It is summer. The longest Shabbat of the year. At Temple Emanuel of the Merrimack Valley, the sun wheel turned again last night, as it does every changing of the season.

That sunwheel is based on the El Adon prayer that we sang earlier. It was commissioned in April 1981 for Birkat Hachama, the blessing of the sun that occurs every 28 years in Judaism. The last Birkat Hachama was April 8, 2009. That’s all about the sun. Temple Emanuel decided that it was so beautiful and so meaningful to spin the sunwheel that they didn’t want to wait 28 years to do it again. So they do it every changing of the seasons and live out El Adon and Ma’ariv Aravim that talks about how G-d makes the seasons alternate.

It fits in a longstanding Jewish tradition of Mizrach, usually hung on the Eastern Wall or Shiviti, designed to focus our prayer. And for me it works. I was thrilled to find this photo of it and can envision mounting it on card stock and having a personal sun wheel.

You might have noticed the intentional elements that are included on this sunwheel. The Hebrew letters of the weekday El Adon in Aleph Bet order. The starry skies or is that water. The gold leaf and the rainbow.

This is Pride Shabbat. Perhaps some of you attended the parade in Aurora last Sunday. I know that the congregation in Aurora actually marched. Perhaps you are attending the big Pride Parade in Chicago tomorrow.

Today I am proudly wearing my rainbow tallit. And my rainbow necklace I bought in Guatemala. A rainbow, is a perfect balance between sun and rain. Keshet in Hebrew, has become a symbol of the LGBTQ community. It represents our diversity. There are two organizations called Keshet. One is the national gay pride Jewish organization headed by Idit Klein (No relation). And the other is Keshet in Chicago which works with people of varying abilities. Our member Ted Frisch is an active participant in their programming. Both organizations represent our vision statement of “Embracing our diversity” and I am proud to support both. Let me underscore this. All are welcome here. We are all children of G-d, created in the image of G-d, b’tzelem elohim. All means all.

One of my favorite parts of my job is working with our B’nai Mitzvah students. And hasn’t Mandy done a lovely job thus far leading the Torah service and Ashrei. Kol hakavod.

Earlier this week, working with another student who has Noah as his portion, we were talking about the covenant that G-d made with Noah to never again destroy the earth through water, by a flood. In the haftarah, that promise is echoed and we are told that G-d will give the Israelites a briti shlomi, My covenant of peace, of friendship. When we talked about what it would be like to be on the ark, the tevah, our student mused that maybe the whole earth is the tevah. It was a new image for me and so right for this week.

I hope that your summer journey might include spending time by water. Cool, clear, bountiful water. Perhaps Lake Michigan, on either side of the lake, or the Fox River or some small pond. Just sitting here, watching waves and the dance of sunlight on the water. Watching the sky and the clouds. Watching the quality of light. Maybe dunking in and out of the cooling, life sustaining water. Just the right amount of water. Not too much so that we have floods. Not too little. Maybe just the right balance to produce a rainbow, a sign of the covenant.

Simon and I hike a lot—he loves the mountains. I love the water. It’s a mixed marriage. Last weekend for Father’s Day, we went hiking at the Morton Arboretum to see the trolls. It was hot. We planned to be out for about an hour. We got lost—that’s a story for another time—but it was like we were wandering in the wilderness, in the desert. We were out too long and we ran out of that essential ingredient. Water.

Have you ever been really, really thirsty? What happens when you are thirsty…you get lightheaded, maybe dizzy, maybe faint, maybe disoriented. You can get leg cramps. You can get chilled. Someone said you might lose your faith in G-d.

They say when you are thirsty, it is already too late. You are already dehydrated. Last week I stood here and told you to drink lots of water. Tomorrow, like last weekend, the heat is back on and after a week with lots of rain, we all want to be outside. So again, remember, drink lots of water.

We are lucky. We have that opportunity. We can drink water. Life sustaining water. Not every one is so lucky.

Now imagine being part of the children of Israel, wandering in the desert. Miriam had just died. Miriam had a unique gift. Finding water. You are thirsty. Really, really thirsty. It is now a life or death issue. Like children everywhere you beg your parent for water.

Think of Moses as that parent. He is your parent and he is supposed to supply water to you. He, however, is frustrated. Really, really frustrated. And mourning. His sister has just died. G-d tells him to raise his staff and speak to the rock.

Instead, he strikes the rock twice and water pours out. Why did he do it that way? We will never know. But I can imagine, without Miriam, he was afraid it wouldn’t work. He wanted to make sure it would work. He went over and above what was needed. He didn’t listen to G-d. Or obey G-d. And for this, the tradition tells us. For not trusting. For not obeying. He was punished. Never to set foot in the Promised Land.

Imagine being a parent and wanting to make sure your child had access to the basic need of water. Imagine that you are afraid by the violence surrounding you every day. That you want to prevent your child from becoming a member of gang, or being killed by a gang. Imagine like Hagar who placed her child under a push and pleaded with G-d to not look on while her child died just because expelled from Abraham’s household, they were now wandering in the desert. Wouldn’t you do everything, anything to help your child?

When I was in Guatemala, as an American Jewish World Service Global Justice Fellow, I learned more about water rights. People need access to water. It is a basic human need. For years, I have been concerned about the bottled water industry. I have been concerned also about the amount of plastic we use to bottle that water. And the waste of that plastic. But the real question becomes access to water. Nestle, Coke, Pepsi. Even recently Starbucks. All buying up water rights. Including watersheds in Michigan, potentially draining the Lake Michigan watershed.

On May 11 we got word that one of the leaders of an AJWS grantee, CCDA had been assassinated. I remain deeply saddened by the assassination of José Can Xol, a human rights defender with our partner organization Comité Campesino del Altiplano (CCDA) in Guatemala. I have spoken about CCDA before. They have a cooperative fair trade kosher coffee plantation. The proceeds from the coffee and the patio container gardens and the honey pay for amongst other things letting girls go to school. It is a travesty that people would think that so threatening that they would assassinate Jose. May his memory be a blessing.

For me, this is personal. Families belong together, and children do not belong in prison. It was true in 2001 when I worked for Refugee Immigration Ministry and visited asylum seekers in the Rockingham Jail and then in for-profit jails that were detaining children with their mothers in Pennsylvania and Batavia, New York. It is truer today.

Violence persists in Guatemala, although I felt safer there then I did in Miami when I returned. My own son-in-law as a young child was airlifted off a football field in 1983. If I had been his parents, desperate parents just like the children of Israel wandering in the desert without water, I would have done anything to help my children survive. I am grateful to his parents for immigrating and risking everything. I am grateful for the work that AJWS does because it bears witness and holds people and the government accountable, reducing poverty and violence.

It brings me hope, in a week that saw lots of angry, angry people. Miriam brings us hope too. While her ability to divine water was curtailed with her death, Miriam’s well continues to travel with the children of Israel, for any of us to access. That is part of why many have added the tradition of Miriam’s cup to their Passover seders. A cup filled with clear, spring water. A cup that can nourish us all with life sustaining water of hope.

Even since the 1970’s when the ritual first appeared, there are many variations. Again that is embracing our diversity. Today we are going to pour fresh, spring water into Miriam’s Cup and each of you are going to be able to drink it. Deeply.

My childhood rabbi, Rabbi Albert M. Lewis, used to teach that each of us has a unique mitzvah to do in our lives. Rabbi Shmuly Yanklowitz teaches similarly that each of us has a unique gift to offer, that “you will spend your life giving to others. There may be no question that is more existentially and morally pressing for each of us to answer & to align our days with! Because as Rebbe Nachman taught: the day you were born was the day that God determined the world could not exist without you! We are desperately in need of your gift! Bold or humble, global or local, in the home or out of the home – your unique giving, that only you can do, is so desperately needed!”

That is what Frederick Buechner would describe as your unique calling. “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”

Then we will add water back into the cup. Water from a second bottle, representing your unique gift. Just like Miriam, your unique gift. There is enough water to go around. There is enough hope to go around. So come up here. Enjoy a cup of this water of Miriam, water to be life-affirming, water to bring us hope. Help us find the water. Help us to bring that water to all the children of G-d, all of us who are created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d.

Lyrics:
Spring up a well, and sing ye unto it
Spring up a well, and sing ye unto it

CHORUS:
Oh the water in the well and the healing in the well
The women and the water and the hope that’s in the well (x2)

When the world was created, there was heaven and dry land
And all the waters gathered, upon hearing God’s command
There was a bit of water, that was left or so they tell,
That was the water that became the water from the well

CHORUS:

It was in Miriam’s honor that the first well came to be,
To celebrate her music, her dance and prophecy,
The people came to Miriam when their spirits rose and fell
She nourished all their visions with the water from the well

CHORUS:

“Spring up a well!” the twelve tribes sang and the rushing waters flowed
High as pillars, into rivers to the oceans they would go
Surrounded by the trees and fruits so rich and bountiful
The Israelites were nourished by the waters from the well

CHORUS:

When Miriam dried, the well dried up, and Moses’ shed his tears
And God said, “Moses, touch this rock and water will appear”
Well Moses raised his staff in anger and upon the rock it fell
And out came springs of water, it was water from the well
CHORUS:

Bridge:
For the memory of the women, for the memory of the well
For the ones who came before us, their stories we must tell
We are searching for the water, where we wander, where we dwell
For Miriam and all of us, who thirst to find the well

Debbie Friedman, z”l

14,700 people. That is the number that the Torah tells us died in the field at Meribah. Today’s portion is amongst the most difficult in all of Torah. Why did those people have to die?

The usual explanation is that they weren’t loyal—to G-d or Moses. Pretty harsh stuff. That they were swayed by Korach. Korach led a rebellion. It was a real challenge to leadership. He and his two sidekicks and all their families were swallowed up, live, by the earth.

But what about the 14,700 people? Sometimes this text is used to tell us that the G-d of the Old Testament is the G-d of vengeance and the G-d of the New Testament is the G-d of Love. This philosophy was a common teaching in Grand Rapids, at 85% Dutch Reform. And it was always used as a jab at Judaism. We hear echoes of that sentiment in popular culture like throughout the musical Les Mis:

JAVERT
Now bring me prisoner 24601
Your time is up
And your parole’s begun
You know what that means.

VALJEAN
Yes, it means I’m free.

JAVERT
No! It means you get
Your yellow ticket-of-leave
You are a thief.

VALJEAN
I stole a loaf of bread.

JAVERT
You robbed a house.

VALJEAN
I broke a window pane.
My sisters child was close to death
And we were starving.

JAVERT
You will starve again
Unless you learn the meaning of the law.

VALJEAN
I know the meaning of those 19 years
A slave of the law.

He stole a loaf of bread to feed his sister’s child…and then spent 19 years in jail. This echoes today as well.

Sometimes this text of Korach is used to tell us that G-d demands loyalty. Be careful with all G-d’s commandments or you are going to be zapped. Sometimes this portion is used to tell us that we should guard our tongue. That we shouldn’t spread gossip.

This is a week that has challenged our assumptions about who can read scripture and who can interpret it. What does the Bible say? Who can teach it? How do we read it?

A few snippets of my week. A woman called the synagogue twice. She is looking for an adult Hebrew class. She wants to learn Hebrew to learn to read the Bible better. She’s not Jewish. She is Christian but hasn’t found a “home church”. She is homeless.

Her desire to learn Hebrew is no different than Governor William Bradford, first governor of Plimouth Plantation, who said, “a longing desire to see, with my owne eyes, something of that most ancient language, and holy tongue, in which the Law and oracles of God were write” (Bradford, History of Plymouth Plantation, Little, Brown, 1856) and who wrote all the marginalia in his own Bible, in Hebrew. If this interests you, I would be happy to discuss my undergraduate paper on this topic at Kiddush. The Puritans came to this country, in part, for religious freedom. In part so they could read the Bible as individuals and not through the eyes of their clerics.

Or my adult Hebrew class, which has one more week to go. They are now studying the machzor so they are ready for the High Holidays. We did the Torah blessings again and had an important discussion about what it means that G-d chose us to give the Torah. Who is the us? Is the “us” exclusively Jewish?

Or an online discussion with my alumni association about whether the Association of Rabbis and Cantors could sign a statement already signed by 26 Jewish groups about the separation of children from their parents at the border. Two members felt vehemently that the answer to that was no. Do we need consensus, a majority or unanimous motion. I expect that heated conversation to continue after Shabbat.

Judaism has never been about being unanimous. That’s why all the opinions are preserved in the Talmud. That’s why the Talmud is not a code book. That’s why I stand up here week after week explaining that Jewish tradition is a layered tradition and that there is often no one way to do something. That’s why I talk about embracing diversity. That includes the diversity of opinion and observance.

Recently I was asked to give a class in how to read Torah. Not the mechanics of chanting, although that might be good too, but how to find the right page, how to know what’s on the page, so I want to spend a couple of minutes introducing you to this book in front of you.

This is Etz Hayyim, the Conservative Movement Chumash. In it you will find the Five Books of Moses separated by weekly parsha. Following each full parsha, not just the triennial reading, is the haftarah, a selection from the Prophets, the Nevi’im. There is usually a brief introduction to the parsha and an introduction to the haftarah. The page is organized to have the Hebrew, the New JPS translation on the top of the page, some commentary at the bottom and below the line how halacha, Jewish law is derived.

Each of the major movements has its own chumash. They each have a slightly different slant and one of my favorite classes in rabbinical school was to look at each of them—which I still often do weekly—to build my d’var Torah. That’s embracing diversity.

But what if there is a moment where diversity of opinion doesn’t work.

What if the interpretation of Korach is the exact opposite of the traditional commentaries, Jewish or Christian? This is after all Judaism. Here are the words that my chevruta partner, Rabbi Linda Shriner Cahn shared with her congregation last night. She began…

“Before I was a rabbi, I was a parent. The challenge of becoming a parent was to follow in the loving caring ways my parents had modeled for me. It was a model based on caring for others, being part of a community and standing up to be counted when times called for it.”

This reminded me of a lovely story that Naomi Rachel Remen tells in Kitchen Table Wisdom.

She tells a story of hearing a prominent rabbi talk on Yom Kippur talk about forgiveness. He began by taking his infant daughter from his wife’s arms and bringing her onto the bimah. He then began his rather traditional and somewhat boring sermon. The baby girl smiled and everyone’s heart melted. She patted him on the check with her tiny hands. He smiled fondly at her and continued with his customary dignity. She reached for his tie and put in her mouth. She grabbed his nose and the whole congregation chuckled. He said, “Think about it. Is there anything she can do that you would not forgive her? Heads nodded in agreement. She grabbed his glasses. Everyone laughed. He waited for silence and then said, “When does that stop. When does it get hard to forgive. At three? At seven? At sixteen? At forty five? How old does someone have to be before you forget that everyone is a child of God?”

I would add, created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of God, with the divine spark inside. Naomi added that for her, God’s forgiveness was easy to understand but that personal forgiveness was difficult. If we are supposed to be like God and follow in God’s footsteps, isn’t this the message? It is not a lowering of standards. It is being in a family relationship. Isn’t this how we are to treat everyone, taking care of the widow, the orphan, the stranger, the most marginalized among us?

How appropriate to consider this idea, this Father’s Day Weekend.

Back to Linda’s words: “I look around and see pictures of children being torn from their parents arms in this country which provided a new life for my parents after the Shoah. I cannot begin to imagine the pain and disappointment they would feel if they were to witness what we are currently witnessing. Where is the country that took my parents in?

In this week’s Torah portion, the witnesses to Korach’s rebellion stood by and silently watched the rebellion, waiting for God to intervene. Unlike the witnesses to Korach’s rebellion, religious leaders across the political spectrum in the United States have begun to speak up. We know that it is up to us to speak up.

This is a human crisis, not a political one. The soul of our nation is at stake. I invite you to sign petitions and attend demonstrations. Unlike our Torah portion, we cannot wait for the Divine to take sides and decide who is in the right. The decision is ours, and we need to act.

To quote Dr. Shuly Rubin Schwartz “The goal of leadership should be effectiveness – not power for its own sake.”

In this case, effectiveness means taking care of the needs of others. We can find a way if we all work together.”

Linda offers a new teaching. Perhaps the reason those 14,700 people were killed were because they stood silently by.

In the coming weeks you will hear scripture quoted and misquoted. Interpreted and reinterpreted. I hope that I have given you some of the tools to understand the bigger picture. And I hope you will not stand idly by.

14,700 people. How many more?

Whoever put on a tallis when he was young will never forget:
taking it out of the soft velvet bag, opening the folded shawl,
spreading it out, kissing the length of the neckband (embroidered
or trimmed in gold). Then swinging it in a great swoop overhead
like a sky, a wedding canopy, a parachute. And then winding it
around his head as in Hide-and-Seek, wrapping
his whole body in it, close and slow, snuggling into it like the cocoon
of a butterfly, then opening would-be wings to fly.
And why is the tallis striped and not checkered black and white
like a chessboard? Because squares are finite and hopeless.
Stripes come from infinity and to infinity they go
like airport runways where angels land and take off
Whoever has put on a tallis will never forget.
When he comes out of a swimming pool or the sea,
he wraps himself in a large towel, spreads it out again
over his head, and again snuggles into it close and slow,
still shivering a little, and he laughs and blesses.

Yehuda Amichai

Have you ever been on a vacation and wanted to bring back a keepsake, a souvenir, to keep the feeling alive?

This piece of Cadillac Mountain Granite is exactly that. A piece of jewelry that I could put in my pocket to finger and remind me of the feeling of being on top of Mount Cadillac. A place where life was simpler and I felt close to G-d. It has been much loved and is, in fact, cracked. Turns out granite isn’t as hard a rock as people thought.

Souvenir, from the French for remembrance or memory, is a memento, a keepsake or token of remembrance, an object you acquire for the memories associated with it.

That’s what today’s portion is about. A souvenir, something to keep the memory alive. What is that souvenir? What does G-d prescribe? Tying tzitzit on the edges of the Israelites garments, to remind them of the mitzvoth, or of G-d Himself. To remember that they were slaves in the land of Egypt and that G-d brought them out, us out with a strong hand and an outstretched arm.

These are the ties that bind. In fact the word religion, from the Latin religio, means to tie back up into. That’s what we try to do here. To tie ourselves together. To tie ourselves to the one true G-d. To remind ourselves of the experience of being a slave, and the power of the Exodus from Egypt. And the feeling of awe standing at Sinai.

Because this is Judaism, there are a couple of different schemata for how to tie the tzitzit. In one case each of the fringes contains 8 threads and 5 knots, and the word itself, tzitzit is the numerical equivalent of 600, so each strand represents 613, the number of the commandments.

In the other system, between each knot are carefully turned twists, representing the numerical equivalents of Yud (10), Hey (5), Vuv (6) Hey, (10) so representing the Divine.

Or you could ties them so that the long thread is wound around the other three between the five know as 7, 8, 11 and 13 times. 7, 8 and 11 totaling 26, the Yud, Hey, Vuv, Hey and the 13 totaling the word for echad, one.

Either way looking on the tzitzit reminds us of G-d and the commandments. Reminds us to be holy. Ties us, quite literally to the G-d, the commandments, and the community and its accepted standard of behavior.

In the business world there is a phrase, “hitch your wagon to a star.” It means to try to succeed by forming a relationship with someone who is already successful. It is from a 1862 essay by Ralph Waldo Emerson, American Civilization. Now you have to tie yourself to the right star—not a falling star—not one that is about to crash and burn. But by associating with greatness, by tying yourself to their success, you too can be successful.

We want to bind ourselves to a leader, to the right kind of leader, just like hitching your wagon to a star implies. Before we even get to tying tzitzit, we have another example of Moses and G-d’s leadership.

G-d is frustrated. Again. With His people of Israel. They just can’t seem to stop complaining. Kvetching. It doesn’t even matter what they are kvetching about this time. The people doesn’t seem to want to be bound up with this G-d. They don’t want to be hitched to this star. G-d has had enough and threatens to get rid of them. G-d hiself is being dragged down into the much. Moses, once again, in a pattern he has already learned, in words actually taught by G-d, intercedes and reminds G-d of G-d’s essential attributes. Using the words of the 13 Attributes that G-d taught Moses on Mount Sinai, Moses has the audacity to remind G-d that G-d is merciful and compassionate, slow to anger and patient, full of lovingkindness and truth, forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin, even to the third and fourth generation. And G-d seems to suddenly remember, and says, the very words chant on Kol Nidre, Selachti Kidvachera. I have pardoned according to your word. Crisis averted.

G-d forgives. Again and again. The gates of forgiveness are always open. G-d’s love is for all time. And part of the reason for the tzitzit is to remember precisely that.

G-d seems to need to be reminded. G-d Himself wraps Himself in a tallit according to the Psalms. We know this from the Psalms and it is included in the blessing for putting on a tallit: “Bless Adonai, my soul! Adonai my God, how great You are, clothed in majesty and glory, wrapped in light like a robe. You spread out the heavens like a tent.” It is an image I have loved and part of why I decided to wear a tallit back when I was in college. When I wrap myself in my tallit, it is a powerful reminder of G-d’s presence and I am filled with light and the love of G-d.

But sometimes we forget. Or we don’t know. No one ever taught us. The message wasn’t transmitted. There is a chemical imbalance. This has been a hard week. A week that included the suicides of at least two prominent people. People who seemed like they had every thing going for them. People, who it turned out, struggled with their own demons. People who might have not felt or seen or remembered the ties that bind them—to their friends, their family, their community, their G-d. People who may not have been able to access or remember that feeling of being loved. Of not being lonely. And we may never know.

It used to be the popular wisdom, that we shouldn’t talk about such things publicly because it could cause other suicides, copycats. However, the better wisdom is that we need to talk about this very difficult subject.

There is help available…but if you are that person struggling with mental illness or addiction, it can be hard to reach out, hard to access the resources needed. You may not even know you are in that kind of pain, for you it may be normal. Or you have adapted so well and are so good at masking the feeling, it may be normal. If you are reading this, and need help, reach out. Call me. Call a friend. Call the national suicide hotline. 1-800-273-8255. It is not too late. You are worth it.

For the rest of us, it is incumbent upon us to be like Moses, to check in with friends, (even if that friend is G-d, because that is what we learned in last week’s parsha, that G-d is a friend) and make sure they really are OK—even if they appear to be happy, laughing, productive. Even if they seem to have it all.

Right now, what I want you to do is to get up, yes, out of your chairs, and make a circle. I have a ball of yarn here and we are going to bind ourselves together, making a web, with the things we need to have a healthy community, where we are bound one to another.

As we wove our web, the attributes we named were love, respect, honesty, safety, peace, patience, truth, compassion, courage, forgiveness, imagination, generosity, kidness, gratefulness, amongst others. Those are the keys, the 13 attributes that we possess, the tools we will take back into the week with us.

Carl Rogers, the famous psychologist used to say that before he would begin a session with a patient he would sit and say to himself. “I am enough” We have enough.

At the retreat this week, we were given keys to remind us of this very fact. And a beautiful poem by the Israeli poet, Rivka Miriam:

“That place, a bit above the latch
and a little to the left
no has ever touched or will anyone ever touch it
the hidden place on which no one has placed a hand
the place that does not know how to ask.

That place is like the mezuzah on our doors. Another symbol to remind us of our essential truths. We have the tools, we have the keys, we have the threads that bind that remind us. Ask, even if the person sitting before us doesn’t know how to ask.

Perhaps this is the journey of all of us. For seven weeks, those between Passover and Shavuot, we took on studying the Book of Ruth. After Shabbat morning services and then again on Sunday mornings with my confirmation girls. Seven weeks, four chapters and a lifetime.

This is an ancient text and a modern text.

The discussions were so rich; we need to preserve them. While we read the text in English—more than one translation, we learned to look at the Hebrew just to be sure our understanding was close to correct, and to see why different translations chose different words. Remember, every translation is a commentary.

What follows are our findings—and our questions. Chapter by chapter.

The Book of Ruth is traditionally read in synagogues on the holiday of Shavuot. It doesn’t have any real historical events behind it. Nor are there any miracles, per se. It is set at the time of the barley harvest and that might be the connection to Shavuot. It is set in the time of the Judges, before the Kings, although it will lay out its connection to the Kings at the end of the story.

What it memorable of the main characters according to Steinsaltz is “not their fastidiously correct behavior, but for their personal decisions to conduct themselves with kindness and generosity toward one another.”

That’s the harvest we need more of these days, kindness and generosity.

For seven weeks, it was like being back in rabbinical school with heartfelt discussions, the back and forth of a yeshiva, some laughter—OK really giggling, and a deep appreciation of this book and our tradition. It was magical.

You know the story. Now come learn the rest of the story with us as we journey through the text together.

This ancient text and this modern text.

Chapter One:

In the days when there was a famine in the land, when the judges (or the chieftains) ruled, Elimelech and his family moved to Moab. Our first question was why was there a famine, or even, what is a famine? And why was Bethlehem. Beit Lechem, the House of Bread, out of food? The text makes clear that this is Bethlehem in Judah, as opposed to the one in Galilee. In order to survive, the rich Elimelech took his family to Moab where the conditions were better.

Does this make them amongst the first refugees? Asylum Seekers? Are we reading an ancient text or a modern one? What is Moab’s responsibility to them? Hospitality is prized in much of the Middle East, even today. What is our responsibility today to welcome the stranger, the widow, the orphan? How do we handle famines? Refugees?

His sons married Moabite women. What? We thought that after wandering in the desert we were forbidden from having contact with the Moabites, let alone marrying them.

Elimelech and his sons died. Leaving Naomi, his wife, and his two daughers-in-law, Ruth and Orpah, with no one to care (or protect) for them.

They arose (from their mourning, we wondered?) and returned to the fields of Moab because she heard that the Lord (the Israelite Lord) pakad (took note, remembered, visited) G-d’s people. To give to them bread. The Hebrew is beautiful here. Lateit lahem lechem. This verbs echoes the story of Sarah, who G-d pakad, and gives Isaac.

Now that the famine is over, Naomi is going back to Judah—a scary prospect to be on the road alone as a widow. She implores them to return, each of them to their mother’s house. We were surprised that it was not her father’s house. And she blesses them, imploring G-d to show kindness to them as they have shown kindness to her.

Naomi is bitter. She is fond of her daughters-in-law but cannot provide for them and urges them to return the homes of their birth. Orpah agrees to return home but Ruth clung to her mother. Three times Naomi tries to convince Ruth. Return. Return. Return. (Verses 11, 12 and 15) Does this mirror the tradition of turning a potential convert away three times?

Naomi sees how determined Ruth is. The Hebrew is Mitametzet which could be translated full of courage. Like Moses said to Joshua, “Be strong and of good courage, chazak v’emetz.” Rashi said that this verse is derived from the Talmud (Y’vamot 47b) that we should not put additional barriers in front of potential converts to Judaism, but that they should be welcomed. Again, we have an ancient text and modern text. Fully layered.

Ruth makes a declaration… “For wherever you will go I will go; wherever you lodge, I will lodge, your people will be my people and your G-d my G-d.”

And the two of them walked until they arrived in Bethlehem. The town was abuzz about their return. In Hebrew it echoes the beginning of Genesis. It was in chaos, tahom. That couldn’t really be Naomi! And Naomi begs to be called Mara because the Lord has made her bitter.

Now despite the prohibition of referring to a convert after the conversion as a convert, the text at this stage makes clear that it is Ruth, the Moabite, who had returned from the fields of Moab.

One remaining question…what happened to Orpah? She exits stage left and is not heard from again. One of our members, wrote a modern midrash of Orpah which I may, with his permission, share later.

Chapter Two:

Naomi had a kinsman, a Gibor Cha’eil, a mighty man (soldier) a man of valor which parallels Proverbs description of a “Woman of Valor, Eishet Cha’eil”. This man, Boaz, was related to Elimelech and while we don’t know much about him from the text itself, other commentaries link him being a Judge in Bethlehem.

Ruth, the Moabite, which the text seems to emphasize still, begs Naomi to go glean. The use of the word “na” implies she is asking permission. Much like a teenager saying that she is going to the mall. We had much discussion about the tone here. Depending on the translation you get different understandings. There she is hoping to “find favor in someone’s eyes,” a classic Biblical phrase. Moses found favor in G-d’s eyes. Naomi grants her request and says surprisingly, “Go my daughter,” since Ruth is a daughter-in-law.

Cue the Hollywood music here. She went and gleaned and the field happened to be the field of Boaz. He blesses the reapers with a traditional blessing and they echo, “Yivarechecha Adonai, May the Lord bless you,” a reprise of the priestly blessing in Numbers. Boaz inquires about who the young lady is. We wondered about the use of the word “na’arah” since in truth we are not given many clues to Ruth’s age. However, while she doesn’t have children, she was married. Again we are told she is a Moabite young woman from the fields of Moab. One who has been standing in the fields from morning to night. It is surprising that Boaz didn’t know who she was. It is also surprising that she rested in a house, not a sukkah. A sukkah was used in the fields to provide shade. A sukkah was used during pilgrimage holidays. I still think this should be a sukkah, not a house!

This is an ancient text and a modern one. He commands his men not to molest her according to one translation. Not to touch her according to another. Is this a #MeToo moment. Even back then men had to be ordered not to behave. Would they?

She fell on her face and prostrated herself…she is so grateful. Wait, aren’t we commanded not to bow down? Is this how Lord, Adonai, and my master, referring to a person get confused? She wonders why she has found such favor in his sight, even though she is a foreigner, a stranger. He answers because it is what she has done for her mother-in-law. His “blessing” parallels the command to Abram. She left her father and her mother, the land of her birth to go to a people she did not go. Just like Abram who “lech-lecha,” went forth to the Land of Canaan. He prays that she will find refuge, protection, “al tachat k’nafecha”, under the shadow of G-d’s wings. (We know that language from El Maleh Rachamin, which we chant on Shavuot as part of Yizkor.)

They ate pita and hametz (in this case vinegar!) together. And she ate and was satisfied, echoing the words of Birkat Hamazon, Grace after meals. And there was food left over. Perhaps the origins of the idea that even poor people need to give tzedakah. Or the modern organization Mazon.

Boaz orders his men to leave some sheaves for her to glean without shaming her—even some of the choicest without rebuke. How we treat poor people is important. We are not to shame them or rebuke them. From this she was able to glean about an ephah of barley, which was a lot, a more than she needed for herself and her mother-in-law.

When Naomi asked who has been so kind to her daughter-in-law and told it was Boaz, she exclaims, “Blessed be he to the Lord who has not forsaken His kindness to the living and to the dead.” And so Ruth lived with Naomi and continued to glean in Boaz’s fields.

Chapter Three:
The scene music changes again. Now Naomi has decided she needs to find a husband for Ruth and hatches a plan that their kinsman, acquaintance, friend Boaz, would take note of Ruth. She tells Ruth to bathe and anoint herself and to dress in her most attractive garment. (One commentary says her “Sabbath best” Ruth Rabba 5:12).

She should go to him at night and lie at his feet. And even uncover his feet. He will then tell her what to do.

This is an ancient text and a modern text. Say what? It is difficult to imagine that a mother, or a mother-in-law, would say that to a daughter. Did she just traffic her daughter-in-law? But for Naomi, bitter Naomi/Mara these are desperate times. Ruth agrees to the plan even though it does not fit within acceptable norms of modesty.

After work, Boaz ate and drank, maybe a little too much from the phrase, “until his heart was merry.”

Cue new music here.

And it came to pass at midnight. Anyone else expect the Angel of Death to show up, or to pass over the house of Boaz? She praises him and calls him, her “redeemer”. And she told him to spread his garment over her. He then praises her and calls her an Eishet Chayil, a Woman of Valor, saying that the men praise her in the gates, the same language as Proverbs and paralleling the earlier language of “Gibor Chayil”, a Man of Valor above.

In order to protect their modesty, she slips out before dawn so that no one can recognize her, “before anyone could discern another”, similar language in the Talmud for when to say the morning Sh’ma. (Berachot)

Chapter Four:

Boaz went up to the gate (alah, aliyah. a spiritual going up to the seat of commerce) to bargain for Ruth’s release from the other, closer kinsman. He would purchase the field, and by extension Ruth (and Ruth’s family, Naomi). The other redeemer did not want to redeem her since she was a Moabite and at risk of ruining his inheritance. Israelites were forbidden from marrying converts from Moab or Amon even until the 10^th generation (Deut. 23-4-5) but the Talmud, we learned, says the prohibition only applies to Moabite men, not women, making this marriage possible if not common. The redeemer may not have been familiar with this law which is why he refused?

In any case, an agreement is reached where Boaz is to acquire the field, Naomi, Ruth the Moabite, as well as “the wife of the dead” which will perpetuate Elimelech’s name since the redeemer is worried about his own inheritance.

A complicated scene “as was the tradition in Israel” ensues where to seal the deal, the seller removes his shoe and gives it to the buyer as a testament, a symbolic expression that the deal is complete.

So Boaz, in front of everyone at the gate, acquired everything that was Elimelech’s and Kilyon’s and Mahlon’s from the hand of Naomi. And he acquired Ruth, the Moabite—still the Moabite, so that the name of Elimelech will be perpetuated and not forgotten. The people, the witnesses, blessed Boaz and Ruth, asking that G-d make her like Rachel and Leah. And Ruth bore a son. And Naomi placed that son on her bosom (was she nursing him, comforting him?) and they called that child Israel. The women called his Oved, the father of Yishai, the father of David.

The full genealogy is then listed from Peretz to David. Ruth is not heard from again, although the Talmud said that she lived to be old and to see the birth of her grandson David and great-grandson David. By linking her to Rachel and Leah, and leaving out the term Moabite, she is now fully accepted. She becomes the grandmother of David, the ancestor from whom the Messiah, the Redeemer, will come. It is perfect as a modern story and it brings us hope.

This is an ancient text and a modern text. Famine. Refugees. Hunger. Interfaith marriages. Conversion. Inheritance. Women’s rights. Land rights. And the lineage of the messiah.

Ultimately, this ancient text is about being kind. Maybe it is that very kindness that brings about the messiah.

Bibliography:

The Five Megilloth, The Soncino Books of the Bible, Hebrew Text and English Translation, Soncino Press Ltd, 1984

The JPS Bible Commentary: Ruth, Tamara Cohn Eskenazi and Tikva Frymer-Kensky, Commentary 2011, Translation, 1962, 1985, 1989, 1999 by JPS

Reading Ruth, Contemporary Women Reclaim a Sacred Story, Edited by Judith A Kates and Gail Twersky Reimer, Ballentine Books, 1994

Ruth: A Modern Commentary, Translation and Commentary by Leonard S. Kravitz and Kerry M. Olitzky, URJ Press, 2005

The Steinsaltz Tanakh, Megillat Ruth, Rabbi Adin Even-Israel Steinsaltz, Koren Publishers Jerusalem, Ltd. 2015, 2018

I always knew I would have to write this piece one day. For some of you, most of you, this may not be a popular response to recent events. You may think I am wrong. That’s OK. We’re Jews. We argue.

I thought about not writing. Not speaking. Maybe silence is better.

To my friends who are so sure. I am not. I think that this week requires a great deal of nuance. It is not black and white. This is an attempt to provide nuance, context and history. Let me be perfectly clear. Israel has a right to exist and needs to exist. But does Israel need to shoot children? And does Hamas need to use children as cannon fodder?

I am just a small town rabbi. A student of Israel politics for 40 years but I am no expert. If I thought I could solve peace in the Middle East I would go to Fletcher or the Kennedy School. But alas…

My relationship with Israel is complicated. I grew up believing in the hope of Israel. The David and Goliath version. Israel needed to exist so that no matter where Jews were persecuted they had a home to return to. Israel was home.

Like 16 of my Confirmation classmates, I journeyed to Israel in 1977 as part of a NFTY study tour. I fell in love. In 1981 I returned to Israel and learned about more the complexities. I lived there for a year. In Jerusalem. I was the victim of a violent crime and had to testify in Hebrew. I dated an Israeli soldier who was killed in 1983. We were supposed to get married. Every trip to Israel is marked with an intensity that no other travel contains. Every rock. Every trail. Every sidewalk café contains a memory. A story. These staccato sentences, my life experience, color my understanding of Israel.

When I returned I wrote an op-ed piece for a Brandeis publication justifying the “Incursion into Lebanon,” by Jewish law. It was before the internet so I doubt a simple google search will find it. Probably there is a hard copy somewhere in my basement. It does not represent my feeling any more.

Part of my rabbinic thesis was written on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. I concluded that cycles of violence cannot be quelled until people feel safe. Not in generations of domestic violence, not in German Jewish relationships after the Holocaust, not in Israel. We are now three and four generations into this conflict. Israelis don’t feel safe. Neither do Arabs.

Yesterday saw the United States open its long-promised embassy in Jerusalem. I can remember standing in front of the former embassy in Tel Aviv and wondering why it wasn’t in Jerusalem. Yesterday saw (continuing) riots in Gaza, by last count 55 people killed and over 2000 wounded, some of them children.

Those are facts. I believe they were predictable. Hamas has a proven history of using children as human shields. Israel has a history of practicing restraint. Yesterday, there was no restraint. Could there be restraint? Should there have been? Do we hold Israel to a higher standard? Should we?

For 70 years Jews have celebrated the return to having a Jewish state. It is a source of pride. Israel is technologically advanced. Has made the desert bloom. And they have created a haven for Jews from around the world. They are the first to show up at any natural disaster around the world with their excellent medical and rescue expertise. I celebrate, too.

When you arrive at Ben Gurion airport and head to Jerusalem, you go up, you make aliyah, you ascend the mountain road on the way up to Jerusalem. It is a spiritual ascension as well as a hard climb. For thousands of years, Jews have prayed to not forget Jerusalem. For thousands of years, Jews have prayed, “Next year in Jerusalem,” at the end of the Passover seder.

But in the middle of the Passover seder, we spill out some of our wine during the recitation of the plagues. Why? Because, as G-d reminds us in the midrash, we are not allowed to rejoice at the killing of G-d’s creatures. No matter what your politics, the Palestinians in Gaza or on the West Bank are people too, created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d. They have hopes and dreams for their children and their grandchildren. Many of them, most of them want to live in peace.

We have to keep that dream alive. The dream of the story I told this week of where the Temple was built, on a hill where two brothers with different life stories, came together and shared wheat. Where Hiney Ma Tov was penned, “How good and how pleasant it is for brothers to dwell together.”

Can those brothers dwell together? Can there be a path to peace? That is what I pray for every day. That is what I work for when I support organizations like New Israel Fund (NIF), Rabbis for Human Rights, T’ruah, Hadassah, IRAC. And Parent’s Circle—Families Forum, whose homepage says, “We are the only association in the world that does not wish to welcome any new members into its fold. We work towards stopping violence.”

This week, there will be new members of the Parent’s Circle.

Herzl said it, “If you will it, it is no dream.” It is echoed in the National Anthem of Israel, in HaTikvah, The Hope, “To be a free people in our land.” I share that dream. I cannot give up on that dream.

It is why we will celebrate Israel at 70 again this Friday night with a MishMosh musical Kabbalat Shabbat service featuring mostly Israeli music…some of that music that I learned bouncing on a bus in 1977. Oseh Shalom and Jerusalem of Gold will have even more meaning. They are the aspirations of what we hope for, what we pray for.

It is why we are beginning to plan a congregational trip to Israel that will feature plenty of opportunities for a first hand look and deep listening so that we have a better understanding.

I am just a small town rabbi. I don’t have the answers. But I know this. The violence must stop. On all sides.

On a day where many Jews wanted to celebrate, I feel only deep sadness.

In order to understand Israel I recommend the following books and articles:

http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/the-moral-challenge-of-gaza/

https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2018/05/israel-palestine-embassy-legitimacy/560291/?utm_source=atlfb

The Case for Israel, Alan Dershowitz
Lemon Tree, Sandy Tolan
My Promised Land, Ari Shavit
Not in G-d’s Name, Jonathan Sacks
Walking Israel, Martin Fletcher

And a brand-new one just out this week.
Letters to my Palestinian Neighbors, Yossi Klein Halevi, already loaded on my Kindle

If…then…

If you obey my commandments then I will….

“If you follow My laws and faithfully observe My commandments, I will grant your rains in their season… you shall eat your fill of bread and dwell securely in your land.” (Leviticus 26:3-5)

But, likewise, we are also told: “If you do not obey Me, I will discipline you sevenfold for your sins… and though you shall eat, you shall not be satisfied.”(Leviticus 26: 18, 26).

This is a tricky portion. We sit here with some severe weather alerts and downpours. I don’t really believe that if there is a tornado or hail that it is G-d punishing us for some slight. And I don’t really believe that saying this out loud will cause G-d to hit this building with lightening. That’s not how my G-d works.

There are plenty of people who do. Every time there is a natural disaster, some preacher will be on TV claiming it is G-d’s punishment for something or other. For instance, several that Hurricane Katrina was G-d’s punishment for legalizing abortion, homosexuality, not being prepared for terrorists or even the US permitting the withdrawal of Israel from Gaza. http://www.ethicsdaily.com/fundamentalists-view-hurricane-katrina-as-gods-punishment-cms-6269

All three Abrahamic traditions in their fundamentalist incarnations had their interpretations of that one.

There is a relatively new theology, prosperity gospel that is rooted in this kind of thinking. That good people will be rewarded and bad people will be punished. It doesn’t work for me. Where does that leave the hungry, the homeless, the oppressed? The widow, the orphan the stranger.

The God I believe in created us b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d, to love one another—our neighbors, the widow, the orphan, the stranger. To take care of the earth. To be partners with G-d in creation. To be a light to the nations. To provide hope. To make the world a better place.

So in my world view, I am not waiting for G-d to provide food for the hungry, I am planting the corners of my field. I am engaging in other acts of tikkun ha-olam, repair of the world.

This is a tricky text but it is a radical one. It continues the recipe for holiness, for kedusha.

It is very clear that if we do X then G-d will do y. It is the language of covenant, of brit. It is about being in a covenantal relationship. A holy relationship.

What is a covenant?

It is an agreement. It is a promise. Between G-d and people. Originally, a brit was a treaty, a contract “cut” between the Hittite rulers in the ancient Near East in the 14^th and 13^th centuries BCE to make clear the relationship between a royal suzerain and the vassals that served him. These contracts, whether between the Hittite rulers or between G-d and man, were asymmetrical, reflecting an imbalance of power and spelled out the dire consequences if the contract was not fulfilled. An oath was sworn, outlining the conditional, terrible punishments, sometimes signed in blood, to make real the terms of the covenant.

This week we marked rainbow day. The day where the midrash teaches us that G-d promises never to destroy the world again by flood. The sign of that promise is the rainbow.

“I have set My rainbow in the cloud, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between Me and the Earth.” (Genesis 9:13)

The midrash teaches that the biblical flood began on the 17^th day of the second month, exactly one lunar year and 10 days, (or a complete solar year) before Noah, his family and all the animals left the ark, on the 27^th day of the second month. That day is the 42 day of the counting of the omer. Exactly today. The day when G-d made that covenant that G-d would never destroy the world by flood again—or in the words of the Negro Spiritual—not by flood but by fire next time. The sign, the signature of that covenant is the rainbow.

Perhaps we will be surprised by a rainbow today. The weather is right for it.

G-d made a covenant with Abraham. His descendants would be a numerous as the stars in the sky and the sands of the sea. Abraham would mark his flesh—and that of his menfolk, by circumcision as a sign of this covenant. G-d renewed the covenant with Abraham, with Isaac and Jacob, promising that we would live long on the land that G-d promised to our ancestors. That covenant was signed in blood–with the ceremony of brit milah. Zipporah took matters into her own hands, when she circumcized Moses’s son.

Then we have Shabbat, which we talked about at length last week. Shabbat is the sign of the covenant between Israel and G-d. For six days G-d created the heavens and the earth and on the seventh day G-d rested and was refreshed, re-souled.

Then we have Torah, which we will celebrate more fully next week as part of Shavuot. We actually have a tradition of signing a ketubah, a marriage contract, between Israel and G-d. The sign of that covenant, the dowry if you will, is the Torah itself. If you obey My commandments, then I will give you rain in its season and provide you with enough to eat. You will eat and be satisfied. What then do we promise G-d?

Typically, these ketubot, common is Sephardic congregations, use various piyutim, poems and verses from scripture, including: “I will betroth thee unto Me for ever; yea, I will betroth thee unto Me in righteousness, and in justice, and in lovingkindness, and in compassion. And I will betroth thee unto Me in faithfulness, and thou shalt know the Lord” (Hosea 2:21-22) and “I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel” (Jeremiah 31:31).

Here today we have one more covenantal relationship to celebrate. Today we will celebrate the upcoming marriage, kiddushin or Jeanette and Chris. When you enter into a marriage, it is a holy relationship, a covenantal relationship, one of holiness, kedusha, one set apart, and unique, one for another.

The ketubah is again a sign of that covenant. There are many modern texts. Jeanette and Chris have picked one that promises each other that they have entered into the covenant of marriage, that their love will provide them with the courage to fulfill their shared dream. They will support each other for personal growth and that they will be honest, loyal and devoted to one another as they create a loving future together. They will treasure life’s joys and comfort each other through life’s sorrows. They will build a home filled with loving affection, laughter, wisdom, generosity and respect. They will weave their commitment to the Jewish people and culture into the fabric of their lives. They will act in ways that show compassion for all humanity and respect for the earth, while creating balance in their lives, practicing gratitude and being sensitive to each other’s needs.

We celebrate their covenant to one another with them as we call them to the bimah for a special blessing.

Today is Mother’s Day, and while I am proud to be a mother, I am also missing my mother. Perhaps she would have been proud of me. It was a good week. I was awarded the Betty Brown Racial Justice Award by the YWCA of Elgin. It is very humbling. I don’t do this work in a vacuum. I have lots of partners in Elgin including those at the Y.

My mother and I did lots of rallies for justice together when I was a young child in Evanston. She ran for park commissioner because when she asked why the swings were not up, she was told, “Those people might sit on them.” As a Girl Scout we did lots of “service projects” to make the world a better place. I was a leader of a troop in Grand Rapids “Center City” when I was a junior in High School. I’ll never forget being in a Brownie Ring asking for Christmas traditions and every girl knew that her mamma called “Santa’s Girls” and that’s where the presents came from.

Mother’s Day is a peace holiday. It was not started by Hallmark. There are many claims to the first American Mother’s Day. There were some observances by women whose sons were fighting on opposite sides of the Civil War. They were not prepared to lose another son to war. Ann Jarvis started a Mother’s Friendship Day in 1868 “to reunite families that had been divided during the Civil War.” Julia Ward Howe led a “Mother’s Day for Peace” anti-war demonstration in New York on June 2, 1872 which led to the first Mother’s Day Proclamation.

The first year after my mother died, I stood outside the gates of the White House leading an interfaith service for peace. This year will find me running a race shortly where the charity is Wings, an organization dedicated to preventing domestic violence.

Today is also Yom Yerushalayim, Jerusalem Day on the Hebrew Calendar. It is the day in 1967 when Jerusalem was reunited. Jersualem actually means City of Peace. Ir=City. Shalom=Peace.

This past week, as a partner with Gail Borden Public Library, Coalition of Elgin Religious Leaders, Elgin City of Peace, I hosted an event at CKI called Stories of Peace. I knew I wanted to do it this week and I knew exactly what story I wanted to tell.

We all know the story. The legend of the two brothers. Every rabbi I have ever known has told this story. It is the story of how King Solomon chose the spot to build the Holy Temple.

Once upon a time, there was a farmer who left his two sons his land. (It is always sons, never daughters except for the daughters of Zelophehad in Numbers 27, who do inherit their father’s land, but that is another story).

The two brothers each lived on the other side of a hill. One brother was married with several children. The other one lived alone. One night, the married brother lay awake thinking about how blessed he was and his brother had no one to help him with the harvest. He decided he must share his abundance. Which is exactly what he did. Under the dark of night, he climbed up the hill and down the other side with a sheaf of what and left it for his brother to find when he awoke.

Meanwhile, the other brother was also awake thinking about how fortunate he was. “I am just alone and have so much. My brother has so many mouths to feed. He surely needs some of my wheat.” Which is exactly what he did. Under the stars and the light of the moon, he hiked up the hill and down the other side and left a sheaf of wheat for his brother that he would find when he awoke.

In the morning, when each brother awoke, they were both surprised to find that each had the same number of sheaves as the previous day. So the next night, up and down the hill they went, filled with love for their brother and thankfulness for their blessings. Each night this “miracle” of the sheaves was repeated, until one night their paths crossed and they hugged. That is the exact spot that King Solomon chose to build the Temple. And as we were taught, that is the basis of the song, “Hiney Ma Tov” from Psalms. “How good and how pleasant it is for brothers to dwell together.”

That’s the end of the story, right? Maybe not. Where did this story come from? I had always assumed it was from the Talmud or the midrash. Not so fast! Louis Ginzberg has it in The Legends of the Jews, and in his footnotes he references Israel Costa’s Mikveh Yisrael (Livorno, 1851). Alexander Scheiber published a bibliography with various origins and different versions of the story. The first mention is from Alphone de Laartine who recorded it from Palestinian Arabs in 1832. I even found one mention that it was an Indian Muslim story and someone else told me it was a retelling of the Gift of the Magi.

There are at least three children’s versions:

• Brothers: A Hebrew Legend, by Florence Friedman (the version I wound up telling)
• One City, Two Brothers, by Chris Smith
• The Two Brothers, a Legend of Jerusalem, by Neil Waldman

Which ever tale you tell, pray for the peace of Jerusalem. It would be a good thing on Mother’s Day, especially this Mother’s Day. And for you mothers, step-mothers, aunts, mother figures, dad who are mothers, thank you!

Here is a full source list:

Louis Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews. In the old JPS edition the legend can be found on 4:154 and a discussion on 6:293-294.
Bin Gorion I-Micha Joseph Bin Gorion, Mimekor Yisrael, ed. by Emanuel bin Gorion, trans. I.M. Lask, intro. by Dan Ben-Amos, Indiana University Press.
Bin Gorion II-Micha Joseph Bin Gorion, Mimekor Yisrael: Selected Classical Jewish Folktales, abridged and annotated edition, ed. by Emanuel bin Gorion, trans. I.M. Lask, intro. and headnotes by Dan Ben-Amos, Indiana University Press. Although this edition has fewer legends, it has better notes and bibliographical material on each legend. See the bibliographical notes for this legend on p. 272.
Alexander Scheiber, “The Legend about the Temple Location in Jerusalem” in Essays on Jewish Folklore and Comparative Literature, Budapest, 1985, pp. 291-299.
Haim Schwarzbaum, Studies in Jewish and World Folklore, Berlin, 1968, pp. 462-463
Eliezer Segal, “The Founding of Jerusalem: A Palestinian Midrash?”
Zev Vilnay, Legends of Jerusalem, JPS, pp. 77-78.

Pizza. This morning I want to talk about pizza. And Wendy’s. Not my usual topics for Shabbat morning.

But first, let’s sing this together.

Yism’chu v’malchut’cha, shomrei Shabbat v’korei oneg.
Am m’kad’shei shvi-i, kulam yisb’u v’yitangu mituvecha.
V’hashvi-i ratzita bo v’kidashto, chemdat yamim oto karata,
zecher l’maaseh v’reishit.

Those who keep Shabbat by calling it a delight
will rejoice in Your realm.
The people that hallow Shabbat will delight in Your goodness.
For, being pleased with the Seventh Day, You hallowed it as the most precious of days, drawing our attention to the work of Creation.

Good. You know it. Although since it is part of our musaf service we don’t often sing it. Maybe we should sing it more often!

Last week we talked about the central portion of the Torah, the holiness code, where we are commanded, “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your G-d am holy. “Then it gives us a recipe for holiness. (Maybe I’m just hungry this morning!)

That recipe concludes with “Love your neighbor as yourself.” As Hillel teaches us that is all of Judaism. The essence. The central message. The ikar. The rest is commentary, go and study it.

So today, we are going to study it. Today’s portion teaches us how to make time holy, how to sanctify it and set it apart.

We do that when we make Kiddush. The Friday night Kiddush tells us,

Blessed are You, Lord our G-d, Ruler of the universe, (some prefer to translate Ha’olam as time and space, that becomes important as we continue our discussion.)

who has hallowed us with G-d’s commandments, has desired us, and has given us, in love and goodwill, G-d’s holy Shabbat as a heritage, in remembrance of the work of Creation; the first of the holy festivals, commemorating the Exodus from Egypt. For You have chosen us and sanctified us from among all the nations, and with love and goodwill given us Your holy Shabbat as a heritage.

Blessed are You Lord, who hallows the Shabbat.

Two reasons are given for Shabbat: remembering Creation—and what a glorious morning this is—and the Exodus from Egypt. That circles back to “Love your neighbor as yourself”, we love our neighbors and the strangers because we were strangers in the land of Egypt.

When bless the Sabbath and make it holy we are bringing time and space together. Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote a slim little book, The Sabbath, a great work, a must read.

“Time and space are interrelated. To overlook either of them is to be partially blind. What we plead against is man’s unconditional surrender to space, his enslavement to things. We must not forget that it is not a thing that lends significance to a moment; it is the moment that lends significance to things.”

“Sanctifying the Sabbath is part of our imitation of God, but it also becomes a way to find God’s presence. It is not in space but in time, he writes, that we find God’s likeness. In the Bible, no thing or place is holy by itself; not even the Promised Land is called holy. While the holiness of the land and of festivals depends on the actions of the Jewish people, who have to sanctify them, the holiness of the Sabbath, he writes, preceded the holiness of Israel. Even if people fail to observe the Sabbath, it remains holy.”

“The Sabbath is a reminder of the two worlds—this world and the world to come; it is an example of both worlds. For the Sabbath is joy, holiness, and rest; joy is part of this world; holiness and rest are something of the world to come.”16”
― Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Sabbath
Shabbat is a gift, something to be treasured. A sign of the covenant between G-d and the people of Israel for all time, from generation to generation—that’s what we sing in V’shamru.

“The people of Israel shall keep Shabbat,
observing Shabbat throughout the ages as a covenant for all time.
It is a sign for all time between Me and the people of Israel.
For in six days Adonai made heaven and earth,
and on the seventh day God ceased from work and was refreshed.”

But sometimes, we lose track of the gift and see it as a repressive obligation. A list of 39 prohibitions, things we cannot do. Those things, which we looked at recently are tied to the work that was needed to build the Holy Temple.

What if, instead, we adopt Heschel’s understanding of Shabbat being a delight:

“Call the Sabbath a delight: a delight to the soul and a delight to the body. Since there are so many acts which one must abstain from doing on the seventh day, “you might think I have given you the Sabbath for your displeasure; I have surely given you the Sabbath for your pleasure.” To sanctify the seventh day does not mean: Thou shalt mortify thyself, but, on the contrary: Thou shalt sanctify it with all thy heart, with all thy soul and with all thy senses. “Sanctify the Sabbath by choice meals, by beautiful garments; delight your soul with pleasure and I will reward you for this very pleasure.”

What if we switch our mindset—and see it as a joy, “a palace in time” Heschel called it?

Joseph who loved the Sabbath, a delightful children’s book from the Talmud (Shabbat 119a), about Joseph is poor but no so poor. He saves up all week in order to celebrate Shabbat and savor the best that is there. The best challah. The best fish. The astrologers told his rich land-lord that Joseph would inherit all his property. So he sold all the property and bought a big jewel (the Talmud said pearl, Marilyn Hirsch says ruby). You’ll have to read the book to see what happens.

Joseph wasn’t alone in loving Shabbat and preparing the choicest meal for Shabbat.

From the same page of the Talmud, we learn this about the special Shabbat spice:

Joshua b. Hananiah answered the emperor, “Why has the Sabbath dish such a fragrant odor?” to which R. Joshua replied, “We have a certain spice called the Sabbath which we put into the Sabbath dish which gives it it’s fragrant odor.”

Heschel said it this way: “Unless one learns how to relish the taste of Sabbath … one will be unable to enjoy the taste of eternity in the world to come.”

This idea is not limited to “religious Jews”. Ahad Ha’am, the early secular Zionist said “Just as Israel has kept the Sabbath has the Sabbath kept Israel.

So that brings me back to Pizza and Wendy’s.

In the online magazine, Kveller, aimed at young families, recently there was an article about pizza. The title: The Secret to the Best Shabbat: Pizza. I was intrigued. Kids (and adults of all ages), love pizza. It’s simple to make. Or to call your favorite delivery service. This article argues that by going to the local pizza joint, the family reconnects. They play games at the table like 20 questions and charades and they begin to reclaim holy time. There’s no candles, no Kiddush, but even in the whirl of the pizza joint there is quiet and holy time and a family enjoying being together. So Shabbat dinner doesn’t need to be a fancy meal with chicken and matzah ball soup. It can even be take-out pizza. A way to relax into Shabbat and the weekend. It is an oneg Shabbat. A delight.

Kveller, and other sources also had an article about Shabbat at Wendy’s. Wendy’s you say? Yes! You should see the video in order to be charmed. And I haven’t been to a Wendy’s in years, part of T’ruah: Rabbis for Human Rights campaign to make sure that tomato workers in this country are paid a living wage. Wendy’s is the last hold-out of all the fast food companies to pay tomato workers a penny a pound more. That’s it. A penny a pound. But in Palm Desert, CA, there is a Wendy’s franchise where older residents gather for Shabbat dinner. They arrive by golf cart and Wendy’s reserves a table for them. They light candles and make Kiddush and order off the menu. And some of the isolation they feel during the week evaporates. They make time holy. It is an oneg Shabbat. A delight.

The joy of sitting around the table is one of the hallmarks of OneTable, the brainchild of non-profit entrepreneur Aliza Kline, no relation, who has started a foundation which is “an online and in-person hub for millennials to end their week with intention and create unique Shabbat dinners. Slow down, unplug, join together, and Friday.” They actually give these young people the where with all to “make Shabbes”. As their website tells it. “OneTable brings Shabbat to people in their 20s and 30s of all backgrounds. We believe that taking a step back, connecting with others, having moments of mindfulness, and enjoying great meals on a Friday night is important.” Vogue says about OneTable and Shabbat “Shabbat is for everyone. It is an ancient antidote to our modern ailments.” This is part of what we do with our summer program, “Shabbat on the Road.”

It is an oneg Shabbat. A delight.

Last night we had a pretty full house for Teacher Appreciation Shabbat. There was much joy as we ate dinner, enjoyed our placemats lovingly created by the parents and students, sang songs, used our new CKI Student Siddur. But what happened at the Oneg Shabbat was magical. Despite tired parents (and their children), people stayed and stayed and stayed. One generation or three, talking to another, enjoying each other’s company (and a chocolate ice cream cake). Plans were shared for an Israel trip. Paper airplanes were sailing around the room. Kids were happy—and not so tired any more. It was an Oneg Shabbat, a delight.

Six stories. Two from the Talmud. Four from today. Three ages of people. May we all find a way to move from a sense of obligation in our observance to a sense of joy and delight.

Love your neighbor as yourself. Make time holy. My last Heschel quote ties it together: “The Jewish contribution to the idea of love is the conception of love of the Sabbath, the love of a day, of spirit in the form of time.”

Maybe next week, I’ll have pizza.

Today we have a double portion of Torah that we are about to read. It’s like the double portion of manna that fell on Friday—enough to feed us for Shabbat. It’s a gift. But sometimes it is hard to see the gift in the first part of the portion. We’d rather skip to dessert. But this morning we will not and we will deal with some uncomfortable truths.

The first part, Acharei Mot contains a list of sexual sins, or if you prefer sexual improprieties. Some people don’t like to talk about sins. This portion and, in fact, my sermon itself may be triggering for some. If that is the case, take care of yourself. Feel free to get up, walk around, visit the social hall, zone out. (If you are reading this, feel free to stop.)

The second part is called Kedoshim, the Holiness Code. It is exactly the mid part of the Torah and it is addressed to all the Israelites, all of us, not just the priests who are addressed in most of Leviticus.

My question, this morning, why the juxtaposition? Why put this long list of sexual sins right next to this recipe of how to achieve holiness?

(There were a couple of answers. One was that we should strive to be holy in our sexual relationships. The other was that this portion was read to keep the high priest awake the night before Yom Kippur so that he wouldn’t have a seminal emission and thus render himself unready to go into the holy of holies.)

Within Judaism, there is a debate. It’s Judaism, after all. There is always a debate. Traditionally, Jews have read this very explicit material on Yom Kippur afternoon.

Orthodox Judaism continues to read from the Torah what are commonly referred to as the arayot – the forbidden sexual relationships

Reform Judaism often bypasses this sexually explicit portion and gives us texts that highlight reconciliation, ethical behavior and social justice. For Yom Kippur it gives us the second portion—Kedoshim—telling us how to be holy.

Conservative Judaism and our own machzor, our High Holiday prayer book, gives us a choice, an alternative reading – our second portion today.

Being in the center, it is the core of Judaism. It includes the famous line, “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

We could spend a lifetime studying that verse. In fact, Hillel taught us that this was the whole of Judaism, the rest is commentary and we should go and study it.

But this preamble that we read this morning is challenging and important so we are going to read it and deal with it. Why was this the reading on the holy and reflective day of Yom Kippur in the first place? Why the debate of whether we should read it or skip it in the first place?

Is it possible that this very Torah portion, which so many rabbis and congregations have struggled with in recent years, demands a rereading in light of so many sexual abuses and allegations that have come to light this past year?

Is there a connection between Acharei Mot/Kedoshim and their pairing and the #MeToo movement?

Yes. And it is important.

Kedoshim, over and over again, exhorts us to the holy. Kadosh. What does kadosh mean? To be set apart. To be special. We know this word in lots of ways. We talk about Kiddush, the prayer over wine that separates the work week from Shabbat, making time holy. We talk about Kaddish, the prayer that separates parts of the service and sanctifies life. We talk about Kedusha, that makes us holy as we reach up on our toes trying to be like angels. And we talk about kiddushin, marriage, which is a relationship that is set apart, one for another and recognizes its inherent holiness.

Our recipe for holiness this morning includes having just weights and measures, a fairness in the courts, not withholding the wages of a laborer overnight, not putting a stumbling block before the blind or cursing the deaf, not standing by while our neighbor bleeds, treating the widow, the orphan and the stranger with care, leaving the corners of our field so that the hungry can find food.

And as I said, “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

It is about how we live in community. How we live in society. How we live in relationship. To our parents. To our neighbors. To the widow, the orphan and the stranger.

I believe that actually these two portions need to be read together. That we cannot be holy, set apart, special, unless we are holy in our sexual encounters.

When #MeToo first became a movement I was asked whether Weinstein was good for the Jews or bad for the Jews. We often have that lens and my answer, quickly on the fly that night, remains the same. Bad for women, bad for humanity and therefore bad for the Jews.

That night in an impromptu round table discussion, every single woman there had their own #MeToo story. Every. Single. One.

This week we saw the conviction of Bill Cosby. The man many called, “America’s Dad.” The man who gave us a wonderful midrash with his impeccable comedic timing about Noah. This has been a year where we have seen the uncovering of many “sins” in journalism, in entertainment, in business, in politics. And yes, in the religious world. In places where men have historically held the power.

This week I sat in a different synagogue, excited to hear one of my favorite authors. The people sitting in front of me were incredulous that there could be that much sexual harassment in the world. They didn’t know anyone who had experienced sexual abuse so how could it be true. In the moment I didn’t know what to say to them.

Let me be clear.

One in five women and one in 71 men will be raped at some point in their lives.

One in four girls and one in six boys will be sexually abused before they turn 18 years old.

https://www.nsvrc.org/sites/default/files/publications_nsvrc_factsheet_media-packet_statistics-about-sexual-violence_0.pdf

RAINN gives us the American statistics, 1 out of 6 women will experience a rape or attempted rape in their life time.

https://www.rainn.org/statistics/scope-problem

Others are now using the number 1 in 3 women. A third of all women. That includes women who are sexually harassed. A third of all women.

Statistics are hard to track. There is a range of behavior referred to. A cat call is not the same as humiliating jokes or being felt up or being raped. Yet we know that these kind of abuses happen in every socio-economic, educational, ethnic, religious group at the same rates. Yes that includes the Jewish community. Yes. I am one of the one in four.

That is the number I typically use and see most often.

Let me be clear. It is wrong. And all too common. And not the holy behavior that our double Torah portion calls for.

When I first arrived here I explained to the ritual committee that we would be reading the “alternative reading”, and that my sermon on that first Yom Kippur would explain why. I learned that my sermon made people uncomfortable. Maybe my sermon today makes you uncomfortable. The portion itself might.

Usually when congregations opt out of reading Acharei Mot they see it as challenging because the way we typically translate it, thank you King James, may not be accurate. It may appear to be condemning homosexuality. But what if that is not a correct translation? Rabbi David Greenstein, the former Rosh Yeshiva of the Academy for Jewish Religion, teaches, that actually it is a commandment for two men not to lie with a woman at the same time. He views it as a polemic against gang rape.

But even more important than his new, elegant, graceful grammatical argument is his understanding of holiness:

“How do we know whether we have been invited to enter the sphere of holiness or whether we are trespassing and defiling that sphere? Aharei Mot-Kedoshim is very much concerned with this problem. How does Aaron, or any subsequent High Priest, have the guts to enter the sacred sphere? The Torah answers, “B’zot yavo Aharon” /

“Aaron shall enter with this” (Leviticus 16:3). The text continues with a list of animals and sacrificial items. But our mystical tradition read the verse differently. “Zot” / “This”is a reference to the Shechinah, the Divine Presence. …Aaron can enter to meet the

Divine Presence because Aaron carries the Divine Presence with him already. Moreover, the word “zot” is considered an appropriate name for the Shechinah because it connotes indicative awareness. The Divine Presence dwells in our “this-ness” — in who we actually are. We are commanded to enter the sacred sphere when we can carry that conviction with us.

Subsequent tradition added more elements to this ceremony of Yom Kippur. The Mishnah tells us that the Priest would read from a Torah scroll to the people. He would read from this very portion, but he would conclude by saying: “There is more written here than what I have read to you” (Yoma 7:1). There is a double meaning here. One

point is that there is more to the Torah than any one portion or any one verse (or two). But another meaning is that there is more to the Torah than the text as written. How we choose to read a story or a verse makes all the difference in the world.”

He continues with his understanding of “troubling verse”:

Which brings me to Leviticus 18:22 and 20:13, the two verses which appear in this week’s portions and that have been read for millennia as the Torah’s condemnation of homosexuality. How should we read these verses as we enter the sacred sphere with “zot,” with our conviction that we carry the Divine Presence with us – straight or queer– as we are? I submit that we may read these verses in a new way, a way that removes them entirely from the topic of homosexuality. The verse in Leviticus (18:22) is comprised of three elements – persons (V’et Zachar), forbidden acts (lo tishkav mishkevei ishah), and a term of condemnation (to’evah hi). Let us examine each element in reverse order…

When we consider the first part of the verse, the part that mentions the persons involved in the forbidden act,we read the phrase “And with a man” / “V’et zachar.” Now, the particle et may indicate the object of an action.

Until now our verse in Leviticus has been read to mean that a male is prohibited to make another man the object of his sex act. But this word can have another meaning. The first place where it is unambiguous that theword et is being used in another way is in the verse, “And Enoch walked with (et) the Almighty…” (Genesis 5:24).

In that verse it is clear that the particle does not signify an object indication. Rather, it means “along with.” Now we may read the verse very differently:

v’et zachar And along with another male lo tishkav you shall not lie

mishkevei ishah in sexual intercourses with a woman to’evah hi it is an abomination.

There is no prohibition of homosexual acts of any kind. Rather, the Torah prohibits two males from joining together to force intercourse upon a woman. This is a to’evah because the introduction of the second man completely transforms the act from a potentially innocent act into a manipulation that degrades the act of intercourse and makes the woman subject to violence and objectification.”

http://www.on1foot.org/sites/default/files/Interpreting%20Leviticus%20-%203%20part%20lesson_0.pdf

When I first studied this with Rabbi Greenstein all I could say was WOW! Yasher koach to Rabbi Greenstein. I wonder how much pain and suffering of those in the LGBTQ community could have avoided if King James had better translators.

Some of our Biblical matriarchs had their own #MeToo moments. In those days, women were viewed as property. A bride was acquired. A husband had to provide. If a husband died than the woman had to marry his brother. We are studying the Book of Ruth which centers on what to do with three women who no longer have husbands to provide for them.

Abraham would have allowed Sarah to be called his sister instead of his wife, making her more attractive or accessible to the ruler of Egypt, not once but twice. Lot was willing to give up his daughters to the townsmen to save his (male) guests. Dinah was raped. Esther was found being ravaged by Haman. The Song of Songs tells us the watchmen that guard the city found her, hit her, bruised her and took away her veil. Boaz tells Ruth to glean in his field because he has told his men not to molest her.

The Talmud makes Jewish law very clear. Ahead of its day. Rape and sexual impropriety including within a marriage is wrong. It violates the holiness code. We could go into the Jewish law in depth but that is a subject for another day. https://www.myjewishlearning.com/the-torch/how-do-the-rabbis-in-the-talmud-address-rape/

The issue with most of these scenes is one of power and control. It still is.

The Jewish community takes these modern topics of the #MeToo movement very seriously. It has actually been a passion of mine for decades and I have written and spoken extensively on it. Two years ago I took a class through JTS’s continuing education for rabbis on Sexual Ethics for Rabbis. It should be required for all rabbis. This year, shortly after the #MeToo Movement began the Chicago Board of Rabbis and Jewish Children and Family Services sponsored a training session for rabbis which I attended. They are available to come here to facilitate a conversation. We already have policies and procedures in place here at CKI. The Community Crisis Center as part of a grant is hosting a series of conversations at Gail Borden Library on #MeToo. I am speaking on #MeToo and Spirituality later in May.

Telling these stories is important. It gives other women courage. They begin to realize that they are not alone.

Sometimes, however, telling those stories is tough. For some, there is still a sense of shame, a very powerful and destructive emotion. There is still a cost to telling the story. It can be emotional. It can be financial. I wrestled with how to do this very sermon. I found I could no longer be silent.

Sometimes hearing a particular song sung in a particular way can be hurtful. There has been a debate about whether to continue to sing some much beloved Jewish music of a known sexual predator. Sometimes the hurt can come from a poem or a reading or a time of the year. A color. An odor. A temperature. A sound.

At the beginning of this sermon I suggested that if you thought this might be triggering that you should be careful to take care of yourself. If you need resources to handle your own #MeToo moment, as the nation continues to wrestle with these topics, please reach out to me. There are many local resources available.

So here is where we are. We have entered a new world, with new mores that don’t always seem clear. A world where we are not afraid to confront uncomfortable truths. A world where we listen to each other stories with respect and love. A world where we fight for a time where no woman needs to fear her boss, her colleague, her husband. Where the kind of sexual harassment that has been uncovered will no longer be tolerated. By anyone. At anytime. In anyplace.

This week’s Torah portion forces us to confront these realities in ancient times and today. By bringing Acharei-Mot together with Kedoshim we begin to create a world where holiness exists, between one another, even in a #MeToo world. Especially in a #MeToo world.

Hope’ is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—

I’ve heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.

Emily Dickinson

So what is hope? And why talk about it today?

Today we at a moment in between, between Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Memorial Day, and Yom Ha’Atzmaut, Israel Independence Day. So today, we must find hope. This is what Elie Wiesel said in an interview with Reform Judaism:

“We must ask ourselves the painful questions: ‘Have we survivors done our duty?’ ‘Has our warning been properly articulated?’ ‘Has our message been accurately communicated?’ ‘Have we acted as true witnesses?’ It is with fear and trembling that we often reach the conclusion: something went wrong with our testimony; it was not received. Otherwise, things would have been different…. Had anyone told us when we were liberated that we would be compelled in our lifetime to fight anti-Semitism once more… we would have had no strength to lift our eyes from the ruins. If only we could tell the tale, we thought, the world would change. Well, we have told the tale, and the world has remained the same….
And yet, we shall not give up, we shall not give in. It may be too late for the victims and even for the survivors – but not for our children, not for mankind. Yes, in an age tainted by violence, we must teach coming generations of the origins and consequences of violence. In a society of bigotry and indifference, we must tell our contemporaries that whatever the answer, it must grow out of human compassion and reflect man’s relentless quest for justice and memory.”

That’s forward thinking. That’s hope.

Elie Wiesel worked for a time where there would never be a holocaust again—to anyone, at anytime, any place. He, together with the US Holocaust Museum and American Jewish World Service was one of the leaders of the Save Darfur campaign and a massive rally in Washington DC, in 2006.

That’s forward thinking. That’s hope.

American Jewish World Service is at the vanguard of pushing for protections for the Rohinga. As one of their recent travel study tours participants, Carol Weitz “We, as Jews, have a sacred responsibility to the larger world and if we truly strive for a better world, then we cannot turn our backs on others who are denied their human rights.”

That’s forward thinking. That’s hope.

Judaism is a religion of hope. We sing—and we will sing HaTikvah, the hope, later this morning. We pray for a time when the world will be at peace—and yet for more than 2000 years the world has not been at peace. We continue to teach the vision of the prophets where the lion will lie down with the lamb, where everyone will sit under their vine and fig tree and none shall make them afraid.

It is forward thinking. It is hope.

Last night, at this liminal time, I told two stories. I told The Terrible Things, an allegory of the Holocaust, by Eve Bunting. In a forest setting, she retells the quote of Martin Niemoller. First they came for the Jews and I didn’t speak up. This week we learned that Americans don’t know about the Holocaust,

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/acts-of-faith/wp/2018/04/12/two-thirds-of-millennials-dont-know-what-auschwitz-is-according-to-study-of-fading-holocaust-knowledge/?utm_term=.dc77e027814e

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/04/12/us/holocaust-education.html

41% of Americans don’t know about Auschwitz. Two-thirds of millennials. Now I did surveying for a living before I was a rabbi, but these numbers were so compelling I felt I had to act. So I told the story and asked. And every single one of the kids who had come as part of their confirmation program at First Congregational Church knew the Niemoller quote. That provides me with hope.

Then I turned to Israel and I read most of the story, The Secret Grove, by Barbara Cohen. It tells the story of a 10 year old boy in Kfar Saba. His father lost an arm in the War of Independence but he is normal boy, going to school and playing soccer, hoping that he won’t be chosen last for the team. He is and he runs away with his ball, down a dirt road and runs into another boy…He’s scared but in a combination of Hebrew, English and little Arabic the two have a conversation. They become friends. They plant some orange seeds. The book doesn’t sugar coat it. At the end the boy, now a grown up, returns to the dirt road and the tree that grew from the seeds. He has now fought Arabs in three wars. He wonders what the boy has done.

Somehow this book gives me hope.

The Hope, HaTikvah is the name of the Israeli National Anthem. What do we know about it?
It was originally written in 1878 by Naphtali Herz Imber from Zolochiv, a city that was nicknamed “The City of Poets. When he immigrated to Palestine in 1882 he read his nine stanza poem to some of the early pioneers. It originally expressed his pride following the establishment of Pitah Tikvah and published in Barkai. It then became the anthem of first Hovevei Zion and then the Zionist movement at the First Zionist Congress in 1897. It wasn’t without controversy. The British Mandate government banned it briefly in 1919 due to Arab anti-zionist protest. And some Orthodox rabbis protested its selection as Israel’s national anthem because it doesn’t mention G-d. Instead, Rav Kook penned a different set of lyrics, Ha-Emunah, the Faith.

Both are forward thinking. They give me hope.

Jews, despite all the odds, have always found a way to hope. In exile. Words like, “If I forget, thee, O Jerusalem.” And “By the waters of Babylon,” gave our people hope. Proclaiming every year, “Next year in Jerusalem,” at the Passover seder, gave our people hope. Welcoming Elijah, the herald of the Messianic era to a seder, Havdalah the birth of a child, gives us hope. Working for Tikkun Olam, the repair of the world, bringing the shards of our world’s brokenness back together, is forward thinking and gives us hope.

In 1925 Edmund Flegg, a French Jew penned an article that appears in our prayerbook.

I am a Jew because the faith of Israel demands no
abdication of my mind.

I am a Jew because the faith of Israel asks every
possible sacrifice of my soul.

I am a Jew because in all places where there are tears
and suffering the Jew weeps.

I am a Jew because in every age when the cry of despair
is heard the Jew hopes.

I am a Jew because the message of Israel is the most
ancient and the most modern.

I am a Jew because Israel’s promise is a universal
promise.

I am a Jew because for Israel the world is not finished;
men will complete it.

I am a Jew because for Israel man is not yet fully
created; men are creating him.

I am a Jew because Israel places man and his unity
above nations and above Israel itself.

I am a Jew because above man, image of the divine
unity, Israel places the unity which is divine.

— Edmond Flegg, “Why I Am a Jew”

It is a reading with forward thinking. It fills me with hope.

Even during the Holocaust, Jews found a way to hope. Even at the gates of Auschwitz, they would sing.

Ani Maamin, ani maamin, ani maamin.
Beviat hamashiach, ani manamin.

I believe with complete faith
In the coming of the Messiah. I believe.

And even though he may tarry, I will wait for him.

While based on Rambam’s 13 Articles of Faith, I am not sure I could have sung that standing there.

Perhaps, Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Chief Rabbi Emeritus of Great Britain says it best.

“Judaism is a religion of details, but we miss the point if we do not sometimes step back and see the larger picture. To be a Jew is to be an agent of hope in a world serially threatened by despair. Every ritual, every mitzvah, every syllable of the Jewish story, every element of Jewish law, is a protest against escapism, resignation or the blind acceptance of fate. Judaism is a sustained struggle, the greatest ever known, against the world that is, in the name of the world that could be, should be, but is not yet. There is no more challenging vocation. Throughout history, when human beings have sought hope they have found it in the Jewish story. Judaism is the religion, and Israel the home, of hope.”

Jonathan Sacks http://rabbisacks.org/future-tense-how-the-jews-invented-hope-published-in-the-jewish-chronicle/

To underscore what Sacks himself has said, “Judaism is humanity’s faith in the future tense; the Jewish voice is the voice of an inextinguishable hope.”

It is a powerful statement. It also carries with it great responsibility. Hope is not the same as optimism, which is “passive and accepting.” Hope requires us to work together to make things better.”

https://www.jweekly.com/2012/12/07/the-column-judaisms-message-of-radical-hope/

Elie Wiesel ended his interview with the magazine with these words:

So despite your disappointment and bouts of pessimism, you remain hopeful.

Yes. One must wager on the future. I believe it is possible, in spite of everything, to believe in friendship in a world without friendship, and even to believe in God in a world where there has been an eclipse of God’s face. Above all, we must not give in to cynicism. To save the life of a single child, no effort is too much. To make a tired old man smile is to perform an essential task. To defeat injustice and misfortune, if only for one instant, for a single victim, is to invent a new reason to hope.

Just as despair can be given to me only by another human being, hope too can be given to me only by another human being. Mankind must remember too that, like hope, peace is not God’s gift to his creatures. Peace is a very special gift–it is our gift to each other. For the sake of our children and theirs, I pray that we are worthy of that hope, of that redemption, and some measure of peace.

https://reformjudaism.org/jewish-life/arts-culture/literature/god-indifference-and-hope-conversation-elie-wiesel

Come work with me for a better world, a vision of what the world can be. Come find hope.