It is almost Shabbat, almost Lag B’omer. In many traditional Jewish communities there would be no instrumental music on Shabbat and no instrumental music during the Omer. Some communities allow instrumental music back after Lag B’omer.

Shabbat, sacred time and place. A chance to rest, to pause, to be at peace. A time of joy, of singing, of prayer. This week I am looking forward to Shabbat. It is Teacher Appreciation Shabbat where we will honor our teachers for all the work they have done all year. It is also a musical Shabbat. Once a month we are treated to some talented musicians play their hearts out. Listening to our house band rehearse last night was very moving. Highly spiritual. Exceptional.

What is it about music that touches us so deeply? I think the explanation maybe in a song I first heard Beged Kefet sing. Apparently it is a Peter, Paul and Mary song.

Music speaks louder than words
It’s the only thing that the whole world listens to
Music speaks louder than words
When you sing, people understand

Sometimes the love that you feel inside
Gets lost between your heart and your mind
And the words don’t really say, the things you wanted them to
But then you feel in someone’s song
What you’d been trying to say all along
And somehow with the magic of music the message comes through

At our musical Shabbat we will have a new tradition. Each time we will pick a “secular” song that expresses our own spirituality. Our first song selected is Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen. I am not sure why these particular lyrics work. I suspect that each person is moved by their own stories overlaid with the story of David and Samson that are told in the lyrics–even if they don’t know the Biblical references.

Watching our president “rehearse” with the band and seeing him transported by the words and the music was magical. He put his whole being into it. His eyes were closed and he was in a different zone. Holy. He created sacred time and space. At the same time, I was in my own place. And the experience brought tears to my eyes. It was holy.

If I had to pick one song to represent my spirituality, it might be the Finale from Les Miserables. But how could I pick just one song, almost every sermon has some song lyric reference.

Take my hand
And lead me to salvation
Take my love
For love is everlasting
And remember
The truth that once was spoken
To love another person
Is to see the face of God.

CHORUS
Do you hear the people sing
Lost in the valley of the night?
It is the music of a people
Who are climbing to the light.
For the wretched of the earth
There is a flame that never dies.
Even the darkest night will end
And the sun will rise.
They will live again in freedom
In the garden of the Lord.
They will walk behind the plough-share,
They will put away the sword.
The chain will be broken
And all men will have their reward.

Will you join in our crusade?
Who will be strong and stand with me?
Somewhere beyond the barricade
Is there a world you long to see?
Do you hear the people sing?
Say, do you hear the distant drums?
It is the future that they bring
When tomorrow comes!

For me, this song seems to combine the need to make the world a better place by joining in the crusade and the acknowledgement that loving another person is to see the face of G-d. What more could you ask for?

Perhaps this–to return again. Shlomo Carlebach wrote this profound song performed by his daughter Neshama Carlebach: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aYvpbcImTnc

Return again, return again
Return to the land of your soul
Return to who you are
Return to what you are
Return to where you are
Born and reborn again

This is a song that picks up what Shabbat is about. It is that opportunity to explore our inner most selves.

Sometimes music touches us not because of the lyrics but because of the melody. It maybe a quiet, haunting song like Kol Nidre which reaches me most deeply on a cello without any words at all. Or it may be a freilach (happy) melody like some Klezmer pieces or some of the Abudaya melodies out of Uganda.  Or, it maybe a niggun, a song without any words with which we will begin our service tonight.

How ever you celebrate Shabbat in the middle of this Omer, I hope it will involve some music–instrumental, lyrical or a niggun. It has the ability to lift your soul and let you soar.

Today I booked my flight from Chicago to New York for my trip to Kenya. I had a very pleasant conversation with the tour operator in Connecticut and I remembered how much I have loved international travel. I loved my trips to Israel. I have enjoyed traveling in Europe. I appreciated all the travel opportunities working for global 500 technology companies afforded me. Who would have ever thought I would be comfortable walking down the Hauptstrasse in Heidelberg?

Travel is not without its risks. When I was the High Holiday rabbi in Hamln there was a foiled terror attack at the Frankfurt International Airport and a rabbi stabbed walking home from services the week before I flew. I upped my life insurance. My brother thought I was crazy. When I lived in Israel, I spent time in a bomb shelter entertaining young children with every Girl Scout Camp song I knew. When I was in Israel I was the victim of a violent crime.

Domestic travel has its risks too. The day I went to the Mall of America with my mother and my daughter, was the day the London subway had been bombed. The police presence at the Mall and on the light rail in Minnesota was palpable. And yesterday the 9/11 Memorial Museum opened. I knew people on the planes and in the Towers. Risk during travel doesn’t just come from terrorism.

Traveling to Kenya has me spooked. Today, after I got home, I learned that Great Britain has now recalled its tourists. http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-27434902 and is suggesting no travel to Kenya through at least October. That Kenya has banned tinted windows on buses. http://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-27401142 . However this ban has angered Kenyans who claim it will do little to prevent terrorism. http://www.nation.co.ke/news/Kenyans-angered-by-tint-windows-ban/-/1056/2314110/-/3qfi9sz/-/index.html

None of these stories are in the American press.

Perhaps the reason I am still going to Kenya is in this story. Young children and the sex tourists in Kenya. http://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-27427630 Really. This does exist. Maybe, just maybe American Jewish World Service with it focus on preventing violence against women, girls and the LGBT community can help. Maybe I can. I hope so. The question: Is it worth the risk?

Does anyone remember what happened on this date 66 years ago? Do some of you remember listening on the radio? Israel became the Jewish State. After the UN Partition vote in November of 1947, this was the day that Israel declared its independence. Great Britain was no longer in charge. As soon as the declaration of independence was read by David Ben Gurion, five Arab countries attacked Israel.

I grew up singing Israeli folk songs, mostly about peace and believing in the Israeli dream. “Im tirtzu ayn zo agadah, If you will it, it is no dream.” Theodore Herzl said. Debbie Friedman set it to music. I sang it with every paper I delivered and every yard I raked earning money to go on my NFTY Summer Tour as a 16 year old.

On Kibbutzim we sang, “For our hands are strong and our hearts are young, And the dreamer keeps a dreaming’, Ages on, Keeps a dreamin’ keeps a dreamin’ along…What did we do when we needed corn? We plowed and we sowed to the early morn…” The early Israelis made the desert bloom, learned about drip irrigation, desalinization of water, solar energy. They built towns, brought Hebrew back to life, absorbed refugees from Europe and from northern Africa and Arab countries. All while fighting for its very existence.

Israel fought wars in 1948, in 1956, in 1967, in 1973. It invaded Lebanon in 1982. There have been two intifadas and any number of terrorist attacks. On Yom HaZikaron Israel mourned 23,169 fallen soldiers and 2,495 terror victims since the founding of the State of Israel. How is this possible?  How is it possible that we have lost so many, so very many? One of them is mine. It clouds my understanding of Israel.

Yuval didn’t ask to be a soldier yet he understood that was his destiny. His parents were Holocaust survivors. They lived on a kibbutz. They never talked about their life prior to the kibbutz. They lost children in the Holocaust and Yuval’s older brother in another war. His father tended the cotton fields and his mother made beautiful batik cloth. I still have napkins she made. Yuval knew he would be a soldier, an officer. And so he was. He had a very typical Israeli philosophy. Very matter-of-fact. Either we go to war or we don’t. If we don’t it is no problem. If we go to war, either there will be casualties or there won’t. If there are not, there is no problem. If there are casualties, either they are serious, or they are not. If they are not serious, there is no problem. You get the idea. He went to war. He was a casualty. It was a problem. And he died a hero.

It is times like this that I want to sing, Blowing in the Wind. “How many times must a man turn his head. How many times must the cannon balls fly.” How many young men (and women) do we have to send off to war? When will we be safe.

But Israelis are optimistic. In an article that was published today in Israel Hayom, http://www.israelhayom.com/site/newsletter_article.php?id=4098, 93% of Israelis are proud to be Israeli and 80% wouldn’t live anywhere else. People are not concerned about the political situation and surprisingly the biggest fear is for personal safety, 17%.

This survey, based on 500 “typical Israelis,” fills me with hope. It does not address the fact that Israel is complex. Israel is intense. There are no black and white answers. There are no simple answers to complicated intractable problems that are now generations old. Israel does not always do everything right. Managing a country is different than remembering a dream. Building a country is not the same as praying for peace. Sometimes difficult choices have to be made.

Despite the ambiguities, the complexities, Israel has a right to exist. Israel needs to exist. As a Jewish state. I am proud of Israel. Undeniably, unabashedly proud. Proud that the technology that drives my cell phone was invented in Israel. Proud that every time there is a disaster anywhere in the world, Israel shows up, sometimes quietly behind the scenes but they always show up and they are always effective, based on the painful knowledge they have cleaned from all those wars. Proud that their main hospitals do not discriminate against anyone, that they treat Jew and Arab alike. Proud that there are more Nobel prize winners per capita than anywhere else in the world.

But Israel is complex. So I worry. I worry about Jews being judgmental of other Jews. Women have a right and an obligation to davven. It is a mitzvah. I worry that Jews don’t let other Jews have honest and open dialogue about Israel. That many congregations won’t even talk about Israel for fear of offending one group or another. That many Jews will no longer speak out when Israeli politicians seem misguided. That somehow saying anything critical is considered anti-Israel or anti-Semitic. That J-Street was not allowed as a member of the Conference of Presidents. I worry about what fear does. When those who were oppressed for so many years, generations really, become the oppressors. When fear drives our actions rather than pursing the dream of peace. I worry about the peace process breaking down, again.

How we get to an age where everyone can sit under their vine and fig tree and none can make them afraid. That is Isaiah’s dream. It is mine too. Speedily and in our day. Working for that dream, working for peace is how I will spend Yom Ha’Atzma’ut. It is how I keep Yuval’s memory alive.

One of the most difficult things I do as a rabbi is help families decide how to approach their Jewish journeys. And to be clear, Jewish families are complicated these days. Blended, intermarried, interracial, all striving to be good families, good people, good Jews. All trying to find meaning in their lives. All wanting community and spirituality, roots for their children, traditions, rituals.

In my own world view this should be easy. If you want to be a Jew, you should be a Jew. If you say you are a Jew who am I to question? But the Jewish world isn’t always kind.

The State of Israel struggles with these questions of personal status. The Law of Return was crafted in 1952 when the State of Israel was very young and in the immediate wake of the Holocaust. It was last amended in 1970. There are attempts to change the language every year; to make it more narrow. Those attempts have always failed but spark great debate. Despite the Law of Return which still says that anyone who has at least one Jewish grandparent is entitled to citizenship in Israel, it argues over the status of Jews from Uganda, from Ethiopia, from the former Soviet Union. For a detailed responsa of the issues in Uganda, read this article http://www.ajrsem.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/Prouser.pdf that actually finds some of the leniencies that show the kind of compassion I would be looking for but is all too rare.

For me personally, I get asked several times a year, “Margaret, not a very Jewish name, are you sure you are Jewish?” And in truth, are any of us really sure? Can any of us prove our lineage? For me, this question was a particularly big deal when I was living in Israel and engaged. I couldn’t prove my lineage. The State of Israel thought I should convert. I wanted to know, having been raised Jewish, what it meant to convert from being a Jew to being a Jew. After being accepted to rabbinical school, the administrator called me to make sure I was Jewish. “Margaret, it’s not a very Jewish name. Are you sure you are Jewish?” By this point I was able to assure her I was. By anyone’s definition.

My story is not rare. It happens all too frequently. Since I have been in Elgin, I have been asked to rule on several personal status questions.

• Can a child attend religious school if his mother isn’t Jewish?
• Is someone who was raised in an Orthodox community and became Bar Mitzvah, be stripped of his “Cohain” status if there isn’t evidence that his mother was Jewish?
• If someone was converted by a Rabbinical Assembly rabbi who the RA asked to leave the RA given their announcement that it “wishes to clarify that, as a body, we do not endorse the work of the Chicago Conversion Beit Din and will not endorse conversions completed under its auspices, for any purpose, including to seek citizenship in Israel under the law of return,” are those members Jewish? If they got married assuming they were Jewish are they legally married?
• Can someone in a mixed marriage serve on the board, teach in the religious school, hold elected office?
• Is it true that no conversion is valid?

Behind each of these scenarios are real people and real stories. All too frequently real pain. How do you explain to someone who has been Jewish all of their lives or most of their adult lives, active, participating members of the congregation, how do you explain to them that they may not be Jewish? Not Jewish by traditional halachic standards. Born of a Jewish mother or converted with mikveh and circumcision.

How do I explain to any conversion candidate I counsel that a conversion that I do may not be recognized by the rabbinate in Israel. It is good enough under the “Law of Return”, but may not be good enough for the Orthodox rabbinate. This may mean that if they move to Israel they won’t be able to marry or be buried. May mean. Saying that the Israeli rabbinate doesn’t recognize all Orthodox conversions doesn’t really help either. How do you explain to a couple that comes excited about their blossoming love that again, my officiating may not be recognized. And that some rabbis will not, cannot marry couples where both partners are not Jewish or they risk losing their own ordination.

But explain I must. Because the Jewish community is splintered on these issues of personal status. I must sit down with each person, each family that presents themselves and explain as compassionately and lovingly as possible. For me, they are Jews. For the rest of the Jewish community there are hurdles that they may need to jump over, barriers that need to be climbed. And some of those Jews will choose to just walk away.

How dare we as a Jewish community?

“If only”….is a four part song sung in the Broadway version of the Little Mermaid. “What,” you say, “another reference to a Disney princess?” Sorry. “If only” is a song that expresses the hopes of four main characters, Ariel, longing that Prince Eric will hear her voice, see her love. Prince Eric, longing to find the voice he heard rescue him. Triton wishing his daughter would understand him and come home. And Sebastian, well, he is Sebastian and wants to play matchmaker. (Oops, wrong musical!) Warning: The music may make you cry: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rj9jwgzNhL8

If Only you could know
The things I long to say
If only I could tell you
What I wish I could convey
It’s in my ev’ry glance
My heart’s an open book
You’d see it all at once
If only you would look

My daughter and I saw Little Mermaid on Broadway for my birthday one year. Or maybe it was for her. She was auditioning the next day on Broadway for a college scholarship. Or maybe it is hard to understand where one thing starts and the other leaves off. And that seems to be part of the song. Maybe I am remembering this today because another thunderstorm is rumbling through. The night we saw Little Mermaid we were caught in a torrential downpour with no cabs to be found. We arrived at the theater like drowned rats. In fact, the Marriott upgraded us immediately because we were so soaked!

So here are some more reflections about Mother’s Day.

If only she could know
The things I long to say
If only I could tell her
What I wish I could convey
I shout it out loud
That I am so proud
And that I love her e’vry single day.

That part is easy. As a mother, I am proud of my daughter every single day. And I love her. Unconditionally. Sometimes, however, she is a little frustrating and I lose my patience. I am human first and a mother second. But I still love her.

Mother’s Day is complex. One friend wrote, “Happy mothers’ day, especially to all the moms who choose their children rather than abuse and addiction.” Another wrote that she was missing her own mother and her now grown children. Mother’s Day can be lonely. That was my experience. My mother is gone and my daughter is in LA. It can be lonely so we planned a full day. It was lovely. One of the best Mother’s Days ever. It also enabled me to run from my feelings. I didn’t have to feel the pain of loneliness. Those came out today, like spring blossoms.

My teacher, Rabbi Jill Hammer posted this:” I’m sending love to everyone out there for whom Mother’s Day is complicated or is interwoven with loss. Those of you who’ve lost pregnancies, especially recently. Those of you who are birth mothers to children you don’t get to parent on a day-to-day basis. Adoptive and foster moms whose kids might not be able to feel celebratory towards you today because of their losses and mixed feelings. People who are missing their own mothers. I honor the spirit of motherhood in all of you who possess it, whether or not you have children with you today….”

It is more difficult to deal with the what ifs, the if onlys.

Marian Wright Edelman of the Children’s Defense Fund wrote this to her own sons, “I seek your forgiveness for all the times I talked when I should have listened; got angry when I should have been patient; acted when I should have waited, feared when I should have been delighted; scolded when I should have encouraged; criticized when I should have complimented; said no when I should have said yes and said yes when I should have said no. I did not know a whole lot about parentage or how to ask for help. I often tried too hard and wanted and demanded so much, and mistakenly sometimes tried to mold you into my image of what I wanted you to be rather than discovering and nourishing you as you emerged and grew.” If only…

Rabbi Harold Kushner says it this way, “I don’t find it necessary to forgive my parents for the mistakes they made. It is no sin to be human. They were amateurs in a demanding game where even experts can’t always get it right. Beyond forgiveness, I love and admire them for all the good things they did…When we liberate ourselves from the myth that G-d will love us only if we are perfect, then we will no longer feel that we need to be parents of perfect children to be admired or children of perfect parents to survive and succeed.” If only…

My mother wasn’t a bad parent. She did the best she knew how. She wanted to be a good parent. She took us to the park. Arranged play dates. Sewed clothes. Taught us to read. Read to us all the time. Provided educational experiences like the Museum of Natural History and FAO Schwartz. Joined the PTA. Was a Girl Scout Leader. But it wasn’t quite enough. I ached to hear her say she loved me. I wanted her to be proud of me.

If only I could tell my mother that I love her the same way I can tell my daughter. If only my mother could tell me she loved me or was proud of me. My daughter knows that she did–based on all the little gestures. But being demonstrative? Not my mother’s style. If only.

If only I could hear her voice again, even for an hour and we could have this conversation. Without running away from it. If only she didn’t feel pigeon holed into the society she lived in–and she had finished her PhD. If only she could see me now. If only I had courage. If only I could let myself feel the sadness. If only I could feel the pang of loss. If only I could feel the joy.  More than for a day. I know that is what she wanted for me. If only…

Happy Mother’s Day. Just a Hallmark Holiday? Nope. Although I recommend that you call your mother, cook breakfast, send flowers and tell mom you love her. I surprised my congregation this week when I said that Mother’s Day started as a peace holiday.

A precursor to Mother’s Day came from the abolitionist and suffragette Julia Ward Howe. In 1870 Howe wrote the “Mother’s Day Proclamation,” a call to action that asked mothers to unite in promoting world peace. In 1873 Howe campaigned for a “Mother’s Peace Day” to be celebrated every June 2. Her poem, a Mother’s Day Proclamation, exhorted women to take control and to not sacrifice another son to war:

Arise then…women of this day!
Arise, all women who have hearts!
Whether your baptism be of water or of tears!
Say firmly:
“We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage,
For caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
We, the women of one country,
Will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs.”

What we know as Mother’s Day, even the trademarked spelling was first created and celebrated by Anna Jarvis as a memorial to her own mother, a peace activist. Anna Jarvis went on to decry the commercialization of Mother’s Day.

I won’t lie. I like the trappings. The idea that one day a year I as a mother am feted. I like the recognition of the fact that I am a good parent. And I try to be. I really do. To my daughter, Sarah, and my three step children–Anna, Richard and Gabrielle.

Am I perfect? No. Certainly not. I have been known to lose patience and yell at my kids. I even once hit Sarah when she was stalling getting ready for school.

Was my mother perfect. Absolutely not. She was busy with her own life. She thought that if she told us she was proud of us it would go to our heads. She actually asked that very question. On the way to my brother’s wedding where she knew she was making a toast, she asked, “So I am not supposed to say I am proud of you guys? Because I am.” I spent a lot of time trying to earn that sense of pride. I still am.

But it was my mother who taught me a love of social justice. Through her understanding of Judaism as an ethical religion, as prophetic Judaism and her love of Girl Scouting and leaving the place better than you found it, we knew we had to work for social change.

So on this Mother’s Day, I will enjoy my favorite foods, fresh squeezed orange juice and Starbucks coffee, a good steak. I will take photos of tulips. And I will pause. To help make the world a better place, a more peaceful world. And I will smile, as I remember my mother.

When our educational director first said she wanted to sponsor today’s Kiddush in honor of her birthday and Mother’s Day, I thought I would break with my usual tradition of tying the Torah portion into current events. We should talk about mothers. After all, G-d couldn’t be everywhere so He created mothers. It is no accident that the kippah I chose to wear today is pink with the eye of G-d. My mother used to say she had eyes in the back of her head. And so today’s sermon is dedicated to the memory of my mom, Nelle Sicher Frisch. All moms really who taught us Judaism, who taught us right from wrong, who taught us how to be a mensch.

Today is the 25^th Day of the Counting of the Omer. Half way between Passover and Shavuot. Halfway towards freedom. And today we read the famous line…”Proclaim liberty throughout the land.” Be careful, in our translation you might miss it. In our translation they use release.

So what is the difference between freedom and release? Release is something you let go of. You give it permission to go.

Today we will also read about the Sabbatical year, the Shimta year. Rabbi Katy Allen points out that there is a relation between the Sabbatical year and Rainbow Day, the anniversary of when the animals were released from the ark are related. The rainbow that appeared as a sign of the covenant and G-d’s promise to never destroy the world by flood again, is a sacred partnership about sustainability. We too have an obligation to take care of the earth.

How do we do that?

The Torah provides a radical idea. A blueprint where everyone in society is equal. Proclaim liberty to all the inhabitants. Not just slaves. Not just the rich people. Everyone.

But everyone was not happy. If we don’t plant and we don’t harvest, what will we eat? How could it be fair to release debts in the seventh year? Why would anyone want to lend money in the 6^th year if the debts would just be cancelled the following year? Valid questions. G-d promises that “If You shall observe My laws and faithfully keep My rules, that you may live upon the land in security.”

What does security mean? People answered that it means knowing the borders are safe and we won’t be invaded, that we have feeling of safety. that we are free from fear and anxiety.

Why do we read this portion now? We are halfway to Sinai, we haven’t received the 10 Commandments and yet the portion begins with an interesting verse, “Adonai spoke to Moses in Mount Sinai, saying, Speak to the children of Israel and say to them, “When you come into the land which I give you, the land will rest, a Shabbat for Adonai…”

There are two puzzles here. The first is how is G-d speaking in Sinai? How is G-d speaking from a place we haven’t been? The congregation answered because G-d is G-d. G-d is everywhere. G-d know no bounds and no timeframes.

The second puzzle is does this mean that the land rests first year when the Israelites reach the promised land? Why? Perhaps because the land is toxic from those who inhabited it before the Israelites.

Sifra, one of the earliest works of midrash provides a deceptively easy answer. Because all of Torah is to create a society that is just. The purpose of the covenant, first with Noah, and later with all the Israelites is to create a world where the earth is respected, so that we can live on the earth without anxiety, in security. We don’t own the land. The Psalmist sang, “The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof.” “For the land is mine and you are strangers and settlers with me, this very portion teaches.

Now I want to cue Colors of the Wind from Pocahantas here:

You think you own whatever land you land on
The earth is just a dead thing you can claim
But I know every rock and tree and creature
Has a life, has a spirit, has a name

You think the only people who are people
Are the people who look and think like you
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger
You’ll learn things you never knew, you never knew

Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon?
Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned?
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountains?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?
C
an you paint with all the colors of the wind?

Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest
Come taste the sunsweet berries of the earth
Come roll in all the riches all around you
And for once never wonder what they’re worth

The rainstorm and the river are my brothers
The heron and the otter are my friends
And we are all connected to each other
In a circle, in a hoop that never ends

Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon?
Or let the eagle tell you where he’s been?
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?

How high does the sycamore grow?
I
f you cut it down, then you’ll never know

And you’ll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
For whether we are white or copper skinned
We need to sing with all the voices of the mountains
We need to paint with all the colors of the wind

You can own the earth and still
All you’ll own is earth until
You can paint with all the colors of the wind

In the modern State of Israel they take this seriously. You may only “buy” your land for 50 years, then it reverts back to the state. Some kibbutzim rest their land. They rotate their crops so that one field lies fallow and money is given to the poor. During the 2007-2008 Shmita year, the Israeli Supreme Court demanded that there be one law for all of Israel rather than allowing each individual rabbi to decide matters of leniency.

If none of us own the land, as Pochantas and Torah suggest, we cannot buy it, cannot sell it, then the differences between rich and poor are not as great, are not generational, are not insurmountable, are not intractable. This is, as I said, radical stuff.

And relevant today. Who amongst us was not aghast, if that is even strong enough, when the terrorists, let’s call them what they are, announced, they would sell the Nigerian girls into slavery. This portion is clear. One human being cannot buy or sell another. And trafficking does not just happen in Nigeria. It happens right here in Elgin. One of our members was quoted this week about her work with Administer Justice. The full article is on our Facebook page, but here is a haunting quote from Jack Blake, the head of special prosecutions for the Cook County state’s attorney’s office: “You all have a human trafficking problem,” Blake said. “Everyone has a human trafficking problem in the Northern (Illinois) District.” He continued that now it has become gang activity, rather than prostitution. He said that many gangs now prefer humans to drugs.  “You can sell a kilo once. You can sell a child over and over.” You can sell a child over and over again.

We are halfway to Shavuot, halfway to Sinai. The world is not perfect. Clearly if you can sell a child for sex. When I started writing this sermon, I was tired. It has been a long week. I knew I needed Shabbat. I need to rest. Abraham Joshua Heschel says that Shabbat is a palace in time, a foretaste of the world to come.

How can we rest when a child can be sold over and over?

But the text teaches us something. We need to rest and the land needs to rest. We know how to rest, how to do Shabbat. And we can. And some of us do. But Shabbat by itself is for us, or even for G-d without giving the land its rest is not enough. Then, we will be exiled from the land, cut off. The need of the land to rest comes even before our own need, according to Rabbi David Seidenberg, the neochasid.

He teaches: “Only in such a society can people learn to share their wealth, nurture the poor alongside everyone else, relieve debts, end hunger, and respect the fundamental human right to be free. The Sabbatical year was the guarantor and the ultimate fulfillment of the justice that Torah teaches us to practice in everyday life, and it was a justice that embraced not just fellow human beings, but the land and all life. The Sabbatical year was the ultimate meaning of rest, which we practice every week in the observance of shabbat. It was the Sabbath of sabbaths, Shabbat shabbaton.”

How does it work to let the land rest? How can everyone eat their fill on the volunteers that might crop up? In our community garden we had one onion winter over and reappear. G-d promises that somehow there will be enough, for us, for our servants and hired workers, for the settler living as a stranger with us, for our beasts and wild animals.” Really. It requires trust. The word trust betach, is related to the word security. We have to have trust. But the rabbis weren’t sure so they mandated that during the shmita year that the gates to the fields had to be left open. So that everyone could eat the same food, everyone, including the wild beasts.

This is that radical hospitality I have been talking about. That is Abraham and Sarah’s tent open to all four sides, ready to receive visitors. This is the wide open tent, Big Tent Judaism. This is even more than that…the only other time when humans and animals ate together in peace was when? In the Garden of Eden. Before the flood. This is the ultimate goal of the Shmita year. To return to a time when we enter paradise, when we are back in the Garden of Eden. When the world is sustainable and there are enough resources to go around. When no one is bought and sold. No one. This is what it means when it says to choose life that you might live, you and your seed after you.

This is what it means when it says if we follow G-ds’ commandments, including the command to rest ourselves and to rest the land, then our days of our lives and the lives of our children will be increased on the land. Then we will live in security.

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. Not just a Hallmark holiday. This was a day set aside by mothers during the Civil War to say that they were not willing to send another child to war. I am not willing to sacrifice another child to trafficking. I am not willing to sacrifice the land to Monsanto and other big polluters. I pledge to teach my children, Sarah, Anna, Richard and Gabrielle, and all my students who therefore become my children, this radical Torah. This is how I will spend Mother’s Day. Then I will plant my own little garden.

This is what it means then, when it says, “Proclaim Liberty Throughout the Land.” It is not freedom to do whatever we want. It is freedom to make the world a better place. To protect the world and very land that sustains us.

We have an obligation to do so. Kohelet Rabbah says there maybe no one who will come after you to repair it. (7:13). We owe it to our mothers who taught us so well. We owe it to our children and their children.

We can do it. We have all the resources we need. It is radical. But first we have to rest.

Just ahead of Mother’s Day, women received a gift. Yesterday the International Violence Against Women Act was reintroduced into the United States Senate. Jewish Women International, who published my very first article after ordination about a domestic violence prevention initiative in the Boston Jewish Community has been working together with American Jewish World Service to get this bill reformulated. JWI made this announcement:

“While we watch in horror to what is happening to the kidnapped schoolgirls in Nigeria, we are not helpless. There is something we can do. Yesterday, Senator Barbara Boxer (D-CA), Senator Susan Collins (R-ME), Senator Mark Kirk (R-IL), Senator Robert Menendez (D-NJ), and Senator Jeanne Shaheen (D-NH) re-introduced the International Violence Against Women Act (IVAWA), a bold effort that would make ending violence against women and girls around the world a top U.S. foreign policy priority.”

I am proud that my new senator, Mark Kirk is a co-sponsor. I am proud that New Englanders Senator Sheheen and Senator Collins are also on board! I am delighted that it already has bi-partisan support.  I had already signed the AJWS petition urging passing of this legislation.

Why is this bill important when we already have Violence Against Women Act, which in itself was not an easy sell? As JWI says, “IVAWA takes a holistic, comprehensive approach to this issue by integrating gender-based violence programs into existing U.S. foreign aid programs such as health, education and economic initiatives. IVAWA would also permanently authorize the Office of Global Women’s Issues at the State Department and direct the government to implement its global strategy to reduce violence against women.”

American Jewish World Service has explained that until violence against women and girls is ended, they cannot end poverty. The violence has disrupted delivery supply chains. They cannot get the resources into the places that need it the most. Last year, AJWS introduced its “We Believe” Campaign which focuses on stopping violence against women, girls and the LGBT community worldwide. http://webelieve.ajws.org As they state it, the problem is that 1 in 3 women will be beaten, coerced into sex or otherwise abused in her lifetime and that every year 10 million girls under the age of 18 are forced into early marriages while in 77 countries homosexuality is a crime.

American Jewish World Services works in 19 countries delivering services to prevent violence and to deliver health care. In Kenya, for instance, AJWS works with Fortress of Hope to help girls develop leadership skills and implement their own strategies to stop violence. It works to help them stay in school, avoid domestic abuse and prevent unwanted pregnancy or infection with HIV.

These kinds of activities bring us hope. They empower us to action when we felt horror. Please join with me in urging your senator to support this critical bill. That is the gift I want most for Mother’s Day.

https://secure.ajws.org/site/Advocacy?cmd=display&page=UserAction&id=661

When I was a rabbinical student I went on a retreat sponsored by Panim on social action and spirituality. For many people there is spirituality or social action. This retreat which started with a day of meditation (which I skipped), sought to explore the connection between the two as opposed to seeing them as polar opposites.

For me it was a very positive and challenging retreat. Those are not polar opposites either. And it is a retreat that I think back on often. Today is one of those days. Recently I have been spending a lot of time writing, thinking, doing. Being active. Working for change. Advocating for women’s rights. Teaching at a domestic violence conference. Planting a community garden to feed the hungry. Learning about Africa. Rallying the troops, my congregants. And also visiting the sick, comforting the bereaved, feeding the hungry. Putting my actions where my mouth is.

Yesterday I had a different experience. I went to the hospital to visit someone. More than that, I called the EMTs to make sure she got to the hospital. I called the people who set up meals at the congregation. i called the people I needed to cover me–teachers, staff, etc. I was in overdrive. I know how to do this kind of stuff. Hey, I’ve been a Girl Scout for 30+ years.

Leaving the hospital, I realized that there was one part I forgot. I forgot to pray. Yes, I did. So when I got to the synagogue I made sure that the kids did a misheberach. When I went back to the hospital I sang the last verse of Adon Olam. B’yado afchi ruchi. I find this verse tremendously powerful, as did my patient.  “Into His hand, I commit my spirit.  In the time when I sleep and when I wake. And even if my spirit leaves, G-d is with me and I will not fear.”

“G-d is with me and I will not fear.” Another version of that which feeds my spirituality is “Ozi v’zimrat Yah, G-d is my strength and my song.”

The trick is remembering. The trick is one of balance. It is activism and spirituality. Both/and. I am not one who likes to meditate. I am always one who fears I will cry or I will fall asleep. But there is value in trying.

Parker Palmer wrote a lovely book, The Active Life. He was an activist, plain and simple and then one day he thought he would become a contemplative. But people laughed at him. So his book is his attempt to marry the two worlds. The book jacket describes it as “Palmer’s deep and graceful exploration of spirituality for the busy, sometimes frenetic lives many of us lead…He celebrates both the problems and the potentials of the active life, revealing how much they have to teach us about ourselves, the world and G-d.” Participating in the spiritual life does not mean giving up our active selfs, or visa versa. It can be more engaging and deeply life-giving.

For me, without remembering G-d, I am weak and tired. I complain. I whine. I may even think I am more powerful than I am. I may even forget to pray for healing…at a time when a congregant needs it most.

When I take the time to remember, then together with G-d, I can do anything. Even stay calm under pressure and call the paramedics. I can change the world, to the world as G-d sees it, as G-d wants it. One without hunger or homelessness, where the needs of the widow, the orphan and the stranger are taken care of, where we are caretakers of G-d’s beautiful creation. When I do these things in G-d’s name, then the world is a better place.

But first, I have to take the time to remember G-d.

Why am I going to Kenya? Why am I going to Kenya? Why am I going to Kenya? Same words, depending on where I put the accent, very different questions. But the time has come to try to answer it, ahead of my getting shots next week.

Let’s face it. At some level I am terrified. I don’t like shots. It is very far away. I live on my cell phone and other electronics. It is not clear that I will have connectivity. I don’t want to stir up old wounds–and even some of the preparation that I felt necessary has done precisely that. And then there were the recent bombings, which, terrify me. So why am I going? Why is my hat still in the ring?

American Jewish World Service does terrific work. It has been doing so since 1985. It’s mission is “Inspired by the Jewish commitment to justice, American Jewish World Service works to realize human rights and end poverty in the developing world.” It has feet on the ground in 17 countries and has made a real difference in overcoming poverty worldwide. They are a trusted partner when disaster strikes. They know not only how to respond but how to be effective.

I have supported their work for a long, long time. I have any number of friends and colleagues go on their trips. This trip is pushing me out of my comfort zone. Why? What has me so disturbed? I am not sure I know the answer to that yet.

It turns out I know nothing about Africa, even less about Kenya. It has never been on my bucket list of places I wanted to go. Paris, sure, mostly to see Giverny where Monet painted. Savannah, to see Juliette Gordon Low’s birthplace. Moab, UT with the Adventure Rabbi to celebrate Passover in the desert. Sedona to hike. Alaska before the glaciers are no more. Africa? Not so much. Oh, I guess a safari would be interesting and the pyramids would be cool. But Kenya?

So why go? Why take the risk? How does this relate to my job as a congregational rabbi? Here’s what I think. Sometimes it is good to challenge yourself. There is no question I am learning in the process of preparation. I know where Kenya is now. I am learning about Kibera, one of the biggest slums  in the world. I am learning about resilience. I am learning how to make a difference with very little resources or capital. I am learning about social justice at a whole different level, at an international level. I know the phrase, we all do probably, “Think globally, act locally.”

The issues that American Jewish World Service is now investing in–preventing violence against women, children and LGBT community are ones I already work locally on. It makes me uniquely qualified for this trip. I am invested with the Community Crisis Center and the 16th Circuit Court Faith Watch Committee on Domestic Violence. I get it. I believe I am making a difference locally. American Jewish World Service makes the case that unless we solve violence against women globally, we cannot solve poverty. They have discovered that they cannot deliver basic services in the 17 countries they are invested in unless they solve this problem first. It is like Maslow’s pyramid. People need food, shelter, clothing, safety, security, love before they can be self-actualized. Those bottom rung needs must be met before you can do education.

However, maybe Maslow was wrong. How do you know which comes first? Food? But you can’t have food without a job. And you can’t have a job without daycare. Shelter? Same issues. Clothing? Water? At some point I want to throw up my hands and say, I can’t do this. You need all of it. It is not a chicken and egg thing. Maybe it is more like those hand held games with the numbers out of order and an open space. Your job is to get them back in order.

At one point, the director of the House of Hope, a women and children’s shelter in Lowell, MA said it this way, “We need to advocate for fair housing. But we can’t wait. We need to house the homeless today. We need to feed the hunger today. They are cold and wet and hungry today. They have needs today. They can’t wait for the government.” It is a both/and approach.

Those words stuck with me. Organizations are doing some of it today. Habitat for Humanity, House of Hope, the Community Crisis Center, PADs, more. They are providing for the needs today. And we need to. We are commanded to. But we also need to take things to the next level. To make sure that there isn’t hunger and homelessness in the next generation. To make sure that there isn’t violence against women–anywhere, anytime.

Can we do it? I am not sure. These problems are real. Intractable. We have the resources. I don’t know if we have the will. These problems have existed for a long time. We are commanded to work on them in the Bible. They were a problem that long ago. Problems that I have been working on for 30 years may be worse. Not because I have been working on them but because they are that difficult.

So I am going to Kenya because it gives me the opportunity to learn how to do advocacy on a global level while acting locally to solve the needs today. I am going to learn how to mobilize a community that is politically diverse so that like American Jewish World Service, I can live out my own vision of being “Inspired by the Jewish commitment to justice, working to realize human rights and end poverty”, of tikkun ha’olam, making the world a better place, from within a Jewish context.

We know that successful synagogues have successful social action programs, that is one way to build community, both internally focused and in the wider world. Sid Swartz in his book, Finding a Spiritual Home in his summation says that creating social justice agenda is necessary to creating a thriving community. “A true synagogue community provides motivation to look around, see the pain and suffering in the world, and begin the work of repair, known in Hebrew at tikkun olam…A justice agenda will move a community to the high ground of noble purpose. It will strengthen relationships between people doing important mitzvah work with each other. It will also result in attracting Jews to the congregation with deep commitments to working for peace and justice in the world.”  Bolding is mine. If my job is to grow the congregation, the best way I know how to do it, based on Sid Swartz’s work is to build a strong social justice agenda. One that is based on improving our immediate world around us, and in leaving a legacy of a better world for our children and grandchildren. That is the long term view.

How does going to Kenya help with this long view? It gives me skills in organizing, in advocacy and in growing community that go beyond Kenya or violence against women, girls and the LBGT community. It gives me knowledge that I didn’t have already allowing me to model being a life long learner. It gives me experience, chevruta partners, a wealth of resources to make our observances more meaningful. It gives me my own community beyond the synagogue walls.

I am going to Kenya to be inspired by other people who are doing the hard work down in the trenches. If they can do it, I can do it. If they can do it, we all can do it. And I will name it. I am brave enough to name it. I am going to Kenya to continue my own healing. And to give back to those who have helped me heal.

I am sure I will continue to wrestle with this question more as I continue to prepare and when I come back.