This weekend is a remarkable weekend in Elgin. It is Martin Luther King Weekend, not just a day. For several years I have served on the Martin Luther King Commission, a sub-committee of the City of Elgin’s Human Relations Commission. For me, it just makes sense. This year, earlier today, I was honored with the annual Martin Luther King Humanitarian Award. I was shocked to be nominated, even more humbled to win. My fellow nominees are both close friends and partners in the work that we do. I even suggested that they give the award to the three of us.

Words do not capture the range of emotions I felt this morning. I was awed. I was humbled. Grateful. Happy. Teary. I missed other people with whom I have done this work. I was appreciative of all those who have worked so hard to make Elgin a better place. It brings me hope. Even in these times.

None of the work I do, I do alone. When I left the Elgin Community College, I was walking alone. It reminded me of a long walk back up the hill at the Academy of Jewish Religion after ordination. Again alone. Both profound. Today I found myself singing Ozi V’zimrat Yah. G-d is my help and my salvation. G-d is my partner too. I was not alone.

Here are my “acceptance remarks”:

Thank you. Martin Luther King spoke frequently of his dream in the words of the prophets. Like Micah: “Do justly, love mercy and walk humbly with your G0d.” My mother’s favorite verse. The ethic that I was raised with. Today, I am very, very humble.

The work that I do for justice in Elgin, I do not do alone. My fellow nominees and I together worked on multiple programs together. Every time I turned around there were Danielle and Tony, leading the charge. In the last year alone, contentious school board meetings on racism, Courageous Conversations with the police and the community, the Not in Our Town film series, the Orlando Vigil, the Unity March, I-Fest and even transgender bathrooms. In the process, the three of us became friends. It is about building community. I accept this award on behalf of all three of us and the ongoing work each of us will do in the days ahead.

The work that I do for justice in Elgin, I do with the blessing of my community, Congregation Kneseth Israel. I told them when I first arrived, 2^nd Baptist come and sing but that alone was not enough. It smacks of tokenism. So we expanded what we do in the community. I accept this award on behalf of Congregation Kneseth Israel.

The work that I do for justice in Elgin reflects the work that I do with my husband and my daughter who are here today. They come from a long line of two families who have worked for justice wherever we have lived. It is how we live our Jewish values. They walk the walk—sometimes quite literally. Selma. Orlando. Walk for Hunger. Habitat for Humanity. Races for causes. The Unity March.

The work that I do for justice in Elgin goes back to the sixties in Evanston. When the swings weren’t up in the neighborhood park, my mother ran for park commissioner. She was told “Those people might sit on them.” And my father, whose yahrzeit, the anniversary of his death, is this weekend, taught “Letter from a Birmingham Jail” as an example of a persuasive essay. Every year the whole family would reread it. It still resonates as I reread it this week. You all should. I accept this award on behalf of my family, past and present.

The work that I do for justice in Elgin goes all the way back to Martin Luther King’s I have a dream, speech, that one day Jew and Gentile will be able to hold hands and pray together, a line that as the Jew I was given to read at every year. It is still my dream.

Martin Luther King had a dream, a vision. That dream is not yet complete, we are completing it. Because make no mistake; there is still hard work to be done to realize that dream. This week, we note with sadness 16 bomb threats against Jewish community centers nationwide and a proposed march in Whitefish, Montana that has now been postponed tomorrow but scheduled deliberately on King’s birthday. Like the documentary, “Not in our town,” people thought it couldn’t happen there. People think it can’t happen here. It could. If we don’t stand together. But in Elgin we do stand together.

The work that I do for justice in Elgin meant that this summer when there was a Nazi flag at the Kane County Flea Market, I had a network of friends, some of you sitting in this room, people who had already stood together, that I could call on. Remarkably, during 4^th of July Weekend, the very weekend we mourned the passing of Elie Wiesel, that flag, was removed in just 6 hours. That’s building community. Those groups—the Coalition of Elgin Religious Leaders, the Elgin Police Department, City Council and, the Human Relations Commission, continue to stand together. We must.

The work that I do in Elgin reflects the work that I have done nationally. In Lowell, when we founded the Merrimack Valley Project, similar to the Fox River Initiative, and where I got my first training in Community Organizing. With the Religious Action Center and Rallies to Save Soviet Jews and to Save Darfur. As a global justice rabbinic fellow with American Jewish World Service. As a member of Tru’ah, Rabbis for Human Rights, I heeded their call to go to Ferguson as a silent clergy witness. Before I went I called Chief Swoboda. I wanted his blessing. Because I believe that we have a better model of policing here in Elgin.

A rabbi is a teacher. So I will teach you a little Torah. Then, unfortunately, I will leave. I think you will understand, precisely because this is a prayer breakfast. While I am deeply humbled, my primary responsibility is to lead my congregation in prayer and our main service of the week starts shortly. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel who marched with King said that he felt his feet were praying, My feet have been praying with all of you this morning.

He also said,” Prayer cannot bring water to parched field, nor mend a broken bridge, nor rebuild a ruined city; but prayer can water an arid soul, mend a broken heart and rebuild a weakened will.” I pray that our will is strengthened here today.

Once a Hasidic rabbi was asked what he did before he prayed (in these stories it is always a he) and he answered, he prayed for an hour that he might be able to pray. This morning’s breakfast is a part of my preparation to pray further. To learn further. To walk further.

This week’s Torah portion is the last portion in the Book of Genesis. Jacob, having tricked Esau out of his blessing and his inheritance, now is called on to bless all of his children. (At least the boys) What Jacob learned and what we must learn is that there is enough blessing to go around. Like the U-46 mission statement. All means all. All of us, black or white, Jew or Gentile, gay or straight, were created in the Divine image. All of us are loved. That is the message of this week’s Torah portion. That is the message of Martin Luther King, Then after Shabbat is over, we can begin again to work towards Martin Luther King’s vision, to fulfill his incomplete dream.

Next week we begin to read the Book of Exodus. Moses emerges as a leader, after he tries to say send someone else. After seeing the burning bush and taking off his shoes, he realizes he is standing on holy ground. He answers the call. Hinini. Here am I. Each of us is Moses. Each of us must answer that call. This ground in Elgin is holy ground. A place that embraces its diversity. That fights to protect all of our rights.. I am proud to be here in Elgin to answer the call. Proud and very, very humble. Thank you.

And Jacob went forth. Yayztei. That’s the same verb root as Hamotzi, who brings forth bread from the earth, or yatza, to go forth, exit, from which we get the phrase for the Exodus from Egyp, yitziat mitzrayim.

Now Jacob was a dreamer. He had a rock for a pillow. I don’t know about you, in all those years of Girl Scout camping, I always wound up with a rock for a pillow. Usually that meant that I didn’t sleep, let alone dream. Never would make it to REM sleep on those camping trips!

Let’s look at this dream. It was a ladder, reaching up to the sky, the heavens

A ladder with malachim, angels, messengers, going up and down.

When he wakes up he says, “God was in this place. And I did not know it.” And he calls that place, that Makom, Beit El, House of G-d.” Makom, Place becomes another name for G-d. And we learn from this what psychology has taught more recently that there is a deep connection between dreams and spirituality.

What about that dream of a ladder? I think it is about how we want to live, in a place with G-d. In a place with hope. In a place that is just and fair. Those messengers are going up and down. They are bi-directional. They remind me of the verse from Deuteronomy 30: “For this commandment which I command you today, it is not too hard for you. Neither is it far off. It is not in heaven, that you shall say, ‘Who shall go up for us towards the heavens and bring it to us and make us hear it so that we will do it. Nor is it across the sea so that you would say, ‘Who shall across the sea for us and bring it to us and make us hear it so that we will do it?’

Maimonides uses the metaphor of a ladder to describe higher and higher levels of giving tzedakah. We know this text, but it bears repeating in this context, of a dream of a society where everyone has enough, because it is the right thing, the just thing, the tzedek thing to do.

Rung 1: If one gives unwillingly.

Rung 2: If one gives inadequately but one gives gladly and with a smile.

Rung 3: Climbing higher. If one gives to the poor after being asked.

Rung 4: Halfway there. One gives to the poor directly into their hands and before being asked.

Rung 5: One does not know to whom you give and the poor do not know who gives to them. The sages used to tie coins into their robes and then throw the coins behind their backs so they would not see who collected the tzedakah and the poor would not be ashamed. When we write our end of the year checks, or perhaps you participated in Giving Tuesday, most of us are probably at this rung of the ladder.

Rung 6: Higher still. One knows to whom one gives but the recipient doesn’t know who gave. That’s like the coat someone gave to me to give to certain congregant whose coat is a little threadbare. The sages used to put coins in the doors of the poor in secret.

Rung 7: One gives to the poor without knowing to whom one gives and without the recipient knowing who gave. This is, as Rambam said, a mitzvah solely for the sake of heaven. You get no reward for this. Anonymous giving is one of the hallmarks of Judaism. In the Temple in Jerusalem there was an anonymous fund to distribute food from the offerings to the poorest among us. The Rabbi’s Discretionary Fund, in part, fills a similar function in many congregations including this one.

Rung 8: The highest level is to help someone become self-sufficient. It could be a gift or a loan, entering into a partnership with them or finding employment. That way the person will no longer be dependent on others. This is the old, “Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach a man to fish and he will eat for a lifetime.”

That last rung of this ladder is important. Particularly today. Particularly when too many people don’t want to mentor others, or lend a helping hand, or reach back down the ladder. But that is precisely what Judaism teaches. Over and over and over again.

Today is Human Rights Shabbat. As we have done every year I have been here, we are joining with 70 Jewish congregations to mark this occasion. One year we explored Fair Trade Coffee and Chocolate. I think we would agree that was a yummy year. And I am proud that we now only serve Fair Trade Coffee here at CKI.

One year we talked about the Immokalee Tomato Workers in Florida and why they are demanding a penny a pound more for tomatoes they pick. I now include a tomato on my seder plate every year. One year we added special prayers for the dignity of all. Last year we compared the Human Rights Declaration with verses from the Talmud.

My first question this morning, then, is what is a right? In the US, we talk about the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. The Bill of Rights. The right to freedom of religion. Freedom of the press. Freedom to assemble. Freedom to bear arms. We talk about civil rights, women’s rights, gay rights. In other countries, there might be other rights, like the guarantee of health care.

Judaism has much to say about rights. And with rights come responsibilities. Today I just want to talk about one area.

36 times in Torah it says we should take care of the widow, the orphan and the stranger. It is a dream of the way the world should be. It is a vision of the world yet to be. And so it is appropriate for this portion with the dream of the messengers ascending and descending the ladder. I believe that this is the message that they were trying to bring to Jacob. And it is something that Jacob did not achieve and something the world has still not achieved. It remains a vision, a dream.

I use this phrase a lot. 36 times in the Torah it says to welcome the widow, the orphan, the stranger. The most marginalized among us, as I usually add. You have all heard me say it. It is about their rights. These are fundamental rights to food and housing. But this year I was brought up short. When I used this line at the State House in my invocation, one of our state representatives asked if I had the list of the 36 places, because then he would use it too.

I have not found the list. Apparently no one has the exact formulation. But with help from Rabbi Lev Meirowitz Nelson and Lord Rabbi Sacks I found the original reference. It appears in the Talmud:

It has been taught: R. Eliezer the Great said: Why did the Torah warn against the wronging of a stranger in thirty-six or as others say, in forty-six places? Because he has a strong inclination to evil. (Bava Metzia 59b)

This is Judaism. So there you have it. Either 36 times or 46 places. Already we have an argument. But it is a 2000 year old argument! I love the idea that it appears 36 times. Our tradition tells us that number represents double chai, double life, 2×18. What is not clear from the grammar is who has the strong inclination to evil. The stranger, convert, proselyte who may “relapse” as some commentators said. Or perhaps the Israelites who have a strong inclination to mistreat the stranger and so it needs to be repeated over and over again.

So I figured it was time to document it. Could I find all the references that Rabbi Eliezer said are there?

Why? What really interests me is the repetition. We know there are no extra words in the Torah. We know that the prohibition against pork only appears twice. Why does the Bible repeat this so many times? It must be really important. Precisely because it is so difficult to do and it seems to go against our natural inclination.

What is a ger? It means a sojourner, an alien, a stranger. It has come to mean convert, someone who has chosen Judaism. Frequently it appears as “ger toshav”, a resident alien, someone who has chosen to live amongst us.

A concordance is a useful Biblical tool to track down Biblical references. The gold standard is Strong’s Concordance, in which he identifies 92 occurrences of “ger” and its derivatives. Not all of those are about treating the ger fairly. Some are just occurances of the word, not commandments.

Brown Driver Briggs Hebrew English Lexicon, another critical tool in Biblical scholarship, seems to come to the same conclusions as Strong.

We get some early hints at why welcoming the stranger is so important. Abraham was a ger toshav. That’s what he calls himself when he buys a cave to bury Sarah. And the elders of the community treat him kindly when they sell him the choicest of burial caves. He and Sarah were known for their hospitality. They rushed to welcome the three visitors to their tent which was open on all four sides so they could see guests approaching from any direction. Gershom, Moses’s son, as his very name implies was a ger. The Haggadah reminds us that our ancestors were wandering Arameans.

The reason is often given that we have to take care of the stranger is precisely because we were once strangers in Egypt.

“You shall not wrong a stranger or oppress him, for you were strangers in Egypt. You shall not wrong any widow or orphan.” Exodus 22:20

So that’s the reason for this. We know what it is like to be the stranger. To be the other. And it is not easy. That is why we are told over and over again to treat the stranger with respect. To welcome the stranger. To love the stranger. Why there needs to be one law that applies to citizen and stranger alike.

“You shall have the same law for the stranger as for the native-born.” I just studied that this week with a Bat Mitzvah student whose portion says that a ger can celebrate Passover but must have the same rules for how to do it. Interesting portion for a kid in an interfaith family.

And since there is one law for citizen and stranger alike, refugees are entitled to sanctuary cities, places they can flee to safely, even if they have committed a crime as heinous as murder. Something to think about deeply as the call for sanctuary cities in this country grows.

In the very center of the Torah, in the 19^th chapter of Leviticus, we learn that we should love our neighbor as ourselves. Love. It is hard to command an emotion. Impossible some say. So the Torah gives us really practical ways to show our love to our neighbors and even to the strangers.

They must be included in the “positive welfare provisions of Israelite society.” For example, we cannot glean to the corners of our field or pick up the fallen fruit. We must leave them for the widow and the stranger. We see this in action in the Book of Ruth when Ruth, the stranger, goes to glean in Boaz’s field. This commandment is also repeated in Deuteronomy.

These laws commanding us to take care of the stranger is the basis for Hillel’s version of the Golden Rule. “What is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. Love your neighbor as yourself. The rest is commentary. Go and study.” So study we do.

For example, there is another argument in the Talmud about how this love should be shown. Lord Rabbi Sacks explains it this way:

“Just as there is overreaching in buying and selling, so there is wrong done by words . . . If a person was a son of proselytes, one must not taunt him by saying, “Remember the deeds of your ancestors,” because it is written “Do not ill-treat a stranger or oppress him.” Rabbi Johanan said in the name of Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai: verbal wrongdoing is worse than monetary wrongdoing, because of the first it is written “And you shall fear your God” but not of the second. Rabbi Eleazar said: one affects the person, the other only his money. Rabbi Samuel bar Nahmani said: for one restoration is possible, but not for the other.”

According to Sacks “Oppression,” they concluded, meant monetary wrongdoing, taking financial advantage by robbery or overcharging. “Ill-treatment” referred to verbal abuse – reminding the stranger of his or her origins. This may be the reason we are told that once someone converts to Judaism, we are not allowed to remind them that he or she is a convert.

Sacks to asks the question why welcoming the stranger is so important, “Why should you not hate the stranger? – asks the Torah. Because you once stood where he stands now. You know the heart of the stranger because you were once a stranger in the land of Egypt. If you are human, so is he. If he is less than human, so are you. You must fight the hatred in your heart as I once fought the greatest ruler and the strongest empire in the ancient world on your behalf. I made you into the world’s archetypal strangers so that you would fight for the rights of strangers – for your own and those of others, wherever they are, whoever they are, whatever the colour of their skin or the nature of their culture, because though they are not in your image – says G-d – they are nonetheless in Mine. There is only one reply strong enough to answer the question: Why should I not hate the stranger? Because the stranger is me.” (emphasis mine)

That’s it. We are commanded to love the stranger because we are all created b’tzelim elohim, in the image of G-d. G-d is the stranger. The stranger is us. The stranger is G-d who is each of us. It is a dance.

All of us are entitled to be loved. To feel G-d’s love. This is the answer to “Love your neighbor as yourself.” This is why we are commanded to “Love the Lord your G-d with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your might.” With all your everything. And this is what G-d requires of us, “To do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with G-d.”

It is simple, no? Apparently not so much or G-d wouldn’t have to repeat it so many times in so many different ways.

I set out to develop a list of all the 36 references, commandments to welcome and love the stranger. It seemed particularly important at this time to do this deep Torah text study. I did not come away with a list of 46 or even 36 references. Perhaps the Talmud was speaking in hyperbole or metaphor. Since we don’t have their exact list, it is hard to know what specifically they were counting. If you count the references in the whole TaNaCH then I am closer.

I am not sure ultimately that was the point. Clearly this was of critical importance both in the Torah and to the rabbis. It is the central teaching of Judaism. There is no way around that. Nothing else has been given as much weight. It is what makes me proud to be a Jew and it reminds me of Edmund Flegg’s quote.

I am a Jew because the faith of Israel demands of me no abdication of the mind.
I am a Jew because the faith of Israel requires of my all the devotion of my heart.
I am a Jew because in every place where suffering weeps, the Jew weeps.
I am a Jew because the word of Israel is the oldest and the newest.
I am a Jew because the promise of Israel is the universal promise.
I am a Jew because for Israel, the world is not complete, we are completing it.
I am a Jew because Israel places humanity and its unity above the nations and above Israel itself.
I am a Jew because, above the image of humanity, image of the divine Unity, Israel places the unity which is divine.

I came away with something much deeper. The appreciation of just how important this commandment is. Particularly in these times. Particularly in these times with threats, real or imagined, of deportations and registries.

We have been here before. We were strangers in a strange land. We have always been strangers in a strange land. Abraham was a stranger. And he and Sarah welcomed strangers, guests, to their tent open to all four sides. Moses was a stranger. Jacob was a stranger. He was sent out. Ruth was a stranger. From her otherness, and willingness to join us, by her lineage King David was born. By the rivers of Babylon, we sat down and wept because we were strangers in a strange land.

Because of this wandering, because we understand the soul of the other, because we are the other, we have the obligation to treat the stranger with respect, care and love. This was the dream of Jacob, the angels ascending and descending, moving between the realms. The Torah and subsequent literature makes this very clear.

This is Jacob’s dream. This is the Makom I want to live in, the Makom I want to help build. A Place filled with G-d’s presence.

Chanukah is coming. The season of rededication. Of bringing light to the world. At this season, this is what I dedicate myself to. Loving the stranger who is everyone. Loving ourselves as ourselves for ourselves. Loving our neighbors as ourselves. Loving myself who is a stranger. Loving the stranger. Welcoming the stranger. With joy!

For anyone wishing to study the text, the full list of texts is available as an appendix upon request.

This convergence this year of Christmas and Chanukah has made me think deeply. While standing at the grocery store late yesterday afternoon I had a conversation with the person in front of me in line. “Merry Christmas,” he said. “Merry Christmas,” I replied. He continued, “Aren’t you glad we can say Merry Christmas again?,” he asked. “I never stopped,” I answered.

And it is true. As I write this, I am waiting for my family to awaken, to the joys and thrills of Christmas morning. Yes, me a rabbi. I love Christmas. And it doesn’t make me any less Jewish.

Let me explain. My ancestors came to this country as refugees in the 1840s. They carried some of their Christmas ornaments with them. They were assimilated German Jews and Christmas trees were important to them. Three ornaments remain and they are wrapped carefully in the basement, a legacy and an inheritance for my daughter.

I grew up celebrating Christmas. The secular traditions. Trees. Santa. Presents. Christmas dinner. Family. One of the last things my father, of blessed memory, did, was hang ornaments on the tree in Grand Rapids. That tree proudly displayed a business card from my rabbi. A sign that it was “kosher” even though no other Jew I knew in Grand Rapids had a tree. Shocking? Not really.

Many Jews have “celebrated” Christmas through the years. Some parents didn’t want their kids to feel left out. Others intermarried and embraced new to them traditions. Rabbis, historically railed against them. This was precisely the assimilation that Maccabees fought against. This year as Jews and Christian both pause to celebrate our separate holidays, I was noticing less tension, less guilt about Jews and Christmas. It had seemed that Jews has once again worked out their angst. That there really isn’t a “December dilemma.” Until that grocery store conversation.

After my father died, my brother and my mother made the pilgrimage to northern Michigan, to Charlevoix, to my cousin Laurie’s house, who has become the Christmas queen and the BEST hostess together with her husband Richard. They made gingerbread houses. Did lots of shopping in a quaint little town. Ate lots of yummy food and a tradition was born. I was not there that first year and I was bitterly homesick. This is the 20^th anniversary of that gathering. And I am not there this year.

There are all kinds of traditions up north. Prime Rib night. Christmas Eve shopping. Bagels and lox brunch with supplies from Village Bagel in Larchmont, NY. lWhitefish sandwiches at the Villager. Soup Night. A trip to see Santa at the real North Pole. (Santa waits for me before setting out on his journey for me to bless the sleigh.) A Christmas afternoon movie. A big Christmas dinner with all the fixings. Some years are different. When the girls were little we had Christmas Eve tea parties with their dolls. Some years Chanukah overlaps with Christmas and we all crowd into the kitchen to light the menorahs. One year we saw deer walking down Laurie’s street. Were they reindeer? One year I gave everybody world peace (I wish that were really true). One year it was a sleigh ride. One year Christmas was a Beach. Another for the dogs. One year we convinced my granddaughter that the red lights on top of cell towers were really Rudolph and we had to drive quickly to beat him to the North Pole. One year everyone had stomach flu. (22 of us!). It is never easy to get there in winter. There is a hill just as you are about driving that is always snow covered. As I write this, I am tearing up. Missing family and friends. And Richard’s cooking.

Christmas morning is always magical. And there is always something that appears under the tree that no body can explain. Santa? Perhaps.

This may surprise you. Santa and Elijah are similar. In some Jewish houses, Elijah actually does more than sip wine at Passover. He delivers gifts to people who welcome him in and offer him food incognito. From a peddler’s sack. Or a horse and a wagon. Sound familiar, no?

My favorite children’s story for Chanukah is “Just Enough Is Plenty. OK, truth be told, I have many favorites. But this one tells the story of a poor family that doesn’t have enough for dreidl gelt or sleigh rides. But they manage to stretch what they have to welcome aunts and uncles for traditional latkes of potatoes and onions. After all, Just enough is plenty, the mother keeps reminding them. Suddenly there is a knock on the door. They welcome in this mysterious guest. Offer him laktes. Remember, just enough is plenty. He gives the kids a couple of coins to play dreidl with and joins them. He spends the night. In the morning, he is gone but his pack remains, with a book of tales about Elijah and enough fabric to jumpstart the father’s tailor business. Remember, just enough is plenty.

That is the spirit of Elijah. The spirit of Saint Nicholas. Giving gifts to the needy. Welcoming everyone. Sharing resources. It is the joy of tikkun olam, repairing the world. It is the joy of gathering sparks of light together.

Some years we have worked at a Christmas dinner. Other years we have adopted a family from an “angel tree.” Some years I have spent being a chaplain in a hospital so others can spend the day with family.

This year I had the opportunity to play Santa (or Elijah?). For real. The house next door to the synagogue had a fire. Two families are now homeless. 13 people. 9 children. Less than a week before Christmas. Everything gone. Clothes. Shoes. IDs. Food (smoke seeps in an contaminates even canned goods, I learned). The police had asked us to open the synagogue that night, in the middle of the night, to be a warming shelter. Our president did so graciously. Gave the kids toys and cookies. Gave the firemen food and water. But our commitment as a congregation did not end there. We have now distributed about $2000 in gift cards, collected quickly and anonymously so that these families can begin to rebuild their lives. We were not the only organizations or individuals to step up.

It is what neighbors do. We are commanded to “Love our neighbors as ourselves.” We are commanded to follow in the ways of G-d. To clothe the naked. To feed the hungry. To visit the sick. To comfort the bereaved. To bury the dead. To be like Elijah. Or Maimonides who taught us much about tzedakah. Maybe even Santa.

I have learned a lot this week. There is an emergency housing gap in the City of Elgin. We are now working on that. Charity doesn’t always get given out equitably. And maybe it shouldn’t. I am still thinking about that. I am also thinking about my investment. If this had happened on the other side of Elgin, would I care as much? Is that fair? Is that right? It is common.

This year there was a serious fire in downtown Charlevoix and the shopping would have been different. I hope for those business owners. This year there is a family wedding in Los Angles over New Year’s and I didn’t think I could be away two weekends in a row. This year with Chanukah starting at the exact same time as Christmas, I didn’t want to leave my congregation for all of Chanukah. People get lonely this time of year. Jews do feel really isolated.

This year I noticed all the old popular Christmas songs that say, “Happy Holidays.” Bing Cosby singing, “Oh there’s no place like home for the holidays.” Frank Sinatra singing, “Happy holidays. May the merry bells keep ringing, happy holidays to you.” There is no war on Christmas, despite some news media attempts to create one. Jews may prefer it if you say, “Happy Chanukah” if you know they are Jewish and celebrate. It is more personal.

As for me, wish me “Merry Christmas” and I will wish you one too. A Christmas filled with light. With peace. With compassion. With love. Where there is enough food for everyone to enjoy. Where just enough is plenty. Where all people are free to celebrate with family and friends however they choose.

All religions have this belief in compassion in common .To me it doesn’t matter whether you celebrate Chanukah or Christmas or winter solstice or something else. It matters that you collect the shards of light and make the world a better plac.. May the convergence of these two holidays this year remind us of our sacred duty, to repair the world, together. Together, we add light to the world and we add holiness and joy.

Maybe lighting the lights together can bring peace. That is my solemn hope.

At the darkest time of the year, this is a season of lights. The lights on houses and trees. The lights in the windows. The lights of the menorah. As light begins to return, may this be a season that is filled with love, laughter and light. May there be a present you really, really wanted, something chosen with love. And a surprise or two. That just might be Santa or Elijah. Because just enough is plenty.

And if you are in northern Michigan, say hi to Santa for me. Tell him I will bless the sleigh next year. Save me some mushrooms Rockefeller, mashed turnips, corn pudding, a piece of pecan pie and one, just one of Richard’s delicious breakfast treats.

Today was a very special day at Congregation Kneseth Israel. Today, which was erev, erev Chanukah, we dedicated a new Ner Tamid, Eternal Light. It was an Eternal Light that the Macabees relit when they rededicated the Temple in Jerusalem after the war in 165 BCE. The word Chanukah itself means rededication.

Throughout the Shabbat morning service I wove in references to dedication and light. The new Ner Tamid, created by artist Claude Riedel in Minnesota is even more beautiful than any picture can do. And his reason for crafting such beauty only adds to the beauty. His grandfather was in Kristalnacht in Germany in 1938. Claude’s personal mission is to take shards of broken glass and fuse them together, creating more wholeness and more light.

Light has a power in Judaism. When G-d made the world, G-d made it full of light. G-d made the sun and the moon. G-d made the stars. The Jewish mystics teach that G-d’s presence filled the whole universe. To make room for creation, G-d first took a deep breath, contracting Himself. In that contraction, all was dark. When G-d said, “Let there be light,” there was light and G-d saw it was good. That light filled ten holy vessels but that primordial light was too bright and it shattered the vessels. The holy sparks were scattered everywhere. We exist to bring those sparks back together again. That is what tikkun olam, repair of the world, means, reuniting the divine sparks.

There is another place where there were shards. After Moses smashed the first tablets of the 10 Commandments, the midrash teaches that the Israelites placed the shards in the Holy Ark together with the whole set of tablets. Estelle Frankel in her book Sacred Therapy, said, “Sometimes we learn to appreciate life’s gifts only after we have lost them.” Ultimately, Frankel concludes, “the whole and the broken live side by side in us all, as our broken dreams and shattered visions exist alongside our actual lives.”[1]

The Israelites wandered in the desert for 40 years. Each time they would set up a mishkan, a portable sanctuary, a dwelling place for G-d. This is where they would meet G-d. As a sign of G-d’s Eternal presence, the Shechinah, there was a lamp. Mishkan and Shechinah have the same root in Hebrew. That lamp was carefully attended so that it was always lit. It was like Lucy’s sign. The doctor is in. If the light was lit, then G-d was in.

There are exacting details of how to make the light, all of gold. This tradition continued in the First Temple and the Second Temple. When the Assyrians desecrated the Holy Temple, the Maccabees fought back.

When I took a class on liturgy with Larry Hoffman he told the story of a woman who explained that light is the symbol of the divine. He wondered how did she know that. She answered it is on page x of the old Union Prayer book. The responsive reading for candle lighting says…
“Come, let us welcome the Sabbath. May its radiance illumine our hearts ad we kindle these tapers. Light is the symbol of the divine. The Lord is my light and my salvation. Lithgt is the symbol of the divine in man. The spirit of man is the light of the Lord. Light is the symbol of the divine law. For the commandment is a lamp and the law is a light.”

She had memorized the reading and internalized the message. Maybe we all have. The rabbis had it right. There is no question that light is powerful. That light brings joy. The new research on seasonal affective disorder would back them up. The more light, the better people feel.

That brings us to Talmud. Last night we talked about the first question in the Talmud. From when can you say the morning Sh’ma. It all has to do with gradations of light. Perhaps when you can distinguish between blue and white, or blue and green, or between a wolf and dog or an ass and wild ass. Or if you can distinguish a friend at the distance of four cubits (Berachot 9b) Light, as you can see, is very important, in how we pray.

I have here a print out of all of the laws of Chanukah in the Talmud and in the Shulchan Arukh, the way the law eventually got codified. We are not going to go through them all but they are available for reference.

The first one is an argument between Rabbi Hillel and Rabbi Shammai. How do we light candles? We know this one. By adding one candle each night. That was Rabbi Hillel’s opinion. But Rabbi Shammai had another idea. He thought on the first night we should light eight and reduce one each day similar to the offerings during Sukkot. The argument of Hillel won because by increasing the light we increase our holiness and our joy. (Talmud, Shabbat 21b)

There are a couple of other important laws on this page of the Talmud. The commandment of Chanukah is to light one light per household. The zealous kindle one light for each member of the household. Yes, that would include every member of the household. Men and women. Why are women obligated to light Chanukah lights, even if it is a time bound mitzvah which women are usually exempt from? Because as the Shulchan Arukh explains, it was because of the women that the miracle happened. In fact, two other things about women and Chanukah. Men, this is important. It is the custom that women do no work while the Chanukah lights burn. So, you are not suppose to start eating until the women are sitting. Really. Also, it is the custom to eat cheese during Chanukah because of the role that Judith played.

Finally, we are supposed to put the chanukiah in the window—or in the courtyard, for all to see, in order to publicize the miracle. Unless it is a time of danger. Then it is sufficient to have it on the table.

This is not a time of danger, although some have argued that it is. So our menorah, not yet a chanukiah, is in our window here. With just the shamash lit. I want you to understand, really, really understand, how each of you is that holy vessel, a clei kodesh, for the divine presence, the divine light that is the connection between light and soul.

Rabbi Goldie Milgram, one of my professors, has written a lovely candle meditation that I shared with Earl Sternfeld’s class last year. He and Debbie rewrote it slightly for a Hadassah Havadalah and it is now on her website.

Sit comfortably. Can everyone see the candle in the window. Stare at it gently. Focus on the flame. “In Your light, we see light. B’or-khah. Neereh Or. In Your light, we see light.”

Look at the candle flame.

The first level of soul is nefesh. The blue core of the flame. This is where you sense your soul and body connect. Place your hand where you sense your soul and body are most connected.

The yellow band of the flame is ruach, the level of your emotions. The layer of anger, joy, sadness, your feelings.

The orange band of the flame is neshamah. You are more than your feelings. You have another level of your soul: your personality, thoughts, memories, opinions, innovations.

The next level, the black farfrizzlings, is the hardest to see, I think. The Chayah, life itself, represents your intuition. This is the quality of the soul that helps you to stay alive during the times when it feels you are crawling on the ground with your fingernails just to survive, to tolerate the sometimes pain of life.

The candle’s heat and light, yechidah. Hard to know where this begins and ends. The is where your soul is unified and undifferentiable from all Being, from G-d. This is where you occupy space in creation. You are needed and particular and contribute uniquely. You are that holy vessel, the clei kodesh, holding the divine light, the divine presence in your very body. Like the unity as the drop of water with the ocean, the leaf is with the tree. You are part of that original light of the divine.

Look carefully at the candle flame, squint softly. Almost close your eyes. Notice whether the light is pointing somewhere. Where is it pointing? When you are ready, open your eyes and return to the room.

After we read Torah, as the introduction to mourner’s Kaddish, I reminded people that my favorite Chanukah song is “Light one candle,” by Peter, Paul and Merry. “What is the memory that’s valued so highly that we keep alive in that flame. What’ s the commitment to those who have died that we cry out they’ve not died in vain.” That became our kavanah.

Light. The power of light. The joy of light. The joy of being in sacred space and sacred time.

[1] Frankel, Sacred Therapy, Jewish Spiritual Teachings on Emotional Healing and Inner Wholeness, Shambhla, Boston, MA, 2005, page 43

Our Torah portion starts today with the word, “Vayishlach.” “And he sent.”

What did he send? He sent messengers. Those messengers hearken back to the messengers from last week, malachim, ascending and descending the ladder. He sent a message that he was coming. This is no surprise attack. Then he sent gifts.

Why? Was he trying to appease his brother? Trying to protect himself? Trying to save his own life? Remember, when last we saw the brothers today, Jacob had stolen Esau’s birthright, and Esau had promised to kill him. Jacob, at the urging of his mother, ran away to Laban’s household. That was 20 years ago! That is a long time to hold a grudge. But Jacob was nonetheless afraid.

This is the season of giving. Most of us will probably give or receive more than one gift this holiday season.

Why? Some of it is because of the gifts that Jesus received in the manger. You wouldn’t show up at a birthday party empty handed. The wise men brought the baby Jesus, gold, frankincense and myrrh. My colleague, Rabbi David Paskin, himself a singer songwriter, on a cold December day stood outside the old Academy for Jewish Religion back on 86^th Street in New York and explained, his favorite Christmas Carol was “Little Drummer Boy.” The Little Drummer Boy gave a gift from his heart. All he had. A song.

Think back to your favorite gift that you received. What was it?

While Chanukah did not start as a gift giving season, that has become a tradition. Whether you give gifts to the children for 8 nights or handle it some other way, there is now an expectation that the children get gifts. I don’t believe it is just the close proximity to Christmas. I think it is more like the portion we have today. Gift can be a symbol of love.

In our house presents came for Christmas, not for Chanukah. For Chanukah we got a Jewish book and some gelt. One year I remember the bike. One year I remember the Chrisie doll that had hair that “really” grew. One year I remember ice skates and roller skates so no matter what the weather we could skate that morning. These were carefully chosen presents. Chosen with love.

But gifts can’t buy you love. That’s what we learn from the Beatles:

Can’t buy me love, love
Can’t buy me love

I’ll buy you a diamond ring my friend
If it makes you feel all right
I’ll get you anything my friend
If it makes you feel all right
Cause I don’t care too much for money
For money can’t buy me love.

I think that many of our favorite gifts are not tangible. They may be gift of time. The gift of creating memories. The gift of heart. The gift of comfort and solace.

G-d gives us gifts too. Life, the Torah. Solace, Peace, Comfort. As people then said, “Everything.”

What are the gifts that we bring here, to make this place a holy place? Again, people said, our whole-heartedness, our attitude, our time, our service.

Debbie Friedman, of blessed memory, wrote a song, “Holy Place” about those very gifts:

These are the gifts that we bring
that we may build a holy place.
This is the spirit that we bring
that we may build a holy place.
We will bring all the goodness
that comes from our hearts
And the spirit of God will dwell within…..

These are the colours of our dreams
we bring to make a holy place.
This is the weaving of our lives
we bring to make a holy place.
We will bring all the goodness
that comes from our hearts
And the spirit of love will dwell within…..

These are the prayers that we bring
that we may make a holy place.
These are the visions that we seek
that we may build this holy place.
Let our promise forever be strong,
let our souls rise together in song,
that the spirit of God
and the spirit of love,
Shechinah,
will dwell within.

But did Jacob’s gifts work? With thanks to Rabbi Michael Pitkowsky who pulled these quotes for his own d’var Torah this week, maybe yes and maybe no.

“Like somebody who takes a passing dog by the ears is one who meddles in the quarrel of another.” (Proverbs 26:17) Nahman bar Samuel said: This may be compared to the case of a robber who was sleeping on a path, when a man passed and woke him up, saying, “Get up, for there is danger here.” At that he arose and began beating him, at which he [the victim] cried out, “[God], rebuke this wicked man!” “I was asleep,” he retorted, “and you woke me up.” So too did the Holy One, blessed be He, say to him [Jacob]: He [Esau] was going his own way, yet you did send to him, saying, “Thus says your servant Yaakov.” (Gen. 32:5) [Genesis Rabbah 75:3, trans. modified Soncino]

I think this is saying that Jacob should have left well enough alone. In this case it would seem the gifts were not effective.

A later commentary, from the Ramban, had this to say:

“In my opinion this too hints at the fact that we instigated our falling into the hand of Edom [Rome] for the Hasmonean kings during the period of the Second Temple entered into a covenant with the Romans, and some of them even went to Rome to seek an alliance. This was the cause of falling into the hands of the Romans.” (Ramban: Commentary on the Torah, trans. Chavel)

Gifts can change the balance of power. And not always for the better. I grew up learning we should never be a guest at someone’s house and go empty handed. But when I traveled with AJWS to Guatemala we were told to leave the gifts at home. The agencies we were visiting would think they needed to reciprocate and that would put them in an unfair advantage or an awkward position.

At this stage, Jacob doesn’t know whether his gifts will work or not. He puts his wives and children, his riches on one side of the river and crosses over. It is a great piece of military strategy. He will meet Esau alone. He will take that risk alone. He needs some time alone. To think. To pray. To gain courage. It is not quite clear what he is doing there.

Being alone is another gift. But sometimes it can be disturbed by wrestling.

Again, he seems to be in a dream like state. And he wrestles with…who? Himself? A man? An angel? The text calls him a man but the commentaries have lots of ideas.

How many of you have wrestled. With brothers or sisters? Frequently that’s the first wrestling around we do. Or arm wrestling? Finger wrestling? Leg wrestling? We used to have a game called “Saturday morning wrestling.” It was always a chance to blow off some steam.

My spiritual director used to tell me that when I was having difficulty sleeping, when something was really gnawing on me, that was G-d. G-d was trying to tell me something and I should pay attention. A G-d moment. Wrestling is part of the journey. We all do it at some point.

Jacob asks for a blessing. Oh, the irony. The one who tricked his father out a blessing for his brother now wants a new one. And he is given one. And a new name. Israel. Yisrael. One who struggles with G-d and men and prevails. Wrestling becomes a blessing. Wrestling creates a new name. We are all children of Israel, descendants of Jacob. We are all G-dwrestlers.

The ability to dream, to bless, to wrestle are gifts. That is what this place, this very space is. Our sanctuary, our mishkan, is a holy place. A Makom, filled with the Divine Presence, where we can dream and bless and wrestle. Where we can find comfort and solace. Where we can celebrate and mourn. This is what Jacob realized when he said, “G-d was in this place (makom) and I did not know it. “Makom she-libi ohev. The place that my heart holds dear. Sham ragali molikhot oti. There my feet will bring me near.” (Mishnah Tractate Sukkah)

Jacob and Esau meet in the morning. They appear to reconcile and then they go their separate ways, in peace. How can we understand this story in light of the tragedy that is continuing to unfold in Aleppo? How can we understand Aleppo in light of this story? That we must continue to wrestle. That we must continue to be peacemakers.

The midrash, again supplied by Rabbi Pitkowsky, tells us that it is this very portion we need to read to learn how to negotiate:

“Rabbi Yehonatan said: Anybody who wants to placate a king or ruler and doesn’t know their ways and ceremonies should place this parashah in front of them and learn from it ceremonies, behaviors, and placations.” (Midrash Lekah Tov, Vayishlah, 32:5)

After we finished most of musaf, I read the prayer for Aleppo written by Rabbi David Greenstein:

M’rahem `al ha-aretz – M’rahem `al ha-b’ri’ot
You, Who has Compassion on the Earth – You, Who has Compassion on All Creatures
We are overwhelmed as we look upon the carnage and suffering wrought upon the city of Aleppo and its surrounding regions.
And we are appalled that we, your children, are capable of inflicting such suffering upon our own brothers and sisters with heartless cruelty.
We are afraid that our prayers are too feeble and too late to stop the death, the pain and the destruction.
And we are anxious that our own spirits will drown in a sea of despair and hopelessness as we confront the enormity of human evil, human loss, human desperation and human apathy.

Please help all who are suffering to find relief and safety.
Please help those who courageously work to offer aid.
Please help all those who may be able to halt the death and the destruction of life and earth.
Please help us overcome our debilitating thoughts and feelings so that we may become Your agents who treasure every single life and who will create, identify and embrace every single opportunity, however small, to beat back evil and sustain mercy and life.
Rabbi David Greenstein

Then we rose for Kaddish. Using a song that Rabbi David Paskin wrote, after the death of his daughter, my blessing for each of you is”

“Hamakom…may the One who fills all space
Hamakom give us hope and give us strength
Hamakom…be with us and be with them
Hamakom yinachem etchem.”

May the One, The Place comfort you.

Today’s d’var Torah is dedicated to my brother, my younger brother, my only brother, whose birthday is tomorrow. Seems somehow appropriate.

These are the generations, the birthings of Isaac.

Today’s Torah portion is about having enough blessing, enough love to go around. Let me set the stage. After many years of not having a child, Rebecca is finally pregnant but is terribly uncomfortable. Pained. She goes to l’derosh, to seek out, to inquire, to ask of an oracle, of G-d directly, what is going on? G-d answers immediately. “And the Lord said to her: ‘Two nations are in your womb, and two peoples shall be separated from your body; and one people will be stronger than the other people; and the elder shall serve the younger.”

Yes, G-d talked directly to a woman! That’s important for other reasons. But let’s start with looking at this verb l’derosh. It is important. It means that we can seek out. It is also the word that we derive the word midrash from. It is part of how we do Torah study and for me it is how Torah brings meaning to our lives. We seek out that meaning.

Here is part of how. There is a story told about four men who entered pardes, paradise, that’s where the English word comes from. Ben Azzai, Ben Zoma, Acher (Elisa ben Abuyah) and Rabbi Akiva. Ben Azzai looked and died. Ben Zoma looked and went mad. Acher destroyed the plants. Only Akiva entered in peace and departed in peace.

This is an important story because it teaches us that before we go looking for meaning, we needed to be grounded. We need to be firmly rooted. We need to understand the tradition. That’s why it was the tradition that only men who were 40 and married were allowed to study the Kabbalah, Jewish mysticism. Because it was believed that by then, men would be rooted and would not go crazy.

But what was that Pardes they were trying to enter? The rabbis also teach that PaRDeS is an acronym for how we study Torah, that studying Torah itself is paradise. The letters stand for

Pey—the Peshat, the simple, plain meaning of the text.
Resh—the Remez, the hint of meaning
Dalad—The Drash—that verb we are talking about, l’derosh, to seek out, to find the meaning in the gaps of the text, to make midrash.
Samach—the Sod, the hidden, secret, mystical meaning of the text.

This all fits with the idea that there are 70 interpretations of Torah. 70 faces of Torah.

So what I really want to do is look at Esau. We don’t usually. Usually we just say that he is a ruddy, hairy hunter who Isaac loves because he likes the taste of game and Rebecca prefers Jacob who stays by the tents. Oy, choosing favorites as a parent is not good parenting but it is right here!

Rabbi Lord Sacks tells a story of Rav Kook, the first chief rabbi of Israel, who was asked to counsel a parent of someone who had moved further away from traditional Judaism. “He had given his son a good Jewish education. He had always kept the commands at home. Now however the son had drifted far from Judaism. He no longer kept the commandments. He did not even identify as a Jew. What should the father do? “Did you love him when he was religious?” asked Rav Kook. “Of course,” replied the father. “Well then,” Rav Kook replied, “Now love him even more.”

That is abundant love. That is good parenting.

Lord Sacks counsels, “It may be that Isaac loved Esau not blindly but with open eyes, knowing that there would be times when his elder son would give him grief, but knowing too that the moral responsibility of parenthood demands that we do not despair of or disown a wayward son.” As Sacks teaches, even if there are some failures, loving your children, whatever they become, is one, for surely that is how G-d loves us.”

That is abundant love. That is abundant blessing. That is meeting each child, each person where they are. That is good parenting.

So how do we parent today, if we learn from this story that encouraging sibling rivalry is not good. None of us try to play favorites. In the case of my husband, each one felt that they were the black sheep at some point.

One member said that he did it “with shock and awe,” a form of reverse psychology. When one of his kids would complain that he was favoring the other, he would simply say, “because I love (fill in the blank) more. Usually they would stomp away mad or just give him a confused look but they got it and then would laugh.

Yet, we are conditioned not to like Esau because after all, like good theater we KNOW that Jacob is the preferred one. Jacob is the one that is supposed to receive the covenant, the promise of G-d. Jacob is the one that is supposed to inherit. Jacob is the one who is supposed to carry on the covenant. And no less than G-d directly has told us that through the oracle that Rebecca consults.

So Rebecca comes up with the ruse. She doesn’t quite trust G-d enough. She takes matters into her own hands. She sends Esau out to hunt. Jacob presents himself to Isaac who with dim eyes believes that Jacob is Esau bringing him his beloved game. A pot of lentils. No steak in it at all. Isaac is tricked and gives Jacob Esau’s blessing.

Now most of you know that I love steak. My favorite meal is steak, baked potato and asparagus. Yet, when Simon and I got married, we each carried with us into this marriage a well worn cook book, the More with Less Cookbook, written by the Mennonites, a sister church to the Church of Bretheran, headquartered right here in Elgin. It tells us it is possible to have more with less, that by eating more whole grains, beans, lentils, there are enough resources to go around. So included in your weekly hand out is the More with Less Lentil Barley Soup recipe, tweaked by my friend Anne Schwartz. It will be perfect for you tomorrow on the snowy day they are predicting.

Lentils—good protein. Nutritious Cheap. But I am still not sure I would sell my birthright for a pot of lentils. Here is the recipe:

Lentil Barley Soup

2 cups red lentils
3/4 cup pearl barley
2 carrots, diced
1 large onion, chopped
2 stalks celery, diced
8 cups water or stock
1/2 tsp. oregano
1/2 tsp. cumin
1/4 tsp. black pepper
1/2 tsp. red pepper flakes (optional)
1 1/2 tsp. salt

Add all ingredients together in a soup pot, bring to boil and simmer one hour. Stir occasionally. The soup thickens as it cooks, so add water as needed to desired consistency.

Very hearty, thick soup… and it freezes well!
From the More with Less Cookbook and Anne Schwartz

Esau returns and is shocked that the blessing, his blessing has been given to Jacob. Isaac wonders what he is to do. He doesn’t think he can reverse his blessing to Jacob. He has already given it away. Never has it been done that way before. But Esau pleads. Then Isaac rises above his own understanding of tradition. And he crafts a new blessing, just for Esau.

“Behold, of the fat places of the earth you shall dwell, and of the dew of heaven from above;  And by your sword shall you live, and you shalt serve your brother…”

Last night we talked about blessings. In Hebrew, the word for blessing comes from the same word as knee, berech, because when we bless, we bend our knee. It is an acknowledgment that a blessing comes from G-d more so than it comes from us. It is more than a wish, precisely because it is connected to the Divine. In fact, our word daven, to pray in Yiddish, comes from the Latin for Divine. So what we are really doing is channeling G-d. A blessing is a gift from G-d.

The rabbis suggested that we say 100 blessings a day. Surely there are 100 things that we are grateful for each and every day. What we are doing, when we recite those blessings is to acknowledge that each of those is a gift from G-d, a blessing.

And because ultimately those blessings come from G-d, therefore there is enough blessing to go around. There is enough love to go around.

That is what this painful episode of Isaac and his sons Esau and Jacob comes to teach us. Isaac can love both. Isaac can bless both. There is abundant blessing. Abundant love. But we have to remember that there is enough to go around.

The blessing that Isaac creates for Esau is interesting. It begins the same way that Jacob’s begins, with the dew of the heavens. Rabbi Rachel Barenblat, the Velveteen Rabbi points out that “our tradition understands as a symbol of grace.” A blessing is a gift from G-d, like dew that falls from the heavens, G-d’s grace. Torah too is like dew for that reason. She adds, “Dew is the sustaining abundance that arises even in the desert, and grace is everyone’s birthright even when we’re in tough spiritual places. We too can receive Isaac’s blessing of dew: sustenance and nourishment for our tender places, kindness and wisdom to balm our sorrows and uplift our hearts.”

There is enough blessing to go around. There is enough love to go around. Even for us today.

We learn this from Rabbi Harold Kushner. One of the books he wrote after his iconic When Bad Things Happen to Good People is How Good Do We Have To Be. I reread this one every year. He contends that most of us have “a primal fear that our parents don’t have enough love for us all, and someone else may be getting a part of our share. Later in life when we are passed over for a promotion, when our doctor or our clergyman gets our name wrong, when someone pushes ahead of us in line, we may respond with a disproportionate sense of hurt because the experience reawakens within us childhood feelings that our parents may love someone else more than they love us.”

Yet what if that person your parents loved more, or so you thought, is your very own brother. And what if he thinks your parents loved you more and he is really, really angry and has threatened to kill you. Can you love him then?

Yesterday I had a unique opportunity, a blessing really, to participate in the dedication of new prayer space at Advocate Sherman. It was a brief ceremony where Christians, Jews, a Muslim and a Hindu all prayed. No one felt left out. The space is beautiful, right near the entrance, reminding all that faith and prayer can be an important part of healing. Doctors, nurses, hospital administrators, hospital chaplains, clergy from Elgin all participated. I read Psalm 30, a song for the dedication of the Temple, and taught that Chanukah means dedication. Perhaps the most poignant moment was seeing the Chief Medical Officer, Jewish, sitting next to a Muslim doctor on one side and a Hindu doctor on the other side.

There is enough love to go around. There is enough blessing to go around. But it wasn’t always this way. This very text has been used to teach that Christianity supplanted Judaism since it is the “younger brother” The book Elder and Younger Brothers: The Encounter of Jews and Christians by Eckardt and the work of the Vatican Council has done much to open up interfaith dialogue and re-establish the covenants of the “brothers”, Judaism and Christianity on equal footing. Nonetheless, the deep theological work that has been done has not always filtered down to lay people.

Precisely because there is enough love to go around. There is enough blessing, Now more than ever, it seems to me, we need dialogue, not isolation.

When I first applied to rabbinical school, a professor on the admissions committee asked me whether I thought there was a third covenant. I misunderstood the question and thought he was asking if there was some combined, third covenant which was outside of my ability to imagine at the time. That was not the question. He turned out to be Judaism’s leading scholar on Islam and he wanted to know how I regarded Muslims.

Later commentaries on this text give us a partial answer. G-d forbids the Israelites to wage war on Esau’s descendants, the Edomites.

“Give the people these orders: “You are about to pass through the territory of your brothers the descendants of Esau, who live in Seir. They will be afraid of you, but be very careful. Do not provoke them to war, for I will not give you any of their land, not even enough to put your foot on. I have given Esau the hill country of Seir as his own.” (Deut. 2:4-5)” And Moses commands the Israelites: “Do not abhor an Edomite [i.e. a descendant of Esau], for he is your brother.  (Deut. 23:8)”

So the event yesterday at Sherman was just perfect. We cannot hate an Edomite—for he is our brother. He is Esau. He is each of us. We are all created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d.

Each of us have had times when we are Jacob, scheming, dreaming, climbing a ladder to reach what we think is ours. Sometimes two steps forward and one back, up and down trying to reach higher levels of holiness. Sometimes we are Rebecca, trying to make sure that our children inherit what is rightfully theirs, arguing, advocating, being a good Jewish mother. Sometimes we are Isaac, nearly blind, wanting to believe, enjoying our meal, and learning to break out of our preconceived notions, learning to think outside the box. And sometimes we are Esau. Cheated, mistreated.

Our tradition teaches us, “Hiney Ma Tov Umanaim Shevet Achim Gam Yachad. How good and how pleasant it is for brothers to dwell together.” (Psalms 133) Isaac and Ishmael. Jacob and Esau.

Today we are participating in something special, My d’var Torah and our Torah discussion are dedicated to the Academy for Jewish Religion, my seminary, which is celebrating its 60^th anniversary this year. There are now 193 alumni serving the entire spectrum of the Jewish community. Rabbis and cantors train together for positions in the Orthodox, Conservative, Reconstructionist, Reform, Renewal, Independent world. We are pulpit rabbis and cantors, educators, chaplains, university professors, and more. The slogan is “Ordaining rabbis and cantors for all Jewish communities.” And I stand here this morning proudly in my AJR Tallit since being an AJR rabbi is an especially good fit for this independent synagogue that prides itself on embracing diversity. We can talk more about this at Kiddush which the Kleins are sponsoring in honor of AJR’s anniversary.

Today’s Torah portion starts with a gap. In the last scene, Abraham returns to Beer Sheva after the near sacrifice of Isaac. Some other year we will explore more fully what happened on top of that mountain. Abraham returns to Beersheva.

But then it says, “These are the years of the life of Sarah. Sarah was 100 and 20 and 7 and Sarah died.” The portion is called Chayyei Sarah, the Life of Sarah. Not the death of Sarah, yet this portion starts with her death.

Here is the surprise. The gap in the text. And Abraham buries her in Kiryat Arba, not Beersheva. How does she get from Beer Sheva to Kiryat Arba? It is some 40 miles away. The text is silent. The commentaries are strangely silent. This gap then becomes ripe for midrash. Stories about the text the fill in the holes. Again the classical midrash are strangely silent. We will come back to that gap.

This text starts with her obituary. Sarah was one hundred years and twenty years and seven years. The rabbis do ask the question, why the repetition of the word “years.” It could say Sarah was 127 years old. It must come to teach us something because there are no extra words in the Torah. They decide that when she was twenty she was as beautiful as she was at seven, and at 100 she was as blameless, without sin as she was at 20. (Bereshit Rabbah 58:1)

Let’s think about that for a moment. How would you like your own obituary to read? That you are beautiful? Sinless? Something else? It is a really important question. Some people even do this as a writing exercise which we won’t do here today but I encourage you to go home and try. Meanwhile, what would yours say? A discussion ensued and it included things like, “She was kind.” “A good parent” “A good sense of humor.” “Overcame much” “Determined” “Worked hard.” “A good provider.” “A family man.”

We noted that there were no material things on the list. Nothing like an old t-shirt of my husband’s that said, “He who dies with the most fonts wins.” Coming off of Thanksgiving, we were grateful for much.

We learn important things from this text. “Abraham came to Kiryat Araba, now Hebron to cry and to eulogize.” So we know that it is OK to cry at a funeral. In my family, we were pretty straight laced, and crying didn’t come easily. It wasn’t really allowed. I sang in the temple choir and we did a production of Free to Be You and Me. One song was “It’s alright to cry.” That song was a revelation to me. But then my father died. I did a eulogy, struggled to control my emotions, could barely see the words on the page and sat back down next to my mother who said, “But you didn’t cry.” So cry. It’s all right. The Bible says so. Marlo Thomas says so. Even my mother says so.

We learn that it is important to tell stories about the deceased. To give a eulogy.

How do we do this? Abraham is our model for this as well. It is said that his eulogy of Sarah was the passage we know as Eishet Chayil, A Woman of Valor. Usually we subscribe the writing of Proverbs to Solomon.

A woman of valor–seek her out, for she is to be valued above rubies.(or pearls)
Her husband trusts her, and they cannot fail to prosper.
All the days of her life she is good to him.
She opens her hands to those in need and offers her help to the poor.
Adorned with strength and dignity, she looks to the future with cheerful trust.
Her speech is wise, and the law of kindness is on her lips.
Her children rise up to call her blessed, her husband likewise praises her:
“Many women have done well, but you surpass them all.’
Grace is deceitful and beauty vain, but a woman loyal to God has truly earned praise.
Give her honor for her work; her life proclaims her praise.

This is Sarah’s life. She follows Abraham to Canaan. She follows him again to Egypt where he describes her as beautiful. She is barren and comes up with a solution. She rushes to feed her guests and gives a portion to her maidens. She laughs when she is told she will have a baby even though she is so old. This is a pretty good eulogy for Sarah. So tell the stories. Use Eishet Chayil as a base. Don’t be too grandiose or too belittling. Your words, however, should make the mourners cry, because that is part of the healing process.

From this portion we also learn that Abraham buries his dead. He sought out a cave and purchased it from the men of the town. The men offer to give him the choicest place and he says that he will pay for it. 400 shekels. The first land contract, if you will. And that is important. It is one of the clear indications that Israel has a claim to the land. Abraham purchased it. It was not a gift.

But we still have a problem in our text. Why did Sarah die and why is she in Kiryat Arba?

The rabbis teach that she died from grief. From shock. One midrash has it she didn’t even hear the whole story, just that he was taken to the mountain. Another has it as joy and relief that he was spared. It is a direct response to learning about the Akedah, the binding of Isaac. Now I am not sure whether that is grief or fear but imagine having your son, the one you have waited for you entire life, the one you believe G-d promised you, taken away and almost sacrificed. What emotions would you have? Anger, fear, confusion, grief, relief might all be included.

There is one more gap that we have to wrestle with. The text is again silent. What happens to Isaac? The text tells us: “Abraham then returned to his servant lads; they got up and traveled to Be’er Sheva, and Abraham settled in Be’er Sheva.” Is Isaac there? Generations of rabbis, commentators of all religions, scholars have tried to figure that out.

Later in today’s parsha we get some of that answer. Abraham arranges for a wife for Isaac. When Rebecca arrives Isaac is meditating in the field, whatever that verb means. He raises his eyes and sees her. She alights from her camel. They go to Sarah’s tent and he loves her—the first mention of love in the Bible—and he is comforted from his mother’s death

It seems that Abraham didn’t ask Sarah before he took Isaac to Mount Moriah. Or maybe as one midrash suggests, he said he was taking Isaac to a yeshivah. (Pirke d’Rabbe Eliezar 31) Or worse, as some of the midrashim written during the Crusades suggest, that Isaac actually died on Mount Moriah. This story became the model of Kiddush HaShem, Sanctification of the Name, where Jewish parents were forced to kill their own children or have them forcibly converted. Others see the very text as a polemic against child sacrifice. But neither answers the question, where is Isaac. Where is Sarah? Either way, as a mother, I would not be happy. I do not think I could live with that grief.

My colleague Rabbi Jonathan Kligler at the Woodstock Jewish Congregation in Vermont has a modern interpretation that resonates with me. When he first meets Rebecca the text says, “Now Isaac was coming from the direction of Be’er Lachai Roi, for he was living in the Negev”. That’s odd. That’s where Hagar ran away to when Sarah was mistreating her. And at that very spring, that is where Hagar first names G-d, “El Ro’I, the G-d that sees me.” This is the spring that Hagar and Ishmael return to one when Abraham at Sarah’s command banish them to the wilderness. And this, we now learn is where Isaac is living after the Akedah. Kligler says that it means that Isaac and Ishmael loved each other. That Isaac’s heart was broken when Hagar and Ishmael were banished. Ishmael was his brother. Hagar a second mother. He wanted to make his family whole again. At some levels every family is broken and in need of that wholeness. In his midrash, Isaac is doing teshuvah with Ishmael, the hard work of repair and reconciliation that we talk about at the High Holidays but is accessible to us year round.

It is an interesting read. We know that they did reconcile. The two of them return to Kiryat Arba to bury their father Abraham together. That gives us hope. That Isaac and Ishmael can come back together. And then Isaac settles in Ber Lachai Ro’I, the place where we are really seen, where we are known for who we really are, where we know that we are all children of the Divine, created in the Divine image and loved by a Divine love, a love that heals, and blesses and makes whole.

Unfortunately, that knowledge comes too late for some. We are told that the years of the life of Sarah were one hundred and twenty and seven. And Sarah died. Compared to her husband Abraham, this is a premature death.

So here is my midrash

And they went down the
Mountain
together.

Both Abraham and Isaac

And together they returned

To Beersheva.

How could she have stayed
When she learned what Abraham had done,
When she learned how G-d had tested Abraham
how nearly she had lost her son, her only the son, the one she loved
How nearly she had lost Isaac,
The one that G-d had promised to her.

And when Sarah learned all this,
She ran away.
What G-d could, would demand this of her, of any mother?
In fact, never even asked her,
Just told Abraham to take their son
To a mountain G-d would show
Take him and offer him as a sacrifice
Like a ram.
She could imagine Isaac’s fear
When he saw the knife poised in Abraham’s hand
And he realized he was to be the ram.
And Abraham, her husband, he was no better than G-d,
Maybe even worse.
He did it without questioning,
Without wondering why
Without asking G-d
Without consulting Sarah.

And so she fled.
She would go home
To where her family was
Where everything was familiar,
The land, the people, the gods
Not like this strange land that Abraham had brought her to,
Like this strange G-d who demands everything,
Even her son.

And on her way Sarah died in Kiryat Arba,
Now Hebron,
Even though the text does not tell us why here
We can imagine Sarah’s suffering
At the disintegration of her family

And the years of Sarah’s life were
One hundred and twenty and seven
And Abraham and Isaac came to Hebron
To mourn her.

The challenge for any rabbi, any teacher really, is take old stories, and find something new to teach. When you find that moment of insight, of clarity, it is wonderful. It is that aha moment. That light bulb. This portion is one of those portions. There is so much in it and we know the stories so well. But we read them every year to plumb their depths. To go deeper. To have that aha moment.

Abraham is sitting at the opening of his tent at the heat of the day. Not like today which began with snow here in Elgin. He is recovering. He is hurting. This is right after his circumcision.

From this we learn that even G-d, in the guise of a messenger, an angel comes to visit Abraham when he is sick, recovering from his circumcision. We therefore, in striving to be like G-d, have an obligation to visit the sick.

He looks up and he sees three men approaching. He warmly welcomes them. And races to serve them together with his wife Sarah.

From this we learn the importance of audacious hospitality. Serve everyone. Because some of your guests may be angels, messengers.

From this we learn that each messenger only has one job to do. A discreet task. Do one job and do it well. One came to visit the sick—Abraham after the circumcision. One came to announce the conception and birth of Isaac and one is sent to warn Sodom and Gemorah.

From this we learn, we too should find one thing to do and do it well. Find one thing you are concerned about and concentrate on that. Focus. Gather your energy. Work on it passionately. Frederick Buechner says that the place that G-d calls us “is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” Find that place.

From this portion we learn that G-d shades the truth in order to be kind. Sarah laughs when she find out she will have a child. “Really,” she asks, when I and my husband are so old?” When G-d repeats this story to Abraham, G-d omits the part about Abraham being too old. We learn that anything is possible with G-d. We also learn a way of communicating. Is it necessary? Is it truthful? Is it kind? If it is not all three we don’t have to say it. In fact, using G-d as our model, we shouldn’t say it.

And all of this is just in the first chapter of our portion this morning.

What I really want to teach is about Abraham arguing with G-d. How many of you have ever been angry, really, really angry with G-d? It is OK. We learn this from Abraham. What we also need to learn is how to channel that anger and use it constructively.

We know that Noah was a righteous man in his generation but that Abraham was a righteous man for all the generations. He wasn’t perfect and that shows up later in our story. But right here, right now, he has the audacity to argue with G-d.

My father’s definition of a Jew is something who questions, thinks and argues. That starts right here. Abraham is passionate about arguing for the safety of Sodom and Gemorah. He negotiates with G-d. If there are 50 righteous people, will you destroy the cities? What about 40? Twenty? What about 10? If there are 10 righteous people will You still destroy the city?

Abraham is not the only person who argues with G-d.

Moses argued with G-d after the sin of the Golden Calf. He had the audacity to challenge G-d and remind G-d that these were G-d’s people, and if G-d destroyed them, what would the Egyptians think. Yep, the old “what will the neighbors say” argument. And it worked.

Like Abraham, Moses was a righteous person.

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev did. He challenged G-d to a law suit one Rosh Hashanah, to an actual beit din, court of Jewish law, where he put G-d on trial. He argued that G-d had no right to prolong the Jewish people’s exile from the land of Israel when other more sinful nations lived in peace:

“I do not know how to ask You, Lord of the world, and even if I did know, I could not bear to do it. How could I venture to ask You why everything happens as it does, why we are driven from one exile into another, why our foes are allowed to torment us so. But in the Hagadah, the parent of the “one who does not yet know how to ask” is told “it is incumbent upon You to disclose it to the child.” And Lord of the world, am I not Your child? I do not ask You to reveal to me the secret of Your ways—I could not stand it! But show me one thing, show me what this very moment means to me, what it demands of me, what You G-d are telling me through my life at this moment. I do not ask You to tell me why I suffer, but only whether I suffer for your sake.”

Like Abraham, Levi Yitzchak was a righteous person.

Eli Wiesel uses this for his basis of “The Trial of G-d” in which he describes a scene he witnessed as a teenager in the concentration camps. Three sages put G-d on trial for the Holocaust and found G-d guilty. After announcing their guilty verdict, they announced that it was time for mincha, the afternoon prayers.

Like Abraham, Eli Wiesel was a righteous person.

From this, we have learned that my father was right. It is OK for Jews to argue. Even to argue with G-d.

But we learn more.

From this we learn that we need 10 adult Jews to make a minyan, for a community. This summer when we drove through Nebraska, we drove through a town with 14 residents. I don’t think I could live there. Too small. Way too small. I’m not sure what that magic number is, but 14 is too small.

Based on this very portion, in traditional Jewish law a minyan, a community, is a minimum of 10 adult Jewish men. Over the age of 13. You need 10 for a full service, To say Barchu, To chant the Amidah outloud. To recite Kaddish. To read Torah.

Today, and for decades, this congregation has counted women as full members of the kahal, of the congregation. If we have 10 Jews present at a service, male or female, we do all the parts. Yet at least once a year a visitor will ask if we are counting women. I have developed a stock answer, which is that we do count women and not just because I am a rabbi who happens to be a woman, but if you only count men I am sure there will be enough. Occasionally, since we embrace diversity, we will have a member who only is comfortable counting men for a shiva minyan or something and again we make sure that happens.

But what if the number is not 10? I am not talking about the tradition of counting the Torah as the 10^th a younger child holding a chumash. What if we look at this teaching from Pirke Avot,

“Rabbi Chalafta the son of Dosa of the village of Chanania would say: Ten who sit together and occupy themselves with Torah, the Divine Presence rests amongst them, as is stated: “The Almighty stands in the congregation of G‑d” (Psalms 82:1). And from where do we know that such is also the case with five? From the verse, “He established His band on earth” (Amos 9:6). And three? From the verse, “He renders judgment in the midst of the tribunal” (Psalms 82:1). And two? From the verse, “Then the G‑d-fearing conversed with one another, and G‑d listened and heard” (Malachi 3:16). And from where do we know that such is the case even with a single individual? From the verse, “Every place where I have My name mentioned, I shall come to you and bless you” (Exodus 20:21). (Pirke Avot 2:6)

Noel Paul Stookey, the Paul of Peter, Paul and Mary, seems to draw on this verse for his Wedding Song,

“For whenever two or more of you are gathered in his name. There is love. There is love.” Love is another name for G-d.

And it is in this very parsha that the word love, ahava first appears in the Torah. At another moment, when you might think Abraham would argue with G-d, he seems to be silent. “Take your son, your only son, the one you love, take Isaac…” The one you love. Asher ahavta. Jews, Muslims, and Christians have argued about this passage, just 19 verses for millennium. I am still reading the book, But Where is the Lamb. Does it show Abraham’s obedience to G-d? His unconditional love for G-d? What kind of G-d would make such a horrific demand? What kind of father would comply? The midrash argues that Abraham DID question G-d. It is a dialogue. Take your son. But I have two sons. Take your only son. But they are each the only son of their mother. Take the one you love. But I love them both. Take Isaac.

My colleague, Rabbi Tom Samuels taught this weekend in the name of Rabbi Kula, “There’s madness in imagining what we would be willing to give in order to finally and unambiguously prove our love. And there is madness in imaging what we would need in order to clearly and unequivocally know that we are loved.” Samuels continues to ask the hard questions, “Are we all not similar, at least in some ways, to both Abraham and to God, in our own relationships? In our own need to both prove our love to someone else, as well as to assure ourselves of someone else’s love for us? Rabbi Kula continues that ultimately, our basic human condition requires of us to “embrace the fear that we may burn-up in our giving and in our receiving of love.” In the end of the Biblical story, Abraham and God come to their senses. They figure out a compromise, a solution, to save both Isaac’s life as well as their sense of selves. With this in mind, let us work towards finding that ever-elusive balance that straddles being both the giver and the receiver of love.” This is Kula’s and Samuel’s chidush.

This is about relationships. G-d’s to Abraham. Abraham to G-d. Abraham to Lot. G-d’s to the earth. Us with G-d. Rabbi Michael Rothbaum argues about Abraham arguing with the “no less than the Throne of G-d,” that G-d must not slaughter the guilty if innocent are present.” Rothbaum points out that Abraham’s argument is as relevant today as it was then. And the argument is preceded by a speech by G-d, “a speech both to nobody and directly to us, a soliloquy sent on the wind to spread seeds of justice throughout time. “Should I hide from Abraham what I’m going to do” to Sodom and Gomorah, God asks. But — yadativ. “I know him. I’ve built a relationship with him.” And why him? “For the purpose of obligating his children and his household to keep the path of God.” Derech HaShem. The path of God. And what is the path of God? La’asot tzedakah umishpat. To do justice. To make righteousness. The purpose of Abraham’s existence, of Jewish existence? According to God, in the Torah, it’s la’asot tzedakah umishpat. To make justice and righteousness.” This is Rothbaum’s chidush, his new teaching.

Rabbi Heidi Hoover offers this new teaching:

“One of the interpretations of why Abraham doesn’t argue about the Akeidah is that he trusts God that God will somehow take care of Isaac. But how did Abraham develop that trust? If you read the Sodom and Gomorrah conversation as being not Abraham challenging God and demanding that God live up to a standard of justice, but Abraham being shaken and disturbed at the thought of all that destruction, and asking questions to understand God’s intention and what justice is for this God. God reassures Abraham that even a tiny minority of innocent people would be saved, even though it would leave a much huger number of wicked people alive. In my reading, God would have done this anyway, and is not agreeing to requests from Abraham, but giving Abraham information about God’s intention. So Abraham learns about what God means by “justice” in that conversation, and that God will go to great lengths to save the innocent. That’s what develops the trust that allows him to follow God’s command re: Isaac. Knowing Isaac is innocent, he knows God will somehow save Isaac.” This is Hoover’s chidush.

From this portion we learn one more thing. At least. Here Is my chidush. Abraham argued to save Sodom and Gemorah just because they were human beings. They were not Israelites. They were not Jews. They were human beings created in the image of G-d. Abraham was arguing not to protect his own self-interests. He was arguing to save the guilty and the innocent. Everyone. Every body.

So what do you do on a cold winter’s night for Kabbalat Shabbat, Friday night services when you have eight adult Jews and two pastors? One of those pastors had recently lost his wife and he came because he wanted to say Kaddish, to experience Kaddish? I knew them personally and knew them to be righteous. What I did was teach the Pirke Avot text I just shared and talked about the Abraham arguing to save Sodom and Gemorrah for everyone. Then we said Kaddish. That was the chidush, the new teaching.

Recently a congregant approached me. He had been asked to give a talk at his wife’s church on his faith journey and he was perplexed. “Jews don’t have faith journeys,” he told me.

We met for lunch and I helped him prepare his speech. I love this kind of thing. It is one of the best parts of my job. Helping people understand that they are on a journey.

We are talking about this this morning because we are about to read about Abraham. Abraham was on a journey.

“Now the Lord said to Avram: “Go. Go forth. Get out of your country and from the land of your birth and from your father’s house, to the land that I will show you. And I will make you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great and you will be a blessing. And I will bless those that bless you and I will curse those that curse you. All through you all the families of the earth will be blessed.” (Genesis 12:1-3)

It seems to start in the middle of the story. Who is this Abraham? Where did he come from? Why him? Why now? Those are questions worth thinking about.

Abraham is a universal figure, sacred to Jews, Christians and Muslims. I still love Bruce Feiler’s book, Abraham: A Journey to the Heart of Three Faiths. And a new one to me, referenced on the High Holidays, and loaned to me by a congregant, But where is the lamb, about another journey Abraham was on later. I encourage all of you to read that one.

Abraham is not a perfect figure, none of us are. Twice he goes down to Egypt. Twice he pretends that Sarah is his sister, not his wife, putting her at risk. We read one of those incidents today. His relationship with Hagar is, shall we say, interesting. And then there is his relationship with his sons, one he sends out in the desert with only a days worth of bread and water. One he takes to the top of a mountain and almost sacrifices. It is all part of his journey.

Nonetheless, he gave birth to something greater than he. He was the first person to recognize that there is only one G-d. In every middle school history book in America, we learn that Abraham is the father of monotheism. Most Jewish kids hearts’ swell with pride.

The start of that journey wasn’t easy. Let’s look at those three phrases:

Lech lecha. Go forth. Leave. Go to yourself. Perhaps the first “find yourself moment”.
Me’artzecha, From your land, your country.
Me’modeleta, from the place of your birth.
Me beit avicha, from the house of your father. From your family. From everything you know.

Concentric circles. Think about that for you personally. Leave everything you know behind. What would you need to leave behind? In increasingly difficult circles.

This journey is actually backwards from a normal journey. Usually first you leave your house, then your city, then your country. It is hardest to leave your own family. It is one of the Erik Erikson stages of psychological development. You have to be able to differentiate from your parents. You have to become independent.

To a land that I will show you. Yep. You don’t even know where you are going. You’ll know it when you get there. How does he even pack for this kind of jounrey? This is not quite like leaving for college—although that has some of these elements. This is a deeper leaving. A deeper person. Abraham is becoming “self actualized..” This then is the deeper meaning of the words “your land, your birthplace, your father’s house.”

But we can go still deeper. We can dig the wells of the words of Torah still deeper. We learn from the Chassidic commentators that Eretz, the Hebrew word for land, is related to the Hebrew word, ratzon, will and desire. So this is about leaving your natural desires and rising above them. Your birthplace, moledtecha, is about leaving home and the security. Beit Avicha, your father’s house is about being a mature person with transcendent intellect. In the Kabbalah, the intellect is from the “father within man” and rules over feelings and behavior. Being able to master these three areas leads to the pinnacle of achievement, the top of Maslow’s pyramid.

But still higher, off the charts, is a higher self. The highest self. The spark of the Divine, the core of our soul, that G-d breathes into us. That is what G-d wanted to show Abraham. That is the land, the eretz that G-d will show Abraham.

When we look at this deeply, the order now makes sense. When we go through this journey, step by step, then G-d will bless us and make our name great.

Not everyone is on the same journey. Not everyone has the same experience of G-d. And that is OK. We even talk about it in the amidah itself. In the Avot prayer we say, “v’elohei Avraham, v’elohei Yitzchak, v’elohei Ya’akov, the G-d of Abraham, and the G-d of Isaac and the G-d of Jacob. Of course, I add the matriarchs too. English professors want to take a pen to this. Why the extra words? We could just say, “And the G-d of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.” The rabbis teach because each of them, each of us have a different experience, a different understanding of the one G-d.

We are all on a journey. I invite you to think about yours as you listen to one person’s personal journey.

Then we sang Debbie Friedman’s song, “Lechi Lach”:

Lechi Lach
L’chi lach, to a land that I will show you
Lech l’cha, to a place you do not know
L’chi lach, on your journey I will bless you

And (you shall be a blessing) l’chi lach
And (you shall be a blessing) l’chi lach
And (you shall be a blessing) l’chi lach

L’chi lach, and I shall make your name great
Lech l’cha, and all shall praise your name
L’chi lach, to the place that I will show you

l’chi lach
(L’sim-chat cha-yim) l’chi lach
(L’sim-chat cha-yim) l’chi lach

That’s it. The journey is what brings us joy.

I am out of words but I won’t be silent. (On poster board, held up phrase by phrase).

This is the way a YouTube video clip by Alex Bryant https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3JAx99g9P74 began this summer. It went on to say…

Who am I?
Who are we?
Whose side am I on?
The police or the people? Black or white?
Do we have to pick a side?
Both sides have made mistakes.
But the fact remains we are all Americans.
We are all G-d’s children.
We each have each other

Perfect questions for this Kol Nidre. We are all God’s children. Or as we might say, we are all created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d. The challenge is to find that divine spark. Sometimes it is easier than other times.

Show Upstander Cup from Starbucks.

I won’t be silent because our words matter.
Our words matter because we are a people full of words.
Words can hurt or heal. We need to use our words to heal. To bring this fractured world together.

We just chanted the haunting melody of Kol Nidre. All vows. All promises. Are forgiven. From this day until next Yom Kippur. Or from last Yom Kippur until now. Our words matter. Either way. Either translation of those tenses, our words matter.

What is the power of those words? What is the power of my words….

Our words matter. Yet I am out of words. Sometimes the power of Kol Nidre is in the very music itself. Not in the words of this contract.

65% of the sins we will confess with the Al Chet prayer have to do with speech. It is easy to say, “Guard your tongue.” It is another thing to do so. Every week when we read A Woman of Valor, I have done most of the checklist. Every week I feel I have failed at “She opens her mouth with wisdom and the law of kindness is on her tongue.” Just ask my husband about getting ready for guests for Passover at our house. I am not always easy to live with.

I told this story at Selichot and again in Hebrew School this week. Once there were two women gossiping. They went to the rabbi to complain about the other. He, it is always a he, directed them to take a feather pillow into the market place and cut it open and scatter the feather and then return. They did as they were told. They returned to the rabbi. He directed them to go back and collect all the feathers. But that is impossible. So it is with words. Once they are out, they can never be recaptured.

Sometimes it seems impossible to have the law of kindness on my tongue. Sometimes then it is useful to have a structure, a set of rules to make difficult conversations productive and not turn them into screaming matches. This summer I attended a NewCAJE, a professional development conference for Jewish educators, together with Heather and Earl.

My all day Sunday session was on how to have conversations about Israel. At the very beginning, they handed out rules for dialogue from the Hartford Seminary, Building Abrahamic Partnerships:

1. We agree to listen in a way that promotes understanding, rather than listen with the goal of countering what we hear.
2. We agree to listen for strengths so as to affirm and learn, rather than listening for weaknesses so as to discount and devalue.
3. We agree to speak for ourselves from our own understanding and experiences, rather than speak based on our assumptions about others’ positions and motives.
4. We agree to ask questions to increase understanding, rather than asking questions to trip up or to confuse.
5. We agree to allow others to complete their communications, rather than interrupting or changing the topic.
6. We agree to keep our remarks as brief as possible and invite the quieter, less vocal participants in the conversation to speak.
7. We agree to concentrate on others’ words and feelings, rather than focusing on the next point we want to make.
8. We agree to accept others’ experiences as real and valid for them, rather than critiquing their experiences as distorted or invalid.
9. We agree to allow the expression of real feelings (in ourselves and in others) for understanding and catharsis, rather than expressing our feelings to manipulate others and deny that their feelings are legitimate.
10. We agree to honor silence, rather than using silence to gain advantage.

These rules work—whether we are in a classroom, a synagogue board meeting, a parking lot meeting, or building bridges in the wider community. They work, whether we are talking to our spouse, our friends, our neighbor, an employee, a boss. Whether it is a conversation with someone we love or someone we don’t know well or even mistrust. Whether it is Cubs fans and Sox fans, Michigan and Ohio State. Democrats or Republicans. Whether you agree with me personally or not. Here at CKI we strive to create a safe, non-judgmental space.

Once there was a man who left his country under a load of hay with his bride.
Once there was a man who was about to be conscripted. He took someone else’s name and fled the country. This is not the tale of a recent refuge, but it could be.

It is the tale of the original Simon Klein, the one Simon is named for. The one who founded Klein and Mandel Brothers on State Street, that became Mandel Brothers. The one who founded Chicago Sinai. His rabbi, Rabbi Emil Hirsch, who actually used to take a stage coach out from Chicago to help start this very synagogue, was famous for making his congregants uncomfortable.

Hirsch said about the role of the rabbi: “The world waits once more the prophet, would once more hear the word of a nobler view of life than gain and profit and greed…We need once more to feel that humanity is more than a pack of wolves fighting for the carcass by wayside. We need once more the stern sacramental words of duty and obligation, of righteousness and justice. Justice, mark you, not charity…justice we need. Social justice everywhere.” Imagine being an industrial mogul and hearing these words from the rabble rousing rabbi: “Sweatshops are an expedient of hell….your duty is stamp out this barbarous system.“

I stand before you tonight with nothing left to say. With my heart breaking.

I stand before you tonight, like Jonah, an unwilling prophet. Like Isaiah who had a vision of a world redeemed. Like Rabbi Emil Hirsch.

In the Hagaddah that Simon, my Simon compiled, he includes the quote we use every year…for decades…

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

Rev. Martin Niemoller

So on a night when we talk about speech I am pained that maybe I didn’t speak out enough. How do I live with that?

On Yom Kippur, Yom Hakippurim, as it is called in Hebrew, we learn from the rabbis is a day like Purim. Yom, Day, Ha, the, ki, like or as, Purim. How is that possible? Partly because Esther fasts and repents, she puts on sack cloth and ashes and tears her clothes. But maybe more because after some persuasion of Mordechai, she finds her voice. Mordechai tells her that she has to speak up and save her people:

“Do not think that you will escape in the king’s house more than all the Jews. Because if you hold your peace at this time, then relief and deliverance will arise for the Jews from another place…who knows, perhaps you are in this place for such a time as this.”

This congregation, and me as your leader did speak out:

• What if….we had remained silent and we didn’t speak up when widows, orphans and strangers need to welcomed, fed, housed, treated fairly as the Torah tells us 36 times.
• What if…we had remained silent and we didn’t speak up when children were bullied or women were abused
• What if….we had remained silent and we didn’t speak up when people denied the Holocaust.
• What if…we had remained silent and we didn’t speak up when people were massacred in a nightclub in Orlando
• What if…we had remained silent and we didn’t speak up about mass incarceration or systemic racism
• What if…we had remained silent and didn’t speak up when the Black Lives Matter organizers added BDS to their platform
• What if …we had remained silent and we didn’t speak up when people at school board meetings think that this is a Christian nation and that there is only one interpretation of scripture.
• What if we had remained silent and we didn’t speak up about sexual assault and the fact that 1 in 4 women in this country will be assaulted in her lifetime.
• What if….we had remained silent and we didn’t speak up when the Nazi flag appeared at the Kane County Flea Market
• What if….we had remained silent we didn’t speak up when Confederate flags appeared in my neighborhood of South Elgin

What if none of this matters? But it does.

In each of these cases, we followed the path of Esther. We built strong coalitions to work on each topic. We are not alone. Let’s just look at one example. The case of the Nazi flag.

The beginning of the story sounds like a joke. “A rabbi, a priest and a minister walk into a flea market.” But this is not a joke. It is all too real. And every one showed up. On 4^th of July Weekend. On Independence Day The power of their speech brings hope not hatred.

Let me set the stage. On July 3^rd, just after writing about Eli Wiesel’s death and his legacy for Elgin. I was called because a Nazi flag had appeared in Kane County. “Do something!” the caller urged. So I did. I contacted the business by email and requested, firmly and calmly the removal of the flag. It was. Maybe that should be the end of the story. But it is not.

I wrote to the Coalition of Elgin Religious Leaders, our police department and our elected officials. And to the Anti-Defamation League and the Southern Poverty Law Center. That is protocol. Well established protocol both here developed by our safety and security committee and nationally. The people selling the flag have every right to display the flag and sell the flag. That is law. Guaranteed by their first amendment rights.

This is actually the beginning of the story. And it is what makes Elgin great. A Lutheran pastor wrote an impassioned letter. An Episcopal priest showed up at my house and held my hand while we painstakingly researched white supremacists in Kane County. The Catholic chaplain called his friend at the Kane County Fairgrounds, the landlord. A Muslim leader who spoke at our recent vigil for the victims of Orlando sent a simple note, “Repression, Suppression and Oppression can’t be tolerated. May God give guidance to those who are misguided.” A Brethren pastor showed up with raspberry pie and the message delivered with tears in her eyes, that she would lay down her life to protect me and my congregants.

Our Resident Police officer told me, he was already aware and had stepped up patrols. Our mayor and his wife contacted me. Our elected officials, and their staff workers, all reached out.

Keep in mind, this was in a very short time period, less than 24 hours, over a holiday weekend, filled with parades, picnics, barbecues, fireworks, family time. Celebrating this great nation. No one needed to do so because it was in a job description. They did it because it is the right thing to do. Each one played a vital and important role.

The next day was the parade. That a synagogue can walk in the Elgin Fourth of July parade and not worry about safety. Together with a Lao temple, a Hispanic horse troupe, a Unitarian Church, the Boy Scouts, the YWCA, the Boys and Girls Club, high school marching bands. The Democrats and the Republicans running for office. The Fox Valley Citizens for Peace and Justice. 12,000 in the parade. 12,000 watching. As diverse a crowd as you can imagine, reflecting the diversity of Elgin and what is great about this nation.

I wish the story ended there.

Unfortunately, the story doesn’t quite end there either. There is much work still to be done, as a quick glance at Facebook and social media will tell you. This flag was not just war memorabilia being sold but something more sinister if you scratched the surface. There is no doubt that the purveyor is a white supremacist. There is no doubt that recent events in this country have unleashed unparalleled fear and hatred.

We need to continue building bridges. To continue combating hate. In all its forms. Wherever it is. Be it social media or the news media. Or the political arena. We need to speak out wherever there is hate speech. Whether it is a from a political candidate a local business or your neighbor. Whether it is against Jews, Muslims, Blacks, Hispanics, the LGBTQ community. We need to conquer fear with love. Fear with hope. This is the legacy of Eli Wiesel. He said,

“The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it’s indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it’s indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it’s indifference.”

Pirke Avot teaches us,“Lo alecha hamlacha ligmor, v’lo ata bein horin libatel mimena” One is not obligated to finish a task, but one is not free to ignore it” (Pirke Avot 2:21)

There is still plenty of work to do.

When I was struggling to find my voice, like Esther struggled to find hers, I reached out to other rabbis to see what they were planning to say. Many were facing the same struggle. The Chicago Board of Rabbis even had an extra sermon seminar to deal with this. One rabbi, Rabbi David Steinberg, helped me find my voice. He pointed out that the Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur versions of the Amidah some additions. One of those additions is:

“Then will the righteous see and be glad, the upright rejoice, and the pious celebrate in song. For the mouth of injustice shall be shut, and all evil will vanish like smoke — when you remove the dominion of arrogance from the earth.”

This prayer will be my focus for the next 25 hours because it would be arrogant to think that because we have spoken out against injustice the work is done. There is a great deal of work still to be done to heal ourselves, to heal our country and to heal our world, from racism, from anti-semitism, from fear and hatred.

My vow this Yom Kippur is to find the courage to be like Esther. To build bridges. To build hope. To be that Upstander. To not stand idly by while our neighbor bleeds. To use my speech for good.

There is one more way where you opinion counts. At the voting booth. I had threatened to give the shortest High Holiday sermon on record. My directive remains the same. We have an obligation to vote. Go vote.

The Youtube clips ends here:

Now is our time
Our lives are connected
Who are we?
Who are we becoming?
The truth is it is not black or white.
It is dark versus light.
The dark side:
Fear leads to anger.
It doesn’t have to be this way.
Love leads to forgiveness.
Let’s start again.
For us.

That is what Yom Kippur is about. Starting over. Reconciliation. Renewal. Hope. Love. That is what the power of speech can do. That is what finding your voice can do.

Gmar chatimah tovah. May the words of our mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to You. May the power of our speech allow us to combat injustice everywhere. And may our words be as light and gentle as a feather.