Cleanliness is next to G-dliness. An old Puritian New England saying leading to much spring cleaning. Today is Shabbat Hagadol, The Big Sabbath, the Great Sabbath, It is one of two times the rabbi would give a sermon, the other time being the Shabbat between Rosh Hsshanah and YOm Kippur. Both were about preparation. And maybe they are linked. So today I am supposed to tell you all the ways that you are supposed to clean your homes and prepare for the celebration of Passover.. Mos tof you inow what you are doing and what level of preparation is meaningful to you. If you have specific questions, as the sign says at the Jewel in Buffalo Grove, call you local rabbi. That’s me! I am happy to answer specific questions—even things like how to clean a keurig. It involves lots of vinegar. This all fits nicely with this week’s portion which tells how the ancient Israelites purified their homes from eruptions, tza’arat mostly likely mold.  What is clean or dirty, pure or impure, titually ready or  not yet ready. Tahor and tameh. 

I don’t want to talk about that…and if you have a mold problem call a mold remediation specialist, not your local rabbi.  

Instead,  there is one verse of the haftarah for Shabbat Hagadol that jumps out. The hearts of the parents will be turned to the children and the hearts of the children to the parents. How does this reconciliation happen? Perhaps this is the real work, the real preparation of Passover.

Instead, I want to talk about what all this preparation is for. The whole seder experience is designed a a pedagogical tool to get our children to wake up and ask, “Why is this night different.” Each of us: Simon, Risa, Barry, Robin, Myrna, Gene, Ellen, Deborah, each of us is to see ourselves as if we went forth from Egypt, out of the narrow places. Whether you see that as metaphorical or actual matters not. We were slaves in the land of Egypt and the Lord, our G-d, took us out with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. OR it may be much more recent. The Lord, our G-d took us out of Europe where we were refugees. The Lord, our G-d enabled us to change a job that had been a narrow place, get out of a difficult marriage, survive a global pandemic or a health scare. Each of these and other examples are of being rescued from a narrow place. These are our stories. Our narratives. Our family history. And they are important. These are the stories we gather to tell on Passover—the ancient and the modern. 

The cleaning, the searching for chametz, has a spiritual overtone. Looking for all sources of leavening is about finding the pieces of ourselves that are puffed up.  

So we have prepared. Our homes are gleaming. We are finally after weeks of preparation ready to sit down and hear the story of the Exodus from Egypt. And right on cue, the youngest kid asks, “Why is this night different.” And then there is an interlude before we give the kids a good answer. Allow me to sing some of it. 

The Ballad of the Four Sons

Said the father to his children,
“At the seer you will dine,

You will eat your fill of matzah,
You will drink four cups of wine.”

Now this father had no daughters,
But his sons they numbered four.
One was wise and one was wicked,
One was simple and a bore.

And the fourth was sweet and winsome,
he was young and he was small.
While his brothers asked the questions
he could scarcely speak at all.

(to the tune of “Clementine”)
wriiten by Ben Aronin in 1948

The Four Sons. The Four Children. What are they doing here. They are so troubling. How many of you competed to be the Wise child? I most certainly did as the goody two shoes. How many of you tried not to be the wicked child?  

As a curious life long learner, I wanted to understand more about this section, the Four Children. It must be a more recent addition. But no, it turns out to be an ancient piece of text, based on the Talmud, Peschaim 10:4 and from the Mekhilta, one of the oldest form of midrash. Why? Why is it here?  

Let’s look at one modern translation:  

1. The wise child asks details about the specific meaning of the laws of Passover observance: “What are the testimonies, the statutes, and laws which Adonai our God has commanded you?” to which we respond with one of the very specific laws of the Passover seder.

1. The wicked child asks, “Whatever does this mean to you?” The authors admonish this child as one who is not concerned about the laws personally, but only for others. This exchange reminds us of the importance of not separating ourselves from our community or from traditions that might seem uncomfortable or foreign to us, but rather to engage with them in ways that enable us to connect with our community.

1. The simple child asks, “What does this mean?” to which a straightforward summary of the story is given, directly from the Torah: “It was with a mighty hand that God brought us out from Egypt, the house of bondage.” (Ex 13:14).

1. In response to the child who does not know how to ask, we are instructed to “open it up” and explain, “It is because of what God did for me when I went free from Egypt” (Ex 13:8). https://reformjudaism.org/lessons-four-children-seder  

First note, that what we tell the wicked child, whatever that means, is the same as that we tell the one who doesn’t know how to ask. It seems, therefore it is a question of tone.   

I’m not alone in being disturbed by this section. In one of my favorite Hagaddot, A Different Night a Family Participation Haggadah, there are 20 different artistic versions dating back all the way to 1536. Even Psychology Today has a whole article about the Four Children. https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/the-intelligent-divorce/201204/passover-four-sons-five-characters#:~:text=The%20Haggadah%20tells%20of%20four,doesn’t%20know%20to%20ask

And even though Pirke Avot tells us that Hillel said, “Do not seprate yourself from the community.” (Pirke Avot 2:4), the “wicked child” is still here. He has a seat at the table. We still welcome her. And she shows up! 

Perhaps as some suggest, we are each all of these. Some years I am wise, others wicked, others simple or two young to ask. 

“Rabbi Levi Yizthak of Berdichev said: The Haggadah speaks of four children. One wise, one wicked, one simple and the one who dors not know how to ask. Lord of the world, I, Levi Yitzhak, am the one who does not know how to ask. In such a case, does not the Haggadah say that with the child who does not know how to ask, You must start with him.: Tha fathermust take the initiative. Lord of the world, are You not my Father? Am I not Your son? I do not know what questions to ask. You take the initiative and disclose the answers to me. Show me, in connection with whatever happens to me, what is required of me. What are You asking of me? God, I do not ask You why I suffer. I wish to k now ony that I suffer for You sake.” (A Pssover Haggadah, 1974, CCAR, page 33) 

Levi Yizhak. Berdichev, Ukraine. 1740-1809. 

When we say, “Let all who are hungry come and eat, we mean everyone. The wise, the wicked, the simple and the one who does not know how to ask. Each of us. All of us. With all of our learning styles. With all of our questions. With all of our doubts. 

The question, our ultimate preparation is not about the dust bunnies under the refrigeration. Rather it is about  how  we tell the story of our liberations to our children and grandchildren. What is the story we want to tell, that we need to tell. And may the hearts of the parents and the hearts of the children be turned to one another.

It is said that Rabbi Akiba had thousands of students. It is said that 24,000 students died suddenly of the plague on 33rd day of the counting of the Omer, because they did not treat each other with respect or kindness. The 33rd day of the Omer is called Lag B’omer is still celebratde as a day to recognize teachers and scholars, often with picnics and archery competitions and visits to scholars’ graves. Today we mourn for another reason. Today we mourn Rabbi Everett Gendler who taught us all so much about living joyously and about Omer. How sadly appropriate. I wonder how many disciples Rabbi Everett Gendler, z’l had. 

The memories keep flooding back. Let’s start with two basic thoughts. Everett Gendler had a profound impact on my life and the life of my family. I would not be married to Simon or the rabbi I am today without Rabbi Everett Gendler. I worked directly with Everett from 1983-1991 and remained a congregant to his retirement in 1995. 

Rabbi Gendler had an exquisite and precise use of language and the sentences just flowed dripping wisdom off his tongue. And yet, he was a consummate listener, meeting people wherever they were in their spiritual journey, whether that was a child or a seasoned adult. He loved music and was attuned to every nuance, especially if it was Mozart. 

Others have written and spoken about some of his unique ritual and liturgical events. Some of them I still practice in my own congregation as the rabbi. 

Sleep services and discussions of going to bed at night. Star services. Snow services. Ones I have loved and try to do seasonally. The annual Ya’akov Lantern service, delighting both the kids and adults with intricately carved pumpkins suitable for Sukkot, Halloween or Thanksgiving. Many thought that was a mistake, giving into the dominant culture of misappropriating it. But really Rabbi Gendler was a force for Universal Judaism. Pumpkins, grown in his own expansive garden were just one of those tools to acknowledge that if you light a candle, or many of them, it is not so scary in the dark as the nights grow longer. 

The second day of Rosh Hashanah would find a hearty band on the beach at Plum Island, savoring the Rosh Hashanah sunrise with shofar calls and seagull calls,  ocean breezes, readings and a potluck feast to welcome the New Year, the birthday of the world. Every year finds me somewhere, near water doing the same thing! 

And who can forget the sunwheel, turning each new season. Originally created for the Blessing of the Sun while turning at Endicott College on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean at dawn, it was too beautiful to lock away for 28 years. Instead, the congregation hauls out the sunwheel each Friday closest to the new season. It is a thing of beauty and a joy forever with its rainbow hues and alef bet acrostic. 

Everett was a maverick, a radical ahead of his time. He marched with King, but who remembers that it was Everett who introduced Heschel to King. He worked tirelessly for peace, causing other Jews some pain and consternation especially around Israel. I saw him booed once which made a lasting impression with my youth groupers about integrity. He was ex-communicated after an ad appeared in the New York Times signed by many rabbis promoting peace. Make no mistake, that was no accident that happened in the Holiday Inn in Tewksbury, Everett’s backyard. That did not stop him. He worked with the Dalai Lama on peace and on maintaining a community in exile. His commitment to justice mirrored my own sense of being a bridge builder and peacemaker.  

He was concerned about the environment. Many consider him the father or the grandfather of the Jewish Climate movement. While that is international, it is important to know that on a very local level, he designed an implemented the first solar ner tamid which was lit in 1978. Yes, 1978! One day, and I talk about it every year, I am hopeful that we can get it done at my congregation. This maybe the real year. 

Perhaps the event that I have carried most fully into whichever congregation I am serving is the idea of the Omer. For 50 days we count the Omer. From the second night of Passover to Shavuot. What differentiates Everett’s practice was he actually planted. Some years winter wheat. Or winter rye. Or winter barley. This is a great educational activity and quickly draws the kids in. And the adults as well. We’ve now added a part of actually feeding the cows on our prairie with this dedicated food. https://mayantikvah.blogspot.com/2019/09/earth-etude-for-elul-21-little-omer-on.html  

This year the winter rye is up and we will dedicate to the memory of Everett. 

But this is personal.  

It is Everett who introduced me to my beshlert, my destined one. It is Everett we told first when we were engaged. It is Everett who called after Sarah was born, named Sarah, (twice), celebrated Gabrielle’s Bat Mitzvah and three kids’ confirmations’ services. It is with Everett I first worked through some #MeToo moments. It is Everett who helped me mourn my first fiancé. It is Everett who kicked off a regional youth group event on ethics with a speech about someone taking jewelry from the gift counter. It is Everett who interrupted a Bar Mitzvah so that the kid could go home and get his forgotten speech, Then when that kid got lost in a later year on a ski trip, he was so compassionate instead of anger, making the kid study the map until noon. It is Everett who suggested 3-year-old Sarah blow shofar for Ne’ilah and she did. And still does. 

It is Everett who enabled me to be the wife and the rabbi I am today. 

And most appropriately today, as we begin to approach Omer, it was Everett who taught us all how to dance under the stars with a Maypole for Lag B’omer. 

This past weekend the Jewish community celebrated the 100th Anniversary of the first BAT Mitzvah in this country. Kol Hakavod to Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan who had the vision and the courage to do this. Mazel tov to Judith Kaplan his daughter who became the first woman, young adult really, to have a Bat Mitzvah ceremony.

Last Shabbat we honored this moment. Here is part of what I said.

This is an important moment in time. But let’s review a little bit of how we got here. Women are allowed, even expected to pray. They are exempt from the Sh’ma because it is time bound but required to recite the Amidah. I can’t explain it but I can give you chapter and verse. Beruiah, the wife of Rav Meir in the Talmud is quoted in the Talmud and in fact is a talmud chachma herself. Some even call her the first (woman) rabbi. (I forgot to put the word woman in that sentence!)

Some call Oznat Barzarni the first (woman) rabbi. She was born in a time when everyone believed in miracles but very few believed girls should learn to read. Her father faught her and when her husband the head of the yeshiva died she became the head and no one argued. There is a lovely children’s book, Osnat and her Dove.

Others cite Regina Jonas in Germany, ordained in1935. She was my chevruta partner’s mother’s Hebrew tutor. She loved studying with Regina but reported to her mother that she must be crazy since she thought she could be a rabbi.

Fast forward to 1974. We had recently moved to Grand Rapids and all my new friends were having a Bar or a Bat Mitzvah. Nobody thought I could because I started learning Hebrew in only 6th grade. In my Sunday School in Evanston we didn’t learn Hebrew. I studied really hard and caught up with my class. We began making plans. Mine was scheduled for Passover, so everything had to be kosher for Passover, even though we belonged to the Reform congregation, Temple Emanuel..

My Bat Mitzvah was on a Friday night, April 12, 1974. The bulletin announcement listed who ushered and who poured tea at the Oneg Shabbat, which was lovely, All decked out in strawberries. Strawberry programs, strawberry napkins, punch and pie, Big bowls of spring time strawberries and whipped cream. Only the next day we discover I am allergic to strawberries. That was the extent of the party. The next day we took a few kids to a hotel swimming pool for afternoon fun. And I had more strawberries.

The service was lovely. I read from the Torah but didn’t chant. My rabbi, Rabbi Albert M. Lewis has often said that kids get just the right portion. Mine certainly proved to be. I had Exodus 33 and 34. The aftermath of the Golden Calf. An argument with G-d about going back up the mountain to get a second set of tablets of the 10 commandments. And then the glorious 13 Attributes. Those 13 Attributes caused me to be able to answer a fundamental question. The G-d of the Hebrew Bible is also the G-d of love, not just something in the Christian Scriptures. It is the verse that I wrote my rabbinic thesis about. And then a book.

I also chanted some of the special reading for Passover, Song of Songs, again about love. I remember telling Al that I would read that in Hebrew. Kind of a racy text for a 13 year old! And of course, parts of it we used at our wedding.

But it all started on a very rainy night in Grand Rapids, in 1974, just two years after Sally Priesland was ordained. Apparently I told my eight grade English teacher that I was going to be a rabbi. I have no recollection of that. Nor can I find any photos. They must be in the basement somewhere.

This is what I know. Coming of age ceremonies are important. For boys. And girls. They give students the opportunity to rise to an occasion and to shine. I am delighted to stand on the shoulders of all those who made it possible for women to take real leadership roles in Judaism.

At CKI there have been B’not Mitzvah since the late 1950 .Late on a Friday afternoon, I had the opportunity to talk to a long time member who had the first female aliyah. She gushed at my remembering and her making history. These are important milestones.

Many women did mot have the opportunities I did. They had a two tiered system for Jewish educations, boys and girls. Or their parents didn’t think girls needed any learning at all. Or they weren’t born Jewish or they just never got around to it. We are hoping at CKI to rectify some of that. If you are interested in becoming an adult Bat Mitzvah, or a Bar Mitzvah, please be in touch. What an exciting way to mark both the 120 anniversary of CKI and the 100th anniversary of bat mitzvah.

What follows are two poems I recently wrote for Women’s History Month.

Ladders: 

“Women don’t climb ladders.” they said.
It’s not safe.
Except they do.
They absolutely do.
They climb step ladders;
They climb paint ladders;
Extension ladders, a-frame ladders, library ladders.
They climb corporate ladders
While they are on top,
They smash glass ceilings.
In sports
In business.
In politics.
In medicine.
Even in religion.
In so much more. 
They even climb Jacob’s ladders.
Reaching to the sky,
Touching the very vault of heaven.
Finding G-d.
Bringing the Presence down to us. 

     Rabbi Margaret Frisch Klein, copyright 2022 

Voices… 

In honor of the 100th Anniversary of Bat Mitzvah
In honor of the 50th Anniversary of Women’s Ordination 

“I shall sing to Adonai,”
Chanted Miriam.
 “A voice cried out,”
Mourned Rachel whose children were no more.
“If You give me a child, I will dedicate him to You,”
Hannah wept and prayed in her heart
Devorah judged
Sitting under a palm tree,
Causing the sun to stop.
“No, “said Vashti, “I will not come.”
“Save my life and the life of my people,”
Demanded Esther! 

 Every Friday night we read:
“She opened her lips with wisdom
And the law of kindness is on her tongue.”
So says Proverbs
Or maybe it is how Abraham chose to eulogize Sarah 

 Women have always prayed:
At the shores of the sea,
In the wilderness,
In the women’s court at the Holy Temple,
In their homes and on their way,
Wherever they are. 

We have their words:
Their songs,
Their laments,
Their hopes,
Their techines,
in Yiddish, In Ladino, In Hebrew,
In every language. 

 And yet,
A woman’s voice is dangerous.
Alluring.
It can’t be heard.
It shouldn’t be heard.
Even today
Some groups teach this.
Women don’t have to pray.
Except they do.
Women are exempt
Except they are not
Women can’t read Torah.
Except they can.
I can give you chapter and verse. 

But why?
Why should we?
Why do we still need to prove ourselves?
To justify ourselves
Why are we made to feel that our voices are
Less authentic
Less real
Less important 
Less necessary? 

 No rather,
I will use my voice
To make this world a better place.
To speak out against injustice.
To cry out.
To sing out.
To open my mouth with kindness.

OK, some day, I pray.
I will open my mouth with kindness.
I will listen to the still small voice within.
With all my being I will praise G-d 

As the psalmist said,
What profit is there is I am silenced?
What benefit if I go to my grave? 

Like Miriam and Rachel,
Hannah and Deborah and Esther
Like Beruriah and Gluckel
Osnat and Regina
Like countless women in every generation
My voice must be heard.
Our voices will be heard. 

     Rabbi Margaret Frisch Klein, copyright 2022 

Three times this week I have been asked how to handle being angry with G-d. This week’s portion provided a possible answer. At least mine.

Today’s Torah portion is named Tzav because it is the first key word. Many times the Torah says, “Vaydeber adonai el moshe la’mor. And G-d spoke to Moses saying,,.” Our book, Eiz Chayyim translates this as “said to Moses saying” two forms of the same verb, but the Hebrew is actually two different verbs with very similar meanings. This phrase appears so often it doesn’t really count. Therefore, Tzav is the first key word and the name of our portion.  

“Tzav! Command! Don’t just speak. Order them! Command them! It is from the same root as mitzvah, commandment. 

This is a very strong word. What does it mean to command? What is a commandment? It is not just, “tell them.” or “speak to them.” It has an edge. You better do this. Or else!  Or else? Or else what?  

The portion then goes on to describe in exacting detail how the Israelite priests should offer sacrifices. That’s what is being commandment. A system of ways to reach closer to G-d. Drawing close to G-d is the goal of religion, from the Latin word religio to tie back up into. It provides a framework. If the priests sacrifice the korban, the sacrifice described the community will be right with G-d, will draw close to G-d. Korban has the same root as close, k-r-v/  

If you do x, then I, G-d will do y. It is a covenantal relationship. We read the paragraph after the V’ahavta from Deuteronomy 11 earlier. It lays it all out. “Keep, therefore, all the Instruction that I enjoin upon you today, so that you may have the strength to enter and take possession of the land that you are about to cross into and possess,” You’ll have rain in its season and eat to contentment. But if you stray, then watch out. 

This is like an angry parent. It is a system that works. Maybe. Except when it stops functioning. And too often this kind of thinking leads to a blame the victim mentality. Even if you follow all the rules, you may not get the life you think you deserve. People who promote what as known as “prosperity gospel” are particularly prone to this line of thinking. You are destined for goodness because G-d will provide it. If you do everything right and don’t go straying after strange g-ds. If you do, then you might get events like Katrina, 9/11 even the pandemic. We’ve all heard that kind of language, even recently. Perhaps especially recently.  

More than once the Israelites have to re-invent themselves. When they are expelled from the Land of Israel by the Babylonians. Remember those great pieces of liturgy—If I forget thee O Jerusalem. And by the waters of babylon we sat down and wept. Then again during the Macabee days. Then again after the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE. 

One of my favorite stories is from Avot de Rabbi Natan, on page 68 in our siddur. Mourning the destruction of the Temple, two rabbis were wandering in the ruins. What could they do, without animal sacrifice to atone. The answer, deeds of lovingkindness is what G-d desires, not sacrifice. 

So what happens if it is you? What if you have been the rule follower all your life? It doesn’t help to tell you that the world is not fair. Yet it’s not. It doesn’t necessarily help to look for explanations. In my own case, I don’t believe, for instance, that G-d is punishing me because of some commandment I didn’t follow. It also doesn’t seem to work to look at the demographics. Most people with myeloma are older black men over 70 who handled chemicals. That’s not me. It is maybe somewhat genetic, research is not clear. The doctors’ best guess. Bad luck. Would I like a better explanation? You bet.  

So life isn’t fair.  

It is OK to be angry with G-d. Go ahead, be angry. Scream it. Punch it. Cry it out. G-d is angry too. 

Be angry that people are not being kind. Be angry that there are wildfires in Texas and earthquakes in Japan. Be angry that there is climate change. Be angry that rulers like Putin think so little of human beings and can’t see that all humans are created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d. Be angry that there are not enough slots for refugees in this country. Be angry that there are not enough mental health services in Kane County or elsewhere. Be angry that the health care system seems to be broken. Or the justice system. Or the educational system. Be angry that 25% of all kids go to bed in this country, with plenty of resources, hungry. That’s my list of what makes me angry. 

You each probably have your own list of what makes you angriest these days. In the book Finding Joy, a simple introduction to Kabbalah, which we read together as a congregation several years ago, it tells us that anger is OK—the trick is to balance it. To channel it. To use that passion for good.  The example in the book was about Alan who was angry at his long dead father for repeatedly beating him as a child. At his aged mother who didn’t stop the beatings. But he became a successful defense attorney because he refused to let anger control him. He believes that anger is a gift from G-d because it forces him to fight harder for the people who depend on him the most. 

Ager is Alan’s Yetzer Hara, his evil inclination. He has channeled it to be more effective, production, successful and yes, even happier. 

Alan, a modern day example was not alone. One of the founders of chassidut, Rabbi Levi of Berditchev, argued with G-d, using a very similar construction to Moses, demanded, commanded G-d:, It is a prayer of protest, “Din Torah mit Got” (a lawsuit with God) in which he asserts, “And I, Levi Yitzhak, son of Sarah Berditchev, say, from my stand I will not waver, and from place I shall not move until there be an end to this exile.” 

That place he refused to move from. Ukraine. When did I learn about Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev? For my own Bat Mitzvah, this very quote I used in my Bat Mitzvah sermonette.  

If Rabbi Levi Yitzhak can argue with G-d. If Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav can go out into the fields and pour out his heart to G-d, demanding, commanding that G-d listen, we can too.  

Our Torah portion begins with “And G-d called.” Vayikra, G-d called to Moses. In every Torah the aleph at the end of Vayikra is written smaller than the rest of the word. Why? There are many reasons given by the rabbis but nobody knows for sure. 

I like to think of it as the little aleph that could. It points the way. It is like the story of the Aleph at the beginning of the 10 commandments. Rabbi Larry Kushner tells the story so well where rabbis argue about what the Israelites heard at Mount Sinai. After several iterations, they conclude that the first word of the first commandment, Anochi, which begins with the letter aleph, a silent letter, means that G-d and the Jewish people can have a conversation. It means that each of you can hear the silent voice of G-d deep in your soul, pointing the way.  

My friend, Leann Shamash wrote a poem about this small aleph linking it with the unfolding tragedy in Ukraine. 

“The small Aleph means something different to everyone. 
The small Aleph is silent but it says much. The small Aleph hovers between the Commander and the commands.
The small Aleph is wedged between beginnings and continuations.
It is a signpost between two worlds. The small Aleph is not afraid to stand between giants.
The small Aleph hovers high above the ground,
proud and defiant.
The small Aleph refuses to leave,
refuses to fail, 
refuses to surrender.
The small Aleph stands for the underdog;
the one still hanging on who won’t be defeated.
The small Aleph holds onto its place in history 
with three slender lines.
The small Aleph begins the story of sacrifice.” 

 The book of Vayikra, Leviticus, that we begin today, with that little Aleph, tells us much about sacrifice and the priestly class. It is mostly addressed to the priests, but it does break out of that mold and talk to all of us. It tells us to be holy for G-d is holy. It tells us to “Love our neighbor as ourselves” and to “Not stand idly by while our neighbor bleeds.” These are deep values in Judaism. 

This is also Shabbat Zachor. We read a special reading from a second Torah scroll.  From Deuteronomy 25:  

“Remember what Amalek did to you on your journey, after you left Egypt—  how, undeterred by fear of God, he surprised you on the march, when you were famished and weary, and cut down all the stragglers in your rear. Therefore, when your God  Adonai, grants you safety from all your enemies around you, in the land that your God Adonai is giving you as a hereditary portion, you shall blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. Do not forget! 

The rabbis of the Talmud link Amalek with Haman. That’s why we blot out Haman’s name with boos and graggers, noisemakers and stamping of feet. Others have then linked Amalek to Haman and Hitler. In every generation an Amalek has risen up to destroy us.  

This struck me this week. The problem with Amalek is that he and his minions, attacked the rear guard, the stragglers, the women and children and old people. 

It was chilling this week to hear that a maternity hospital had been bombed in Ukraine. It was chilling to hear that Hadassah Hospital who has doctors on the ground in Poland triaging refugees escaping the horrors of war to expect even more difficult cases. People who had means got out relatively quickly. The ones coming soon, are that very ones that are portion describes, the stragglers, the women, the children, the elderly. Those are the ones who will need the most help.  

We are told to remember, to not forget, to blot out the memory of Amalek. Yet, we are also told that those who forget history are doomed to repeat it. We cannot keep it hidden. 

This week we were treated to an amazing presentation by Gale Jacoby about her family, how they escaped Germany and were able to rebuild their lives, slowly over time, here in America. Gale has been working on these stories for years. It is how she keeps the memory of her parents and the horrors of Nazi Germany alive. She has made sure that we all shall remember to never forget. Not Amalek, not Haman, not Hitler.  

However, it is not enough to remember. We must continue to act so that we also remember that we were slaves in Egypt, that our father, Abraham was a wandering Aramean, that we were strangers in the land of Egypt. In our Kiddush prayer marking Shabbat, we are told that we observe Shabbat in memory of the Exodus from Egypt. 

This week on Purim, we add an extra prayer to our Amidah. In the Hoda’ah prayer, the Modim Anachnu Lach, we add an extra paragraph. The Book of Esther is one of two books in the Hebrew Bible that never mention G-d. G-d is hidden in the action, except in folio versions of the megilah like this one, where the standard calligraphy call for writing “HaMelech”, the King, another name for G-d, at the top of every page. Even though G-d was not visible in the text of the Book of Esther, the rabbis added this prayer: 

Al hanisim v’al hapurkan v’al hagurvot…For the miracles and the redemption and for the mighty acts and for the salvation and for the wars that You have done for our ancestors in those days in this season. 

The prayer then continues telling the story of Purim: 

“In the Days of Mordechai and Esther, in Shushan, the capital, when Haman, the wicked, rose up against them and sought to destroy, to slay, and to exterminate all the Jews, young and old, infants and women, on the same day, on the thirteenth of the twelfth month, which is the month of Adar, and to plunder their possessions; But You, in Your abundant mercy, nullified his counsel and frustrated his intention and caused his design to return upon his own head and they hanged him and his sons on the gallows.” 

All year, I’ve been taking a class for women rabbis on art and spirituality. It has been a life line and a way to practice self-care. This week’s class was particularly good. The text study had to do with the hidden light of G-d. One reading from the Zohar:  

“Rabbi Yose said, The light created by God in the act of Creation flared from one end of the universe to the other and was hidden away… for the righteous in the world that is coming…Rabbi Yehudah responded, “If the light were completely hidden, the world would not exist for even a moment… Every single day, a ray of that light shines into the world, animating everything; with that ray God feeds the world. And everywhere that Torah is studied at night, one thread thin ray appears from that hidden light and flows down upon those absorbed in her.*… 

Since the first day, the light has never been fully revealed, but it is vital to the world, renewing each day the act of Creation.” 

One thin ray of light, a thread. Just a thin thread. The word for thread, kav is related to tikvah, hope. And because it can be thin, it can seem hidden, just like the face of G-d in the Purim story. Yet it is there.  

Then we painted. I was reminded of an old Girl Scout song, “there’s a web like a spiders web made of silver light and shadow spun by the moon in my room at night, there’s a web made to catch a dream hold it tight til I awaken as if to tell me that dreaming’s alright.” It was a very powerful image and it felt like I was filled with light in my bed under a chuppah. 

That thin web of light is like the ball of yarn that we used in Guatemala when I was a AJWS global justice fellow to build a tangled web between people. We are all connected by that thin ray of light, that thin thread. It may seem hidden, but it is not. It connects us all. All over the world. All the way to Ukraine and back. It gives me hope. 

Then the prayer…in the words of an old Debbie Friedman song, based on one of my favorite Psalms, Psalm 30. 

“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.” 

Please heal me now. Please heal us now. Please heal the world now. 

Yesterday I participated in a Vigil on City Hall Plaza for Ukraine. Here are my remarks.

“Music speaks louder than words. It’s the only thing that the world listens to.” Words from Peter, Paul and Mary. The partnership we are exhibiting today between the Coalition of Elgin Religious Leaders and the Elgin Symphony Orchestra just illustrated the power of music when words fail to express our heartbreak and our anger. Music soothes the savage beast. May it be so. 

Your silent presence here today, makes a difference. It its silence it sends a loud message. You, in Ukraine are not alone. 

The prayer that I offer you today was sent to me by Father John Cox, OMI and in its simplicity, it captures my hopes. 

“For those who are fleeing, sanctuary.
For those who are staying, safety.
For those who are fighting, peace.
For those whose hearts are breaking, comfort.
For those who see no future, hope.” 

Poor Claire nuns of Gallway. 

The Jewish people will celebrate Purim, the story of the Book of Esther this week. Earlier today we had children (and me) in costume, recognizing our Super Heros, like the police and fire departments, who like Queen Esther in a previous era, have helped us survive this pandemic. The question could be who is helping the Ukrainians survive.  

In a month we will celebrate Passover. The story of the Passover in the Hagaddah begins with the sentence, “My father was a wandering Aramean.” Throughout our history, Jews have always been refugees. 36 times in the Torah, the first five books of the Hebrew Bible, we are told to welcome the widow, the orphan and the stranger, precisely because we were strangers in the land of Israel. Wherever we have wandered we have been strangers, the other. Sometimes that has even been from Russia and Ukraine.  It is why there are organizations like HIAS that have been working on refugee crisis for over 100 years. Hadassah Hospital already has teams of doctors and nurses on the ground. Last night 17 rabbis left for Poland to do hands on work with those fleeing the horrors of war. Make no mistake, war is a horror.  

Mayor Kaptain, I applaud you for pointing out Elgin’s diversity and promising to help settle refugees here. 

Yesterday we read in synagogue about Amalek. We are supposed to remember to never forget Amalek. What was his crime? He attacked the rear guard when the Israelites were fleeing Egypt. The tired, stragglers, the women, the children, the elderly. The images this week of a maternity ward attacked were chilling. These were the women who could not leave, the rear. I will leave it to you to decide if Putin and his minions are the next generation of Amalek. 

War is hell. It must stop. Oseh shalom bimromav. May the G-d that makes peace in the high heavens make peace here on earth and let us say, Amen. Ufros aleinu sukkat shlomecha. Spread over us, all of us Your fragile sukkah, Your fragile shelter of peace.  

The images are haunting. Women and children sleeping in a subway station with all their worldly possessions surrounding them. Some in suitcases, one a Disney bag with Mickeys and Minnies, not unlike many we saw last week at DisneyWorld, others in trash bags, only what they could carry. Men required to stay home to fight.  

We’ve played this game before. I’m leaving Egypt, Russia, Germany and I’m taking with me an apple, a banana, a canteen of water. This time it is for real and it is no game. Jews have done this before. Over and over again. Many times, they take their candlesticks or a menorah, a priceless book or a samavor. Jerry Goldstein’s family’s samovar is in my office. How you lug something like that is a mystery to me. 

This is Refugee Shabbat. A weekend dedicated to talking about refugee resettlement set up by HIAS, the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society. Our own member, Eugene Klionsky, was helped by HIAS when he left Russia as a 19 year old, with just two suitcases. My brother-in-law Fred Klein, an immigration attorney and judge in Tucson, worked for HIAS for a while.  

The history of the Kleins is tied to refugee work. How? As Fred tells the story, it was because of the United States’s response to the Holocaust. He could not believe that the SS St. Louis, destined for Cuba was turned away and then turned back to Europe. Many of those on the St. Louis were murdered in the various concentration camps. He could not sit idly by.  

Jews have always been refugees. Our Passover story begins with “My father was a wandering Aramean.” Abraham left Haran and settled in Canaan, a land that G-d would show him. Jacob sent his sons to Egypt to find food during a famine. Famine, water scarcity and climate disasters are some of the most common reasons people become refugees. The Israelites wandered in the desert for 40 years. That’s where our story picks up today. 

The mishkan, the tabernacle that the Israelites will carry with them, is completed. It is beautiful. And it remains a mystery where the Israelites found all the supplies they needed, gold, silver, copper, acacia wood, dolphin skins, fine linen, yarn of purple, blue and crimson.  

A footnote in this first weekend of Women’s History Month, it is important to know that the skilled artisans who assembled the mishkan included the women. That was the other sermon I was going to do today.  

The work was finished. The text tells us that “For over the Tabernacle a cloud of Adonai rested by day, and fire would appear in it*in it I.e., in the cloud. by night, in the view of all the house of Israel throughout their journeys.” The mishkan was a place for G-d to dwell and that Presence went with them wherever they wandered. 

For 2 years we have been hosting Shabbat services, every single week on Zoom, removed mostly from our beautiful sanctuary. Look around you. The stain glass is still here. The rainbows dancing on the pews. The purple, the blue, the gold and bronze still here. It is beautiful, Working and davenning remotely did not make us refugees. Imagine abandoning this building for all time.  

For many years, Simon and I were part of a weekly radio show, Faith Alive on WCAP in Lowell. He edited and read the news. I was the Jewish content person. There was a rotating group of Catholic and Protestant clergy. At some point the Catholic Church decided it had to close St. Peters, the large Irish Catholic Cathedral. People were up in arms, Their relatives had built that church by hand with their own sweat equity. They had quarried the granite themselves and it was beautiful. How dare the church close it. That week I was on the show with the Bishop of Lowell, who actually lived in the rectory next door to St. Peters. Now, to be clear, the bishop and I had a rule. We would not discuss abortion or birth control on air. We knew we disagreed. But in the discussion of St. Peters, I said something like, “I don’t understand. Jews have been kicked out of every country in Europe at one time or another. We don’t get attached to our buildings.” The bishop didn’t speak to me for over a year. But then our congregation merged with another in a neighboring town. Then, and only then, as the yahrzeit plaques were removed and the Torahs were carried lovingly, did I begin to understand. The bishop and I reconciled and eventually I told this story as part of one of his eulogies many years later. So I ask you again, imagine losing this building.  

Our Torah teaches us in the words of the non-Jewish prophet that “Ma tovu ohalecha ya’akov. How good, how beautiful are our tents O Jacob, our dwelling places, our sanctuaries O Israel.” So whether you are davenning here in the room or on Zoom or in a subway station in Kiyv or a basement in Maripol, G-d’s Presence is with you. 

Many people have felt paralyzed watching the news unfold. What can we do? We feel powerless. But there are things you can do. We can follow Fred’s example and help settle refugees and asylum seekers. We can advocate for refugees. We can donate money, HIAS and JUF are both options I sent out earlier in the week.  A high school classmate signed up to go to Kyiv by rented an airbnb apartment so that she could send money to a homeowner with a nice note. No, she’s not actually going. The homeowner was so touched. Airbnb is looking for people in the States to open their homes to refugees.  

We Jews, who have all too often known the pain of being refugees, have an obligation here. We are commanded, 36 times in Torah, more than any other commandment, to take care of the widow, the orphan and the stranger. The most vulnerable amongst us. Precisely because we were strangers in the land of Egypt. We have an obligation to act. We have an obligation to hope.  

G-d goes with us, wherever we go. That is the implication of that very last line of the book of Exodus which we just read. G-d dwells in us and among us. Last weekend, one of the most haunting images of Shabbat in Ukraine were Jews davenning in a subway station singing ‘Hiney Ma Tov, How good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together.” Perhaps, Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav, Ukraine, had it right, Kol ha’olam kulo, gesher tzar m’od, The whole world is a narrow bridge, the important thing is to not be afraid. These are the messages of this Refugee Shabbat. 

A Prayer for Ukraine
by Rabbi Menachem Creditor 

God of Peace, 

We call to You, hearts pounding, as we pray for the people of Ukraine who are suffering under tyrant’s attack. Hear their prayers and ours. Support our commitment to stand with them in their time of great need. Please. 

Dear God, how can we say Never Again when bombs fall on Babi Yar, when millions must run for their lives or take shelter in synagogues and subway stations? Haven’t we learned? You Who Remembers all, do not forsake us as we relearn these painful lessons. 

In every generation there arise those who, in selfish pursuit of power, privilege might over moral right, precipitate needless earthquakes despite the tsunamis of human pain that will follow. Holy One, spoil the oppressors’ evil plans, diminish their power. 

God, We have also witnessed great heroism during these dark days, human beings pushing back against tanks with their bare hands, the brave Jewish President of Ukraine, Volodymyr Zelensky and his family, millions of Ukrainians fighting to protect their homes. This is Your Image, strong and courageous, fierce and present. This is Your Outstretched Arm. We ask that You remind us to offer our own. 

As one of Ukraine’s greatest teachers, Rav Nachman, once taught: “The Exodus from Egypt occurs in every human being, in every era, in every year, and in every day.” Holy One, may this teaching be fulfilled speedily and in our days. 

May peace rain down upon the people of Ukraine. May we study war no more. 

Amen.  

Love is in the air. “What the world needs now is Love” Sung by Dione Warwick and penned by Burt Bachrach, it was a song I sang in choir at Temple Emanuel in Grand Rapids as part of Jewish Music Month, which happens to be February. 

“What the World Needs Now is Love”   Dionne Warwick HD –  with Lyrics 

  This is the weekend we celebrate Valentine’s Day in the United States. Some would argue that it is not a very Jewish holiday, named after all for Saint Valentine. But maybe there are elements that are very Jewish. Valentine was apparently a matchmaker. He made sure that women could be married and that there was enough dowry for each girl to marry. That’s very similar to our text from the Talmud:
“These are the obligations without measure, whose reward, too, is without measure: To honor father and mother; to perform acts of love and kindness; to attend the house of study daily; to welcome the stranger; to visit the sick; to rejoice with bride and groom; to console the bereaved; to pray with sincerity; to make peace where there is strife…and the study of Torah is equal to them all, because it leads to them all.”  

We are told to perform deeds of lovingkindness, gemilut chasadim. What are these deeds? Certainly the list I just read. And also from Sukkah 49b, a text I quote often, we should walk in the ways of the Holy One. As G-d clothed the naked, Adam and Eve, we should clothe the naked. As G-d visited the sick, Abraham after the circumcision, we should visit the sick. As G-d buried the dead, Moses, we should bury the dead. Those are all deeds of lovingkindness. And we should provide for the needy bride. 

There are two words for love in the Torah. Chesed, often translated as lovingkindness as we’ve just talked about and ahavah. The first mention of Ahavah is with Isaac and Rebecca. It reads, as I have said before like a Hollywood script. It was love at first sight. Abraham sends his servant to find a wife for Isaac. The servant finds Rebecca, who in an act of chesed watered not only the servant but also all the camels.  And only after she consents brings her back on a camel. She wonders who the man is wandering or meditating in the field. The camel bends its knee. She alights. Isaac raises his eyes and inquires who he is seeing. Then the text says: “Isaac then brought her into the tent of his mother Sarah, and he took Rebekah as his wife. Isaac loved her, and thus found comfort after his mother’s death” (Gen 24). 

In Judaism we are commanded to love. We are told to love G-d. We are told to love our neighbor and to love the stranger. While it is difficult to command an emotion, I think the actions that we display is how we show love. It’s about walking the walk and talking the talk. 

The rabbis of the Talmud set out much of the order of service we have today. They blanketed the Sh’ma, the watchword of our faith, the proclamation that G-d is One, with love. Before the Sh’ma we get a prayer that reminds us that G-d loves us. How do we know this, because G-d gave us Torah. Like a loving parent, G-d sets limits for us. Then we witness that G-d is One when we proclaim the Sh’ma. Then we remind ourselves that we should love G-d with all our heart, with all our soul, with all our being.  How do we show that love? Again with our actions. By putting these very words on our doorposts in a mezusah and before our eyes in tefilin. By talking about these words when we lie down and when we rise up. By teaching our children diligently. 

We’ve come full circle. We know G-d loves us because of Torah. Our children know we love them because we set limits for them and teach them diligently. 

And we show our love to G-d, our neighbors and the stranger by doing deeds of lovingkindness. Now I am off to find some chocolate and maybe a tulip. I like them better than roses. But Bette Midler’s the Rose captures love so beautifully:
Bette Midler – the Rose 

I watched some of the Olympic opening ceremony Friday morning. I always thrill to watch the Olympics. Perhaps the first time I watched the Olympics was the winter of 1972 from the old Pheasant Run in Saint Charles. It was my birthday weekend and it was too cold to do all those outdoor winter sports they advertised. So we huddled in our hotel room watched the Olympics all day in color! When the Olympic flag went up this morning, I knew what my opening to this message would be. Those Olympic rings on that flag are to represent the five continents. I had been taught they represented the five races. For me, there has always been such optimism watching the Olympics, such hope for the future. And they used the Beatles “Imagine” as part of the ceremony.  

But the modern Olympics have been fraught with controversy. I loved the movie Chariots of Fire—a real story about anti-semitism in the 1924 games in Paris. I can tell you as a runner, you can sing the Sh’ma to the theme song from the movie. And the last hymn, Jerusalem, is one that was always used at High Holy Days in the congregation that Simon and I met in, even though it is a “Christian” hymn. 

The 1936 Berlin games were particularly difficult. Hitler was in power and these games were going to prove Hitler’s racial theory. That the Aryan race, blond and blue eyed was the best. Then came Jesse Owens smashing the myth. 1972 Summer Olympics with the tragic massacre of the Israeli athletes remains unfathomable to me. Still. Even after watching it live. And even after the movie Munich. Boycotting the 1980 Olympics in Russa left US athletes who had trained out of competition. It goes on and on and this year seems to be no exception as I watched Putin watching the Ukrainian team enter the stadium. 

And yet those rings on the flag. So let’s talk about race. Race is a western civilization construct. In truth there is only one race. The human race. At the very beginning of Maus, on the title page, Hitler is quoted as saying, “The Jews are undoubtedly a race, but they are not human.” This was part of Hitler’s campaign to dehumanize Jews. Race is not just black and white. Filling out my own census form, I found the race question difficult. Simon and I even talked about it. Not really white, but not any of the other choices provided. So, Whoopi Goldberg, who I have long admired got this part wrong. And then apologized. And is still learning. I am not sure she should have been removed for two weeks from ABC. And yet. And still. This is complicated. 

In 8th grade my Hebrew School class had a year long debate. Are we Jewish Americans or American Jews. Which word modifies which? Are we a religion, a faith, a race, an ethnic group? I’ve settled on a people. We can’t just be a religion or a faith alone because we have Jews who do not believe in any god. We have cultural Jews. Lox and bagel Jews. Hidden Jews. We are not a race because, even in our own congregation we have multi-racial Jews, Black Jews, Hispanic Jews, Asian Jews. We have Jews that converted in. And even if you tell me you did your DNA test and that you are 98% Ashkanazi Jew that does not mean Judaism is a race. We are not just an ethnic group. Jews in Israel and Morocco eat different foods for holidays than those of eastern Europe. Synagogues in China look like pagodas; in Spain they have Moorish architecture. Language, one measure of culture and ethnic groups vary. We have Hebrew, Yiddish, Ladino and the language you speak (here mostly English), wherever you grew up. 

So, we are all of that—and more. So, people: Jews are a people. 

Banning Maus is problematic for a number of reasons. It whitewashes history. As one editorial wrote if we only read The Boy in the Stripped Pajamas or Anne Frank, it pajamacizes history. The good gentiles stepped up to the plate and saved Jews. It’s not messy. It’s not dirty and it doesn’t allow us to hear from Jewish survivors. It assumes that kids can’t handle anything difficult. Banning books is not new. My family has been involved with National Banned Book week for decades. https://bannedbooksweek.org/ The list of banned books is LONG, not just Maus and not just Holocaust literature. Take a look at it.  

Maus is important this week for another reason. Part of the story actually focuses on Parsha Teruma which we read this weekend. Artie’s father has a dream that he will be released on the Shabbat we read Parsha Teruma. Spoiler alert. He is. And later he marries his wife this weekend. And later his son, the author is born this week. And later the author has his Bar Mitzvah this week. Hidden in the pages of this graphic novel are the seeds of hope.  

Anti-semitism has been around for a very long time. Some refer to it as the canary in the coal mine. Attacks on Jews are rising according to both ADL statistics and FBI hate crime statistics. ADL cites a statistic that 84% of Jews have experienced anti-semitism but many fail to report it. The ADL has good resources around anti-semitism education: https://www.adl.org/education/antisemitism  

Jonathan Greenblatt’s new book, It Could Happen Here talks about the Pyramid of Hate. We have a need to interrupt it. Hate is a learned behavior. You don’t start out telling anti-Jewish jokes. You don’t start out painting swastikas or breaking windows. It escalates. Sadly, we saw our own anti-Jewish behavior in Chicagoland this week. Luckily not here in Elgin. But I am not so naïve to think it cannot happen. The incidents I am aware of are low on the pyramid of hate model. We at CKI take all of this very seriously.  

Things that we do around this topic at CKI: 

• All of our students have some Holocaust education 
• We recently hosted the ADL for a presentation on the State of Hate. 
• We are an ADL Signature Synagogue 
• We actively attend various trainings on safety and security led by JUF, ADL, SCN, Homeland Security, the FBI and FEMA 
• We write and receive and administer Homeland Security grants. We’ve had three years in a row of upgrading facilities. And I learned recently that 1/3 of applicants don’t get any. (Thank you, Robin!) Some of those enhancements are visible and some are deliberately not visible.  
• We provide training to our members on some of these topics. 
• We are writing to all 11 superintendents about this growing problem and asking also about Holocaust education. 
• We have built really good relationships with our neighbors, area congregations and the Elgin Police Department. 

That last one brings me hope. The number of people who have reached out to CKI, some of which we captured in HaKol, brings me hope. The Elgin Police Department’s willingness to provide extra coverage brings me hope.  

What can you do to fight anti-semitism? 

• If you see something, say something.  
• Interrupt a joke. Explain it isn’t funny.  
• Call me.  
• Call the police department in your town. 
• Report it to the ADL. 

• Talk to your children about what to do if they are bullied at school or just made to feel uncomfortable. Tell them to tell you. Find a responsible and trusted adult at school. Call me. 
• Read a book: Greenblatt’s It Could Happen Here or Bari Weiss’s How to Fight Anti-Semitism. Try the 1619 Project or Caste.  
• Call your elected official and ask to have Deborah Lipstadt confirmed as the Anti-Semisitm envoy. 
• Have fun watching the Olympics. 
• Remember that there is always hope. 

This Shabbat we read Parsha Teruma, about how to build the Mishkan, the portable sanctuary in which we placed the Tablets of the 10 Commandments in the ark. Both the shards of the first set and the whole set. They represent our dreams, both broken and whole. Psalms teaches us to build a world on love. Olam Chesed Yibeneh.Two of my good friends, Rabbi Menachem Creditor (the composer) and Rabbi David Paskin, recorded this version: https://rabbidavid.bandcamp.com/track/olam-chesed-yibaneh    That is what we will continue to do. We will continue to be a light to the nations and build this world on love.  

I had a highly spiritual service on Shabbat morning. Psalm 30 says “What profit if I am silenced. What benefit if I go to my grave. Will the dust praise You?” Ahead of my birthday and perhaps in honor of it, I felt like if I never could give another sermon, this one, this one is important.

Today’s portion is called Mishpatim. Laws. After the heights, literally the heights of last week and our receiving the 10 Commandments, the 10 Sayings, we get all the details of how to create this society. The rules, the laws, the commandments. All of them, or at least most of them.  

In the prayer Ahavat Olam, which we sing in the evening sing, Torah u’mitzvot, chukim umishpatim. Stew describes this prayer as the ultimate love song. G-d loves us. I’ll add, we know this, because G-d gives us limits, just like a loving Parent. But are these words just synonyms?  Not exactly. 

• Torah, can mean the Torah scroll, the 5 Books of Moses, or Instruction or Teaching 
• Mitzvot, Commandment, or good deed (in Yiddish) 
• Hukim, rules, law that we don’t seemingly know the reason for, for example not mixing wool and linen, shatnes, or in last week’s portion not using iron to shape stone.  
• Mishpatim: Mishpatim are those laws for which we know the reason. They make sense.  Examples are the prohibition of stealing and of taking bribes. These are laws that any normal and decent society would enact. They are part of the Noahid laws. Today we are going to talk about just two of them. And this sermon might need to come with a trigger warning. So if this sermon starts to get to you, do what you need to do. Walk away for a bit. Turn your camera off. Call a friend. Call me later. Whatever you need to do for you.  

וְגֵ֥ר לֹא־תוֹנֶ֖ה וְלֹ֣א תִלְחָצֶ֑נּוּ כִּֽי־גֵרִ֥ים הֱיִיתֶ֖ם בְּאֶ֥רֶץ מִצְרָֽיִם׃ 

You shall not wrong a stranger or oppress him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt. 

כׇּל־אַלְמָנָ֥ה וְיָת֖וֹם לֹ֥א תְעַנּֽוּן׃ 

You shall not ill-treat any widow or orphan.
 אִם־עַנֵּ֥ה תְעַנֶּ֖ה אֹת֑וֹ כִּ֣י אִם־צָעֹ֤ק יִצְעַק֙ אֵלַ֔י שָׁמֹ֥עַ אֶשְׁמַ֖ע צַעֲקָתֽוֹ׃ 

If you do mistreat them, I will heed their outcry as soon as they cry out to Me, 
וְחָרָ֣ה אַפִּ֔י וְהָרַגְתִּ֥י אֶתְכֶ֖ם בֶּחָ֑רֶב וְהָי֤וּ נְשֵׁיכֶם֙ אַלְמָנ֔וֹת וּבְנֵיכֶ֖ם יְתֹמִֽים׃ {פ} 

and My anger shall blaze forth and I will put you to the sword, and your own wives shall become widows and your children orphans. 

The text is a command. An imperative. And negative. And very clear!  Don’t do it! You just had this experience of being a stranger, of being a slave.  Do not put it on others. 36 times in the Torah it tells us to take care of the widow, the orphan the stranger—the most marginalized amongst us. I have talked about this frequently. In the Talmud, which tells us it is 36 times, it then argues with itself, may it is really 46 times. (Bava Metzia 59b) But unlike most Talmud texts so good at giving us the footnotes, it does not supply the list. One year I built the—if you need my annotated bibliography on this topic, which we used for Shavuot one year, I’ve got it. 

But why—why 36 or 46 times? Much more than “don’t eat pork.” Much more than “love your neighbor as yourself.” If something is repeated, we know it is there for emphasis. We really, really (see the emphasis) need to do this! Perhaps it is because we really, really need to do this. And perhaps it is because we need the constant reminder precisely because it is so hard to do.  

Two weeks ago, a rabbi opened a door for a stranger. He gave him tea. I might have too. The safety and security team has met. We have reminded ourselves that this is not so simple. How do we balance the need for safety and security with the commandment to welcome the stranger? How do we remain warm and welcoming? It is an ongoing process. And I have given this sermon before. Quoting Yossi Klein Halevii, there are two kinds of Jews. Purim Jews, where we are afraid of everyone because anyone might be Amalek. And Passover Jews, where we welcome the stranger because we were strangers in Egypt. That sermon is here: 

https://www.theenergizerrabbi.org/wp-admin/post.php?post=91962&action=edit 

But actually, as important as that is message is, it is not what I want to talk about today.  My chevruta partner, my study partner, Rabbi Linda Shriner Cahn and I are studying Rabbi Jonathan Sack’s Lessons in Leadership. He talks about why Mishpatim follows the 10 Commandments. It is the difference between the vision—the 10 Commandments and Mishpatim, the details—the actual rules. The devil is in the details. I would add that it is like the guy who has a great idea, the vision, for start-up and then needs to step aside to grow the company.  

And in the story. The story is important here. Each law has a story behind it and why it is enacted. Perhaps some of this is YOUR story. 

This story is all of our stories. We are all to see ourselves as if we went forth from Egypt, out of the narrow places, out of the birth canal. We all walked through the parted sea, exclaiming, “This is my G-d.” We all stood at Sinai. 

The story is important. Both in our parsha and in our American judicial system. 

It is no accident at all that I am drinking out of a mug today, that one of you gave me. Women belong in all the places where decisions are being made. Ruth Bader Ginsburg. There has been a lot of discussion this week about women and justice. We’ll leave that for media and for the president, the Supreme Court and the Senate. However, this month also marks the 49th anniversary of Roe v Wade, for which RBG was instrumental in ensuring. That’s worth commenting on, especially this week. 

This week we mark something called Repro Shabbat. Started by the National Council of Jewish Women which was founded in Chicago during the World’s Columbian Exposition in 1893, just one year after the founding of Congregation Kneseth Israel in 1892.  

Judaism—where we fight about everything—permits abortion. For many reasons, including the life of the mother. This includes the mental health of the mother. In Judaism we talk about the potential life. There is a difference between potential life, and life itself. Judaism usually regards life beginning not at conception—the Catholic understanding, but when the infant is halfway out the birth canal. Or when the baby takes its first breath. 

What is clear, is that the strongest argument in Biblical argument for permitting abortion comes this very parsha, right from Exodus, Chapter 21, Verse 22-23,  “If people are fighting and hit a pregnant woman and she gives birth prematurely but there is no serious injury, the offender must be fined whatever the woman’s husband demands and the court allows. But if there is serious injury, you are to take a life for a life.” It continues with the famous quote eye for eye, tooth for tooth. However, these were always seen as monetary damages. (That’s a sermon for another time.) 

In this passage, “gives birth prematurely” could mean the woman miscarries, and the fetus dies. Because there’s no expectation that the person who caused the miscarriage is liable for murder. This proves that the fetus not considered (yet) a soul. Rather there is a distinction made between life and potential life.  

The Talmud is also helpful when discussing abortion. The Talmud explains that for the first 40 days of a woman’s pregnancy, the fetus is considered “mere fluid” and considered part of the mother until birth.  

Now, no one usually wants to be in a position to have to choose an abortion, but the fact that it is permissible is very different than the understanding in Catholicism which believes that life begins at conception, for instance. They argue that Roe v Wade infringes on their freedom of religion. Several years ago, I was asked to serve on Saint Joseph’s Hospital Community Leadership Board. When Ed Hunter came to ask me to serve, I laughed. I reminded him that I was a rabbi. He said he knew. And a woman rabbi at that. He said that was obvious. I added that as such I might feel compelled to be outspoken about abortion and birth control (which I have been for a long time). He responded that it was precisely that reason I was being asked. Then we both laughed, and I agreed to serve. So far, my biggest contribution seems to be around access to mental health services. 

The question is really a bigger question than a woman’s right to abortion or contraception. I stand in a long line of Biblical women concerned about women’s access to health care and reproductive choices. Sarah who wanted Hagar to be a surrogate. Shifra and Puah, the midwives who delivered the baby boys in Egypt under threat of death. Miriam with her skin disease being put outside the camp. Hannah praying for a son. Naomi and Ruth. Esther.  

The real issue, it seems to me, is back to the question of taking care of the widow, the orphan, the stranger and needing to have one set of laws, mishpatim for both stranger and citizen.  

How? How do we do that?  

We know that even if Roe v Wade is overturned, (sadly) women of certain means will continue to get safe abortions when they feel they need them. It really becomes a question of access to health care for all women and so this morning I proudly drink out of my mug that says a woman belongs in all places where decisions are being made. 

This week we will mark Rosh Hodesh Adar 1. Rosh Hodesh, a half holiday dedicated to women. Adar, Be Happy, It’s Adar, when we celebrate Esther, the woman who saved her people. “If you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance will come from another place. And who knows perhaps you are in this time and place for such a time as this.”  

As your rabbi, ordained to preach, teach and judge in Israel, I am proud to serve as your rabbi and I will continue to speak out so that we take care of the women, the orphan and the stranger, precisely because of this week’s Torah portion and this mug.