We know the story of the Golden Calf. How the Israelites got scared, went to Aaron and demanded that he build the Golden Calf. How they melted down the gold. How they danced around it.
We know how Moses, having been up on Mount Sinai for 40 days, writing down the word of G-d, came back down the mountain, say the people and got angry, very, very angry. He smashed the tablets.

I want to teach just two things this morning. And trust me I could teach a lot more. I wrote a 122 page thesis on this very parsha. Today I want to talk about a little midrash. The people, after Moses smashed the tablets, picked up the shards of the first set and saved them. Eventually those shards were put in the mishkan, in the Tabernacle, side by side with the whole ones. They were of equal importance.

For me, this is a profound teaching, and not unlike the story of creation, where the light was so bright it shattered the vessel. It is our job to put the shards back together—and that is tikkun ha’olam, repairing the world.

Roger Kamenetz teaches, “The broken tablets were also carried in an ark. In so far as they represented everything shattered, everything lost, they were the law of broken things, the leaf torn from the stem in a storm, a cheek touched in fondness once but now the name forgotten. How they must have rumbled, clattered on the way even carried so carefully through the waste land, how they must have rattled around until the pieces broke into pieces, the edges softened crumbling, dust collected at the bottom of the ark ghosts of old letters, old laws. In so far as a law broken is still remembered these laws were obeyed. And in so far as memory preserves the pattern of broken things these bits of stone were preserved through many journeys and ruined days even, they say, into the promised land.”

Estelle Leven in her book Sacred Therapy asks these questions, “So what does it mean that the Torah was given not once, but twice? What was different about these two revelations? And what are the spiritual lessons we can learn from the fact that the Israelites gathered up the fragments and carried the broken tablets with them on their journey?

The discussion this morning was deep. One person said that the broken shards are the tears of the Israelites. Another said that the collecting the shards is what enabled the Jewish people to atone. It was their atonement for the sin of the Golden Calf. Someone else said that the Israelites were not yet ready to hear the first set. They had to receive G-d’s word twice, just to hear it so it could be written down and preserved.

Frankel answers her own questions:
First she teaches, “In fact, failure is often a gateway through which we must pass in order to receive our greatest gifts.” At MIT’s Office of Intellectual Property, they tell their young scholars, soon to be business professionals that they expect young entrepeneurs to fail. Many business people have done just that. Tried out an idea and then made a mistake and failed. They need that trial and error before they can get it right. American pop culture epitomizes this in the song, “Pick yourself up. Dust yourself off. Start all over again.” We tell kids learning to ride a horse or a bike, that if they fall, they need to get back on and ride. It isn’t easy. But this morning’s parsha teaches us it is possible. And that gives us hope.

Frankel says it better: “It was only after Israel’s greatest single act of folly—namely, worshiping the golden calf—that they were able to truly receive and hold on to the gift of Torah, or spiritual illumination. Sometimes we only learn to appreciate life’s gifts after we have lost them. If, however, we are lucky enough to be given a second chance, with the wisdom we have acquired through our experience of failure, we learn how to cherish and hold on to what we are given.”

I think she is right. Sometimes we don’t appreciate what we had until we have lost it. Talk to someone who was a victim of Hurricane Sandy or a forest fire. They would say that they didn’t realize what they had had. However, they often realize that they have their family, their lives, their most important things and that they can begin again. They have been given a second chance. Talk to someone who has been in a serious car accident but survived. Again you will hear how they have been given a second chance. Sometimes you will even hear how they feel they were spared and that there must be something that they can contribute, something that adds meaning to their lives.

Frankel teaches something even more important. “The two revelations at Sinai can also be seen as symbolizing the inevitable stages we go through in our spiritual development. The first tablets, like the initial visions we have for our lives, frequently shatter, especially when they are based on naïvely idealistic assumptions. Our first marriages or first careers may fail to live up to their initial promise. We may join communities or follow spiritual teachers and paths that disappoint or even betray us. Our very conceptions of God and our assumptions about the meaning of faith may shatter as we bump up against the morally complex and often contradictory aspects of the real world. Yet, if we learn from our mistakes and find ways to pick up the broken pieces of shattered dreams, we can go on to re-create our lives out of the rubble of our initial failures. And ultimately, we become wiser and more complex as our youthful ideals are replaced by more realistic and sustainable ones.”

We were talking about this in the car on the way home. My first fiancé died fighting for Israel, in a terrorist bomb attack. I still wonder what life would have been like. I still mourn his death and mark his yahrzeit. But later this month Simon and I will mark 25 years of marriage. Together, we have a wonderful daughter. That would not have been possible if my initial dreams had come true. Life has not always been easy. We have had the same struggles many couples face in modern society. And at the same time, I don’t think I would trade in my life. In Frankel’s words, we had had our youthful dreams. But they never had the opportunity to mature. Those dreams never had the opportunity to meet reality. Nor were they sustainable because of their purity and idealism. I would add their innocence. So my shattered dreams need to live side by side with the world that is—my full life complete with being a rabbi in Elgin, loving and living with my husband of 25 years and relishing watching my daughter continue to blossom.

Frankel continues: The myth of the broken tablets teaches us that it is important to hold on to the beauty and essence of dreams we once held dear, for our initial visions contain the seed of our purest essence. Gathering up the broken pieces suggests that we must salvage the essential elements of our youthful dreams and ideals and carry them forward on our journeys so that we can find a way to realize them in a more grounded fashion. For ultimately the whole and the broken live side by side in us all, as our broken dreams and shattered visions exist alongside our actual lives.

The Israelites were scared. Moses was angry. G-d was anything but happy. A debate ensues. Even though Moses was tired, God wanted to him to go back up the mountain. Get the 10 Commandments again. Moses sounds like a petulant child. “I don’t want to. Why should I lead this stiffnecked people. You can’t make me. I’m tired. Leave me alone. I am not even sure who You are. Remember this is your people, not mine. Don’t lay this trip on me.” God then makes a very important promise. God says, “I will go in the lead and will lighten your burden.” As JPS points out it is literally “I will give you rest.” Moses needs that reassurance. He needs to know who God is and that God will lead.

How desperately we need that assurance. Many of us sitting here have burdens that are very hard. Maybe you are looking for work. Maybe you are struggling with a health issue. Maybe you are fighting with your spouse or your kids. Maybe you are facing a financial crisis. Maybe whatever the issue is so painful you can’t even talk about it. But this parsha comes to teach us to pick up the broken shards of our lives and that G-d will give us rest. That’s all I need. That is enough. May it be true for each of us. “There is nothing more whole than a broken heart,” taught Hasidic master Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kots

Today is Shabbat Zachor, the Shabbat before Purim. Zachor is a word you may know. It means to remember. It is the root of the word Yizkor, the service of remembrance that we have on Yom Kippur and then again on Sukkot, Passover and Shavuot, the three pilgrimidge holidays. Zachor is the first word you see when you walk into Yad V’shem, the Holocaust Museum in Israel.
“And it will be, when the Eternal your God has given you rest from all your enemies round about, in the land which the Eternal your God is giving you for an inheritance to possess it, that you shall blot out the remembrance of Amalek from under heaven, you shall not forget” (Deuteronomy 25:17)
This is very interesting construction. Remember not to forget. This must be serious. Very serious. And you ask, why are we reading this portion as the maftir just before Purim? Tradition teaches us that Amalek was the ancestor of Haman. The idea that we are to blot out even the remembrance of Amalek is the reason given for drowning out Haman’s name during the megilah reading. Thus we are commanded to make all that noise tonight.
But before we can get to the fun and hoopla and noise of tonight—and trust me, I hope we really will have fun tonight, this part is the serious stuff.
Remembering is important in Judaism. Many of our holidays are about remembering— Each festival is marked, sanctified, made holy with Kiddush over wine that links the festival to two themes—remembering the Exodus from Egypt and Creation. “Remember that you were slaves in the land of Egypt.” “Remember what the Lord did for me when I went forth from Egypt.” We remember the miracles of the parting of the Red Sea, the giving of the law at Sinai, we remember being strangers in a strange land, the destruction of the Temple(s), the victory of the Macabees. We remember being in the land of Israel and we mourned our exile for 2000 years. There is a haunting song for Tisha B’av that I learned my very first trip to Israel, “We remember, we remember, we remember thee Zion.”
Back to Amalek. What was his crime? Why is it so important to remember not to forget him? He surprised the Israelites and attacked the rear, the women and children, the weakest link. It was a surprise attack and the word here is interesting. It is karcha, which also has the meaning of cold. Perhaps this is the first recorded evidence of PTSD because one of the root causes of PTSD is being shocked, which sometimes has the symptom of being cold. In any case, we are told remember not to forget. Some said his crime was to not provide food or water to the fleeing Israelites. A big crime in a desert society, no question.
As we will read in this morning’s haftarah, tied to the Deuteronomy passage, when Saul was king, Saul was commanded to wipe out the Amalekites. All of them. And he did, Almost but not quite. He chose to spare the King of the Amalek’s life and a few cattle. For this Saul loses his kingship.
Now to our modern ears, this chapter in the Israelites story can seem quite troubling. Four Questions that emerge include: (1) Why does God order the annihilation of entire nations in the first place including the innocent children and cattle? (2) Why are the Amalekites specifically named as those to be wiped out? (3) Why is a later generation of Amalekites punished because of the sins of an earlier generation? (4) Why is Saul’s sparing of one man and a few cattle such a serious offense to God?
Let’s go one level deeper. Tonight we will read the Book of Esther. One of two books in the Bible that never mentions G-d. The other one is Song of Songs. The rabbis were not even sure that they wanted to include either in the cannon. The Catholic Bible actually adds chapters to the Book of Esther so that G-d is fully present and visible.
Where is G-d in Esther? Can we find evidence at all that G-d was present? Where was G-d during the Holocaust? Can we find evidence at all that G-d was present? Where was G-d during 911? Can we find evidence at all that G-d was present? Where is G-d in our own lives? When we experience loss or trauma? Can we find evidence that G-d is present?
Scribbled on a wall in Cologne during World War 2, a Jewish victim wrote this poem:
“I believe in the sun
even when it is not shining

And I believe in love,
even when there’s no one there.

And I believe in God, 
even when he is silent.
I believe through any trial,
there is always a way.
But sometimes in this suffering
and hopeless despair

My heart cries for shelter,
to know someone’s there

But a voice rises within me, saying hold on
my child, I’ll give you strength,

I’ll give you hope. Just stay a little while.
I believe in the sun
even when it is not shining

And I believe in love
even when there’s no one there

But I believe in God
even when he is silent

I believe through any trial
there is always a way.
May there someday be sunshine

May there someday be happiness

May there someday be love

May there someday be peace….”
How do we find that surety? For me, I typically find it in the Psalms. The Psalmist struggled with his own doubt. We read about it in Psalm 30 about G-d who turns our mourning to joy, our sackclothe and tears into dancing. It then begs G-d, “Hide not Your face from me.” Psalm 81, the Psalm for Thursday is a particular favorite of mine. Even when I can’t feel G-d I know that G-d was there, I need this reassurance.
“Then I heard a voice I never knew, ‘I removed the burden from your shoulders, your hands were set free from the load. In your distress you called and I rescued you,
 I answered you out of a thundercloud;
I tested you in the wilderness.”

A rabbi in England, Sylvia Rothschild pointed out this week on her blog, we Jews really only fear one thing today—disappearing entirely so that no trace of us is found. In my own confirmation class all those many years ago we did a radio play entitled The Last American Jew. The premise was that the last Jew was held in a cage in a museum for all to see. It was haunting and I can still see my classmate on the bimah in that cage we built for the event. I am pleased to report that the reports of the death of Judaism have been greatly exaggerated.
Rabbi Rothschile continued, The text this morning begins with a future time “It will be”. This reminds us of one very important lesson – we don’t have to worry yet about what we might erase or forget, that will be for the unspecified future. Right now our task is to remember and to document and to keep alive, it is not, absolutely not, to do anything else.And yet, despite all the dire warnings and the attempts of Amalekites in every generation, we have not died out. We are here. In some places we are thriving.
So yes, I will remember. I will remember not to forget. Like Abraham Shlonsky “I have taken an oath: To remember it all, to remember, not once to forget! Forget not one thing to the last generation when degradation shall cease, to the last, to its ending, when the rod of instruction shall have come to conclusion. An oath: Not in vain passed over the night of the terror. An oath: No morning shall see me at flesh-pots again. An oath: Lest from this we learned nothing (Council 49).”
For me that means that I work for a time where we do not have to remember these kind of travesties, where the vision of Isaiah can be fulfilled, that everyone can sit under their vine and fig tree and none shall make them afraid.
There is one more piece of hope from today’s parsha. After this long, rather bizarre description of the ordination of Aaron and his sons, nothing at all like my own ordination, Aaron is commanded to light the light. The ner tamid. The same concept that every synagogue still uses today. A light that will never go out.
Perhaps Anne Frank said it best…It’s really a wonder that I haven’t dropped all my ideals, because they seem so absurd and impossible to carry out. Yet I keep them, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart.

I believe in the sun, even when feeling it not. I believe in God, even when God seems hidden.

Yesterday I taught our 12 older students in our after school Hebrew School. They are bright, enthusiastic, energetic. They want to learn. As I have done with many classes through the years, we read the Book of Esther out of the tanach (the Hebrew Bible). The real English, not the fairy tale version we usually tell the younger kids. I divided the group into four subgroups and each group was to present 3 chapters and tell us 3 new things they learned and stage those chapters. Some students had fun going on a treasure hunt for props–we will use them on Sunday.
We talked about the PG, PG13, and R movies and what rating they would give the Book of Esther. Would it win an Academy Award for best picture? Who would you cast to play Esther? Vashti? Mordechai? Haman? Ashashvarus? No question, some of the Book of Esther is at least PG13 rated. Some is double entendre and appeals especially well to 7th grade boys. Ironically, in most cases the girls raised those questions first.

Other topics we covered:

Why did Vashti say no to the king? Is it ever OK to say no to your husband? Is this like Jasmine and Aladin who sing, “No one to tell me no, or where to go” on their magic carpet ride?
How many parties are there in the Book of Esther. I am not sure we ever got the final count.
If there is that much partying and drinking can you make good decisions? Why or why not?
Esther hides her Jewishness. Is this a good thing? Have you even hidden your Jewishness at school, why or why not?
The action changes in Chapter 4–Mordechai tells her that she must speak up to save her people. When should you speak up? What about in cases of bullying? What is a bystander? An upstander? How can you be an upstander–have you ever been? For me this is the key concept of the whole Book of Esther?
Yom Kippur is called Yom Hakippurim in Hebrew, a Day Like Purim. How is Yom Kippur like Purim? One of the kids pointed out that on Jonah’s boat they cast lots to see whose fault it is–like they cast lots, purim to see which day the Jews should die, hence the name. Other reasons include that once we atone, we are cleansed and we should celebrate. Esther and Mordechai fast for three days before she goes to the king. Mordechai wears sackcloth (I had to explain that one) and ashes as a sign of mourning.
Where is G-d? Is G-d hidden? One of two books in the Bible that never mentions G-d. The other one is Song of Songs–a book of love poetry which was my Bat Mitzvah haftarah portion and I wasn’t comfortable reading it with my other 7th grade classmates.
How fast can you say the 10 names of Haman’s sons? The rabbis teach we should say them all in one breathe. Can you do it?
How do we celebrate our victory? With hamantaschen–which we tasted, thanks Torah School Moms, with parties, with reading the WHOLE MEGILAH, which your children have now done, with noisemakers drowing out Haman’s name and very importantly with giving gifts of food to each other and to the poor. We are commanded to do this last one so we will be making lunches for the Crisis Center on Sunday as part of our celebrations.
And yes, the kids brought up Vashti’s wearing only a crown, was she banished or killed, the golden scepter, Haman on the couch with Esther. All of them are in there. What they mean is open to wide levels of interpretation, which is what I said. No inappropriate words used but there was much snickering. Even the rabbis are puzzled and some of the Talmudic rabbis weren’t even sure they wanted to include Esther in the cannon.
Wow! We really did a lot in an hour and a half. As you can see the book can be read at lots of different levels and is not just for little kids.

This morning I drank my coffee out of a coffee cup that said, “Brimming with Joy”. Last week I had another cup of coffee just labeled, “JOY.” Now I will be clear, I have come to love my morning cup of coffee, but joy? The cups make me smile. But I am not sure that the coffee brings me joy. There are lots of things labeled Joy and I am especially sensitive to it since my middle name and the one my family uses is in fact, Joy. Everywhere you go you see my name.
This week my Bar Mitzvah boys continued a discussion about the prayer Ashrei. “Happy is the one who dwells in the House of the Lord.” So I asked them, what is the difference between happy and joy. One explained patiently to me that happy is an adjective and joy is a noun. One said that happy is external and joy is internal.Another tried to explain that joy is a deeper feeling. You can be happy about the outcome of a football game (hey these are 7th grade boys), but joy is something more. We talked about the root of the word “Asher” in this case Happy but with a sense of “Rich is the one who dwells in the house of the Lord.” How is happy like rich? How are we rich because we dwell in the House of the Lord. One boy said, “We are enriched by G-d’s words.” It was a good discussion.
I have a book entitled “Finding Joy.” It looks at joy from a kabbalistic standpoint. Finding Joy is not a slam dunk. It is not always easy. It is especially not easy if life gives you curve balls. If you are angry–and many of us are. Learning to channel that anger, the book argues, helps to bring us to joy. There are many words in Hebrew for joy–simcha, which carries with a sense of passion according to the Chasidic rabbis. Rinah, to sing with joy, Sasson, Gila,

Perhaps I am thinking of this especially as we approach Purim–when our greeting is “Be Happy It is Adar.” Many of the terms for joy show up in the Book of Esther and then are repeated as part of the marriage blessings. Soon, LORD our God, may there ever be heard in the cities of Judah and in the streets of Jerusalem voices of joy and gladness, voices of groom and bride, the jubilant voices of those joined in marriage under the bridal canopy, the voices of young people feasting and singing. Blessed are You, LORD, who causes the groom to rejoice with his bride.”

There are ways to find joy and happiness, even within our anger, our fear, our mourning. The Psalm 30 teaches that God turns our mourning to dancing and our sackclothes to robes of joy. Later in the same Psalm we learn that tears may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning. So there are ways to take our sadness and turn it into joy, to uncover the hidden joy. Sometimes in the book of Esther, everything seems hidden–Esther’s identity, G-d’s presence, even the joy amidst the destruction at the end. But it is there, just below the surface, waiting to be discovered, in our ways in our own times. Maybe it is like my Bar Mitzvah boys and it is obvious. It is probably something I, especially given my name I will continue to wrestle with. How do you find joy and happiness?

Today is Valentine’s Day. Saint Valentine’s Day. I have some friends who don’t celebrate it because it is a saint’s day. Others who don’t celebrate it because it is a pagan holiday. I don’t care. It is fun. More than fun it is important to remember that we are loved and that we can love. There was a popular song, “What the world needs now is love, sweet love. Its the only thing that there is just too little of.” The words are still true. Another one says “Love is what makes the world go round.” The Jewish Holidays by Michael Strassfeld makes the point that these early spring holidays–Mardi Gras, Valentine’s Day, even Purim are a release. It is about giving thanks that we survived the winter. Early spring gives way to early, romantic love. In Judaism we see it consummated with Shavuot, the love story between G-d and the Jewish people who received the 10 Commandments at Sinai, the ketubah, the wedding contract, between G-d and the Israelites if you will.
Valentine himself is shrouded in mystery and there are not clear records of who he was or what he did. Some say he dates from 289CE, when he married people in secret within the church because the emperor forbade marriage, thinking that unmarried soldiers fought better. Shortly before his execution he signed his last letter, “From your Valentine.” Others dispute this, saying Geoffrey Chaucer invented many of the traditions and myths around Valentine’s Day in his Parliment of Fools. In any case, the day became connected with romantic love.
Isaac is the first person in the Bible who experiences love. Genesis tells us that “Isaac brought her into the tent of his mother Sarah, and he married Rebekah. So she became his wife, and he loved her; and Isaac was comforted after his mother’s death.” I like the idea that he was comforted and that he found love.
Our prayers are filled with the idea of love as well. Ahavah Rabbah and Ahavat Olam the prayer immediately before the Sh’ma teach us that God loves us, the people of Israel and so gave us Torah. Torah is a set of rules, a way of life. Some rebel against the structure, the thou shall nots. If you think about it, however, like a parent loves a child and set limits, God shows love for us by setting limits and giving us rules. We, in turn, then love God with all our hearts, with all our souls, with all our mights–with our whole being.

We are taught that another sign of this is that the last letter of the Torah in Deuteronomy is lamed, ending the word Yisrael. The first letter is bet, beginning the word bereshit. Taken together, lamed-bet, they spell lev, heart. Torah is filled with love, with heart.
There is another word for love, chesed, which as Nelson Glueck taught in his seminal work on that word we will never fully be able to translate or understand, means something like lovingkindness. Exodus 34:6-7 which I wrote my rabbinical thesis on, teaches that there are 13 Attributes of the Divine. Chesed is mentioned twice in that list. The list says that “The Lord! The Lord! God, Compassionate and Gracious, Slow to anger and Abundant in Kindness and Truth, Preserver of kindness for thousands of generations” It continues that God forgives iniquity, transgression and sin.”
This idea that God loves us is important. And that God is full of lovingkindness. Patient. Forgiving. This is what enables romantic love to be possible. I was at a monastery recently and I was struck by the simple altar covering. “You are my beloved.” If we, imperfect humans are God’s beloved, than anything is possible. Which is exactly what Abraham and Sarah found out when God told them they would have a baby so very late in life.
Love is what makes the world go round. It makes all things possible. So however you celebrate Valentine’s Day today, whether by enjoying some chocolate, some flowers, the first hints of early spring, pause and know that you are loved. Even if you are alone and feeling lonely, know that you are loved, deeply loved.

So Moses lived to be 120 years old—and the blessing on someone’s birthday is “May you live to be 120. Ad meah esrim” Essentially, may you be like Moses. So today we are having a big birthday party, an anniversary. 120 years. Kol hakavod!

It has been fun for me to hear the stories. Blossom talking about having the first aliyah as a woman. The stories of sneaking out to Prince’s for nickel ice cream cones. Stories about the last Bar Mitzvah on Villa Street and the first one in this building. Any number of stories of the basketball court and the showers in the basement. Stories of Friday Night Live and piano music with Mrs. Greenfield. Stories of dinner dances and _________. Stores of the Jewish Community Chest. I love this kind of history and I love that we are surrounded by it with the display on loan from the Elgin Historical Society.

120 years is a long time for a congregation, especially a Midwestern congregation. While my ancestors helped found KAM in 1847 and Simon’s helped with Congregation Sinai, 120 years is still a rarity. Anywhere in the country. It is truly a milestone. B’nai Shalom in Quincy was founded over a 130 years ago and has the oldest synagogue building in Illinois in continual use. The Orthodox congregation on Golf Road in Skokie was founded in 1867 and lists itself as the oldest Orthodox congregation in the Midwest. And then there is us. That’s it.

We record lots of ages in the Torah—some of them seem radically improbable. Who really lives to be 969 years old like Methuselah? Or 900 like Adam or 500? Did Sarah really have a baby at 90? Even she laughed at that idea to which God said nothing was impossible for God.

And the Bible does mention the celebration of birthdays. Isaac was weaned on his third birthday and Ahrbaham made a feast. The Pharaoh that Joseph served under celebrated his birthday and that was an auspicious day. One of Ahashvarous’s parties in the book of Esther was rumored to be his birthday.

We are taught to number our days. What does it mean to count, to number our days?

I think it means that we should strive to do something worthwhile. There is a line in Gates of Repentance that has always resonated with me, “Merely to have survived is not an index of excellence.” It gets me every year and brings me up short. So what are we supposed to do? I think we need to thrive.

What does it mean to thrive?

We are in the section of the Torah where we are wandering in the desert. Inevitably the Israelites are not happy. They grumble. Almost constantly. They don’t want to walk through the mud when the Sea of Reeds miraculous parted. They worry that there is not enough water. They don’t like the taste of manna—it’s boring. They want to go back to Egypt where at least they have onions to flavor their food. They still have a slave mentality. This is not unlike prisoners who sometimes commit another crime just so they can go back to jail where even though it isn’t pleasant they have three square meals a day and heat. Last week we read how the Israelites begged Moses to go up the mountain for them. They were afraid. Soon we will read about the Golden Calf. Again, the Israelites were afraid , this time that Moses wasn’t coming back. It took a full generation for the Israelites to be ready to enter the promise land. But that generation was the one that got to experience God’s presence directly. As Mekhita taught, “Even a lowly bondswoman saw God” unlike Isaiah and Ezekiel who only had visions of God. This very generation set up our ability to be Jews today. By having the courage to leave Egypt (not everyone did), by being like Miriam and taking their timbrels with them so that they could worship and celebrate, by having the courage to walk through the water like Nachson, by sticking with it, even when they were scared and grumbling.

For me that it is what is about. We need not just to survive. We need to thrive. That is what our ancestors who founded this very shul wanted. They wanted us as Jews to thrive in the Fox River Valley. They wanted us to be proud of our heritage and their legacy. They gave us a lasting gift.

And it would be nice if along the way we did it with a little less grumbling. We can’t go back in time. We can only move forward. It is good to celebrate that we survived. That we are amongst the oldest Jewish congregations in Illinois. But what is so critical to our success, our ability to thrive is to plan for our future. It is about how we take our passion for Judaism, for this very synagogue, for this building and pass it down to the next generation so that they share our enthusiasm and passion. The next generation will be different than ours. That happens every generation. They will make Judaism their own and build on what we leave them. They may elect to do services online, do more with social media, learn Hebrew remotely. They are already doing some of that. They may prefer Matisyahu to Lewandowski or Debbie Friedman or Jeff Klepper. Synagogues may not look like this building at all and I am not sure we can imagine what it will be like. However, I think that Jews will want to continue to be engaged and involved on their terms, for spirituality, for study and for community. That is what a synagogue, a temple, a shul, our home is all about.
There is a story about Reb Zusya, a great Hasidic leader. He was worried about the question he would be asked by the angels at the end of his life. He would not be asked, “Why weren’t you a Moses, leading your people out of slavery. And the angels will not ask, “Why weren’t you a Joshua, leading your people into the promised land.” His followers were puzzled. What will they ask you? Zusya answered, “They will say to me, Zusya, why weren’t you Zusya.”
Today is Shabbat Shekalim, the day when Israel took a census, when G-d asked the Israelites to raise their heads, literally take a head count. It is essentially a tax holiday. Every adult, those 20 years old, of military age, Israelite had to pay a half shekel. The text is clear, the rich shall not pay more nor the poor shall not pay less. There are a couple of interesting things to point out here—the word, v’natnu is a palindrome, spelled the same way backwards and forwards. The Vilna Gaon teaches that charity is a two way street, those give many have to receive. That seems like the classic “What goes around comes around.” But there is something more here.

While Eitz Hayyim translates it as “each shall pay,” the verb is closer to “And they shall give.” This is an obligation, but it is also a gift.

Each of us have gifts that we bring to the shul. Those gifts are what make this place a holy place.

These are the gifts that we bring 
that we may build a holy place.

This is the spirit that we bring that we may build a holy place.

We will bring all the goodness 
that comes from our hearts

And the spirit of God will dwell within…..
These are the colours of our dreams 
we bring to make a holy place.

This is the weaving of our lives 
we bring to make a holy place.

We will bring all the goodness
 that comes from our hearts

And the spirit of love will dwell within…..
These are the prayers that we bring 
that we may make a holy place.

These are the visions that we seek
 that we may build this holy place.

Let our promise forever be strong,

let our souls rise together in song,

that the spirit of God 
and the spirit of love,
 Shechinah, 
will dwell within.

The Rabbinical Assembly’s Rabbi’s Manual has a special bracha for a special anniversary. While it was designed for a wedding anniversary, it is appropriate here. The Israelites formed a covenant with God and with each other. A marriage is a covenantal relationship, a relationship based in love, in mutual respect, in trust. Building a synagogue is much like the Israelites who stood together at Sinai. Building a synagogue is a lot like entering a marriage. So like those who have been married for 25 or 50 years we say,
“I will betroth you to Me forever. I will betroth you to Me with righteousness, with justice, with compassion. I will betroth you to Me with faithfulness, and you shall love Adonai.” Paraphrasing, 120 years ago, in the presence of your families and friends, you consecrated this community. Your lives together, your sharing of joys and sorrows, your raising families together, and your continuing devotion to each other, nurturing and expanding upon the promise our ancestors made to one another 120 years ago.” (page c-68). Every week we read as part of the Torah service the blessing for our community and for our leaders. “May the blessings of heaven—kindness and compassion, long life, ample sustenance, well-being, and healthy children devoted to Torah—be granted to all members of this congregation. May the Sovereign of the universe, bless you, adding to your days and your years. May you be spared all distress and disease. May our Protector in heaven be your help at all times…May God who blessed our ancestors, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah and the very ones who founded this synagogue, bless this entire congregation, together with all holy congregations…along with those who unite to establish synagogues for prayer and those who enter them to pray and those who five funds for heat and light and wine for Kiddush and havdalah…May God bless them by making all their worthy endeavors prosper…And let us say, Amen.” Siddur Sim Shalom, page 148) This is about how to thrive.

Our work is not yet done. Pirke Avot teaches, “Lo Alecha Hamlacha ligmor, Ours is not the finish the task, neither are we free to ignore it.” So it is time to celebrate. And time to raise your heads, stand up and be counted. But it is also time to pass down what we love to the next generation, lador vador, from one generation to the next. We are not alone in this. God makes a promise in the beginning of this week’s parsha. “I am sending an angel before you to guard you on the way and to bring you to the place that I have made ready…I will let you enjoy the full count of your days.” Then we will truly thrive into the next generation and beyond. Ad meah esrim.

Be Happy, It is Adar. There are things to be happy about this month. Purim comes in the middle to remind us that the Jewish people survived, not only Haman’s evil plots but until now. As I recently wrote, it is not enough to survive but we need to thrive. What does that mean, for each of us personally and for us as a people?

Yesterday the Violence Against Women Act passed the Senate. This too, on the eve of Purim is reason to celebrate. But our work as women, for women is not yet done. This bill urgently needs to pass the House of Representatives. One of my favorite parts of the Book of Esther is when Mordechai chides her. “For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the may arise from another place… And who knows but that you have come to royal position for such a time as this?” This prodding gives her the courage to find her voice and speak up. We need to make sure this bill passes and as President Obama urged last night in his State of the Union, we need to make sure that women are paid the same as men. Our voices, like Esther’s make a difference.

Rosh Hodesh Adar was celebrated in Jerusalem too, by the Women of the Wall, a group I have supported since they were founded in 1983. They believe that women have the right to pray at the wall, that women’s voices can be heard. There are some Orthodox (men) who believe differently. For the last several years things have gotten increasingly tense. Women have been arrested. Their crimes? Wearing a talit, Singing the Sh’ma. Disturbing the peace. Really? I have read all of the halacha on both those issues. While not required to wear a talit, it is not forbidden either. That could be subject for a whole entire separate blog.

I was encouraged this month. The paratroopers who liberated the Wall in 1967 would be attending. I stayed up to midnight to see what would happen. There was a larger crowd than usual, perhaps because of the coverage in Ha’aretz. Perhaps because it was Rosh Hodesh Adar…where our heroine speaks up against injustice.

When I got up, the first email I read was from Anat Hoffman, executive director of the Israeli Religious Action Center and the spokesperson of Women of the Wall. Ten women were arrested including Anat, Rabbi Susan Silverman, two Conservative rabbis slated to meet with MK Natan Sharansky, a Reform rabbinical student and others. I had friends who were there.

Again, our voices can and will make a difference. We need to be more like Esther. Then will we not only survive but thrive. There is much to be happy about this month. Last night I made a beaded gragger bracelet with the women of our sisterhood. It jingles. It jangles. It says Be Happy. Hadassah and Joy. I will wear it on Purim to remind me that I have a voice. And still so much more work to be done. Ours is not to finish the task, neither are we free to ignore it. How will your voice be heard? How will you make a difference this month?

This weekend the congregation I serve, Congregation Kneseth Israel, celebrates its 120th anniversary. It was founded in 1892. It is hard to even type a date that old, and when we recently applied for credit for a building project, the website wouldn’t even accept that date. We had to use when the building was incorporated (1948!).

Clearly this is a milestone. From my perspective, it is not just that we survived for 120 years, a rarity in congregational life, but that we are thriving. I love history. I was an American Studies major at Tufts. One of my favorite courses was New England Religious Experience team taught by an English professor and a history professor. I loved holding Governor William Bradford’s Geneva (Britches) Bible in my very own hands. He wrote his marginalia in Hebrew. Looking at what he wrote gives us clues into his philosophy and the founding of Plimouth Plantation and our great nation.

I have enjoyed listening to our seniors tell stories of what the congregation was like when they were younger. I have enjoyed watching our students’ faces light up in recognition and respect as they taped these pillars of the community.

My job is different. My job is to take those stories and make them come alive so that those who come after them, and after me can find meaning and beauty in Judaism. My job is to plant seeds of growth and renewal so that the next generation can thrive. So that we can proudly say that we survived another 120 years. Can you even imagine what the Jewish community will look like in another 120 years. I got a glimpse recently when I attended the Chicago Board of Rabbis meeting and listened to Rabbi Kerry Olitzky. But that is another blog post at another time.

This past week I also celebrated a birthday. It was not a milestone year. But it was significant. It had been a year since I had first heard about this congregation in Elgin and filled out my application. I had it completed on my birthday. In that year I picked up my family and moved across the country, to a land that I sort of knew from my youth but not really. There are days it feels like my world has been turned upside down. Then there are the days where it feels so comfortable like I was always meant to be here doing exactly what I am doing.

I will be honest. I struggle with my birthday. Historically, some of them have been hard. Like the year my mother was in the hospital, the year the shuttle exploded with the Israeli astronaut onboard and the year my mother called to tell me that Yuval had been killed. Those were bad years. They overshadow the other ones.

This year I paused to reflect. I realized that Rev. David Ferner was right. He loves Psalm 139 which talks about G-d knowing us in the womb. We are loved before we are born. Just because. Not because we have done anything. We are just loved and it is enough.

This week as part of our service we were graced with the Second Baptist Choir. They came to sing. They came to kick off Black History Month. They came to enrich our worship experience and yes…we rocked the house. But somewhere in the middle of the service, in the very middle of the Amidah, the standing prayer, the central portion of our service, I had a religious experience, a spiritual moment. I looked down from what I was chanting and I saw the English. “Your love sustains the living.” That was exactly what I needed to hear. That was my birthday gift.

So my message to those of you who are celebrating milestone anniversaries and big birthdays. Yes, we survived. Yes, we can thrive. But more than that. We are loved. And that is enough. That is what we must teach the next generation.

“Prayer is our humble answer to the inconceivable surprise of living.” Abraham Joshua Heschel
This weekend we mark two things, the birthday of Martin Luther King jr and the yahrzeit of Abraham Joshua Heschel. Forever linked in a famous photo, these two men linked arm and arm to make the world a better place. They shared a common vision born out of their different yet similar backgrounds. Heschel, a European Jew who escaped Poland prior to the Holocaust and became one of the most prominent rabbis of the 20th century, knew oppression first hand. These two men from different geographies, color, creed, theological background were joined in a spiritual kinship whose legacy addresses our own times.
This weekend we also read the story of Moses going to Pharaoh to plead to let the Israelites go. We read about the plague of darkness and the plague of the killing of the first born. This is a story, common to both traditions. What about the story of the Israelites in Egypt becoming free was so powerful for the African Americans? What is the common history that we share? What was the role that Jews played in the Civil Rights Movement? Does it still matter today?
Last week we talked about what hardened Pharaoh’s heart. Is it possible as the story suggests that God hardened Pharaoh’s heart? What about free will? What about repentance and t’shuvah? Doesn’t everyone have a chance to return to God, to righteous living? I am still not entirely comfortable with the answer that God gave Pharaoh five chances and Pharaoh hardened his own heart. If you keep choosing evil, then at some point you cannot choose good. What about the innocent Egyptians? They could not escape the plagues. Except for darkness. They could have chosen to light a candle and did not.
King and Heschel were friends. Heschel spoke in Selma, at the March on Washington. King was the keynote speaker at Rabbinical Assembly at the Concord Hotel. At Corretta Scott King’s request, Heschel then became the rabbi at King’s funeral. Their friendship ran deep. They shared a dream and deep commitment to making the world a better place for all.
When I lived in Evanston in the sixties and seventies I was a child. But my Shabbat mornings were filled with going to peace rallies, working on political campaigns and debating the issues of the day. My mother was fond of saying that “We lived in Evanston, the only place where busing worked.” I had black friends, friends from India, and my very best friend, Mika Baba, was from Japan. She spoke not a word of English. Somehow we all got along. My mother’s college, Western College for Women, now a part of Miami of Ohio, housed and helped train the Freedom Riders in the summer of 1963. There is an amplitheater at the college dedicated to that fateful summer.
When I was first working as a Jewish professional I worked at Temple Emanuel of the Merrimack Valley where Rabbi Everett Gendler was the rabbi. We knew he had been instrumental in the civil rights movement. The kids in the school thought he got his pronounced hole in his head from a rock thrown at him. He marched with King and Heschel. He was responsible for inviting King to speak to the rabbinical assembly. Recently Dr. Howard Rashba produced a documentary about Rabbi Gendler’s role. It is an important first hand account and for me a walk down memory lane. Howie intersperses Everett and Mary’s own words with photos and film clips of the time and the music that was so important in its day and continues to resonate today. Other friends of ours from TEMV were there at the March on Washington, notably Alyn and Nancy Rovin.
But what about King and Heschel? Susannah Heschel, Heschel’s daughter, a scholar in her own right and the person behind the story of the orange on the seder plate, talked about the relationship between King and Heschel in their own words. Heschel wrote to King shortly after the March in Selma, saying, “The day we marched together out of Selma was a day of sanctification. That day I hope will never be past to me – that day will continue to be this day…. May I add that I have rarely in my life been privileged to hear a sermon as glorious as the one you delivered at the service in Selma prior to the march.”
Susannah continued, “For Heschel, the march had spiritual significance. He wrote, “For many of us the march from Selma to Montgomery was about protest and prayer. Legs are not lips and walking is not kneeling. And yet our legs uttered songs. Even without words, our march was worship. I felt my legs were praying.”
This has become a famous quote, “I felt my legs were praying.” How do our legs pray? By doing the work of G-d, by being like G-d. We are commanded to feed the hungry, take care of the widow, the orphan and the stranger, not stand by idly while a neighbor bleeds. I believe that is what we were doing when I marched through Evanston, and Heschel, Gendler, Eisendrath and others joined with King. Heschel said, and we read it before the Amidah,
“Prayer cannot bring water to parched fields, nor mend a broken bridge, nor rebuild a ruined city; but prayer can water an arid soul, mend a broken heart, and rebuild a weakened will.” (Gates of Prayer, p. 152) For me, this becomes one of the central reasons to pray. On the other hand, we are mandated to water those fields, fix those broken bridges and rebuild our cities.
Heschel saw his participation as fitting squarely in the prophetic tradition of our people. Upon his return, Heschel described his experience in a diary entry: “I felt again what I have been thinking about for years – that Jewish religious institutions have again missed a great opportunity, namely, to interpret a civil-rights movement in terms of Judaism. The vast majority of Jews participating actively in it are totally unaware of what the movement means in terms of the prophetic traditions.” I would quibble with his about his last sentence. The Civil Rights Act was written and hammered out on the conference table of the Religious Action Center, Reform Judaism’s social justice advocacy group in Washington. Rabbi Maurice Eisendrath, president of the UAHC is the one photographed standing next to King holding a Torah. Nonetheless it is important to understand our obligation to work for social justice in these very terms—the clarion call to tikkun olam, repairing the world, is right out of our tradition.

For King and Heschel, there was no need to debate this. They saw the world through theological and political eyes. Susannah explained, “For each there was an emphatic stress on the dependence of the political on the spiritual, God on human society, the moral life on economic well-being. Indeed, there are numerous passages in their writings that might have been composed by either one. Consider, for example, Heschel’s words:

“The opposite of good is not evil, the opposite of good is indifference,” a conviction that he translated into a political commitment: “In a free society, some are guilty, but all are responsible.”

King writes, “To accept passively an unjust system is to cooperate with that system.” Not to act communicates “to the oppressor that his (sic) actions are morally right.” Social activism was required by religious faith, both Heschel and King argued, particularly when society had developed immoral institutional structures: “Your highest loyalty is to God and not to the mores, or folkways, the state or the nation, or any [hu]man-made institution.”
Both Heschel and King… spoke of God in similar terms, as deeply involved in the affairs of human history. Heschel developed a theology of what he termed “divine pathos” bearing the religious implication “that God can be intimately affected” and the political implication that “God is never neutral, never beyond good and evil.”
King remembered a time when both Heschel and King were here in Chicago, “I remember very well when we were in Chicago for the Conference on Religion and Race…to a great extent his speech inspired clergymen of all faiths to do something they had not done before.” At that conference Heschel had reminded the assembly that the first Conference on Religion and Race took place in Egypt where the main participants were Pharaoh and Moses. Moses’ words were: “Thus saith the Lord God of Israel, let My people go” and the Pharaoh retorted “Who is the Lord that I should heed this voice and let Israel go.” That summit meeting in Egypt has not come to an end. Pharaoh is still not ready to capitulate. The Exodus began, but we are still stranded in the desert. It was easier for the Israelites to cross the Red Sea than for men and women of different color to enter our institutions, our colleges, our universities, our neighborhoods.
Pirke Avot teaches us many things. Hillel said, In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.” Both Heschel and King exemplified this.
It also teaches us that “Ours is not to finish the task, neither are we free to ignore it.” While the Civil Rights Movement was a pivotal moment in American History and Jews, including Heschel, Eisendrath and Everett Gendler played a leading role, the work is not yet finished. King understood that too. In the speech he made the night before he died he said, “Like anybody, I would like to live a long life,” King says, pausing amid sporadic shouts from the crowd. “Longevity has its place,” he continues. “But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And he’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you,” he pauses, amid more shouts. “But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people will get to the Promised Land. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”
We have an obligation to continue to work for the day where Jew and Gentile can walk hand in hand. We have an obligation to continue King’s dream. “I have the audacity to believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture their minds, and dignity, equality and freedom for their spirits. I believe that what self-centered men have torn down, men other-centered can build up. I still believe that one day mankind will bow before the altars of God and be crowned triumphant over war and bloodshed, and nonviolent redemptive goodwill will proclaim the rule of the land … I still believe that we shall overcome.”
-Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Noble Prize Acceptance Speech, Dec. 10, 1965
That was King’s vision and it remains mine. So this weekend I will find ways to be involved. I may work on a Habitat for Humanity house or bring food and warm clothes to a shelter or serve a meal to the developmentally disabled. I will celebrate the second inauguration of President Barack Obama. I will hope for a day when the world is at peace and gun violence is no more. Where everyone can sit under their vine and fig tree and none shall make them afraid. What will you do? How will your legs pray? Where will you light a candle against the darkness?

My congregation’s book group read an interesting book this month. The Color of Water by James McBride is his tribute to his “light-skinned mother” and her raising of 12 black children. It is touching, sometimes funny, and thought provoking. Ruth McBride Jordan got pregnant, escaped her abusive birth family, married a black man, started a church in her living room. She raised all of her children with the belief that God is the Color of Water. She raised her children to believe in the power of an education and the power of Jesus’s love. She, however, was the daughter of an Orthodox rabbi. She escaped pogroms in Poland. She moved to New York, New Jersey and eventually Suffolk Virginia where anti-semitism and racism were alive and well. Her father, the rabbi was cruel and sexually exploitive. Her mother was fragile and handicapped. Her aunts in New York were no real help and her sister thought Ruth had abandoned her.
While I cannot condone the kind of life her father created for her, nor would I want her to go back to them, the book made me sad. I wish someone in the Jewish community could have seen the pain Ruth (nee Ruchel Dwara Zlyska) had been in. I wish someone could have made Judaism come alive for her; that she could have found the beauty that I see in it, that I can find. I wish she could have known that Judaism offers a God of love (See Exodus 34:6-7). I am glad that she was a strong woman with a strength of character and a will to survive. I am glad that she was such a good mother to her 12 children helping them to excel and to reach high expectations, no matter what the obstacles were. I am glad she found comfort in the black community. The Jewish community failed her. That failure makes me sad.