A few weeks ago, a congregant, the chair of the VIsion Committee, presented me with a plaque she had purchased at a Hallmark Store. The quote, from Walt Disney himself, “If you can dream it, you can do it.” It was part of Clergy Appreciation Week. (Who knew such a week even existed!). Her comment was that because I am a second career rabbi, I inspire people just because I followed my dream. And while I am following another dream by running the Disney Princess Half Marathon for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, I don’t think she realized how big a role Disney played in my completing rabbinical school. One birthday celebration, at Disney, we watched Tinker Bell light Cinderella’s castle, while the theme from Pinnocio was playing, “When you wish upon a star, your dreams come true.” However, it is not just wishing upon a star that make a dream come true. Frequently it comes with hard work.

We have been reading about Joseph the dreamer in our recent Torah portions. Joseph dreamed that the sun and the moon, the eleven stars bowed down to him, that eleven sheaves of wheat bowed down to him. Joseph interpreted the baker’s dreams in prison, putting him in a position to be called upon to interpret Pharaoh’s dreams. That’s where we pick up our story.

One of the things that intrigued me about the interpretation of Pharaoh’s dreams is that Joseph explained that they are essentially the same dream. Many of us have that experience, we dream a dream deep in sleep, wake up and dream another dream with the same theme. Our subconscious is making sure we get the message, finding another way to deliver the same idea. Freud and Jung had lots to say about that. Joseph was seemingly ahead of his time.

Rabbi Lord Sacks published a brilliant  d’var Torah explaining the importance of Joseph the dreamer, in terms of leadership. Not only did Joseph dream dreams and interpret dreams but he had the ability to implement the dreams. “No sooner had he told of a seven-year famine then he continued, without pause, to provide a solution.” For Sacks, that is Joseph’s greatest achievement.

As he pointed out, some people find dreaming impractical. He argues that it is one of the most practical things we can do.  “There are people who spend months planning a holiday but not even a day planning a life. They let themselves be carried by the winds of chance and circumstance. That is a mistake.” He reminds us that the sages said, “Wherever [in the Torah] we find the word vayehi, ‘And it came to pass,’ it is always the prelude to tragedy.” (Megillah 10b) A vayehi life is one in which we passively let things happen. A yehi (“Let there be”) life is one in which we make things happen, and it is our dreams that give us direction.

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So the call of this portion is to lead a life without passivity. To pursue our dreams. To actively chase after them. Theodor Herzl, “the father of modern Zionism” taught us all, like Walt Disney, “Im Tirtzu, Ain Zo Aggadah. If you will it, it is no dream.” The word aggadah is translated here as dream, but our portion uses cholom as dream. Is there a difference between aggadah and cholom? Aggadah is also story, fable, myth. What Herzl is saying is that if you will something then it can leave the story realm and become reality. Again, it requires implementing the dream. It requires hard work.

The early Zionists knew this. They had a song (a new one to my congregation),

Dreamers Keep a Dreaming
What did we do when we wanted corn?
We plowed and we sowed till the early morn.
(Repeat)
Chorus:
For our hands are strong, our hearts are young 
our dreams are the dreamin’s of all ages long 
(just a-dreamin’ just a-dreaming along)

What did we do when we needed a town
We hammered and we nailed till the sun went down 
(Repeat) (Chorus)

What do we do when there’s peace to be won
It’s more than one man can do alone
We’ll gather our friends from the ends of the earth
To lend a hand at the hour of birth

Bridge:
We’ll plow, we’ll sow, we’ll hammer, and we’ll nail 
We’ll work all day till peace is real.

They worked. They plowed, sowed, hammered, nailed and worked for peace.

That dream of peace is real. The haftarah for the Shabbat of Chanukah from Zechariah talks about a vision of a menorah, ” The angel who talked with me came back and woke me as a man is wakened from sleep. ² He said to me, “What do you see?” And I answered, “I see a lampstand all of gold, with a bowl above it. The lamps on it are seven in number, and the lamps above it have seven pipes; ³ and by it are two olive trees, one on the right of the bowl and one on its left.” ⁴ I, in turn, asked the angel who talked with me, “What do those things mean, my lord?” ⁵ “Do you not know what those things mean?” asked the angel who talked with me; and I said, “No, my lord.” ⁶ Then he explained to me as follows: “This is the word of the LORD to Zerubbabel: Not by might, nor by power, but by My spirit.”

Debbie Friedman turned those words into a song, “Not by might, not by power but by spirit alone shall we all live in peace. The children sing, the children dream but their tears may fall and we hear them call and another song will rise…” This is the very song that I sang last year, exactly a year ago, the first night of Chanukah, as the unthinkable was happening in Newtown Connecticut, the town in which my college roommate lives. She is the mother of a young child, a first grader. He attends the other elementary school so he was safe that day. But I spent most of the afternoon on the phone with Lisa.

Newtown is a town I know well. I would stop many weeks on the way home from rabbinical school. Lisa and I would have sushi at Sennen or a quick Starbucks. It is an idyllic, quiet, bucolic town. The news of a mass shooting at Sandy Hook couldn’t possibly happen in Newtown, could it? The people of Newtown are still grieving. The recent report that came out was painful. There are no good explanations of why it happened. There can’t be. I applaud NBC who did not play the 911 tapes even though they were released yesterday. The families are exhausted. They want to grieve in private, not under a national microscope. They want to protect their children and shelter them and keep what ever childhood innocence remains. Let them have their space. They need it.

This is a vision, a dream of peace. Since Newtown there have been 30,000 additional deaths by gunfire. Rabbi Menachem Creditor wrote a powerful El Malei Rachamim in memory of the children and teachers of Newtown, http://rabbicreditor.blogspot.com/2013/12/a-newtown-el-malei-for-26-souls-and.html The rabbi in Newtown wrote this:

We dare to live again
By Rabbi Shaul Marshall Praver

The multi colored tulips show their joyous faces. 
Purple wild flowers unfurl their luster upon the countryside. The start of pastel buds are seen as impressionistic highlights adorning canvas. Upon closer inspection, remnants of dry fronds from years gone by are found supporting the luscious green virile buds eagerly making their debuts. 

Winter’s deep darkness is banished before the hope and vigor of spring. And while our tears and blood were shed without mercy, we dare to live again. 

We Kindle our love as a precious flame seeking shelter from a relentless storm. We caress light and welcome warmth of spirit from all places, creeds, and creatures. And in the absence of twenty precious children and six beloved teachers, we dare to live again. 

We know they would want us to walk upon the long island sound, allowing soft waves to slosh between our toes. We know they would want us to venture out into lush meadows and orchards feasting our eyes on the valleys below. 

They would say, “We have gone and what is done is done–so arise and celebrate the years we lived together.” They would speak like sublime winged angels exclaiming, “We are free to enter the garden of alluring fragrance.” They would tell us about fiery swords that briefly paused from their vigilance allowing them entry into a forgotten chamber of light. And those that dared to listen to their soft whispers would hear an accompanying plaintive voice emanating from the midst of the garden like a chamber of mist rising. 

Surely we would recall that a melody can embrace us as a welcoming spirit that delivers us to the source of beauty, bliss and splendor. And they would tell us, “we are like a tree arising from a broken seed. And if only you knew we were the tree and not the discarded seed, you would give yourself permission to live again.” 

And so–for them
We dare to live again! 
For them, We dare to love again!
and for them, light dares to shine again!

I would add we need to dare to dream again. Joseph taught us three things. To take the time to dream. To let our imaginations soar. To interpret and articulate our dreams. And then to find a way to implement those dreams. His words remind me of a poem in Gates of Prayer by Archibald MacLeish, one that brought me comfort after the death of my first fiancé killed by a terrorist bomb:

The young dead soldiers do not speak.
Nevertheless they are heard in the still houses.
(Who has not heard them?)….

They say, We leave you our deaths,
Give them their meaning. 

I cannot say what the meaning of these 30,000 deaths are. It is not for me to say. As we close out Chanukah, the festival of dedication, I rededicate myself, I pledge to continue to work for a world of peace, a world where children are not afraid to go to school because of the fear of gun violence, a world where mental illness is treated appropriately and without shame, a world where we can each become the bright light of those Chanukah candles glowing in the windows. That is my Chanukah dream. Now I just have to implement it. What is yours?