Early this fall I got a phone call from a trusted colleague. An African-American pastor from a neighboring church had received a gift. Of a chanukiah. “Do you have a Temple Menorah? We don’t have a use for a nine-branched menorah. We don’t celebrate Chanukah.” I assured him we did have two! And I raced over to see his new chanukiah. We agreed to arrange a swap.

This Friday night, we dedicated both candelabras for sacred service. It was part of our regular Friday night Kabbalat Shabbat service. It was also Human Rights Shabbat and a week before Chanukah, which means dedication.

When we planned this service, with a focus on light, we didn’t know how much we would need a service. It was a difficult week for the Jewish community. Rising, violent anti-semitism was evident in an attack at a kosher grocery store in Jersey City, NJ left six people dead. The president’s executive order on anti-semitism had Jews arguing about the role of the government plays in defining anti-semitism and who is a Jew. To say nerves were frayed might be an understatement.

But Shabbat came, like it does every week, offering the gift of calm and peace, if we are able to receive it. We met in the sanctuary and read the Psalm of the Dedication of the Sanctuary, Psalm 30. We sang songs about light—Or Zarua, Light is sown for the righteous and joy for the upright of heart. Or Chadash, Let a new light shine upon Zion. “This little light of mine.” “Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary.”

I had pre-lit Shabbat candles and one shamash, the helper candle in each menorah. We blessed the candles with the reading from the old Union Prayer Book. “Light is the symbol of the divine.” And se sang boldly: “Light one candle for the Maccabee people, give thanks that their light didn’t die.”

Apostle Larry gave a brief sermon on racism—and why each of us has to be the light. He talked about the triangle of Prejudice, Discrimination and Racism that is outlined in the book White Fragility. And he talked about the power structure of Exodus Chapter 1. Pharaoh who enslaved the Israelites. Pharaoh who wanted to kill every newborn Israelite boy. Pharaoh who was black, who had prejudice against the Israelites, who didn’t really know them, who then discriminated against them and used his power to institutionalize that discrimination. That’s racism.

I spoke briefly about Exodus Chapter 25 and building a mishkan, a wandering tabernacle full of beauty, a place to meet G-d, where the offerings of our hearts will be accepted. Where we ourselves become klei kodesh, holy vessels, just like the menorah.

We ended the service by singing Olam Chesed Yibeneh, You shall build this world with love, a text from the Psalms arranged by my friend and colleague Rabbi Menachem Creditor. It truly was an evening of Unity on Division Street and just what this rabbi needed.

This is the tale of two menorot. But even more so, it is the tale of two communities. Kingdom Advancement Center and their leadership team have worked with CKI on important things like National Night Out, distributing food with the mobile food pantry and bringing the Gail Borden Public Library Book Mobile to our corner of Division Street.

More importantly, their leaders have been thoughtful and careful partners with us in the aftermath of the police shooting that occurred in March of 2018. Once a month a few select leaders meet with the police chief and her command staff to talk about really difficult topics. Racism. Mental Health. Parenting. Gun violence. Healing. Forgiveness. (We’re not there yet.) Police policies and procedures. We spent a long Sunday afternoon on the shooting range seeing demos of equipment—a robot, a bat (that’s an armored vehicle and it is not used for what you think it might be.), a rope, pepper guns that they practice with baby powder, a 40 MM, and some life sized video scenarios. When I tried my hand at it, I was shot dead in 32 seconds. By a white guy in a white hoodie. Oy!

We are working our way through some books, On Killing, White Fragility, Emotional Intelligence 2.0. Just this week, at our monthly meeting, I gave everyone a copy of the Sunflower. This is hard, deep work. Painstakingly slow. Bridges are being built as trust is regained over mac and cheese and black and white cookies. Last month, we all ate corned beef together.

It would be impossible to capture the nuance of some of the conversations that happen at the police station. It is even more difficult to capture what happened after the service were able. People stayed and stayed and stayed. There was genuine warmth. And light. And food. And dreidels.

Two menorot. Two communities. Two meanings.

In the words of “Light One Candle,” “Don’t let the light go out.” I don’t think it will.

This Shabbat has been designated, #ShowUpForShabbat and #PauseforPittsburgh.

Organized by American Jewish Committee and local federations, we read these words penned especially for this evening:

https://www.ajc.org/renew-our-days-as-of-old

And we thank the Seigles for making sure this evening happened, both the spiritual nourishment and the physical sustenance to follow.

One year ago we were horrified at the massacre of 11 Jews as they worshipped on Shabbat just like we are doing today. We join with 18 other congregations in the Midwest, with hundreds across the country, doing precisely this…ShowUpForShabbat.

We opened our doors. Had visitors join us. Some even became members. We held a vigil in the middle of our street, Unity on Division Street, together with Holy Trinity Lutheran Church and their pastor Rev. Jeff Mikyska as well as other clergy and city leaders. We had over 600 people show up. We had painful conversations—around safety and security, around whether to open the front door or just the back door, whether sitting in a coffee shop with my kippah makes every body in the coffee shop less safe.

Much has been written about rising anti-semitism. Just this week there was a new study published by American Jewish Committee, AJC, the national organizers of tonight, https://www.ajc.org/AntisemitismSurvey2019

They headline it that 88% of American Jews believe that anti-semitism is a problem and the 84% believe it has increased in the last 5 years. However, if you keep reading, you find that very few, only 2% have been the target of a physical attack and only 23% have been the recipient of an anti-semitic joke or remark online or in person. That is 2% and 23% too many. But it is not 88%.

Nonetheless, the statistics coming out of the FBI, the ADL and the Southern Poverty Law Center are clear, anti-semetic hate crimes are on the rise. A look at recent media—whichever source you choose, includes these kinds of acts of vandalism and hate on an almost daily basis. The vast majority of hate crimes, 56% are directed at Jews. The congregation that I grew up in, Temple Emanuel in Grand Rapids, had anti-semetic posters delivered a couple of Sundays ago. I learned about it first from my Holocaust teacher in Boston who read about it in the Jerusalem Post. I am not naïve. In the current environment, it can happen anywhere. Any time. Any place. Even Grand Rapids, Even Brooklyn. Even here.

But this Shabbat has a different name. This is Shabbat Bereshit. The Shabbat of the Beginning. Where we begin the reading of the Torah again.

Last Sunday we had two new kids consecrated. Two new families who are willing to be here and celebrate being Jewish. We unrolled the whole Torah. At the end of the Torah the last word is Yisrael, Israel. Ending in a lamed. At the beginning is Bereshit, beginning with a bet. Together that spells Lev. Heart. We encircled these new students with heart. With love.

In today’s Torah portion we learn about love. G-d made Eve, Chava, which means life because it was not good for man to be alone. Adam needed a helpmate. Someone to partner with him. That’s love.

Love. It is a very important Jewish concept…and it is what I really want to talk about tonight. We are commanded to love. Love G-d. V’ahavata et Adonai Elohecha. With all our heart, with all our soul. With all our might. We are commanded to love our neighbors as ourselves. V’ahavta l’rayecha kamocha. And we are commanded to love the stranger in our gates.

But wait, you say, you can’t command an emotion. That’s true. But we demonstrate that love in lots of ways. That’s leadership. When we hear the call. When we answer hinini, here am I. When we show up at the soup kettle or the lunch program at Holy Trinity. That’s love. When we collect food for the Crisis Center, that’s love. When we grow vegetables for ECM that’s love. And it is all mandated. When we go to city council and pray for our government, that’s love. When we visit someone in the hospital or take a shut-in flowers, that’s love.

And love is reciprocal. That’s why we have guests sitting amongst us this evening/morning. People from Greater Elgin who care about us. Who love us. City Councilors. Members of other congregations. Clergy.

That’s why when something happens in Germany, on Yom Kippur no less, the police department is here before we are, making sure we are safe, half a world away. That’s why when we have kids drinking in our parking lot, our neighbor Maria calls me. That’s why when we have hosted National Night Out, we are now joined by our friends at Holy Trinity and at Kingdom Advancement Center. That’s why when anti-semitism first started to rise and there was a rash of bomb threats, and here’s where I get teary eyed every single time I tell this story, Pastor Jeff went to his board and we have the key and the code to his building—G-d forbid we need it.

That’s why we, here at CKI, wanted to take this Shabbat to #PauseforPittsburgh…but also to say thank you. We cannot say it enough. Thank you for standing with us. To Holy Trinity. To Kingdom Advancement Center. To CERL. To Maria. To the EPD. To the mayor and city councilors. To the Chamber of Commerce. To all who are willing to show up and show the love…and stand with us.

But if we as a congregation only focus on fear and anti-semitism, thinking they are all out to get us, we would be wrong. There is so much more to Judaism. So much more to our spiritual roots, to our legacy. I cannot cower in fear. Our doors are open. We have much to give. So much more to who we are. What is it that we want the world to know about us…

These are the words of last year’s Confirmation Class, based on a text by Edmund Flegg who wrote to his grandchildren in France in another scary time and place:

I am a Jew because my parents wanted me to be.
I am a Jew because I wanted to be and I enjoy being Jewish.
I am a Jew because it is in my blood.
I am a Jew because I believe in one G-d.
I am a Jew because my fellow Jews wrestle with G-d.
I am a Jew because I like the traditions and everything I grew up with
I am a Jew because I enjoy being a Jew.
I am a Jew because Jewish communities are nice communities.
I am a Jew because we are accepting of other people and we embrace diversity.
I am a Jew because of our commitment to tzedakah and gimilut chasidim, acts of love and kindness.
I am a Jew because we value knowledge, debate and free thinking.
I am a Jew because I am the last of our kind, since only 3% of the world is Jewish
I am a Jew because we never give up. We’re still here.
I am a Jew because the ethics of Judaism help us to understand morality and right and wrong.
I am a Jew because it gives me new perspective.

Confirmation 5779

All was not perfect. Even in Biblical times. The Garden of Eden didn’t last. Love was not perfect. And so Cain killed Abel. That’s in the longer version of this week’s portion as well. Listen how the Talmud retells it:

It says in the Talmud, Sanhedrin 4:5 to be precise:

Therefore but a single person was created in the world, to teach that if any man has caused a single life to perish from Israel, he is deemed by Scripture as if he had caused a whole world to perish; and anyone who saves a single soul from Israel, he is deemed by Scripture as if he had saved a whole world. Again [but a single person was created] for the sake of peace among humankind, that one should not say to another, “My father was greater than your father”.

This is the very text I took with me to jail yesterday to study with some inmates who are learning about Judaism.

This is the same text that is essentially repeated in the Quran:

Now listen: For this reason we have ordained for the Children of Israel that whoever kills a person, unless it be for manslaughter or for mischief in the land, it as though he had killed all men. And whoever saves a life, it is as though he had saved the lives of all men. And certainly our messengers came to them with clear arguments, but even after that many of them commit excesses in the land. 32nd verse of the fifth Sura, or chapter, of the Quran

Our text tonight tells us we are all created b’tzelem elohim. In the image of G-d. But that doesn’t mean we all look alike. Once I had a confirmation class with a kid from a multi-racial family, one with Central American roots and one who was adopted from China. The black kid said, “All Jews look alike”. I just looked at him, mystified. The white kid said, “Yeah all Jews have big noses.” Still stumped I talked about Jews and stereotypes. I then took them into my office to show them themselves in the full length mirror. Tzelem, image, really is closer to mirror. None of them looked alike. All of them were created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d. It was a Mr. Rogers moment. The same Mr. Rogers who lived and worked in the Squirrel Hill neighborhood of Pittsburgh.

Each of you is created in the image of G-d too, with a divine spark within each of you. Finding that divine spark is our obligation. Having the courage to love is our obligation. That’s leadership.

So as Lin Manuel Miranda said after the massacre at the Pulse Nightclub, that I repeated at another vigil:

“Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love, cannot be killed or swept aside.”

I hope I never need to lead another vigil. But I know here in Elgin there will be others standing with us expressing that sentiment and working for the time where we can live in Mr. Roger’s neighborhood. He told people, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’”

That’s what I want to take away from this evening. Love is love is love. The helpers who surround us. And the image of those two young girls and their proud mothers encircled by the Torah.

Other readings we used:

“They Sat in the Back”: A Poem for Those Killed in Pittsburgh
BY HANNAH DANIEL , 10/24/2019

We sat in the back.
We were 13 years old, itchy, tired, and we didn’t want to be there.
We were anxious to leave our seats—
we sat in the back to sulk,
to count on our fingers how many more Saturday morning services
we would have to endure before we could check
the box for our b’nai mitzvot.
We picked at our nails,
but we sang the blessings because we loved them even still.
The minutes limped along.
We shifted in our dresses and our ballet flats that were getting a little too small.
Our stomachs rumbled as we waited for kiddush
and we sat in the back of the room.

They also sat in the back.
Our matriarchs, our door-holders,
the ones who had prepared our kiddush that morning.
The ones who knew the code to the building was the same year it was built,
the ones who drove us to this service.
They were the ones who sang in the choir,
the ones who taught your children their aleph bets.
They sat nearest to the entrance, the ones who walked with walkers.
The ones who parked right outside the temple doors to rest
their stiff backs on stiffer benches each Saturday morning.
The ones who have seen their children
and their children’s children
through the sanctuary’s doors.
They built this place up from the ground
and they sat in the back.

We did not want to sit in the front, where we might catch the eye of the rabbi,
where God might see our lips stumble on our prayers.
We sat in the back so we might easily slip out to use the bathroom,
to get a drink of water, to check the broken clock in the hall.
We sat in the back so that we could be the first to leave.

They sat in the back because they arrived early.
They were our living ancestors, our minyan makers.
They sat in the back and they knew your name
because they had been the first ones to welcome your family into the synagogue
with a warm hug and boker tov.

We sat in the back; we wanted to leave.
They sat in the back; they didn’t have time.

The author would like to dedicate this work to Joyce Fienberg, Rose Mallinger, Richard Gottfried, Jerry Rabinowitz, Cecil Rosenthal, David Rosenthal, Bernice Simon, Sylvan Simon, Daniel Stein, Irving Younger, and Melvin Wax.

Hannah Daniel is a junior studying biology and creative writing at Carnegie Mellon University. Her poem, “They Sat in the Back,” was the recipient of the first prize in college poetry at the 20th Annual Martin Luther King Jr. Writing Awards. Her home congregation is Temple Beth El in Harrisonburg, VA, and she is a member of the Union for Reform Judaism (URJ) College Leadership Team and an alumna of NFTY-MAR and URJ Mitzvah Corps.

Wherever I go, I hear footsteps:
My brothers on the road, in swamps, in forests,
Swept along in darkness, trembling from cold
Fugitives from flames, plagues and terrors.
Wherever I stand, I hear rattling:
My brothers in chains, in chambers of the stricken.
They pierce the walls and burst the silence.
Through the generations their echoes cry out
In torture camps, in pits of the dead.
Wherever I lie, I hear voices:
My brothers herded to slaughter
Out of burning embers, out of ruins,
Out of cities and villages, altars for burnt offerings.
The groaning in their destruction haunts my nights.
My eyes will never stop seeing them
And my heart will never stop crying “outrage”;
Every one will be called to account for their death.
The heavens will descend to mourn for them,
The world and all that is therein will be a monument
on their grave.

Dear God, so much innocent bloodshed!
We are supposed to be created in Your image,
But O How we have distorted it.
When we recall the beastly acts of people,
We are ashamed to be human.
When we read of the nobility of their victims,
We are proud to be Jews.
Teach us, O God, to honor our martyrs,
By being vigilant in defense of our people everywhere,
And by fighting cruelty, persecution and H.
But must cruelty always be?
Must viciousness ever be the signature of humanity?
No! No! We refuse to accept that!
We refuse to give H the last word,
Because we have known the power of love.
We refuse to believe that cruelty will prevail,
Because we have felt the strength of kindness.

We refuse to award the ultimate victory to evil,
Because we believe in You.
So help us, O God, to draw strength from our faith,
And help us, our Father, to live by our faith.
Where there is H, may we bring love.
Where there is pain, may we bring healing.
Where there is darkness, may we bring light.
Where there is despair, may we bring hope.
Where there is discord, may we bring harmony.
Where there is strife, may we bring peace.
Make this a better world and begin with us.
We mourn them and vow not to forget them.
We are heirs to their horror, their heroism, their hopes.
We see no reason, we sense no purpose, we claim no justice in this vast martyrdom.
Yet, weeping, we affirm the sanctity of life,
God’s elusive wisdom and compassion,
The hidden, waiting goodness within Man,

The eternal destiny of the House of Israel.

            Rabbi Jeffrey Myers, Tree of Life Synagogue, Pittsburgh

Tree of Life, Pittsburgh
Tree of Life,
Revive our souls,
Enrich our days,
Entreating Your blessings.
O, God of Peace,
Fill our hearts with comfort,
Letting Your Torah shine,
In the fullness of our love.
Faith in You, our God,
Eternal Source of blessings.
Praying for healing
In the depths of despair,
Thanking God for the survivors,
Thanking God for the first responders,
Sorrow crushing our hearts,
Bereaved beyond belief,
United in our love,
Returning to You in faith,
God of Israel,
Healer of generations.
Tree of Life,
Redeemer of Israel,
Enliven this moment with healing,
Enliven this moment with hope.
Oh, Rock of Israel,
Forget not the Jews of Pittsburgh.
Let Your love flow
In the days ahead
For justice and peace
Everlasting.

© 2018 Alden Solovy and tobendlight.com.

In the beginning G-d created the heavens and earth.
Then G-d created people, male and female, G-d created them.
Then even though they were created in the image of G-d.
That’s when the problems began.
I sat on my deck.
Watching night descend. The sky was beautiful
Intensely orange and pink
Firey yellow searing against the red maples

Why can’t we just live this way?
Why must there be anger and animosity?
Why do we live in fear?
Why can’t there be peace?

For 25 hours, on this Shabbat of Creation
I want to return, return to days of old.
Not to some nostalgic view of the shtetl
It was never so good.
Not to the days of the Temple.
Even if I like steak and barbecue
That’s not how I draw close to G-d.

Not to Sinai
With its rules and regulations.
No, I want to return to a simpler time
To the Garden of Eden
To Paradise
To a time of peace.
Shabbat is that time of peace.
Shabbat is a foretaste of the world to come.

Help me be ready
Help me to live without fear.
Help me to be a messenger of peace
An angel of peace.
Your angel of peace.
Welcoming and unafraid.

Margaret Frisch Klein, Shabbat Bereshit 5780

(working backwards. Here is the previous week’s d’var Torah and discussion)

One hundred and twenty and seven. And Sarah died. In Kiryat Arba, now Hebron. (Trivia question, where is the only other reference to 127 in the Bible?)

The rabbis ask, why the extra ands. The Torah could have just said, one hundred twenty seven. Since there are no extra words in the Torah, the vuvs, the ands must come to teach us something.

The midrash explains, “when she was twenty, she was as seven for beauty […] when she was one hundred, she was as twenty for sin.” (Gen. Rabbah 58:1)

All year we are looking at leadership. Sarah was a leader. She is even designated one of the seven women prophets. How is she a leader?

• She was a creative problem solver—giving her handmaiden, Hagar to Abraham, forming the first surrogate mother.
• Abraham was told listen to her, by no less than G-d.
• She laughed at the time to come and planned for it.
• She was kind, not repeating all of G-d’s message to her husband.

After she dies, then Abraham buys a burial plot, a cave. And he eulogizes her. The midrash continues that his eulogy is Eishet Chayil, A Woman of Valor. It is an interesting way to read text, backwards and forwards. Eishet Chayil is in the Book of Proverbs, a much later text.

When I sat down for breakfast on Tuesday morning at the AJR Retreat, Eishet Chayil was part of the conversation. One colleague, Rabbi Laurie Gold, remembered that my mother never liked this reading. While I believe my mother was a woman of valor, she hated the reading and viewed it as antithetical to her feminism. She forbade using it at her funeral. In our house, I use this poem as a checklist every week. Yes, I was kind (I hope). Yes, I gave tzedakah. Yes, my candle burned at both ends—and why is that a value for a woman? Yes I gave food to my workers—and the poor. Still working on opening my mouth with wisdom and kindness.

There are some modern versions of Eishet Chayil:

https://jwa.org/node/23715

This one intersperses the traditional translation with modern examples:

https://www.ritualwell.org/ritual/todays-woman-valor

While these are closer, they don’t quite make it for me. I tried to write my own once. And I tried to write for Anita Diamant who put out a call to write one for her latest version of the New Jewish Wedding book but nothing quite worked.

This week is the week before Thanksgiving. Last night we looked at things for which we might be grateful. The rabbis of the Talmud teach that we should say 100 blessings a day. Eishet Chayil is both a eulogy, a hespod in Hebrew and an ethical will, a listing of the values and blessings that we want to pass down to our children and children’s children. Some people have the tradition of writing their own ethical will—not how to disperse the physical wealth, but rather looking at the spiritual wealth and blessings. Let’s spend a few minutes starting that. Using Eishet Chayil as a model, what are those values, those blessings we want to pass down to our children and our children’s children.

Ideas that were mentioned:

• A sense of wonder
• A connection with G-d and Judaism
• Finding joy and happiness
• Meaningful work
• Work/home life balance
• A passion for lifelong learning
• A commitment to community and family
• A life of friendship
• Many hugs and puppy dog kisses, and snuggles
• Snuggling on the couch with a roaring fire
• A desire to make the world a better place
• Being caring and compassionate, warm and welcoming

Here are two samples:

http://archive.jewishagency.org/jewish-community/content/24055

Many have written ethical wills including Sholom Aleichem, Hannah Shenesh, and many many more collected in Rabbi Jack Riemer’s book: Ethical Wills and How to Prepare Them.

Here are some exercises to get you started:

https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/writing-an-ethical-will-how-to-get-started/

If this captivates you—as it has my husband who wrote a LONG ethical will to our daughter on the occasion of her Bat Mitzvah,

If you are still stumped but intrigued you can join my class on Wise Aging. We meet on Tuesdays at 1:30 PM.

Writing an ethical will is a blessing we give our children. May this Thanksgiving be a season of gratitude and blessings and values we hand down to our children and our children’s children.

(Trivia answer: 127 shows up in the Book of Esther. There were 127 provinces that the King of Shushan ruled over from India to Eithiopia.)

(I am woefully behind in my writing but will use this week to catch up.)

Toldot. These are the generations of Isaac. You are part of the generations of Isaac.

We spend a lot of time working on genealogies. Online research. Ancestry.com. 23 and me. Just curious how many of you have done your 23 and me? Some even believe that you can trace whether you are a Cohein to your actual DNA. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Y-chromosomal_Aaron) Or whether you are a crypto-Jew living in a Latin-American country. At least once a year I have someone sitting in my office wondering if their “weird” family traditions were a vestige of Judaism and if they themselves are Jewish. https://www.theatlantic.com/science/archive/2018/12/dna-reveals-the-hidden-jewish-ancestry-of-latin-americans/578509/At

Thanksgiving is all about family traditions—whether you came as a Puritan, or an immigrant from Eastern Europe or you were a hidden Jew from Latin America. Last week we talked about the values we want to pass down to our children and children’s children. Once one of my step-daughters said that our family had no traditions. It simply isn’t true, I realize, as we make all our family’s favorite Thanksgiving Day specialities–and we celebrate Thanksgiving Sheni tonight. Because, it is a traditional Jewish holiday. Two nights of festive meals.

Today, let’s talk about the traditions we want to pass down. What makes Thanksgiving special? What makes Judaism special?

At Thanksgiving, I miss my parents—and I often wonder what my father the geneticist would think about all this genetic testing. We can have a discussion over Kiddush about the pluses and minuses of testing.

Since this is Shabbat Thanksgiving, I am going in a slightly different direction. For many, sadly, Thanksgiving itself is a time of loneliness. That maybe true for some of you. And some of how that sense came to be may have come right out of this morning’s portion.

Our Biblical heroes are far from perfect. They are leaders nonetheless as they pass down traditions to their children. It’s a good thing. It gives us hope. We can be like Abraham and Isaac, or Rebecca and Jacob. How could you expect anything less. Isaac is wounded, damaged by his own father as he is nearly sacrificed. He takes Rebecca to be his bride and he loves her, the text tells us this, and is comforted by her after the death of his mother. They even live in her tent. When we next meet him, he is nearly blind. The midrash tells us from the tears he shed at his own binding and almost sacrifice…the Akedah.

Now Isaac and Rebecca are about to become parents, after a long bout of infertility. Twenty years! But the children are struggling in her womb. She goes to l’derosh, to seek out from an oracle, what was happening to her. L’derosh is where we get the word midrash from, it is where we seek out meaning from the text. It is also where we get Beit Midrash, House of Study and in Arabic Midrasha, their houses of study.

I introduce the Arabic deliberately here. Arabic and Hebrew, as you know are sibling languages. So very similar. And still the siblings struggle.

Here’s the thing. Isaac and Rebecca, the best of friends, the lovers that they were just chapters ago, here flunk parenting 101. Isaac who likes game prefers Esau, who enjoys the hunt. Rebecca prefers Jacob. Eventually Jacob lives up to his name of “heel” and tricks his blind father out of Esau’s natural blessing. Esau is so upset he wants to kill Jacob.

This is a story of sibling rivalry and a fear of scarcity. Even the text uses some pejorative language to describe these brothers. Esau, the other, is ruddy, hairy. And we Jews, we love our book-learning, Mama’s boys. At least we did. We prized the yeshiva bacher—the paler the better because that meant he was learning. And it is true that as AJ Liebling might have said—the freedom and the power of the press is limited to those who own one. Others have also taken credit for that quote. But this is part of what we hand down to our children and grandchildren, based on this text. Jacob is good—even though he tricked Esau out of his birthright. Esau is bad.

Anyone struggle through Thanksgiving dinner? Anyone have those old feelings of childhood that “she loves him more” or who didn’t even want to go because there would be someone you didn’t want to talk to or maybe you were worried that someone wasn’t even going to show up. There is so much written in the popular literature and women’s magazines on the etiquette of Thanksgiving dinner. We are past that now, for this year, however there are six more weeks of holidays to go through. The roots of that anxiety may go back to here. Imagine the conversation at the lentil stew dinner as Jacob is about to trick Esau and Isaac. Imagine the conversation after when Rebecca tells Jacob to flee before his brother can kill him.

Then the text continues. And it gets even more complicated, maybe bizarre. There was a famine in the land…we’ve been here before. And we are back to scarcity. Isaac goes to Abimelech. The same King that Abraham went to earlier, in Chapter 20. And Isaac tries the same ruse, passing off his wife as his sister. Really. Long before a #MeToo movement. So Abimelech protects both Isaac and Rebecca. And Isaac becomes wealthy—which causes the Philistines to become jealous. So, they stop up all the wells that Abraham had dug with earth. Again, it is a text of fear and scarcity. The rest of the text reads like a text over water rights. It could be a modern saga. The stuff I learned about as a global justice fellow with American Jewish World Service.

The arguments over the wells continue throughout the remaining part of our parsha. As noted Bible scholar, James Kugel says, Abimelech and Isaac have “rather frosty relations.” The Philistines suggest a sworn peace treaty, a covenant, to smooth things over. And they conclude this treaty with a feast. Play the images of the Puritans and Native Americans here. Or not. Because that story too isn’t the way we learned it. The Philistines leave and “that same day Isaac’s servants come to him and report about a well that they had dug; they said to him, “We found water.” (Gen. 26:32)

However, as Kugel teaches, that in another version of the text, the Septuagint, Old Greek translation. Here, the text is one letter different. Our text says, “they said to him, ‘lo’ spelled lamed vuv.” But in the Septuagint it says lamed alef, “we did not find water.” What a difference that alef makes, changing the meaning of the verse entirely.

Kugel continues that in the Book of Jubilees which did not make it into our canon but is the basis of much of what the Hashmoneans taught and is considered sacred by Ethiopian Jews and Eastern Orthodox Christians. Jubilees is an incredibly xenophobic text, dealing with non-Jews and assimilation which is to be avoided at all costs—that’s why the Maccabees embraced the text. How appropriate to be discussing this morning as we move into Kislev and Chanukah mode. What the Maccabees were really fighting against was assimilation. What, then, is the plain meaning of the text? Which text? How do we relate to this text of scarcity?

I choose to find ways that we can embrace the other. That’s part of why we are opening our building for the filming of Fargo on Monday. Love your neighbor and love the stranger. Remember. It is like Rabbi Harold Kushner says. “But at the end, if we are brave enough to love, if we are strong enough to forgive, if we are generous enough to rejoice in another’s happiness, and if we are wise enough to know that there is enough love to go around for us all, then we can achieve a fulfillment that no other living creature will ever know. We can achieve Paradise.” This is part of the tradition that I pass down to my children and grandchildren. That’s part of how I exercise leadership. There is truly enough to love around—at your Thanksgiving table, or even with water rights.

I am tired. Really, really tired. I heard that at least four times last week. From congregants struggling with health issues. From well meaning volunteers. From people who had been traveling. From people who are exhausted by the news cycle. From cantors and rabbis all across the country. I heard it so often this week, I almost didn’t give this sermon. And I changed my introduction to reflect what I was hearing. I even said it on Sunday morning.

Brene Brown in her book, Dare to Lead, makes an interesting observation. She was doing a workshop for the army and asked the group to do one thing more, to take on yet another task. One brave soldier raised his hand and said, “I can’t. I’m tired.” She asked how many of the soldiers were tired and they all raised their hands. So I ask, how many of you are tired? Go ahead, raise you hands.

You are not alone. So what’s going on here? Brene Brown went back to do some research. She shows that tired is actually a code word for lonely. So let me try asking the question again. How many of you are lonely? You don’t have to raise your hands.

But if you are lonely, that’s OK , too. Again you are not alone. And you are loved.

One of the editors of my upcoming book asked me to look hard at one phrase I had repeated. You are not alone. I used it over and over again. I believe that is a message that people need to hear. We walk with you. Next to you. I couldn’t find a phrase that was as powerful. So let me say it again. You are not alone. And you are loved.

But being tired and lonely lead to other issues. In 2004 study, 1 in 4 Americans had no one in their life they could confide. Vivek Murthy, the former US Surgeon General said, “Loneliness and social isolation are ‘associated with a reduction in lifespan similar to that of smoking 15 cigarettes a day and even greater than that associated with obesity.” Dr. Atul Gwande, author of Being Mortal said that the three plagues of aging are boredom, loneliness and helplessness. Rachel Cowan in her book, Wise Aging, said that seniors fear invisibility, isolation and being without purpose.

Social isolation leads to a host of issues: it interferes with problem solving ability, concentration, memory, your sleep cycle. It also lowers your immune, system, is a risk factor for Type 2 diabetes and, arthritis and is as dangerous as obesity, and chronic Alcoholism, dementia, heart disease and depression.

And while much has been written about loneliness and the elderly, it is not limited to the aging. Rather, in analyzing the results of a study of 3.4 million people, the prevalence of loneliness peaks in adolescents and young adults and then much later in the oldest old.

You can be in a room full of people and still feel lonely. You can be in a committed relationship and still feel lonely. Or you can be living independently and be lonely. Our electronic devices while they connect us quickly across the globe have added to our isolation. As I said recently, I know more about all of you who I see routinely, frequently, than I know about my own kids and grandkids who live in three separate states. Facebook and phones help, but it is not the same as being in the same place. As a working mother, there were frequent debates about quality of time versus quantity in parenting. Do you think our children ever felt lonely or isolated?

There is an antidote to loneliness. At its root meaning, religion, from the Latin religio, means to tie back up into. People are searching for something to tie back up into, to replace

The Psalm for these days of teshuvah, Psalm 27 has this verse:

Though my mother and my father leave me, yet, the Lord will take me in.

The Psalmist demands of G-d that G-d not hide his face. We hear echoes of this in the Sh’ma Koleinu prayer. Lord, hear our voice. Don’t hide your face. Don’t abandon me.

Somehow, being united with the Divine is an anecdote for loneliness.

And we are reassured that G-d is always present, that G-d neither slumbers nor sleeps. That G-d will give us rest and lighten our load. Often at hospitals I will sing the last verse of Adon Olam in a lullaby version:

Bayado afkid ruchi
B’eit ishan v’hira
V’im ruchi giviyati
Adonai li v’lo ira.

Into God’s hand I commit my spirit
When I sleep, and I awake
And with my spirit, my body
Adonai , is with me, I will not fear.

When you sing to someone in the hospital, when you visit, the person you are visiting feels less alone. They are less scared. And the most remarkable thing….it can have real, lasting medical benefits. Standing at the foot of a bed with a nurse, we have watched as blood pressure and heart rhythm returned to normal.

You are not alone in your loneliness or your fear.

In our study of leadership, the two most valued qualities of a leader were being a good communicator and a good listener. That’s leadership. It is also being a good friend. Being empathetic and caring. Hearing what your friend is saying. Sometimes hearing what your friend is not saying.

Telling someone to “buck it up and not be lonely,” isn’t very empathetic. It is not even very effective. Frequently, it only makes the person feel worse. Perhaps it is better of offer what is sometimes called the “gift of presence”, just sitting with someone. Offer to go for a walk. Go get a cup of coffee. Babysit the kids.

I am not alone in talking about loneliness this week. My colleague Rabbi Peg Kershenbaum shared a book she was speaking about:

Rabbi Marc Katz wrote, “The Heart of Loneliness, How Jewish Wisdom Can Help You Cope and Find Comfort.” He points out that many of our Biblical heroes, leaders, were lonely. Eve was mostly ignored by Adam after they ate of the apple. Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Hannah, struggling with infertility and its inherent shame in those days.

Katz even shows how G-d was lonely when rejected and dismissed by the Jewish people.

It is not a question of saying, “So you think you have troubles? Take a look at what happened to this Biblical forebear.” Rather, he uses these archetypes to show that our tradition is just the place to turn for comfort.

Aaron, Moses, Miriam, Jeremiah, Jonah all experienced loneliness. Rachel and Leah each married to Jacob were rivals, lonely and eventually friends. Moses who had to learn to delegate so he wasn’t alone judging the people. Miriam who with her skin disease was put outside the camp.

Abraham died alone. Only after his death did his two sons, Isaac who he almost sacrificed and Ishmael who he sent out into the wilderness to almost certain death, did they come back together to bury their father. Perhaps that is really the work of Yom Kippur, coming back together. Finding the courage to make amends or to phone a friend and break the isolation.

So often when I go to the hospital or assisted living places are people sitting there with no one to visit them. For days on end.

Rabbi Kershenbaum tells the story of the students of a famous rabbi who wanted to dispel darkness and so rid the world of evil. They ask their teacher how they should go about accomplishing their goal.

He tells them to take stiff, new brooms, go down into the cellar and sweep out the darkness. Down they all go, brooms in hand.

They sweep for hours but, not surprisingly, fail to sweep away the dark. Up they come to the rabbi. This time he tells them to go down and shout at the darkness. Down they troop and holler fiercely at the dark. Not surprisingly, it doesn’t budge. Up come the students to consult the sage. Beat it with sticks! he tells them and they dutifully bludgeon the dark cellar until their arms ache with the effort. A bit crestfallen, they go back to their rabbi. This time he tells them,

“Light a candle and the dark will flee. Then seek to be the candle wherever you meet the darkness.”

How then are can we, at CKI, be that candle?

We offer community, a way to be with friends. We offer services, education programs for kids and adults, amble chances to schmooze over Oneg Shabbat and Kiddushes, chances to celebrate and to mourn. People who will visit you or reach out a helping hand. A chance to not be lonely.

Each of you has the opportunity to be a candle. Don’t be like the punchline to the old Jewish joke. How many Jewish mothers does it take to screw in a light bulb? Never mind, I’ll just sit in the dark. Here we have the opportunity to seek out friends who may be suffering—or just need a hug or word of encouragement. This is your chance to return, to tie back up. G-d is waiting for us to come home. Our souls are waiting for us to come home. We are waiting for the the light.

There are always more questions that a rabbi gets at this period. The formal answer that one gives is called a teshuva, a response.

Some of the questions are logistical. Do we need tickets? Membership? Prayerbooks? What time is Kol Nidre? Why does it have to start so early? What time is break-the-fast? Why is it so late? Where are the bathrooms?

Perhaps you have questions, too.

One question asked was about this very parsha. How could Moses write down the whole Torah, given by G-d and then have the Torah still go on for another chapter and even describe Moses death. Since he believes that the Bible is divine, how is this possible; who wrote the Bible? That was a very big question and one that deserves its own discussion, adult class, or sermon. I did suggest reading Richard Elliott Friedman’s excellent book, Who Wrote the Bible.

The next question was what time is Kol Nidre. 5:30. Yes, that early.

This is the Shabbat for questions and answers. This is the Shabbat for return.

Some of the questions deserve full answers.

A student in the Torah School asked, “If we eat something that isn’t kosher, how do we return to being kosher?” It is a really good question. Is stumped several rabbis. One rabbi decided to do all of his high holy day sermons around this question.

So how would you answer our student?

Answers included, stopping what he is doing, not doing it again, saying you are sorry. As I pointed out the very steps of teshuvah that we will talk about shortly.

It is a really interesting question. And surprisingly the rabbis don’t talk about it much. Oh sure, there are answers about how to rekasher counters or plates or knives. There are answers about what happens if a drop of milk falls into a meat soup. But what if we take something into our bodies that isn’t kosher. How do we make ourselves kosher again if we have eaten something traif?

Here is our linguistic lesson for the day. Kosher really means fit or proper. It is something we are allowed to eat. But it can also apply to the Torah scroll we read from. It is kosher, fit for reading or pasul, unfit. Traif means something that is torn, or unfit. So something that isn’t kosher is torn, separated. It is separated in some way from being holy.

I think therefore, in puzzling it out with that other rabbi.

If you eat something that isn’t kosher, you can brush your teeth and wait some number of hours…and you are kosher again. That’s the simple answer. If we apply the idea that like that pot of soup, what he consumed is less that 1/60^th, a shishim of his body weight, then the kid wasn’t “not kosher” at all.

But maybe the question is a bigger question. How do we return? How do we return to being holy, set apart? How do we be good? Kedusha is being set apart. Keeping kosher, even metaphorically, is one of the things that set apart Jews from the rest of society. Just try to find a kosher restaurant here in Elgin. (Although Spirals, the frozen yogurt shop comes close—all of their product is hechshered).

We are to be a kingdom of priests and a holy nation. We are to lead by example, as a light to the nations. You’ll hear more about that on Yom Kippur. So how do we lead by example by what we eat? Here at CKI, I have set the policy that we use fair trade, organic kosher coffee. We are trying to use less bottled water and single use plastics. We are using more real table clothes and real dishes.

How else can we return to a holy state with our eating? I am trying to eat less processed foods, more foods that are sourced locally, less meat and more veggies. Our bodies are our temple as Rabbi Sami Barth said in talking about Psalm 30, a psalm for the dedication of the Temple. If our body is our temple and we are supposed to care for it and dedicate ourselves to it, how do we treat it?

All this from this student’s question about returning our bodies to a kosher state after eating something not kosher.

But perhaps the question is really about how do we make our actions kosher, fit or proper again. How do we return to a state of kedusha, holiness? Then I would look at Yom Kippur’s Torah reading and haftarah readings. Are we living out the words of the holiness code. Is this the fast G-d desires or are we feeding the hungry, housing the homeless? Clothing the naked? As Isaiah demands. Not holding a grudge? Honoring our parents? Not putting a stumbling block before the blind or curing the deaf? Paying our workers on a timely basis? Leaving the corners of the field? Feeding the widow, the orphan, the stranger? In short are we loving our neighbors as ourselves?

The other question that may apply is how do I reconcile if the other person isn’t open to it. This came as a Facebook text message: I don’t see myself apologizing to him or asking forgiveness any time soon. I recognize I have some responsibility for us growing apart, but he’s been lying and cheating, and I’m feeling wronged. So I’m looking for prayers and strength to get through this.

Perhaps you are wondering this too. If you have asked for forgiveness and the person has said no, what next? If you have been wronged and the person hasn’t tried to make it right, what next? Sometimes it is impossible to reconcile.

From my next book, which is coming out later this month:

“Repentance is not forgiveness. That may be the other side of a coin and also one of the major themes of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Well ahead of Alcoholics Anonymous, Maimonides a leading Jewish commentator, scholar and physician of the 12th century, outlined 12 steps to repentance in his code, the Mishneh Torah. The basic four are:

1. Leaving the Sin
2. Regret
3. Confession Before G-d
4. Acceptance for the Future

Those may work for sins against G-d. As the Talmud tells us in Yoma 87b, “For sins against G-d, Yom Kippur atones. But for sins against another person, Yom Kippur does not atone until we appease our fellow.”

That means that we need to not only regret our mistakes but actually ask for forgiveness, promise to never do it again, make restitution and if confronted with the same scenario not repeat the mistake.

Teshuvah which often gets translated as repentance, is more like turning back around, turning towards G-d. G-d will take us back in love if we return.

Hauntingly, haltingly, we beg God during the Torah service “Hashiveinu Adonai, elohecha v’nashuva. Chadesh, chadesh yameinu, chadesh yameinu kekedem. Return to us Adonai, and we shall return. Renew our days as of days of old.” (Lamentations 5:21)

Are you capable of forgiving and loving the people around you, even if they have hurt you and let you down by not being perfect? Can you forgive them and love them, because there aren’t any perfect people around, and because the penalty for not being able to love imperfect people is condemning oneself to loneliness?
Are you capable of forgiving and loving God even when you have found out that He is not prefect, even when He has let you down and disappointed you by permitting bad luck and sickness and cruelty in His world, and permitting some of those things to happen to you? Can you learn to love and forgive Him despite His limitations, as Job does, and as you once learned to forgive and love your parents even though they were not as wise, as strong, or as perfect as you needed them to be?
And if you can do these things, will you be able to recognize that the ability to forgive and the ability to love are the weapons God has given us to enable us to live fully, bravely and meaningfully in this less-than-perfect world?”

Rabbi Harold Kushner in When Bad Things Happen to Good People

You don’t have to forgive as a gift to the perpetrators. You may choose to forgive as a gift to yourself. When you are ready. On your own timetable. And maybe not even once and done. Maybe more like the layers of an onion at different stages in different ways or maybe not at all.

In thinking about deeply about this topic over many years, I have come to the conclusion that until a person feels safe, truly really safe, forgiveness may not be possible.”

Let me be clear here. If you are being abused, I am not saying you should reconcile or you should forgive. Forgiveness is not forgetting and forgiveness can only come once someone is safe.

Yesterday I “prayed” at the Community Crisis Center’s annual Partner in Peace breakfast. October is National Domestic Violence Awareness months. This simple breakfast is one of my favorite events of the year. This year in particular they were honoring four leaders in loving our neighbors, in looking out for the widow, the orphan, the stranger, the marginalized. Four people all of whom retired on June 30, 2019. Gretchen Vapner the founding executive director of the Crisis Center, Ed Hunter, who worked for St. Joe’s for 31 years, Karen Beyer, the executive director of the Ecker Center and the Rev. Karen Schlack, retiring minister at First Presbyterian in Elgin and the wife of our own Daniel Schlack. There was no were else I would have been on Friday morning, except honoring these four. My prayer follows this sermon.

And then finally, one of my colleagues, Rabbi Irwin Huberman, was asked at Tashlich last year, by a kid named Micah, about a verse from Micah, from today’s haftarah portion and the basis for the ceremony called Tashlich, You will cast (Tashlich) all your sins into the depths of the sea.” (7:19)

This modern day Micah wants to know: “Why all this emphasis on sin.”

This, too, is a good question. Most of us haven’t done even any of the alphabetical list of sins, the Ashamnu, that we will recite in the plural multiple times on Tuesday and Wednesday. We don’t want fire and brimstone. We don’t want to be made to feel bad. So what do we do with it?

Rabbi Huberman answers that Archie Gottesman, the co-founder of an organization called JewBelong, dedicated to bringing spirituality and meaning back to Judaism:

“Everyone craves meaning, and if Jews are not going to get it from Jewish practice, then they are going to find it, with Yoga or somewhere else.

Rabbi Huberman’s cousin, Rabbi Yisroel Roll, has an important take on this. As a former pulpit rabbi and a therapist, he encourages us, as the long list of ancient sins is recited in synagogue, to tap our hearts with our fists and recite the words, “I can do better.”

“I can do better, by using words to build rather than destroy.”
“I can do better, by gossiping less.”
“I can do better by softening my heart.”
“I can do better by being less stubborn.”
“I can do better by letting go of grudges and resentments.”
“I can do better by seeking less pleasure and more purpose.”

Maybe this prayer, I can better…would help our first student. The one worried about what happens if he eats non-Kosher food. The answer, don’t beat yourself up…you can do better. Sin in Judaism, Cheyt, is an archery term meaning to miss the mark. He missed the mark. Next time, he can do better. We all can.

Or as Rabbi Sid Schwarz, the founder of PANIM on Jewish leadership, once suggested to me personally at a retreat, rather than doing a negative hesbon hanefesh an accounting of the soul, how about creating a positive one. Rather than hearing the negative voices of ages past, try something like this:

I am articulate, beautiful, courageous, determined.

This takes the emphasis off of sin…

Perhaps we should do one for the congregation:
We are zealous (in a good way), yearning, welcoming and wise, valued and valuable, understanding, Torah based, service oriented, respectful, quiet, peaceful….

May this be a year of reconciliation and return, hope and renewal. A year of teshuvah, of asking and answering questions, of returning to a place where we can each do better.

Here is the prayer I offered from Jewish Women International:

“May the One who blessed our ancestors Sarah, Rebecca, Leah and Rachel, and Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, provide protection, compassion, care and healing for all those who have known violence and abuse within their families. May those who have been harmed find pathways to understanding and wholeness and those who have caused harm find their way to repentance and peace. May our community be a source of support for those who have suffered in silence or shame. May those whose homes have become places of danger find their way to a sukkat shalom, a shelter of safety.
Amen.—Jewish Women International

There are also prayers that can be said during Yizkor if you had a parent who hurt or for victims of abuse because life is really complicated and messy.

A Yizkor Meditation in Memory of a Parent Who Hurt

By Rabbi Robert Saks

Dear God,

You know my heart.

Indeed, You know me better than I know myself, so I turn to You before I rise for Kaddish.

My emotions swirl as I say this prayer. The parent I remember was not kind to me. His/her death left me with a legacy of unhealed wounds, of anger and of dismay that a parent could hurt a child as I was hurt.

I do not want to pretend to love, or to grief that I do not feel, but I do want to do what is right as a Jew and as a child.

Help me, O God, to subdue my bitter emotions that do me no good, and to find that place in myself where happier memories may lie hidden, and where grief for all that could have been, all that should have been, may be calmed by forgiveness, or at least soothed by the passage of time.

I pray that You, who raise up slaves to freedom, will liberate me from the oppression of my hurt and anger, and that You will lead me from this desert to Your holy place.

A Yizkor Prayer For Victims of Abuse

by Rabbi Ira F. Stone

May God remember my (father) (mother)

_____________________ben/bat________________

who has gone to his/her eternal home.

May he/she be granted an opportunity

to expiate the sins of his/her

terrible acts against me.

May the loving fire of God’s justice

relieve him/her of the pain which corrupted

the natural love of a parent for a child.

May God help me remember

that my mother/father joined

with God in giving me the gift of life

and for that gift, despite the pain

that has at times accompanied it,

I am grateful.

Mindful of that gratitude

and as an offering on behalf of my

father’s/mother’s penitence, I pledge

to do acts of loving kindness and charity.

May my father/mother at last fine peace

in the eternal bond with God.

May I find peace in this world

and salvation in the world to come

“It’s alright to cry…crying gets the sad out of you.
It’s alright to cry…it might make you feel better”

Free to be you and me…Rosie Greer

Sometimes we don’t want to do what we are supposed to do. Many of you may have wanted to stay in bed a little longer this morning. But we’re glad you are here. Sometimes our leaders don’t want to do what they have to do either. Moses thought he wasn’t capable because he was “slow of speech” according to the midrash. Jonah felt that it wouldn’t matter if he went to Ninevah and he tried to run as far away as possible all the way to Tarshish. We will hear that story again on Yom Kippur. Esther didn’t want to go to the king, she was afraid for her own life until Mordecai convinced her she might be in that very place and time just for that reason. She found her voice.

It’s alright to cry…G-d will hear our cries.

Yesterday we read the story of Hagar and Ishmael being sent into the wilderness by Abraham at the behest of Sarah. It is not a pretty story. After the water and bread run out, Hagar places the lad under a bush and cries out, “Do not let me look on while the child dies.” She can’t even use his name; she is so pained. Then something remarkable happens. The Lord hears the cry of the lad. Wait, what? Didn’t Hagar just cry out? Then Hagar’s eyes are opened and she finds the water from the spring that was there all along. The message is keep trying, again and again, and you will find the life giving water.

The message is that G-d hears our cries. All of our cries. Even the silent ones.

When the Israelites were slaves in Egypt, they cried out, and their cry came up to G-d. And the Lord said, I have surely seen the affliction of my people which are in Egypt and have heard their cry.

The message is G-d hears our cries. All of our cries. Even when we are enslaved. Even when we are in pain.

Yesterday, we also read about Hannah, barren, who prayed long before the Lord and wept bitterly. She prayed without her lips moving, so that Eli, the priest, thought she was drunk. Yet, the Lord heard her weeping and gave to her a son who she called Samuel, Shmual, The Lord Heard.

The message, again, is that G-d hears our cries. All of our cries. Even when we have no words.

Rosh Hashanah seems like a holiday of tears. Sarah is happy at giving birth, but then as we read this morning, there is the Akedah, the binding of Isaac. She may have died of a broken heart. And Isaac, the midrash teaches that he went blind from his tears. And in the haftarah, Rachel cries for her children.

Over and over again in our liturgy, we beg G-d. “Sh’ma koleinu, Hear our voice. Do not hide Your face from us.” We want to be seen. We want to be heard. We need to be.

Yet we are told in Psalm 30, “I cried out and You healed me…Weeping may tarry for the night but joy comes with the dawn.” It reassures and comforts.

Why do we care in this day and age if G-d hears our cries? Why do we cry out to G-d at all? In Brene Brown’s book, Dare to Lead, the ability to cry, the ability to express our own vulnerability is an important part of leadership. Leadership is not about titles or the corner office. It’s about the willingness to step up, put yourself out there, and lean into courage.” Ultimately the goal of her book is to live and lead wholeheartedly. To be wholehearted means to operate from a place of worthiness—that regardless of what might or might not happen during the course of the day, you are enough.

Our Biblical leaders exhibit exactly that. They are not perfect, not by a long shot, but they are living and leading wholeheartedly. Authentically. Even when they don’t want to, even when it means they have to cry. Remember, it’s alright to cry.

That’s what G-d demands of us. Not that we be perfect, she talks about perfectionism in her book too, but that we strive to be whole. The word Shalom in Hebrew, which we translate as peace, has that sense of wholeness or completeness.

Soon we will hear the voice of the shofar. It is the only commandment for Rosh Hashanah, that you hear the sound of the shofar. We have a master shofar blower here at CKI…and several budding ones.

The shofar cries too. A wordless cry. From deep within. Three different notes, all to sound like crying. Tekiah, a long battle cry, an alarm clock waking us up, preparing us for action. Shevarim, three short notes, broken sighs or weeping. And Truah, nine staccato notes that some say sound like whimpering.

But this is Judaism, so there was an argument, a debate about how those second notes should sound. Perhaps it should sound like groaning. Woe is me. Or, perhaps, it should sound like crying. I am terribly sorry about how I misbehaved. And so we have the 3-part Shevarim, the groan, the sigh and then the 9 part Truah, the nine part piecing cry.

Rabbi Isaiah Horowitz teaches us, “…This is the theme of Rosh ha-Shanah. We were whole, we became broken, but we shall be whole again. We were whole, broken, even shattered into the fragments of the teru’ah but we shall yet be whole again.” [quoted in The Jewish Holidays, Michael Strassfield; p. 100]

When we listen carefully to the notes of the Shofar, we are listening to our whole self and our broken self. The challenge is to bring them together.

The shofar service is an ancient service. The rabbis of the Talmud mandated 100 blasts of the shofar, based on the 100 cries of the mother Sisera. (Talmud Rosh Hashanah 33b). She is waiting for her son to return from battle and is losing hope. She begins to weep. Soon she learns that her son has been killed in battle.

This day itself is called Yom Truah, the Day of Groaning or Wailing, not Rosh Hashanah, the head of the year, in the Torah. The word Truah is in Psalm 150, the last Psalm in the book of Psalms. Praise G-d with taka shofar, b’tzelah truah.

The Ben Ish Chai writes that these sounds are meant to contrast with the tekiah. The tekiah, he explains, is a sound of triumph and joy, while the shevarim and teruah are sounds of pain and suffering. Because of the opposing feelings they represent, when one blows the shofar, he is not to connect the tekiah with the others, by blowing the sounds with the same breath.

There is so much pain and suffering in the world that when Rabbis for Human Rights of North America, of which I am a proud member for over a decade chose a new name, we are called Truah. It offers a clarion call for justice, just as the shofar demands.

Sherri Mandall writing for Aish.com teaches: “The shofar’s cries tells us that inside of all of us there is a place of brokenness, of darkness, of shock, of tears. But the shofar also reminds us of the word shipur, to improve, to get better. The shofar is supposed to remind us of the fact that Isaac was spared, that a ram was offered instead of a person. That is the purpose of the tears, of the wordless cry. Not to surrender to despair. To be shocked, not into complacency but into elevation, into making our lives an offering — not by dying but by living and loving God.” https://www.aish.com/h/hh/rh/shofar/48964221.html

We show that love by our very actions.

But before we can act. Before we can show that love of G-d, we need to hear the wordless cry from deep within. We need to bring our wholeness and our brokenness together. That is the message of the shofar’s cries. That is the message of the leadership of Hagar and Hannah, Sarah and Rachel. We lead with our vulnerability. It’s alright to cry. The message of the shofar is that G-d will hear our cries and make us whole.

In a little while you will hear a haunting prayer, Hineini. Hineini, Here am I. Hineini, Here I am, the words that Abraham utters to G-d.

Hiney…Ma Tov…How good and pleasant it is for people to dwell together. Hiney. Behold. Here.

Hineini only appears 8 times in the Bible, the three of them come is in the Rosh Hashanah’s readings. When G-d calls to Abraham, he answers, “Hineini, Here am I.” Abraham is ready, fully present, to answer G-d’s calls, ready to do G-d’s will. Prepared. Later in this terrifying portion, Isaac calls out to his father and again Abraham answers, “Hineini, b’ni, Here am I, my son.” And just as Abraham is about to slit his own son’s throat, an angel calls out, “Abraham, Abraham”, and again Abraham responds, “Hineini.”

Each time Hineini appears, it marks a pivotal moment in the action. Behold. Here. Right now. Pay attention. This is important.

When Jacob tricks his blind father out of Esau’s rightful blessing, nonetheless, Isaac responds with “Hineini”. When Jacob falls asleep on the road and G-d calls out in a dream, “Jacob, Jacob” and Jacob answers Hineini . Jacob calls out to Joseph and Joseph answers Hineni. The cycle seems to have come full circle.. And when G-d calls to Moses from the burning bush, “Moses, Moses,” Moses recognizes he is standing on holy ground, takes off his sandals, and answers Hineini.

We know that there are no extra words in the Torah, so why does G-d call out “Abraham, Abraham”, or “Moses, Moses”? Why the double name? Erica Brown, a Jewish philosophy professor teaches, the Torah invites us to invite. If you, as the leader want to get someone to do something, you have to ask. If you don’t ask, you don’t get. And G-d is the ultimate leader. It’s also who you ask and how. When you recruit someone to a task, you want to use his or her name to make the argument for uniqueness. It is no coincidence that in several call texts, God or an angel doubles the name: Abraham, Abraham. Moses, Moses, Samuel, Samuel – as if to say, it’s you and only you. And the call needs to be specific to a task so that when the magic word Hineni is said, it is said with full recognition of the momentousness and consequences of what lies ahead. And a call has to be just that: a call. It’s the singling out of someone for something special, a selection. It’s the power of invitation.”

http://www.ericabrown.com/new-blog-1/2015/12/24/the-hineni-moment

Each of you has a calling. A place where your great joy meets the world’s great need., as Frederick Buechner teaches. Each of you has a task that only you can fulfill.

There is one thing that stands out in these episodes to me. Each carries with it a sense of humility on the part of each of our Biblical characters, our leaders. Humility is such an important quality in a leader. Every week I am reminded of that when I stand before you and G-d. “Da lifney mi atah omaid. Know before whom you stand.” Who am I to possibly stand before you? Or before G-d! It keeps me humble.

As we explored yesterday, there are many styles of leadership. If I had to classify mine, I would call it collaborative. I work best as part of team. I know that I don’t know everything and that together we are better. You are all on my team. Perhaps the best book I read this year was Lifelong Kindergarten, which asserts that people learn best when they are encouraged to play, with peers and passion and projects. When they are working together. Not in a more typical top down hierarchical classroom. Because of a JUF symposium on the Changing Paradigm of Jewish Education, and the gift of that very book, we are demonstrating leadership here at CKI by changing our model of Hebrew learning. We are piloting nationally our coaching program and it is off to a good start. We are leading the way and meeting families and individual students with their unique learning styles, where they are.

Another collaborative leader that I greatly admire you will hear from shortly, CEO Tony Sanders of the U-46 School System. I’ll let him tell you what his leadership style is.

Contrast our word of response Hineni, Here am I with when G-d calls out to Adam and Eve, Ayekcha, Where are you…?

There is no response. Nothing. Oh sure, G-d knows where they are…so this is not a question about where are they physically. The question is really about where are they spiritually, emotionally, morally. Adam and Eve seem too ashamed to answer.

G-d is calling to each of us. Ayecha? Where are you? What is G-d calling us to do? To be where?

That is the question of this High Holy Day period. Ayecha? Where are you? Where are you going? Perhaps you will hear the echo of that question when you are stopped at a stoplight. Where are you? Where are you going? It is not about where are you physically present. It is not about going left or right or straight ahead. It is not about going to the grocery store or the movies or to pick up the kids. It is more of an existential question. I am not only here. But I’m here. Spiritually, I’m all in. I’m prepared to reflect on who I am, what’s important to me and what changes I am prepared to make for myself and others.

Where are you? Spiritually, emotionally, morally?

Where do you want to be in your life? Where do you want to be with your family? Your friends? Your community? Your work? How do you answer Hineini with your lives?

Shanah means both year and change in Hebrew. What change do you want to make this year?

Answering Hineini is about being fully present. Saying I am here. I am here, ready to serve.

Wait…I have to answer this call…now where is that phone. Maybe I left it in the kitchen. (Risa got up to find it, illustrating the point!)

Actually, there is no incoming call for me. But there is an issue. So many of us multi-task so much of the day, that perhaps we will miss the burning bush. Or maybe we will even be so busy uploading the picture of that burning bush to Facebook or Instagram or Pinterest we won’t hear the call. Or maybe we will be waiting for the phone to ring or the text message to come that we miss what our partner says at dinner. Ayeka? Where are you? Glued to our electronic devices. This may be the opposite of humility. It maybe hubris to think that whatever that incoming phone call or Facebook message is more important than what you were doing. Unless you are a doctor or one of our police officers, it can probably wait. And should.

Shortly we will hear the prayer, Hinini. It is essentially the same word. The cantor begins, “Hinini, Here am I, pleading on behalf of G-d’s people. Here I am, impoverished in deeds and merit. But nevertheless I have come before You, God, to plead on behalf of Your people Israel.”

Humble. And while it is in the singular, it is for all of us. The cantor does not pray for us, but with us. We don’t need an intermediary in Judaism. The cantor walks slowly from the back, passing through the congregation. It symbolizes that the congregation has sent the cantor, the cantor is the shaliach tzibbur, the messenger of the congregation. But the the congregation reads along with the cantor. It’s all of us!

In fact, while in some places this becomes the pinnacle moment in the cantor’s year, the Hineini prayer is just an expansion, a grand, dramatic expression, of a prayer we have already done—that it is at the beginning of every Amidah, “Adonai Sifitai Tiftach ufi yagid tehilatecha. O Lord, open up my lips that my mouth may declare Your praise.” And at the conclusion of the Amidah, we recite, “Yehiyu l’ratzon imre fe, May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to You, my Rock and my Redeemer.”

The hardest word to say in this prayer might be the very first one. Hinini. Here am I. Am I worthy enough to say it? Am I really, really here, ready to serve or am I just “phoning it in” as they say in the theater world? And how dare I put myself into the same category as Abraham and Moses? It seems the opposite of humble.

Rabbi Mishael Zion points out that there are at least three personal qualities addressed in Hineni: The first is an awareness of our own abilities. There are times when we are called on to serve, when our skills or insights are urgently needed. At such times, he says, we must own our own strengths and step up to the plate, “Hineini, Here I stand, ready to lead.” To shrink from this challenge would be to deny others the opportunity for growth or healing because of our lack of awareness or fear.

Then again, we might be afraid. We might worry that we don’t possess enough skills. We would not be alone in that fear. The famous psychotherapist, Carl Rogers said, “Before every session, I take a moment to remember my humanity. There is no experience that this man has that I cannot share with him, no fear that I cannot understand, no suffering that I cannot care about, because I too am human.
No matter how deep his wound, he does not need to be ashamed in front of me.
I too am vulnerable.
And because of this, I am enough.
Whatever his story, he no longer needs to be alone with it.
This is what will allow his healing to begin.”

That’s leadership.

Remember, we are not called to be perfect. We are called to be present. Hineini. We are not called to be Moses. Or Carl Rogers. We are called to be our own authentic selves.

Of course, as Rabbi Zion says, “ there is a fine line between confidence and arrogance. It is crucial that as we step forth to lead, we also remain aware of our limitations. This is why after stating, “Here I am,” the prayer leader immediately continues with the words “a person of impoverished acts.” This is, I would add, that humble moment, aware of our limitations and shortcomings. Who among us could not do more or better for other people, for the Earth or for God? It is no wonder that Moses — the great model of Jewish leadership — is also described in the Torah as “the most humble of all people” (Numbers 12:3). But our awareness of our inadequacies cannot lead to paralysis. As the prayer continues, “Please do not allow my own sins and shortcomings to bear on my actions on their behalf.” While it is impossible to fully prevent our personal flaws from impacting our work with others, we must be self-reflective and actively work to improve them.”

Again, we are not called upon to be perfect. We are called to be present. We are called to be whole.

The third element that Rabbi Zion addresses from our prayer Hineni is the texts’ statement about the need for support from others. We must find allies, partners and mentors to help us grow and thrive as leaders. Recognizing this fact, the anonymous author of our prayer turns to the angels for assistance…Being a shaliach tzibur never means going it alone, but rather joining with our community in prayer or action, leading and listening as the experience unfolds.”

That’s true for this rabbi, this cantor, this choir, this CKI president, this neighborhood, this wider community. We are all in. All present. And all together, working for the common good.

There is one more use of Hineini in the Bible. In Isaiah, God says that there will come a time if we act ethically that we will call out and God will respond “Here I am!” (Isaiah 52:6; 58:6-9; 65:1). G-d, as G-d promised, will be our partner in the work of Tikkun Olam. G=d too will be fully present when we call and answer Hineni.

We are here. Right here, at CKI, ready to answer G-d’s call, although as the prayer says, we have little merit. We are humble and ready to do the work of teshuvah, return. Right here, right now. We are answering Hineini with our lives.

Welcome home. Welcome back. Welcome here. This Day One of Year One is the first day of 5780.

This is a year of transition, as we have said before. It is the first year of the rest of your life. It is the first day of the rest of your life. Transition can be scary. No body likes change. We talk about liminal time. It is the time in between Tonight. This very night. Is liminal time.

Richard Rohr said that Limen is the Latin word for threshold. “A liminal space” is the crucial in-between time when everything actually happens and yet nothing appears to be happening. We often enter liminal space when our former way of being is challenged or changed…During this graced time we are not certain or in control. This openness allows room for something genuinely new to happen. We are empty and receptive. Liminal space is where we are most able to hear and learn.”

I invite you to cross over the threshold, to enter this space, to begin this time of reflection and renewal together.

You won’t be alone. Here you will find music to soothe the soul. You will find friends and family. You will find uplifting words and sometimes challenging ones. You will find an oasis of peace. You find tradition meeting modernity. You may even help us figure that out that path as we find meaning together. And you will find leaders who are committed to welcoming you so that you feel you belong. Here. Welcome home.

This year, this whole year, as a community we will be looking at leaders and leadership as we continue in this transitional time. As many of you know, we have a new president this year, Risa Cohen. We also have a new Executive Vice President, Robin Coyne, a new treasurer, Sandi Phelan, a new VP of Ritual, Dan Knopoff, a new VP of Education, Micheline Welch and a new kitchen chair, Theresa Friedman. All of them were ready, are ready to answer the call. Hineni, Here am I. We will talk more about Hineni tomorrow.

Tonight I want to talk about leadership. What is a leader…or maybe better, who is a leader?

“the person who leads or commands a group, organization, or country.” Now my high school English teacher isn’t very happy. We all learned that you can’t use the same word to define a word. A leader then is:

chief, head, principal, boss;
commander, captain;
figurehead, controller, superior, kingpin, headman, mover and shaker;
chairman, chairwoman, chairperson, chair, convener, moderator;
director, managing director, MD, manager, superintendent, supervisor, overseer, administrator, employer,
master, mistress, foreman;
president, premier, governor;
ruler, monarch, king, queen, sovereign, emperor, tsar, prince, princess, lord, lord and master; elder, patriarch; guru, mentor, authority;

That’s a long list. Yet it helps us understand what a leader is.

The word itself comes from the Old English, laeder, one who guides or brings forth. That interests me…but perhaps because I always am interested in etymology.

In Hebrew one word for leader is madrich. You may have heard this term if you bounced on a bus in Israel. The tour guide is a madrich, or a madricha. In Torah School we often call our student aides Madrichim. If you take off the mem at the beginning , you have the root word derech, road or path. So a leader is one who guides you on the path.

There are a few other words in Hebrew for leader:
Manhig, One who drives, a driver, someone who can get things done.
Rosh, Head, just like Rosh Hashanah, head of the year, Rosh is the head of an organization, Rosh Yeshiva, Rosh Hamemshalah
Dabar and Nagid, both have to do with speaking and telling. These leaders tell us what to do.
Moreh or Morah Derech, like Madrich, a teacher of the path.

A long time ago, I had an argument with my one of my step-daughters. Her daughter was then a first year Girl Scout, the fourth generation in our family to be one, but my step-daughter didn’t like that they were training her to be a leader. “Not everyone can be a leader”. And in fact, we have a phrase about too many cooks in the kitchen spoiling the broth.

The irony is she is now the president of the Loudon County (VA) League of Women Voters. And we are proud of her for that. It is a leadership role. Why did she take it? Because no one else would do it. Maybe she was wrong after all. Each of us can be a leader, someone who steps into the breach and guides us on the path.

There are different leadership styles. According to the Guide for Junior Girl Scout Leaders:

The Director gives very good direction and makes sure everyone does his or her job. They make certain that rules are clear and that everyone is expected to follow them. We know this from Moses who relayed the commandments making sure that everyone knew them.

The Coach uses a style that provides both direction and supervision but encourages the involvement of everyone. She will explain the work that lies ahead, discuss decisions and answer questions. We know this from Bezazel, the architect and chief foreman of building the Mishkan. He had the plans and made sure that everyone contributed to the building with their own expertise and the offerings of their heart.

The Supporter works with other members of the group to set goals and list steps to achieve the goals. A supporter encourages everyone to make decisions and gives each member the help they need. We know this from Miriam, who grabbed a timbrel in her hand and offered leadership and inspiration.

The Delegator gives everyone a share of the work. A delegator lets group members make decisions and take on as much responsibility as they can handle. Is there to answer questions, but wants them to take as much responsibility for their actions as possible. We know this one from Moses, who was learned how from Jethro, his father-in-law, the priest of the Midianites, how to delegate.

Perhaps you are sitting there thinking, “I can’t be a leader.” Hear one story of a woman just one week shy of her own 18th birthday on 9/11/2001. She watched the news and felt so helpless. After all, as she said, “I was still a kid, what was I supposed to do?” But she heard the reporters say that the “”the rescue workers are melting through their boots, they are in desperate need of gloves, boots, and other rescue supplies.” She worked at a trucking company in Western Michigan. This was something she could do. Move goods from one place to another. As she said, “We ended up filling a full trailer of water, oxygen and supplies. We delivered in less than 72 hours. We beat FEMA to the ground.”

She continues, “When I do tell this story, people usually want to focus on how amazing I am. The reality is that I had no special training. I didn’t know what I was doing. I just knew that something had to be done. Two things that I learned during 9/11 that I want to pass onto my children. One – fear and hate lead nowhere good. Today our country is more divided than any time in my memory. So many in leadership are building hate and fear. We have a responsibility to stop it and speak the truth. Two – we all have more power than we realize. There is always SOMETHING you can do. Even if it is small. We never know how our small actions will snowball into something bigger. If you see something wrong in the world, do something. Say something. YOU matter. YOU have power. When we are tricked into believing there is nothing we can do is when evil wins.”

Let me underscore what she said. YOU matter. YOU have power. When we are tricked into believing there is nothing we can do is when evil wins.

Rivka Hodgkinson is a leader. Then and now.

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks identifies 7 principles of Jewish leadership:

1. It begins with taking responsibility.
2. No one can lead alone
3. Leadership is about the future: It is vision-driven
4. Leaders learn.
5. Leadership means believing in the people you lead.
6. Leadership involves a sense of timing and pace.
7. Leadership is stressful and emotionally demanding.

He illustrates these by using the same Biblical stories we have used.

http://rabbisacks.org/seven-principles-of-jewish-leadership-written-for-the-adam-science-foundation-leadership-programme/

What do we want from our leaders, especially our Jewish leaders? We want people

• Who are honest with integrity. …
• Who inspire others. …
• Who demonstrate commitment and passion. …
• Who are good communicators. …
• Who have good decision-making capabilities. …
• Who are accountable. …
• Who delegate and empower. …
• Who are creativity and innovative
• Who are good listeners
• Who have the ability to admit when they make a mistake.

In short, we want you. We need you. As Rivka suggests if you see something you can do, that you want to do, just ask. Take it on. We will appreciate and nurture your leadership.

Now this is the interactive part. When you join us out in the social hall for our annual apples and honey fest, (thank you Phelans for hosting and doing the work. That shows your leadership.) find the board with the list of leadership qualities that the Torah School students and their families developed. They get it. Then take some apple stickers, and choose two, just two qualities that you feel are most important to you.

That’s part of our leadership too. Passing down our traditions, our values from one generation to the next, l’dor v’dor. Just as Pirke Avot teaches us:

Moses received the Torah at Sinai and transmitted it to Joshua; Joshua to the elders, and the elders to the prophets, and the prophets to the men of the Great Assembly. They said three things: be patient in judgment, raise up many students, and make a fence round the torah. (Pirke Avot 1:1) Now we pass down these values from generation to generation. To our children and our children’s children.

But don’t worry. Pirke Avot teaches as well:
Lo alecha ham’lacha ligmor,
Lo alecha ligmor.

V’lo ata ben chorim l’hibatil mimena,

We are not obligated to finish the task, neither are we free to ignore it.

Don’t be afraid. You don’t’ have to be Moses, or Joshua, Miriam or Jethro. Or even Rivka Hodgkinson. You just have to be you. Reb Zusia teaches us that. When he was on his deathbed, he said to his students, “The other day, I had a vision. In it, I learned that the angels will one day ask me about my life.” This surprised his students, since Reb Zusia was pious, scholarly and humble. A good teacher. A role model. Kind and compassionate. He replied, “The angels will not ask me, why were you not Moses. But rather, why were you not Zusia.”

Inside each of you there is a core. A spark of the Divine because we are all created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d. Inside each of you, there is a bulb…some thing that will grow into a beautiful flower, that G-d planted within us. Light is sown, planted for the righteous and joy for the upright in heart. It is our job to figure out what our unique role is, what our unique task is, mch what that bulb is and where it can be planted.

Your work, this High Holiday season, at this time of transition and liminality is to find your inner core. To discover who you truly are. So that when life itself hangs in the balance, you can answer, “I am I” While you are enjoying those apples and honey, please take a tulip bulb home with you and plant it to remind you of your inner core.

Yesterday, on the last Shabbat of 5779, we had a baby naming. It was perfect. What a great way to end the old year and begin the new. Sometimes, everything works. Here are my remarks:

Today’s the day I take my stand, the future’s mine to hold.
Commitments that I make today are dreams from days of old.
I have to make the way for generations come and go.
I have to teach them what I’ve learned so they will come to know.
That the old shall dream dreams, and the youth shall see visions,
And our hopes shall rise up to the sky.
We must live for today; we must build for tomorrow.
Give us time, give us strength, give us life.
Give us time, give us strength, give us life.

Debbie Friedman, z”l

Atem nitzavim hayom. You stand here today. All of you. Before the Lord your G-d, your heads of your tribes, your elders, your officers with all the people of Israel. Your wives. Your children—your tapchem—your little ones, the strangers in your gates, the woodchoppers and the water drawers. All means all.

When Morgan and I planned the date for this, we didn’t quite realize just how appropriate this morning would be. She just wanted to make sure to enter the new year with this detail done. Checked off her to do list.

But it is right there in the portion. All of you are standing here. Even the little one. We are all created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d. All means all. To enter into the covenant. This covenant. It gives us the recipe for naming a child.

Always the Shabbat before Rosh Hashanah. Always the whole parsha. We have a choice. We can choose to stand here. Or not. Morgan and Ryan on behalf of the little one are choosing to be here. And so are the little one’s other relatives and friends. We are acting out this portion in very profound ways.

You are all standing here…you leaders of this congregation, your elders, your husbands and wives, your little ones, even the strangers among you. These very words. This very day. How wonderful.

Nitzvaim, Strong’s Biblical Dictionary says it means: to stand, take one’s stand, stand upright, be set (over), establish. You are establishing a Jewish home with this service. You are standing upright and being proud of that heritage, that very precious legacy.

Stand up. Stand for. Stand over. Stand by. This is about standing up and being counted. About not being a bystander but rather an upstander. It is about standing for something of value.

When do we stand? We stand to show respect. When an elder walks into the room. When the Torah is raised, we are standing. We stand when something is important.

But what about those woodchoppers and water drawers. Who are they? How do they count? Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson at the Ziegler School in Los Angeles teaches that they are each of us. That we should see woodcutters as a metaphor for possible abuse in our interpersonal relationships. We cut down people, prove them), or shape them into what we want them to be. It happens in our families, in our synagogues, in our work world and in our wider communities. “Instead of chipping away at the edges to see what is truly beneath a person’s exterior, we (often by accident) cut too much, creating scraps that are difficult to reassemble.” He reminds us that we do this with G-d as well.

He understands water drawers: as a metaphor, a symbol of inspiration, “waiting for us to engage them, learn from them, be nourished and satiated by them, and to ultimately compliment one another. This suggests that our relationships go two ways. We give, and we receive (and the two are not always equal). There are limits, though. A well can dry up if one draws too much without replenishing it, offering something in return. But finding that balance is not so simple.”

The first letter of our portion is “Alef” the first letter of the Alef Bet. The first letter of the first 10 Commandment. The Zohar teaches that Alef, contains the entire Torah. But not everyone is ready to hear the gentle sound of alef, People are only able to hear what they are ready to hear. G-d speaks to each of us in a personal way, taking into consideration our strength wisdom and preparation. The Midrash even tells us that G-d’s voice is so powerful and frightening that G-d tempers it by creating different sounds for each person.

There was even a different sounding voice just for the ears of small children.

In a d’var Torah for young Jewish educators and parents we learn that this is yet another message here: “It is important not only to show up but to welcome others to do so as well. The above statement may be read as Moses speaking of future generations who are also subject to the covenant. However, it reminds us that physical proximity is not the only reason that people may not be present. Moses could also be speaking of those who are disenfranchised, who are oppressed, who, perhaps, might not feel that they have the choice to show up. We all have a role in our communities and in the world at large: To continue to widen our circles and to help everyone know that they are important and that they are welcome. As parents and teachers of young children, this parashah can remind us that it is incumbent upon us to be models for our children so that they know that being present-that standing up and participating in the lives of our own family, our community and our world-is a gift to be cherished and nurtured, always. While counting our blessings, we must also remember to look outside of our own lives, to do our utmost to help everyone feel heard and acknowledged and a part of the circle.” https://reformjudaism.org/nitzavim-tots

The very last group of people standing together in this portion is “with those who are not with us here this day. They are standing with us today too!

Usually, it is forward thinking, even those yet unborn, about the generations to come. Today I think it links us to the generations come and gone. How Cheryl would have loved to have been here to see this, to actively participated in this, to stand up and be counted. Look around you, Morgan and Ryan and little one. It takes a village to raise a child, all of us standing together. Feel the love that is in this room.

And the old shall dream dreams and the youth shall see visions, and their hopes shall rise up to the sky…today we are standing here, all of us, to enter into this covenant, with all of our hopes and dreams.

Later in the baby naming itself, we used an old Irish blessing that the parents found on Interfaith Family. How delightful. These are my wishes for all of you for 5780:

May the blessing of light be with you always,

Light without and light within.

May the sun shine upon you and warm your heart

Until it glows like a great fire

So that others may feel the warmth of it.

And may the light of your eyes

Shine like two candle lights

In a window at night bidding the wanderer

To come in out of the dark and the cold.

And may the blessings of the rain be upon you,

The sweet and tender rain,

May it fall upon your spirit

As when flowers spring up and fragrance fills the air.

And may the blessings of the great rain

Wash you clean and fair,

And may the storms always leave you stronger

And more beautiful.

And when the rains are over may there be clear pools of water.