One of my favorite memories Chanukah was rushing home after school in the dark Evanston nights. We would gather around the dinner table and light the candles. We would have fried food from some country or other because Jews around the world celebrate Chanukah. And then my father would read. Often from a little book by Isaac Bashevis Singer, Zlateh the Goat. Or from the Wise Men of Chelm. I still think of the story of diamonds, I mean snow, every first snowfall.

This year, because my congregation is celebrating Jews Around the World as part of our diversity, I thought I would retell a story. The first one is from Hanukkah Around the World by Tami Lehman-Wilzig. Her first story is from Modi’in, Israel, where the Macabees were born.

“’Come here, I have something to show you.’ Orly’s mother calls to her daughter. Orly enters the living room and sits down next o her mother who is looking at an old family album. She points to a photo of a young girl holding a lit torch, standing with a group of seven boys and girls. “That’s Savta Raba, your great grandmother. The caption says, ‘Hanukkah 1943.’ The relay from Modi’in to Jerusalem started five years before Israel became a state. And Savta Rab was the first one to carry the torch.’ Orly stares at the old black and white photo. “Wow! And this year I’m carrying the torch,’ she whispers. Ima hugs Orly, ‘And you’re carrying on a family tradition. When I visited Savta Raba and told her you were chosen to lead the Hanukkah relay, she gave me this album, so you could see her photo.’ The doorbell rings. ‘Come on in.’ Orly calls to her friend Anat. ‘Look at this!’ Orly opens the album and tells Anat the story. ‘Cool!’ says Anat. She looks at her watch. “Oh, it’s 3:15. We have to run. Today they’re taking us to where the relay begins and showing us the route. We’re starting near the graves of the Maccabees.’

In a flash, the two are out the door. Seconds later Orly flies back in panting. ‘Ima can I take the photo? I want to show it to Avi, my youth group leader.’ Orly’s mother carefully removes the photo and puts it in an envelope. ‘Just don’t lose it!’ she says.

Each day after school, Orly and Anat practice running to build up their stamina. One day, Ima gets a call from Avi with a special request. After seeing the old photo, he’s had an idea….”

Can anyone guess what the idea is? Any other ideas of unique ways to celebrate Chanukah in Israel? They include—this relay race from Modi’in to Jerusalem. Last year we ran a similar thing in Elgin, tied to Chanukah and Thanksgiving. I hope we can do it again next year. They use a dreidle (sivivon) that has a peh instead of a shin, because “A great miracle happened here (ooh)”, not there (sham). In 1958, the Bank of Israel began to make a special coin for Chanukah, a unique Chanukah gelt. Each year’s coin features a different country. This year, if you were in Israel you could go to an exhibit at the Bank of Israel to celebrate all the Chanukah gelt they have minted through the years. http://www.israel21c.org/nostalgia-israel/coins-of-israel-ancient-and-new/   And in Israel, they don’t eat latkes, they eat sufganiyot, jelly donuts, since they are fried in oil. Sometimes my family eats falafel instead of sufganiyot!

They tell me that when writing a blog only one organization should be spotlighted. But that is not the way my life works. Sunday was a remarkable day. At the synagogue we had 80 people for the annual Men’s Club prepared Latke Lunch. The Sisterhood Chanukah bazaar was in full swing (and I am told did very nicely). Hebrew School and Torah School enjoyed singing Chanukah songs and prelighting the menorah so everyone is ready. The parents met about fundraising. It was a full, busy, active, vibrant place. Just the kind of community we are trying to create.

In the sanctuary there was a meeting with Rabbi Ari Moffic to discuss the December Dilemma. Now for me, and I think maybe many, December is an opportunity to celebrate. To celebrate many things. To enjoy many things. For me there is no dilemma and no struggle. Many, however, are uncomfortable with the dominant position that Christmas has taken. Not going to lie. Not going to pretend any more. I like Christmas. The lights, the trees, the music, the presents, the food, the family. It doesn’t make me any less Jewish that my neighbors and some of my family celebrate Christmas. December 24^th will find me up north with 30 of my relatives. Celebrating Chanukah and Christmas. With menorahs and a tree. Latkes and turkey. Gelt and stockings and Santa. I even bless his sleigh (it is in other duties as described, and he waits for me every year to recite Tefilat Haderech).

For me it is not a conflict. It is the way my family has always done it—as Jews, as long as anyone can remember, all the way back to Germany in the 1840s. Well, not the sleigh part, that only happened after I became a rabbi.

So for me, there is no dilemma. A December Dialogue, a December Discussion, a December Delight maybe!

What Rabbi Moffic did was help us clarify what our values are at this season. And something she said really resonated. She talked about how Jews are people of wild hope. They have to be. For 2000 years, Jews hoped to have a land. For 2000 years they celebrated Chanukah wherever they went. She talked about optimism and joy. And hope. HaTikvah. The hope. A light to the nations because without Chanukah, there would be no Christmas.

Then after the Latke Lunch, my husband and I drove into Skokie to the Illinois Holocaust Museum to hear Ruth Messenger speak about the role of American Jewish World Service. As usual she was great. She talked about how AJWS is present in 19 countries. How AJWS was amongst the first to be on the front lines of Haiti, of Darfur, after the tsunami and more recently with Ebola. Everywhere AJWS goes they spread hope. Hope leads to action. It is like the Edmund Flegg quote, “I am a Jew because at every time despair cries out, the Jew hopes.” And that is very the hope leads to action. That’s what led me to start my celebration of Chanukah at Representative Peter Roskam’s office on behalf of American Jewish World Service asking for support of the International Violence Against Women Act. That combination of hope and action is what makes me proud to be an American Jewish World Service Global Justice fellow.

After Chanukah, the bulletin board in the foyer of the synagogue will be changed. We will focus on Martin Luther King, jr. as part of the national day of service. Our social action chairperson, Elise, told me that she already has the bulletin board planned out. It will include a Martin Luther King quote about hope. Perhaps it is this one. “Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.”

These are the values that I choose to emphasize at Chanukah. Hope. Light. Love. So thank you, Ari, Ruth and Elise for helping realize what I am rededicating myself to this holiday season.

What a week. A week of deep connections. On Shabbat we read the perhaps the most challenging parshas, portions in the Torah, the rape of Dinah and her brothers’ revengeful response. This was also the week that The Red Tent was broadcast on Lifetime, based on Anita Diamant’s book about Dinah. What do we really know about Dinah? There are only four verses that tell the story. The Red Tent is 352 pages. It is a modern midrash and it teaches us much about what women’s spirituality might have been like—and even more about what we might like today as women for the deep connections between women. That is why the book resonated so much. That is why Lifetime made it into a rather steamy love story.

The rabbis are not kind to Dinah. As Rabbi Jill Hammer pointed out in her AJR D’var Torah this week, Dinah went out, the Bible says, using the same verb to describe Jacob who also went out. When Jacob went out he had a wonderful, mystical experience of the Divine. He put his head on a rock and dreamed of a ladder with angels ascending and descending. He said that G-d was in this place and he did not know it. Dinah was raped.

Some of the rabbis say that when she went out she was looking for something or someone. Maybe she was “coquettish.” Is this a blame the victim moment? Others argue no. It is because she was related to Esau, the hunter, who liked to go out. Neither works for me.

Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav says that we should “go out” to find G-d in the wilderness. He wrote a beautiful prayer. Debbie Friedman translated it this way: “You are the One, for this I pray, that I may have the strength to be alone. To see the world, to stand among the trees and all the living things. That I may stand alone and offer prayers and talk to You. You are the One to whom I do belong.”

I want that wilderness experience of G-d too. I want to experience G-d one on one in the beauty of nature. Why should I, as a woman be denied? Why should I be afraid?

Rape is wrong. Period. Blaming the victim, or her ancestors is wrong. Period. Violence is wrong. Period.

A question had come up earlier in the week—is revenge ever a spiritual response? Is that a legitimate response to terrorism? To rape? I think I understand the desire for revenge, but I don’t think that it ultimately helps. The Bible teaches “Vengeance is Mine”, says G-d. So Simon and Levi who led the revenge of Dinah, defending her honor by circumcising and killing the men of Shechem, it must have been wrong. It seems to say so, as one congregant pointed out when the tribes of Simon and Levi are blessed differently in the book of Exodus. Perhaps this seeking of revenge Is one of those sins that continues from generation to generation?

As another congregant pointed out, you cannot forgive if you don’t feel safe. That was the conclusion of my rabbinic thesis too.

So after talking about Dinah and her brother’s revenge (just where was Jacob, Dinah’s father? Why is he silent? How can he remain silent in the face of the unspeakable done to his only daughter? I’ll come back to that), I got on a plane to fly to Los Angeles for a Wellstone Training as part of my American Jewish World Service Global Justice Fellowship.

American Jewish World Service is in the middle of a campaign called “We Believe”, http://webelieve.ajws.org about stopping violence against women, girls and the LGBT community. They have discovered through working with their grantees in 19 “Global South” countries that they cannot help the grantees deliver the services to reduce poverty unless they solve this issue first.

The same could be said of the work we do here in the States as well. That is part of why I serve on the 16^th Circuit Court Faith Committee on Domestic Violence. That is part of why I wrote my thesis on the 13 Attributes of the Divine and even though G-d forgives most sins, there are some sins that G-d does not forgive to the 3^rd and 4^th generation.

Violence against women and girls is wrong. Period. Rape is wrong. Period. Hate crimes against the LGBT community is wrong. Period. Child marriage is wrong. Period. Violence is wrong. Period.

American Jewish World Service makes real the values the Torah portion teaches. Not thousands of years ago. Not yesterday. But today. Now.

For two days we learned how to take our Jewish values and use them to organize and mobilize. Our families. Our friends. Our communities. We learned how interconnected we really are. We learned how to listen deeply to people’s stories. We learned about the Wellstone Triangle (grassroots organizing, policy, and decision makers) and how that relates to Al Shlosha Devarim, on three things the world stands, on Torah (values, policy), on service (decision makers) and on gemilut chasadim, acts of lovingkindness (grassroots organizing) and the fact that you need all three. We learned about concentric circles (individual, communal and institutional) of change. We learned AJWS Model of Social Change Hierarchy. We learned about the difference between transactional relationships and deep relationships. It takes building connections between people. We learned about humility.

We talked about when we felt powerless and when we felt powerful. We talked about how we can be more powerful as part of a connected group. We talked about the Talmudic mandate to speak up when we see injustice.

We saw the importance of our hands—reaching out to one another, receiving hugs, working for justice. In my own d’var Torah yesterday, I told Rabbi Larry Kushner’s story from the Book of Miracles about the Hands of G-d. In terms of connectedness, he was Anita Diamant’s rabbi in Sudbury. I talked about Mayyim Hayyim’s commitment to helping victims of violence heal. That was one reason Anita founded Mayyim Hayyim. How one of the seven steps of preparation for going to the mikveh is to look at your own hands and figure out how you will use them for justice, for Tikkun Olam. I cautioned that those very same hands could be like the hands of Simon and Levi and be used for (well-meaning) revenge. At the closing circle, we each took each others’ hands and promised to use our hands to support one another and the work that we do in our own communities.

For me, the connections were powerful and deep. I am excited to return to Elgin and continue the work that I am doing. If you want to help, begin by using your hands to sign AJWS’s petition to pass IVAWA, the International Violence Against Women Act to be reintroduced into the next Congress. Do it for Anita and the Red Tent and Mayyim Hayyim. Do it for Dinah. Do it for all our matriarchs. Do it for all our daughters. Do it for me. Just do it. http://webelieve.ajws.org

For four weeks I have been in the other room, the library,the chapel, in the alternative, experiential, experimental service. It has given our lay leaders an opportunity to work on their davvening skills and they have done a great job. We have had lay leaders give d’vrei Torah, and they have taught us well. From each of them I have learned something and for that I am grateful.

Each week in the other room, we have learned something too. Our conversations have sparkled. Our discussions have been graced with the presence of G-d. The conversations have been enriching and illuminating. From time to time they gave me goosebumps.

What were we doing in there? We were discussing why we pray and what we want out of a prayer experience. For some it was simple. Praying is an opportunity to praise G-d, to give thanks. For others it is an opportunity to slow down and let the words wash over them in a meditative way. For others it is the chance to achieve some sense of balance.

We talked about three different kinds of prayer: praise, petition and thanksgiving.

We wrestled with some Hebrew and learned that Siddur Sim Shalom doesn’t always translate accurately. For instance in the Hoda’ot, the prayer of Thanksgiving which starts Modim Ananchu Lach, the translation says “We proclaim that you are the Lord…” More accurately it says “We thank to You.” Or in smoother English, “We give thanks to You,” Or “We gratefully acknowledge….” That sense of thanksgiving permeates our worship.

Every time we say a blessing, “Baruch Atah Adonai,” we are giving thanks, even if it is hard to do, Baruch Atah Adonai….yotzer or, who forms light, uvorei hoshech, and creates darkness, oseh shalom, who makes peace, uvorei et hakol and creates all things. Really, G-d creates all things? Does that mean G-d creates evil? Even if we are not comfortable with that, our tradition seems to answer yes.

Or “Baruch Dayan Ha-emet, blessed is the true Judge” which we recite upon hearing of someone’s death. This conversation spilled over on a Sunday morning. Some of my students wrestled with saying blessings for bad things. What would you say if you spilled something and it stained your clothes? Their answer: “Blessed are you for laundry detergent.” Or if you bit into an apple and found a worm? “Blessed are you for giving us worms to enrich the earth.”

Even, dare I say it, snow can be a blessing. While the rabbis have a blessing for rain and even for hail, they miss having one for snow. There is Hebrew for snow, shelig and it is mentioned in the Psalms. This week snow fell on Mount Hermon. There is a great picture online of IDF soldiers training in the snow and having fun. So our students write blessings for snow. “Blessed are You who gives us snow in its seasons—who provides hot chocolate and snow days, who gives us delight, and laughter.” Worried about driving, the kids have you covered too. “Who taught us about salt and provides strength to shovel and plow.”

This is an important lesson. It teaches our students that they can pray from the heart. It teaches us that we can too.

When we spoke about the difference between keva, the fixed structure of the service and kavanah, the intention behind the words, one student said she would be worried that she wouldn’t say the right words, that she would get it wrong. I think many of us feel that way and are afraid to pray, “off the book.” We worry that we have to say the words just so or we have to “davven”, pray, in Hebrew or that we have to say every word in the prayer book in order for it to count.

The Chassidic rabbis teach us about prayer. About the little boy who didn’t know any Hebrew. There are at least two versions of this story. In one case he took out a chalil, a flute, and blew a note. The congregants were aghast. He was violating the sanctity of the sanctuary; he was violating Shabbat; it was an affront to G-d. The rebbe assured them that his note, with that pure kavanah, intention behind it, propelled all of their prayers to heaven. In the other version the kid is saying the aleph bet. Aleph bet vet, aleph bet vet, and in his head he is saying, “Lord I don’t know the way to pray, but you can take the letters and assemble them into the words.”

The Chassidic rebbes teach us about joy. It is OK to sing. It is OK to dance. Just watch the young yeshiva boys coming down from the Old City of Jerusalem into the Western Wall plaza on a Friday night to welcome Shabbat. Their dancing is filled with joy.

We learned that we speak to G-d through our prayers and that G-d can speak to us through the words of Torah. Or through that still small voice that Elijah heard. We learned that we can pray in Hebrew or in whatever language we understand best.

And each week there was something to learn about the nature of prayer from the Torah itself.

• In Genesis Chapter 14, we learned that a non-Israelite, King Melchizedek of Salem, a priest, a cohain, of the Most High, El Elyon, brought out bread and wine (sound familiar?) Baruch Avram L’El Elyon, Blessed be Abram of G-d most high, Creator of Heaven and Earth, And blessed be God most High, who has delivered your foes into your hand. When we say in the Avot prayer, “Magain Avraham, the Shield of Abraham, that language comes from the Torah, this very portion when G-d says, “Fear not, I am a shield to you, Anochi Magain Lach.”

• We learned that because Abraham argued with G-d, that we need to have at least 10 people in a minyan. This is the minimum number needed to have a sacred community. And we questioned whether we really need a minyan if it is OK to pray on our own. And so we learned that on the other hand, according to Pirke Avot, even if two people discuss Torah, G-d is present.

• We learned that each person has a different experience of prayer, of G-d, that we have Shacharit because Abraham got up early in the morning. Mincha, because Isaac mediated in the field and Ma’ariv because Jacob was a dreamer and when he awoke he said, “God was in this place and I did not know it.” In the words of Mishkan Tefilah, “Our ancestors prayed, each through their own experience of God, each through their own visions which we have come to share. Abraham with the fervor of justice, pleaded the cause of cities. Sarah, in the pain of waiting, dared to hope for new life. Isaac, meditating alone in the field, lifted his eyes to find love. Rebecca asked for the ability to discern God’s call. Jacob climbed the rungs of his night into heaven, seeking destiny. Leah dreamed of love; and Rachel sought harmony. We as they seek God’s presence.” Richard Levy in Mishkan Tefilah.

• We learned that G-d comforted Abraham after his circumcision, and thus we learned that we should visit the sick—and that we can pray for healing. We learned that sometimes, G-d comes in the presence of a messenger thus we should welcome guests and be kind to the stranger. And that each messenger has just one function. So that three angels, messengers can to visit Abraham. And Abraham rushed to serve them. Then two went to Sodom and Gemorrah.

• We learned the root of the word Baruch, berekh which really means kneel. So that when the camels kneel, they are not really blessing Isaac!

As part of the prayer experience, we learned that G-d remembered (zachor) Rachel. Why? What does it mean to remember? The same verb is used about G-d remembering Noah. How do we compare Rachel to Noah. G-d remembered Noah too. What does this mean about our own prayers?

Does it differ from G-d took note of? This is the ‘pakad’ of Sarah. G-d took note, pakad Sarah.

Sometimes these kinds of questions, the deep reading of the text may seem like just a word game. But I don’t think so. I think it is what enriches our prayer experience and brings us closer to G-d, which is something that I at least want out of prayer.

Just before Thanksgiving, our small group discussed the difference between thankful and grateful. A careful reading and a great discussion that extended into Kiddush, the social hour after services led us to conclude that there is a difference. I always thought they were synonyms. One person sees grateful as internal and thankful as reaching out or being active.

An internet search suggests maybe It seems we use grateful to talk about how we feel when someone is kind to us or does us a favor: for instance, when writing a thank you note you might say, “Thank you for the meal your brought to us when we were sick. We are so grateful.” Or “I would be grateful if you would send me information on your company for a school project.” Or we use thankful when we are relieved that something unpleasant or dangerous didn’t happen. After an accident for instance someone might say, “There was some damage to the car but I am thankful that there were no injuries.” That might be the sense the Puritans had. They were thankful to have survived the winter and that they had food from the harvest.”

I am grateful for the opportunity to play with these words, to think deeply about prayer, to watch with delight as our conversations sparkle. And to hope that G-d will remember and take note of us today.

Yesterday I wrote about why I am thankful. Or grateful. I’ll never think about that the same way again.

But it didn’t go far enough for me. It is easy to say I am thankful for life, for family, for friends, for food, for shelter, for heat, for clothing, for health. But there is so much more. For Creation. For nature. For education. For employment.

Each one of those could be paragraphs.

For life—I understand how fine that line is between life and death. I could have been killed in the attack in Israel or in the car accident on the West Side Highway. Therefore I have an obligation to give thanks and to make sure my life matters. I try hard not to be bitter and to live every day to its fullest. Sarah said I should open a bottle of champagne every day and remember to say Shehechianu. I don’t always but I try to say, “Modah Ani Lefanecha” when I wake up. Thank You, G-d. I am still here. I am still alive.

For family—my “nuclear family” of Simon and Sarah. So proud of how Sarah is navigating the complicated world of being an adult, making real choices, living in California. I miss her tremendously today but I am thankful also for cell phones and Skype. The traditions continue. Just differently. Simon keeps me grounded and humble. Even when I get frustrated. Even when I am stressed. I don’t always say it. It is simple. I love him. My wide extended family that includes Simon’s kids, Anna, Richard and Gabrielle, their spouses, Bob and Edgar kids, Madeline, Spencer and Sophia. They have taught me much and make me laugh. My brother, Danny, his wife Darcy, niece and nephew, Nelle and Buddy. My cousins, Laurie, Amy, and Meg and spouses and kids, Simon’s family, Fred and Tricia, Don and Marsha, Laura and their kids and kids. Simon’s cousins. Where else can I feel like a perfect 10.

For friends—I have a lot of them. Apparently more than most. I am “attached”. I could not have gotten through rabbinical school without each of them. Not just rabbinical school Life. High School. College, Beyond. I am thankful for Facebook which keeps us in contact. The “little people”—baristas, hair dressers, massage therapists, Molly Maids. Then there are the really good friends. Friends for a lifetime that I can call in the middle of the night—or from some road or other. If I start naming them I will miss someone but especially today Beryl, Marylin, Lisette, Linda, Amy, David, Jack, Larry. Friends at the Academy—Linda, Katy, Anne, Ziona, Lisa, Michael, again too many to count. And new friends Don, David, Keith. And many, many at Congregation Kneseth Israel. I guess that means I am thankful for my cell phone. Oh yes, you bet. And I think maybe T-Mobile fixed mine today. I am thankful for Ozzie at T-Mobile, and Fred at T-Mobile in Nashua.

For food. It is no secret that I like to eat. I like lots of food. Even vegetables. An Alef Bet of them. Asparagus, Artichokes, avocado, Brussels sprouts, cucumbers, corn, fennel, leeks, mushrooms, pumpkin, spinach, tomatoes (OK a fruit). You get the idea. I like the variety, the colors, the spice. I like cooking. I like going to the farmer’s market and picking out the perfect, in-season something. I LOVE steak, potato and asparagus. I love the perfect cup of coffee. I love having conversations over dinner and discussing the issues of the day. And I love the fact that I have a great Weight Watchers leader, Terra, who keeps me in check and reminds me it is not just about the food. It is a lifestyle. And her optimism, her encouragement and her self-love makes all the difference. And I know that not everyone has enough to eat. We have enough food in the world. G-d does provide as the Birkat Hamazon says, we need to learn to distribute it better.

For shelter—I love our new house. We’ve been here a year now in this location. We haven’t spent much time decorating but all the stuff we had crammed in our condo looks great here. We have built in bookcases everywhere and a palatial master bath that is almost embarrassing. We have a big deck that made figuring out how to put up a sukkah more complicated but we did it! We are right next to the wetlands so the sound of birds greets us. Simon put in a large vegetable garden. If I call you and say I live in a cornfield, don’t necessarily believe me although they are in walking distance, as are the cows, and the river. Simon thinks we live in a forest on the edge of the prairie. Not really forest either. But it is beautiful. The sun is shining through the windows with snowflakes flurrying. We have plenty of room. Come visit. Again, I realize that not everyone is as lucky as us.

For heat. This has been a cold year. The coldest November on record in Chicagoland. Snow for Passover, Yom Kippur, Halloween and now Thanksgiving flurries. Again, we are lucky. I am relieved that the cost of gas is coming down. I think we must continue to work on issues of climate change. We have heat. So many do not.

For clothing—Sometimes I can’t figure out what to wear. I am between sizes and that is a good thing. But I have a new winter coat and plenty of hats and scarves and gloves (thank you Roberts Family and Echo!). I have shoes and pants, dresses and skirts, shirts and blazers. Dressy clothes, business clothes, casual clothes, painting clothes, athletic clothes.

For health—This is a big one. I am again lucky. I am relatively healthy. Sure, I could be more healthy if I could lose more weight. I am thankful for scientists who work on research that produce medications that help keep me healthy. I am thankful for doctors who are skilled and smart and compassionate. For nurses. For therapists be they PhDs, social workers, psychologists, physical, occupational, respiratory, massage. All them help keep all of us healthy. I am especially grateful for Leslie, for Marian, for Heather, for David, for Dorothea. I am thankful that I can run again. That I can walk without pain. That I can be outside in creation and enjoy praising G-d in that way. Rebbe Nachman of Bratslav counseled that we should be outdoors for an hour each day, just walked. Henry David Thoreau thought four hours would be ideal. I may not have four hours and some days even an hour seems hard to find. My doctors, my nurses, my medications and my exercise keep me healthy. I am thankful.

For Creation. For nature—How can we not be amazed and awed at the beauty of Creation? How can we not work to protect it? A sunset. A sunrise. A mountain peak. An ocean view. Or a lake. A walk in the woods or through the prairie. For the variety of animals. I can even be thankful—and this is a stretch—for mosquitos. As the song says, “All G-d’s creatures got a place in the choir.”

For education—I am who I am because my parents believed in education. I read early. I devoured books. I learned the importance of asking good questions. For Oakton Elementary, for Breton Downs, East Grand Rapids Middle School, East Grand Rapids High School, Tufts University, Hebrew College and the Academy for Jewish Religion. For teachers and administrators. Guidance counselors and librarians. Coaches and leaders and advisors. For classes and books and extra-curricular activities. Sometimes I learned more from the “extras” than from the classes themselves. “Much I have learned from my teachers, even more from my colleagues and the most from my students.” (Ta’anit 7a) I am grateful to all.

For employment—This is the biggest one this week. I have a job I love. Sure some days the hours are long. Sure there are days I complain. But I have found a job where I can make a difference in the world and maybe even more importantly in the lives of individual people. I have congregants who take their Judaism seriously. Who wrestle with tough issues. Who engage with their tradition deeply. Who ask hard questions. Who want to be mensches. Who want to be a partner with their rabbi. It is exactly what I was looking for when I went into the rabbinate.

This Thanksgiving, I have a lot to be thankful for as well as grateful. What are you thankful for?

November 26, 2014
I had a professor once who thought that Jews didn’t cultivate an attitude of gratitude. Many in the class argued with him vehemently. I am not sure we ever convinced him. I had a congregant argue with me that according to Orthodox Jews, Thanksgiving isn’t a Jewish holiday so they don’t celebrate it in the Orthodox world. The Reform Movement this week sent out an email about how to make Thanksgiving more Jewish. If you are looking for ideas for your own Thanksgiving table it is a good article. http://www.reformjudaism.org/blog/2014/11/21/thanksgiving-jewish-holiday?utm_source=WU&utm_medium=email&utm_content=20141121&utm_campaign=Feature

But it doesn’t go far enough. She is correct. The original Puritans took their religion seriously (too seriously if you ask me and I worked as a Pilgrim at Plimouth Plantation where we were not allowed to joke or laugh or talk about Christmas. Christmas and birthdays were just other days, not something to celebrate). But they did take thanking G-d seriously. And they saw their role in cold, snowy New England, as a utopian society. They were a light to the nations. A light on the hill. Their celebration of Thanksgiving was based on the Jewish festival of Sukkot. The harvest festival. Governor Bradford learned to read Hebrew: “Though I am grown aged, yet I have had a longing desire to see with my own eyes something of that most ancient language and holy tongue, in which the Law and the oracles of God were written and in which God and angels spoke to the holy patriarchs of old time . . . My aim and desire is to see holy text, and to discern somewhat of the same, for my own content” (p. xxviii, edited by Samuel Eliot Morison, 1989).

This month my congregation has been focusing on prayer. It was very enriching. The conversations were wonderful. One older congregant explained that it is really very simple. He prayed, “To thank G-d. To praise G-d. That is all. That is why we are here.”

Another challenged me to think about the difference between grateful and thankful. Until last week I had always thought they were synonyms. Her feeling is that grateful is an internal sense and thankful is what we feel when someone is nice to us. A check of the web leads to many answers. One said that we use grateful when we talk about how we feel when someone is kind to us. “Thank you so much for helping us move. We are so grateful” “I would be grateful if you sent me information.” Thankful is used when we are relieved. “I am thankful to survive the accident.” I am not sure this settles it for me. I love this kind of word play and am delighted to have thought it out.

In any case, the rabbis of the Talmud teach we should say 100 blessings (at least) a day. It sounds difficult. The reality is that in the Birkat Hashachar, the introductory portion of the service, there are at least 50. We spent Saturday morning counting them.

So what I am thankful for?

I am thankful for G-d. For life. For family. For friends. For food. For shelter. For heat. For clothing. For health. For meaningful employment. For the ability to make a difference in the world.

These are good questions. How do you see grateful and thankful? What are you thankful for? Happy Thanksgiving.

How many of us have ever bargained with G-d? While it might seem audacious, we come from ancestors who did precisely that. This past week we read the parsha, portion that includes Abraham arguing with G-d. This argument, bargaining, is how we know that Abraham is a righteous man, for all time, not like Noah who was a righteous man in his generation. What is Abraham arguing about? He is trying to save Sodom and Gemorrah. “Surely you won’t destroy those cities if there are at least 50 righteous people?,” he demands of G-d. Surely not, G-d responds. But there are not even 50 righteous. Abraham bargains all the way down to 10. From this we learn that to have a community you need 10 people. In order to have a minyan you need 10 people.

In our quest to understand prayer this month, this is a very relevant question. Traditionally you need 10 adult Jewish men for a full, complete service. You need 10 for a minyan. You need 10 for Barchu (the formal call to worship), for the Torah service, and for the Reader’s Recitation of the Amidah, You need 10 people to say Kaddish. You need 10 people for Mourner’s Kaddish. Many have argued with me this week: that it is about intention.

• “I can say Kaddish at home and remember my father. I don’t need 10.”
• “We used to say Kaddish if there were 9 by counting a child or the Torah as the 10^th.”
• “We would count a minyan if there were 8 plus two non-Jews, two kids or a kid and the Torah.”

And while this is a tradition, maybe we don’t need a minyan. It is acceptable to pray alone. Many do just that. When we go to sleep we might say the Sh’ma. When we wake up we might say Modeh/Modah Ani. We may live somewhere where there is not a daily minyan. We may like meditating or praying on our own.

Pirke Avot, the Wisdom of the Fathers, part of the Mishneh teaches us:

Rabbi Hananiah ben Teradion says: When two sit together without any words of Torah between them it is just a setting for frivolous people, as it says (Psalms 1:1), that a person [who only desires God’s Torah] does not sit among frivolous people. But when two people sit together and there are words of Torah between them, the Shekhinah – Divine Presence – is between them, as it says (Malachi 3:16): ‘Then those who fear God engaged each other in conversation, each with their friend, and God listened and heard. Then it was written as a book of remembrance before Him, for those who revere God and who contemplate His Name.’ (Pirke Avot 3:2)

When there are just three people gathered, a full Birkat Hamazon, grace after meals is recited.

For two weeks now we have held an experimental, experiential, alternative service. The question has come up whether it is a minyan if there are not 10 in the room. My thought was that if there were at least 10 in the main sanctuary and some in the library, we were covered. Halachically that may not be quite accurate. Even if the door is open. However, I think that goes to intention, kavanah. It is our intention to have a service. The conversation has sparkled in there. Words of Torah have been exchanged. There has been deep learning. Deeper prayer. It has provided an opportunity to explore prayer and Judaism. The Shekhinah was clearly present—with or without a formal minyan. And isn’t that what prayer is about?

Last week I saw a post on Facebook I didn’t want to read. Our friend, Kathy Meyer, one of the first people we met in Elgin was not expected to live through the week. I quickly called Simon to see if he thought since I was in Deerfield I should just go to Hyde Park. We decided no, that we would go together later in the week. We had time. I was tired and didn’t want to drive through Hyde Park alone at night. I talked to Sarah and said, “I want more time with Kathy but I am not going to pray for a miracle here. That would be selfish. Kathy was ready to die and she wanted to sit at the foot of Jesus. She was so sure that is where she would be.”

By the time I got home that night, Kathy was gone.

I spend a lot of time talking to people, Jews and non-Jews about life-after-death. Jews seem less sure than Christians. We have a concept of olam ha’bah, the world-to-come, and yet we believe that the reward is in this life. We have a concept of hell—sometimes we use the word gehenna or she’ol. It is maybe the separation from G-d. We may have a concept of purgatory and that is why Jews recite Kaddish for a parent only for 11 months and not 12. We don’t want to think that the soul of our very own parent might hang in the balance, in suspension for the full twelve months. I don’t have clear answers to give people. I wish I did. It would be simpler. Easier.

And yet, I don’t think that life just ends.

Kathy was a remarkable woman. She cheated death more times than most can count. She has been on oxygen since before we knew her. Yet she was active. She walked Wyatt, their golden retriever, part of the reason we have a dog! Then she walked Wyatt and Walter. She was so active in her church—running their missions program, one of their Sunday School programs and doing a teaching on human trafficking. She loved coming to our house for Passover and she attended one Java and Jews and one Shabbat evening service. She was always curious. She was always learning. She loved to cook and to play games on Saturday nights. And she loved her family. Her goal was to get well enough to visit her newest granddaughter in Vancouver, WA just three weeks ago. And she did. She talked about her husband Mike, her daughters, her son and those two grandchildren constantly. And her G-d.

We could learn a lot from Kathy, in how she lived with passion and in how she died. Living fully, courageously. Beating the odds over and over again. Never quitting. Never (at least with us) being bitter.

One of my last conversations with her was about a family member that she described as a secular Jew. They just didn’t seem interested in faith or G-d or prayer and she wished for them the richness she had in her church. I talked to her about the book that Henri Nouwen wrote to his secular Jewish friend, Life of the Beloved. She was going to borrow my copy. I just ordered one for Mike, her husband, to give away.

The funeral was today. Sandwiched between my Java and Jews programs at three separate coffee shops. There was singing. There was story telling. There were tears and laughter. There were prayers. And the acknowledgement that sometimes our prayers don’t work. We all wanted more time with Kathy. There was a recognition that the human race has decided that death is the enemy. But death is not the end.

In the end, like Jewish funerals, there was food. Even deviled eggs. (or angel eggs, just ask me) And those eggs made me smile. Life is a circle, an egg. And Kathy lived hers so very, very fully. Perhaps our prayers, spoken and unspoken were answered.

I haven’t written much lately and people are beginning to wonder where I am. Maybe it is writer’s block. Maybe it was the intensity of the high holidays. Maybe it was writing 40 days or almost 40 days about peace. Maybe it is in not quite completing that project and leaving people who wrote beautifully hanging. For that I apologize. Maybe it is in balancing my own need to write for my own spirituality with the needs of a congregation that is traditional in approach. Historically, Jews did not write on Shabbat. It is one of the 39 categories of prohibited work based on building the Temple in Jerusalem. So if I write on my computer is it writing? Even the Orthodox in Jerusalem are figuring out how to text on Shabbat. Is that possible? http://www.thejewishweek.com/news/international/new-shabbos-app-creates-uproar-among-orthodox-circles Like all things, maybe yes, maybe no.

If I write on my day off, as I am now doing, is it a day off? Do rabbis ever get a day off? Is it possible to turn off my brain from thinking about these really deep theological, philosophical realms?

So I am back to writing. Thank you Jim, for asking for it, cajoling for it, demanding it, nudging for it, even during a football game.

This month my congregation is focused on prayer. Jewish prayer to be clear. We are trying a shorter, more relevant (?) service on Saturday mornings at 10:30 in parallel with our traditional one that begins, like always at 9:30 on Shabbat morning. We are struggling with what to call it. Is it an alternative service? Experimental? Experiential? Some wonder if it is even a service if it is shorter.

As part of this month long focus, I am thinking deeply about the issues, challenges, pleasures of prayer. I am asking questions—of everyone—the kids, the parents, our senior members. I am asking questions of myself.

This week I asked the kids, “What is prayer.” They answered that it is a conversation between them and G-d. They do it in appreciation, gratitude, thanksgiving, to ask for something like a goal in a soccer game or to do well on a test or for a family member who is sick. The adults who came to the first service pray to achieve comfort, community, serenity, peace, calm, healing. As one of our older members said, “It is simple. To praise G-d. Nothing more.”

Why do I pray? For those reasons and to be reassured. To realize that there is something beyond myself. To not feel alone.

So come join Congregation Kneseth Israel’s conversation. How do you pray? Why do you pray? What do you want to get out of a prayer experience?

There has been lots written about the clergy “protest” in Ferguson yesterday. None of it completely portrays what I experienced and before I forget I want to record my version of the events.

I went with a fair amount of trepidation. I am no stranger to rallies, protests, demonstrations and marches. Pick your word. But this one felt different and I couldn’t articulate why. Yet, one of my favorite organizations, T’ruah, Rabbis for Human Rights put out a national call. It was my day off. Saint Louis is a place that is near and dear to my heart and it was doable. Added to that my good friend, classmate and colleague, Rabbi Maralee Gordon, from up the road also wanted to go and my best friend, Father Jack Lau, lives just across the river in Godfrey. The WalMart that they talk about in the news in Ferguson, is his WalMart!

It felt different because here in Elgin, we do a good job working with the police department and Chief Soboda to prevent issues like erupted in Ferguson. In fact at today’s clergy council meeting we are planning a city wide event in January to train people in de-escalation techniques. I want to work with the police, not against them. I want to partner with them and not turn these kinds of things into an us versus them kind of thing.

But I went. And I am glad I did. It was extremely powerful. I was in Ferguson for maybe 7 hours. It will take me longer than 7 hours to process it. It is a series of vignettes. It is a series of ripples in a pond. (water metaphors are rampant!)

I admit it. I was scared. I was scared of the threat of tear gas. I was scared of the threat of arrest. I was scared of losing control. I was scared of physical violence. I was scared about what my own community would think. I was so scared that when I got on the highway I found I was going on 90 East not 90 West. My own Jonah, how far can I run away to Tarshish (maybe Boston?) moment. I was glad to share the experience with Jack and Maralee. I don’t think I could have done it alone.

So the vignettes.

• We got there early. CNN and ABC were already there. So no real secret. The church wasn’t quite ready but there was a group from a seminary in Kentucky that was already there. We found we had friends in common. Soon two local rabbis showed up. Still more friends in common. The pastor welcomed us. It was his day off but he opened the church for everyone and apologized that the coffee wasn’t ready. Later, since his support staff wasn’t in, he was the one mopping the floor, not once but twice. Always with a smile. My kind of guy. And even after 6 rabbis offered to do it for him or with him, it was still he who was mopping.
• During the training I got up to go to the bathroom. I wasn’t sure when I would see another one. There was a long line. When I got back the (black) lady in front of me was staring at me. She thought I was laughing at her. She had just said that she was scared to go to jail and didn’t want to even though she was a marshal. Together we laughed—and shared that neither of us wanted to go to jail. I felt chicken. More laughter. The good kind. Later I saw her in the parking lot and we hugged. And we laughed. And we didn’t go to jail.
• At some point the rain came “tumbling down.” Not just rain but a deluge. Apparently it was a tornado watch but we didn’t know that. I can’t explain how wet I got. Or all of the water metaphors. Was it a baptism? A mikveh? Healing rain? Forgiving rain? Was G-d punishing us? Punishing the police? I can say that I am grateful to the local (white) couple who shared their big red umbrella with the three of us. They were there with the Unitarian Universalists and were concerned about their minister who might have been arrested. Singing “Wading in the Water” a song that we use at Mayyim Hayyim events from time to time was one of the more powerful experience of the day.
• Both Jack and I gave interviews. He to an affiliate of CNN which was picked up nationally and posted on Facebook: http://www.cnn.com/video/?/video/us/2014/10/14/dnt-cheatham-missouri-protests.cnn&video_referrer=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Fl.php%3Fu%3Dhttp%253A%252F%252Fwww.cnn.com%252Fvideo%252Fdata%252F2.0%252Fvideo%252Fus%252F2014%252F10%252F14%252Fdnt-cheatham-missouri-protests.cnn.html%26h%3DhAQHa4xK8 . It helped clarify why were there. For Jack it was about solidarity. For me it was about presence. Being present in that place, at the request of Rabbi Susan Talve. Even in the rain. The pouring rain. If that boy could lay in the street for four hours and 32 minutes then I could stand in the rain for four hours. Cold, wet, tired, hungry. But alive. And present.
• At some point I noticed a woman in red approach a police officer. She was in his face. She took a step closer. Uh oh, this isn’t going to be good. I backed away. I figured she would be the first to be arrested. But no, to my amazement, the “encounter” ended in a hug. A long embrace. The singular most important moment of the rally for me.
• Not knowing completely what had happened but knowing it was significant, I kept watching the police in their riot gear. I wondered how hard this was for them. All of these insults hurled at them. They handled the situation professionally and with grace. But then we were a diverse, mixed group of clergy. It would not be good to arrest all those clergy. It might be different at midnight if the protesters were all teenagers or all black and if they were hurling rocks and not insults.
• This rally was safer than I had first thought. I got my own courage up. I approached a officer, a younger one and thanked him. Yes, thanked him. For doing his job. I shared that I thought Elgin might be different. He said that this kind of violence was inevitable, anywhere and that they know how to do this professionally because they have been doing it now every day for two months. It saddened me to think that it is inevitable. And that is part of why I was there.
• It got tense again. The prominent clergy made a line (it was still pouring), linking arm in arm, elbow to elbow, face to face with the police line. They did not, as reported in the press break through the police line. They just stood. Or kneeled. One clergy person in front of each police officer. They offered to hear police confessions. Some held up a mirror. They were peaceful. There was a call for a moment of silence. It was more like 10 minutes. It was powerful. I watched the back of T’ruah’s, Rabbi Rachel Kahn-Troster’s head with its purple kippah. She was on the very front line. Face-to-face with an officer. Unflinching. Prepared to go to jail. But she was not arrested. No rabbi was.
• After the rally, back in the church, we debriefed. The woman who embraced the police demonstrated what had happened. It was picked up on Facebook and this is what happened before that embrace: “While holding a sign that said “YOU ARE KILLING US” on one side and “DON’T SHOOT” on the other, Sister Dragonfly approached a Ferguson officer and attempted to make eye contact. She implored him to look at her, and when their gaze connected, she asked, “Why do you all hate us so much?” The officer responded, “I don’t hate you, ma’am.” She replied with “I don’t want to hate you, I’d rather hug you.” And when he said, “Then hug me,” she promptly put her arms around him, and they embraced whole-heartedly for nearly a minute.
• Also at the debriefing, a man came up to the group of rabbis clustered at the back. He was wearing a bright green hat from the National Lawyers’ Guild. They were the Legal Observers and providing legal support. There were tears in his eyes. He was raised Jewish and was overwhelmed by the rabbinic presence. “Your commitment to Tikkun Olam makes me have faith. In a higher power. In the work that I am doing. I love that you are here.”
• We drove out of Ferguson. We wonder if our clothes will ever dry. Did our shoes survive? We drove past Jack’s WalMart, the same one they would be boycotting. The same one we heard earlier in the day refused to sell batteries to one of the organizers for the bullhorn.

This story is about all of us. This story is not black and white. It is not simple. It is not pretty. As we chanted, “This is what democracy looks like. This is what theology looks like.” It is complicated. It is messy. The boy who lay on the ground for four hours and 32 minutes has become a catalyst for change. Necessary change. Necessary discussion. There is racism in America. There is a system where justice is not balanced.

I went because there was a national call for clergy to go. I went because I work with the clergy of Elgin, and the before hand the clergy of Lowell WITH the police to prevent these kinds of things. I went because there are too many examples of police brutality and system abuse everywhere.  I went because we are all created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d. Teens, of whatever color, and police officers alike. I went because as one congregant put it, “You went because you continue to inspire those of us who believe it will get better but that we need to be active for Tikkun Olam to be more than a dream.”

So why was I there? I was there because we are told “Don’t stand by while your neighbor bleeds.” I could not stand by. I needed to stand up and be counted.