Last week I asked my congregation a question. “What is the role that ritual plays in our lives?” The portion, Pinchas, teaches us how to observe the festivals. We read this one over and over again, as the maftir for each of the pilgrimage holidays and for Rosh Hodesh and then when it comes in rotation. It must be important. It teaches us how many sacrifices we must make for each of the holidays and for Shabbat. It outlines what we do for musaf, the additional offering made on Shabbat and festivals. What is this about? Frankly I have no intention of going out to the parking lot of the synagogue and offering a ram or two or three or four. I asked what the word for sacrifice is in Hebrew. I was told, correctly korban, which has as its root, to draw close. Because offering a sacrifice enables us to draw close to G-d. The word I was looking for however was avodah. Now avodah is an interesting root. It means work or worship or service or sacrifice. A person who offers an avodah can be an eved, a slave or a servant, one who works or worships or serves. We sing about it at Passover, “Avadim hayinu” and the modern Israeli song Zum Gali Gali, talking about the avodah of the chalutzi, the pioneers. But why use this word, avodah for a sacrifice for the chaggim, the holidays?

I think it is about the power of ritual. What is a ritual? People answered:

• Something that we do routinely.
• Something that draws us together.
• Something that grounds us.
• Something that floods us with memories.
• Something that is evocative.
• Something that uses all of our senses
• Something that marks liminal time.

What rituals are important to you?
• Morning routine, brushing teeth, getting dressed, eating breakfast, getting out the door
• Birthdays—candles, cake, special dinner, presents, singing Happy Birthday
• Bedtime routine—reading Good Night Moon, a cuddle, saying bedtime Sh’ma
• Exercise—packing the gym bag, planning when, what and how long, tracking, warm up, exercise, cool down, hydration
• Medications—One in the morning and one in the evening. How does this keep us closer to the Divine?

What about Jewish rituals?
• Shabbat—candles, wine, motzi, havdalah
• Rosh Hashanah—apples and honey, shofar
• Passover—Matzah, 4 cups of wine, 4 questions, family and friends gathered, same menu year after year
• Mourning traditions—Kaddish, shiva, hard boiled eggs, putting earth on the grave

Each of the holidays have their own rituals. And not a sacrificed ram in the bunch!

Why do we need ritual?
• Makes it easier to know what to do when to we don’t know what to do
• It is the kevah (structure) to the kavanah (intention)
• Brings us closer to others, closer to G-d
• Reminds us of our past, a nostalgia factor
• Allows us to feel in control, particularly after the death of a loved one.

It was a hard week. The congregation helped with the burial of a stillborn infant. Now it used to be that Jews didn’t mark this kind of tragedy. Now we have learned the importance of allowing the parents to grieve and to mark the event with Jewish rituals. As the rabbi, it was a difficult few days. However, it was helpful to apply traditional Jewish mourning rituals to this process. It was helpful to consult ritualwell.org to see what others have already done. I hope we brought the parents and grandparents some comfort.

There was a great article in Forbes magazine about the power of rituals in eating, grieving and business. It talks about some research being done at Harvard between the psychology department and the business school. They conclude: “Another experiment showed that observing a ritual is not nearly as powerful as performing a ritual. Participants who prepared a glass of powdered lemonade in a ritualistic manner (stir for 30 seconds, wait for 30 seconds, and so on) enjoyed consuming it much more than those who merely watched someone else prepare the lemonade. ‘With grief, the ritual leads to a feeling of control,’ Norton says. ‘With consumption, rituals seem to work because they increase your involvement in the experience.’” http://www.forbes.com/sites/hbsworkingknowledge/2013/06/03/the-power-of-rituals-in-eating-grieving-and-business/

I picture at this season the ritual of the lemonade stand, a celebration of summer. And I remember the words of Abraham Joshua Heschel, “People of our time are losing the power of celebration. Instead of celebrating we seek to be amused or entertained. Celebration is an active state, an act of expressing reverence or appreciation. To be entertained is a passive state–it is to receive pleasure afforded by an amusing act or a spectacle…. Celebration is a confrontation, giving attention to the transcendent meaning of one’s actions. (Source: The Wisdom of Heschel)

He always wanted to be amazed, to experience wonder. Ritual helps us do that. It helps us celebrate. It brings us comfort. “How grateful I am to God that there is a duty to worship, a law to remind my distraught mind that it is time to think of God, time to disregard my ego for at least a moment! It is such happiness to belong to an order of the divine will. I am not always in a mood to pray. I do not always have the vision and the strength to say a word in the presence of God. But when I am weak, it is the law that gives me strength; when my vision is dim, it is duty that gives me insight” (Man’s Quest for God: Studies in Prayer and Symbolism, New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1954, pp. 64-68). Rabbi Arnold Jacob Wolff, from KAM Isaiah Israel in Chicago talks about this tension between Keva and Kavanah in his article, a tribute to Abraham Joshua Heschel. http://www.myjewishlearning.com/practices/Ritual/Prayer/Prayer_Music_and_Liturgy/What_is_Jewish_Liturgy/Intention/Keva_and_Kavvanah.shtml

Stan Goldberg, PhD (a member of the tribe, I assume) tells us it does two things and doesn’t have to be about religion at all. “Ritual is an important psychological event that has served, currently serves, and will continue to serve a basic need of life: It connects us with the past and grounds us in the present. Cutting oneself off from it, cuts oneself off from our history and forces us to stand alone in the present.” http://stangoldbergwriter.com/about/the-power-of-ritual/
The chief rabbi of Great Britain reflecting on the power of ritual and this portion teaches us what we probably already know. Being a champion is about “deep practice” as he calls it. They put in more hours than anyone else. He says that the magic number is 10,000 hours. That—roughly 10 years of deep practice is what it takes to reach the top in almost every field.
There is the old joke—how do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice. So it is true for performers as well. Mozart the child prodigy, started practicing at three, became an accomplished performer at six but did not compose until he was in his 20s. Cue the music for Fiddler…at three I started Hebrew School, at 10 I learned a trade…Hebrew takes…practice too. Doing it over and over again.
Recent research has shown that ritual and practice help with brain function. As we master each new skill it reconfigures the brain, creating new neural pathways. Repeating an action over and over again making the connections in the brain speedier the more they are used. “Far from being outmoded, religious ritual turns out to be deeply in tune with the new neuroscience of human talent, personality and the plasticity of the brain. The great faiths never forgot what science is helping us rediscover: that ritual creates new habits of the heart that can lift us to unexpected greatness.” http://www.chiefrabbi.org/2011/07/23/credo-ritual-develops-habits-that-can-lift-us-to-greatness/#.UdgYeJX0Ay4
So that is exactly what this parsha is about. Repeating a ritual over and over again, helping us connect with the past, while being in the present, connecting with other Israelites and with the Divine, remembering when we all stood at Sinai and the mountain smoked, quaked and trembled. Helping us make amends, providing a structure and a formula that allows us to use all of our senses. I am still not going into the parking lot to offer a ram. I will, however, continue to find ways to balance the spontaneity of my heart in prayer and the structure, traditions, rituals that bring us comfort as we daven together.

The Energizer Rabbi in her borrowed, decorated wheelchair and her family

Happy Independence Day. I am proud to be an American. I happen to love the 4th of July. It gives us the opportunity to pause as a nation and reflect. It is a holiday that all of us can participate in–Jew, Gentile, black, white, Asian, Hispanic, gay, straight, families of ancestors who came over on the Mayflower and those who will become American citizens today.
It is a day filled with ritual that we can all participate in. Who doesn’t love a parade, a picnic, a fireworks show? I am delighted that my congregation will have a large presence in today’s Elgin parade. And despite being told I could not walk (pesky infection), I found a wheelchair, courtesy of Provena Health and the chaplain there. We will decorate the wheel chair and Simon and Sarah will take turns pushing it. This kind of interfaith collaboration is exactly why I am proud to be an American, and why interfaith dialogue is so important to me.
But what about this quote? It is on the Liberty Bell. It comes from Leviticus 25:10. THe National Park Website for the Liberty Bell explains that through the years the inscription has meant different things to different people. When the Speaker of the Pennsylvania Assembly commissioned the bell, he wanted a Biblical verse to represent the ability of the citizens of Pennsylvania to choose their own religion. It is where the principle of freedom of religion came from and led to the plank in the Bill of Rights separating church and state. It was first called The Liberty Bell by the abolitionistsin the 1830s who adopted the bell as the symbol of their cause. After the Civil War it travelled throughout the United States to help heal the rifts from the war. Women suffragettes uses it as a symbol to help get women the right to vote.

Our country is not perfect. It wasn’t in the days of John Adams, Sam Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Paul Revere. It wasn’t under Abraham Lincoln. It wasn’t when women had to fight for the right to vote. It wasn’t during the 60s when blacks did not have the same rights as whites and the country was again split by whether to participate in the Vietnam War. It is still not perfect. Last week we saw two rulings by the United States Supreme Court. Striking down DOMA makes sense to me. Striking down the Voters’ Rights Act did not. There is still much work to be done. More on that in another post.

When I got to the parade, I had to be pushed a long way. I am not used to being in wheelchair. It is a very different perspective to see life from the seat of a wheelchair. I could see many more details than I can see either walking or in my car. I could also see people move to make room for me, police officers stop traffic for “Wheelchair”, the bumpy bumps that help blind people identify that they are at the end of a block about to enter a street. I am grateful for the American with Disabilities Act. Elgin turns out to be very handicapped accessible. Elgin is also very diverse. Congregation Kneseth Israel’s vision statement has a plank, embracing diversity. We most certainly did that yesterday. We marched as Jews and as non-Jewish partners. We appear white, black, multi-racial and I added to that diversity by being in my wheelchair. It was the only one we saw in the parade.

I am proud to be an American and I am proud to be a Jew. I am glad we live in Elgin where  my participation in an American tradition was possible and easy.

What do you say to a mother who loses a child two days before the due date. Not much. There is nothing much appropriate to say. That is the situation I confronted on Monday when the mother of a new congregant called. We had been planning a baby naming. Instead we planned a funeral.
I rushed to the hospital. The mother had just finished delivering and was resting. The nursing staff was kind and compassionate. The baby, whose name was Violet Aria, was out of the room having her pictures taken. There were some tears, lots of hugs, even some laughter. They brought Violet back in and nestled her in her mother’s arm. She was beautiful. Perfect. I was given the privilege to hold Violet. It is one of the most natural things I have ever done. When I left the hospital after a brief prayer, Violet was back in her mother’s arms, her little fingers around her mother’s.
On Wednesday, we gathered to bury Violet. It used to be that in the old days, Jews didn’t mourn a child under 30 days. We have gotten smarter about this. However, in this day and age, it is so rare to need to, no one has much experience with it yet everyone has some story of someone who lost a baby. Word fail here too. Lost a baby? It is not as though the couple doesn’t know where it is. The baby died. The baby was still born.
Judaism’s rituals for morning are very concrete. We tear a ribbon or our clothes. We shovel dirt onto the casket to hear that sound and know that this is final. We act with compassion. As G-d clothed the naked, visited the sick and buried the dead, we too bury the dead as a sign of compassion that cannot be repaid.
But in that moment words fail. We learn from the Book of Job, that our mothers were right. Silence is golden. Job lost everything. His friends showed up and sat for seven days without saying anything. That was good. Then they tried to speak. They tried to ask what Job had done wrong. That was bad. Job answered from within his deep pain, “A man’s friends should love him when his hope is gone. They should be faithful to him even if he stops showing respect to the Mighty One.”

Many people rush in after a tragedy and say things to make the situation less awkward, to fill the void. If you are faced with this situation, try to avoid things like:
God needed another angel in heaven
It’s OK. You are young. You can have another one.
It happened for the best.
I know exactly how you feel.
What are you going to do now?

Try instead
I’m sorry. I know how much you were looking forward to being a parent
It’s OK to cry
Would you like to talk about it?
Is there anything I can do for you?
I’ll call you in a few days.

After a tragedy, some people can’t muster the faith of Job. Some struggle through the meaning of the Kaddish, that we praise G-d for life, even in the face of death. That’s OK. What I told the family is that it is OK to be sad. It is OK to be angry. It is even OK to be angry with G-d. I believe that G-d cries with us. Some things are beyond explanations–theologically or medically. Sometimes things just happen.

At the end of a funeral, the mourners line up to greet the family. They say, Hamakom yinachem etchem. May the Place comfort you. My colleague, Rabbi David Paskin who lost a child to brain tumor struggled to understand that greeting. Why not call G-d, The Compassionate One, the Merciful One, the Comforting One? Why call G-d at that moment the Place. He discovered that it is because when you lose a loved on, all you have left is a space, a place, an emptiness. They are saying that may that space that hurts so damn much comfort you. May you learn to live with that space. He wrote a song in tribute to Liat., called HaMakom. I’ve been thinking about it all week. I talked to the couple about that phrase.

Here is the youtube clip from NewCaje where I watched him perform it live. I cried then. I cried listening to it again this morning. “May the One who fills our space, give us hope and give us strength. In our silence may we hear the voice of G-d.” The music is great but you need to hear him tell the story at the beginning. I was the one the who went to the Butcherie and rushed in with the deli platters. It was something I could do. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NEETpwpt2LM

Woody Allen said 80% of life is showing up. When confronted with this kind of situation it is about showing up. It is about being present. You may not have the perfect words. No one does. Go. Hug the couple. Cry. It’s OK.

“How lovely are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places O Israel.”

If you were here very early this morning, you know that we sing this verse every week as part of the Birkat Hashachar, the morning blessings. In fact, it is in every morning service. Sometimes I make a brief comment; that I am thankful for our dwelling places, for heat or light or air conditioning or the ability to get out of the rain. I am especially grateful to get out of the rain this morning. That was some thunderstorm that rolled through overnight and while I have camped in storms like that, in a tent, I prefer the security of my solid house.

However, the rabbis who added it to the morning service took it out of context. For them it was the perfect introduction to talking about entering a sanctuary, a mishkan, a place where we worship.

It comes from today’s Torah portion and it really was about tents and wandering in the desert. You think Jews don’t camp? We most certainly did and do.

Today’s Torah portion is one of the strangest in the Bible. Balak, the king of the Moabites, wants to curse the Israelites. He hasn’t been successful defeating them in war and he figures he will hit them where it hurts most, their spirituality. He hires Balaam, a prophet to travel to Israel to do precisely that. On Balaam’s way, the donkey keeps talking to him, even throwing him off, trying to get him not to do what he has been hired for. Now I have never run into a talking donkey. The closest might be a talking horse, Mr. Ed and even as a child I knew that was a horse of a different color. It was TV. It wasn’t real. Balaam persists in his journey and his mission.

However, every time he opens his mouth to curse the Israelites, blessings emerge. His mouth is filled with words of praise. His mouth is filled with the words of G-d.

“How good are your tents O Israel, your dwelling places, O Jacob.” Is this praising the Israelites or asking a question, How Good?

This week, ironically, as Simon and Sarah and I look for a new house, I have been thinking a lot about housing. We have good housing here in Elgin. Some lovely homes. In many different price ranges. And yet I am painfully aware that there are still people in our community who cannot afford a house or an apartment.
What makes a house a good house? What makes a house a home? The discussion here was rich and ranged from the people who live in it to a good kitchen.

The rabbis teach something else as well. A home should be a mikdash me’at, a small temple. In Megilah 29a we are taught that G-d will dwell in the holy spaces we create, for they are like the Holy Temple, like the Mikdash, the Mishkan. Where G-d dwelled within.

How do we create a mikdash me’at? Does it really matter what the house looks like? How big it is? How do we create a home?

The congregation agreed that it was about peace, security, happiness, love. Jews have lived in all sorts of homes wherever they have wandered. Rabbi Larry Milder captured it well in his song, “Wherever you go there’s always someone Jewish” He sings, “Some Jews live in tents and some live in pagodas. Some Jews pay rent cuz the city’s not free. Some Jews live on farms in the hills of Minnesota. And some Jews wear no shoes and sleep by the sea.”

The rabbis teach something very important about our verse today. In the midrash we learn that what Balaam was praising Israel for was their modesty. Every time they set up their tents, they made sure they were not looking directly into each other’s tents. No need for curtains.

On our trek through greater Elgin this week, I have learned something. That open spaces and having views are important to me—even more so to my husband. Not being right on top of others is also important. But we’ve learned something else. Deciding what is a good house is hard. Is it one with lots of open space that needs a lot of work, but it is serene? Is it one on a busier street that has an undocumentable reputation for crime but a wonderful kitchen, perfect for keeping kosher? Is it the perfect suburban house but it is next door to registered sex offender? Did checking the registry violate the modesty rule? Were we somehow peering into our neighbor’s house without their permission by using the internet?

What is this quality of modesty that Balaam is praising? We are told in today’s haftarah that there are only three things that G-d requires of us, “To justly, to love mercy and to walk modestly with G-d.” Often that modesty is translated as humbly. My mother’s very favorite verse of Scripture, but what does it mean?

Rochel Holzkenner, the co-director of Chabad in Las Olas, Florida, teaches on Chabad.org that “Modesty means having healthy boundaries.” She points out that some of these reality shows where we are peering into people’s lives are not modest. It violates those healthy boundaries. She adds that conversely, teens or adults can be misled to think that if they do not expose that which is meant to be sacred and private, they are prudish. Au contraire, they are being modest.

Modesty also means being careful with our speech. To avoid lashon harah, gossip. People who avoid gossip are practicing healthy boundaries. As Rochel points out, “Who gave you permission to analyze another’s life? You shouldn’t be looking in their window. And if you are exposed to a private bit of information about your friend, be sensitive. Gossiping is violating the sacred space of another person.”
This parsha has much to say about speech and its power to hurt or to heal.
Balaam was not modest. He knew he was up for the task of cursing the Israelites and bragged he could. He was humbled by the words that G-d put in his mouth.

One of the things that intrigues me the most about this parsha, is that these words come out of the mouth of a non-Jewish prophet. And these very words, from a non-Jew no less have taken on such prominence in our tradition. Sometimes we tune out the words of the other because they are not Jewish.

Today is the last day of the Community Crisis Center Rummage sale that we are co-sponsoring with Christ the Lord Lutheran. This rummage sale will directly benefit those who do not have a home that is a mikdash me’at. People who are experiencing domestic violence do not have a home filled with modesty or with shalom bayit, peace of the home, two of the values we identified in making a house a good home. People who live in fear of being abused by a partner do not have a mikdash me’at. I believe we have a role as Jews to help ensure that type of violence is eliminated and that we help those who have suffered from domestic abuse. Sometimes people say that there is no abuse in the Jewish community. I can tell you that there is and that there are survivors right here in this congregation. So we have a moral obligation just as the haftarah from today teaches, “To do justly, love mercy and walk modestly with your G-d.”

This event was the vision of Pastor Keith Fry, a Lutheran minister, in order to get our two congregations together to celebrate our two congregations’ landmark years, our 120th, their 50th. To make the world a better place. To do tikkun olam and put the shards back together again. I listened to his ideas, brought it to the board and together we came up with an action plan. As of late yesterday afternoon, he announced on Facebook that In two days we have blown our fundraising record sky-high.” At least some of that will be matched by Thrivant Lutheran.

On the bottom of my emails, I usually type a verse. “Who is wise? One who learns from all people.” We have learned from Balaam the importance of modesty. We have learned from Pastor Keith, the ability to make a mikdash me’at, a small sanctuary, when we combine our efforts.

The midrash for today’s portion teaches something else:
It was not easy for Balaam to get from point a to point b. Balaam complains, “I see it from the summit of the rocks, and from the hills do I view it” (Numbers 23:9).”

Midrash Tanchuma teaches that the rocks are our Patriarchs and the hills are our matriarchs. Rashi adds to our understanding: “I look at their origin and at the beginning of their roots, and I see them entrenched and strong as these rocks and hills, by means of the Patriarchs and Matriarchs.”

We learn something else about tents. Sarah, our matriarch opened her tent on all four sides. This way she could see anyone coming and offer hospitality.

How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places O Israel. May we each create a home that is a mikdash me’at, filled with lovingkindness, peace hospitality and modesty. May we find the time to help create that sense of safety and security for others so that all of us can inexperience the indwelling of the Divine Presence. Ken yehi ratzon.

This past Shabbat we had a learner’s minyan at my congregation. My job was to teach people the dance steps are in a traditional Jewish Shabbat morning service so they are comfortable. Here’s the secret. There is no one way to pray, to davven in Judaism. However, many people feel uncomfortable walking into a service with which they are not familiar. In Judaism we talk about keva, the fixed structure of the prayer, the order of service, the actual words, and kavanah, the intention behind the prescribed ritual. Sometimes we get so hung up on “doing it right” we forget why we are doing it. That this is a conversation between us and G-d. The fact that we can have the conversation–in Hebrew, in English, with dance steps, without dance steps, in a synagogue or at the beach, should bring us joy, or comfort, or security. Too often it intimidates us. I don’t believe that G-d cares whether we get it right. I don’t think there is any right or wrong way to pray. The rabbis talk about this in the Talmud. They tell us that they have provided a structure so that we can pray, when the words may not be easy for us to say. We are “allowed” to pray from our hearts. We are capable of this but many of us have never been told that it is OK. So G-d wants to hear from you–your joys, your concerns, your happiness, your sadness, your pain–in whatever language you are most comfortable with whatever movements help you to focus, to express yourself, to feel the Divine Presence. So if it is dancing, great. If it is sitting quietly and meditating, wonderful. If it is being at the beach, out in the wetlands, in your backyard gardening, on a mountain, fine. If you want to sing, scream, talk, be silent, play an instrument, all of these are within normative Judaism.

If you want to understand the traditional dance and how it enriches the meaning of our service and the words that the rabbis came up with, we can talk about that too. Here is a guideline of how we usually do things at Congregation Kneseth Israel.

ChoreographyShacharit

At the end it contains a post from the Coffee Shop Rabbi, http://coffeeshoprabbi.com Rabbi Ruth Adler. She has it right.

“MOST CHOREOGRAPHY IS OPTIONAL: Bow, etc, if it is meaningful to you or if you think it might become meaningful to you. If it is distracting or just “isn’t you,” that is OK. However, give yourself permission to try things out and see how they feel. Some people find that choreography makes them feel more in tune with the minyan, or closer to God in prayer: how will you know if you don’t at least try it out?

She points out that only a few things are “required,” and those only if you are able. She lists standing for Barechu, standing for the Amidah (which means standing prayer), stand when the Torah is being moved or when the Ark is open.

The discussion we had at services was very rich. People have learned different interpretations through the years of why we do what we do. There were three interpretations of why we back up three steps and move forward before starting and finishing the Amidah. One was it is like being in a sultan’s throne room, we are showing respect for the ruler. Just like you would back up when leaving the presence of an earthly ruler, you back up when leaving the Divine Presence. Or we are waving at G-d to say, “Here am I, take notice of me.” Or it is representative of the Cohanim, Leviim and Yisraelim, the three types of Jews.

When we get to the Barechu, we enter the formal part of the service with the “Call to worship.” Everything up until here has been “warm-up”, Jewish aerobics. A Chassidic rabbi was asked what he does before he prays. His answer, he prays for an hour that he might pray. We stand and we bow and we bend our knees. For me this is always a humbling moment. The word Baruch, blessed, comes from the word berekh meaning knee so it is a kind of stage direction. I surprised one of our Israeli members with this etymology.

When we talked about the Sh’ma and whether to close your eyes or keep them open, people talked about closing them made them focus better or keeping them open allowed them to be a witness, to observe G-d’s oneness which is what the Sh’ma is about. My own daughter in the car later reminded me that she had been taught that if everyone closed their eyes during the Sh’ma, then the angels would be present. No peeking, she had learned at her own Junior Congregation. But she would peek.

When we say Kedusha, the holiness prayer, echoing the angels as Isaiah taught, we are told to stand with our feet together and rise up on our toes for each repetition, Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh. Isaiah had a vision of the angels doing precisely that. Rising up, towards G-d. One of my favorite books for teaching Jewish prayer remains Sh’ma Is For Real. Joel Grisover describes the Kedusha, its keva and its kavanah this way:

http://books.google.com/books?id=Mh2CpIgrLfYC&pg=PA96&lpg=PA96&dq=kadosh,+kadosh+kadosh+choreography&source=bl&ots=RE8kI8RFpp&sig=Y3lF-SgntpNyrU3sX72_Au6F0sY&hl=en&sa=X&ei=j6vBUZeLA_KgyAH1sIFw&ved=0CGMQ6AEwCQ#v=onepage&q=kadosh%2C%20kadosh%20kadosh%20choreography&f=false

May our dancing elevate us to be like the angels, holy.

My husband isn’t a big fan of Father’s Day. He doesn’t like gratuitous gift giving. He doesn’t like things divided neatly down gender lines. He might like riding a bike or kayaking or hiking but he is just as likely to enjoy time in the kitchen, knitting or sewing. He reminds me that he is not my father. But he is the father of four adult children so I believe we should celebrate Father’s Day.
Some have argued that Jews don’t celebrate Father’s Day (or Mother’s Day) because it is not a Jewish holiday. I disagree. Judaism teaches that we should, “Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long upon the land which the LORD your God has given you.” (Exodus 20). It is repeated in Deuteronomy, “Honor your father and your mother, as the LORD your God commanded you; that your days may be long, and that it may go well with you, upon the land which the LORD your God has given you.”

Honor is an interesting word. It means to respect. In Hebrew it is kabad, the same root as kavod, honor, glory but also the same root as liver, an organ that is heavy. Somehow honoring our parents is important, it’s a heavy responsibility. In Numbers, in the Holiness Code, this is reversed. “You shall fear every man his mother, and his father.” What is the difference between fear and honor?

One of the arguments I have had with Simon for a long time is how to translate the word “tire’u” in Hebrew, “you shall fear.” I am not sure I want to fear G-d or fear my mother and father. I think it means more likely “revere”. This discussion has been going on for years. Simon would argue that fear is a necessarily component to some of these relationships.

People tend to fear their father because all too frequently the “man of the house” is the disciplinarian. On the other hand, people honor their mothers–for giving birth, for raising them, for nurturing them. The commandments deliberately reverse the typical gender based roles. However since both mother and father, honor and fear we should do both with both parents. Honor and fear. I think that I probably honored, feared and revered both my parents. I honor, fear and revere my husband as a parent of his four children and pay respect to him for that.

The commandments don’t say “Love your father and mother.” You can’t legislate love. And yet I do. I love my parents and I love my husband.

This week on Facebook, through Pastor Keith Fry of Christ the Lord Lutheran Church posted a very interesting blog post about parenting. http://www.handsfreemama.com/2012/04/16/six-words-you-should-say-today/

She, like me, admits to saying to much to her children when they finish an event. Too much correction. Not enough praise. She says there are six words you should say today. “I love to watch you.” She said that these six words have changed the way she parents. It is the difference between a nightmare sports parent and a good one, according to a survey of college athletes. You can read the blog yourself. She wondered if she had ever said it to her children after a soccer game, dance recital or piano concert. “I love to watch you play.”

I remember thinking about that when Sarah was young and she had picked playing basketball in second grade. She had learned about it in gym (yes, there were still gym classes then) and we signed her up for a summer league. I would leave work a little early and drive to an outdoor court. These girls who had been always told to “play nicely” and “share” were now being told to “be aggressive.” It was fun and I loved to watch. It was often the highlight of my week. But did I ever say it outloud. To her?

I loved to watch the little girl turned angel in the Nutcracker. And yes, I was proud of her, even if it did take 8 weeks of rehearsals to do one pirouette on stage. I loved to watch the growing dancer be Degas. I loved to watch her growing stage presence as she took on more and more challenging roles. I loved to watch her creativity in her costume designing. I loved to watch her and listen to her formulate sophisticated arguments at family dinners earning her place at the adult table. But did I ever say any of this out loud? I am not sure.

Hands-free Mama goes on to ask this same kind of thing about her language with her husband. So while you can’t legislate love, “I love to watch you.” I love to watch Simon breathe in the middle of the night. It is so calming for me and my active mind. I love to watch his eyes light up when he talks about Michigan football or dairy cows. I love to watch him play with the puppy–even when their aggressive play frightens me. They were even–hold your breath–dancing in the living room the other day. I love to watch him cook latkes or mow the lawn. I love to watch him play with the grandchildren and relate to them at whatever age they are. After all, as he says, he has always liked his children at whatever age they are and doesn’t hope that they will stay an infant, a toddler, a curious first grader, an independent fifth grader, a whatever forever. I love to watch him debate Sarah and challenge her intellectually.

I love to watch him. I love him. Happy Father’s Day.

More kvetching in the desert. This time it is Korach who complains that Moses has gone too far. But that’s not in our reading during this triennial cycle.

At the beginning of Chapter 18, I am intrigued by one root that repeats: Sh-M-R.
V’shamru. And they shall guard or keep. We know this word, V’shamru b’nei yisrael…And the children of Israel shall keep the Sabbath. It is a sign forever between Me and the children of Israel.

Count the number of times you see this root: 8. And it repeats again later in the parsha. It must be important. What does it mean to keep or to guard. What is “safekeeping”. Why does it repeat so many times and what does it have to do with leadership? What is it that the priests are asked to safeguard? Why does this follow the story of Korach’s rebellion?

Korach challenges Moses’s leadership. He believes that every person in Israel is holy. And he has some evidence to support this. The Torah teaches that Israel is to be a holy nation, a light to the nations and a kingdom of priests. Why then this structure of cohanim, levites and Israelites? Aren’t we all equal?

In the discussion, it was pointed out that we are not necessarily supposed to be equal, but that we have equal access to strive to be good. In order to be equal we need to strive.

I was intrigued by the Chief Rabbi of England Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, who mused on this portion, “That is surely a Jewish idea. Was not Thomas Jefferson at his most Biblical when he wrote, in the Declaration of Independence that ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”

Are we not all created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d and as such entitled to a direct relationship with the divine? What is the distinction that Korach is calling out? Is Moses really lording over us, over his people, over G-d’s people?

The language here in the parsha that we read is important. The priests are supposed to keep the covenant, it is a lasting covenant, a covenant of salt, a brit malach. Salt is something that is used to preserve, the keep something fresh. It was also currency, people got paid in salt. Hence we have the word salary, from the Latin, sal, salt. Talking about a brit malach, we are back to that language of V’shamru, and they shall keep, safeguard. Over and over again the text we will read uses a verb from this root. What do we keep? Shabbat, the mitzvoth, the covenant, the tradition. And what do we need to keep it safe from. According to this text from outsiders. Those who are not priests. Why? Because sometimes getting to close to the Holy One is scary. You might get burned.

Rabbi Lord Sacks teaches the midrash from Tanhuma that links this week’s parsha with the last of last weeks. In the midrash Korach challenges Moses by asking a halachic question about tzitzit. Korach “dressed them with cloaks made entirely of blue wool. They came and stood before Moses and asked him, “Does a cloak made entirely of blue wool require fringes [tzitzit], or is it exempt?” He replied, “It does require [fringes].” They began laughing at him [saying], “Is it possible that a cloak of another [colored] material, one string of blue wool exempts it [from the obligation of techeleth], and this one, which is made entirely of blue wool, should not exempt itself?” (Tanhuma, Korach 4; Rashi to Num. 16: 1)”

Rabbi Sacks interprets its importance for us: “The deep one is that the Midrash deftly shows how Korach challenged the basis of Moses’ and Aaron’s leadership. The Israelites were “all holy; and God is among them.” They were like a robe, every thread of which is royal blue. And just as a blue robe does not need an additional fringe to make it bluer still, so a holy people does not need extra holy people like Moses and Aaron to make it holier still. The idea of a leadership hierarchy in “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation” is a contradiction in terms. Everyone is like a priest. Everyone is holy. Everyone is equal in dignity before God. Hierarchy has no place in such a nation.”
But Korach was still wrong. What was his mistake? And this is as important for us today as it was in Moses’s and Korach’s time. We have just gone through a leadership shift in this congregation. Joe is completing his very first week as synagogue president. There are different models of leadership—even in the Torah. Korach saw leadership as a hierarchy. The leader is better than the rest of us and as such has certain rights to which he is entitled. That’s what he wants for himself. But as Sacks points out, that is not what leadership is about in the Torah. The ideal model is Moses and “Moses was a very humble man, more humble that anyone else on the face of the earth.” When Miriam and Aaron challenged that, they were the ones who were punished.
Priests were not above the rest, they were they agents through whom the rest were blessed, through whom the rest could draw close to G-d. They did not have personal power or authority. They are enabling the others to draw close. They are in Sacks words, “Transmitters of a word not their own. The prophet spoke the word of G-d for this time. The priest spoke the word of G-d for all time. But neither was the author of the word.”
This is similar to what we heard last week at installation. If we keep G-d at the center of the spokes of the hub, then we will succeed. It is what we are taught in this parsha. One of the roles of the priest was to redeem the first born. Perhaps you have heard of the ceremony called a Pidyon haBen. The first born son of his mother needed to be redeemed, presented at the Temple and bought back. On the 31st day after the first male child was born, the father would present the boy to a cohain and received the child back in exchange for the redemption price of five pieces of silver. This is a link between the redemption of the children of Israel as they were leaving Egypt and the redemption of the first born. The idea that the child belongs first to G-d and not the parents is a powerful statement and a humbling moment. G-d is at the center. This is what we must remember and keep.
When I daven the amidah facing the ark, I am reminded of the quote above, Da lifnei atah omad. Know before whom you stand.” When we read Bei ana rachatz as we take the Torah out, I am reminded that I am a servant of the Holy One. Both are humbling moments.
So if I were to give a charge to Joe and the rest of his board, I would use Sacks’ language. “In Judaism leadership is not a matter of status but of function. A leader is not one who holds himself higher than those he or she leads. That, in Judaism, is a moral failing not a mark of stature. The absence of hierarchy does not mean the absence of leadership. An orchestra still needs a conductor. A play still needs a director. A team still needs a captain. A leader need not be a better instrumentalist, actor or player than those he leads. His role is different. He must co-ordinate, give structure and shape to the enterprise, make sure that everyone is following the same script, travelling in the same direction, acting as an ensemble rather than a group of prima donnas. He has to have a vision and communicate it. At times he has to impose discipline. Without leadership even the most glittering array of talents produces, not music but noise.”
Our job as leaders is to create music. Our job as leaders is to remain humble. Our job is to work with everyone. Our job as leaders is to keep, to guard the relationship with the Divine, so all of us, presidents and officers, rabbis and laypeople, cohanim, leviim, and Yisraelim can all have equal access to G-d.

There is a song that youth groupers sing that comes from Pirke Avot, “Mitzvah Goreret Mitzvah. Avayra goreret avayra.” One mitzvah leads to another. One sin leads to another. It is probably my husband’s least favorite song because it is like a song that never ends and it gets stuck in your brain. But the message is interesting. Today was one of those days. I left the house at 6:30 to go to the synagogue to pick up some of our discarded prayers books. One of the local hospitals were looking for copies of old prayer books so that they had resources for patients–Orthodox, Conservative, Reform and Reconstructionist. From this congregation I managed to take three of the four types, a great day for Jewish pluralism. It fulfills the mitzvah of bikkur holim, visiting the sick. It also honors one of our newer members who just had an extended stay in that very hospital.
Then I had breakfast with a rabbinic colleague from Connecticut, here in Chicago for a conference on small congregations. It was nice to share stories and realize that the plots don’t change much congregation to congregation. It also was an opportunity for me to realize how lucky I am here in Elgin.
Then I went to the Chicago Board of Rabbis meeting where I was delighted to study with Rabbi Gedalia Dov Schwartz, Av Beth Din of the CRC. He has made a big impression on many of our local colleagues with his compassion particularly on JUF mission trips. I was impressed with his range of knowledge and references, both ancient and modern. We were studying some classic texts for the high holidays to help with our sermon preparation. His bottom line–we should lift people up, not berate them. I hope that is a message that I can teach. He also had an interesting interpretation of the yizkor prayers and why we say them on Yom Kippur. A hint…it has to do with forgiveness…but this will require more study on my part.
After leaving the Board of Rabbis study meeting, I went to the mikveh to be on a beit din (court of Jewish law) and help someone in the final steps to becoming Jewish. She was articulate, passionate, enthusiastic. She will make a great addition to the Jewish people. Those are moments worth celebrating.
It has been a good day. What mitzvah is next?

What makes a rabbi? A series of moments

This past weekend I was installed as the Rabbi of Congregation Kneseth Israel. It fulfills a lifelong dream, which my ordaining rabbi pointed out, started at my own Bat Mitzvah. I don’t even remember telling my 8th grade English teacher in Grand Rapids that I was going to be a rabbi, but she did and when I started rabbinical school she sent a lovely note to my mother telling her that and assuring her that the hand of G-d would be on my shoulder every step of the way.

This past weekend was filled with many singular moments all of which contributed to my officially becoming the rabbi at CKI. Friday evening we had Shabbat dinner at the home of one of the members we have grown close to. The table was set beautifully, the fish was delicious, the conversation was good. How she had time to do all that in between cooking for the weekend, attending a funeral, getting her husband ready to do a triathlon and the other myriad number of things we all do during the course of a week, I do not know. But I do know that when we sung Shalom Aleichem I was thinking about her preparedness and the grace she displayed.

Saturday morning there was a minyan before we even started at 9:30. My ordaining rabbi in town to do the installation, was giving the d’var Torah. I led most of the service. I love it when of my Bar/Bat Mitzvah students leads Ashrei because it is such a generation to generation moment. This week was no exception. My dear friends, Linda and Marylin walked in just as we were singing V’ahavta which says in part, “Speak of these words on your way and in your home.” I knew that Linda and Marylin had traveled a good distance and that they no doubt had discussed Torah on their way. I also knew that when they walked in they entered my home. More to the point that I knew I was home. I beamed from ear to ear as they were welcomed and then sat down with Sarah. They have been some of Sarah’s other mothers but let’s face it, they are actually some of my other mothers too! Then one of our congregants, another of Sarah’s other moms, joined them in that row. The world felt whole, complete.

Rabbi Neil Kominsky’s sermon was about mistakes. The Torah portion this week, Shelach Lecha, includes a piece from my Bat Mitzvah portion, where Moses pleads for forgiveness. The 13 Attributes of the Divine are repeated and from here they become part of the liturgy for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. G-d answers, “Vyomer Adonai, silachti kidvarecha.” “I pardon, according to your word.” This is what we sing right after Kol Nidre. How perfect for this morning. Not only was it a repeat of part of my Bat Mitzvah portion, but it is the reason I entered rabbinical school and the very verses I wrote about for my thesis. You can’t plan this stuff.

Neil’s take on it is important. G-d expects us not to be perfect, but to make mistakes. There is a system already in place for making it right. Every body makes mistakes. No one is perfect. No community is perfect. Sometimes those mistakes are made “unwittingly.” And that is OK. You will be forgiven by the community and by G-d.” I thought he was speaking directly to me, who wrestles with needing to be perfect. Others thought he was speaking directly to them who wrestle with balance.

Later that afternoon, when more of our out-of-town guests were here, we went to the Lucky Monk for dinner. Yes, it can be said that I am a member of the Monk Society, a place where the slogan is “Elevate Your Soul”. So a rabbi, a priest and a minister went into a bar and it is not a joke. It had rained off and on all afternoon but the sun was struggling to peak out. I couldn’t find my Monk Society card so I went outside, by myself and without my cell phone. Wouldn’t you know it? There was the rainbow I had hoped to see earlier in the day. No one to witness. No photos to prove it. And I smiled, because it felt like G-d was smiling on me. Too anthropomorphic perhaps, but it felt that way.

Belief in G-d did not come easily to me. My parents were rationalists, scientists. G-d can’t be explained or easily proven. My belief grew slowly over time. One of the ways that I came to a belief in G-d was through studying in a parsha ha’shavua class, a weekly class looking at the portion of the week. I had never done this kind of in-depth Bible study before. The portion of Noah comes early in the academic year. There was something magical, mystical, beautiful, in the idea of a rainbow being a sign from G-d. A rainbow requires the perfect balance between sun and rain, just the right angle of the sun. For me that was “proof”. Now when I see a rainbow I am reminded of that night, the world feels whole and my place secure. Seeing a rainbow on the eve of my installation was a brief spiritual affirmation.

When I became a rabbi, when I was officially ordained there were lots of little moments along the way. The dean saying yes, my name would be on the invitation that year, the presentation of my thesis, the trip to Israel, the last comp and ritual skill passed, the handing out of the tallitot atarot, the tying of the knots on the tallit, going to the mikveh at Mayyim Hayyim, going to the mikveh with my class, the blessing circle, the quiet walk along the Long Island Sound the morning of ordination, the signing of the document, the actual ordination, driving back out, all alone from the College of Mount Saint Vincent. At what point did I become a rabbi?

Then I took a rabbinic job as a Jewish educator. I sat on my favorite rock in Oqunquit right at the ocean’s edge along the Marginal Way and debated its merits. It would give me a chance to work as a rabbi and to test out my theories as an educator. It would give me new, fresh experience. It would pay me a salary and I could keep my consulting practice going while paying off rabbinical school. I took the job. Congregants debated whether I was a real rabbi. After all I didn’t go to JTS. I hadn’t trained as a pulpit rabbi, whatever that means, and I was a woman. My position on Israel was seen by some as too liberal. I was not Conservative, traditional or observant enough. I didn’t like some of the inconsistencies of practice. I loved working with the families and miss many of them. But it wasn’t a good fit, even if I was a rabbi if not the rabbi.

I began writing my own vision of what I wanted my rabbinate to look like. I went away by myself, back to Ogunquit to write. I walked along the Marginal Way. I walked the beach for hours. When I got back to my hotel room, the dean of placement at the Academy had sent me an application for “spiritual leader” of Congregation Kneseth Israel. Its vision mirrored my own and they were intentional about it. My application was completed before I went to bed on my birthday.
Sending an application, going through a phone screening interview, then a Skype interview, then an in-person demo weekend, then waiting for a search committee vote, a board vote, a congregational vote seemed to take forever. Negotiating a contract was slow. I was beginning to wonder if it was ever going to happen. More trips to Ogunquit. Do I really move my family half way across the country? Will this rock still be here when I return? How can I leave my friends, my house of 23 years, this ocean? Every time I asked the questions, the answers came back yes. There was a pull, a calling, something I can’t explain.

I started this job in August. Along the way there have been lots of highlights. Some deep spiritual moments. Some less spiritual and more community oriented. When did I become the rabbi at CKI? When the congregational vote passed? When the contract was negotiated, voted upon and signed? When I arrived for the picnic and a funeral? When Sarah and I camped that first week? When the moving truck arrived? When I led my first Shabbat morning service? When we celebrated the first High Holidays together?

Sunday night I was installed as the rabbi at Congregation Kneseth Israel. It was really the public affirmation of what has been already true. A confirmation. When did I become the rabbi? When the Torah was passed down? When the officers read the covenant and I responded? When the priestly benediction was proclaimed? Each of these had deeply spiritual overtones.

The words my friends and colleagues spoke, drove many, including myself to tears. David Ferner spoke about the need to ask questions and to search for answers and to realize that not everyone has the same ones–and that is OK. That is OK as long as the focus of the spokes is on the hub–that hub is G-d. Neil spoke about allowing the image of the divine to shine through in all that we do so that we can see the divine in everything. Linda Shriner Cahn spoke about my quest for tikkun olam and making the world a better place. Maralee Gordon spoke about returning to my roots and welcoming me back to the neighborhood. Keith Frye talked about how I have already been a friend and a pastor to him and how we are already collaborating together. There was much humor, much laughter, much joy. i felt loved and appreciated. This is a good fit. It is comfortable.

Like many liminal moments that mark a change in status, I am not sure it is any one of these moments. Rather, like believing in G-d, it happens slowly over time. It is each of these moments taken together. Today I can say I am very proud and very humble to be the rabbi of Congregation Kneseth Israel. It was an amazing weekend.

When Sarah was in kindergarten, my father gave her a present. It was a beautifully wrapped box. Inside the box was another beautifully wrapped box. Inside that box was another box and inside that box was a Ziploc bag, full of refrigerator magnets, all the abcs and the aleph bets and a note. “Herein lies all the wisdom of Judaism and the American and British literature. Your job is to recombine them, to find meaning and find joy.”

We still have that bag of magnets and we talk frequently about how to combine them to find meaning. My refrigerator might say, “Do the right thing” or “Be a mensch.” It might say, “Find Joy.”

I stand before you tonight with a full heart. It was a long dream of mine, as you heard, to become a rabbi, a pulpit rabbi. It is this congregation that has welcomed me with open arms.

Joy is something that is important to me. It is, after all, my middle name, both in English and Hebrew. Sometimes, however, it feels elusive. Tonight is one of those nights. We mark with sadness the recent death of Don Lesser. Every simcha has its sadness. That is part of why we smash a glass during a wedding.

How does one find joy, especially in the midst of sadness? Like the refrigerator magnets, this is a puzzle. Sometimes the Bible helps solve the puzzle. Or zarua latzadik ulyishrei lev simcha. Light is sown for the righteous and joy for the upright in heart. This verse itself is a puzzle. Once we crack it, we have a clue to finding joy. The Chassidic rabbis taught that simcha, joy, carries with it a sense of passion. That a straightened heart, an upright heart is one filled with joy and passion. Davenning in Israel, alone in my hotel room in Tel Aviv, a light bulb went off. Joy follows light, after we act righteously. It comes when we find our passion, share it unstintingly and use it to make the world a better place. Then light is sown and we experience joy.

For me, joy comes from being a rabbi. There is a deep sense of calling, as Frederick Buechner said, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” After years in international business, walking out of IBM’s corporate headquarters having made a big sale, I thought there must be something more. I felt I could make the biggest difference in the rabbinate. That is how I could make the world a better place. What I discovered is that while social action is important, being a rabbi is also about meeting people where they are.

What does it mean to be a rabbi? It is a covenantal relationship, based on trust and mutual understanding. It is a partnership between the rabbi and the congregation to define a vision, to build community and to find meaning in our ancient tradition and thus enrich our lives.

Way back in August, my first week in Elgin, I talked about this relationship. “A covenant is like a contract, legally binding. If you do X then I will do Y. The nitty gritty of that is in the formal contract, but there is more to a rabbi’s contract than the financial terms and job descriptions.
So here is my proposed covenant with Congregation Kneseth Israel.

If
I promise:

To be patient and compassionate.
To be slow to anger.

To approach the task of being a rabbi with joy and enthusiasm.

To laugh at my mistakes and have a sense of humor

To be present.
To listen attentively

To guide you and meet people where they are

I promise to make halachic decisions carefully and thoughtfully with the knowledge and understanding of 5000 years of tradition

I promise to continue to learn

I promise to create, together with you a place where people feel welcomed, a safe non-judgmental space where people can explore their Judaism in all of its myriad facets

I promise to be visible to the Elgin community and to promote Congregation Kneseth Israel, to be a good role model for our kids

I promise to teach and to learn, to preach and lead discussions that are meaningful and enable us all to grown.

I promise to do Tikkun Olam, gathering the sparks together, in myself, with our community and the wider world so that the world will be a better place.

What I want from you is similar

To listen openly, attentively and honestly

To laugh at my mistakes and help me correct them
To be patient, especially as I and my family settle in, again!
To create community where people feel welcomed, cared for and loved in a safe, non-judgmental space.

To become life long learners

To create meaningful observance, rituals and celebrations

To be willing to share deeply from yourselves to enrich all of us emotionally, spiritually and physically.

Nine months later, this is still what I think the terms of the covenant to be. And I would add, to be kind to one another. Being Jewish is hard work. The word Israel means G-dwrestler. For some of these deep questions there are no right or wrong answers. As we wrestle together, be kind. That is how we create holy space.

Then we will have created a partnership, a covenant, like G-d and the people of Israel. Then together we will find joy. When I was here for the demo weekend a little over a year ago, I did something I didn’t do anywhere else. We were coached not to get too attached anywhere we went, after all, we might not get the job. I know. I was a bridesmaid six times, never the bride. But here I felt comfortable. So I broke my own rules. I bought something from the Sisterhood gift shop. There were these kippot from Guatemala. How often do you see Judaica from Guatemala? You see I have a son-in-law from Guatemala and in my last congregation an entire family from Guatemala converted to Judaism because it was meaningful to them. I knew from that kippah that you were living out your vision that I share with you of embracing diversity. I bought three kippot and a necklace from Wanda. They are a comfortable fit and I wear them proudly tonight.

When I went back to Boston recently, I managed to sneak up to Ogunquit, a little town on the coast that I love. In Ogunquit there is a certain flat rock, right on the waters edge. It seems each of the major life decisions have been made on that rock—whether to get married, have a child, to go to rabbinical school, which rabbinical school, how to finish school, which job to take, even whether to move to Elgin. This time there were no major decisions to make. But sitting on that rock.

I know that it was the right decision to come to Elgin, for me, for my rabbinate, for my family. Last night I had a quiet moment to myself. In a parking lot of a restaurant I went back to my car. There, between the raindrops was a rainbow. Glorious in the late afternoon sun. For me, it was an affirmation of what I already knew from sitting on the rock in Oqunquit. This is the right place.

People’s lives are complex. Everyone experiences joy and pain. That is part of what makes us human. How we respond to that suffering is what makes us G-dlike. If despite the obstacles we can live our lives with passion, play out our dreams, then we find joy, at the break of day as light is sown. But not in a vacuum. Only if we act justly and righteously.

So my message to you is simple. Take your own refrigerator magnets. Recombine them. Find your passion, follow your dreams and make the world a better place. In doing so, find joy.