This is the d’var Torah/sermon I didn’t give on Rosh Hashanah morning. It was more important to hear the voices of our children singing Happy Birthday World in Hebrew and English. It was more important that one of our high school seniors blow shofar. It was more important to parade around with a eight week old during the Torah procession…and to Facetime with our oldest members so she could hear the shofar. (She’s 101). Those will be my memories of Rosh Hashanah this year.

Sh…..can you hear them? Our building is filled with children. They are having fun with Heather, learning about round challah, making challah covers and frosting Happy Birthday World cupcakes. They are playing and exploring puppets with Jeanne Tolzmann and Gail Mikyska who are helping out with babysitting. They are creating Jewish memories. Our largest group of kids are in the newborn to age 3 category. And we are thrilled. Our children are our future. Our children count. Later you will hear their own words and their singing right here. 

We just read stories from our tradition of women who desperately wanted to have children. Sarah, so desperate, she conceived of a plan that her handmaiden, Hagar, would bear a child for her husband, Abraham. Perhaps the original surrogate.  Hannah prayed so intensely that Eli thought she was drunk. There is value in having a child. In times of old, preferably a male child. These ancient texts are difficult stories….hard to wrap our brains around.  Do they have modern implications? .I think so, but warning…some of this discussion may be difficult to hear. 

In the Talmud, we learn that one of the questions we will be asked in heaven, a good thing to contemplate on this, the birthday of the world, is “Did you busy yourself with procreation.” 

Rava who asks the question is thinking about the very first words that G-d says to the first human beings: 

And G-d created human beings in the image of G-d, male and female G-d created them. G-d blessed them and said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, fill the earth.” (Genesis 1:27-28) 

But being fruitful and multiplying is not always an option: 

• While many women want to have children—and go to extraordinary lengths to ensure they can be pregnant and carry to term some women do not want children at all or cannot conceive. Roughly 10% of couples in America who try to get pregnant cannot and that number is growing as the median age of marriage rises and the peak years of fertility. 
• As Ron Wolfson says in his book The Seven Questions You are Asked in Heaven, “For some who have tried everything, adoption is an option. But this can be a difficult process, drawn out and expensive. Some employ a surrogate, but this too, (as Sarah and Hagar found out) can be fraught with complications and challenges. Others find ways to be foster parents…”  

• Some women have children and then cannot take care of them. I am grateful to our new members, the Harpers, who open their home already busy with three young daughters and foster children and currently have a 2-year-old living with them. 
• Others lose a child that is stillborn or from miscarriage or a pre-natal birth defect. Perhaps that is part of your story. I want to acknowledge clearly that these experiences can be extraordinarily painful experiences, and like Sarah or Hannah, it can be hard to find hope. 
• Some people may have had to have an abortion—or may have chosen to. These are difficult decisions that need to be made by the patient and their doctor.    
• Sadly, some children are raised in situations with incredible abuse and other traumas. It is hard to imagine how children can overcome what have become known as ACEs, Adverse Childhood Experiences. We will talk more about that tomorrow.  
• Some people choose not to have children at all. The question “have you busied yourself with procreation?” may be answered differently. Their legacy may be a building a business, creating a piece of music or art, or teaching other people’s children. Those too are also legacies. 

This summer the United States Supreme Court reversed previous decisions on abortion. Let me be clear. Judaism defines life as when a child is halfway out the birth canal or when it takes its first breath. Until then it is a potential life, worthy of protection but not at the expense of the existing life of the mother. If you need chapter and verse on this topic, I will gladly supply them for you. Thus far, Illinois has protected a woman’s right to choose. However, if you are in a position to need to make this choice, I will sit with you, I will cry with you, I will hold your hand, like many rabbis throughout the country. 

For today, know that our tradition is clear. Once there is a child, we are instructed to take care of that child. Thirty-six times it teaches in the Torah that we need to take care of the widow, the orphan, the stranger, the most vulnerable amongst us. Taking care of our children—all our children whether they are orphans or not, whether they are our biological children or not—is an important Jewish value. Our children count. All our children count. Let that sink in, all our children count, whatever their origins. 

When I was in second grade and a brand new Brownie, I learned the Brownie Story. Perhaps you know it too: The old shoemaker complained that children are a burden. They make too much noise. They don’t do their chores. They don’t help out around the house and in fact, they contribute to making messes, eating all the food and complaining that they are bored and about life in general. They just get in the way. The shoemaker wished for a Brownie, something like a fairy who would do all the housework, without being nagged. The children were aghast to hear this. After consulting the Wise Old Owl, the children learn that they themselves are the Brownies, and their father learns that children are a blessing.  

Children are indeed a blessing. Our children, who you will hear from later this morning, are indeed a blessing. They are our legacy. They count. They need to be cherished and taken care of. 

When G-d was deciding whom to give the Torah too, he asked the Israelites who would be good guarantors for this precious gift. The Israelites answered, “Our ancestors will be good guarantors, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Sarah Rebecca, Rachel and Leah. They will vouch for us.” G-d said that their were not sufficient. The Israelites said, “Our prophets will be our guarantors.” Again G-d rejected the answer. Finally, the Israelites answered, “Our children will be our guarantors.” For that reason, for the sake of the children, G-d gave the Torah to Israel. (Song of Songs Rabbah 1”24)  

We learn another story in the Talmud, that often we retell for another Jewish New Year, Tu B’shevat, the New Year of the Trees: 

Honi the Circle Maker was walking on the road and saw a man planting a carob tree. Honi asked the man, “How long will it take for this tree to bear fruit?” “Seventy years,” the man answered. Honi wondered whether the man would live another seventy years to eat the fruit of the carob tree. The man answered, “Probably not. However, when I arrived in this world there were many carob trees already planted by my father and grandfather. Just as they planted for me, so shall I plant for my children and grandchildren.” 

Today as we continue our celebration of Congregation Kneseth Israel’s 130th Anniversary, we are planting for our children and grandchildren.  Explaining the concept of 130 years to kids is hard. Some attended the ListenUp concert and danced in the aisles. They all have CKI 130th t-shirts both thanks to gifts of members. We’ve had them count candles. They are responsible for the banner artwork when you walk in the door which I encourage you to help them color when it is not yuntif. 

In my old town of Chelmsford, their motto is ““Let the children guard what the sires have won.”  (They seem to be in the process of changing it—perhaps—but that is still breaking news.) There is an inherent problem with the motto. As Rabbi Rachel Cowen explained with Linda Thal in their book Wise Aging: Living with Joy, Resilience and Spirit, “Becoming a grandparent means seeing one’s own children step into their positions as custodians of the future.” That is because as they said, “if we are wise and humble we will ask ourselves what we can do to support their growth and wellbeing without imposing our own sense of what their futures should look like.” We know that we are at an inflection point in modern Judaism. Our children and our grandchildren will have to figure out what Judaism looks like into the future. They will have to figure out what this very synagogue will look like. They will have to take the memories they are making today and make new memories with their own children and grandchildren, invested with their own meaning. But make no mistake: they are our guarantors.

As the theme for our Days of Awe, this year is about surviving to thriving. Making it to our 130th is a significant milestone which came with a lot of dedication and commitment, sweat equity and actual capital. But it is not enough to survive. As our liturgy says, “Merely to have survived is not a great measure of excellence.” What does it mean to enable our children to thrive? 

Thrive means to grow or develop well. What helps kids to grow well? 

In a TED talk by 7 year old Molly Wright, she explains that kids thrive and their brains expand, when you play with young children, especially those under 5. She concludes that children thrive if they are connecting, talking, playing, and if they have a healthy home and community  Molly Wright: How every child can thrive by five 

She maintains, based on brain science, that a simple game of peek-a-boo or a matching game with a child can change the world. It can build curious, confident, trusting, kids. And I encourage you all to watch this TED talk. She is amazing. Or watch our own early elementary teachers play a High Holy Day matching game. Thank you, Jordana and Jeanette. Those kids are having so much fun—and thriving here. 

Kids need access to quality education, health care, food, shelter, clothing. Kids need to be loved and nurtured. Kids need to have adults in their lives that mentor. Those are part of how children achieve resilience.  

Resilience is the process of handling different types of stress and recovering from trauma or adversity in tough times. A child’s resilience mostly depends on their connections to other people, rather than their own inherent qualities. And the good news—the research on this part of brain science has challenged since I was first an educator and now a rabbi. They have identified several resilience factors that can help children—and all of us be resilient—to be able to thrive:
 

• Good parenting with low family stress and sound parental mental health 

• Absence of addiction and substance abuse 
• Sense of safety 
• Supportive extended family  
• A supportive relationship with a mentor. 
• Positive school experiences. 

• Safe neighborhood. 
• Close community. 
• Social support. 
• Part of religious or faith community. 
• Extracurricular activities. 

When I listen to what you most appreciate at CKI, those are the very things that promote resilience. You are creating resilience right here, for our kids and for all of us. You talk about this community being like an extended family, with a positive Torah School experience, with mentors and social support as part of a religious or faith community. We are helping our kids—and each other thrive.  

What, then, is the legacy we want to leave for our children, all our children? For thousands of years, Jews have written ethical wills. These are the values that we want to pass down to our offspring. We have examples of that in the Torah. When Jacob blesses his children. When Moses speaks to the all the Israelites before they cross into the land of Israel. It’s Moses’s swan song, if you will. As we celebrate Rosh Hashanah, and contemplate our own mortality, I encourage you during this season of reflection, return and renewal to consider writing your own. There is no prescribed form. There are some online tools that can help. One list of things to include: 

• Personal History: What are the basics of you?  
• Favorite Things: Travel, entertainment, and, of course, food.  
•  Academic & Professional Life: Lessons that can last a lifetime.  

• Most Meaningful Experiences: Moments you cherished …or didn’t. 
• Religious & Political Views: Express your beliefs and views.  
• Hopes For The Future: Advice for the next generation 

Some more pointers and examples can be found here: https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/writing-an-ethical-will-how-to-get-started/  

What are those values we want to pass down to our children and grandchildren, that come right from here at CKI? What is the legacy we are leaving them? What do you want your own children and grandchildren to know? 

• A love of G-d, of family, of Judaism? 

• A love of education, of learning and books? 
• A love of asking questions and figuring out the answers? 
• A love of being kind and caring, taking care of each other, animals and the world? 
• A sense of joy and purpose? 

As we identify that which is most meaningful to us here at CKI and we listen to the voice of the Shofar—and then the voices of our children, in those ways then your life and the lives of your offspring really will count and you will help them thrive, well into adulthood. 

The words of our children:

Ashamnu To Our Parents, a Positive Heshbon Hanefesh: 

You matter. You are awesome. You matter. You can make today great. 

You eXcel in life and are eXcellent 

You work hard. You are wonderful.  

You are very, very good, very great, very nice. 

U can change the world. U are loved. U are awesome. 

You try your best and take good chances and try to make the world a better place. 

You smile and smile more and stay happy. 

You are responsible. You read and then read more. 

You question. You are quiet. You are quite awesome and quite amazing. 

You are polite. You are positive. 

You are outstanding.  You have an open heart. You open your mind to new possibilities. 

You are nice. You never give up. 

You make today great. You make the world a better place. 

You love. You live life to the fullest. You live, love, laugh. 

You are kind. You keep calm. 

You are joyful. 

You inspire others. 

You help others. You are happy. 

You are good. You are generous.  

You forgive. You are fierce. You are fearless. 

You exercise and eat healthy. 

You donate. You do your best. You do the impossible. 

You are courageous. You care about yourself and others. You care about this very place. 

You are brave. 

You are amazing. You always do the right thing. 

Wednesday Hebrew School 5777 

“We made it: A Shehechianau Moment” 

Sondheim, of blessed memory wrote lyrics in Follies:
Good times and bum times,
I’ve seen them all and, my dear,
I’m still here.
Plush velvet sometimes,
Sometimes just pretzels and beer,
But I’m here.  

Barry Manilow sang, “Looks like we made it.” And looking around the room and the Zoom room, we did. We made it. We are here. Like Moses answered G-d, Hineini, I am here, Present. Ready. We are ready to greet the new year. It is, indeed, a shehechianu moment. 

What is the shehechianu? It is a prayer that we say on doing something for the first time—or the first time in a year. We’ve already said it once here this evening after we announced that this is now 5783. Perhaps you said it at home before dinner and after you lit the Yom Tov Holiday candles. We will say it when we hear the sound of the shofar tomorrow. Some people save a new fruit or new clothes so they have something they can say shehechianu on the Second Day of Rosh Hashanah.  

Here at CKI, we say it often. Any time someone does something for the first time during a Shabbat morning service. Open the ark for the first time, shehechianu. Say the Torah blessing for the first time. Shehechianu. Done it before but not at CKI? Shehechianu. Read it from the transliteration? Chant it for the first time from the Hebrew itself? Shehechianu. Sometimes it surprises people. They may have been taught that you only say it in certain prescribed ways or times. Yet, people seem to like doing it. And now congregants are even helping me to remember to say it. It is a way of celebrating. It is a blessing that brings us hope. It makes people smile.  

Let’s say it together again—really learn it. 

It starts like all blessings– 

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha’olam 

Blessed are You, Lord Our G-d, Ruler of the Universe 

Shehechianu, v’kiyimanu v’higiyanu Lazman Hazeh 

Who has kept us alive and sustained us and enabled us to reach this moment. 

Sing here. Everyone together. 

Like many of our prayers, this prayer is said in the plural. This use of the plural is part of that community connectedness that makes prayer with a group so powerful.  

Sometimes, however, we may want to mark something individually. After a serious car accident on the Upper West Side during rabbinical school, I went to the mikveh in Boston, the one that Anita Diamant founded, and emerging from deep in the pool, I changed the Hebrew. Shechiani, v’kiyimani, v’higiyani lazman hazeh. Who kept me alive, sustained me and enabled me to reach that very moment. When I could finally return to hiking, my daughter and one of her friends thought I could say shehechianu and open a bottle of champagne every day. I survived.  

One of the first thoughts upon awaking for Jews is Modeh Ani, I thank you G-d for restoring my soul to me. The kids in Torah School sing this every Sunday morning. We sing it on Shabbat morning here. It too is about survival.  

So is Birkat HaGomel, an individual prayer typically said during a Torah service, that acknowledges survival by an individual for surviving a serious illness, traveling over an ocean, even surviving childbirth. After the individual says: Blessed are You, Lord our G-d, Ruler of the Universe, who bestows the undeserving with goodness and who has rewarded me with goodness. there is a communal response. 

May G-d who has rewarded you with all goodness reward you with all goodness for ever. 

I delight in helping people to mark those moments.  

Personally, I haven’t always been comfortable with Birkat HaGomel. Why did some people survive the Holocaust and others did not? Why did some make it out of the towers on 9/11 and others did not? Does this prayer imply that some deserve G-d’s goodness and others do not? Why did I survive the car accident, but others do not? When is the right moment to say it? How do we know when we have survived enough to warrant it? Some people say that you are a cancer survivor the day you are diagnosed. Others say when you reach the 5 year mark or being cancer free—which blessedly Simon did this year.  

I wrestle with some of tomorrow morning’s liturgy for the same reason. Our High Holy Day liturgy begs a similar question. Who shall live and who shall die? Yet, teshuvah, tefilah and tzedah can avert the decree. Really?  

Now let’s look at our shehechianu prayer in depth: 

 What does it mean that G-d has kept us alive? A more accurate translation would be “Who causes us to be alive.” Causing us to be alive, causing us to survive. I feel this more acutely this year. Baruch shehecheyanu – blessed is the One who has allowed us to survive. Yes, us, all of us gathered here, to see 5783. It is a prayer of deep gratitude. 

What sustains us? What holds us up? What keeps us afloat? When I asked this at Java and Jews, and on Facebook, I got lovely answers: our family, our friends, snuggling with our pets, the community, a walk in nature, music, art, poetry, books, gardening, being creative, children’s delight at something new. There are probably as many answers as there are people here tonight. Yet the common theme was people. You each hold someone up. You are the connecting thread. The sustainer.  

The Talmud gives us a glimmer too:  Rabbi Yochanan sees that one of his students is suffering. He goes to his student and says: “Hav li yadakh, Give me your hand,” so the student gave him his hand, and he raised him up, literally, he sustained him. 

Later, Rabbi Yochanan – the same one who raised his student up in the previous story- is now himself suffering. Rabbi Chanina comes to him, and the scene repeats itself, only with Rabbi Yochanan in the reverse position. Rabbi Chanina says to Rabbi Yochanan, “Give me your hand.” Rabbi Yochanan gave him his hand, and Rabbi Chanina raised him up. 

We are sustained by others. We are sustained by community. In this past year, where I have struggled with an unanticipated health challenge, I have been sustained by you. Each of you. Asking about me. Sending cards. Jokes. Books. Singing Mi Sheberach, the prayer for healing of mind, body and spirit. Each of those acts have been sustaining. Each of you has played a role in the ongoing healing.  

How does G-d enable us to reach this moment? Often I add the word, “joyous”. Most of the times we say shehechianu, it is about reaching a joyous moment. The birth of a child, a Bat Mitzvah, a wedding, hearing the shofar, lighting Chanukah candles, hearing the megilah, yes, even tasting matzah. It is also about arrival. We’re here. Just where we are supposed to be. Like our GPS tells us. “You’ve arrived.” I am hearing echos again of “Looks like we made it.” 

But there is an implied next question becomes–where do we go from here? 

Earlier this summer I cried at the start of the ListenUp concert. It was their first live in person concert since the start of the pandemic. They started the concert with Shehechianu (Sing here). And sitting all the way in the back, unsure that we or even I were really going to get here, the tears flowed. 

The tears flowed again when I heard the Michigan marching band in person play Hail to the Victors, the Michigan fight song.  As I said to the person next to me in line—I wasn’t sure I would ever be back there. 

As part of the Conversations with Anita Diamant, she reminded us to recite Shehechianu, it being her first outing to a congregation since the pandemic. It was also our first full Oneg Shabbat in a long time. Another reason for Shehechianu.  

There is a sense of gratitude and relief.  This simple prayer is not just a blessing thanking G-d for reaching special occasions. It is a blessing that expresses profound gratitude for our continued existence, even when that existence may be in doubt—and even in the midst of profound loss. 

We cannot ignore the challenges we have had to overcome or the losses we have endured. On the contrary, shehechianu is a recognition of the fragility of life itself, a profound expression of confronting loss and grief and all that it took to survive. Rosh Hashanah begs us to confront our own mortality and from the gratitude that we feel today thank G-d for our continued existence. If we look around this room, sadly, some of us will not be here next year.  

This congregation has made it…130 years. We have survived. That is worthy of a shehechianu too. This year we will be talking about surviving and thriving. Our liturgy says, page 402 if you are checking, that “merely to survive is not an index of excellence, nor given the way things go, even of low cunning.” This quote was the basis for the theme for this High Holy Days. It begs another question, what does thriving look like? That is the topic we will explore for the next 10 days. 

I’ve used this quote before; but it bears repeating. Frederick Buechner, of blessed memory, said that “Vocation is the place where our deep gladness meets the world’s deep need.” He’s talking about finding meaning, finding our purpose. Often when people have been through a traumatic event—a car crash, an earthquake, wildfire, hurricane, tornado, a pandemic or the Holocaust, people try to find meaning in their lives.  Victor Frankl who survived Auschwitz, addresses this directly in his book Man’s Search for Meaning. Finding our own personal meaning is key to our survival as individuals. But the trick is each of us must uncover that meaning for ourselves.  

The rabbis teach that each person has a commandment that is their own personal mitzvah. For Ken Jacoby for example, it may be his excellent shofar blowing that we have enjoyed in years past. Unfortunately, he has COVID, may he have a complete healing, a refua shlema, but through the magic of technology we will still hear him tomorrow.  For Gale Jacoby it may be how she tells the story of her parents and Ken’s parents survival of the Holocaust. Keeping their story and their memory alive brings meaning to her—and to all of us.  

One of the challenges for each of us, is to find that sense of meaning and purpose. One of the challenges today, and every day, is to find ways to make this world a better place, to find ways to make our days count so that we acquire a heart of wisdom.  

There is a story that is told frequently in educational settings about a girl is walking on the beach with her grandfather. The girl bends down and throws starfish after starfish back into the sea. The grandfather asks her what she is doing after all, she can’t possibly save them all. The girl picks up another one, throws it into the sea and answers saying, “It makes a difference to this one.”   

That next generation brings me hope. But hope may be too big a word. Listen to the words of the Israeli poet, Yehudah Amichai.  

“hopeful is too big a word. I have cut it down to little hopes: one peaceful day with a breeze. … a dish in a restaurant, buying vegetables from a woman in the Old City. My hopes are not like big stones, but little stones ground up and made of cement that will support a whole house.” 

Those little stones are you. The cement that sustains this whole community and keeps us together, sustains us.  

Each of you is here. Each of you has made it—with all the ups and downs, with all the pain and losses. But Each of you has made a difference too, in the life of this congregation and in the world. Each of you sustains us, supports us, brings us hope.  

For each of you, there is a starfish, to remind you that YOU did make a difference.  

One of the challenges for this day, and every day, is to find reasons to say Shehechianu.  

Repeat Shehechianu 

A teaching in honor of Rabbi Menachem Creditor.

This is the last Shabbat of 5782.

We stand here today, all of us—ready to great the new year. Standing. Ready to go forward. With hope. Hope is a mitzvah. Despair is a sin. Or so the rabbis teach us. 

I have always liked the juxtaposition of this portion with standing to welcome the New Year, to Enter the New year. Just as Joshua and the people are about to cross over into the Land of Israel, we are ready—almost ready, maybe never fully ready, to cross over to the new year. To 5783. It is a threshold moment. Liminal time.  

Seven weeks ago, we gathered for Tisha B’av, the saddest day on the Jewish calendar. We read the book of Lamentations, but we did not end in despair. Whenever we read a haftarah, we don’t end on.a down note. Instead, we repeat a verse to end on a positive note, to end in hope. For Tisha B’av,  we read a verse that we repeat  every week during the Torah Service: 

Hashivenu,  

Return to us and we shall return. Renew our days as of old.  

Hashivenu 

This is a verse that has sustained me throughout the pandemic. It has brought me hope. We will return one day to life as normal—whatever that means. And this week as we enter 5783 it feels almost normal. A return to some of our old favorites.  To our wall that is open. To more people in the building. To our cantorial soloist in person from Denver. To baby sitting and children’s programing. It feels good. It brings me hope. 

Our Torah portion also reminds us to return. If we return to G-d will all of our hearts and all of our souls, then G-d will grant us prosperity, for our offspring, our cattle, our fields. We will live and it will go well for us.  

My friend and colleague, Rabbi Menachem Creditor has another thought. He is not sure we should go back, those days were never so good, “What glory days am I talking about,” he asked in an exquisite sermon. It is not good enough. Rather, It is up to us, to perform a holy chutzpah. to envision a world that our ancestors could not have dreamed of. We need to envision something better. We are aching for something better. 

.After 29 chapters of Moses’s swan song, we see the end of Moses’ career. He is not going into the Land of Israel with the people he has led since the beginning of the Book of Exodus. For 40 years of wandering in the wilderness. This is a big transition moment. A passing of the torch. 

He appoints Joshua to lead the people. He and G-d both bless Jushua with Chazak v’emetz. Strength and courage. Last night we talked about what we need to stand on the edge and cross over. Strength and courage. Peace. Patience. Forbearance and perseverance. Kindness. Love. Support. Loving Support. Faith and Trust. Hope. And water, because we are still in the desert. 

These are the things that will carry us through. Caryus through to the other side. All the way into 5783. 

May each of us be blessed with these. Chazak v’emetz. 

But Rabbi Creditor points out something else. The blessings are almost identical. Almost but not quite.  

The difference is significant. Moses says to Joshua. “Atah Tavo—You will go with the people.: G-d blesses Joshua and says, “Atah Tavi—You shall bring in the people.”  

As Creditor points out, Rashi, one of our leading Torah commentators also noticed the difference. Sometimes we lead with consensus, from the middle of the people. We go with the people. Tavo. And sometimes we have to drag the people along. Moses spent much of his life dragging the kvetching people along.  

There is also not much of a difference between the two letters, Yud the end of Tavi and Vuv the end of Tavo. You could almost miss it. You might even think that it is a scribal error. And both are letters in the Divine Name. So at some levels we go with Adonai, with G-d.  

We are strong as we stand to enter 5783. Stronger than we thought. Stronger than we thought possible. We enter 5783 just as Joshua and the people did, Chazak v’emetz. This community and this teaching bring me hope. Be strong and of good courage. Amen.  

Yesterday, Shabbat Ki Tavo, may have been one of the most meaningful Shabbatot of my rabbinate. About a year ago, I stood with a woman who is developmentally disabled at her mother’s grave for her mother’s yahrzeit. She hadn’t really understood the pandemic or why our congregation wasn’t serving food at most events. She doesn’t really have a computer and while she has a cell phone she doesn’t understand all of its features. Her voice mail function is frequently full and she can disappear for days at a time.  

Yet standing at her mother’s grave she read a couple of poems beautifully in English. I didn’t know she could do that. I asked if she had ever had a Bat Mitzvah. She answered, “No.” She had been told she could never have one because she would never be able to do it; she was not intellectually capable.  

Now, back in the day, a Bat Mitzvah was still new. This year, 2022 marks the 100 anniversary of a formal ceremory took place at Society for the Advancement of Judaism, the spiritual home of Rabbi Mordechai Kaplan, founder of Reconstructionist, now Reconstructing Judaism. He hosted the first Bat Mitzvah for his daughter Judith. I am a product of that “innovation.” There was never a question that once we moved to Grand Rapids, that I would have a Bat Mitzvah, that I would read from a Torah scroll and prepare some speech. Those battles had been fought already.  

As I listened to this grown woman read English so well, I asked her if she would like to have a Bat Mitzvah ceremony. She had never heard of such a thing. “Can someone my age have a Bat Mitzvah?” she asked in child-like wonder. Adult B’nai Mitzvah can be very meaningful. For a variety of reasons, many Jews never had one at age 13. Some never notice a lack. Some become re-engaged as an adult and feel they missed something. Some use it as a measure of learning something new and mastering a skill. Some use it as a celebration of life itself. And some use it as an opportunity to have a celebration—with lots of food! 

We left the cemetery and went to a local coffee shop. There we began to plan. Her big request was to have the celebration part—lots of food and if we aren’t serving food at CKI could we please go to a restaurant. I assured her there would be a celebration—and food! We talked about what part of the service she would like to do. Shortly after our meeting, everything went back to Zoom with a spike in COVID numbers. I didn’t think too much about my promise to this women. But she and her case managers did. We kept trying to set a date that seemed reasonable. But COVID-19 had other plans. 

This weekend, after much study on her part—and many stops and starts and meetings at the synagogue, on the phone, at a coffeeshop and even the Elgin Bus Station—she finally stood on the bimah, and with a clear voice led us in the Sh’ma. But she didn’t stop there. She stood right next to me and led us in all the Kaddish prayers and the Amidah. And then the big moment arrived. She held the Torah and led us in the SH’ma. She recited her aliyah blessing. And she read the translation of her Torah portion and her Haftarah portion. These words are not capturing it. Quite simply it brought people to tears.  

As my ritual chair explained, the service was fantastic because she was so pure. She turned to me after most of the service was over and said, “Did I do good? I think they liked me.” I reassured her, that yes, they most certainly did. She loved when people threw candy at her. She was nervous. She concentrated really hard. And her smile was amazing. She herself is a blessing. When we talked about the blessing of the Torah, the aliyah blessing which says that Torah is a gift, I asked her how Torah is a gift. She answered, quickly, “because it makes you feel better about yourself.” She gets it. At a deep, profound level.” 

I don’t want people to misunderstand. While this weekend may have been one of my most profound Shabbatot as a rabbi, it wasn’t easy. It was never clear as recently as last weekend whether this was really going to happen. She would forget appointments, get shy and not show up, get angry or frustrated and then I would get frustrated. There were some back up plans that thankfully we didn’t need to use. I was nervous—what if this doesn’t work. What if she doesn’t rise to the occasion. What if she doesn’t show up? And in a reflection of her own voice, what if people don’t like me or get angry with me? 

Her portion was about blessings (and curses). The series of blessings includes being blessed in your going out and your coming in. I offered her the Birkat Hakohanim, the priestly benediction. And then, it was time for the celebration. Our first real kiddush since the pandemic began. Offered by our Lutheran kosher caterer who has known this woman since she was 5, as a gift. I sat with this woman and her two case managers. It was so fun. 

Later that evening, the congregation, together with Temple Beth Sholom, celebrated Selichot together. This is the first real service of the High Holy Days. It introduces the music and the themes of these holy days. One piece of liturgy says that tefilah, prayer, teshuvah, return or repentance, and tzedakah can avert the severe decree. For several weeks, leading up to this Bat Mitzvah, I had been asking people what it means to pray. I got answers like “asking for something” and “saying thanks” and having a relationship with G-d. I knew that with this Bat Mitzvah there would still be questions about whether she could do it—even if it would be permissible to do this. My answer was yes! But I also understood why people might be uncomfortable. I understood why back in the day people—her mother, her teachers, the rabbi, might have said she could not have a Bat Mitzvah. But I also knew I had worked with lots of kids with special needs and that this could, in fact, be possible. I also knew of a movie, Praying with Lior” about a boy with Downs Syndrome preparing for his Bar Mitzvah. I knew as part of Selichot and a discussion of prayer I wanted to show this movie.  

We began the service with Havdalah, the separation of Shabbat from the rest of the week. And a series of prayers, including The 13 Attributes of the Divine. G-d taught Moses to pray the 13 Attributes to ask for divine forgiveness. It is the basis of the whole liturgy for this season and it begins this very night. It was also part of my Bat Mitzvah Torah portion, the reason I finally became a rabbi, the basis of my rabbinic thesis and my first book. But I couldn’t hear the Beged Kefet version of the haunting Adonai, Adonai without hearing the echos of my own Bat Mitzvah. Lior’s father, himself a rabbi, said that Lior when he is praying has “less veils”, perhaps the word is inhibitions. He prays because he wants to. He prays because he has a deep connection to G-d. This was true for my Bat Mitzvah student as well.  

On the night of Selichot—originally done just before dawn or at midnight—the gates are open. There are less veils. It is easier to be connected.  

Avinu Malkeinu—Our Parent, Our Ruler, be gracious and answer us. Sh’ma Koleinu—hear us. Hashiveinu—return to us and we shall return. Renew our days as of old.  

Connection was a theme that ran through the movie. Prayer is connection. Prayer is part of community. The Orthodox Day School rabbi told Lior’s class the most important part of mincha is to daven with the people, to say amen to someone else’s prayer. Lior and my Bat Mitzvah give us permission to pray. One of Lior’s classmates said that G-d give everyone a test. Someone during selichot reframed that as gives us opportunities to learn. But the classmate continued that part of that test is how we respond. How we treat Lior or my Bat Mitzvah student. To answer Amen fully and with compassion.  

No one wis ever quite ready for the High Holy Days, but given this weekend, I go into them better prepared, ready to help others to answer Amen.  

People do ask me how I prepare. I prepare for month ahead. Thinking about themes. Reading books.  

Here are some of my selected books: 

• Preparing Your Heart for the High Holy Days: A Guided Journal, Rabbi Kerry Olitzky 
• This Is Real and You Are Completely Unprepared: The Days of Awe as a Journey of Transformation, Alan Lew 
• Opening Your Heart with Psalm 27: A Spiritual Practice for the Jewish New Year, Rabbi Debra Robbins 
• Moments of Transcendence: Inspirational Readings for Yom Kippur 
• A Climbing Journey Towards Yom Kippur: The Thirteen Attributes of the Divine, Rabbi Margaret Frisch Klein 

 This year I dove into two new ones: 

• God Is Here: Reimagining the Divine, Rabbi Toba Spitzer 
• On Repentance And Repair: Making Amends in an Unapologetic World, Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg 

Then I spend time selecting readings and writing. Lots and lots of writing. This year we are focusing on “From Surviving to Thriving: Making our Days Count.” It is based on the idea from Psalms, “Teach us to number our days that we may attain a heart of wisdom.” (Psalm 90:12). It is part of how we come out of this pandemic. It also has to do with how we celebrate our congregation’s130th anniversary. It is great that we remain standing, that we survived, but the question is how to we thrive?  

This weekend, we learned how to pray, how to gain a heart of wisdom and perhaps, just perhaps, how to thrive.  

I’m not ready yet—but I am closer. Lior and my Bat Mitzvah student helped.  

Today’s Torah portion includes 70 of the 613 commandments, mitzvot in the Torah. As part of Moses’s long discourse, his farewell address, his final instructions to the Israelites, it provides a structure of what society should look like to provide a just, fair world. We’ll leave aside for another year the questions of whether these are Moses’s own words, G-d’s words, or some editor and what exactly is a commandment. 

It repeats ideas we have heard before—some of them almost exact quotes from the Holiness Code in Leviticus.  

“You must pay out the wages due on the same day, before the sun sets, for the worker is needy and urgently depends on it.” While not needy per se, my first week on the job at Fuld and Company, owned by an Orthodox Jew, Lenny Fuld, he hand delivered a hand written check, because of this very verse. Someone had forgotten to add me to the payroll and there was no commercially processed check. It was most welcome because it was a time, like for many Americans we were living paycheck to paycheck. I almost cried when Lenny appeared. 

We are a week past Labor Day Weekend. I grateful for unions and the role that the Jewish community historically has played in making sure that the rights of laborers have been protected. There are still Jews active in the labor movements and I am grateful for them and organizations like the Jewish Labor Committee and Bend the Arc. They work tirelessly to ensure things some take for granted: things like fair wages, health care, the five day work week with 8 hour days, and yes, an emphasis on safety in the work place.  

Safety plays a role in today’s portion to, as we are exhorted to make sure that we have a parapet surrounding our roofs so that no one will fall off.  

But perhaps what comes through loud and clear is the need to protect our most vulnerable. Over and over again the portion reminds us to take care of the widow, the orphan and the stranger.  The Talmud reminds us that 36 times the Torah tells us to take care of the widow, the orphan and the stranger. In this portion we are told:  

“When you reap the harvest in your field and overlook a sheaf in the field, do not turn back to get it; it shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow—in order that your God, Adonai, may bless you in all your undertakings.” (Deut. 24:19) 

“When you beat down the fruit of your olive trees, do not go over them again; that shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow.” (Deut. 24:20) 

“When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not pick it over again; that shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow.” (Deut. 24:21) 

We should leave the corners of our field. We should not beat the olives a second time to create olive oil. We should find ways to feed the hungry.  

“You shall not subvert the rights of the stranger or the fatherless; you shall not take a widow’s garment in pawn.” (Deut. 24:17) 

“You should have just weights and measures.” (Deut. 25:18) 

Why—because we were strangers in the land of Egypt—we know what it is like to be a slave, to be so vulnerable. 

And there are two commandments that are essentially about succession and legacy: 

“when he wills his property to his sons, he may not treat as first-born the son of the loved one in disregard of the son of the unloved one who is older. Instead, he must accept the first-born, the son of the unloved one, and allot to him a double portion*double portion Lit. two-thirds. of all he possesses; since he is the first fruit of his vigor, the birthright is his due.” (Deut. 21:17-18) 

As we watch the spectacle and the pomp and circumstance unfold in the United Kingdom this week, I can’t help but remember this portion. As we listen to the words of Queen Elizabeth II, of blessed memory, talking about dedicating her life to a life of service to all and then having the now King Charles the III echo his mother’s words and example, I can’t help but reflect back on the notion that back in the day, the rights to inherit blessings and property went to the first born son. But also, there was a need to protect a widow by allowing the brother-in-law to marry her. A woman also had a right to divorce. Both of these were designed again to protect those most vulnerable. It set early Judaism apart from the surrounding cultures.  

Today we are watching as the Royal Family follows ancient traditions around inheritance of titles and property. Some of this seems archaic to us. Some of us wonder will Harry and Wiliam reconcile. Some question what any of this has to do with us, here in America, that fought a war to be free from British monarchy.  

In the Book of Samuel, we learn that the Israelites wanted a king so they could be like other nations. (I Samuel 1:8-19) Despite, G-d, The King, not really wanted an earthly king, G-d told Samuel to listen to the people. Samuel anoints Saul as king.  

Our portion ends with the story of Amalek—we should remember not to forgot what Amalek did. Let me underscore that. We should remember not to forget. What did Amalek do that was so destructive that we have to remember it for all times? That Saul lost his throne because he didn’t wipe out all the Amaleks? That some think Haman was an Amalekite that this is why we read this again just before Purim? That some even think Hitler was a descendent? The King of the Amalekites attacked the rear:
“how, undeterred by fear of God, he surprised you on the march, when you were famished and weary, and cut down all the stragglers in your rear.” (Deut. 25:17-19) 

How do we live out taking care of our communities most vulnerable here at CKI?
In a number of ways. With our community garden which supplies healthy, nutritious veggies for the soup kettles and the neighborhood. With our participation in helping with those soup kettles when there is a fifth Tuesday of the month. With our collection this weekend of period products for the Community Crisis Center. With the annual Kol Nidre collection for Food for Greater Elgin. By advocating for mental health services. By visiting the sick. In so many ways.  

The widow, the orphan, the stranger…the most vulnerable amongst us. The mandate and the commandments are clear. Come join with me as we protect those most vulnerable. After all. It is a commandment.  

Sh! They’re sleeping. It is Labor Day in America. A chance to pause. To rest. To thank our workers. To have one last summer barbecue. To have the choice to do what we want to do when we want to do it. Not everybody is so lucky to have Labor Day off. In the last few years we have learned especially about essential workers. Health care workers. Police. Fire. EMTs. Grocery store workers and yes, coffee baristas all will be working this weekend and today.

This is a lucky year for me. The High Holy Days are a little bit later so Simon and I are on vacation. For real. We have managed a bucket list trip for Simon. Camp Michigania in northern Michigan, Owned by the the Alumni Association of the University of Michigan, it runs family camp during the summer with all the camp activities I loved as a child (and counselor) and lectures by leading UofM professors. This weekend if quiet. The horses are here but no riding. The swimming decks and boats have been put away for the season. Hiking abounds. There is a distinct chill in the early morning air.

For me, this is a chance to write, to paint, to read. To sit and close my eyes and dream,To listen to the birds, the wind in the trees, the water lapping against the shore, Simon’s rhythmic breathing. To have long conversations with Simon. To feel the breeze. To smell the end of summer (yes, there is a distinct oder) and the campfire on the beach. To look up at the stars and see both a sunrise and a sunset. To remember my essential self.

I am grateful for this opportunity to explore work and rest. Judaism teaches a lot about work and rest, separating Shabbat from the rest of the week. We begin with candles to sanctify time. We end with a braided havdalah candle and the smell of sweet spices to mark the end of Shabbat.

In the Talmud, ((Shabbos 119a)) it teaches that once  the Roman emperor asked Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananyah,, “Why is it that your food has a special scent on Shabbat?” The Rabbi replied, “I have a certain spice called ‘Shabbat’ that I put in the food, and this creates a special fragrance.” The emperor then asked Rabbi Yehoshua to give him some of this spice so that his food, too, would have this unique aroma. The Rabbi explained that the spice is effective only for those who observe Shabbat.

My special spice this week might have been a corn chowder and a sour cherry margarita.

Labor Day is an important time. A Shabbat, if you will. I am grateful for the union organizers, many of whom are and were Jewish, to have fought for a sensible work week, allowing for rest, for job safety and job security, for living and liivieable wages, for health benefits and more,

The balance between work and rest is tricky in our modern 24×7 culture. The ability to log on and check email and the news blurs the lines. There are different kinds of rest:

• Physical rest: more sleep, naps, deep breaths, stretching,  (yes, please, I;’ll take that nap!)
• Mental restL music meditation, silence, turning off our brains and seeing what emerges. (perhaps the hardest for me. I woke up writing to do lists!)
• Emotional rest: offloading emotional baggage, taking to a good listener or a therapist
• Social rest:: catching up with an old friend or conversely refraining from socializing
• Creative rest: reading a book, taking a walk in nature (I like this one, anything that slows me down–reading, painting, writing, photography)
• Spiritual rest: doing things that give you a sense of purpose and meaning
• Sensory rest: turning off screens and finding the quiet (No TV up north!, limited wifi so doing this by default!)

For me, if I choose to write, then it is not work. It keeps me grounded. It is one of my spiritual disciplines. Simon and I have often worked at soup kitchens, feeding the hungry or attended a rally for some cause or other. While those activities can be tiring, they are not work because they are something that we enjoy doing together–and they give meaning to our lives.

Do I do those things as a congregational rabbi–for sure sometimes. Do I do them in my work role or my private role? Do I have a private role? What about boundaries?

Enjoy your holiday.One last hamburger on the grill (ah shucks, we grill year round). One last dip in the pool or the lake. One last s’more. And also:  Remember to thank a worker–at the grocery, at a restaurant, if you need to call the police or fire department–or if you find yourself at a hospital today. Once when we were camping in Aaadia, I wanted to bring something home to remind me of how simple life could be. I would up with a heart made of Cadillac Mountain granite. What will I come home with this trip?

I will come back from the northwoods rested (whatever that means), a little sunburned, with a better sense of balance and more aware of my essential self.

For me, this is an optimistic portion. It brings me; it brings us hope.  

Last week we were told again to Listen, O Israel, Sh’ma Yisrael….this is language we know. Pay attention. Wake up! This week we are told to see. 

What are we to see? That there Is both blessing and curse in this world. It doesn’t mean that there will be no bad things that ever happen to us. No rather, there are blessings and curses, which later in Deuteronomy Moses and G-d will enumerate quite clearly.  

We can choose to see the blessing, even in the midst of what may feel like a curse. It isn’t easy. We are told by the rabbis of the Talmud that we should say 100 blessings a day. We should find 100 things we could be grateful for. Sometimes that seems impossible, even if our siddur gives us many blessings. Our services begins with Modah Ani, I am thankful for waking up again. Later in the service we say Modim Anachnu Lach, We thank You….sometimes I stand there I say to myself, just find one thing to be thankful for…and focus on that. It is part of my spiritual practice.  

And while we can focus on just one thing to find as a blessing, to choose that blessing, it can be harder when the world seems to be crashing down around you. That being said, I shy away from language like, “G-d never gives you more than you can bear” or “What lesson is G-d trying to teach you.” Those kind of phrases don’t help someone going through a real crisis.  

And yet, sometimes in the middle of a crisis, it is possible to see the good, to see the blessing. How do we do that?. It can be different for different individuals. Sometimes you can’t find the blessing until months or even years later. That’s OK!  

This portion tells us that there will be no needy amongst us—and then in the very next breath it says but if there are needy we have an obligation to take care of them. I am reminded of Tevye before his solo, “If I Were a Rich Man”, “G-d, it’s no shame to be poor, but it’s no great honor either.”  

Psalms teach us, and we sing in the full Birkat Hamazon, 

Naar hayiti gam zakanti v’lo ra’iti tzaddik neezav v’zaro m’vakesh lachem. 

I was young and I became old but I never saw a righteous person forsaken and his children searching for bread. (Psalms 37:25) 

Sadly, we have all seen people, even children, searching for bread, even in this, the land of plenty. Some Jews won’t even sing this line—both Chabad and Reconstructing Jews. But maybe there is there another choice? Mazon, a Jewish response to hunger, which CKI supports annually, says on their website: 

“There is no invisible line marking the boundaries of need. Hunger has not one face, but multiple. MAZON channels support from the Jewish community to end hunger in every community — a recognition that struggle is universal, and that human connection runs deep. Inspired by Jewish values and ideals, MAZON: A Jewish Response to Hunger is a national organization fighting to end hunger among people of all faiths and backgrounds in the United States and Israel.” 

Mazon is a blessing—and there dedication to helping end food insecurity helps us live out this week’s portion. 

This week Rochelle just chanted again for us her Bat Mitzvah haftarah. We are so proud of her. Her Bat Mtizvah project was to support the Moore Center that works on food insecurity in Marengo. Those needs have only continued to go up during the pandemic and with rising inflation. I know that Food for Greater Elgin has seen a rise in need of 40% in this past year.  

Recently the Northern Illinois Food Bank has moved into a much larger space to handle their rising needs. It was featured on Channel 5 News. What fascinated me was their new t-shirts. Together we thrive. And their slogan. Neighbors. Empowered. The Moore Center, Food for Greater Elgin and the Northern Illinois Food Bank are all blessings. Rochelle, who saw a need—of needy people—and supported the Moore Center is a blessing. 

The last line of the parsha is that we should bring a gift according to the blessing that G-d has bestowed upon us. Literally, a blessing is a gift. At the end of this parsha we learn how to celebrate Passover, with it mtazah, lechem oni, the bread of affliction (and the afflicted) the bread of the poor and humble. We know that our seder begins with the line in the Haggadah, “Let all who are hungry come and eat.” That is the theme of the haftarah—even if you are hungry and have no money come and eat, come and buy bread.  

Continuing, we learn that for Sukkot we should rejoice before G-d. Yes, we should be joyful! We should find ways to be happy, even in the midst of tragedy. The Puritans under Governor WIlliam Bradford knew this. They chose these very verses to host the First Thanksgiving. They celebrated Sukkot, the Festival of Thanksgiving, even tho that first winter had been so rough and the losses so great. They were able to see the blessings even in the midst of what must have felt like curses.  

As we continue to come out of this pandemic we know that not everyone has survived and the loses have been great—whehter health related or economic. The challenge remains to us who did survive to see the blessings. 

Will there continue to be needy people—probably. We have yet to eliminate those economic struggles. 

We have the power to choose between blessing and curse.  

For me, this is an optimistic portion. It brings me; it brings us hope.  

Last week we were told again to Listen, O Israel, Sh’ma Yisrael….this is language we know. Pay attention. Wake up! This week we are told to see. 

What are we to see? That there Is both blessing and curse in this world. It doesn’t mean that there will be no bad things that ever happen to us. No rather, there are blessings and curses, which later in Deuteronomy Moses and G-d will enumerate quite clearly.  

We can choose to see the blessing, even in the midst of what may feel like a curse. It isn’t easy. We are told by the rabbis of the Talmud that we should say 100 blessings a day. We should find 100 things we could be grateful for. Sometimes that seems impossible, even if our siddur gives us many blessings. Our services begins with Modah Ani, I am thankful for waking up again. Later in the service we say Modim Anachnu Lach, We thank You….sometimes I stand there I say to myself, just find one thing to be thankful for…and focus on that. It is part of my spiritual practice.  

And while we can focus on just one thing to find as a blessing, to choose that blessing, it can be harder when the world seems to be crashing down around you. That being said, I shy away from language like, “G-d never gives you more than you can bear” or “What lesson is G-d trying to teach you.” Those kind of phrases don’t help someone going through a real crisis.  

And yet, sometimes in the middle of a crisis, it is possible to see the good, to see the blessing. How do we do that?. It can be different for different individuals. Sometimes you can’t find the blessing until months or even years later. That’s OK!  

This portion tells us that there will be no needy amongst us—and then in the very next breath it says but if there are needy we have an obligation to take care of them. I am reminded of Tevye before his solo, “If I Were a Rich Man”, “G-d, it’s no shame to be poor, but it’s no great honor either.”  

Psalms teach us, and we sing in the full Birkat Hamazon, 

Naar hayiti gam zakanti v’lo ra’iti tzaddik neezav v’zaro m’vakesh lachem. 

I was young and I became old but I never saw a righteous person forsaken and his children searching for bread. (Psalms 37:25) 

Sadly, we have all seen people, even children, searching for bread, even in this, the land of plenty. Some Jews won’t even sing this line—both Chabad and Reconstructing Jews. But maybe there is there another choice? Mazon, a Jewish response to hunger, which CKI supports annually, says on their website: 

“There is no invisible line marking the boundaries of need. Hunger has not one face, but multiple. MAZON channels support from the Jewish community to end hunger in every community — a recognition that struggle is universal, and that human connection runs deep. Inspired by Jewish values and ideals, MAZON: A Jewish Response to Hunger is a national organization fighting to end hunger among people of all faiths and backgrounds in the United States and Israel.” 

Mazon is a blessing—and there dedication to helping end food insecurity helps us live out this week’s portion. 

This week Rochelle just chanted again for us her Bat Mitzvah haftarah. We are so proud of her. Her Bat Mtizvah project was to support the Moore Center that works on food insecurity in Marengo. Those needs have only continued to go up during the pandemic and with rising inflation. I know that Food for Greater Elgin has seen a rise in need of 40% in this past year.  

Recently the Northern Illinois Food Bank has moved into a much larger space to handle their rising needs. It was featured on Channel 5 News. What fascinated me was their new t-shirts. Together we thrive. And their slogan. Neighbors. Empowered. The Moore Center, Food for Greater Elgin and the Northern Illinois Food Bank are all blessings. Rochelle, who saw a need—of needy people—and supported the Moore Center is a blessing. 

The last line of the parsha is that we should bring a gift according to the blessing that G-d has bestowed upon us. Literally, a blessing is a gift. At the end of this parsha we learn how to celebrate Passover, with it mtazah, lechem oni, the bread of affliction (and the afflicted) the bread of the poor and humble. We know that our seder begins with the line in the Haggadah, “Let all who are hungry come and eat.” That is the theme of the haftarah—even if you are hungry and have no money come and eat, come and buy bread.  

Continuing, we learn that for Sukkot we should rejoice before G-d. Yes, we should be joyful! We should find ways to be happy, even in the midst of tragedy. The Puritans under Governor WIlliam Bradford knew this. They chose these very verses to host the First Thanksgiving. They celebrated Sukkot, the Festival of Thanksgiving, even tho that first winter had been so rough and the losses so great. They were able to see the blessings even in the midst of what must have felt like curses.  

As we continue to come out of this pandemic we know that not everyone has survived and the loses have been great—whehter health related or economic. The challenge remains to us who did survive to see the blessings. 

Will there continue to be needy people—probably. We have yet to eliminate those economic struggles. 

We have the power to choose between blessing and curse.  

This is a BIG Shabbat. We just read the 10 Commandments and the Sh’ma and Va’avata. It is also Shjabbat Nachamu—The Sabbat of Comfort” From the spiritual low point of Tisha B’av until the spiritual high point of Rosh Hashanah there are 7 weeks filled with haftarot of consolation, the return of instrumental music and opportunities to rejoice. Really, really rejoice and be comforted. This was a week that seemed to bring very little comfort to many. Whether you are concerned about Salman Rashdie, may he have a full, complete healing. Or climate crisis as we say more flooding in Las Vegas, Scottsdale and Tucson and as we were warned that California could have the most expensive natural disaster with a megaflood while places like Massachusetts and Europe are under severe drought. Or an attack on an FBI office in Cincinnati, or the recent vandalism at Reform and a Masorti congregation in Netanya on Tisha B’av. There is plenty to worry about, to even kvetch about.  

The haftarah begins with these words: Comfort, comfort My people says G-d. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem and tell her that her suffering is over.” 

On a very local level I am concerned about some very serious medical issues that congregants are struggling with. One family had three generations in hospitals yesterday. Their suffering is not over and the mother feels a little like Job. How do we support them adequately? I am concerned about inadequacies in the health care system and access to good, reliable mental health services. I am concerned about Elgin’s exploration of closing the Lord’s Park pool. You will hear more about that as the City Council wrestles with the issues of a shrinking pool of lifegaurds and an aging physical plant. 

We Jews. We learned how to kvetch—most certainly while we were wandering in the desert. And I am good at it too. I’ve even been known to tell people on the phone that I’m kvetching. I know I sound whiny. We even kvetch about the commandments. Why do we have to do them at all? 

This week we read the version of the 10 Commandments that states we are to “keep” or “guard”—or as our translation says “faithfully observe” Shabbat. In Exodus we learn we are to remember the Sabbath day—taken to mean to verbally sanctify it—with kiddush and candles and the signing of “V’shamru”, that reminds us that Shabbat is a sign of the covenant between G-d and the people of Israel for all times. By taking pleasure in Shabbat. 

How do we explain this difference…by saying in Lecha Dodi that “Shamor v’zachor bidibur echad. Remember and Keep were said as one.” This way there is no discrepancy, no mistake in Moses’s reporting of the commandments. While there are 39 Talmudic prohibitions on Shabbat, tied to the 39 categories of work to build the Mishkan which some people find daunting since no one likes to be told no, we are to take comfort and pleasure in Shabbat.  

One of the things we learn from Ahavah Rabbah and Ahavat Olam the prayer that thanks G-d for loving the Jewish people—recited even in the midst of suffering is that those very commandments, rules, laws that G-d gave us precisely as an example of love. Like a loving parent, G-d gave us limits and that too brings us comfort. 

As my friend and colleague. Rabbi Ariann Weitzman reminded her congregation yesterday. “Judaism is not a religion that encourages redemption through suffering.” G-d does not want us to suffer.  Her comments were a jumping off point for me. No, rather, she continued, “We are supposed to really take pleasure in life and lean into comforts.” As she tells her Tot Shabbat group, “We’ve got time to get out all our oys, (go ahead, try it now) but then we give thanks and we give thanks again.” 

That is part of the purpose of Shabbat. We are supposed to pause. To stop and give thanks. To enjoy that special Shabbat spice. To enjoy each other’s company. To experience a palace in time as Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel said, a foretaste of the world to come. 

Ron Wolfson wrote a book—The 7 Questions You’re Asked in Heaven. Five come from the Talmud, one from Reb Zusiya who on his death bed was crying, afraid he would be asked not “Why were not Moses but rather “Why were you not Zusiya. And the last, “Have you seen My Alps.” Why would G-d be asking Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, the intellectual giant of modern Orthodoxy, this question? 

“Soon, I will stand before the Almighty. I will be held answerable to many questions. But, what will I say when I am asked, ‘Shimson, my son, it is true you did many mitzvot, but did you also remember to see My Alps?” 

The explanation is that while we are commanded to keep or guard the mitzvot, we also need to experience pleasure—to enjoy all the Creation that G-d has given us—good food, good company, being outdoors in nature and being wowed by a sunset, a flower, the roaring ocean or the towering mountains of the mountains or the Alps, or the Rockies or the Tetons. It is even encouraged to have sex in the right time and place—a double mitzvah on Shabbat. 

We offer comfort to one another. Judaism commands us for instance to bury the dead and comfort the bereaved. We have a whole system for that. We host shiva minyanim and pray with them. We feed them. We remind them that even in their grief, they are loved. That they are not alone. We might stock their pantries and even tidy up their house as we are leaving. And when we do this, we discover that bringing them comfort brings us comfort too. Some of those traditions were disrupted during COVID and it has extended grief for many families.  

We do similar things for people who are ailing or for happier occasions like when babies are born with baby namings and brises or for weddings. For each of these, people feel that they are a little less alone. We need to relearn how to bring comfort to those who are hurting. We need to relearn how to comfort ourselves. Whether as Rabbi Weitzman said they divide into four categories—loving relationships, engaging with animals and nature, engaging in Jewish practice and finding joy. And I would add finding pleasure. Did you see My Alps?  

What brings you comfort? Family. Good health. A good book. A roof over my head. Parnasa.  

Following Rabbi Wetizman’s lead, this Shabbat and coming week, I’m going to pay special attention to the moments when I feel comforted and comfortable, whether that’s reading a good book, eating something I love fresh from the farmer’s market or Klein’s Farm Stand, snuggling with Caleb, wrapping myself in my tallit or calling a friend while out for a walk, or as she ends,  “knowing that I am loved in a universe that was built out of love. Shabbat shalom, and may it be one of comfort and joy.”  And then I will work to bring comfort to others.

“G-d will do battle for you.” Deuteronomy 3:22 

Today we start the Book of Deuteronomy, Devarim. It is Moses’s swan song, an ethical will if you will. It is Moses as his most reflective. He looks back and begins with some history of the Israelites wandering in the desert, just before they are ready to cross over into the land of Israel.  

As part of this, history we end our portion with this quote, “G-d will do battle for you.” It is meant as encouragement and it fits with “miracles” that the people have seen. The parting of the Sea of Reeds, the drowning of the horses and chariots, the smiting of people who stood in the way.  

Yet this idea leads to the idea that G-d is on our side—and that sense continues throughout our sacred texts: 

• Were it not for the LORD, who was on our side, let Israel now declare, were it not for the LORD, who was on our side when men assailed us, (Psalm 124:1-2) 

• “See, the Sovereign LORD is on my side! Who will declare me guilty? All my enemies will be destroyed like old clothes that have been eaten by moths!” (Isaiah 50:9)  
• “Then my enemies will see that the LORD is on my side. They will be ashamed that they taunted me, saying, “So where is the LORD— that God of yours?” With my own eyes I will see their downfall; they will be trampled like mud in the streets.” (Micah 7:10) 
• “But the LORD stands beside me like a great warrior. Before him my persecutors will stumble. They cannot defeat me. They will fail and be thoroughly humiliated. Their dishonor will never be forgotten.” (Jeremiah 20:11) 

You get the idea. There are plenty of other examples.  

We play this out in our national world too. If we go to war—then G-d will be on our side, right? Later in the Book of Deuteronomy we will learn the rules of engaging in a just war. Those rules are particularly apt this weekend as we struggle with the news coming out of Israel, where 350 missiles have rained down from Gaza. When will it ever end. We continue to pray for peace, shalom. 

When we enter football season, G-d will help us win the individual game, right? Some pray for that outcome. That has never seemed quite kosher, proper to me. Some modify those hopes and dreams by praying “May the better team win.” Or praying for no injuries.  

But then when something bad happens—we go the other direction. Questions abound. Why is G-d punishing me? Where is G-d? I feel so alone.  These are questions I get asked frequently, even this week, more than once, by more than one person.  Personally, I don’t believe that G-d punishes us. But each of you needs to come up with your own answers.  

These are the fundamental questions that we need to wrestle with and that may provide meaning ultimately in our lives. I have liked the book When Bad Things Happen to Good People. Note, the title is When Bad things Happen, not why. Explaining the why isn’t always possible. What Kushner does in the book is limit G-d’s power. G-d is loving. G-d is all knowing and beneficent but G-d gave humanity free will and we make choices that cause bad—and G-d can’t stop it because G-d gave us free will. That works for me most of the time. It is harder for me to reach this conclusion with natural disasters, another inflection point when people ask the question, why?  

Rabbi Toba Spitzer’s recent book G-d is Here begins to answer some of this question.  You will hear more about this book as we get closer to the High Holy Days.  

She says, “The religious imagination thrives on the human yearning to enter into emotional experience with some force vaster than ourselves.” 

She’s right. We want to feel connected. We want to know that we are not alone—even in the middle of the night when life might feel bleakest. We want to know that our lives matter.  

She continues that “Anthropologist Barbara J King suggested that religion evolved in our prehistory as a expression for a fundamental trait she calls belongingness—the undeniable reality that humans of all ages in all societies thrive in relation to others.” 

What if that connection frays? That is part of what has happened during the pandemic. There is something I believe is wrong in our society when we put the desires of the individual ahead of the needs of the community. When we lose touch with our friends and family and our religious communities. When we assume someone else will do it—whatever it is. There is a great series of videos developed by Temple Sholom in Cincinnati, even before the pandemic. BE SOMEONE ELSE By TEMPLE SHOLOM 

It actually isn’t Someone Else’s job. It is all of our jobs to make people feel welcome. To help people feel connected. To find community. To sustain community. To feed the hungry. To visit the sick. To take care of the widow and the orphan, just like our Haftarah this morning warns.  

We crave connection—to others and to G-d. When G-d created man, G-d then almost immediately created woman saying that it is not good for man to be alone.  

Like the quotes at the beginning that say that G-d is on our side, there are plenty of quotes to tell us that G-d is with us—a slightly different, and in my mind more positive message.  

Psalm 121 https://www.sefaria.org/Psalms.121.7?lang=bi is my favorite for that. It has echoes in the last verse of Adon Olam.  

“Into G-d’s hand I commit my spirit. When I sleep and when I wake. And with my spirit, my body, Adonai is with me, I have no fear.” 

We are not alone.  

I wrestle with Tisha B’av. For three weeks, beginning on the 17th of the Hebrew month of Tamuz we mourn the destruction of Jerusalem and the Holy Temples more than 2000 years ago. We mark the end of the Bar Kochba Revolt in 130 CE. We mourn the exile of Jews from England in 1290 CE and we mourn the expulsion of the Jews from Spain in 1492 CE. It is the saddest day on the Jewish calendar. 

We fast. We don’t wear leather. We sit on low stools. We read the Book of Lamentations. Alas! Woe is me! Oy vey! All for things that happened a long, long time ago. 

There is so much grief in this world. We need a container for it. We need to mourn. But quite frankly I don’t want to go back to animal sacrifices in centralized worship in Jerusalem. The rabbis of the Talmud, had their “Yavneh” moment, in exile in Babylonia. They re-invented Judaism. They pivoted from sacrifice to a religion of study, prayer and deeds of lovingkindness. Always with the hope that one day we would return to life as we knew it.  

Our traditional liturgy preserves that hope. “Accept the prayer of Your people Israel as lovingly as it is offered. Restore worship to Your sanctuary, and may the worship of your people Israel always be acceptable to You.” (page 36 Siddur Sim Shalom) “Help us turn to You, Adonai and we shall return. Renew our lives as in days of old.” (page 154 Siddur Sim Shalom) and the Musaf service for Shabbat which prays for a return to the land and to a return of our ancestors special Shabbat sacrifices. (page 158, Siddur Sim Shalom). Here in musaf there is an alternative reading that prays for the day when there shall be no more violence in the land or destruction within our borders. How relevant is that this week as once again missiles fly over Jerusalem this Tisha B’av? 

Why was the Second Temple destroyed? The rabbis of the Talmud teach because of Sinat Chinam, baseless hatred. Jew against Jew. A lack of respect. A lack of lovingkindness. A lack of love.  Rav Kook, the first Chief Rabbi in Palestine and then the State of Israel taught that the antidote to Sinat Chinam is Ahavat Chinam, baseless love. To quote an old song, “What the world needs now, is love, sweet love.” Lord, we need it. NOW.  

Many people, because it is in the heat of summer never even have heard of Tisha B’av, let alone observe it. My first experiences were in Israel in 1977 on a summer youth trip. It was haunting. But because we have returned to the land of Israel people only fasted until noon. At summer camp, kids may have had instructional swim but not free swim. No movies. No instrumental music.  

Every year we debate whether to hold a Tisha B’av service. We did again this year, totally on Zoom. It was well attended for us. We read the five chapters of the Book of Lamentations interspersed with appropriately mournful a cappella music.  

We looked at some modern poems.  

https://www.ritualwell.org/ritual/sackcloth-poem-tisha-b%E2%80%99av  

bclid=IwAR2IsSW6qdNSapIkFAs_V0OhRTLMwQu9t5zF2fh34mWsyCSVZ2eC-VtNtAY 

Eicha, a Lament for the Earth by Rabbi Tamara Cohen 

We read some of Betsey Stone’s new book, Refua Shlema. 

And we had a discussion. If, like the rabbis of old, we are on the cusp of something new coming out of this pandemic, what is it that you want from your community? What will Judaism look like for our children and grandchildren. How do we survive?  

And how do we get there? 

Then I taught about STAR goals, Thie are goals that are “specific, truly doable, active and relevant.” We added that they needed to be respectful as well.  

The discussion was rich.  

People mourned the loss of innocence and trust. Maybe before the pandemic we were too trusting and naïve. We can’t take everything for granted or assume that people share the same values. We need to nurture each other and take care of each other and not just look for someone to blame. We need to find ways to help everyone. We need to realize that many are stretched to the limits and that our health care system is breaking. We were a society of abundance and now we are seeing that there are shortages—not just in health care but with workers across the board. We need more patience. We need more compassion and less self-centeredness. We need to work for the common good. 

This did not get me where I was trying to go in terms of our own unique community but it was meaningful for the people who participated. 

There is plenty to mourn on this Tisha B’av. My STAR goal was to write to our city councilors about the possible permanent closing of a city pool. Ask me what that has to do with Tisha B’av and I will be happy to tell you. I have done that writing already. What will you do TODAY to make the world a better place?  

Although many traditional Jews do not read Pirka Avot on Tisha B’av, this quote is apt. “Ours is not to finish the task, neither are we free to ignore it.” Find one thing to do. Something you are passionate about. And do it.

I wanted people to leave with a sense of hope. That the world can be better. We ended with Rabbi Menachem Creditor’s Olam Chesed Yibeneh. I must build this world with love.  

https://rabbidavid.bandcamp.com/track/olam-chesed-yibaneh