A woman of valor, who can find? For her price is far above rubies.
She looks well to the ways of her household, and eats not the bread of idleness.
She gives food to her household and a portion to her workers.
She stretches out her hands to the poor, and she reaches out her hands to the needy.
She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the law of kindness is on her tongue.
Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she laughs at the time to come.
Her children rise up and call her blessed, her husband also, and he praises her saying,“Many daughters have done valiantly but you exceed them all.”
Grace is deceitful and beauty is vain, but a woman who reveres the Lord, she shall be praised.
Give her the fruit of her hands, and let her works praise her in the gates.
Proverbs 31

And the years of the life of Sarah were 100 years and 20 years and 7 years. And Sarah died. (Genesis 23:1)

That is how this morning’s Torah portion starts.

We are then told that Abraham came from Beer Sheva to Kiryat Arba, now Hebron, to eulogize her. I had planned to talk about this before the tragic events of last week. To be clear, Shabbat interrupts the public mourning, but this has been a week of mourning. So for me—in the middle of a class prayer—prayer seems to be an act of defiance and courage. We are here. We are still here. And with the numbers of people who have reached out to us this week, me personally and to the congregation, I have hope too.

So here we are today, talking about a eulogy, after a week of mourning. I can imagine that these very words were said over and over again in Pittsburgh this week.

There are actually two deaths in this chapter. At the very end of the portion, Abraham also dies. And again, we see people coming together to mourn. Isaac and Ishmael both of whom had near death experiences because of their father, came back together again to bury him. It is a model we have seen play out all across our country this week.

We started this conversation last night. A woman of valor. I read this at many funerals and memorial services. It is a picture of the ideal Jewish woman. We did not read it at my mother’s funeral—whose yahrzeit we commemorate this weekend. She felt it didn’t fit her feminism. I always disagreed.

A woman of valor represents a strong woman, a woman of courage. A woman like my mom—who my cousin described her as one of the first women libbers, who had a college degree and worked as a research scientist on diabetes. A woman who was on the front lines of civil rights. Who ran for political office (and lost) in Evanston. Who raised two children. Took care of her husband. Who was a Girl Scout leader. Who bought and sold property. Who owned her own business. Who ate not the bread of idleness.

But these same words, whether you see them as feminist or not, while in officially in Proverbs, are the very words according to the midrash, that Abraham used to eulogize Sarah. (Midrash Tanchuma, Chayei Sarah 4)

Let’s think about it. She had courage, valor, when she left her household and traveled with Abraham to the land that G-d would show them. She looked well to the ways of her household and gave a portion of food to her workers, to her maidens. She raced to feed her guests. She laughed at the time to come when she was promised a child.

The rabbis in the midrash teach this strange linguistic construction at the beginning of our chapter. She was 100 years and 20 years and 7 years. Why repeat the and years? No English teacher with a red pen would let students do that! Since we are taught there are no extra words in the Torah they must come to teach us something. “When she was twenty, she was as seven for beauty…when she was one hundred, she was as twenty for sin. (Genesis Rabbah 58:1)

Later in Genesis Rabbah we learn that Abraham and Sarah were so respected, so important that “all the inhabitants of the land locked their doors and came to pay their respects to Sarah, (by accompanying her funeral). And that all those “who accompanied Sarah to her final resting place merited to do so for Abraham as well, so that they could also be present at Abraham’s funeral (38 years later). (Genesis Rabbah 62:3)

If we were to write our own modern version of Eishet Chayil, what would you include? Who is a woman of valour.

We said:

A woman of valour—one who thinks for herself, who stands up for herself and speaks up. Who speaks with kindness. Who achieves a work-life balance. Who is creative. Who has the choice to work or not, finding meaningful employment. Who makes time for her family, her community. Who nurtures her intellectual self and her emotional self and her spiritual self. Who is economically secure and gives tzedakah.

Then we read a modern version of Eishet Chayil written by Ahava Lilith EverShine. https://ritualwell.org/ritual/todays-woman-valor

Eishet Chayil is also part of the traditional Friday night table service at home. The husband reads it to his wife. Last night we did that here—and the reading that now many wives read to their husbands. We blessed the candles, “made” Kiddush, blessed the children and sang Shalom Aleichem. It is part of how we build shalom bayit, peace of the house. So sorely needed, especially this week. Our homes are to be a mikdash me’at, a little sanctuary. Our homes, through the Shabbat table service is to mirror the way Shabbat was celebrated in the Holy Temple. And bring us peace. So shalom bayit is a critical value in the Jewish people.

However, like every other socio-ecomonic, educational, ethnic, racial group, there is Domestic Violence in the Jewish community too.

Yes, there is domestic violence in the Jewish community. For some that is shocking.

Sadly, the statistics are the same for every socio-ecomonic, ethnic, religious, educational class. We talk about 1 in 4 women will experience violence against them sometime in their life time. 1 in 4. 25% That means that someone sitting in this very room just might be a survivor.

There are resources specific to the Jewish community—and right here in Elgin. The Community Crisis Center. Shalva. Jewish Women International. You may have noticed the posters in the bathrooms. Both the men’s and the women’s. If you are woman or a man—because men can be victims too—reach out. You are not alone. Help is available.

In light of the #MeToo movement we felt that this was an especially important message to convey this year. It has been a long time passion of mine. In May I was tapped by the Crisis Center to be on a panel about #MeToo and Spirituality. Next week I am participating on a panel to address sexual harassment in the Jewish workplace, as an example. Maureen works full time on this issue.

But domestic abuse, family violence, sexual assault is not new. Sarah had her own #meToo moments…when she was told to pretend to be Abraham’s sister—not his wife. Desperate people sometimes do desperate things. There was a great famine in the land and Abraham and Sarah went down to Egypt to find food. They were refugees. They were desperate. They Her beauty was indeed noticed and she was offered up to the Pharaoh in Egypt as one of his wives in his harem. Before he actually takes possession of her, the ruse is revealed and she is returned to Abraham.

The continuation of this week’s portion includes finding a wife for Isaac. Part of what we learn in this long, repetitious chapter, is that women are required to consent. Rebecca has to say “Yes” to her family and to Abraham’s servant. She has to opt in to go. Yes, consent is that early. Then the rest of the story reads like a Hollywood script. She arrives on a camel. Isaac looks up. Sees her from afar. The camel bends his knee (watch that verb—the camel isn’t blessing!). She falls off the camel. He takes her to Sarah’s tent. He loves her. The first mention of love in the Bible. And he is comforted on the death of his mother. We’ve come full circle.

Later tonight is the first performance of Rosenstrasse. It is again about strong women. They step out of their comfort zone. They speak up—I’m not sure that the law of kindness is on their tongue—and they do it while taking care of their jobs, their children and their households. Spoiler alert: They take on the Nazi Gestapo, and win. Managing to rescue their husbands, saving 1700 lives. They were true Women of Valor.

I can’t imagine a more poignant way to mark my mother’s 10^th yahrzeit than by watching my daughter produce this play. My mother’s legacy lives on in the strength of my daughter. I am so very, very proud.

There has been a lot written since the tragedy in Pittsburgh. I have written other pieces as well. But I was just asked to do this for the Washington Post. Where was G-d? Here is my answer…

Last week on Monday I received a call from the police department to attend a death scene as a chaplain. You never know quite what you are walking into. Tragically, this was a 16 year old who died from leukemia having just completed his last round of chemo. The mother was understandably upset. She kept leaning over her boy, “Breathe. Just breathe.” It was heart wrenching. Gut wrenching.

She was very, very angry with G-d. I understand that. And my G-d can take it. But I don’t believe that G-d caused it. And I don’t believe that G-d needed another little (he wasn’t quite so little) angel. It is OK to be angry with G-d.

Where was G-d?

On this past Shabbat, Jews around the world read the story of Abraham and Sarah and their wide-open tent to receive visitors. It is a story of audacious hospitality. The haftarah, the section from the prophetic books, tells another story of audacious hospitality. Chapter 4 of II Kings, tells another story, where the rich woman prepares an upper chamber for her guest, Elisha. He promises her that like Sarah before, she will conceive and bear a son. And she does. But one day, that son had a horrible headache, sat in her lap, and died. She summoned the holy man Elisha, and he was brought back to life.

This past weekend, just as we were reading these very words, others were dying in a synagogue in Pittsburgh. Murdered while praying. For being Jews. Again the question.

Where was G-d?

This week the Washington Post asked just that question. I decided I would try to write, between my own tears and my own anger. Just 800 words.

Where was G-d?

G-d was with Cecil and David Rosenthal as they practiced their own audacious hospitality, wishing everyone who entered Tree of Life Synagogue, Shabbat Shalom, a Sabbath of peace.

G-d was with the first responders whose voices you can hear calmly answering the dispatchers questions—and those calm dispatchers responding. I know, I spend time in our own communications department at EPD where it is often eerily calm, including when I called in on Saturday morning.

G-d was with the doctors and nurses, some of whom were Jewish who treated the victims, including the shooter, even has he hurled anti-semetic rhetoric.

G-d was with the wider community who showed up, on no notice, often bearing flowers or baked goods or a hug or a note.

G-d was with every preacher who preached. Every person who stood silent in a vigil. Every one who lit a candle or sang a song. Hiney Ma Tov–how good and how pleasant it is to dwell together. Olam chesed yibaneh. Build this world on love.

G-d was in our tears and our screams and our rage.

After 9/11 I was asked this very question. I was living in a suburb of Boston and some of the victims were my neighbors, my co-workers, my friends. How could G-d let this happen?

Where was G-d?

I learned this very lesson from my UCC minister colleague, Rev. Larry Zimmerman. G-d wept with us.

G-d didn’t cause those planes to crash. People did. So like Rabbi Harold Kushner who wrote When Bad Things Happen to Good People, I believe that G-d gave us free will. Once we choose to do something evil, G-d, having given us free will, can’t then step in and stop it.

Most rabbis changed their carefully crafted High Holiday sermons that year. I did too. On the first day of Rosh Hashanah we read the story of Hagar. She cries out to G-d, “Don’t let me look on while my child dies.” G-d hears her cries and the cries of the lad. G-d opens her eyes and she finds a spring of water.

This story, too ,was part of the portion we read on Shabbat last week.

We all need to open our eyes and find another way. Another way that may have been there all along, like that well of water of Hagar. We need to keep trying, again and again and again.

In this case, we need to find the wellspring of love. “Love your neighbor as yourself.” “Love the stranger in your gates.” Over and over and over again this is the message. 36 times in the Torah, that very Tree of Life as the Torah itself is called, it tells us to love the stranger. That is where G-d is. In acts of baseless love combatting baseless hatred. Who will join me…because that is where we will find G-d.

Vows. Promises. Spoken and unspoken. Promises Made. Promised Kept. Promises broken. Tonight is about the promises we make to ourselves, to our families, to our communities and to our G-d.

Since Rosh Hashanah, we have been talking about covenant. The question that tonight begs is how do we repair a covenant? What happens if the promises in a covenant go awry? And since we are all human in this room, they surely will, since none of us, least of all me, is perfect.

“Since Yom Kippur is kind of like the Super Bowl of the Jewish calendar, most rabbis try to cram a whole year’s worth of sermons into one big, ‘best of’ sermon. I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to talk about the meaning of God, or the situation in Israel, or the status of Jews around the world. I’d like to talk about something a little more personal. A wise man once told me that no rabbi can save anyone; he can only offer himself as a guide to other people. For a while now, you’ve let me be your guide. You’ve shared your lives with me. You’ve explored your faith with me. You’ve put your trust in me, but I haven’t been sharing my life with you.”

I hope I have been your guide. You may recognize those words. My all time favorite Yom Kippur sermon given by Rabbi Ben Stiller in the movie Keeping the Faith. Three inseparable friends from eighth grade get reunited as adults in New York City. A rabbi, a priest and now a high-powered woman business executive. It begins, in a bar, like a joke. But it develops into much more than who gets the girl. It talks about shared vision, shared “ministry”, interfaith dating, the transition of leadership between generations. I show a clip of it to every Bar Mitzvah student starting his lessons—with parent permission. And I dream of when our own choir or Mishmosh can sing Ein Keloheinu like the Harlem Gospel Choir—or maybe Second Baptist.

Yom Kippur is personal. Highly personal. For each of us.

The Moth Radio Hour recently had a story on about a young woman, Tig, and her stepfather after the sudden death of her mother. As a child, she seemed to think he had no real emotion. When she was young and cleaning her room, he would confiscate the toys, put them in a trash bag, and she would have to do chores to buy them back. Harsh, yes, she said, and totally fair. He wanted to mold her into the person he was. But her mother believed the most important thing was for her to be happy. Even dropping out of high school she was still proud. Eventually she found a career in stand up comedy. Her stepfather thought her career was a waste of her time and her intelligence. She should be a doctor, or lawyer, or go to business school. A decade ago she was on the phone with her mother. They were arguing and her mother handed to phone to her stepfather who said her mother doesn’t want to talk to you and hung up.

This March, her phone rang again.

“Parents” came up as the caller ID. She assumed it was her mother calling to wish her a happy birthday. But it was her stepfather, who had only ever called twice, telling her mother had fallen and hit her head and had massive brain hemorrhaging. She would never be able to talk to her mother again. She believes, she knows that her mother would give anything to come back and say that she loves her. There would be zero fighting. There would only be I love yous and I’m sorrys.

After the funeral during the long car ride home, her stepfather said, “Tig I want to talk to you about something. I want to talk to you about when I hurt your feelings when I told you to go to business school. It was hurtful to say that it was a waste of your time and your intelligence and he started to cry.

I was wrong and I wanted to apologize for that. I didn’t ever understand you as a child. I didn’t get you at all. I projected onto you my life and my route. I’m realizing that it is not the child’s responsibility to teach the parent who they are. It’s the parents responsibility to learn who the child is. And I didn’t do that. And I’m sorry.” Now they are both crying. He continued, “I realize, the only thing you should be doing is comedy.” And she said that she didn’t realize that she how desperately she needed to hear that.

https://player.themoth.org/#/?actionType=ADD_AND_PLAY&storyId=911

What do you need to hear this Yom Kippur?

In asking others, this is a partial list: (SLOWLY)

• That you are loved
• That you are forgiven
• That there is hope
• That the world is going to be OK—for us, for our children, for our grandchildren
• That someone is proud of you
• That what you did made a difference
• That we can reconnect with G-d, with each other, with ourselves
• That we can find balance
• That you are OK…right now. Just the way you are.

How do we hear those words? How many times do we need to hear those words? What do we do when we have caused damage, whether we know it or not, like the stepfather.

Our Torah portion tomorrow gives us a recipe for living. More of the keys to the covenant. We call the text Kedoshim, the Holiness Code. It tells us that we should be holy because G-d is holy. It tells us we should not put a stumbling block before the blind or curse the deaf, that we should not stand idly by while our neighbor bleeds, that we should leave our corners of the field, that we should treat everyone fairly, that we should have just weights and measures

Yet, there is one verse that seems out of place.

It tells us that we should “reprove your kinsman” (Leviticus 19:17) but then it goes on to say you shall not hate you kinsfolk in your heart. You shall not incur any guilt because of them. You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge. Love your neighbor as your self.”

How do we do this? How do we do both, not hold a grudge and offer a loving rebuke or reproach? How do we correct someone when we see someone doing something wrong—or maybe even causing harm to themselves or others? How do we love our neighbor, our fellow, our friend?

It’s simple no? Maybe not. Maybe that is why Yom Kippur comes every year. Maybe we need to try again every year.

The answer seems to be with compassion.

How do you give a rebuke? With love.

Rabbi Rachel Cowen, of blessed memory and only very recently, we are still in the shloshim, 30 day mourning period for her, taught in her book Wise Aging:

In Proverbs 28: 23, we are told, “One who rebukes a person shall in the end find more favor than one who flatters with the tongue.” In the Talmud, we hear from two of the sages: “Rabbi Yosi bar Chanina said: ‘Rebuke leads to love… Any love that does not include rebuke is not really love.’ Reish Lakish said: ‘Rebuke leads to peace… any peace that does not include rebuke is not really peace’” (Genesis Rabbah 54: 3).   (Kindle Locations 2417-2418-2420).

Rabbi Esther Adler refers to this as “sacred nagging” and sees it as a sign of love. “If I decide that there is no point in raising the issue because I won’t be heard or because ‘she’ll never change anyway,’ I am writing that person off, forgetting that she, too, is created in the image of God.” But the book of Proverbs (9: 8) also advises caution, “Do not rebuke a scoffer, for he will hate you; reprove a wise man and he will love you.” (Kindle Locations 2423-2427).

A tochachah, then, can be read as if it were actually two Hebrew words, toch ahavah, which translates as “inside love” or “from a place of love.” (Kindle Locations 2434-2435). It is a deep love and expansiveness of spirit and a risk taking that can often open you up to new possibilities.

Perfect for this season of Rosh Hashanah, the head of the year, with its double entrendre of a new change, since shanah means both year and change.

This summer there was a delightful documentary, “Won’t you be my neighbor” Mr. Rogers had just the right amount of compassion. He understood some of these basic truths.

He said, “Forgiveness is a strange thing. It can sometimes be easier to forgive our enemies than our friends. It can be hardest of all to forgive people we love. Like all of life’s important coping skills, the ability to forgive and the capacity to let go of resentments most likely take root very early in our lives.

He said in an interview quoting one of his books “One thing that evil cannot stand is forgiveness”. Then he left a page blank , because it takes a lot of work, as he said to think about this. He’s right. There is a lot to think about.

That’s why we are here today. To begin to think about these topics deeply. To begin to understand how to do this whole teshuvah thing with grace and compassion. And in the process find love and peace.

Forgiveness is another one of those signs of the covenant, another key. You might remember on Rosh Hashanah when I talked about pitchers and catchers being in a sacred relationship. So are teams and fans. Sometimes that trust gets broken.

Now it might be risky to use an example from the Cubs in a congregation that is divided between Cubs and Sox…but I was struck by Steve Bartman’s words:

“Although I do not consider myself worthy of such an honor, I am deeply moved and sincerely grateful to receive an official Chicago Cubs 2016 World Series Championship ring. I am fully aware of the historical significance and appreciate the symbolism the ring represents on multiple levels. My family and I will cherish it for generations. Most meaningful is the genuine outreach from the Ricketts family, on behalf of the Cubs organization and fans, signifying to me that I am welcomed back into the Cubs family and have their support going forward. I am relieved and hopeful that the saga of the 2003 foul ball incident surrounding my family and me is finally over…Moreover, I am hopeful this ring gesture will be the start of an important healing and reconciliation process for all involved.”

https://wgntv.com/2017/07/31/steve-bartman-to-receive-2016-chicago-cubs-world-series-championship-ring/

Welcomed back. He has returned. He has been allowed to return. That’s teshuvah.

For five weeks, some of us have been studying deeply the Book of Jonah which we will read as a community tomorrow afternoon. Jonah, a reluctant prophet, gives us a glimpse of what it means to be offered a second chance. Or a third or a fourth. We will talk more about Jonah tomorrow but for tonight—we know, because of Jonah, that we all get second chances.

This includes our children—and their children. They get second and third and fourth chances too.

Rachel Cowan said that, sometimes, “we will ask ourselves why: If they (the children) are the guarantors, why do we still sometimes feel like we should be the guardians? What ego investment do we have in what remains of our role as parents? Are we reluctant to relinquish our role in their upbringing because whatever comes next for us is so ill-defined?   (Kindle Locations 1680-1682).

Just like Tig learned, “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 see how easy it is to intervene too much, and on the other side to fail to step in when help is genuinely needed. It may feel like a delicate balance to turn adulthood over to our children, (Kindle Locations 1677-1680).

So how do we ask for forgiveness without it seeming to be disingenuous. Bruce Feiler, who wrote Walking the Bible, the November book group book, wrote an article in the New York Times about forgiveness, that includes four steps:

1. Admit vulnerability. Like the tochacha above, you need to notice that something is broken. You have to accept responsibility for your own role in causing others pain.
2. The apologize. Really, really apologize. Not a saccharin, sweet kind. Not one that says, “I’m sorry you are upset.” You are not owning responsibility. Not like the coach of Ohio State did recently in a news conference, “My apology is not for turning my back on domestic violence,” Meyer said.

https://www.cbssports.com/college-football/news/urban-meyer-reiterates-apology-for-courtney-smith-says-he-didnt-intentionally-try-to-delete-texts/

We all know an empty apology when we hear one.

3. Try instead simply: I’m sorry because my actions or my words hurt you. Most of us don’t know how to fix relationships that we have broken. That’s what tonight is about. Learning to fix, to repair our relationships.
4. Then ask. You really have to ask. Ask for forgiveness. Say the words. Don’t assume everything is better and that they have forgiven you. Then don’t repeat the mistake. When confronted with the same options, don’t do it again.

https://www.nytimes.com/2015/09/27/fashion/how-to-forgive-in-four-steps.html

Sometimes forgiveness isn’t possible. Sometimes we seek or offer forgiveness from people who have died or that through time or distance we are no longer connected to. Sometimes the hurt is too deep.

So there is an important caution. Rabbi Chana Leslie Glazer reminds us that we all know that sometimes it is not so easy to forgive. It could be our own stubbornness or spite. But sometimes it goes deeper. The work of Teshuvah doesn’t mean that we tolerate or overlook unacceptable behavior from someone especially if that is abusive behavior.

Forgiving is not forgetting. Forgiving can only happen once a person is safe. Sometimes that requires not being with the person who has hurt you. Sometimes, it can’t happen immediately. There needs to be trust. And confidence that the behavior won’t happen again. It might mean that this can’t happen on its own, as part of some formula we recite at services. It may require outside help. Talking with a counselor or a therapist.

Story from Yom Kippur Readings from Rachel Naomi Remen, MD who wrote Kitchen Table Wisdom. She tells a story of hearing a prominent rabbi talk on Yom Kippur talk about forgiveness. He began by taking his infant daughter from his wife’s arms and bringing her onto the bimah. He then began his rather traditional and somewhat boring sermon. The baby girl smiled and everyone’s heart melted. She patted him on the check with her tiny hands. He smiled fondly at her and continued with his customary dignity. She reached for his tie and put in her mouth. She grabbed his nose and the whole congregation chuckled. He said, “Think about it. Is there anything she can do that you would not forgive her? Heads nodded in agreement. She grabbed his glasses. Everyone laughed. He waited for silence and then said, “When does that stop. When does it get hard to forgive. At three? At seven? At sixteen? At forty five? How old does someone have to be before you forget that everyone is a child of God?” I would add, created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of God, with the divine spark inside. Naomi added that for her, God’s forgiveness was easy to understand but that personal forgiveness was difficult. If we are supposed to be like God and follow in God’s footsteps, isn’t this the message? It is not a lowering of standards. It is being in a family relationship.

So I will tell you tonight, so that I hope you can hear me:

• You are loved
• You are forgiven
• There is hope
• The world is going to be OK—for us, for our children, for our grandchildren
• Someone is proud of you
• What you did made a difference
• We can reconnect with G-d, with each other, with ourselves
• We can find balance
• You are OK…right now. Just the way you are.

Then when we get to that final shofar blast, we will be ready to face tomorrow cleansed. We will be ready to face the new year free.

The community we build here at CKI needs to be a place, a safe non-judgmental space where all of our members and our guests can feel that way. Then it will be a shanah tovah, a sweet new year. May we each be sealed for a blessing.

I began my Friday night d’var Torah in a different way. Here is a box. A box of rainbow colored wooden blocks. Your job is to build a tower, or more than one, as tall as you can, without talking. The building commenced. Alliances were formed. Three towers emerged. Some people were actively engaged. Some just hung around the edges not sure what we were doing. In the end, one tower was the tallest and one collapsed as they desperately tried to make it even bigger.

What did just happen there? We learned about language, about cooperation, about individualism and community, about competition. We learned about the Tower of Babel and some of the implications for today.

The Tower of Babel story is in the third triennial reading. This year. It doesn’t get as much play as Noah and the Ark and the Flood. But maybe they are linked in some important ways.

It seems to me that they are both about repair. Repair of our relationships. With others, with G-d, with the earth.

This weekend at CKI we had Shabbat evening services, Shabbat morning services with a Bar Mitzvah and then Hebrew School with a pet blessing for Shabbat Noah. Lots of energy.

About the Tower of Babel. We learned that G-d came down (from where?) and saw what the people were doing. All the people, all of humanity. They were trying to build a tower as high as the sky. Where? Why? Not clear. Maybe it was a competition. Maybe it was to see what they could see. Maybe it was to attack G-d. The Targum Yerushalmi says that the tower was to be capped off with a statue of a man holding a sword.

In any case, G-d decides that this building project is not good. So “confounds” their language. Now there are 70 languages. Usually, we think the Tower of Babel story is yet another story of G-d losing patience with G-d’s Creation and trying to destroy it. Those “uppity” people, trying to draw too close to G-d. But what if this is really an example of G-d’s desire for diversity? What if this is an argument that we are better together, than apart, but only to a point?

It seems there is a tension in Judaism between universalism and particularlism. Are we the chosen people, and if so chosen for what? To be a kingdom of priests and a holy nation? To be a light to the nations? Again, for what? So that as the prophet promised, “On that day the Lord shall be one and G-d’s name shall be one.”

But back up. Here, in this week’s text, right after G-d promises to never destroy the world again with a flood, right after the sign of the covenant, the rainbow, high in the sky, sign of that covenant, G-d doesn’t like people getting too close. G-d doesn’t want to war with people. G-d doesn’t want to be challenged. And even more…G-d doesn’t want the people to care more about the resources for building this tower than they care for the people building the tower.

How is that? In one of our earliest midrashim it explains that “If a person were to fall and die, no one would notice him; but if even a single brick were to fall, they would sit and cry, “Woe unto us, for when will another brick be brought up in its stead.” (Pirke de Rabbi Eliezar 24)

Winning at any cost caused our play towers to crumble. We still have issues with building safety.

Just this week, two construction workers were seriously injured in Evanston unloading steel beams with a crane. One died at the hospital.

Just this week, the United States faced another hurricane. It is hard to reconcile this powerful storm with G-d’s promise to never destroy the world again by flood. Where is the rainbow we need now?

Are these powerful storms a punishment from G-d? Some theologians would say so. Rather, it seems more likely that we humans have a role in them. As climate change continues to be proven and the waters of the ocean heat up, we get stronger and stronger storms. Also just this week, we learned in a well researched IPCC report of the UN that we have until 2040 to make a real, lasting difference in reversing these effects of climate change. Widely reported in the press, the most fascinating was from Wharton Business School, because of its lasting economic impact. http://knowledge.wharton.upenn.edu/article/climate-change-report-ipcc/

And recently, as recently as me writing these very words, even Trump has concluded that climate change is not a hoax. https://www.apnews.com/029c37e1c3b94f0490e8a84b2bd9f21f

Living near the coast in Massachusetts, every year or so, another house or two perched on an ocean bluff, would fall into the waves below, a victim of rising waters and sand erosion. Who wouldn’t want to build with those beautiful views of an Atlantic sunrise?

The building of the Tower of Babel, the oppression of workers doing the building, now as then, and the need to build our cities so close to the water’s edge. All revolve around one issue. Hubris. Pride cometh before a fall. The fall of a tower. The fall of steel beams. The fall of beautiful oceanside housing. Recognizing our pride demands us to repair our relationships. With G-d. With each other. With the earth. We were not put here to “subdue” the earth as some translations say, but to partner with G-d to be caretakers of the earth.

In our story today, G-d comes down (from where?) and looks and sees what the people are doing, and with the consultation of the heavenly courts, decides to confound the arrogance of “oneness” and divide the world into seventy languages. Language becomes a babel, a confusion. It is where the word Babylon comes from.

The rabbinic sage Ibn Ezra (1089-1167) says that the phrase “one people” means “one religion”. As Rabbi Huberman taught, “He worried that one set of beliefs could lead to extremism and zealotry. And so, in part, to prevent a monolithic humanity from believing it was more omnipotent than God, diversity was woven into the very fabric of creation.”

That diversity is important. In building a tower. In building a community. In building CKI where we even have a plank in our vision statement that says we embrace diversity. And on the football field. There are plenty of examples—not often enough of the team that allows someone to play with them who is differently abled. Those are the stories that make the news. They tug at our heart strings.

But it takes everyone pulling together—whatever language they speak, whatever opinions they have, whatever abilities they have to make you successful. There is a popular saying that there is no I in Team. That is part of what we learn here. If ego gets in the way, the tower falls. This portion is about balance. Between sun and rain, between right and wrong, between universalism and particularism, between the community and the individual. What G-d is demanding is that we be part of the team—in order to receive that covenant of G-d’s peace and friendship.

Our Bar Mitzvah student taught us powerfully, that this Briti Shalom, “My Covenant of Peace” comes when we have friends, when we are part of a community, when we are not lonely. That’s when we achieve friendship and peace. He taught us that while Noah put all the animals on the ark to care for them, part of our covenant today is to take care of all of the earth, because the earth is the ark. Both of those teachings were new and he got to speak as one of the speakers at the high holidays about covenant.

Last week we learned a powerful genealogy from Adam to Noah. Noah was a righteous man in his generation. This portion gives us the genealogy from Noah to Abraham who was a righteous man. Our Bar Mitzvah family on both his father’s side and his mother’s side are descendants of priests, cohanim. Some laugh at that distinction today because how do we know. And in truth we don’t. However, the Torah teaches us that we, as Jews, are to be a kingdom of priests and a holy nation to be a light to the nations. In that way we are all priests today. It was then my honor to give him the priestly benediction, the prayer reserved for the priests, that one day he too may pass down to his descendants and the rest of us. “May G-d bless you and keep you. May G-d’s light shine upon you (and smile at you!) May G-d lift G-d’s face to you and grant you peace, (that covenant of friendship and peace) now and forever.” It was a holy moment.

On Sunday our blessings for Shabbat Noach continued as families brought their pets for a pet blessing. We had five dogs and a stuffed dog. One person made special homemade dog treats. We laughed at the antics of the animals and sang the old camp song, “The Lord said to Noah” with gusto. A quick reminder that the covenant that G-d has with us extends to our animals too. We are reminded to feed our animals before ourselves and to let our animals rest on Shabbat.

Shabbat Noach. Lots to learn. What a great weekend.

Rainbow

A drop of dew
Of rain
A crystal
Clinging to the dying thistle
Sun shining through it
Like a diamond sparkling
Bright, white light
Colors projecting on the wet grass
A rainbow appears.

Raindrops in the sky
Dark storm clouds behind
Lit by the
Sun shining through it
Piercing the clouds
Refracting the light
A rainbow appears.

Reminding us
Shining through a drop
Shining through rain
Sign of G-d’s love
Sign of G-d’s covenant
A covenant of peace
Of wholeness
A covenant of friendship

A rainbow demands

Look!
Through the raindrop
Through the dew

See!
The beauty
The pain

Act!
Join Me
Join others

Remember!
You are loved.
You are not alone.

Zocher et habrit!
Remember the covenant.

Here is another of my holiday d’vrei Torah (sermons). We need to welcome our guests.

Kabbalat Shabbat: To Welcome Shabbat. To Receive Shabbat.

The whole of the Friday night service called Kabbalat Shabbat is to welcome Shabbat and for us to receive it. It is the sign of the covenant between G-d and the people of Israel as we sing each week with “V’shamru.” We welcome Shabbat and the Shabbat angels and each other, and any mourners amongst us and the Shabbat bride and queen. And we welcome guests.

This month we have been focusing on welcoming guests, as part of our covenantal relationship to one another. In Hebrew we call this principle, hachnasat orchim, literally allowing guests to enter.

At Sukkot, the Harvest Festival, we welcome “Ushpizin” to our sukkot. Each night we welcome a different spiritual guest. In fact, the word ushpizin is really the Aramaic word for guest. First referred to in the Zohar in the late 13^th century:

“When you sit in the sukkah, ‘the shade of faithfulness,’ the Shekhina spreads Her wings over you and… Abraham, five other righteous ones, and King David, make their dwelling with you…Thus you should rejoice with a shining countenance and every day of the festival together with these guests who lodge with you…” (Zohar Emor, 103b)

Each of these guests is linked to a spiritual quality, a G-dly character trait, one of the sepherot, the mystical aspects and emanation of G-d, that we would like to emulate:

• Day one: Abraham, Chesed
• Day two: Isaac, Gevurah, restraint, discipline
• Day three: Jacob, tiferet, beauty, harmony, truth
• Day four: Moses, netzach, victory, endurance, everlasting
• Day five: Aaron, hod, splendor, humility, hidden
• Day six: Joseph, Yesod, Foundation, Connection
• Day seven: David, Malchut, Sovereignty, Receptiveness, Leadership1

This teaching come from Rabbi Isaac Luria, the 16th century mystic of Sefat. The very same Rabbi Luria who gave us the structure for Kabbalat Shabbat, the very service we are doing tonight.

These days, we tend to invite women ushpizot as well. The seven women are based on the teaching in the Talmud Megilah 14a-b, naming seven women prophets: Sarah, Miriam, Deborah, Hannah, Abigail, Huldah and Esther. Studying each of these women would make for a fascinating adult study class, but that would be for another time.

If you could invite anyone, living or dead, to join us in the sukkah tonight, who would it be?

Some of the answers included Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Columbus, several grandparents, It’s a good question.

The prayer for this welcoming has become:

“May it be Your will, Lord my God and God of my ancestors, to send Your presence to dwell in our midst and to spread over us the sukkah of Your peace, to encircle us with the majesty of Your pure and holy radiance. Give sufficient bread and water to all who are hungry and thirsty. Give us many days to grow old upon the earth, the holy earth, that we may serve You and revere You. Blessed by the Lord forever – amen, amen. Sarah, my exalted guest, may it please you to have all the exalted guests join me and you, along with Miriam, Deborah, Hannah, Abigail, Huldah and Esther”

One of the people I would like to have would be Honi the Circle Drawer. We know the story of Honi and how he planted carob trees just as his ancestors planted for him. I’ve told the story of Honi and his drawing circles here but not recently. So on a night that it is a little damp, and just before we add the prayer for rain in our services, it bears repeating.

You see, some people think the lulav is like a Native American rain stick. Listen carefully to the sound.

The Talmud teaches in Ta’anit 19a that once there was a terrible drought in the land of Israel. It was already Adar, long past the end of Sukkot where we add the prayer for rain. Usually by now they were marking the end of the rainy season.

The people begged Honi the Circle Maker to pray. He prayed, but still no rain fell. He drew a circle in the dust and stood in the middle of it. Raising his hands to the heavens, he vowed, “G-d, I will not move from this circle until You send rain!” It began to sprinkle, just a few drops. The drops hissed on the hot stones. The people were not satisfied and complained, “This is only enough rain to release you from your vow.”

So Honi prayed again, “I asked for more than this trifling drizzle. I was asking for enough rain to fill wells, cisterns, ditches!” The heavens opened up and poured down rain in buckets. The parched earth began to flood. The cisterns overflowed. There was too much rain! The people of Jerusalem ran to the Temple Mount for safety. “Honi! Save us! We will all be destroyed like the generation of the Flood. Stop the rains!”

Honi again prayed. This time for the rains to stop. They did and he told the people to bring a thanksgiving offering to the Temple. Then Honi again prayed, and said to G-d, “This people that You brought out of Egypt can take neither too much evil or too much good. Please give them what they want.” This is the Goldilocks moment. Not too little. Not too much. Just right.

Then G-d sent a strong wind that blew away the fierce rains and the storm calmed. Shimon ben Shetakh, the head of the Sanhedrin wanted to put Honi in cherem, to excommunicate him, for his audacity, but decided against it, saying “What can I do against you, who nags G-d and G-d answers you, fulfilling your wish like a child who nags a parent and the parent fulfills his wish.”

Honi is not the only one who demands something of G-d. Abraham when he argues to spare Sodom and Gemorrah, Moses when he argues with G-d to take care of G-d’s people and not abandon them after the sin of the Golden Calf. Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev who demands that G-d take care of the people of Israel reminding G0d that Levi Yitzchak is G-d’s child. So praying boldly is a good thing in Judaism.

And then, just as we find with Honi, G-d’s grace, mercy compassion will rain down on us.

What about this rain stick—the lulav—the arbah minim, the Four Species. It is said that it represents the human body:

• the lulav, the palm is the spine,
• the hadass, myrtle, the eyes
• the aravah, the willow, the lips
• the etrog, the citron, the heart.

When we shake the lulav, we are using are whole selves.

Another explanation, is that each of the components represents a different kind of person:

• The lulav has taste but no smell like people who study Torah but don’t do good deeds.
• The myrtle has fragrant but has no taste, like people who do good deeds but do not study.
• The willow has neither taste nor smell like those who lack both study and good deeds
• The etrog has both taste and smell, like those who have both Torah and good deeds.

Taken all together, as we do when we shake the lulav and etrog, we have everything we need. It represents the whole community, entered into the covenant. This includes our guests, as we are commanded to welcome the stranger within our gates. In facet, to love the stranger within our gates. When we shake the lulav and the etrog, we are causing G-d to rain down, to bestow blessings upon us.

I have a puzzle today. A word puzzle. And you all are going to help me solve it.

This is a portion that I know well. It was my Bat Mitzvah portion and is read three times a year. Shabbat during Pesach, Shabbat during Sukkot and in its natural rotation. It is the reason I became a rabbi. And I wrote my thesis on the 13 Attributes, a later a book.

But I have always been bothered by a couple of things. It would be easy to say that it is the portion for today because later in the portion it mentions Sukkot. But what is the link, if any between the 13 attributes…Adonai, Adonai, El Rachum v’chanun….and Sukkot. Why, when Moses was up on the mountain getting the second set of tablets and seeing the backside of G-d, did G-d continue with celebrate the festivals? And why does Sukkot not get mentioned by name, although it does in other places, even though it says there are three pilgrimage festivals.

Some of the answers:

• Because a sukkah is a home and it provides protection and yet is temporary.
• Because maybe G-d was finally tired of the Israelites who kept wandering through the desert and kvetched about everything and so Moses had to convince G-d that this was really G-d’s people and that they needed G-d’s protection.
• Just simply, because the Israelites were about to resume their wandering in the desert, in sukkot!

Rabbi Ben Bag Bag used to say, “Turn it and turn it again, for everything is in it. Pore over it. Wax gray and old over it. Stir not from it.” (Pirke Avot 5:26)

So on this very text that I know so well, this morning, this is a new learning for me. And for you.

I think the connection has to do with the attribute of “Hain” which we often translate as grace. Now this isn’t easy stuff, and many Jewish philosophers and rabbis argue about whether “grace” is a Jewish thing or a Christian thing. Most of you probably know the song, “Amazing Grace” about the sea captain who wrote it after he hit “rock bottom”. It is not a whole lot different than what we studied with Jonah, who went down, yerida, first to Jaffa, then into the hold of the ship, then overboard, down, down, down to the bottom of the sea, where he was swallowed by the dag gadol, the giant fish. The fish provided by G-d. The fish that comes to teach us that G-d gives us second chances, and third and fourth ones. Grace is pretty amazing. That’s why I just ordered a new to me book by Rabbi Rami Shapiro, Amazing Chesed. But Chesed is another word, both in the 13 Attributes and sometimes translated similarly.

However, in the meantime, it seems clear to me that G-d’s saving grace seems to be for both Jews and Christians. For everyone.

So what is grace?

• A gift that maybe we didn’t merit. We can receive grace whether we deserve it or whether we earned it. Or not. It is different than a birthday present.
• We wondered about the different forms of the word. Graciousness. Like a gracious hostess. And we talked about the verse in a Woman of Valor, “Grace is deceitful and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears (or reveres) the Lord, she shall be praised.” So is it something fleeting?
• How then does the phrase, “There for the grace of G-d go I?” fit into this discussion. Is it that when we see someone in difficulties, we recognize that we too could be in that position, we can see ourselves in their shoes, so we are grateful for G-d’s grace that it is not us (at least at this time?)

It is something that “rains down”, how appropriate as we approach the end of Sukkot, and the blessing for geshem, rain. It is a blessing bestowed, like the phrase, “gomal chasidim tovim” in our Avot prayer. It is the free and unmerited favor of G-d, like we teach with the 13 attributes. G-d loves the person before the sin and even after the sin, that’s what the repetition of Adonai, Adonai teaches.

Now in the Latin, grace, and grateful come from the same Latin root—gratus. So it is appropriate to be grateful, to be thankful for that grace of G-d, for the bestowal of blessings that rain down on us, even if we don’t merit them. Even if we think we are not worthy. G-d thinks we are.

When I wrote my thesis, having looked at many of the classical sources, Gunther Plaut (A Modern Torah Commentary, page 663) said that hain is G-d’s helpful concern. Brown Driver Briggs defines the word as “gracious” And as an adjective, “hanun” it only applies to an attribute of G-d although it is related to hain, “to show favor, grace, “ as in matza hain, find favor, which also appears in this portion. As a noun, “Compassionate, favorable” and as a verb “to show favor or to be gracious with synonyms of yearn towards, long for, be merciful, compassionate, favorable, inclined towards. To find favor can either mean with people as in Proverbs 28:23 or with G-d as in Jeremiah 31:2” (Brown, Driver, Brigs, 336-337)

But we need to dig a little deeper. Hain is a two-letter Hebrew root, instead of the usual three. So we need to look at some of the other words derived from this root. From Hain we get Hanah, with the addition of the letter hey at the end. As in the verse from Genesis 26:17, And Isaac departed, and pitched his tent in the valley of Gerar and dwelt there. So somehow this verb means to pitch a tent, or to camp. Now we are getting closer to Sukkot! The noun form is “machaneh”, camp. So a tent or a camp is a measure of grace! Again, we are back at Sukkot.

And it came between the camp of the Egyptians and the camp of Israel; and it was a cloud and darkness to them, but it gave them light by night to these, so that the one came not near the other all night. (Exodus 14:20)

Perhaps more importantly is this measure of protection that we see in Psalms. “Be merciful unto me, Hanini, O G-d, be merciful unto me, for my soul trusts in You, in the shadow of Your wings will I make my refuge, until these calamities are past.

http://www.ancient-hebrew.org/articles_grace.html

We can’t leave this without at least exploring chesed just a little bit since it too appears in the 13 Attributes. Chesed maybe the kindness or the lovingkindness of G-d that goes “beyond what humanity deserves” so something that isn’t merited as we said of hain. It too is not easy to define as Dr. Nelson Glueck said in his PhD thesis. However, we hope that if our actions are evenly balanced between virtue and sin, that G-d tips the scales of judgment toward the good. G-d tempers G-d’s own anger, G-d’s own judgment with the attribute of mercy.

Rabbi Arthug Segal teaches that some of our understand of G-d and grace becomes a kabbalistic, mystical concept. In the Talmud, Kiddushin 61b, it says “Even if 999 angels testify against humanity and only one speaks on their behalf, the Holy One, inclines the scales in humanity’s favor.” Everything that G-d does is for the good. G-d is continually raining down blessings and grace. There is no need to win or achieve grace because it is freely given to all of us, but we need to choose to accept it or reject it through our own actions. http://rabbiarthursegal.blogspot.com/2015/07/rabbi-arthur-segal-judaism-and-grace.html

As we approach the end of Sukkot and the end of the entire High Holy Day season, there is one more thing. During Ne’ilah, the concluding service of Yom Kippur, just before sunset, we keep saying that the gates are closing. And yet, we often say that the gates of repentance are never closed. G-d will always take us back. That’s an example of G-d’s grace. On Hoshanah Rabbah, the seventh day of Sukkot, we again beg G-d for mercy. That’s when our fate is really, really sealed. It is like a make-up day if you missed Yom Kippur—or like Pesach Sheini, the Second Passover for travelers, a month later if you missed it in the month of Nissan.

This then connects Passover to Sukkot and also links the stories together. When Moses was on that mountain, G-d wrapped G-d’s self in a tallit, and taught Moses the order of prayer. Rabbi Yohanan taught: were it not a written verse, it would be impossible to declare it. It teaches us that the Holy One dressed as a shaliach tzibbur, a prayer leader and showed Moses the order of the prayers. G-d said to him: when the people of Israel transgress, they should say to Me these words and I will forgive them. “The Lord, the Lord, it implies that I exist before you transgress and I am there after you transgress and repent. “A merciful and compassionate G-d.” Rav Yehudah explained :it is My covenant that the 13 attributes will not be left unanswered, as it is said, “Here I am establishing My covenant.” (Rosh Hashanah 17b)

A covenant. If you do x, I will do y. This covenant is an example of G-d’s hain, grace and how G-d rains down blessings, bestowing grace and compassion and mercy for all to receive and accept.

The Imperfect Etrog
Every year I go searching
For just the perfect etrog
Yellow, but not too green
Round, but elongated
Bumpy, but not too bumpy
And that perfect, fresh lemony smell
With an intact pitom.
I know it when I see it.

This year I opened the box.
Inside the box, wrapped in its protective cushioning
This golden etrog
Missing its pitom

I opened the next, and the next, and the next.
Not a whole etrog in the shipment.
Not a kosher etrog in the box.
Not whole. Not complete. Not perfect

And yet, as we take the lulav, straight as spine
Together with the eyes of myrtle, silently seeing all
And the lips of willow, speaking sweetly words of truth

This etrog, the heart, is not perfect
Is not complete
Is not full

A symbol
Come to teach
None of us is perfect
None of us is complete
None of us is full

And it is good enough.
It is beautiful.

Copyright 2018, MJFK

Sukkot, zeman simchateinu, the time of our joy, has not always been so for me. I have spent years trying to claim the joy that is Sukkot. The gratitude for the harvest. The hope for peace. All the while knowing how fragile that peace can be. “Ufros Aleinu Sukkat Shlomecha. Spread over us the shelter, the Sukkah of Your peace,” I pray.

It is aspirational.

Every year I go looking for events, often I create events that will make me feel peaceful, that will make me feel safe. Every year I put up a sukkah. So that I can sit on my porch, and none will make me afraid.

You see, once, a long time ago, on the full moon night of Sukkot, I was a victim, a survivor of sexual assault. It is not new for me to talk about this. I have frequently. I have served on rape and domestic violence hotlines. I have represented the Jewish community on committees, currently the Faith Committee of the 16^th Circuit Court Steering Committee on Family Violence. There is even a film of me telling my story for Mayyim Hayyim.

And I know, that there is a cost to telling the story. Every single time. But I know that there is a power in my story. And in speaking it. I know that I am a role model of survival, for survivors.

This year is no exception. As I go looking for those things that bring peace in this oh so fragile world.

So to any survivor out there, I say to you, as I have said before. I hear you. I believe you. You are not alone. If you need a shoulder to cry on, or a cup of coffee, or a hug, I am here. Hineini.

Here are the things I did this year. I helped plan and participate in Elgin City of Peace Peace Feast. I made lemon squares as part of my ethnic foods and for Sukkot and I took them and my lulav and etrog and the story of the Hebrew Brothers and talked about Jerusalem, Yerushalayim, City of Shalom, Peace. Do you know where that story comes from? Most will say the midrash. Some will cite Louis Ginsberg’s Legends of the Jews. But if you dig down in the footnotes, you will learn that Ginsburg and others learned it first in the Arab market of Jerusalem. It really is a story of peace for the city of peace.

Then we hosted our Lutheran pastor, his wife and the person who has done most of the tending of the community garden for dessert in the sukkah and more decorating. Lemon squares, perfectly decorated, beautiful fall cookies and ice cream. The conversations went on easily until 10:30!

Then I visited my congressional office to tell my story of sexual assault. It was important to me to tell this story (again!) during Sukkot, since the attack happened during Sukkot. This year especially. Then I supported friends who organized a local rally as part of the national walk out. I wore black to both and brought my lulav and etrog to share a blessing of peace. I wrote letters to my elected officials, explaining my story and Sukkot. That felt empowering. Esther—speaking truth to power.

That night we again ate in the sukkah, this time with the under 36 crowd. Illuminating discussion about maternity benefits. And how long people have to wait. Oy! So much work still to be done.

On the 4^th night, I had “Pizza in the Hut” and made silly faces with the Torah School kids. We made a “rain storm” with our hands and we planted winter rye for the omer crop. It was good to just be. And to rejoice in Sukkot.

On Thursday I met with our local Habitat for Humanity volunteer coordinators. There is something important about talking about affordable housing during Sukkot when we dwell in temporary, impermanent shelters. The

Later we will have dinner in the sukkah with another rabbinic couple and over dessert we will study. Pirke Avot through a social justice lens, written by my friend Rabbi Shmuly Yankovitch. Pirke Avot teaches, “Ours is not to finish the task, neither are we free to ignore it.” This was a week where I could have hid, under the covers. But no, there is too much work to do and the time was now.

In between, as time permitted, I wrote. And I wrote and I wrote. It is part of how I cope. So two poems popped up. I have been working on a book for Jewish women healing from domestic violence or sexual assault. I have been working on it for years. The time is now to finish it.

It wasn’t quite the week I planned but it did celebrate Sukkot, and its hope for peace.

It is quiet in the house now. I am home alone.The dog is resting. The sukkah is lit and ready for company. The apple crisp is baking in the oven, filling the house with fall fragrance. Shalom bayit. Peace of the house. Shalom. Peace.

The Sukkot Moon

The moon is full tonight
Just like it was
Peaking out
Between the clouds
A silent presence
A silent reminder

People ask
Where was G-d?
Perhaps, like a ner tamid
An Eternal Light
The moon is a reminder
Of G-d’s ever present Presence
Sometimes we can see it.
Sometimes we can feel it.
Sometimes we cannot.
But it there.
Filling the world
With hope
With healing

I smiled.

Copyright 2018

Don’t hide Your face from me,
I’m asking for your help
I call to You — please hear my prayers,
O God If You would answer me as I have called to You
Please heal me now — Don’t hide Your face from me (Psalm 27:9, Debbie Friedman)

Yesterday I mentioned the memory of Saul Mariasis, my bimah partner and friend. Today’s teaching is in memory of Myra Becker, my partner and friend in the wider Elgin community.

We just read one of the most haunting and terrifying pieces of scripture ever. Abraham is asked by G-d to take his son, his only son, the one he loves, take Isaac up the mountain and offer his as a sacrifice. Abraham, who dares to argue with G-d just chapters ago, seems to not ask a question here. The rabbis are bothered by this and invent dialogue. We call that midrash. Take your son. But G-d, I have two sons. Your only son—they are each the only son of their mother. The one you love. But I love them both. Take Isaac.

So he does. He takes his son, his only son, the one he loves, Isaac. And no one stops him. Not his two servants. Not Isaac. Not Sarah.

He doesn’t seem to consult Sarah. Just takes Isaac. Because G-d told him too. Imagine you are Sarah waking up in the morning. Where’s your husband, Abraham? Where’s precious son, Isaac?!!!

In fact, in this story, we are missing Sarah’s voice.

She has one—she laughed when she was told she would have a child—she even questioned G-d asking how that was possible considering she was so old, and her husband also. Her prayer for a child was answered. The text tells us that G-d took note of Sarah. She was the one who told Abraham to take her handmaiden Hagar so that Abraham would have a child. She was the one who demanded later that Abraham sends Hagar out.

So where is her voice now?

Sometimes we need to find our voice as women. Yesterday, Risa read Hannah’s prayer as the haftarah. Hannah who desperately wanted a child, prayed for one. Hannah was doubted by Eli, the priest. He thought she was drunk, not praying. Nonetheless, G-d heard her voice and her prayer was answered. G-d took note of Hannah. She called that son Shmuel, for G-d heard.

Yesterday, we read the haunting story of Hagar and Ishmael who were thrown out of Abraham’s camp with just some water and bread. She puts the lad under a bush and calls out (the text doesn’t even use the term prayer—but that’s what it was) “Don’t let me look on while the child dies.”

No name. No hope. She is sure that he will die. Imagine the desperation. Imagine the panic. Imagine the fear. Then the angel of G-d says, “G-d has heard the voice of the lad.” Say what? No name again—this is Ishmael. Wasn’t it just Hagar who cried out…does G-d hear her voice? Does G-d answer her? The rabbis in the commentaries are not kind to her. They call her the other, a pun on Hagar, HaGer, the stranger and say that Abraham was right to listen to Sarah and throw her out. But was he? Yet she is the first one in the Bible to name G-d, calling G-d, El Roi, the G-d that sees.

Sometimes there isn’t a voice. Sometimes people just spring into action. We talked about how our actions matter. How there is a ripple effect. Think about Shifra and Puah, the Hebrew midwives, who saved the baby boys that Pharaoh had threatened to have killed. They risked their own lives to make sure that those baby boys would live. They said (in the midrash anyway), that the Hebrew women gave birth so quickly they didn’t have time to be called. One of those baby boys they rescued was Moses. Imagine the world without Moses. I talked about Shifrah and Puah’s courage when I met with some Guatemalan midwives as part of my American Jewish World Service’s fellowship. Those modern day midwives too risk their lives to help ensure the lives of the mothers and their children. I again talked about Shifrah and Puah when I helped coordinate Elgin Standing Together. It is important to know when to stand up and speak out. Our tradition demands no less. And our voices and actions will be heard.

This is a year where women’s voices have been heard. When we were gathered in this room last year the phrase #MeToo wasn’t a well known movement yet. I applaud the women who had the courage to stand up and speak out and share the very personal, challenging details of their lives. I pray that their words and their actions have made a real, lasting difference. I pray that my words and my actions continue to make a difference. As someone who has worked on the front lines with rape and domestic violence survivors, I am keenly aware that men have been victims too—and that men have also courageously spoken out. As recent news stories point out, those battles are not over yet, and our tradition demands that we continue to speak out so that our voices are heard. For every woman, every man, every child sitting in this room who wonders whether your voice will make a difference, whether the gain will outweigh the pain, whether you will be believed, know that I will listen. I will hear your voice.

And then there is Sarah. What a complicated life. She follows Abraham to the land that G-d will show them. She opens her tent on all four sides to greet any guest. She gives Abraham her handmaiden Hagar to ensure that he can be fruitful and multiply and so that G-d’s promise that his offspring will be as numerous as the stars in the sky and the sands of the sea. She laughs at the time to come, when she is promised a child. Like many infertile women today she would have done almost anything to be able to have a child.

When there is a famine in the land, she goes down to Egypt with her husband—and he tries to give her away—as his sister—to the King. Not once. But twice. Her own #MeToo moments.

She does eventually have that child—Isaac—meaning laughter. And then the unthinkable happens. Abraham hears a voice. And takes her son, her only son, without permission. She is separated from her beloved Isaac.

There is so much commentary on just this brief chapter. There is a great book, But where is the Lamb by James Goodman. Thank you to Chuck Zimmerman for first sharing it with me. A collection of all of the commentaries from time immemorial from three religious traditions and some secular ones as well. It is well worth the slow read. But it doesn’t provide much of an answer to the other question. Where was Sarah? She is only mentioned 100 times in the book.

Where was Sarah’s voice? The rabbis of the midrash don’t give her much.

Goodman in his book wonders, “I thought, that in the hours between God’s command and bedtime, or bedtime and morning, Sarah would have read God’s command on her husband’s face. No Abraham didn’t say anything to anyone, But he didn’t say a word. Not to God. Not to Sarah. Not to anyone. Instead, he rose up early the next morning, saddled his donkey, (page 4).

He left. Without telling Sarah goodbye. He took her son, her only son, the one she loved.

“Some imagined what Abraham might have said to Sarah to comfort her or calm her down. Some explained why Abraham hadn’t said anything to Sarah. What those who imagined him weeping as he took leave of Sarah thought of the stories in which he was giddy with excitement, eager to obey God’s command.” (page 63 and 83).

“Several centuries later, some turned their attention to Sarah. They didn’t have much to work with. G (as Goodman calls the narrator, or the editor, or G-d) had left her out of the story, and the earliest Jewish interpreters, from Jubilees to Josephus, had followed his lead. And by their lights who can blame them? The story wouldn’t have been much of a story if the sacrifice had been aborted in the first few lines. How do you say “Over my dead body” in classical biblical Hebrew?” (page 87) What would you have said?

But the rabbis had to explain this gap somehow. So “many rabbis turned, once again, to Satan, who, having failed to persuade either Abraham or Isaac that what they were doing was crazy, figured Sarah was his last hope. Some said he had approached her disguised as an old family friend and told her where her husband and son had gone. She cried out, the same cry that she imagined would soon come from her son— three short sobs (explaining one way of sounding the shofar, the three short blasts called shevarim). Her heart stopped on the spot, and her soul flew out of her. Others said Sarah had taken off after them, making it only as far as Hebron, where she learned that Isaac had been spared, and she died, on the spot, of joy. Others still said she had awaited their return at the door of her tent. But Isaac lagged well behind Abraham, and when Sarah saw Abraham approaching without him, she assumed her son was dead. She fainted, and never came to. In a fourth version, she lived long enough to hear Isaac tell the tale: “You mean if it were not for the angel you’d already be dead?” she asked.   (p. 88).

So after Abraham and Isaac return, in the very next scene, Sarah dies. In Kiryat Arbah, now Hebron. Some 40 miles away. There is no explanation how there is this gap in the text. And Abraham comes to bury her. He buys a funeral cave—the choicest of them—from the residents. He insists on buying it because then he really owns it—that is one of the arguments for why we as Jews are entitled to the land of Israel—Abraham bought it. And he eulogizes her. Some say that eulogy was the Woman of Valor we see in proverbs. A woman of valor who can find…for her price is far above rubies. She looks well to the ways of her household and eats not the bread of idleness. She gives food to her household and a portion to her workers—Hagar perhaps? And she laughs at the time to come…

The parsha, portion is called Chaye Sarah. It begins this are the years of Sarah’s life. Sarah was one hundred and twenty and seven years. And Sarah died.

Sarah was our matriarch. The first matriarch. The mother of our people. She was a prophetess. A righteous woman. A woman of valor.

To this day, we use the names of the matriarchs to plead on our behalf. When we say a mishberach, the prayer for healing of mind, body or spirit, the matriarchs’ names are always included. Even in the ArtScroll Orthodox prayerbook.

News alert: Jewish women are obligated to pray. Sometimes that has been lost in modern translation particularly at places like the Western Wall. It has played out in the Israeli Supreme Court, at the Knesset, and in headlines the world over. As the Women of the Wall siddur prays:

“We pray that women’s voices will be heard at the Kotel and received with love. “And for our sisters, all the women and girls of your people Israel: let us merit to see their joy and hear their voices raised before You in song and praise.” https://www.womenofthewall.org.il/kol-isha/

Yet women have a responsibility to pray. They have always had an obligation to pray. It is mandated in the Talmud. The assumption is that G-d hears our voices too—That G-d needs our voices. Just like G-d heard Hagar’s and Hannah’s.

Shma Koleneinu. Chus V’rachum Aleinu. G-d, full of mercy and grace, Hear our voice.

Women in the Middle Ages through today actually wrote beautiful tkhines, pleading prayers often for womanly mitzvoth like lighting the Shabbat or Yom Tov candles or immersing in the mikveh. Without even knowing that tradition, my mother would actually give a Shabbat spiel after she lit the Shabbes candles, and we kids better pay attention.

Listen to the prayer of Sarah bat Tovim from the tkhine of the three gates from the mid 18^th century as she prays using the “zecut imahot”, the merits of our mother Sarah:

And through the merit which I gain by preparing the wick for the sake of our mother sore, may hashem yisborekh – praised by He – remember us for the merit of her pain when her beloved son yitshok was led to the binding.  May she defend us before God – praised be He – that we should not – khas vesholem – be left widows this year, and that our children should not – khas vesholem – be taken away from this world in our lifetime.

(Translation from The Merit of Our Mothers by Tracy Gurenklirs)

And this one from Seral bas Jacob a prayer for hearing the shofar from the late 18^th century:

First we ask our mother Sarah to plead for us in the hour judgment that we may go out free from before this tribunal…Have mercy, our mother, on your children.  And especially, pray for our little children that they may not be separated from us.  For you know well that it is very bitter when a child is taken away from the mother as it happened to you.  When your son Isaac was taken away from you, it caused you great anguish.  And now you have the chance to plead for us.  For he is now blowing the shofar, the horn of a ram, so that God will remember for us the merit of Isaac, who let himself be bound like a sheep on the altar [Gen.22]. Therefore, Satan will be confused, and cannot at this moment accuse us.  So you have a chance to plead for us, that the attribute of mercy may awaken toward us.

(Translation from Four Centuries of Jewish Women’s Spirituality)

And listen to these words from the book Outwitting History which the CKI Book Group just read.

“What went on during the [First World] War don’t ask. I was separated from my mother and my sisters, I lived with a neighbor, we didn’t have what to eat. (p. 112).

Or this one:

“A month later, at night, someone came for me. They were taking all the wives. My oldest son, three years old, and his brother, a year and a few months, were lying in their beds. I had to leave them where they were. They took me and I never saw them again.”   And the children? “No one,” she says, “knew where the children were.” To this day she had not found them.   (pp. 246-247).

These words are just as haunting today as when they happened to Sarah our matriarch or in the Middle Ages or in Germany or Russia.

Later this fall, CKI will host a play, Rosenstrasse, a play about women during World War II who spoke up. A play about non-Jewish wives of Jewish men who were arrested, separated from their families by the Nazis in Berlin and about to be deported to their certain deaths. These women speaking up enabled all 2100 men to be spared.

Here is my midrash about Sarah. Maybe this explains her silence and the gap between Beer Sheva and Kiryat Ata:

And they went down the mountain

together

Both Abraham and Isaac

And together they returned

To Beersheva.

How could she have stayed?
When she learned what Abraham had done,
When she learned how G-d had tested Abraham
how nearly she had lost her son, her only the son, the one she loved
How nearly she had lost Isaac,
The one that G-d had promised to her.

And when Sarah learned all this,
She ran away.

What G-d could, would demand this of her, of any mother?
In fact, never even asked her,
Just told Abraham to take their son
To a mountain G-d would show
Take him and offer him as a sacrifice
Like a ram.

She could imagine Isaac’s fear
When he saw the knife poised in Abraham’s hand
And he realized he was to be the ram.

And Abraham, her husband, he was no beter than G-d,
Maybe even worse.
He did it without questioning,
Without wondering why
Without asking G-d
Without consulting Sarah.

And so she fled.
She would go home
To where her family was
Where everything was familiar,
The land, the people, the gods
Not like this strange land that Abraham had brought her to,
Like like this strange G-d who demands everything,
Even her son.

And on her way Sarah died in Kiryat Arba,
Now Hebron,
Even though the text does not tell us why here
We can imagine Sarah’s suffering
At the disintegration of her family

And the years of Sarah’s life were
One hundred and twenty and seven

And Abraham and Isaac came to Hebron
To mourn her.

copyright 1987 Margaret Joy Frisch

Abraham was part of the covenant. God promised that he would be as numerous as the stars in the sky and the sand in the sea. God promised that Abraham would inherit the land. God made the same promise Jacob and to us. It is part of our ongoing legacy. But it is the women—Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, Leah, Shifra, Puah, Zipporah, Hannah, Ruth and others who through their actions and their voices kept the covenant alive.

We need to return Sarah’s voice to her and in so doing return our voice to us. G-d took note of Sarah. G-d remembered Sarah. We need to help her find her place in the covenant so that children are not separated from their parents.

Sh’ma Koleinu, Chus V’rachum aleinu—G-d, full of mercy and grace, hear our voice. All of our voices. Our men, our women, our little ones. All of us as we stand before You ready to enter into Your covenant.

Then it will be a sweet new year. L’shanah tovah.

Today is Shabbat Shuva. The Sabbath of Return. Historically, this was one of two Shabbatot that the rabbi would give a sermon. Passover, so you would know how to prepare your kitchen and today so you would be prepared for Yom Kippur.

We are told in the High Holiday liturgy that there are three things, tefilah, teshuva, and tzedakah that will change the decree.

You’ve already done a good job of tefilah, prayer, this morning. Last night we looked a little at teshuvah, and how to make amends. Today we are going to look a little a tzedakah. But first, a story:

The Talmud tells us that Rabbi Akiva had a daughter. We don’t know her name. But we do know that the astrologers of their day predicted that she would die on her wedding day. Akiva was naturally “extremely worried about this matter.” But eventually, she was to married. He decided to say nothing about the prediction.  This version is based on the retelling by Rabbi Irwin Huberman: (Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 156b)

“On the day of the wedding, Rabbi Akiva held his breath. By the end of the day, he was relieved to see that his daughter had survived.

The next day, Rabbi Akiva met with her.

“My daughter,” he asked. “What have you done to be worthy of such a close escape?”

As his unsuspecting daughter began to revisit the events of her wedding day, her father ultimately realized what had happened.

The Talmud recounts that, as she sat in her bridal chamber prepared to enjoy her sumptuous wedding meal, she heard the cry of a pauper in the doorway. He was asking for a morsel of food.

Everyone was so busy celebrating that no one heard him.

But the bride did. She rose from her chair and handed her food to the pauper.

As she re-entered the bridal chamber, she stopped to rearrange her hair — or adjust her veil — and finding no place to lay down her broach, she stuck it in the wall.

When she pulled the broach pin out, she realized that she had stabbed a snake which had been hiding in the wall.

The snake had been poised to strike her in the chair where she had originally been seated. But because she had moved from her original place to help the homeless man, it was she who killed the snake, rather than the other way round.

Rabbi Akiva sighed, and then smiled. “You have done a good deed, an act of charity,” he said. “And charity can save us from death.”” From Proverbs.

So somehow, making sure that the poor had enough to eat she saved her own life.

Now tzedakah, translated here as charity—is really more like righteous giving. It is from the same root as tzedek, justice, a tzadik, a righteous person. Charity is gift that comes from the heart. Tzedakah is an obligation. A commandment. Something we have to do.

So it is appropriate on this Shabbat Shuva, we look at Maimonides (Rambam) 8 levels of tzedakah. He viewed it like a ladder. And if you were here for Hebrew School on Wednesday you would have watched me climb an actual ladder:

1. The person who gives reluctantly and with regret.
2. The person who gives graciously, but less than one should.
3. The person who gives what one should, but only after being asked.
4. The person who gives before being asked.
5. The person who gives without knowing to whom he or she gives, although the recipient knows the identity of the donor.
6. The person who gives without making his or her identity known.
7. The person who gives without knowing to whom he or she gives. The recipient does not know from whom he or she receives.
8. The person who helps another to become self-supporting by a gift or a loan or by finding employment for the recipient.
   (Hilkot, Matenot, Aniyim 10:7-14)

This last one is like the adage, give a person a fish and they will eat for a day. Teach a person to fish, they will fish for a life time. Of course, there was a little store, next to Art’s Tavern in Glen Arbor, MI that used to have art work that said that if you teach a man to fish, he will have expenses to last a life time. Lures, poles, rods, nets.

Our group then discussed the various levels of the ladder, without me climbing on one. One felt strongly that the goal is to be as generous as we can and that the levels in the middle don’t matter as much. There was some discussion of how we budget—and a retelling of the old Tevye story from Fiddler on the Roof. The one where the beggar asks the butcher for his weekly handout. “Here Reb Nahum, here’s one kopek.” “One kopek, last week you gave me two.” “I had a bad week.” “So if you had a bad week, why should I suffer?”

I had always assumed that Lazar, the butcher, was rude and hadn’t met his obligation. Others felt that the beggar was rude. Maybe they both are. Maybe the better model is in the story The Hands of G-d as retold by Rabbi Larry Kushner. When the poor janitor finds the twelve loaves of challah left by the rich man in the Holy Ark, he gives two to tzedakah, showing that even poor people are obligated to give tzedakah. In fact, historically, poor people give more to organizations on a percentage basis than rich.

We talked about making tzedakah a habit. And the fact that our students made tzedakah boxes this year.

Many of us get mail solicitations for charity every day. They are from a range of organizations. One year, as part of an adult study class we collected all of them for the month of December. How you choose which organizations to give to could be a subject for a whole adult study class. How do you decide what makes the most difference. If you take 100 dollars is it better to give $100 to one organization or split it into $25 gifts?

We could study this all day—and study is important. http://www.jtfn.org/sites/default/files/docs/resources/maimonides_ladder_and_tzedakah_texts.pdf

However, the suggestion, the commandment really, is that we do it. At CKI we do it in various ways. To those of you who give so generously to the Rabbi’s Discretionary fund, part of those funds go to organizations like Mazon, Food for Greater Elgin, The Community Crisis Center, where as was pointed out, we know the agency but not the individual recipient. Very rarely do I give a direct hand out. However, our community garden which fills the commandment of leaving the corners of our field for the poor, the widow, the orphan, the stranger. That little, mighty garden has fed a lot of people this year. With fresh produce, which is sometimes the hardest thing for poor people to get through soup kettles and agencies.

And as someone pointed out, don’t forget to bring your canned goods for the Community Crisis Center or your checks for Food for Greater Elgin, for the Kol Nidre Food Drive. This fits within Rambam’s levels. This fulfills the question that the prophet Isaiah asks about Yom Kippur—“Is this the fast that I desire? No, rather it is to share your bread with the hungry and to house the homeless and to clothe the naked.”

May we each be sealed for a blessing in the Book of Life. L’shanah Tovah.

This is a key. A key to what you might ask. I’ll tell you.

Last night we began a year-long conversation about what it means to be part of a covenant. A covenant is a contract. An if-then series of promises. If you do x, I promise to do y. It is a pledge of obligation between two parties, sometimes accompanied by a token signifying the brit—covenant. It is a partnership.

Today we are going to talk about the keys to the covenant. God gives us signs. Symbols to remind us that we are in a covenant. They are keys. Yesterday, during choir, there was some joking about Stew giving the correct pitch. And not sliding into the right note. In fact, baseball catchers do give signs—and pitchers have to catch them to give the right note. It is a good example of a covenant—of the partnership that exists between pitchers and catchers who have a very special and deeply connected relationship. Stew has exactly that kind of relationship with the choir..

In Judaism there are three signs of the covenants between G-d and humanity. The first is the rainbow, sign of the covenant between G-d and Noah to never destroy the world again. We talked about that last night, and concluded that our actions matter.

Then there is Shabbat, given as a sign of creation: “The Israelite people shall keep the Sabbath, observing the Sabbath throughout the ages as a covenant for all time: it shall be a sign for all time between Me and the people of Israel” (Exodus 31:16-17).

And the hardest sign may be circumcision, established as the sign of men entering the covenant: “Such shall be the cove­nant between Me and you and your offspring to follow which you shall keep: every male among you shall be circumcised. You shall circumcise the flesh of your foreskin, and that shall be the sign of the covenant between Me and you” (Genesis 17:10-11). It is the way that people—boys and men—enter the covenant. Abraham circumcised himself and his son Ishmael—who at the time was 13—that’s some Bar Mitzvah ritual! Muslim still circumcise at 13. Isaac was circumcised on the 8^th day. Moses didn’t circumcise his sons—Zipporah, his wife, the daughter of a Midianite priest had to do it, but that’s a story for another time.

Most people want to belong to something. People want love and acceptance. In fact, the world religion, from the Latin religio, means to tie back up. When people leave their birth homes, when they leave their parents’ house, they often feel they are missing something. They want to tie back up into something. They go searching. For something.

Abraham went searching too. He heard a voice. Lech lecha. Go forth. The rabbis teach that it really means Go towards yourself. Find yourself. Leave your country, the place of your birth, your parent’s house and go. To the land that I G-d will show you. And I will make you a great nation and I will bless you and make your name great and you will be a blessing.

We often sing this. “Lechi lach, to the land that I will show you. Lecha lecha, to a place you do not know. Lechi lach. On your journey I will bless you. And you will be a blessing lechi lach.”

G-d promises to give the land to Abraham and his descendants yet to come. To Isaac. To Jacob. To all of us. And those descendants would be as numerous as the stars in the sky and the sands of the sea.

Today and tomorrow we read two of the most difficult passages of Scripture. We read about Abraham sending out Hagar and Ishmael. Then we read about Abraham taking Isaac up the mountain to offer him as a sacrifice. In both cases it would seem there was a fear that there was not enough to go around.

Both Ishmael and Isaac survive their ordeals. But they don’t speak to Abraham again. They come back together only to bury Abraham. They don’t reconcile—with Abraham or themselves before then. After the burial Ishmael goes off his own way and becomes as the text tells us the leader of a great nation, just as he was promised.

My favorite book this summer, in a long time really was, , Letters to My Palestinian Neighbors, by Yossi Klein Halevy. It is a powerful love poem to the ideal of the land of Israel—the promise of G-d as part of the covenant, to all the descendants of Abraham. I swelled with pride as he explained why Israel needs to exist. How Jews have been tied to the land all the way back to Abraham. How Abraham bought the tomb in Kiriyat Arba, the Cave of Machpeleh to bury Sarah after the binding of Isaac.

He tells us that “Being an Israeli is like awakening in a dream.” Once again, I was ready to move there. Yossi Klein Halevy tries to hear the other side. He tries to hear Ishmael’s voice. Hagar’s anguished cries. He reminds us, as we listen into his ten letters that after the destruction of the Temple, “The Jewish relationship to the land of Israel shifted from space to time.” But Jews never forgot Jerusalem and wherever they wandered—really were forced to go—they remembered and longed to return. Return—there is our word of the week—Yossi argues that modern Zionism was the meeting point between need and longing. Need gave Zionism its urgency but longing gave it its spiritual sustenance.

In some circles, even within Judaism Zionism has become almost a dirty word. However, Klein Halevy argues that “But if by “Zionism” one means the Jewish attachment to the land of Israel and the dream of renewing Jewish sovereignty in our place of origin, then there is no Judaism without Zionism”.   (Kindle Locations 436-437).

He ends his book with his 10^th letter describing Sukkot and the fragility of peace. When he describes sitting in his sukkah, on his marapeset, his porch, I hear echose of the lyrics to Bashanah haba’ah and I dream of peace.

“And yet, sitting in my sukkah, I sometimes feel more exposed than protected. From my porch, I clearly see three distinct political entities. The sovereign territory of the state of Israel ends at the wall. In the distance is the Palestinian Authority. And in the farthest distance, the hills of Jordan. Just beyond my field of vision is a Middle East in ruins.   (Kindle Locations 1838-1840)..

Yossi is a realist. Born of necessity. In the middle of his celebration of Sukkot—another missile alert at 4 AM and he goes scurrying to a shelter—a real bomb shelter.

Nonetheless he ends the book with words of hope:

“these letters as I began: with the prayer that we will meet. Now we have spent some time together in spirit, but I hope to host you one day in my home— in my sukkah. B’ezrat Hashem. With God’s help. Inshallah.”  (Kindle Locations 1887-1888).

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have all the answers of how two people can live on the same land. Neither do I. He tries to listen to their argument—to the other narrative. Can a shared narrative be developed? I am unsure. One Palestinian leader wrote a scathing review in the New York Times which then Yossi defended himself. If we the People of the Book, given that name by Arabs, cannot even write about our love for Israel I worry a great deal. If we cannot listen, we a people commanded to hear, Hear O Israel, I worry even more. How can a shared narrative on a shared land be created?

Make no mistake, Israel has a right and a need to exist. But how we treat the Palestinians is important to our very moral fiber. And make no other mistake. It isn’t easy.

That is why I love the quote from Golda Meir, “We can forgive the Arabs for killing our children. We cannot forgive them for forcing us to kill their children. We will only have peace with the Arabs when they love their children more than they hate us.”

It is possible that there are three distinct covenants, with Jews, Christians and Muslims.

Jews believe Isaac was taken up that mountain. Muslims believe it was Ishmael and the Dome of the Rock on the Temple Mount marks the spot. Perhaps we need the vision of Rabbi Arthur Waskow and his chassidiche story of when the Messiah builds the Temple https://theshalomcenter.org/node/309 . Perhaps we need the musical hope of Matiyashu and his rendition of his song One Day recorded in one hour in Jerusalem last February. https://www.lostandfoundtobe.com/3000-jews-and-muslims-sign-up-to-learn-a-song-together-the-result-is-perfect-harmony/

I, too, would like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony.

Recently, I attended a meeting of the clergy of Elgin—all the clergy from the three groups. Part of the workshop was to design a shared narrative for the city. I love Pastor Bob Whit’s vision that he read as a poem one year.

We dream one day of a city where the founding fathers’ vision and laboring for hope and freedom for all people would not be in vain.

We dream one day of a city where truth is born through love.

We dream one day of a city where injustice no longer exists because the demonstration of love for one another has blanketed our city.

We dream one day of a city where no one goes hungry, have a safe and healthy living environment where every person has been educated, empowered and given opportunity to have a successful life.

We dream one day of a city where all people are heirs to equality and justice.

We dream one day of a city where in the process of renewing our own rightful place as people, that we make a difference in the lives of others.

We dream one day of a city where our children are never again stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity because of the inequality and injustice.

We dream one day of a city where faith in God dissolves discord and creates a beautiful symphony of love.

We dream one day of a city where relationships of respect, trust and honor are demonstrated between churches, municipalities, police, schools, social agencies and interfaith groups that will say, “what can we do together that we can’t do apart”?

We dream one day of a city called Elgin, where black men, white men, brown men, Jews and Gentiles, Catholics and Protestant will be able to join hands in our loving city and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, “Free at last, free at last; thank God Almighty, we are all free at last”.

We Dream of a City Note: Last three sentences are excerpted from I Have a Dream Speech, Martin Luther King Jr, “brown men, in our loving city, all free” and Elgin were added.“We Dream One Day of a City” is an excerpt taken from the curriculum of R.A.C.E.—Renewing. America’s. Cities.for Equality. Copyright 2016 of Bob Whitt, Building on Collaboration.

It is one of hope and optimism. That is the Elgin that I want to live in. That is the vision of the country I want to live in. That is the vision of the world I want to live in. Here at CKI our embracing diversity, part of our vision, means that we have members from 30 communities, 11 school districts and members who were born in 17 foreign countries. Developing a shared narrative, a shared vision is important.

However, what I learned at that meeting, sadly, is it is not yet the experience for everyone. Some people feel left out. One African American pastor said, “I don’t think too much about Elgin.” As his story, his narrative unfolded, he spent a weekend in jail because he was missing a front license plate. And while that is not exactly law abiding, it probably shouldn’t be an arrestible offense.

Our task that day was to being to articulate

A story of why we are called to lead in this moment.

A story of the community we hope to see realized

A story of why we must act.

Because as Pastor Mark Weinert said in facilitating the meeting, here is what he knows. If we cannot articulate a shared redemptive story for our city…then other narratives will fill the voice. That story might be that some lives are inherently more valuable than others. A story that there’s not enough resources for everybody. The story of hyper-individualism. That I got mine—that’s all that matters. A story of fear, rather than hope.

As many of you know, I went to Connecticut this summer to share that vision. A vision that many city leaders have been working on since before Ferguson. Until this spring I believed in our articulation of that vision. That we in Elgin had a better way. That we are better together than apart. That dialogue and mutual understanding makes us stronger. That even if there was a police shooting, our town wouldn’t erupt. That we had built the bridges between people that would sustain us. It was aspirational.

Then Decynthia Clements was shot to death on the Jane Addams Highway. What verb you attach to the description of the video makes all the difference. Did she stumble, fall, trip, stagger, emerge, charge, get out of the car. Was she ever in control? Did she have two feet planted? What did you see, if you watched the video as did I? Is there a shared narrative here?

This spring tested our ability to respond. I still believe that our ongoing response has been better because we spent the time up front building those bridges between people.We are better together.

How do we get to the point here in Elgin where everyone shares Pastor Whit’s vision—and experience?

In our own family stories, our shared narratives—there can be differences. You might remember that we had brisket for dinner for Rosh Hashanah and I might tell you it was always chicken with apples. We might both be right. Rosh Hashanah gives us the opportunity—like Isaac and Ishmael—to come back together. To return. To be part of the covenant. To belong.

Here at CKI we too have a vision based on our Jewish tradition. To be a Jewish congregation that provides meaningful observance, lifelong learning, community building and embracing diversity.

It is aspirational. We’re not quite there yet either. Some people have different experiences of what it means to be part of CKI.

If you are a regular attender at CKI you may have noticed something missing this morning. Someone actually. One of my bimah partners, Saul Mariasis died over the summer. He was my faithful friend showing up week after week, gracing us with his presence and his knowledge and a little schnapps. He had a very different life story than I having served in the Argentinian army, then the Israeli, US and even the Norwegian Merchant Marine. We probably never agreed on politics. But week after week we would share this bimah and have a great deal of respect and love for one another. We trusted one another. Despite our differences, in age, gender, career, we developed a shared narrative and a deep partnership and friendship, like Ari was talking about last night when he explained that by having friends you develop peace.

Our relationship was part of the covenant. It was an I-Thou relationship.

This summer I attended the Academy for Jewish Religion’s alumni retreat. At a camp in the Poconos, out in the creation I so dearly love. The theme was “Crossing the threshold”, so very appropriate for this season. In one session we learned about keys. The scholar in residence, Rabbi Steve Sager, held up a key and asked, “What does this key open?” Then he let us rabbis and cantors in on a secret. Now I will let you in on the secret. We have all the tools we need. All the keys to the Kingdom. All the keys to the covenenat. The challenge is to recognize them. That’s what the Mensch handbook is about. So each of you is going home with a key—a reminder that you already possess everything you need. You have the tools, the keys to get you through this season of repentance, to open the gates of the gates of righteousness. You have the keys to be participants in the covenant, members in the covenant.

The keys are signs, the central principles or values of Judaism and the ways we show each other that we belong in the covenant.

What are those keys? Judaism gives us some tools:
Pekuach nefesh—saving a life
Bal Tashchit—Do not destroy
Hachnasat Orchim—Welcoming Guests are some we have begun to discuss.

By Shavuot, as a community, we will have developed 12 of these guiding principles. We will then, as used to be done, sign a ketubah—a contract—as a community pledging to commit to these principles.

The keys are what you personally need. It might be the key of compassion. Of patience. Of lovingkindness. It might the key of forgiveness or reconciliation. It might be the key of teshuvah. It could be the key of hospitality. Or vision. But you already possess the key. You belong here. As part of the covenant. This key is a sign of that covenant. Here you will find joy, love, acceptance.

This is an introspective time. One were we are called upon to think about our lives. To do teshuvah, to turn back, to return. Teshuvah is one of the keys of the covenant. And the promise of G-d, is that the gates of repentance are always open and that G-d will take us back in great love, just as G-d promised as to our ancestors.

This knowledge gives me hope. My message to you today is simple. We have all keys to the gates. All the tools to belong. All the tools to be a light to the nations. A shining example. There is a key for each of you in a basket next to last night’s beach stones. They are a reminder. A sign of the covenant. Your actions matter. There is a ripple effect and you can open the gates with the key to the covenant. Come Cross over the threshold with me. L’shanah tovah.