I seem to have fallen a little behind. Perhaps that is because I am preparing for Shabbat. Shabbat comes every week and we welcome her like a bride, like a queen, like an angel. We welcome Shabbat with candles, with wine and with bread. This week we read about the candles, oil lights really in the Tabernacle and about the challah. Yes, challah is a Biblical word.
At some point, the tending of these two important mitzvot became women’s work, not the work of the priests. This switch fascinates me. Is it because a home is considered a mikdash me’at, a small sanctuary? Because a women is expected to keep, to create shalom bayit, peace of the home? Is it tied to the verse I love from the Friday night Psalms, “Light is sown, planted for the righteous and joy for the upright in heart?”

My mother would light Shabbat candles most Friday nights once we moved to Grand Rapids. She was never so good on the Hebrew and frequently got stuck on the word v’tzivanu. If we were at services she would lean over, midway through and ask the cantor, “What’s my word?” and he would prompt her. Then she would read the responsive reading out of the old Union Prayer Book I. If we were at home she would add an impromptu “Shabbes shpiel”. A sense of warmth and peace would descend on the house. She never liked the reading from Proverbs, a Woman of Valor. It offended her feminist sensitivities.

What she didn’t know is she was following in the footsteps of generations of women. Jewish women would compose their own prayers for the lighting of the Shabbes candles. Called tekhinot, these were prayers written by women for women about women’s things–candlelighting, challah, niddah, mikveh, childbirth, nursing, weaning.  Some have been recorded, others, like my mother’s floated away or floated up to heaven.

The blessing that we say for lighting the candles, l;hadlik ner shel Shabbat, who commands us to kindle the Shabbat lights, I find fascinating. While you might think that since it is a commanded activity this blessing is in the Talmud, you would be wrong. It is based on the Chanukah candle blessing which is. Maggie Anton, who wrote Rashi’s Daughters, a series I have loved, argued that it was one of Rashi’s daughters, or her husband, Rabbenu Tam that composed it. I was so excited! Let’s hear it for feminism. But apparently there are records of it back to Rav Gaon who compiled the Machzor Vitry. Rashi quotes this himself:

Rav Gaon’s responsum is and it reads:
One who lights the lamp of Shabbat must recite a blessing. Why? For it is obligatory, as we say (Shabbat 25b), “Lighting lamps for Shabbat is obligatory, for Rav Yehudah said citing Shemuel, Lighting lamps etc.” And we have seen that where it is not possible, other mitzvot are overridden before it, as Rabbah said (Shabbat 23b), “It is obvious that in balancing the lamp of the home and the Chanukah lamp, the lamp of the home is greater.” One must bless, “To kindle the lamp of Shabbat.”
And if you will ask, “Where did He instruct us,” it is from Rav Avya and Rav Nachman bar Yitzchak (Shabbat 23a)..

Now embedded in the full discussion, there is a fascinating argument about whether this is a commandment and therefore requires a blessing. However, the rabbis conclude that it does using the verses below:

What Rashi himself, did say about Chanukah lights and Shabbat lights, is : Talmud Shabbat 23b and Rashi: Said Rava, “It is obvious to me that where a person has to choose between kindling household lights [for Shabbat] and Chanukah lights, the household lights should be given preference, for reasons of domestic tranquility…RASHI: Domestic tranquility–that which is stated further on (p. 25b): “My soul was bereft of peace” (Lamentations 3:17), refers to the lighting of Sabbath candles, that (in their absence) the household members are distressed to sit in the darkness.

Today is the 30th day of the counting of the omer. It is about gevurah b’hod, strength or endurance in humility or beauty. Today is about survival and what it takes to be strong. I went to two events about this very topic. The first was at Elgin Community College sponsored by the Community Crisis Center is honor of Sexual Abuse Awareness Month. The second one was at the Gail Borden Library as part of their commemoration of Holocaust Remembrance Day. For my book discussion group, we discussed The Storyteller by Jodi Picoult.

I listened to three different survivors tell their stories. They went through unspeakable terrors. All three were humble. All three were almost apologetic. They survived. Others did not. In the case of the Holocaust survivor who escaped Germany as a young child, after Kristalnacht, he grew up in Chicago. “I am not a camp survivor. I am one of the lucky ones.”
In the case of the two survivors of sexual assault, each had been assaulted multiple times. Each one blamed herself and tried to bury the past. Each one struggled to find her voice. And yet, there was a thread that ran through all three presentations, it takes luck and discipline to survive, to overcome the tragedy, to be able to stand on a podium and tell these stories, so very personal, so very haunting. It takes courage. It takes energy. It takes sheer will and determination. We are the richer for their ability to be strong and humble. For their ability to find their voices. Some people can never do what they did today. Some people who undergo traumatic experiences wind up perpetual victims. Angry, bitter, scared, scarred. What makes the difference between the two responses is not clear to me but something I have been thinking about a great deal. Is is brain chemistry, biology, some kind of electrical switch, a nurture or nature thing, the help that they may have received immediately after the trauma, a sense of being loved and secure? Some combination of factors? What does it take to say with confidence, “I am a survivor, not a victim?” Do you have to acknowledge being a victim before you can become a survivor?

We are not even two weeks out from the horrific bombings at the Boston Marathon. People are continuing to heal their physical wounds. The mental ones may take even longer. A friend of mine, Lesley Litman with whom I spent time in NFTY as advisors, blogged this morning:
“On Monday I ran over my cell phone with my car. It was the first “normal” work day since the tragic and difficult events of last week….I gathered up the front piece, the battery and the back piece, put it back together and turned it on. Miracle of miracles – it worked. Except the back piece would not stay on. My husband threw some duct tape on it to hold it all together and the phone is as good as new. Except it’s not…I went down to New York City this week for work… No one knew I was from Boston, I could feel almost normal. Except I’m not.
At one point, walking along the streets of New York, I looked down at my phone and realized that it represents my beloved Boston in this still fragile time: The phone works. It looks pretty normal. Except it’s not. It is taped together. Duct tape is strong – Boston is Strong. But it will be some time before the duct tape can be removed.”

Powerful words for any person who has survived trauma. We are held together by invisible duct tape, and many, many you would not know are healing from looking at them from the outside. They look normal…but they are not. They may be working at professional jobs, excellent mothers and fathers, homeowners, whatever your definition of success is, and they may be crying on the inside, angry, depressed, bitter. Or they may have found ways like the two survivors of sexual assault and the Holocaust survivor to rise. To embrace life. To choose life. To live.

May I not become embittered with my own life story. May I continue to approach healing with discipline, strength and courage. May the day come when I can stand there with confidence and courage and not be afraid.

Today is day 29 of the counting of the omer. It is the start of week 5. Can it really be five weeks since the Passover seders? Where did the time go. What is this week going to be about. The sefira we focus on is hod that gets translated as beauty or humility. Those are very different concepts. Today is about This morning I was driving down the road, having dropped my daughter off at work. It is a beautiful spring day and finally things are blooming. The world looks wonderful, colorful and full of promise.

I saw a sign, hand-painted on plywood with white paint, “You are beautiful.”

What does it mean to be beautiful? Why is it that so many people have a hard time seeing their own beauty (myself included). How do we convince people that they are beautiful?

Much has been written about girls who want to look like fashion models. I don’t need to repeat that here. If all people are created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d, why can’t we be happy with the way we look? Why can’t we see ourselves the way G-d does, through the lens of lovingkindness? Or even the way the sign painter sees us, “You are beautiful”?
This beauty comes with a sense of humility. Hod comes from the Hebrew root hoda’ah, to give thanks. But it also means to acknowledge or to admit. How is this humility? It means admitting that there is something beyond ourselves, that we are not “full of ourselves.” As we yield, it is about making room for something more. It should not be confused with weakness or a lack of self-esteem. Lack of self esteem is what makes so many of those young girls not recognize their beauty.

It is about saying thank you to G-d. When I get up in the morning and recite, “Modah ahi” that is an act of thank you, praise and humility. When I read ee cummings,

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

I am awed and humbled. When I stand on the bimah facing the ark and read the sign, “Da lifney atah omeid, Know before whom you stand”, even in the masculine formulation, that is an act of humility.

The mystics talked about tzitzum, about contraction. When we make space for something beyond ourselves that contraction is an act of humility. Humility is not compromise, it is the acknowledgement that there are some battles that we fight through the simple act of humility.

Humility is modesty. Moses was humble. (I almost didn’t become a rabbi over mistranslating that word, I said he was humbled!). Micah teaches us what G-d requires of us, “To justly, to love mercy and walk humbly with your G-d.” it is recognizing how small you are which allows you to realize how large you can become.

As I walk outside in this beautiful world today, may I recognize the beauty and the divine spark in everyone and may I be humble like Moses.

Yesterday was Day 28. Today is the last day of week four. We are nearly a month into the counting. Have I made every day count? Have the blog posts been interesting, enjoyable, practical? As I was talking about yesterday, it is becoming a habit, a routine. It is part of the discipline and becoming part of my core, my deep spirituality. Will it endure? Will it last?

Today is about malchut b’netzach, the sovereignty of endurance, the kingship of eternity. Simon Jacobson points out, “Sovereignty is the cornerstone of endurance…. is indeed a tribute and testimony to the majesty of the human spirit.”

I have been spending a lot of time thinking about this question. What makes one person survive a horrible, life changing event and come out the other side willing to work for the good of humanity? What makes someone else experience something similar and come out bitter, withdrawn, depressed? Victor Frankel, himself a Holocaust survivor, had some of it right in his book, Man’s Search for Meaning, talks about it this way:

“We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms — to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”

But can we always choose our attitude? I am not sure. Many of the people who survived the Holocaust and can talk about it now share an idea with us. That they knew as a child that they were loved, and that because of that love, that security, they knew it would be OK.

Simon Jacobson asks questions as part of his reflections for the Omer, “Is my endurance dignified? Does it bring out the best in me? When faced with hardships do I behave like a king or queen, walking proudly with my head up, confident in my G-d-given strengths, or do I cower and shrivel up in fear?”

There are days I do cower in fear. There are days I would prefer to curl up under the covers and not get up and not see the world’s problems or feel that I have to deal with them. Then I remember that G-d is with me, will lighten my burden and give me rest, that G-d is my strength and song, that I am not alone and that it is G-d who neither slumbers nor sleeps so I don’t have to be afraid. Sometimes I have to say those words on automatic pilot to reassure myself.

I would add to Jacobson’s questions, does it bring out the best in others? Do I help others overcome their hardships? Am I mensch? What cause do I feel so passionate about coming out of my own life experiences, out of my own bitter pain, that I am willing to fight for that cause. That question I think I can answer. I am willing to fight for a woman’s right to pray as a Jew, I am willing to fight for peace, particularly in the Middle East, I am willing to fight for gun control, for immigrant rights, for women’s rights. I am finding my voice, and in the process finding my meaning.

Last week I was asked to do an interview for the Daily Herald. It was published today. http://www.dailyherald.com/article/20130423/news/704239950/ Only a fraction of what I said about living in Israel versus living in Boston was printed. It was one of the hardest interviews I have ever done. But I was uniquely qualified, I have lived in Israel, I have lived in Boston, I have even run the Boston Marathon. I froze when asked, “Were you afraid living in Boston or living in Israel.” Yes and no. It is complicated. I cried. I love both places. Most of the time I have not lived in fear and yet, and yet, I did not always feel safe in either place. Am I betraying places I love if I say that? Can I reach the place that Israelis get to every day? Life must continue. We get on the bus, go to the movies, go grocery shopping, send our kids to school. Is there ever a guarantee that we are safe? Unfortunately no. But we can’t give into the fear. That is what the terrorists want.

Afterwards I was reminded of Queen Esther who demonstrated a nobility in her response to the threat of killing all the Jews. She found her voice after Mordechai implored her, “If you remain silent relief will arise from another place, And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?”

That is Frankel’s search for meaning, that is living out this idea of the sovereignty of endurance. It isn’t easy. What cause are you willing to fight for?

Today is Day 27 of the counting of the omer. Now is when it gets hard. It is hard to keep writing day after day and find something new to say. It is hard to make these new routines stick. The last two posts were emotionally draining. I thought that writing about the bird feeder and how the birds praise G-d was going to be easy. It turned out it was anything but easy. For me, it was an important piece of writing, one that on reflection you can see the signs of automatic writing, that which comes from deep within. Who is doing the praising? Of G-d, of me, of both? Can I hear the praise? Of the birds? Of my parents? Of friends and family, congregants and co-workers? Of myself? Can I sustain that feeling that even if my parents were not good at saying that they loved me or were proud of me, that in fact they were?

I think that is what today is about. Today is about bonding in endurance, yesod b’netzach. Another translation would be the foundation of eternity. We are one week out from the Boston Marathon bombing. If I learned anything training for Boston through the years, it is about discipline and bonding. I need that strong foundation that comes with running through the winter snow and ice. I need the routine that comes from lacing up my shoes at dawn. Bonding is about creating that routine. Weight Watchers has been talking a lot about that lately. This month’s routine is about remembering to put an activity monitor on. Remembering to put the gym shoes in the car. Planning ahead. Making this a routine.

Spirituality requires discipline too. It is about remembering to say Modah Ani when I first get up. It is about remembering to say Ufros Aleinu and the Sh’ma when I go to bed. It is about lighting Shabbat candles, about saying Kiddush, about keeping kosher, about living intentionally.

Writing is like that. Once upon a time, what seems like a long, long time ago, Anita Diamant told me that if I was going to write a book, I would need the discipline of writing every day. It is the foundation of good writing. As it turns out, it also the foundation of good spirituality. It is part of how I glimpse eternity and am bonded with the One who exists forever, the Compassionate One, full of lovingkindness and grace.

Today, well yesterday actually, was Day 26 in the counting of the omer. We are more than half way to Sinai. It is also Earth Day. A day when we pledge again to take care of the earth. One of my favorite things about my new life and new home is living adjacent to the wetlands. This is land that has been preserved by Cook County. When we moved in it was dry; we were in the middle of a drought. Since the snow has melted and we have had a bunch of rain, the wetlands is full. It looks like a lake or a pond. I think we could kayak on it. I love watching the colors change during the corse of the day. The light add a beautiful quality. I have loved watching the different wildlife that have come to visit. Deer, rabbits, a coyote, three raccoons and countless birds.
Last week we finally put up a bird feeder. I instantly felt closer to my mother. She was a big birder, always with binoculars, a bird book and her life long list. We went birding together at Point Pelee in Ontario, at Sleeping Bear National Lake Shore, in Acadia. The day she spotted a sand hill crane in the upper peninsula of Michigan was important–and the stuff that jokes became made of. She thought it was so big that it was a deer. Really. When a cardinal landed on the feeder I knew she was home. Oh, how she loved cardinals–coming from Saint Louis, the home of the Saint Louis Cardinals. She loved red. This was her bird.

Now lest you think this is all about my mother, it is also about my father. My father worked with Dr. Barry Commoner at Washington University in Saint Louis. Barry coined the phrase ecology and started the first Earth Day in 1971 so we have often joked that my father was one of the first ecologists. I remember reading about Barry in my Weekly Reader in Evanston and then having my father and Barry come talk to the class. Barry died last year. I didn’t know. But he left us this legacy: his four laws of ecology, as written in The Closing Circle in 1971. The four laws are:
1. Everything Is Connected to Everything Else. There is one ecosphere for all living organisms and what affects one, affects all.
2. Everything Must Go Somewhere. There is no “waste” in nature and there is no “away” to which things can be thrown.
3. Nature Knows Best. Humankind has fashioned technology to improve upon nature, but such change in a natural system is, says Commoner, “likely to be detrimental to that system”
4. There Is No Such Thing as a Free Lunch. Exploitation of nature will inevitably involve the conversion of resources from useful to useless forms.

My father loved to walk in the woods and show us the patterns. He loved arguing. With the Field Museum in Chicago about one particular exhibit on evolution that they got wrong. With Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore about succession forests which he believed they got wrong. With my high school biology teacher who insisted on teaching creationism alongside evolution. But simply he loved the earth and protecting it for his children and grandchildren. Whether that threat was nuclear arms or carbon emissions. He worked to make this world a better place.

One day the first year after his death, my daughter was performing for the first time in the Nutcracker. She wondered if “Grandfather would be proud.” I assured her he would be. We went to the performance. Afterwards, just when we were driving home, there was something fluttering over the middle school roof and then landing right in front of my car. I had to stop. It was a ringed neck pheasant. That was his bird. Coincidence. I certainly don’t think so.

My parents were not so good on the trappings of Judaism. For them the history and the ethics were far more important. God was a struggle for them. My father could not reconcile what he saw in the microscope with what Genesis teaches. He could not reconcile the idea of an all powerful and all good God with the Holocaust. I never won an argument with him about God.

Yesterday we planted with our religious school students. They each went home with a planter made out of recycled newspaper, holding a sunflower seed. We planted a raised bed of early spring vegetables to feed the hungry.

Today I will fill the bird feeder, plant the peas and enjoy the sound of the birds in my backyard. They are soothing, calming and remind me of a simpler time. Unlike my parents, I will be reminded of the Nishmat prayer, translation by Anita Diamant for the Mayyim Hayyim CD Immersed. Somehow, when I am walking with the dog, this is the song that comes to mind. I may not sing as beautifully as the birds, but they are with me giving praise. My parents may not have been good at saying “I love you.” or “I am proud of you.” but they were. That’s what this Earth Day has taught me.

Verse 1:
If my mouth was filled with song
Like the ocean tide is strong
If my tongue could but give praise
Like the roaring of the waves

Chorus:
It would never, ever be enough
There could never, ever be enough
We will never ever say enough
To thank you, amen.
(last time – We thank you – amen)

Verse 2:
If my ears were tuned to hear
The Heavenly music of the spheres
If my heart could rise and reach
Like the crashing on the beach (Chorus)

Bridge:
So let us praise and let us shout
Breathing in and singing out
Hear the joyful noise of voices
Joined in song

For the gifts that came before us
And for all those yet to come
We thank you,
Amen. (return to Verse 1)

Today is Day 25 of the counting of the Omer. Half way to Shavuot. This is what I said at services this morning:

“Speak to the whole Israelite community and say to them: Be holy for I the Lord your G-d am holy.”

What does it mean to be holy?

This is the center portion of the Torah—half way between the very beginning of Genesis, and the very end of Deuteronomy.It is also what we believe to be the center, the core of what we need to do.

Within minutes of the tragedy in Boston, people wanted me as their rabbi to explain it. My former pre-school teacher, and dear friend was the first. In chatting on Facebook I said I wanted to crawl into her welcoming pre-school lap and have one of her big pre-school hugs and have her make the nightmares go away. She answered that she wanted her rabbi to explain it. I can’t. My rabbi intervened and said that hugs work better in the face of what appears to be evil. I can point out that the title of Rabbi Harold Kushner’s book is When Bad Things Happen to Good People, not Why. I can tell you that like Anne Frank I still believe that people are good and that I haven’t lost all my ideals. I can tell you that I believe that G-d was present. That G-d cried with the people who were injured, that G-d was present with the people who rushed in to help, giving them strength and courage, that G-d was angry with the senseless acts of violence and with the people who planned them and perpetrated them. But I can’t tell you why this happened. I can tell you that I personally found tremendous comfort in this very week’s Torah portion.

Be holy…

At times like this we do want to return to our pre-school selves. It is easier to fix a skinned knee than a broken heart. Many turned to Fred Rogers, a Boston University graduate and the soothing presence of Mr. Rogers Neighborhood. He said,  “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” — Be holy.

The helpers are holy. So this morning, we give thanks for those who rushed in to help—the EMTs, the first responders, the doctors and nurses who just happened to be watching or running the race, or who lived in the neighborhood and went back to their hospitals because it was the right thing to do. Even a friend of Sarah’s, a fellow drama student making a little extra money as a birthday party entertainer on her way to a child’s birthday party. She wasn’t sure how she could just smile at a party knowing what was going on, but she got dressed as Belle and cut through Mass General Hospital on the way to her car. The pre-schoolers were blissfully unaware. On her way back, she stopped again at MGH and entertained the rest of the day, keeping kids calm in those first chaotic hours. Turns out the adults needed her even more.  Be the helpers. Be holy.

The helpers—those who lined up to give blood. Today’s Torah portion says, “Do not stand idly by while your neighbor bleeds.” Go give blood. I did. There is always a need. Be holy.

The helpers—Through a great deal of due diligence, a lot of film clips and some very brave law enforcement officers working lots of overtime, they believe they caught those directly responsible. Today’s Torah portion says, “You shall not render an unfair decision: do not favor the poor or show deference to the rich: judge your neighbor fairly.” Now it is up to the court systems. At least one of them will be brought to trial. I pray that it is a fair trial and the best that our American justice system has to offer because it is the best in the world. Be holy.

The helpers—those of us who served at Food for Greater Elgin were this week. Today’s Torah portion says “When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap all the way to the edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest. You shall not pick your vineyard bare. You shall leave them for the poor and the stranger: I the Lord am your God.” Come back tomorrow when we plant the first of our community garden beds so that we can live this out in reality, so that we can feed the widow, the orphan, the stranger. Be holy.

The helpers— “When a stranger resides with you in your land, you shall not wrong him. The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt. I, the Lord, am your God.” 36 times in the Hebrew Bible it tells us to take care of the widow, the orphan, the stranger. The least among us. The most marginalized. Only three times does it tell us to not eat portk. For many, this commandment  may be the tough one this week. The Boston Marathon is a symbol of all that is good with Boston, all that is right with the United States. We are a nation of immigrants. Every one of us sitting in this room is descendent of immigrants, or may even be an immigrant ourselves. One of the most haunting images of the attacks on Boston, for me, were the international flags toppling over. Those flags represent each country that a runner came from. The rights of immigrants must be preserved–even when we are afraid. Be holy.

Yesterday I was at the conference on domestic violence sponsored by the Faith Committee of the 16th and 23rd Circuit Court. During lunch I was sitting with two Muslim women. Becky who was catering made sure we knew which items had pork. I had just spoken about the concept of “shanda” shame in my presentation, the idea that includes, “It is bad for the Jews or good for the Jews.” People had called me this week, I received emails this week from national organizations that in light of Boston we should increase our security. The attacks on Boston made all of us feel more vulnerable. The Muslim women were no exception and now that the perpetrators were known Muslims, they were afraid, visibly afraid that this attack, perpetrated by Muslims would put them at greater risk. One even described being spat at in the last week. Is it bad for the Muslims or good for the Muslims, is not so different from our question. Martin Neumoeller said about Germany in the 30s.

“First they came for the communists ,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a communist.
Then they came for the socialists,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a socialist.
Then they came for the trade unionists,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a trade unionist.
Then they came for me,
and there was no one left to speak for me.

We saw people this week in Boston be upstanders, not just bystanders. We all need to speak up. We all need to act. We all need to be helpers. Planned long ago, but perhaps even more relevant this week, the Coalition of Elgin Religious Leaders, together with the City of Elgin and ECC are sponsoring an event on May 19^th at ECC from 2-5. Who is my Muslim Neighbor.  Come to the event. Be holy.

The helpers— “You shall not hate your kinsman in your heart. You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your kinfolk. Love your neighbor’s welfare as if it were your own. I am the Lord. “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Hillel and Jesus both said that this is the most important commandment. I learned yesterday that this idea is in the Hadith, the additional sayings of Mohammed. Hillel said the rest is commentary, go and study it. We have the rest of our lives to study it. Today we act it out in big ways and small ways. This was a week that saw widespread flooding, road closures, school closings and more. People were generally cheerful, loaning a shop vac here, checking on elderly neighbors, filling sand bags. Keep doing it. Be holy.

I have run the Boston Marathon five times, and the Sea of Galliee Marathon once. A rabbinic colleague I don’t know ran Monday. This is part of his reflection: “Today, we saw what looks like hate and violence. But what I also saw was a day of togetherness and community and caring and support — much like the mara­thon itself. Every marathon is about celebrating the human spirit and supporting one another. It’s about people from around the country and around the world, from different backgrounds and different religions running together. That is what I will remember from today, from before the bombing and right after it.“Tragedy reduces things to the most primal and most important factors,” he said, echoing his own father’s words: family, friends, community and helping strangers.” Family, friends, community and helping others. That is what this portion is about. The command is simple. Be a helper. Feed the hungry. Give blood. Don’t put a stumbling block before the blind. Honor your parents. Be holy for I the Lord am holy. This is how we live out the holiness code. This is how we don’t give into the fear and the terror. This is how we love G-d with all our heart with all our strength with all our might. This is how we are holy.

The days have been so busy. They start to blur. Each one packed. Each one counted. We are now in the third week of counting of the omer. Wednesday, was that only yesterday?, I spent part of the day at Food for Greater Elgin together with the CKI team. This program helps families living below the poverty line “grocery shop” in a warehouse with donated food. Families can shop once during a month. There is a great deal of lovingkindness that goes into the dignity with which this program functions. Families can pick out canned food, cereal, bread, snacks, treats, pastries and even fresh vegetables and meat. Yesterday we served 75 families. The people shopping were good natured, not pushy, helpful to one another, sharing recipes and ideas for how to stretch food dollars. You might have thought you were at Jewel or Meijers. In fact, both chains have donated lots of food! Wednesday was also Cheside b’Netzach, Lovingkindness of Endurance or Lovingkindness of Eternity. It is the love that will endure, that will go on forever.

Rabbi Simon Jacobson explains that “Endurance means to be alive, to be driven by what counts. It is the readiness to fight for what you believe, to go all the way.” He asks us to ask  ourselves, “How committed am I to my values? How much would I fight for them? Am I easily swayed? What price am I ready to pay for my beliefs? Is thereany truth for which I would be ready to give my life?” Interesting questions in light of the events of this week. I have often said that I would like to be arrested for some cause I really believe in, as an act of Civil Disobedience, like Thoreau, like Martin Luther King, like David Saperstein. But give my life? I am not sure. Jews are commanded to “Choose life that you may live.” I know that millions of Jews gave their lives just for the privilege of being a Jew. I am not sure what choice I would make.

In the meantime, I am glad that Food for Greater Elgin exists. The people who run Food for Greater Elgin exhibit that kind of love of chesed b’netzach. They act with a love and a passion that will endure. The people who show up to help also do. I am glad that such safety nets exist, that feed people with dignity.

Thursday was the 23rd day of the counting of the omer. It is about gevurah b’netzach, enduring discipline. If I am to run the Boston Marathon, or the Disney Princess Marathon then I am going to need ongoing discipline and strength. It will not be enough to run one day and say I am ready. The medical staffs that work at the major hospitals in Boston (and in other places as well), have this kind of enduring discipline. Sadly, they must train for events like Monday, and they do. Over and over again. And so they are ready when it is least expected and most needed. I am glad that they have that kind of enduring strength and discipline.

This week when I opened the mail I was surprised and delighted to find a letter from my dentist. He was giving me tickets to a movie because I referred someone to him. It was a nice gesture that I wasn’t expecting. I referred the person, my husband actually, because I have been impressed with his gevurah b’netzach, his enduring discipline and his compassion. I would have referred my husband anyway. The tickets are one more example of how this dentist, who has called on his day off to make sure I am OK, has worked with insurance companies here and in Massachusetts, has made sure that I am comfortable in his chair, always a scary experience for me, has set up reminders in many ways is disciplined in how he approaches his practice. Because he is consistent, disciplined and oh so kind, he is growing his practice. That is what gevurah b’netzach is. May we all have such strength.

On Shabbat I preached a sermon about Israel at 65. Today it seems a little out of place in light of the tragedy yesterday in Boston. This afternoon I gave an interview to the Elgin Daily Herald about life in Israel compared to life in Boston. About safety and security. About how we go on. Here is the sermon and then some additional comments about Boston.

Today we mark Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israel Independence Day. Israel has been a state for 65 years. While still a young country it is not an infant any more. Happy Birthday Israel. Yom Huledet Samayach.

This congregation is unique. It is the only congregation I interviewed with that did not ask what my views are on Israel or how I would do programming about Israel. However, some of you have asked. Some congregations do nothing around Israel. It is too polarizing. It can be hard to have a civilized conversation. I am not one to shy away from difficult conversations and I think we need to have them. It is important. Today I would ask that you hold comments until the kiddush then I will be happy to discuss my views further.

This sermon is my answer.

Just prior to Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israel pauses as a nation, and marks Yom Hazikaron, Memorial Day. The sirens will once again blare like they did for Yom Hashoah and everyone and everything will stop. There is no body in Israel who hasn’t lost someone. Four wars, several incusions, two intifadas and countess acts of terrorism. I too will stop. My first fiancé was killed in the first incursion into Lebanon. He was an officer and was trying to disarm a homemade terrorist bomb. It exploded. He died a hero. He died instantly protecting the rest of the men in his unit.

You need to know that background because I have a complicated relationship with the State of Israel. No one should have to go through the agony of losing a loved one this way. Not his parents, themselves Holocaust survivors who had lost other children prior, not his brother, not his girlfriend, me.

This week I had our religious school students come up the 10 reasons they love Israel. It is a good list….they said they love Israel because our history is there, G-d gave it to us, they export diamonds, you can go skiing and surfboarding, the oranges are delicious, it is ancient and modern, they have a strong army and have survived many wars, they can do anything. The list goes on. It is a good list and it shows they are really invested in Israel.

I don’t ask my congregants to do anything I won’t do. So here is my own list. As I was writing it I realized it is a love poem.

I love Israel because when the rest of the world hurts, Israel quietly and effectively sends trained teams to help, doctors, nurses, technicians, search and rescue teams, search dogs, whatever is needed.

I love Israel because whenever a border is closed somewhere, Israel takes refugees in, not only Jews. Refugees from Northern Africa, from the Arab world, from Uganda, from Darfur, from the Sudan.

I love Israel because some of the best science, medicine, technology comes out of Israel. I can’t live without my cell phone, invented there. They are leaders on drip irrigation. They have made the desert bloom. Because of all of the wars and its Holocaust survivors, Israel is the leader on PTSD. There are more Nobel prize winners per capita than any other country. The list goes on and on.

I love Israel because the country is both modern and ancient. You feel really connected to our history, our people, our culture while standing on the land. You are in the process of creating history at the same time and the debates are palpable and intense.

I love Israel because the land is beautiful. You can climb a mountain at sunrise, swim in a wadi and waterfall at lunch and go to a spa by the Dead Sea, the Red Sea or even the ocean by dinner. The afternoon sunlight on the Jerusalem stone is like none other.

I love Israel because they have the world’s best chocolate milk—at Kibbutz Yotvata on the way to Eilat, the world’s best oranges, Jaffa, the world’s best falafel and hummus and Sarah will tell you the world’s best olives. Oh, and the best Chinese lemon chicken by which all others are judged.

I love Israel because it is a democracy. A messy one to be sure. Not one that looks like the US democracy but a democracy, where everybody’s or almost everybody’s opinion counts. Every body has an opinion and every body has an argument.

I love Israel because it is a Jewish state, a safety net, a place that has to take you in no matter what, a place where it is both easier and harder to practice Judaism.

I love Israel because it has a vision of peace that we sing about, pray about, work towards.

But peace is not easy. Living in a real country is not easy. Life for Israelis is not easy.
My vision, my hope for Israel in the next 65 years would be

One day that Jews will treat other Jews with respect, derech eretz.
One day that women can worship at the Wall. That day may be coming soon based on a ruling this week that the women are not disturbing the peace.
One day that a woman can sit on a bus in the ultra-Orthodox neighborhood without fear of being stoned or worse. Despite Israeli Supreme Court rulings to that effect the police have not enforced the right of women to sit on some bus runs.
One day that conversions and weddings of Conservative and Reform rabbis in Israel or the United States or anywhere in the world would be recognized.
One day that Israel will not need to tear down houses or fruit trees in the West Bank, that there will be no human rights violations.
One day that we do not need to send all of our boys to defend Israel, creating a culture of soldiers and war.
One day that no mother, no father, no girlfriend will get that awful call, your beloved has been killed
One day that Jews, Christian, Muslims, Druze could live in peace and none shall make them afraid.

On that day, the Lord shall be one and G-d’s name shall be one. I chose this verse because it comes at the very end of the Aleinu. The Aleinu talks about tikkun olam, fixing or repairing the world. L’takain olam malchut shadai. We are according to the Torah obligated to work for peace, to actively pursue peace, to be rodef shalom. We are obligated to seek justice, tzedek, tzedek tirdof, justice, justice shall you pursue. We are obligated to not stand by why a neighbor bleeds. All of this factors into my complicated relationship with the modern State of Israel.

How we get a point that is just, that pursues peace, that is equal for all is not easy. It takes living without fear. The fear that any day you put your child on a school bus that the child might not come home. The fear that every mother feels knowing that if the child you put on the school bus manages to survive through high school he or she will have to go into the army. It means going to bed without fear that Syria might use chemical weapons or Iran might use nuclear weapons.

Without the fear that if you criticize Israel or suggest another way that somehow you are ant-Israel or anti-semetic. Israel is not always right. While it might be nice to hold Israel up as an example to the rest of the world as a light unto the nations it is unfair to hold it to a higher standard than the rest of the world and yet it needs to try to uphold that standard. I don’t have the answers. These are real and present dangers. I am a rabbi. I am not a political analyst, although some days I wish I was. Israel needs to exist. It has the right to exist. I choose to have these difficult conversations. I choose to be members of Rabbis for Human Rights, Women of the Wall, the Israeli Religious Action Center, the Parents Circle, JStreet and AIPAC. I call my elected US officials. I read everything. I spend time in Israel. I buy Israeli products. I speak about it, debate it, sing about it. I cry about it. I work for peace and I hope it comes every single day.

All of us lead messy lives. No lifecycle event comes out of a box. Every country is complex. Israel is no exception. So I celebrate Israel on its 65th birthday, warts and all. Yom Huledet Samaych. May you have many, many more and live to be 120 and at least one. Ken yehi ratzon.

Now more on Boston. As I was watching the coverage before I turned it off, two images were haunting. One was an ariel shot of the scene where the blood and carnage was quite visible. I said, oh how horrible. This is just like Israel. The other was a shot of the international flags right near the bomb blast. One was the Israeli flag. Since it was Yom Hazikaron I was already primed to notice it. Boston is an international city. A city of great beauty. Of culture. Of great educational institutions and some of the world’s best teaching hospitals. Boston loves to celebrate its diversity. Yesterday the beauty was shattered along with the glass windows in front of Marathon Sports, a store I have shopped in for my own running shoes. The midrash teaches us that when Moses shattered the first set of 10 Commandments the Israelites carefully collected all the shards and put them into the ark together with the full set. In another story, when G-d made the world full of light, the light was so bright it shattered the vessel. It is our job to collect the piece and put them back together. Tonight that is our task too. To find all the broken shards and put them back together. Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson said it best….

“Those explosions in Boston were meant to terrify, to intimidate, to silence, to disrupt. We turn to mourn the murdered and to grieve with the wounded. But our deepest response is to repudiate the goals of terror. In response to the bombs, let us live more boldly, let us stand tall together, let us speak our peace, let us love resiliently.”

Tonight, however difficult it may be, we need to overcome fear. In this season of the counting of the omer, I am strengthened by a few phrases, “Ozi v’zimrat yah, v’hi yeshua” G-d is my strength and song, I will not fear.” and “All the world is a narrow bridge, the central thing is not to be afraid.” May we all find the comfort and the strength we need. Then, slowly, very slowly the healing can begin. Knowing that there is a power beyond us, helps.

Day 19 was written and will be posted. Today is Day 20. I had planned to post something about Yom HaZikaron, Israel Memorial Day. Today is another kind of Memorial Day now.

To Bostonians, today is also known as Patriot’s Day and Marathon Day. I have run the Boston Marathon five times (and the Sea of Gallilee Marathon once). I am no stranger to the finish line at Copley. I have been trained as a colonial re-enactor and worked the Concord-Lexington Battle Road on Patriots’ Day. I can recite most of Paul Revere’s Ride by heart. I almost named a child Samuel Adams Klein, not after the beer but after the Boston Patriot.

My heart bleeds. I can taste blood in my mouth. I am aghast with the rest of you watching TV–or maybe even those of you who were there. This is not the “shot heard round the world.” This would appear, and I am being careful here, a deliberate, calculated, timed act of violence. It is too early to say too much.

Already the questions have started. I want my rabbi to explain this. How could this happen? Who would want to hurt innocent runners or families or tourists? Where was G-d? Why? Why? Why?

I can’t answer those. I know that for me, Rabbi Harold Kushner’s book, “When Bad Things Happen to Good People” helped me heal after my first finance was killed by a terrorist bomb. The question is not why but when. The answer is in how we choose to live after such tragedies. We are not there yet. It is too early. Way too early. It may take years for the people directly affected, for their friends and family, for the City of Boston, the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and the people who love this city to heal. In the meantime, what I know about trauma:

Shut off the TV. Watching the footage on replay does not help.
Call a friend. (Be patient with Boston area numbers, Cell phone coverage is spotty!)
Reach out on facebook.
Take a walk.
Play with the dog.
Hug your spouse and kids.
Cry. It is alright.

There will be time to ask the big questions. There may never be good enough answers. In the meantime, there are prayers. I pray for the care teams to be compassionate, for the law enforcement to be swift and accurate, for the reporting to be balanced and accurate, for the responses to be appropriate. I pray for the victims, for all of the families, for all of the runners. I pray that we as a society learn that bombs don’t solve problems, working for peace and justice does.

I remember another Boston Marathon Day. I had just finished my first marathon. Most of the other runners had gone home. It was a beautiful spring day in Boston. The leaves were a light lacy green. The next day it snowed. Spring will come. Healing will come but it will be slow.