My husband is in the kitchen, making pasta with homemade summer vegetable sauce. It smells…divine…

Recently someone asked me how many American Jews fast for Tisha B’Av, a full fast day in Judaism. It is the saddest day of the Jewish calendar with a lead up of “Three Weeks”, when the walls of Jerusalem were first breached. During the Three Weeks we mourn the destruction of both Temples, the expulsion of the Jews from Spain, the fall of the Warsaw Ghetto and other things. If it was bad, and happened to the Jews, it happened on Tisha B’Av, including the death of my mother-in-law.

So we mourn. We fast. We refrain from wearing leather. Eating meat. Hair cuts. Musical concerts. Swimming. (Instructional swim at camp is OK, but not free swim.) In the heat of the summer. No fun.

Or, maybe not. My own practice is to forgo the meat during the 9 days of Av, but not on Shabbat. Mourning is suspended during Shabbat. Fasting? That is more complicated. This is after all Judaism and with two Jews you get three opinions.  I promised I would write before Tisha B’Av to help others decide.

Rabbi Elyse Goldstein wrote this week that she will not be fasting. http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/why-im-not-fasting-on-tisha-bav/

Her explanation makes sense. Similarly to her, I learned about Tisha B’av as part of the Reform Movement youth program, the summer I was in Israel on a NFTY Summer Tour. It was one of the most meaningful services I had ever been to–and I still have my hand-outs from that very service. Sitting on the floor, with only candle light, soft, mournful music and the haunting strains of Lamentations. Just within walking distance of the walls of Jerusalem and the Kotel itself. The next morning we went to Yad V’shem, the Holocaust Museum. The connection was clear. At least to this 16 year old.

And because this is Judaism, here is the counter point: Rabbi Yoseif Bloch tells us exactly why he IS fasting:  http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/why-im-fasting/

And because I have members who are staunchly Conservative Jews, I found this teshuva, responsa: http://www.schechter.edu/responsa.aspx?ID=53 which concludes we are obligated to fast on Tisha B’av and Yom Kippur but the minor fasts, not so much.

Except that only 57% of Israelis themselves fast on Tisha B’av. http://www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-3428868,00.html

So what will I be doing. Exactly what I learned about in Israel all those many years ago. It was suggested that since the founding of the State of Israel, maybe just maybe we should only fast until noon.

That is not quite enough for me. So here is my Tisha B’av plan. A study session/service at 8:30 Saturday evening where we will read the Book of Lamentations, sing those same mournful songs that I learned when I was 16 and we only sing on Tisha B’av, study the musaf service and its implications today as well as some of the most recent, troubling stories to come out of Israel today.

In the morning, I will continue studying, with a small group of people who are evaluating High Holiday prayer books. And at noon, I will break my fast.

Like Rabbi Goldstein, that does not mean I will sit down a feast. That would be inappropriate. Unseemly. Rather I will spend the afternoon engaging in activities of Tikkun Olam.

You see, the Talmud teaches that the Second Temple was destroyed because of sinat chinam, baseless or senseless hatred. (Yoma 9A) Instead, I will try to find ways as Rabbi Abraham Kook suggested of Ahavat Chinam, Baseless Love. http://ravkooktorah.org/TISHA-AV-70.htm

(And I just noticed that this is 586 words. The First Temple was destroyed in 586BCE)

Last Sunday I was at a conference for Jewish educators, NewCAJE where I attended an intensive workshop on how we educate about Israel. 6 hours about what can be a difficult topic. Much of it was about the process of how to have a difficult conversation. It seemed more appropriate to adult study sessions than after school religious school. Yet I was grateful to study with recognized scholars and activists and in listening to them and my classmates I learned much.

Yehezkel Landau’s guidelines on how to have a difficult conversation are masterful and expect to see them make an appearance either for Tisha B’Av which was never far from my mind during the class or for Selichot where we will be looking as speech. Joyce Schriebman’s gentle, compassionate prodding and her own background in non-profit management made the class practical as well as insightful.

At some point Sunday afternoon I said, “I think that many of these topics are difficult precisely because they are not black and white but shades of grey. Sometimes people are more uncomfortable with grey. People in my congregation have a hard time with ambiguity.”

Although I often argue that Judaism is a layered tradition, with many answers to each question, I didn’t realize I was going to be called upon to live out that essential truth just so quickly.

On Thursday, the Elgin community got word that our police chief, Jeff Swoboda, has signed onto a proposal for SmartGun technology. He joins 102 other city leaders across the country to do so. A project sponsored by IAF and Don’t Stand Idly By, it is a bi-partisan proposal to make guns safer. It does not limit access to guns or impinge on people’s second amendment rights. It is a proposal I have supported for more than a year since I first learned about it from the Chicago Board of Rabbis. I was pleased to be able to sit in on meetings with the chief and the mayor. The announcement made me actually cry. It seemed like a piece of the puzzle and something I have been working towards for more than two decades. That’s consistency.

Let me explain why. My first finance was killed by a terrorist bomb in Lebanon in 1983. There could be two responses to that. And believe me, I tried both. I could become militant and seek revenge—my first approach—and try to justify the “incursion” into Lebanon. Or I could become a peacenik. I could blame Sharon for Yuval’s death—which I did for years. I could become bitter, angry, withdrawn. Or I could find another way.

I decided I had to find another way. And for years I have worked for peace in the Middle East. For peace on the streets at home. That’s consistency.

When I sat in that class last Sunday the first exercise, the very first question in fact, in writing, was on a page entitled Assumptions. “How do I think and feel about Israel? The Israelis? The Israeli government?” And the answer is “It’s complicated.” It is not black and white. And I had that uh-oh feeling. Maybe I shouldn’t be in this class. Maybe it will be too difficult. Too emotionally draining. I chose to stick it out. That’s consistency.

One way for me to cope with Yuval’s death. And I do mean cope. Even 30 years after the fact it still brings me pain. It still makes me wonder “what if.” One way is to work so that no other family, no mother, no sister, no wife, no finance, has to go through the pain I went through. That has meant trying to engage in meaningful ways with Palestinians and Lebanese. That means reading everything I could on the topic. That means, as a victim of gun violence, working on gun safety. That means writing a thesis on the 13 Attributes of the Divine and looking at the Israeli-Palestinian question. That means when doing Israel education in Hebrew Schools including both the David Project and J-Street, even at the risk of my own job.

Let me be really clear. I am pro-Israel. Israel is my spiritual home—even though I have had such mixed experiences with the State of Israel. Being told because my name is Margaret that I was not Jewish (there is more to that story—but even last Sunday someone raised that question). Being a victim of a violent crime that involved guns. Losing Yuval. These are not positive experiences. I could have walked away. I could not.

Instead, I have learned that I can hold more than one truth at a time. I can be proud of Israel and critical of some of its policies. I can say that Black Lives Matter and Police Lives matter at the same time. In fact, own of my high holiday sermons was titled “All Lives Matter,” and at the time I thought I was original. All lives matter. Black lives and police lives. Israeli lives and Palestinian lives.

No one should pick up a knife and stab a 13 year old girl to death in her bed. Period. No child playing on her porch should be shot. Period. And the police need to look again at its training and procedures in the wake of yet another shooting. Period. These are not mutually exclusive thoughts. It is not black and white.

This week, just as we were getting the word that Chief Swoboda had signed on, we also received the news that the Black Lives Matter movement had adopted a platform that includes a plank linking Israel with genocide and apartheid. We have seen this language before. From the UN. From the BDS movement. And while I have issues with some of Israeli policies, this is wrong. Period. This is anti-semetic. And it hurts. It feels like a personal betrayal.

However, ultimately I believe it is an educational moment—even for me. It won’t be easy. I reached out to both a black Baptist minister and a black school board member. They were not aware of the plank and were aghast. 60 organizations who are part of the Black Lives Matter movement, a coalition, did not want to comment on it on Friday, according to the Washington Post. Meanwhile Jewish organizations with whom I have deep connections, were distancing themselves quickly and painfully.

Coalition building is difficult. It is messy. It takes work over lots of time. It takes being able to live with ambiguity. With shades of grey. And for me that is authentic.

So this afternoon, I will be a Unity March. It fits with every thing I have worked on since Yuval’s death. I will be there with my Congregation Kneseth Israel t-shirt. This rally was planned by some of our young, emerging, black leaders. Together with the Elgin Police Department , the Elgin Human Relations Commission, Elgin City of Peace and the Coalition of Elgin Religious Leaders. I have been working with each of those groups for four years.

This event is not about Israel. It is about co-existence. It is about unity. It is about peace. It is about emerging leaders responding to a tragedy, authentically, from within their own experience, their own pain, their own grief.

Where else would I be on a Sunday afternoon? That is consistent and authentic to who I am.

Update: Kudos to Michael Cole and Christopher Cole for running a smooth event.To Mae and Brittany. To Danise and Danielle. To Chief Swoboda and Bill Wolf and Al Young. And to many others behind the scenes. It was powerful. It was meaningful. And it brought together the best of Elgin. At the last minute I was called on to pray. I think I said something like, “Gracious G-d, we come before you black, white, Latino, LGBTQ, Native American and who knows what else. And that is precisely the point. We represent the diversity that is Elgin. What makes Elgin and this nation great. Help us to eradicate the fear that has gripped our nation. Help us to model a better way. Be with us as we march. Together. In unity. Guide our steps. In peace. Keep us safe. Our young black men and our police officers. All of us. In love. All of us want nothing more than to return to our families at the end of our day, safe. In your glorious Name. Amen.

And then we walked. From Festival Park to the Police Station. From the Police Station to Dupage Court. There were no incidents. One gentleman yelled at us that Blue Lives Matter and someone further up in the line pointed out that there were police officers—actually high brass—the Deputy Chief and one of the three Commanders, marching with us.

This march took on even more urgency. Traci Ellis, our school board member, is a cousin of Paul O’Neal, the young man shot and killed by Chicago Police last week. As a rabbi, as a chaplain, as someone who has worked on the front lines, even going to Ferguson last year with T’ruah, words fail. As Traci’s friend, words fail. I walked. For long stretches with Traci.

There were lots of moments for that “educational moment.” This was not a Black Lives Matter event, although some had signs or a T-shirt proclaiming that black lives do matter. Not one of my African-American friends believes that Israel commits genocide. Not one of them had even seen the plank. Some leaders, black and white, expressed concerns about human rights violations in Israel. I am too. So this is a process. It will be messy. It will be difficult. But it is important.

It was a good day for Elgin. I am proud that I was there. It was consistent with my core values and authentically me

Shocking title, right? I don’t usually write 3 blog posts in three days. But this is important. And it is not a joke, but the beginning sounds like it. So many jokes start, “A rabbi, a priest and a minister walk into a bar.”

What happens if they all show up 4^th of July Weekend? A little bit of hope. Not a joke.

Let me set the stage. On July 3^rd, just after writing a post about Elie Wiesel and his legacy for Elgin. (Footnote: Did you know he actually spoke at my synagogue? Long before I was here!) 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 actually it is the beginning. 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. A Catholic chaplain wasted no time and called his contact at the landlord of the business and reported back that the landlord was aghast. The 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.

And lest you think this was just the religious leaders of Elgin, it was not. Our Resident Police officer told me when he saw me at the parade that he was already aware and had stepped up patrols. Our mayor and his wife, seeing it on Facebook and having been called by others, 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 their job description. They did it because it is the right thing to do. And each one had an important role to play.

The flag is down. And thanks for the business establishment for doing the right thing. Quickly and expediently. That’s a good thing. I don’t want to dwell on the flag. I don’t want to create other repercussions or copycats.

Instead, I want to focus on the positive. That in less than a day, we handled a situation that could have been much worse. That people are basically good at heart. They understand the ramificaitons and rise to the occasion.

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 ends 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 as was suggested war memorabilia being sold but something more sinister if you scratched the surface.

We need to continue building bridges. To continue to combat hate. Wherever it is. Be it social media or the news media. Or the political climate. We need to speak out wherever there is hate speech. Whether it is a political candidate or from a local business. 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 Elie 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.”

This quick response, of my religious leaders and officials, by the community of Elgin, is precisely the story that needs to be told. It offers us hope, not fear. This is precisely what makes Elgin great. And why Elgin is a model for the rest of the country.

Here is a string. Please tie it on your finger. You are supposed to remember something. What? What is it that tying a string on your finger is supposed to help you remember? To pick up the milk on the way home from work? Does it work? No, this is not the Alzheimer’s sermon.

Today we read a portion that includes a passage we know well. It includes the third paragraph of the V’ahavta. “The Lord said to Moses, Speak to the children of Israel and say to them, “Make for yourselves fringes on the corners of their garments throughout the ages, with a string of blue on each corner. This will be your fringe. Look upon it and remember all the commandments of the Lord and observe them….thus you shall be remaindered to observe all My commandments and to be holy to your G-d. I, the Lord, am your G-d who brought you out of the land of Egypt to be your G-d. I, the Lord am your G-d.” (Numbers 15:3-41)

It is important to remember. What is it that we are remembering? There are two ways (at least) of tying tzitzit, the original Jewish macramé. The first is designed to remind us of the letters Yud-Hay-Vuv-Hay, 10, 5, 6, 10, the numbers of each of the letters of the Name of G-d. Look upon the fringes and remember G-d. The second provides twists and turns and knots to remind us of the 613 commandments in the Torah.

So we are remembering G-d and to observe G-d’s commandments.

This weekend we are remembering something else as well. We are remembering that this is a good land. The beginning of this week’s portion is about the 12 spies who went into the land of Canaan. Twelve scouts. They scouted out the land. Ten came back and said that it couldn’t be done. That although the land flows with milk and honey, the people are like giants and the Israelites appear as grasshoppers.

Only two, Joshua and Caleb thought it was possible. The remainder of the tribes continue to rebel and Moses has to intercede on their behalf, using the words of the 13 Attributes to remind G-d to be a forgiving G-d. And G-d says, “I have forgiven you according to your word.” The very same words we hear as the answer to Kol Nidre. But that is a sermon for another year.

So the land is a good land. Flowing with milk and honey. Other natural resources. Not unlike Governor William Bradford’s report about Plimouth Plantation. Let’s review. This great land we live in is a good land too, one flowing with milk and honey and lots of natural resources. One where the Puritans wanted to serve G-d in their own way, to be a light to the nations and a light on the hill. Where Bradford himself learned to read Hebrew so that he could speak to G-d in the language the world was created in.

But the Puritans were not always so good on pluralism, or diversity. And so their own children founded the town of Duxbury and wrote a halfway covenant since they did not have the same zeal or understanding of G-d. The Puritans kicked out Anne Hutchinson and Roger Williams. Jews were far less prominent although the first Jews arrived in the early 1620s in Massachusetts Bay Colony and in 1653 in New Amsterdam.

Nonetheless, by the War of Independence there were some prominent Jews. Hayyim Solomon. Aaron Lopez. Rebecca Gratz among them. There were Jewish congregations in New York, Philadelphia, Charleston, Richmond, Savanah, Boston and Newport, RI.

Jews have prayed on behalf of their secular leaders and governments since Jeremiah’s day. As an American Studies major with a concentration on colonial American History, I have loved the prayer that was written by the Jews of Richmond for George Washington, shortly after he began his presidency. It is elegant, with Washington spelled out in Hebrew acrostic. http://opensiddur.org/prayers-for/collective-welfare/government/prayer-for-george-washington-first-president-of-the-united-states-of-america-by-kahal-kadosh-beit-shalome-1789/

It is not that different than the prayer we will do for our current government in our siddur, Siddur Sim Shalom.

But today, I really want to look at two letters. One from the “sexton” of the congregation in Newport RI, http://www.tourosynagogue.org/history-learning/tsf-intro-menu/slom-scholarship/85-seixas-letter

Inviting Washington to visit when he was coming to Newport. Note the language, “to bigotry no sanction.”

George Washington did in fact visit and sent a letter of thanks and appreciation. http://www.tourosynagogue.org/history-learning/tsf-intro-menu/slom-scholarship/86-washington-letter

Again, we see the language, “to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance.”

This exchange is the basis of the First Amendment. The guarantee that all who live in this land, this good land, freedom of religion. It is carved into the US Holocaust Museum and recently photographed by our own state representative Anna Moeller.

And while this country we live in, the United States of America, is indeed a good land. One where we are guaranteed freedom of religion, it is not something we can take for granted. It is something we need to remain vigilant about. Something we need to remember. So look at your fingers again and that string that is tied to them.

This portion begs us to remember something else. We are to remember that we were slaves in the land of Egypt. We were strangers. We are never to forget that we were marginalized and so should never marginalize others. This portion begs us to have only one set of laws—much like Washington is saying—for the citizens and for the strangers. One equal law. Period. And G-d is serious about this. Because G-d repeats it twice.

In fact, 36 times the Torah tells us that we need to take care of the widow, the orphan and the stranger. I have used this line so often, I get tired of repeating it. Apparently, however, it is difficult to do and that is why the Torah itself repeats it so many times. So repeat I will.

There is one more thing about threads. In the haftarah, the prophetic portion, two scouts, Joshua and Caleb, go spy in Jericho. They are the strangers. And they are rescued by Rahab who is described as a prostitute, an unlikely helper. Recently I reminded the people gathered at the vigil the quote from Mr. Rogers, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”

Since she was a helper, Joshua and Caleb had her tie a red cord on her window so that her family would be spared and could be rescued when the Israelites stormed Jericho.

This is what we are commanded to remember. We must remember that we were strangers in the land of Egypt. That there must be one law for Israelites and strangers amongst us. That helpers come from unlikely sources. That we must remember that this is a good land, one flowing with milk and honey. That we need to protect George Washington’s mandate, “to bigotry no sanction; to persecution, no assistance.” And if, we observe the commandments and remember G-d, then we, and our children, and our children’s children, will continue to enjoy a good life on this great land. Look again at your string. Now we know what to remember.

Last year I was asked to speak to a class of high school students at Elgin High School. They were all immigrants. They had graduated from ESL and were reading their first book. In any language. Not Cat in the Hat. Not Pat the Bunny. Not Goodnight Moon. Not Dick and Jane. Not Harry Potter. These young adults were reading Night. It was my job to provide some cultural context.

None of them had met a Jew. None of them had been in a synagogue. In preparation I reread the book. I had taught it decades ago to an 8^th grade post-Bar Mitzvah class. I had read it myself in middle school.

Others have said this before. It is a powerful book. When others wanted to forget, Wiesel gave voice to the voiceless. When people wanted to deny the Holocaust ever happened, Wiesel made that impossible with his first hand account. When others wanted to whitewash the experience, Wiesel’s haunting description and simple language made it real.

When I wrote my review for Goodreads, I said, “I struggled with how many stars to give this slim, little book. It is the first Holocaust book I ever read. It is the one that I have taught to countless students and am teaching again this week. It is the most vivid. Most graphic. Most gruesome. And the most powerful. It has produced nightmares. And the most important. LIKE it. No. ENJOY it. No. Nonetheless, I am grateful that Eli Wiesel had the strength to write it.”

Together with Anne Frank, Simon Wiesenthal, and Victor Frankel, Wiesel made us confront the most difficult history and ask the most difficult questions. How can I possibly believe that people are basically good at heart? Why did the Holocaust happen? What meaning does life have? Should we forgive? Can I forgive? Where was G-d?

I was fortunate as an undergraduate leader at Tufts to attend a series of lectures at Boston University with Wiesel about diversity. One night we had dinner with Wiesel before his class. His dialogue sparkled. His eyes crinkled with laughter. I spent the evening watching him carefully. I wondered how a man who had been through so much could find any joy. How could anyone take pleasure in eating, in opening the door for someone else, in telling stories and jokes, in doing normal things? How did he find the courage to find his voice? I kept watching him for clues. I strained to hear every word. He spoke softly and his accent made it even more difficult to understand. I am not sure I do, still.

The students in the Elgin High School class were attentive, appreciative. What they lacked in cultural competence they understood with their own life experience. They understood each of the questions the book raised. Even as they didn’t have answers of their own.

Yet, they were puzzled. They, whose parents made a different difficult decision, couldn’t understand why Wiesel’s family didn’t leave. Why did they stay in what was at that moment Hungary? Why didn’t they escape? And they had heard the recent news. They asked other questions, ones I hadn’t anticipated and were not prepared to answer. They wanted to know whether Trump was really going to build a wall and deport all Mexicans. They could see the connections. They were looking to me for reassurance that what happened to Wiesel and his family was not going to happen to theirs.

We owe it to the memory of Wiesel and to the memories of the 6 million Jews, the memories of 13 million people that were systematically and methodically murdered that it never does. Not here in Elgin. Not here in America. Not anywhere. Never again. That is Wiesel’s legacy for all of us.

On Saturday, Jews began the reading of the Book of Numbers. In Hebrew the name is Bamidbar, in the desert. It starts by taking a census. Counting all the people. As I told my congregation on Saturday, it is because every person matters. Every person has a unique gift to offer. Every person has intrinsic worth. And I talked about an argument that I have had for over a decade with my step-daughter, who doesn’t believe that we should educate everybody for leadership. I disagreed, and talked about an old Girl Scout handbook that talked about different leadership styles.

There are directors, delegators, coaches, convenors, supporters. There are those who have vision and those who have compassion. There are those who can make decisions and those who build concensus. In our Torah portion, there are those whose sole job is to put a blue cloth under the menorah. Every person has a job to be done. Something that they are uniquely called to do and that are uniquely qualified for. Every person can be a leader and every person has intrinsic value.

At sundown on Saturday, we began the Jewish holiday of Shavuot, the feast of weeks. For seven weeks, since the second night of Passover, we have been counting our days. We are taught to “Number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”

And so we have counted, 49 days. From Passover to Shavuot. From slavery to freedom to revelation. From Egypt to Sinai.

Some Jews have the tradition of staying up all night. I didn’t make it this year. Then I awoke to the horrible news. At first 20 people killed in a bar in Orlando. Then 50. How is that even possible? How can someone walk into a bar and shoot that many people? How can it last for 3 hours?

Now we count again. The grim task. 49 names. 49 people, each of whom had intrinsic worth. Each of whom were created in the image of the Divine. Each of them so full of life. Each of them cut down far too soon. Each of them with hopes and dreams, mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, lovers and friends.

The lyrics of Rent play in my head. Incessantly. Seasons of Love

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty five thousand moments so dear
Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets
In midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife
In five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure a year in the life?

How about love?
How about love?
How about love?
Measure in love

Seasons of love….

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty five thousand journeys to plan
Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?

In truths that she learned
Or in times that he cried
In bridges he burned
Or the way that she died

It’s time now to sing out
Though the story never ends
Let’s celebrate
Remember a year in the life of friends

The words were written by the late Rent creator/playwright Jonathan Larson originally intended for “Seasons Of Love” to be performed at character Angel’s funeral. But Larson died the night before the opening preview. Rent is a complicated, gutsy, powerful, hard rocking show written about the power of community—and love. In all its many forms.

The words from Rent speak for themselves. Every single person has worth. Every single life matters.

49 people died in the wee hours of Sunday morning, just as I was reading the 10 Commandments out loud. “Thou shall not murder.” And we are told, not a bird chirped. Just as I was reading about the connection between the 10 Commandments and Ruth. The 10 Commandments begin with the word, Anochi, I. Ruth answers Boaz’s question with Anochi, I. She had intrinsic worth. She was not an object. (That is a different blog that has been pre-empted by this one)

49 people, innocent people were murdered Sunday night, just after I had reminded people that every single one of us, as I so often have done, are created in the image of G-d. Gay, Straight, bi-sexual, transgendered. All. All means all. Every single one of those 49 people murdered in Pulse. A gay bar, where people just wanted to dance and feel their hearts beat and love. Whomever they want. They wanted to know that their lives matter.

49 people, innocent people, were murdered, just after I had taught the text, “Whoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world.” (Talmud, Sanhedrin 37) The same text that is in the Koran, “if any one slew a person – unless it be for murder or for spreading mischief in the land – it would be as if he slew the whole people: and if any one saved a life, it would be as if he saved the life of the whole people.” (5:32)

The words of Torah matter. The words of Ruth matter. The words of Talmud and Koran matter. The words of Rent matter. But words seem hollow. Thoughts and prayers are not enough. We have done that too many times. I have done that too many times.

On Sunday night, at 8:30, at dusk, just a week after this atrocity, the religious leaders of Elgin, the Human Rights Commission and the Elgin City of Peace will gather for a vigil. There will be a time to mourn and a time to cry. There will be a time to speak and a time to sing. And I pray, I never, ever have to organize another vigil like this.

Because all lives matter.

This week’s word is Yesod, meaning foundation, bedrock or bonding.

When I first came to Elgin, a senior member took a walk with me around the block. He said that he was standing on the rock of Judaism and he felt he could sway and bend but he didn’t want to blow off the top.

Having done lots of mountain climbing, I assured him that I identified with that sentiment. Judaism is a solid foundation, a rock. I told him about South Bubble Mountain which has a glacier boulder, an accidental, as they are called, perched high on the mountain. It always seems like someone could push it off. Whole football teams have tried. It is not budging. And while it is called Bubble Rock, I tend to call it Balance Rock, http://www.citrusmilo.com/acadiaguide/southbubble.cfm

Yesod is about foundation, about being rock solid. It is about fusion. The bonding of all the previous topics we’ve discussed, chesed (lovingkindness), gevurah (discipline, strength), tiferet (compassion, splendor), netzach (endurance, eternity) and hod (gratitude, humility).

It may be the most difficult of all those because it requires balancing all those attributes as they are bonded.

When we went through the service, we didn’t find one reference to yesod, although there were references to Tzur, Rock, like Tzur Yisrael, Ma’oz Tzur. In those cases Tzur refers to G-d. G-d is the Rock of Israel. The foundation of Israel. What all the rest of Judaism is built upon.

Two stories. When I was living in Israel, I tried to describe the beautiful Jerusalem stone. I lacked the word for stone in Hebrew, only having Tzur, Rock. I was told that Tzur only refers to G-d and so I learned the word evan, stone. For years I would tell that story. This year in preparing my weekly Torah reading, when Moses hits the rock to draw water for the people he hits a tzur. We frequently say that Moses’s sin was that he hit the rock. It never seemed like a big enough sin to punish Moses by not allowing him to enter the Promised Land. Now maybe this is midrashic, but what if the text is really saying, Moses hit Tzur Yisrael, the Rock of Israel. What if he hit G-d! That would be a really big sin.

The other story is one my thesis advisor used to tell. His professor, from Germany, would oft say to his students, and Rabbi Zlotowitz would retell it, “Boychiks,” because in those days only men studied to be rabbis, “Boychiks, today we are going to study the basement of Judaism.” He had mixed up the English words for foundation and basement. In German they may be the same. Working in Germany, in a basement office, I was confused about what floor I wanted in the elevator. A nice co-worker pointed to the floor label and explained to me that I wanted the foundation, the basement. I laughed as I told her in my halting German about Rabbi Zlotowitz and the basement of Judaism. Yes, all in an elevator in Building 18 of SAP, the star-shaped building.

But this confusion of basement and foundation is illustrative. There was a psychotherapist, a professor at Brandeis, Andras Angyal, who developed a theory of personality that is relevant. In his major work, Neurosis and Treatment, published posthumously, he developed holistic approach to the whole person. His other book was called, ironically for this, Foundations of the Science of Personality. He related therapy to deconstruction and reconstruction of a house, the need to carefully tear down the pillars and the weight bearing support beams but not before the person is ready and has the new pillars ready to go into place. Otherwise the structure will collapse, by extension, the person will collapse. He refers to the building blocks of personality and worked extensively with Maslow, who gave us Maslow’s pyramid, another structure that says that the basic needs, food, shelter, clothing, love, etc need to be the satisfied as the base of the pyramid before aesthetic experiences, or a pinnacle moment can occur near the top of the pyramid.

When I first learned about Angyal his theory resonated with me and I went on to study further. I think that is exactly what my congregant was talking about. Judaism, as he described it, is the foundation of his life. He is bonded to it and as such he can bend and sway, but we can’t take away those support beams, the pillars without having the new ones ready to go.

Judaism gives us the foundation, the bedrock. Mussar gives us the pillars as we work on each of these character traits.

Bonding, Yesod, means therefore, connecting. Being attached. It is eternal. It creates an everlasting union that can live forever. Simon Jacobson says what Angyal was saying: “Bonding is the foundation of life. The emotional spine of the human psyche. Every person needs bonding to flourish and grow… The bonding between mother and child; between husband and wife; between brothers and sisters; between close friends. Bonding is affirmation; it gives one the sense of belonging; that “I matter”, “I am significant and important”. It establishes trust – trust in yourself and trust in others. It instills confidence. Without bonding and nurturing we cannot realize and be ourselves. Bonding channels all five previous qualities into a constructive bond, giving it the meaning “foundation”. Whereas all other human feelings are individual emotions, separate stories of a building, each a necessary component of human experience, bonding channels and integrates them all into one bond which creates a foundation upon which the structure of human emotions firmly stands.”

The challenge for this week is to look at our foundations. What do we stand upon? To what are we bonded? To other people? To memories? To places? Is it difficult to bond? In all areas or just in certain ones? Family? Friends? Co-workers? Places? (I am bonded with a certain rock where major life decisions have been made off the coast of Ogunquit. My cover photo on Facebook is that very rock!)

What are the pillars of Judaism to you? How is G-d your Rock? What do you stand for? What do you stand on?

The word puzzles continue this week. Hod, the theme for the week, the trait we are studying, means thanks. Or knowledge. Or humility. Or maybe even splendor or beauty. Or all of them. That’s nuance.

It is the root of words, Modah/Modeh, Modim and Todah. That part seems simple. Although it might make have to explain what a mem preformative is in order to make the connection between a word that begins with hey and one that begins with mem. Just trust me for now.

Last week we studied netzach, sometimes translated as endurance. Simon Jacobson says that “if endurance is the engine of life, humility is its fuel. As gevurah, (discipline) give chesed (love) focus, hod gives netzach direction.”

OK, I am still lost. How is hod both gratitude and humility? How can hod, either definition give netzach direction?

Moses was humble—but the Hebrew there is ana which can also mean poor. My mother’s favorite verse was from Micah, “What does G-d require of you? To do justice, to love mercy and to walk humbly with your G-d.” But that Hebrew is tz’nia, modesty. So we are still in a word puzzle here.

Jacobson helps, some…

“Humility is the silent partner of endurance. Its strength is in its silence. Its splendor in its repose. Humility leads to yielding, which is an essential element of Humility – and the resulting yielding – should not be confused with weakness and lack of self-esteem.

Humility is modesty; it is acknowledgement (from the root “hoda’ah”). It is saying “thank you” to G-d. It is clearly recognizing your qualities and strengths and acknowledging that they are not your own; they were given to you by G-d for a higher purpose than just satisfying your own needs. Humility is modesty; it is recognizing how small you are which allows you to realize how large you can become. And that makes humility so formidable…A full cup cannot be filled. When you’re filled with yourself and your needs, “I and nothing else”, there is no room for more. When you “empty” yourself before something which is greater than yourself, you allow in much more than your limited capacity. Humility is the key to transcendence; to reach beyond yourself.”

This then is the counterbalance to narcissism. In order to be thankful you need to see a world beyond yourself, you need to be humble. It is not a lowering of yourself. It is not a question of pridefulness.

When I stand before the ark leading the congregation in prayer, I take a moment to look up and read the sign that says, “Da Lifnei Atah Omeid. Know before whom you stand.” It is a humbling moment. When I daven “modim anachnu lach, we thank you G-d.” I read the words while trying to find at least one thing I am especially thankful for.

In the last year of rabbinical school I had a professor that didn’t think Jews expressed gratitude enough. The entire class argued with him, saying that Jews are supposed to say 100 blessings a day and that is a form of gratitude. Our prayer books are full of things we are grateful for. The list seems unending, much more than the 100.

In the Pathways program we are using from Alan Moranis it suggests sitting for an hour and writing a list of things you are personally grateful for. He says the first 15 minutes will fly by. The second 15 will be harder. The last 15 will be excruciating. Not willing to ask my congregants to do something I haven’t tried, I sat for an hour. He was exactly right. First 15 minutes were easy. Second 15 minutes were harder but I went back and if I had said I was thankful for friends, I must easily have 100 friends I am thankful for and it brought be pleasure to recall each one by name. Another exercise he had suggested was being aware of all the steps needed to make a cookie and then savor the cookie. It reminded me of the old Girl Scout grace, “Back of the bread is the flour and back of the flour is the mill and back of the mill is the wind and the rain and the Father’s will.” And I can be grateful for each of those, and the farmer, the baker, the truck driver, the grocery store and on and on it goes.

Yet, I struggle some with the Moranis text…and maybe that is the point of Mussar in general. He begins by telling the story of Itzhak Perlman who is debilitated by polio and yet can make beautiful music. (for which I am grateful). At one concert a string broke and instead of stopping the concert and replacing the string, he kept playing, with passion, artistry and beauty. At the end he said, You know,” he said, “it is the artist’s task to make beautiful music with what you have left.” Whether he was talking about his violin that night or his own body was left unclear. Our challenge, according to Moranis is to recognize the good (hakarat hatov), even when bad things happen.

And that is where Rabbi Harold Kushner comes in. Kushner wrote a book, “When Bad Things Happen to Good People.” Note carefully, as I have said before, it is not Why bad things happen…sometimes it is impossible to explain, the title is when bad things happen. The challenge what do we do with it once it happens, because in every person’s life some bad will happen.

Mussar demands of us that we are grateful for everything. And I am not sure I can get there. Do I have to be grateful for gun violence? For murders? For murders? For Rapits? For politicians who can’t pass a state budget? For a health care system that seems only out to make a dollar and not make people healthy? How do I resolve the morning blessing, “Yotzer Or…who forms light and creates darkness, who makes peace and creates all things.” ALL things? Can I find the Divine spark within? I am not going to lie. Sometimes it is difficult.

But there is more…and a reward for sticking with this topic.

Moranis reminds us of a story from Rabbi Nachman of Breslov. He tells us that “Gratitude can’t coexist with arrogance, resentment and selfishness. Gratitude rejoices with her sister joy, and is always ready to light a candle and have a party. Gratitude doesn’t much like the old cronies of boredom, despair and taking life for granted.” No arrogance. My hunch about narcissism seems to be right.

This is a verse I know…because I studied this very verse coming out of a dark period in my own life. The president of the Academy for Jewish Religion gave me this verse. Partly because while Rabbi Nachman wrote extensively about joy, he struggled with depression, and partly because my middle name is joy. In Hebrew, like English, there are many words for joy: simcha, (my Hebrew name), gila, rina, sasson, chedvah, asher. Each has a different nuance.

Simcha carries with it a sense of passion. Psalms 100:2 say we should serve G-d with gladness, with joy, with simcha. In Berachot 60b, it says that one is obligated to accept Divine judgment and praise G-d even when bad things happen. (back to my challenge with Yotzer Or), and one must do it with joy, with simcha. Rashi was bothered by this too and says that the meaning of simcha here is “with a complete heart.” It starts to make sense. What does simcha as joy mean in the context of misfortune because responding with joy seems incongruous. However, can we accept it with a complete heart, one with emet (truth) and emumah (faith), even if we don’t understand the why? We can do this while still not being happy with the loss or having to go through the bad experience or being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Being able to reach this level, to respond with a ‘full heart,” a heart of full of gratitude is what mussar is about. It is what humility is about. And it comes from finding passion. The more passionate you are about what you are doing, the more joy you will feel. With passion and gratitude comes joy. The more passion, the more joy.

Frederick Buechner said, “The place G-d calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” Here again we see the connection between passion and joy. So find something you are passionate about and you will find joy.

Lest you think it is just me saying this, I recently led an article written by a neuroscientist. Four rituals that will make you happier.

http://www.businessinsider.com/a-neuroscience-researcher-reveals-4-rituals-that-will-make-you-a-happier-person-2015-9

One of them is practicing gratitude. “One powerful effect of gratitude is that it can boost serotonin. Trying to think of things you are grateful for forces you to focus on the positive aspects of your life. This simple act increases serotonin production in the anterior cingulate cortex.”

So try writing out what you are thankful for. Find 100 blessings. Add a new one each day. Find just one thing you are thankful for even in the midst of tragedy or loss. Cultivate an attitude of gratitude. In doing so, you just might find more happiness.

“Proclaim Liberty Throughout the Land to all the inhabitants thereof.” (Lev XXV:10). These are part of today’s Torah portion. And, they appear on the “Liberty Bell” in Pennsylvania.

How nice that this year at least they are the words that we Jews read as sacred scripture for Memorial Day Weekend. It gives us the opportunity to pause, to reflect and to consider what these central words mean to us as Americans and as Jews. As Jewish Americans or American Jews.

It turns out, there is very little Jewish commentary on them. They seem to be pretty self-explanatory. Rashi has one comment but there isn’t that usual question hanging in the air, “What’s bothering Rashi?” He points out that this liberty was especially for slaves during the Jubilee year.

AND YE SHALL PROCLAIM LIBERTY unto slaves, both to him whose ear has been pierced (and whose period of servitude has thus been prolonged until the Jubilee; cf. Exodus 21:6) and to him whose six years of servitude (the period prescribed for an ordinary Hebrew servant; Exodus 21:6 Exodus 21:2), reckoning from the time when he was sold, have not yet ended. R. Jehuda said, “What is the etymology of the term דרור, freedom? A free man is like a person who may dwell (דור) at an inn — meaning that he may reside in any place he pleases, and is not under the control of others. (דרור therefore implies liberty of residence) (Rosh Hashanah 9b). (Rashi on Lev 25:10)

For me, this verse is something of a word puzzle, and I love puzzles. So bear with me…

Proclaim here is from the root Karah, to call out, to read. Something we announce outloud, just like we read Torah, outloud, publicly, Loudly. That was the purpose of putting this on the liberty bell. The bell, much like a shofar that proclaimed the jubilee year did the proclaiming, the announcing, the shouting.

But the Hebrew word for liberty is surprising. It is dror…which really means release. What are we being released from? How does it differ from freedom or liberty. That’s where this gets interesting….

To release is to allow or enable to escape from confinement; to set free. Prisoners are released. Slaves are released. That’s what this verb is talking about. To allow something to move, act or flow freely. Synonyms include free, set free, let go/out, liberate, untie, undo, loose, unleash, unfetter.

We release balloons. Maybe that is how we should celebrate. Nope. Pretty but not good for the environment or the birds.

Our ancestors, our relatives, came to this land, some earlier than others, for that sense of release, for freedom. For freedom to worship as they saw fit. For freedom, in some cases, not to worship at all.

We have in this country, the freedom to do what we want to do, when we want to do it. Within reason. If I chose to sleep in this morning, and not come, I could have exercised that freedom but there would have been consequences.

We brainstormed a list of those freedoms we value here. It read like the Bill of Rights. Freedom of religion, freedom to assemble, freedom of speech, freedom of the press, yes, even freedom to bear arms (although personally I believe there should be some limits on that one).

In fact, as we discussed, there are limits on freedom of speech. You cannot walk into this sanctuary, or a movie theatre and announce, proclaim if you will that there is a fire if there is no fire.

So as we said on Shabbat, with freedom comes responsibility. The Torah is really clear on that point. Because we were slaves—and we were freed—we are responsible for taking care of the widow, the orphan, the stranger—as I often say, the most marginal among us, as I said to the legislature just earlier this month.

Jews have been praying on behalf of our governments since Jeremiah’s day, during the first exile to Babylon. Jews have been praying on behalf of the American government since colonial times and when this nation was young. I read part of Moses Seixias’s prayer on Shabbat. I have read the Richmond Jewish community’s prayer for Washington in the past. This one fascinates me because it is an acrostic spelling out Washington’s name in Hebrew. http://opensiddur.org/prayers-for/collective-welfare/government/prayer-for-george-washington-first-president-of-the-united-states-of-america-by-kahal-kadosh-beit-shalome-1789/

Our own prayer book, Siddur Sim Shalom has a prayer for our country. I used part of it when I spoke to the Illinois Legislature.

The U46 School System has a mission statement that says that U46 is a great place for all students to learn, all teachers to teach and all employees to work. All means all.

All means all. Quoting Tevye, “Sounds simple, no?” But how we achieve it is part of that American dream that is so important to me. To all of us. We want to be able to sit under our vine and fig tree where none will make us afraid. We want to be able to proclaim liberty throughout the land to ALL the inhabitants thereof.

When we lived in Massachusetts my husband and I did some colonial reenacting. It was fun to sew costumes, to cook over an open fire in three layers of petticoat (dangerous as hell, but fun!). However, if we had lived in Chelmsford when it was founded, we would have been left out. We could not have voted. At least I could not have. You needed to be white, Christian, male, landowner.

As a nation, we have moved beyond that. We’ve come a long way, baby. Jews can vote. Blacks can vote. Women can vote. Emma Lazurus had it right on the Statue of Liberty:

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

That is the America I believe in. And it is great. Now. I know this having lived in foreign countries. There is no place like home. This home. Yet we still have a responsibility. TO make sure that the freedoms we enjoy are enjoyed by all. We are biblically mandated.

The widow, the orphan, the stranger. ALL. The slaves (we still have them. Migrant workers, sex workers, those trafficked), ALL. Those with disabilities. ALL Single parent families struggling to provide for their families.  Immigrants. ALL. All who wish to be here and to make America great. Still. All who wish to participate in the American dream.

I am glad that my ancestors had the vision to come to this country. I am glad that many of them were compelled to fight for the freedoms that they believed in—the very same ones that I believe in too. The very same ones that our American ancestors, William Bradford, Samuel Adams, John and Abigail Adams, Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, Moses Sexias, Gershom Mendes, Hayyim Solomon Rebecca Gratz dreamed of. An America that would be a light to the nations. A new Jerusalem. Those freedoms include, “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” Those freedoms include “justice for all.” All means all. That is what my ancestors, my Jewish ones and my American ones dreamed of and fought for.

We are not there yet. We have a ways to go. And a responsibility to make sure that the next generation, from generation to generation, l’dor v’dor can live in a land that embraces all. I am willing to fight for it. With my words. Responsibly.

Each of these words, these traits we are looking at between Passover and Shavuot can be translated in many ways. This week’s word, Netzach, we know from prayers that include the phrase, “netzach netzachim” and is usually translated as eternity. Similar to L’olam va’ed. And we should not be surprised that there is more than one way to say something in Hebrew or that there is more than one meaning for a word. It is true in most languages. Think, for a minutes, about how many ways we can say green for example and all the shades of green. Emerald, Forest, Jade, Kelly, Lime, Olive, Teal, Turquoise to name just a few. The word itself in English, from the German is related to grass and grow.

Language is nuanced. Hebrew is no exception.

Netzach means endurance, eternity, victory. Victory and vanquished have the same root in Hebrew. They are two sides of the same coin.

Simon Jacobson says, “During the fourth week of counting the Omer, we examine and refine the emotional attribute of endurance known as Netzach. Netzach means endurance, fortitude and ambition and is a combination of determination and tenacity. It is a balance of patience, persistence and guts. Endurance is also being reliable and accountable, which establishes security and commitment. Without endurance, any good endeavor or intention has no chance of success. Endurance means to be alive, to be driven by what counts. It is the readiness to fight for what you believe, to go all the way. This, of course, requires that endurance be closely examined to ensure that it is used in a healthy and productive manner.”

As a long-distance runner, I think a lot about endurance. In fact, I am reading a book called Mental Strategies for Runners by one of my mentors and coaches, Jeff Galloway. The hope is that it will increase my endurance and make me mentally tougher.

This week we had an example of both endurance and eternity right in our own community. We had a young gentleman who celebrated his 83 birthday with a second Bar Mitzvah. This wasn’t just any celebration. This was a joyous celebration after a difficult year. My Bar Mitzvah boy had lost his wife in December. But more than that, his is a gentleman who had been hurt by the Jewish community and yet endured.

I met this individual when I first came to Elgin for my demo weekend. He came to the senior luncheon to check out this new (young) possible rabbi. I did a session on family history and cookbooks. He sat at my table and grilled me about Jewish law. He reminded me of someone from my home congregation, another lawyer and I admit it. I was intimidated. I managed that by having him snap a few pictures. I had no idea how much family history mattered to him.

When I finally arrived in Elgin to start my first year, even before we arrived, even before movers had delivered furniture and before we had internet, my cell phone rang. “Rabbi, I have to meet with you.” We agreed to meet at a coffee shop—not realizing that he doesn’t drink coffee but knowing they have internet. He showed me a file folder, parts of his family tree and his Bar Mitzvah picture.

I was shocked by the story that he told about some of his experiences here. Someone had decided that he was not Jewish and he was asked to convert in order to fully participate as a Jew. He did so but he lost his cohanim status, despite having a family tree of 650 people all of whom believe that they are cohains.

I immediately called my most traditional colleagues including my Orthodox Talmud professor and we convened a traditional and virtual Beit Din, not the typical three rabbis but five. There was no doubt in any of our minds—all of ours that he had always been a Jew and therefore based on his family history, a Cohain. We restored his status to him.

It is important to tell this part of a painful story. It never should have happened in the first place. And because unfortunately there are still doubters among us. I hope that the celebration erases some of the hurt.

All too often I hear stories like this. Someone trying to protect Judaism makes a decision that ultimately hurts people or pushes them away. Someone trying to do everything just right. Someone trying to please a parent or a teacher, a rabbi or even G-d makes things much more complicated or difficult than that very same G-d ever intended Judaism to be.

Judaism is a layered tradition. Very often, even in the Talmud, even in the Shulchan Arukh, there is more than one answer to a complicated question. The rabbis argue about it. Rabbi Akiba talks about 70 (correct) interpretations for every letter of the Torah. In settling an argument between the House of Hillel and the House of Shammai no less than a “bat kol”, a voice of G-d, proclaims, “These and these are the words of the living G-d.” (Talmud, Eruvin 13b)

The important thing, for our study, is that the Talmud has endured. In fact, Judaism itself has endured.

The Torah portion and haftarah for this week could not have been more perfect. Little did a rabbi 70 years ago know just how perfect it could be. Emor is about speech. Ethical speech. “Speak to the children of Israel and say…” Over and over. Each paragraph begins with this phrase. Moses is passing down a legacy. G-d instructs Moses. Moses instructs the people. This is the parsha that talks about “pri etz hadar,” the fruit of a goodly tree. What is that? An etrog! How do we know that? Because that is part of what G-d whispered to Moses while he was on Mount Sinai. It is part of the enduring legacy.

The haftarah spoke about gathering the first fruits. Those first fruits are usually the winter barley or wheat, the omer that we too have growing to fulfill the mitzvah of bringing a wave offering, of counting the omer. But those first fruits are also a legacy. Our Bar Mitzvah boy was surrounded by his own enduring legacy—his children and grandchildren and the 650 relatives on his family tree—his 50-year Bar Mitzvah project. Now that is an enduring legacy! When we talk about l’dor v’dor, from generation to generation it was right there, arrayed before us. That’s endurance. That’s eternity.

Contemplating eternity is something that this week’s mussar begs us to do.

Ron Wolfson’s book, The 7 Questions You’re Asked in Heaven outlines what that final exam might be like.

1. Have you seen my Alps? Have you explored the beauty and the pleasures that all the world has to offer.
2. Have you dealt honestly in your business practices?
3. Did you busy yourself with procreation? Of leaving something of lasting value behind?
4. Did you set aside time for study? For life long learning? Especially Torah.
5. Did you hope for deliverance? Were you an optimist?
6. Did you understand one thing from another? Did you set your priorities right?

The last question, based on a story from Reb Zusiya, is “Have you been the best YOU that you can be?” You don’t have to be Moses or Einstein, Zusiya or Lincoln. Just the best you.

Pirke Avot teaches that R. Shimon said: There are three crowns. The crown of Torah, the crown of priesthood and the crown of kingship. But the crown of a good name excels them all. (Pirke Avot 4:17)

That is how we achieve endurance. By enduring that is how we achieve eternity.