“It is hard to sing of oneness when our world is not complete, when those who once brought wholeness to our live have gone, and nothing but memory can fill the emptiness their passing leaves behind . . . Yet no one is really alone; those who live no more echo still within our thoughts and words, and what they did is part of what we have become. We do best homage to our dead when we live our lives most fully, even in the shadow of our loss. For each of our lives is worth the live of the whole world: in each one is the breath of the Divine. In affirming God we affirm the worth of each one whose life, now ended, brought us closer to the source of life, in whose unity no one is alone and every life finds purpose.” Chaim Stern in Gates of Prayer, a reading before Kaddish.

We can’t always find joy. We can’t always be happy.

I went to a 911 Memorial today. I know exactly where I was. I can recount each moment of 9/11/01, 15 years ago today. I know people who were in the towers. People who were on planes. People who were at the Pentagon. I spent the day at rabbinical school learning how to be a pastoral counselor. I learned so much more.

I remember the bright blue skies. I remember the drive from Riverdale to Connecticut to Boston. I remember the sound of sirens, the smoke, the lack of traffic. I remember the fighter jets but no other plane traffic. I remember the fear of whether I had enough gas, whether my debit card would work. I remember those early first phone calls once I got to Connecticut and I was out of New York’s cell tower space. Questions. Lots of questions. How do I tell the students of my elementary school one of whose father just died on a plane? How do I handle the media in my small town since the pilot was a congregant? Do I cancel Hebrew School today? Where are you?

The next day I was at a Habitat for Humanity site with other clergy. As I often say, while all the world seemed like it was collapsing, we were building something. Together. Jews, Christians, Buddhists, Hindu, Muslims.

Then the stories started. We knew people who were in the planes. We knew people who lost people. We knew people who walked down countless flights of stairs and then they ran. Real people with real stories. It was hard to keep them straight. Living in Boston and commuting to New York weekly, everyone knew someone directly affected.

I wandered amongst the flags. I found the flags for some of the people I knew. There was one that was missing. I thought about each family. I cried.

It has been fifteen years. Today I went to a 911 Memorial. I watched kids rolling down a hillside. I watched kids playing hide and seek amongst 3000 flags. I watched kids climbing on fire trucks. These are kids who don’t remember 911. These are kids being kids. These are kids who matter today. And I found joy on that hillside.

Tonight begins Shabbat. Shabbat brings us joy. It is a taste of the world to come. A chance to slow down. Relax. Maybe even smell the roses.

Sometimes we get caught in the cycle of all the “Thou Shall Nots” and there are many of them for Shabbat. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. 39 categories of prohibited work. And the work as we know it may not be the work as the rabbis defined it. They wanted us to take a break. They wanted us to pause and be refreshed. It says that G-d rested on the seventh day and was refreshed.

Shabbat is a unique moment in time. A palace in time. Something to be treasured. Not for all the Do Nots. But precisely because it brings us joy. “Just as Israel has keep Shabbat, so has Shabbat kept Israel,” said Ahad Ha’am.

Earlier today in a different context I was asked in a group what I wanted to try that was new for my health or my diet. It has been a long week. Little exercise, much work. I chuckled to myself and said, “Sleep.” And it has been proven that adequate sleep leads to weight loss.

Shabbat naps. Shabbat sleep. Even, dare I say it, Shabbat sex. The rabbis thought that since sex adds to joy, performing the marriage act or using the bed (that’s what they called it) would be a double mitzvah on Shabbat.

That is part of Shabbat. Sleep. So tonight, when I come home from services, I won’t stay up reading a book, although I could argue that would also bring me joy. Instead I will come home and go to sleep.

Our next guest blogger, The Reverend Jeanne Davies, is a new friend. She is a pastor with the Church of the Brethren with a new ministry, Parables, designed especially for people with disabilities and their families. She and I have enjoyed Cubs games, home baked raspberry pie, long cups of coffee, and walking in a local bird sanctuary. She with her dog. All of that brings us joy. Especially our dogs. As she said:

Last night my husband, Joel, came home from buying milk at the grocery store. Our dog, Seamus, was very excited that he had returned. He did his usual little canine happy dance but then, as Joel sat down on the couch to watch television, Seamus’ tail continued to wiggle. He approached my husband, gazing adoringly, inviting him into the joy of the moment. Seamus then jumped up on the couch, his face inches from Joel’s, expressing his delight. Joel said, “I already walked him. I fed him. What does he want?” I said, “He just wants to celebrate with you. He’s so glad you are home.”

Sometimes I jokingly call Seamus my spiritual director. He lives in the moment. He is enthusiastic about those he loves. He never holds back but embraces life and love fully. There is no ambivalence – such passion and joy! There is a saying, “I pray to be the person my dog thinks I am.”

Who could live up to that? It’s a tall order to fill. We all have our good days and our bad days. But God is always enthusiastically, passionately in love with us. God is continually hoping for the best in us, encouraging us, and gazing at us with a deep joy.

Do I reflect that joyful image of God in my relationship with others? Sadly, I might do a worse job than our dog at the joy thing. Last night I was thinking about the dishes in the sink, the weeds in the lawn, my work for tomorrow. Gazing at the calendar in my phone, I barely registered that my husband had come home until my dog drew my attention. Joel’s home! What a joy! And bringing milk! What a bonus! And I’m thinking he might even do the dishes… I really love him. And that crazy dog who reminds me to take joy in life and love.

The Reverend Jeanne Davies

What if we stop worrying about getting things exactly right and live in the moment?
What if we forget the pictures from Better Homes and Gardens about how our houses should look, especially at the holidays, and concentrate on how we treat the people in our homes?
What if we move from a culture of obligation to a culture of desire, of delight?

Then this showed up in my Facebook feed from Rabbi Bradley Artson:

Perfect. The Psalmist said, “Make a joyful noise to the Lord. Serve the Lord with gladness. Come before G-d’s presence with singing.” (Psalm 100). Seems simple, no? Sometimes we make it all so complicated. All G-d wants, all G-d desires is that we serve G-d. With song. With music. With joy.

Psalm 100 is not part of typical Jewish liturgy. I learned this psalm as a song at Girl Scout Camp. This summer I was privileged to hear Pastor Nat Edmond of Second Baptist Church made this point this summer at the celebration of his church’s 150^th anniversary. He boils it down to “Shout. Serve. Sing.” Easy.

This is what I told my board last night. We started by singing happy birthday to one of our board members. She chose to be at CKI last night, even though it was her birthday. Yom Huledet Samayach. Happy Birthday. We are joyous, samayach on the day of your birth!

It connects nicely with the paradigm shift I am trying to create. We need to come to synagogue not out of some vague sense of obligation. Not because we owe it to our parents or grandparents, or looking forward to our children and grandchildren. Or even to our fellow congregants. We need to come to synagogue because it brings us joy and we want to share that joy. Shout it out. Sing praise. Because we ourselves want to be there. Because we desire to be there. Because we desire to serve G-d with joy. Because we want to sing. Because it is good for us. Because it is good for G-d. Because it brings us joy.

It is our job as a board to make sure that can happen for everyone who enters our doors. It is also as my original typo suggests, it is our JOY.

Then as the song I taught on Shabbat teaches, “Those who keep the Sabbath can call it a delight, an oneg Shabbat.”

As we have done in the past few years, we are blessed with guest bloggers. They bring me great joy. They deepen our conversation and enrich our understanding. Our first guest is Rabbi Maralee Gordon. Rabbi Gordon was a classmate of mine at the Academy for Jewish Religion where we both commuted to school She from Chicago and me from Boston. We were friends although she was ahead of me in her coursework. When I interviewed in Elgin, I realized that she would be the rabbi in closest proximity to me. We would be now be neighbors and friends and sometimes even study partners. We share a deep commitment, a passion for social justice and even traveled to Ferguson together. We also share a love of these prairie skies. She recently retired from her positions at McHenry County Jewish Congregation and the one in DeKalb. I think the next chapter may include experiencing joy with grandchildren. Here are her words about joy:

If, when I wake up in the morning, before getting out of bed, I think to myself, “Maralee, you are a soul,” I feel mellow joy suffuse my being.

If, when I am overwhelmed by love for the person I am communicating with, I express gratitude for our connection, I feel deep joy.

If, when driving country roads toward a distant destination, I look, really look, at the sky and the wonder that is clouds and light, I can’t stop myself from smiling, grinning really.

If, when I open the refrigerator, I see three different things I would really like to eat, I am happy to have so many possibilities.

If, when I take that first bite, I am not distracted by what I am reading in print or on the screen in front of me, and I let the sensation of that first taste sink in, I am happy.

If, when I’m feeding my mother and I try to give her the next spoonful too soon, she turns to me and raises one eyebrow, I almost laugh to see that spark of her still there inside.

If, when taking an early morning walk with friends, our words and laughter (and sometimes sorrow or anger) mix with our strong strides so that we don’t particularly notice that the hill is steep, I am happy.

If, when I come home, there is no task urgently calling to me, and I can put my feet up and just sit, I feel joy.

Rabbi Maralee Gordon

Finding Joy seems like a game of hide and seek. “Ready or not here I come!” The childhood game can erupt in giggles and laughter when a person is found. That’s what happens with joy. It makes us smile or giggle or laugh when we find it. Without being self-conscious.

William Wordsworth wrote a poem, “Surprised by Joy” when dealing with grief after his daughter died:

Surprised by joy — impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport — Oh! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind —
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss? — That thought’s return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

Sometimes joy just sneaks up on us, when we are least expecting it. Sometimes it catches us off guard. Sometimes it is profound feeling that cannot be put into words. You know it when you feel it.

Perhaps that is why there are so many words for joy in Hebrew.

• Simcha, joy with a sense of passion, also the name of a celebration.(and my middle name in Hebrew!)
• Osher, Happiness like in the song, Ashrei yoshvei…Happy is the one who dwells in the house of the Lord. In this case it can also be a pun on the word for being rich.
• Ora, which means both light and joy. There is a song Ora v’simcha–light and joy!
• Gila, an exuberant outburst of joy or the happiness of discovery, to reveal G-d, which is a great source of joy
• Rina, joy, sometimes singing, sometimes “refreshing happiness” or if you scramble the letters, candle (ner) of G-d
• Ditza, a sublime joy
• Sasson, sudden unexpected happiness
• Tzahala, happiness and dancing
• Chedva, happiness of togetherness which only shows up twice in the Hebrew Bible

As I write this, I find myself humming the last blessing of the “Sheva Brachot”, the seven marriage blessings. Many of the Hebrew words for joy are in just this one paragraph.

“Blessed are You, Lord our G‑d, Ruler of the universe, who created joy (sasson) and happiness (simcha), groom and bride, gladness (gila), jubilation (rina), cheer (ditza) and delight (cheva), love, friendship, harmony and fellowship. L-rd our G‑d, let there speedily be heard in the cities of Judah and in the streets of Jerusalem the sound of joy (sasson) and the sound of happiness (simcha), the sound of a groom and the sound of a bride, the sound of exultation of grooms from under their chuppah, and youths from their joyous (simcha) banquets. Blessed are You Lord, who gladdens the groom with the bride.”

 
There you have it. Joy, all the words. All in one prayer!

Sometimes, I am surprised by joy, surprised by my husband, even after all these years. Sometimes that too can be a game of hide and seek. Sometimes the secret is in leaving room to be surprised by joy, by not filling up every available space, or every available timeslot. Leaving room, I am surprised by joy. Then as the psalmist says, “My cup runneth over.”

I am surprised by joy in a myriad of ways. During the next few weeks we will look at all those ways we can be surprised by joy. And maybe in the process we will learn how to sustain joy.

“For the joy of Judaism that keeps going and going and going.” That’s the tag line of my blog, the Energizer Rabbi. It’s whimsical and it’s happy. Happy Rosh Hodesh Elul. Today is the first morning of the Hebrew month of Elul. OK—it is really the second morning but yesterday was Shabbat and I don’t post on Shabbat and it is a two day Rosh Hodesh.

For some, Rosh Hodesh Elul signals the beginning of the High Holiday season. 40 days until Yom Kippur. For some rabbis, worried about massive to do lists and getting it all just right, it is terrifying! For some people, worried about the metaphor of G-d writing us in the Book of Life it is also terrifying. The stakes are high.

For me, it can be those things. But to answer a question that people often ask me, Rosh Hashanah IS a happy holiday. So for the next 40 days we are going to explore joy. Something near and dear to my own heart since Joy is my middle name and the one my family uses.

Sometimes joy seems elusive, fleeting. Sometimes, like yesterday it is easy to find. We spent Shabbat talking about “oneg Shabbat”, the pleasure, the delight of Shabbat. Then a small group of my congregation went to the Anderson Japanese Gardens in Rockford, IL, to experience “oneg Shabbat” in the beauty of a natural setting.

Anderson is one of those places that makes me happy. It is beautiful. It is serene. It enables me to be calm and experience my deeper self. I was excited to share this special place with special friends.

It has a reflecting pool filled with koi, two beautiful waterfalls, a formal Japanese tea house, lush green lawns and a pavilion ideal for summer band concerts or outdoor weddings. And a lovely restaurant overlooking it all with organic, locally sourced food.

Yesterday we began by walking around the reflecting pond—enjoying the sounds of joy and laughter as a wedding ceremony was taking place. Then we gathered under a bright red umbrella and I led a guided meditation about walking with G-d and returning. Return, Teshuva, is a big theme of this season. One thing that brings me joy, is that G-d is always available to us, always willing to meet us where we are. It helps that we were in a beautiful setting.

We read a poem about Elul. This one based on Psalm 27, the Psalm for the Season of Repentance, by Rabbi Patti Haskell, I fell in love with. http://www.ritualwell.org/ritual/poem-elul-psalm-27

Good morning, God, happy Elul.
This day, one thing do I ask of you, God,
One thing do I seek:
To dwell in your house
All the days of my life.

… and while I dwell with you
Perhaps a few more things I might request:
Good health is at the top of my list—
For me, my family, my loved ones,
While we’re at it how about everyone, everywhere.

And perhaps food:
A healthy nosh for all who are hungry.
Quench all hunger and thirst with your love.
We do hunger for more than food and drink, so
Please quench other needs as well.

Okay, how ‘bout safety.
Safety from earthquakes, hurricanes,
Safety from one another.
Safety from all that frightens us
Safety to rest in your care.

And laughter.
Please give us much fun, silliness
to giggle at, many many smiles.
Smiles as we watch children investigate their worlds,
Smiles as we explore the lives of our elders.

God, let me behold your graciousness
Today… each day of Elul… each day
Of this year, and next, and then the next,
While I visit your temple
And immerse in your love.

We heard those sounds of laughter. From the little children investigating their world. We explored what it means to be elderly and maybe not walk as well as we once did. And still we found joy.

Then people scattered with a Shabbat afternoon amidah and a shiviti, a focus on G-d’s name to do their own prayers, own meditations, own soul searching. Yud, Hay, Vuv, Hay. I am holy. All is clear. You are loved. All is perfect.”

When we gathered again, we sang Hashivenu and ended with another poem, written by a classmate of mine, Trisha Arlin.

http://www.ritualwell.org/ritual/return-prayer-elul

Then we sat and schmoozed in this glorious place,under bright blue skies enjoying the beauty and each other’s company.

Mincha is a gift. A pause in our frenetic pace. A brief interlude and a chance to remember that we are pure, blameless, created in joy. We are holy. We are loved. And we can return to that state. Whenever and wherever we want. It helps to be in a beautiful space.

Good health, enough food, safety, laughter, love. What would you pray for while dwelling in the House of the Lord—inside a synagogue building or outside in G-d’s House, G-d’s own beautiful creation. Come explore joy with me. Then we will be ready to enter the new year.

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.