The images are haunting. Women and children sleeping in a subway station with all their worldly possessions surrounding them. Some in suitcases, one a Disney bag with Mickeys and Minnies, not unlike many we saw last week at DisneyWorld, others in trash bags, only what they could carry. Men required to stay home to fight.  

We’ve played this game before. I’m leaving Egypt, Russia, Germany and I’m taking with me an apple, a banana, a canteen of water. This time it is for real and it is no game. Jews have done this before. Over and over again. Many times, they take their candlesticks or a menorah, a priceless book or a samavor. Jerry Goldstein’s family’s samovar is in my office. How you lug something like that is a mystery to me. 

This is Refugee Shabbat. A weekend dedicated to talking about refugee resettlement set up by HIAS, the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society. Our own member, Eugene Klionsky, was helped by HIAS when he left Russia as a 19 year old, with just two suitcases. My brother-in-law Fred Klein, an immigration attorney and judge in Tucson, worked for HIAS for a while.  

The history of the Kleins is tied to refugee work. How? As Fred tells the story, it was because of the United States’s response to the Holocaust. He could not believe that the SS St. Louis, destined for Cuba was turned away and then turned back to Europe. Many of those on the St. Louis were murdered in the various concentration camps. He could not sit idly by.  

Jews have always been refugees. Our Passover story begins with “My father was a wandering Aramean.” Abraham left Haran and settled in Canaan, a land that G-d would show him. Jacob sent his sons to Egypt to find food during a famine. Famine, water scarcity and climate disasters are some of the most common reasons people become refugees. The Israelites wandered in the desert for 40 years. That’s where our story picks up today. 

The mishkan, the tabernacle that the Israelites will carry with them, is completed. It is beautiful. And it remains a mystery where the Israelites found all the supplies they needed, gold, silver, copper, acacia wood, dolphin skins, fine linen, yarn of purple, blue and crimson.  

A footnote in this first weekend of Women’s History Month, it is important to know that the skilled artisans who assembled the mishkan included the women. That was the other sermon I was going to do today.  

The work was finished. The text tells us that “For over the Tabernacle a cloud of Adonai rested by day, and fire would appear in it*in it I.e., in the cloud. by night, in the view of all the house of Israel throughout their journeys.” The mishkan was a place for G-d to dwell and that Presence went with them wherever they wandered. 

For 2 years we have been hosting Shabbat services, every single week on Zoom, removed mostly from our beautiful sanctuary. Look around you. The stain glass is still here. The rainbows dancing on the pews. The purple, the blue, the gold and bronze still here. It is beautiful, Working and davenning remotely did not make us refugees. Imagine abandoning this building for all time.  

For many years, Simon and I were part of a weekly radio show, Faith Alive on WCAP in Lowell. He edited and read the news. I was the Jewish content person. There was a rotating group of Catholic and Protestant clergy. At some point the Catholic Church decided it had to close St. Peters, the large Irish Catholic Cathedral. People were up in arms, Their relatives had built that church by hand with their own sweat equity. They had quarried the granite themselves and it was beautiful. How dare the church close it. That week I was on the show with the Bishop of Lowell, who actually lived in the rectory next door to St. Peters. Now, to be clear, the bishop and I had a rule. We would not discuss abortion or birth control on air. We knew we disagreed. But in the discussion of St. Peters, I said something like, “I don’t understand. Jews have been kicked out of every country in Europe at one time or another. We don’t get attached to our buildings.” The bishop didn’t speak to me for over a year. But then our congregation merged with another in a neighboring town. Then, and only then, as the yahrzeit plaques were removed and the Torahs were carried lovingly, did I begin to understand. The bishop and I reconciled and eventually I told this story as part of one of his eulogies many years later. So I ask you again, imagine losing this building.  

Our Torah teaches us in the words of the non-Jewish prophet that “Ma tovu ohalecha ya’akov. How good, how beautiful are our tents O Jacob, our dwelling places, our sanctuaries O Israel.” So whether you are davenning here in the room or on Zoom or in a subway station in Kiyv or a basement in Maripol, G-d’s Presence is with you. 

Many people have felt paralyzed watching the news unfold. What can we do? We feel powerless. But there are things you can do. We can follow Fred’s example and help settle refugees and asylum seekers. We can advocate for refugees. We can donate money, HIAS and JUF are both options I sent out earlier in the week.  A high school classmate signed up to go to Kyiv by rented an airbnb apartment so that she could send money to a homeowner with a nice note. No, she’s not actually going. The homeowner was so touched. Airbnb is looking for people in the States to open their homes to refugees.  

We Jews, who have all too often known the pain of being refugees, have an obligation here. We are commanded, 36 times in Torah, more than any other commandment, to take care of the widow, the orphan and the stranger. The most vulnerable amongst us. Precisely because we were strangers in the land of Egypt. We have an obligation to act. We have an obligation to hope.  

G-d goes with us, wherever we go. That is the implication of that very last line of the book of Exodus which we just read. G-d dwells in us and among us. Last weekend, one of the most haunting images of Shabbat in Ukraine were Jews davenning in a subway station singing ‘Hiney Ma Tov, How good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together.” Perhaps, Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav, Ukraine, had it right, Kol ha’olam kulo, gesher tzar m’od, The whole world is a narrow bridge, the important thing is to not be afraid. These are the messages of this Refugee Shabbat. 

A Prayer for Ukraine
by Rabbi Menachem Creditor 

God of Peace, 

We call to You, hearts pounding, as we pray for the people of Ukraine who are suffering under tyrant’s attack. Hear their prayers and ours. Support our commitment to stand with them in their time of great need. Please. 

Dear God, how can we say Never Again when bombs fall on Babi Yar, when millions must run for their lives or take shelter in synagogues and subway stations? Haven’t we learned? You Who Remembers all, do not forsake us as we relearn these painful lessons. 

In every generation there arise those who, in selfish pursuit of power, privilege might over moral right, precipitate needless earthquakes despite the tsunamis of human pain that will follow. Holy One, spoil the oppressors’ evil plans, diminish their power. 

God, We have also witnessed great heroism during these dark days, human beings pushing back against tanks with their bare hands, the brave Jewish President of Ukraine, Volodymyr Zelensky and his family, millions of Ukrainians fighting to protect their homes. This is Your Image, strong and courageous, fierce and present. This is Your Outstretched Arm. We ask that You remind us to offer our own. 

As one of Ukraine’s greatest teachers, Rav Nachman, once taught: “The Exodus from Egypt occurs in every human being, in every era, in every year, and in every day.” Holy One, may this teaching be fulfilled speedily and in our days. 

May peace rain down upon the people of Ukraine. May we study war no more. 

Amen.