with you, the Ruach HaGlilit Community, 
this sefer Torah-- this sacred Torah Scroll. 

 _____

[Rabbi Sabath hands the scroll to Rabbi Zohar who responds:]

On behalf of Ruach HaGlilit Synagogue, we promise to consecrate ourselves,
individually and communally to our shared Jewish tradition, represented here today 
by our new sefer Torah, just as our ancestors consecrated themselves
when they stood at Sinai. 
We promise to make the words of Torah sweet by loving, honoring, 
and cherishing each other and the works of Your creation.

We promise to work as a community to make 
for this sefer Torah a sacred Jewish home in the Land of Israel. 
We will deepen our committed to deeds of loving kindness and tikkun olam, 
and with this Torah scroll we will be able to deepen learning 
and spiritual fulfillment and increase opportunities for holiness with music and prayer.
May we always merit the honor of guarding and protecting this Torah scroll; 
May we always merit the presence of the Shechinah – of God. 

Together we say:

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech HaOlam, Sh’natan Torah l’Amo Yisrael.
“We give thanks to the One who has given us Torah.”  

~~~~ 

May this sharing of one of our Torah scrolls in Israel be just one way our connections and support of Israel continue and grow in the years ahead. 

Celebrating Who and What We Are
Tzav (Leviticus 6:1-8:36)

Tonight, we affirm who we are and what we are as a holy congregation. 
Like naming a baby, naming our new congregation is a time to celebrate
all the possibilities of the future and our gratitude to all those who came before us.

On this sacred Night, Adonai, be with us
as we affirm our values and affirm our name, Har Sinai-Oheb Shalom Congregation.

Calling ourselves Har Sinai -- Mt. Sinai -- we affirm our connection
to the moment when You first called us to become a people of justice and compassion.
Tonight, we declare anew that we are a congregation committed
to upholding our Jewish values by being a force for good in the world.

Calling ourselves Oheb Shalom -- Lovers of Peace -- we declare anew
that we are a congregation committed to loving each other
and to pursuing peace in our community and peace in the world.

Source of All Blessings, bless us with the joy of knowing who and what we are.
Bless us with courage as we pursue the justice
You first taught us at Mt. Sinai -- Har Sinai.
Bless us with Your love as we strive to embody the love
You inspired in us, commanding us to be
lovers and pursuers of peace -- Oheb Shalom.

May we always be worthy of Your blessings;
May we always be worthy of our name.

Amen.

Celebrating the Power of Friendship: Shabbat Brotherhood & the Women's Passover Seder
Vayakhel (Exodus 35:1-40:38)

This morning, the youngest of our three children reached a significant milestone in his Jewish education. As a 5th grader at Krieger Schechter Day School, he participated in a grade-wide celebration during which he wore his own handmade prayer shawl/tallit for the first time. Our Har Sinai-Oheb Shalom master teacher, Bill Bronstein, taught him how to tie the fringes on the four corners. This morning, the 5th grade led the community in prayer. 

Each student chose a verse or a teaching to put on the collar/atarah of their tallit. Without any involvement from his parents, he chose the following teaching from the Mishnah (Pirkei Avot 1:6):

Make for yourself a rabbi, acquire for yourself a friend; and judge every person favorably.

עֲשֵׂה לְךָ רַב, וּקְנֵה לְךָ חָבֵר, וֶהֱוֵי דָן אֶת כָּל הָאָדָם לְכַף זְכוּת

Given that both his parents are rabbis, of course I love that he connects the word rabbi with the idea of teaching, friendship, and companionship. But when I read what he wrote about why he chose this verse, I began to see the Mishnah in a new light. Although I rarely speak about my children in public, much less write about or quote them, on this weekend when we celebrate brotherhood and sisterhood, I am particularly struck by what we can learn about the power of friendship from this verse. 

When asked by his teachers to explain why he chose this particular verse from hundreds of possibilities, he wrote: “I like this verse because everyone needs a friend and a teacher and everyone needs close people in their lives who can help them and guide them.” For him, friends and teachers help us figure out who we are and how to live our lives. Now I see that this verse teaches us that friends and teachers are not just good companions, they also help us to become better people. Until today I never fully understood the connection between the first part of the verse and the second. If we have good friends and teachers in our lives –“make for yourself a rabbi and acquire for yourself a friend” – then we are more able to be more kind and more forgiving of all people: “and judge everyone favorably.” We become better people because of who our friends are and because of how they inspire us to become better people. 

May our celebrations this weekend help us embrace the power and possibilities of true friendship and remind us of the blessings of who our friends enable us to be for each other. A true friend is not only a companion but also someone who guides us toward becoming a better person by helping us to be more kind and forgiving of others. Each one of us at Har Sinai-Oheb Shalom, in fact, has the potential to teach and learn from the other.  If we are not only members of the same congregation but also strive toward becoming each other’s friends, then we can lift each other even higher and together become an even stronger and more sacred community.

Shalom From Israel
Terumah (Exodus 25:1-27:19)

Over the past week, I have been with over 250 Reform Rabbis who have gathered in Israel as we do every 7 years in order to study and engage with the current realities of Israel. 

Our program began with Rabbi Rick Jacobs, the President of the URJ (who was with us in Baltimore a few weeks ago) as he interviewed the American Ambassador to Israel, Tom Nides. He gave us some hope that if we continue to engage our American and Israeli leaders, the disturbing anti-democratic moves of the current government might be slowed down, if not halted. 

We also met Israeli politicians including friend and colleague, Member of Kenesset Rabbi Gilad Kariv. We've heard from Palestinian leaders, toured Jerusalem and Ramallah, and for the next couple of days we're in Tel Aviv. While in Jerusalem we celebrated Rosh Hodesh/the first of the month with Anat Hoffman (who visited us last October) and prayed with Women of the Wall. The situation is tense and at the same time there is so much positive energy and clarity about the importance of a free and democratic country. Especially now. 

I am so proud to represent our congregation Har Sinai-Oheb Shalom. Our very name says so much about who and what we are: At "Har Sinai" (Mt. Sinai) we received the command to build a just society and the term "Oheb Shalom" reminds us that we must constantly strive to pursue peace and justice. Our commitments are not static, but rather our name embodies the values that we must live every day.

I miss you all very much and can't wait to share more next Shabbat when we are together again

Translating Our Reform Values into the Work of Our Hands
Bo (Exodus 10:1-13:16)

We have so much to celebrate this weekend! As the oldest continuously Reform congregation in North America, Har Sinai-Oheb Shalom is particularly honored to host Rabbi Rick Jacobs, the President of the URJ, the Reform Movement. This weekend also gives us the opportunity to reflect on how we live our Reform values and how we want to live them in the future as part of an incredibly powerful movement.

As we look forward to the next 180 years, we have incredible sources of wisdom to draw upon. For example, what inspiration can we draw from the vision of Reform leaders?

Below is an excerpt from one of the most inspirational sections of a core document of our Movement, the Platform of the Central Conference of American Rabbis. The section outlines some of our core values that still shape what and who we are: bringing Torah into the world through tikkun olam, dialogue, loving kindness, pursuing justice, and righteous giving.

How much of what we do and who we are as a congregation reflects these values? How might each of us measure our own efforts in these areas? The section reads, in part:

1)    “We bring Torah into the world when we strive to fulfill the highest ethical mandates in our relationships with others and with all of God's creation. Partners with God in tikkun olam, repairing the world, we are called to help bring nearer the messianic age.

2)    We seek dialogue and joint action with people of other faiths in the hope that together we can bring peace, freedom and justice to our world. We are obligated to pursue justice (tzedek) and righteousness, to narrow the gap between the affluent and the poor, to act against discrimination and oppression, to pursue peace, to welcome the stranger, to protect the earth's biodiversity and natural resources, and to redeem those in physical, economic and spiritual bondage. In so doing, we reaffirm social action and social justice as a central prophetic focus of traditional Reform Jewish belief and practice.

3)    We affirm the mitzvah of righteous giving, tzedakah, setting aside portions of our earnings and our time to provide for those in need. These acts bring us closer to fulfilling the prophetic call to translate the words of Torah into the works of our hands.” (Pittsburgh Platform)

As we engage with each other and with Rabbi Jacobs this Shabbat, I look forward to learning more about how these values guide the priorities of our Movement and how they can continue to inform how we, at Har Sinai-Oheb Shalom, live our Judaism in the future. We have much to learn, discover, and do together!

Who Are We? Our Past, Present, and Future
Vayechi (Genesis 47:28-50:26)

Our congregation, Har Sinai-Oheb Shalom, is in the midst of an incredibly exciting process. 

We are now a thriving fully merged congregation and we’re taking a few months to learn and think about what name we want to carry with us into the future. Learning together about the slate of four names has been an incredible experience. Each of us has had the opportunity to learn, reflect, listen and connect to each other. Not only have we been learning about the meaning and power of the Hebrew words themselves, but we have also been able to share how we connect to the different Jewish values and implications of each name. 

This process, led by two facilitators and advised by a task force, offers all of us not only an opportunity, but also the privilege and the responsibility to consider with intentionality the values that shape who we are today, who we’ve been and who we hope to become. All three of these elements are crucial as we move forward in the process.

As Jews, we’re never just acting as single individuals. Important decisions cannot only be about what any individual preferences are here and now. Or even in this generation. We always need to remember: “It’s not all about you.” An authentically Jewish decision is simultaneously about the Jewish people past, present, and future.

Our covenant, the brit, invites us to make decisions with present concerns foremost in mind, of course. At the same time, however, we can’t be authentically Jewish if we abandon what we’ve gained from the past or if we forget that we must always be future focused. These are deeply Jewish sensibilities. The answers are not always clear. 

According to our current mission statement, we’re committed “to live our Jewish values through the lens of a dynamic modern world.“ We do this through “transformational experiences that stimulate a lifelong love of Judaism in all generations.” In this way, our love of being Jewish is expressed precisely in how we stand simultaneously together with past generations, our generations, and future generations. 

In his commentary on this week’s Torah portion, VaYechi, Rabbi Yitz Greenberg shows what the Torah –received at Mt. Sinai– reveals to us:

“In a covenantal life, every moment is multidimensional.” 

One lives in the moment, he says, but the past and the future are part of the present and affect it. “Every life lived is individual, but also a continuation of those who have lived before. After death, one’s life will be continued by later members of the covenant.” In other words, we are links in a profoundly important unbroken chain. What the rabbis call “Shalshelet HaKabbalah” the unbroken chain of the Jewish people.

However we move forward, let us be mindful of some universal wisdom: 

“We stand on the shoulders of giants.” In other words, no matter how different we are from previous generations, we should be grateful for all that our predecessors put in place for us and seek to be worthy of it. Their commitment to Har Sinai-Oheb Shalom congregations enables us to thrive in the present because they carry us on their shoulders. We can also carry the future on our shoulders because of the strength of our past. 

How so? Every single day we benefit from the commitment and investments of those who came before us at Har Sinai and Oheb Shalom. In this way, they continue to lift us up. Every time we walk into our grand building, and in all the ways we benefit from enormous resources put in place before us– including a remarkable endowment– we are standing on their shoulders. We thrive today not only because of all the thoughtful, and visionary work of those who made the merger of our two legacy congregations possible, and who are in leadership roles today, but also because of thousands of people like us who were committed to the Har Sinai-Oheb Shalom community/ies and to our future.

We too seek to preserve the best of the past, respond to the urgency of the present, and open up new possibilities for the future. May we continue to be strong links in a chain so that our children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren will be lifted up toward the future as they stand on our shoulders. 

Dysfunction and Reconciliation: Our Family and the Families of Genesis
Vayeshev (Genesis 37:1-40:23)

What can we learn from the Bible? While we may not be able to learn about the most recent scientific discoveries or immediate political predictions, we can certainly gain profound insight into the eternal complexities of human nature. 

When we revisit these stories, we can reflect on our own families and the roles we play. Simultaneously, we can also learn the significance of each family and each person in the larger narrative of Jewish history and Jewish peoplehood. This is especially true for the Genesis narratives we read during these winter weeks when, ironically, we’re most likely to be having reunions with our own family members.

We can learn a great deal from the dramatic Genesis narratives we read during these winter weeks. The narrative draws us into the complex nature of Joseph's apparent self-centeredness, his father's destructive favoritism, and his brothers overwhelming jealousy and capacity for violence. Yes, we learn how jealousy and hate can destroy a family. But, at the same time, we learn how despair can become hope. And above all, we can't miss this message: If even the most dysfunctional family can transcend the past and reunite (stay tuned for that drama in the weeks to come!) then each of us must also be able to find ways to reconcile with those from whom we might be estranged. Hope, forgiveness, and reconciliation are always within reach.

The Holiness Of This Place: Experiencing The Sacred
Vayetzei (Genesis 28:10-32:32)

What makes a particular place or space different from any other? Think about your home, about a place you love, about our sanctuary or another. For some, that place is where you or a loved one celebrated a marriage, gave birth to a baby, your holiday table, a beach, a mountain, or a city, like Jerusalem. These places became special because of what we’ve experienced there, either personally or collectively. Meaningful experiences make a space meaningful, even sacred. 

When Jacob runs away from his older brother Esau, who likely wants to kill Jacob because he stole Esau’s birthright blessing from their father, Jacob eventually lays down to sleep in the desert. When he closed his eyes, the desert place seemed like any other place in the desert. The rock he takes to be his pillow is just a rock. But while asleep, Jacob has the most fantastical dreams. He experiences something so profound (which we’ll study this Shabbat) that when he wakes up, he declares: 

“Surely God is present in this place, 
and I, I did not know it!” 
(Genesis 28:16)

His experience, even while asleep, revealed to him something undeniable about God’s presence. But what’s equally important about this realization is that he can admit his initial lack of awareness. At first, he didn’t feel God’s presence in his life. But that experience made that place sacred. But the very next verse (Gen. 28:17) gives us an even fuller sense of Jacob’s experience: “Shaken, he said, 

‘How awesome is this place! 
This is none other than the abode of God, 
and this is the gateway to heaven.’” 

In our Har Sinai-Oheb Shalom sanctuary and chapel, whether in person or on Zoom, we have the opportunity to experience God’s presence in our lives. Whether in a moment of song or prayer, whether in study or in discussion, we too might suddenly feel that something very different just occurred. Sometimes we just need to pause and become aware enough to realize it. If we can be present enough in those moments, then we might even begin to understand something new about ourselves or our lives. Such experiences can change our lives even when we leave the moment and the place. This kind of transformation, while fleeting, is part of what worship, ritual and spirituality are all about.

Just as God goes with Jacob on his journey from the sacred space and back again, so, too, can we seek out an awareness of God’s presence in our sacred spaces and in our lives. I pray that we, like Jacob, can take a sense of spirituality and wholeness with us on our journeys out into the world and, like Jacob, back again to our sacred place. 

The Mayflower and the Exodus: Celebrating Who We Are this Thanksgiving.

Chayei Sara (Genesis 23:1-25:18)

Thanksgiving reminds us of who we are as Americans. We’re proud of so much of who we are, grateful for our privileges, and also aware of our complex history. As we approach Thanksgiving this year, I am struck by the difference and connection between the two major stories that make us who we are as American Jews. Being mindful of where we came from, what we left behind, and the kind of society we want for our children is so important.

The first of the two stories that makes us who we are as Jews, is, of course, the story of the Exodus. Redeemed from Egyptian slavery, the ancient Israelites – our ancestors – wandered through the desert. Eventually, they received the wisdom of the Torah that would help guide them as they created a new world. That story we celebrate every Passover.

On Thanksgiving, we also celebrate a journey toward freedom. We recall an origin story of the first American pilgrims and their desire for religious freedom and equality. The two stories have much in common, but we remember them very differently. Speaking before the UN’s Peel Commission in 1936 more than a decade before the declaration of the independence of the State of Israel, the not-yet first Prime Minister, David Ben-Gurion said:

“300 years ago, there came to the New World a boat, and its name was the Mayflower. The Mayflower’s landing on Plymouth Rock was one of the great historical events in the history of England and in the history of America. But I would like to ask any Englishman sitting here on the commission, what day did the Mayflower leave port? What date was it? I’d like to ask the Americans: do they know what date the Mayflower left port in England? How many people were on the boat? Who were their leaders? What kind of food did they eat on the boat?”

“More than 3300 years ago, long before the Mayflower, our people left Egypt, and every Jew in the world, wherever he is, knows what day they left. And he knows what food they ate. And we still eat that food every anniversary. And we know who our leader was. And we sit down and tell the story to our children and grandchildren in order to guarantee that it will never be forgotten. And we say our two slogans: ‘Now we may be enslaved, but next year, we’ll be a free people.’”

This Thanksgiving, as we gather with family and friends and eat our delicious foods, let us celebrate what it means to be both Americans and Jews– inheritors of both big stories and their messages for humankind. Let’s tell our children about the common elements of freedom and equality of all parts of our identity. Let’s be sure that they, too, will not only continue to tell the stories but also ensure that freedom and equality will remain our core values.

Can We Still Hope for a Moral Society?

Noach (Genesis 6:9-11:32)

What defines morality? 

From the first moments of human history, this question has invited many different answers. The first human beings we read about last week, Adam and Eve, learned the hard way about making choices. Exiled from the perfect world of the Garden of Eden, they learned that they needed to choose between good and evil, between life and death. But did their children, Cain and Able, the first brothers and the first fratricide, really know good from evil? 

This Shabbat we read about another crisis, the Flood of Noah’s generation (Gen. 8-9). The entire society was held responsible for the immorality of their time. (Interestingly, humanity was vegetarian until after the Flood, and only then permitted to eat meat and only in the most ethical ways). (Gen. 9:4-7)

So what did humanity learn from the Flood? According to Jewish sages, we learned the necessity of basic morality and the urgency of shared ethical standards. These first moral principles are known as the seven “Noahide Laws” (Sheva Mitzvot B’nai Noah): 1) the positive injunction to set up courts that justly enforce social laws; 2) the prohibition of blasphemy (there must be tolerance for worshipping the one God of the universe); 3) the prohibition of idolatry; 4) the prohibitions of grave sexual immorality, such as incest and adultery; 5) the prohibition of murder; 6) the prohibition of theft; 7) the prohibition of eating the limb of a live animal –-- which represents human cruelty (Talmud Sanhedrin 56a).

But whether these Noahide Laws were originally part of the Torah as Maimonides (1135-1204) claims, or only established later as the Rabbinic sages claim, nonetheless they represent what our ancient sages understood to be shared universal values and hopes for humanity. 

Even those ancient minds who set the Jewish people apart from –-- and often above -- all other cultures also knew that Judaism does not and should not have a monopoly on morality. And perhaps more importantly, they knew that there must be a way to establish some universal common moral ground so that we can peacefully share God’s world by sharing in God’s most basic expectations. I love how such pluralism and mutual respect emerges out of our most ancient sources. 

When we see immorality in our time, we might find hope and inspiration in the Noah story. If the idea of sharing moral principles across cultures wasn't unthinkable after the Flood, reclaiming a renewed shared morality shouldn’t be unimaginable to us now. But we must be courageous enough to know we need to reclaim it before it’s too late. 

This is why our congregation must be so vigilant in holding ourselves and our community to the highest moral standards. When we do, we can be part of making a shared future possible for us and for all of humanity.