Last weekend I talked about the wisdom to wait, to not respond immediately. They say you only preach the sermon you need to hear. So I listened to myself and I waited. There are four distinct recent events and they all need comment. Yet I think that there is a thread that runs through them.

This weekend we marked Rosh Hodesh Tammuz, the beginning of the new month of Tammuz. Tammuz 17 marks the start of the Three Weeks, a period of mourning leading up to Tisha B’av, the 9th of the month of Av. Tisha B’av commemorates the destruction of both Temples, the expulsion of the Jews from Spain, the fall of the Warsaw ghetto. Basically, if something bad happens to the Jews it happened on Tisha B’av.

We are told that the Second Temple was destroyed because of baseless, senseless hatred, sinat chinam. Rav Kook, the first Chief Rabbi of Israel taught that the anecdote to baseless hatred is ahavat chinam, senseless, overwhelming love. I used that as the basis of our observance of Tisha B’av a few years ago.

I am taking a class in contemplative prayer offered by the Institute of Jewish Spirituality. More on that later. However, as part of it, I am looking for moments of holiness. In these four events that concern me moments of holiness are difficult to find. But they are there.

Last week a Jewish deli in Naperville was tagged with anti-Israeli graffiti. “Free Gaza” was painted on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Make no mistake. This graffiti is more than anti-Israeli. It is anti-semetic.

Schmaltz’s Deli is a much beloved hang out for my favorite local Episcopal priest and me. Life is better with a half a pastrami sandwich and a bowl of matzah ball soup and good conversation. It is what I do. Build bridges between people. Many people have stepped up to decry the hate crime. And it is a hate crime. Father Don and I both went–although separately because our schedules didn’t mesh well. The interfaith clergy attended as a group. Several politicians made appearances, including our congressman. And lots and lots of regulars just showed up to lend their support. But the act of holiness, was in the owner’s own response. Sure, he was angry, hurt, scared, confused. But when he saw the overwhelming response by the larger community, he hosted a dinner for the community to say thank you. That was a holy moment.

He was very gracious when we visited and willing to take time out from behind the deli counter to schmooze. The sign that hangs in his window says it all. Hate has no home here.  hate. Hebrew, English, Arabic Spanish, French, Russian, Germanand Khmer.

Last weekend, in Chicago, at the Dyke March as part of Pride Weekend, a woman carrying a pride flag with a Star of David was asked to leave. It seems the some people thought the star might be triggering to Palestinians. Again, make no mistake, this anti-Israeli response is anti-semitism. I unleashed a firestorm of comments when I asked on Facebook if there was a back story because it didn’t fit with what I thought I knew.

The holy moment in this story came from a post of a young Muslim woman. ADL Chicago shared her pride flag and comment on Facebook. https://www.facebook.com/ADLChicago/?ref=br_rs

Read the full ADL’s response here: http://chicago.adl.org/news/adl-walks-proudly-with-lgbtq-community-in-the-wake-of-anti-semitic-exclusion/ and you can sign the petition demanding an apology here: https://www.change.org/p/chicago-dyke-march-collective-call-on-the-chicago-dyke-march-for-full-apology-and-affirmation-of-inclusion

This is complicated.

I have long been an ally of the LGBTQ community. Because I believe that the verse in Leviticus that has been used to create a religious prohibition against homosexuality has been mistranslated for generations. Because we are commanded to love our neighbors as ourselves. Because when one group is marginalized or attacked, we all are. Because we are all created in the image of G-d. All means all. Period.

I have long been accused of having a liberal left agenda. Usually I am proud of it. Usually I believe that my social justice agenda comes not from the liberal left but from my reading of the Torah together with the classical commentaries on it. Does it mirror what is denigrated as the liberal left? Does it seem to fit with many other rabbis? Often. But sometimes left goes too far. It goes too far when it attacks a deli for foreign policies it has no control over. It goes too far when it pits one group against another at a Pride Parade. The New York Times ran an Op-Ed about the march. https://www.nytimes.com/2017/06/27/opinion/im-glad-the-dyke-march-banned-jewish-stars.html

Intersectionality. Say it. Intersectionality. There is an intersection between my identity as a Jew and as an American. There is an intersection between my identity as a woman and feminist and a rabbi and Jew. There is an intersection between my love of democracy and my love of Israel. The question becomes can these identities co-exist.  I believe they can and they must. I can be an American, a Jew, a Zionist, a woman, a feminist, all at the same time.

It is complicated. And anger producing.

I have never thought that any country gets it right 100% of the time. They can’t. Countries are made up of people. People try really hard but they make mistakes. So I am not an Israel-right-or-wrong kind of rabbi. I acknowledge that Israel makes mistakes. There are human rights violations and missteps. But I get concerned–no angry–when groups like the Dyke March promote positions like we saw this weekend. Ultimately that does not create the kind of pride the organizers were hoping for. It doesn’t create understanding that leads to peace or love.

We see this trend on college campuses with the BDS movement. And we see this in the Black Lives Matter platform from last summer condemning Israel for human rights violations and calling it an apartheid state. Those examples are nothing more than veiled anti-semitism from the left. And that makes me sad and angry. Because some of my most important work has been working with allies on the left for LGBTQ rights (and Jewish rights), reduction of racism, peace in the Middle East (particularly Israel), hunger, homelessness, domestic violence, gun control. Some of my best friends have stood with me on these critical issues and will continue to do so. I will continue to work for LBGTQ rights and for black lives. My friends need to understand that I will not be silent, however, if in the process, they trample my rights and my identity.

Rather than spray painting a side walk, adding divisive language to a political platform or kicking people out of a pride parade, we need ongoing, often painful dialogue to find the commonalities. To find the real solutions to life’s most entrenched problems.

Peace is complicated. It is messy. If I thought I could have solved it, I would have gone to the Fletcher School at Tufts or the Kennedy School at Harvard. We are told to “Seek peace and pursue it.” Why two verbs? In our own homes and cities and beyond it.

The last example, however, is also about intersectionality. About in and out groups. And perhaps it is the one that makes me the saddest and angriest. While I was just beginning to think about what it means kicked out of a parade for showing your pride for two groups, your sexual orientation and your Jewish heritage in Chicago, in Israel, the cabinet was deciding not to honor an agreement from last year to create an egalitarian prayer space at the Western Wall. This vote happened on Rosh Hodesh Tammuz. It is about sinat chinam, baseless hatred. And politics.

Throughout the 1800s, Jews prayed together, men and women, at the Western Wall. If you need to see pictures, they appear in the more conservative-leaning Times of Israel, http://www.timesofisrael.com/when-men-and-women-prayed-together-at-the-western-wall/ In 1977, when I was in Israel with a NFTY study tour, we spent Kabbalat Shabbat in the back of the Kotel Plaza singing in a mixed group–even holding hands and dancing. In 1981, I spent a lot of time “davvening” praying at the Western Wall, often with mixed groups. In 1989, as newlyweds,  my husband and I prayed together at the back of the women’s section. In 2010 I was warned about wearing my pink kippah at the Kotel. I did anyway, aware of the risks and without a problem.

However, for reasons that make no halachic sense, women’s prayer space has been restricted. Places to have a liberal (there’s that word again)or progressive Bar Mitzvah have dwindled. Women have been arrested. Forcibly removed. Beaten. Kicked. The Women of the Wall have been fighting for almost 30 years for more inclusivity and the right to read Torah, sing out loud, light a menorah at the Kotel. These prohibitions make no halachic sense. Women are obligated to pray. Those arguments have been made here and by others and can be done again.

And here’s the issue. At a time when we are mourning the destruction of the Second Temple because of sinat chinam, essentially what Netanyahu did was say he doesn’t care about American Jews or our money or advocacy. Lest you think that is me saying it, Ha’aretz ran a similar opinion piece. Rabbi Rick Jacobs, the head of the Reform Movement cancelled his trip to Israel and his meeting with Netanyahu and the fundraising journal eJewishphilanthropy ran this story: http://ejewishphilanthropy.com/netanyahu-to-american-jews-drop-dead/

Yet–I am still looking for holy moments–remember? Ahavat chinam–baseless love. And it found it. It wasn’t easy. However a number of Orthodox rabbis have banned together to call for a more pluralistic, welcoming Israel. http://forward.com/scribe/375733/orthodox-rabbis-call-for-a-truly-pluralistic-israel/ I thank them for their leadership.

I am a Jewish, woman, American, feminist, supporter of Israel who works for justice for all. It is my American right.

I will continue my quest for being welcoming. For creating safe, non-judgmental spaces. For figuring out intersectionality. For finding the ways to peace. Because ultimately, that comes from the Torah. Love your neighbor. Love the stranger. Love G-d. Because ultimately, this is holy work. It’s complicated.

Warning this one is long, but a great way to get to know me better. And the firing line questions are just fun! Need my favorite ice cream? It’s in there!

Last week I was privileged to speak at the Elgin Chamber of Commerce for their program, CEO Unplugged. An informal, no holds bar discussion about leadership and what makes us successful. The chamber hosts this program quarterly with recognized leaders of local businesses and non-profits in the community over lunch. I am grateful to Carol Gieske, their executive director and her board for selecting me and for sending me 50 questions in advance. They forced me to think about issues of leadership deeply and my role and style as a leader. What follows are my responses, the serious questions and the fun ones. Spoiler alert: my favorite ice cream is Almond Joy. The answers below follow the actual presentation fairly accurately. We sat on two bar stools just trading questions and answers. The answers were designed to be short. The program was just an hour. Each answer could have been longer I am sure!

1. What is it that drew you to the rabbinate?

I wanted to help make the world a better place through the rabbinate. It stems from my being a Girl Scout and the ideas of tikkun olam and social justice from the ethics of Judaism. Apparently I told my 8th grade English teacher, before there were women rabbis that I would be. She remembered, I do not. I thought about it in college, even applied to rabbinical school. I became an educator. Shelved it both after my daughter was born. Then, I was driving to a sales meeting at IBM and realized that there was more I could be doing besides working as a marketing consultant, being my daughter’s Girl Scout leader and being a leader of a daily minyan prayer service.

2. What are your day-to-day responsibilities as rabbi?

All of my responsibilities fit into the four pillars of Congregation Kneseth Israel’s vision statement. These pillars match the historical purposes of a synagogue, to be a beit tefilah, a house of prayer, a beit midrash, a house of study and a beit kneseth, a house of assembly.

• Meaningful observance—I lead services on Friday and Saturday, holidays, lifecycle events, keeping the kitchen kosher. I have an obligation and a desire to pray and to make prayer meaningful across a myriad of beliefs and observance levels.
• Lifelong learning—I have responsibilities for adult study, for the Hebrew School, for training Bar and Bat Mitzvah students and for my own ongoing learning as a rabbi. Inspiring people to want to know more and to find the relevance within Judaism. Encouraging congregants’ curiosity and deeper understanding, and how it fits into today’s world and each individual person’s life. That’s about meeting people where they are. I also have an obligation to model that life long learning, so right now I am taking a professional development class from the Institute of Jewish Spirituality on Contemplative Prayer. And here is the surprise, while based on individual prayer and spirituality it is improving my leadership style.
• Building community—that is both in-reach and outreach. Almost everything I do creates community. Whether it is sitting after services or Hebrew School, schmoozing, hosting a dinner at my home or at the synagogue, attending some of the wonderful cultural events in the City of Elgin, serving on some of the committees like Women on the Brink or the Martin Luther King Commission, CERL, and more. I serve as a police chaplain. Even now I am on call—because it is Tuesday. So if I get a call, that’s why. Creating that kind of visibility—builds community.
• Embrace diversity—we have a very diverse community, 17 foreign countries, interfaith families, a vast range of religious practice and belief. Much of what I do is navigate that range.

Day to day obligations include but are not limited to preparing Shabbat, the Sabbath services, and holiday observances, visiting people who are sick or are shut in, teaching, counseling, cheerleading, organizing, marketing, brainstorming, visioning, Then there is that whole other category—other duties as described. In a synagogue, much like many non-profits with constituents, each family thinks they are your boss and each person has a special project that needs your undivided attention. I am never bored. Unless I am waiting at a stop light. That might just be the title of my next book, “Waiting for the Light.”

3. How did your education shape your career, and did it impact your decision to become a woman of faith? Where did you go to college?

I went to Tufts in Boston where I majored in American Studies and Hebrew Literature. I have a Masters degree in education also from Tufts and a Masters degree in Jewish Studies from Hebrew College. My ordination is from the Academy for Jewish Religion in New York and represents 71 classes beyond my masters. American Studies was a great major because it forced me to think in an interdisciplinary way. Tufts was great because as an American Studies major it taught me to think critically across many disciplines and to think outside the box. Let’s hear it for liberal arts education! It also enabled me to meet a wider range of Jews than those I met while growing up in Grand Rapids, and so even then I thought I might want to be a rabbi. I went to a celebration of Simchat Torah with Hillel and there was much dancing in the street and such joy. I thought the rabbis were having so much fun that I wanted to be a part of that and create that experience for others.

4. You have spent time in working in education and as a marketing consultant, before becoming a rabbi. How has your time in the various industries shaped your leadership style with your congregation?

As a marketing consultant for high tech companies my job was to listen to people and put the pieces of a story together in order to make strategic and tactical decisions for major corporations. My job is still about listening to people. Deeply, deeply listening. What is different is that now instead of making decisions for them, I use those skills to help people come to their own decisions, either about their own life choices or what the congregation wants to do as part of the greater whole.

5. Please tell us about your leadership style.

It is funny that this is the month I am here because even before I was asked I had written my monthly bulletin announcement about leadership styles ahead of the Board Installation. I learned much of my leadership skills in Girl Scouts. They talk about Directors, Coaches, Supporters, and Delegators.

Director: Gives very good direction and makes sure everyone does his or her job. Makes certain that rules are clear and that everyone is expected to follow them.

Coach: Uses a style that provides both direction and supervision but encourages the involvement of everyone. Will explain the work that lies ahead, discuss decisions and answer questions.

Supporter: Works with other members of the group to set goals and list steps to achieve the goals. Encourages everyone to make decisions and gives each member the help they need.

Delegator: Gives everyone a share of the work. Lets group members make decisions and take on as much responsibility as they can handle. Is there to answer questions, but wants them to take as much responsibility for their actions as possible
(Previous definitions from the The Guide for Junior Girl Scout Leaders, copyright 1994, New York, New York

Convener: Calls the group together, inspires, organizes

So I have pieces of each of those styles. I inspire, I organize. I teach. I delegate (although that is not my strongest suit, a bit too much of a control freak and I would be wise to learn from Jethro who taught this skill to Moses. I do want people to take as much responsibility as possible without it becoming overwhelming, because I believe that is empowering. I encourage, that’s the cheerleader in me. I try to be optimistic and realistic.

I would ultimately say that my leadership style is collaborative. I like to bring people along with me. I also won’t ask anyone to do anything I am not willing to do. One of my rabbis, Everett Gendler, says that a rabbi is nothing more than someone who can move tables and chairs and in New England turn the heat on. I move tables and chairs. A lot. Sometimes that angers my people. But it is also humbling. I am not above my congregation.

I also am a cheerleader. If you can think up something you want to try and it fits our vision, I will help you figure out how we can do it. Together.

There is a new term—entrepenurial rabbi. And that describes me pretty well. And I took my homework for this very seriously. One of your later questions is about social media. So I promoted this event on Facebook and asked my followers about my leadership style. Essentially, I crowd sourced the question and learned a lot in the process about how others view me. Other words included welcoming, lead by example, serious with a wry sense of humor, and the one that I found the funniest, kumbaya meets Namaste.

6. You worked as the educational director in four Hebrew schools. What did you learn there that you have brought to Congregation Kneseth Israel?

Just as there are many kinds of leaders, there are many styles of learners. That’s important when dealing with the kids or with adult learners. I find that the more hands-on and experiential—the buzz word is project based learning—the more likely the material will be remembered. Hebrew School for decades has been a dismal failure. The research shows that there are only four things that make kids want to remain Jewish—Jewish camp, Jewish youth group, a trip to Israel or a college level course. For me, then it is all about creating Jewish memories so that when students are adults they want to access the rich tradition that is Judaism and find the meaning and the joy within it. Passing on the joy—the tools for life when life is not joyous.

7. Please tell us about your work on social justice issues. Define your role in the rabbinate as a being a bridge builder and peacemaker?

I was just asked this week by a congregant what is social justice and our obligation as individual Jews. For me, it is the essence of who I am as a Jew. We have an obligation to do tikkun olam—to repair or fix the world. It is not unlike Girl Scouts where we are expected to leave the place better than we found it. The devil is in the details, to use that phrase. Social justice, it seems to me, and others in the rabbinate, is the core of Judaism. Every time I think I am not going to write a social action sermon, it is in the central Biblical text. And in this age of “fake news” and alleged fake news how we read scripture is critically important. In Judaism we joke a lot about 2 Jews and 3 opinions. Last week I read a prayer about once we learned one truth and it was cherished or discarded but it was one. For me, it is clearly true that we are to love our neighbors as ourselves. The rest is commentary. Go and study it. And all of the social justice agenda comes out of that verse.

I also think that in this age of rising anti-semitism, it is critical to be a bridge builder and a peace maker. But this is not new to me—or others. So I am active in civic groups that are trying to make Elgin better. I participate in CERL, the Coalition of Elgin Religious Leaders and a committee that is trying to find common ground between the three Elgin clergy groups. I am active with Women on the Brink. I chair the 16^th Circuit Family Committee on Domestic Violence. I am on the Martin Luther King Commission. What all of these have in common is working for the most vulnerable amongst us.

8. Has your role changed in recent times, with increasing social and political uncertainty throughout the religious world?

Yes—I am much more circumspect as a rabbi than I was as a lay leader or rabbinical student. A lot of my friends and colleagues, rabbis, ministers, priests have become even more outspoken but I know that we live in a political diverse world and so for me it is about the ethics and values of Judaism, which to me are very clear. It says 36 times in the Torah, the 5 Books of Moses that we need to welcome the widow, the orphan and the stranger. Even more we should love the stranger amongst us. We should love our neighbor as ourselves. We should be like G-d. Since G-d clothed the naked, Adam and Eve, we should clothe the naked, since G-d visited the sick, we should visit the sick, since G-d fed the hungry, we should feed the hungry, since G-d buried the dead, we should bury the dead.

9. How do you balance civic engagement and your volunteer time with your professional and personal lives?

Balance. Haven’t mastered that one yet. Sometimes I choose to do things specifically on Mondays since that is my day off so that it is clear. Sometimes I do stuff in the evenings or the early morning. But it is hard to separate some of it out. I believe that in order to grow the congregation we need to be visible. So if I speak here or I do an invocation at city council is that professional or personal? And sometimes I do things with my family because they are committed to these same ideals. So while others might go to a movie or a concert, we do social justice. That means one Monday my husband who really cares about environmental issues wanted to go to a meeting at Congressman Roskam’s office sponsored by the Sierra Club. One year for our anniversary we went to a conference on refugees at the Oak Park Temple. Because that’s what we do. Even before we were married. And we will celebrate 30 years this March. But have I achieved balance? Less clear.

10. What important leadership lessons have you learned from working in the religious sector?

There are many different leadership styles. Moses was different from Aaron was different from Miriam was different from Pharaoh. When the Israelites were building the mishkan, the portable tabernacle in the desert, they were each asked, men and women, to bring a gift, the offering of their heart. Everyone has a gift they can bring. Everyone has a contribution they can make. It is my job to find the right role for every person. Frederick Buechner, said it best, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”

I think the other thing I have learned—or keep learning—is that the rabbi is a symbolic exemplar. There is even a book with that title. It means that I represent much more than me, Margaret Frisch Klein. People see me as a representative of G-d or of their rabbi when they were growing up or one of their parents. Those can be very big shoes to walk in, but knowing about that kind of transference helps. The other thing that really helps is not getting caught by triangulation where one congregant tries to get you to engage against another congregant. Or one congregant brings a tale of what someone else wants. Like, “I heard people say” rather than owning it themselves or sharing who said it. It is important to be consistent and say something like, “Well tell them to come see me themselves.” Gossip can be a serious problem, especially in a small congregation. Learning to not engage in it is critical. Seeing a congregation as a family system, as Ed Friedman did in his book Generation to Generation is also useful.

I think another thing I have learned is that there are limits to collaborative leadership. Sometimes people want you to own your authority—which I believe comes from leading with compassion and leading from a place of knowledge. They want to be told what to do. What is right or wrong. So sometimes the buck stops here. It has to. Some where surprised that I, as a rabbi, would be invited to speak at an event called CEO Unplugged. But in many ways, as the mara d’atra, the master of the place, I am the CEO of the congregation.

11. Please tell us about your Energizer Rabbi blog.

When I worked at SAP, the German software company I was tasked with writing and editing am early blog and with doing some podcasts for the sales force. Those were new technologies back then. At some point, in the style of the Velveteen Rabbi who was also a rabbinical student then, I found blogging about my spiritual life a way to reach new people and to explore the depth of the experiences I was blessed to have with a wider audience and not as limiting as Facebook or Twitter. It is a way of promoting CKI.

Because there is a field for comments it is also an opportunity to deepen the conversation—but that field has been underutilized.

12. Do your personal social issues align with your congregations?

Not always, and that can be a challenge. My views were pretty known before I was hired because of the blog and Facebook. I think the real challenge and I try to promote it, is to make sure that there is always civil discourse. I’ll be honest. That doesn’t always work because people are passionate about some of the issues. That can be especially true around Israel. There are many Jewish congregations that won’t even talk about Israel any more because it is so politically charged. I keep trying.

13. Who has been the most influential person in your life?

I think this was the hardest question because I have been influenced by so many. If I have to pick one. I am going with Rabbi Albert M. Lewis, my rabbi in Grand Rapids when I was growing up. There is so much that I do, that he did. And apparently back then, it was cutting edge. I just thought it was the way it was. He was very active in GRACE, the Grand Rapids Area Council on Ecumenicalism. They worked passionately to make sure that buses ran past 6 amongst other social justice issues. He took me to the track and introduced me to running. There is not a day, especially around the High Holidays that I am not grateful for his leadership. Others would be my parents who set me on a road of social justice, based on their understanding of Jewish ethics, my Girl Scout leaders, Dr. Jesper Rosenmeier and Dr. Sol Gittleman at Tufts, Dr. Rev. David Ferner who I still call my spiritual director, and my chevruta partner, my study partner in New York, Rabbi Linda Shriner Cahn.

14. Discuss the impact of the religious intermingling within your congregation.

It is hard to balance the range of religious observance at CKI. We range from some who grew up Orthodox or describe themselves today as Orthodox to people who grew up Reform, even classical Reform like my husband. Some thought that Conservative Judaism would be a good, middle of the road, egalitarian option but some found it too limiting and too rigid. The lines between denominations continue to blur. Perhaps the better description is “Just Jewish”. I am using “fiercely independent.”

15. How do you connect interfaith activities with your leadership and the congregation?

Interfaith can mean several things. I proudly belong to the Coalition of Elgin Religious Leaders, an interfaith organization in the city. I also serve on the U46 Clergy Council. We are members of Elgin Cooperative Ministries. All of those have the desire to work on basis of what is good for the city of Elgin based on our shared moral and ethical values. I serve a congregation that is roughly 65% intermarried. That also can be called interfaith. Again it is about balance and meeting people where they are.

16. What is the most important thing you learned since joining the rabbinate?

Good Segway. It is about meeting people where they are—wherever they are on their Jewish or religious journey. I’ve learned that while I went into the rabbinate to make a difference in the world, it is even more important to make a difference in the person sitting in front of you. I know that we live here in the shadow of Willow Creek a great example of a mega-church. There is a new movement called “slow church.” Sometimes slow church is better, or more effective. What people want is to be in relationship, to be in community, to feel people care about them. Right now. Today. So giving a manicure to a dying grandmother because she really cares about her nails (see mine are horrible) can be more important than how many people attended the Passover seder. Bringing hamantaschen or chicken soup or a corned beef sandwich to a senior could be more important than the numbers at adult study. Working with a Bat Mitzvah family to find the right readings and the right project can be more important than bringing in the big, well known speaker. Those are all about meeting people where they are and creating safe, non-judgmental space where people are connected and integrated. They become invested and want to be involved in other ways. Ultimately, that model should help to fund the synagogue as well. But we know that the models are changing. Millenials seem to be involved in different kinds of ways. So this is a C-change moment for many congregations.

17. What advice would you give to someone wanting to get into religious services?

It is really important to set boundaries. Everybody in the congregation thinks that they are your boss—and your friend—and they are. It would be possible to work 24×6, in order to meet all of their needs. That is impossible. Sometimes the criticism needs to roll off your back. It is important to take time for you. It is also necessary to remember that the ultimate boss, in this case is G-d. Above our ark where the Torah scrolls are kept, it says Da lifney atah omaid. Know before whom you stand. It keeps me humble. A good quality for a leader.

18. How do you connect your religious responsibilities into social media?

As we talked about, I have a blog. The synagogue has a website and a fairly active Facebook page. I use Facebook a lot. It is how I most frequently learn of someone who has died or is in the hospital. It is also a way to model what I am doing in a Jewish manner. I keep it upbeat and optimistic.

19. What was your most challenging professional moment, and what steps did you take to resolve the issue?

The most difficult moments are ones where as a mandated reporter I have to make a decision about confronting a parent about whether there might be abuse or I actually have to report. It doesn’t happen very often but I always wrestle with the best avenue. Usually there are not obvious bruises, it is much more subtle. And I never want to make the situation worse.

20. What is one mistake you are willing to share with us, and what did you learn from it?

Sometimes being a collaborative leader is difficult. Particularly in a diverse congregation, I feel it is important to build consensus. But sometimes people just want the answer

21. Where do you go for advice?

I have a group of very close friends and colleagues, mostly outside of Elgin that I rely on for advice. I also have what I call my “sermon panel” who read important sermons before they are delivered or published. I also, and I think this is very important in the rabbinate or clergy, I have a very good therapist. And then there are my husband and daughter 

Firing Line Questions – quick answers, please

1. Favorite
   1. ice cream flavor? Almond Joy
   2. Book, “How Good Do We Have to Be” by Rabbi Harold Kusher
   3. Movie, Miracle on 34^th Street
   4. Tv series, MASH
   5. Vacation spot, Jolli Lodge in Leland, MI or Ogunquit in ME
   6. Flavor of jelly—raspberry or apricot
   7. Adult beverage—currently–mojito
   8. Musical group—Peter, Paul and Mary
   9. Song—depends on my mood
   10. Concert you attended—Billy Joel
   11. Bagel flavor–Everything
   12. Deli—Katzs in Connecticut (halfway between MA and school in New York) with a special mention this week for Schmaltz’s in Naperville, just hit with some anti-semetic grafitti
   13. Season—which ever is in season
   14. Physical activity–running
   15. Traditional Jewish meal—Shabbat dinner of roast chicken, sautéed spinach and roasted potatoes. Chopped liver and fresh challah are a definite bonus.

2. What are your bucket list items for retirement?

What’s retirement? Oh, yeah, Alaska, Paris to go to Giverny where Monet painted, Savanah to go the birthplace of Girl Scouting, more time on the coast of ME or in Northern Michigan, more painting or photography.

3. What are your favorite things to do with your husband, Simon, and your daughter, Sarah?

Hiking, cooking and running. Simon and I have now hiked in roughly 25 states and five foreign countries.

4. What do you do like to do on your days off?

Read, write, run. Coffee with friends

5. What was one the worst jobs you’ve ever had? Best job?

A small marketing company that did sales lead generation. Management by fear. Life guard at a community pool. I quit when the adult supervisor told me when I didn’t return after a tornado warning that I was just Jewing her down. I then worked in my parents’ bookstore the rest of that summer. Best: SAP. Bright group, fantastic manager who really saw the good in people and expected us to excel and work together as a team. And was supportive of my becoming a rabbi.

6. What are some of your favorite things to do in Elgin?

Walk/run along the river trail. Go to Gail Borden library. The Harvest Market, the Symphony, theater. Meet friends for coffee at Blue Box or Arabica.

7. What is your favorite sport to watch or play? Favorite athlete?

Michigan football. So that leads to Tom Brady. Or Joan Benoit Samuelson as a runner.

8. Movies or theatre? Theatre
9. Thin crust or deep dish, Thin Crust
10. Coffee from McDonalds or Dunkin Donuts? Tricky question.
11. What time is your alarm set for most mornings? No alarm. Wake up naturally by 6. Wish I could sleep later.
12. Cubs or Sox? RED SOX
13. Bears or Packers? PATRIOTS
14. Blue ink or black? BLACK (or purple)
15. Tea or coffee? If coffee, regular or decaf? Coffee, high test, one cup per day.
16. What kinds of movies do you like? Favorite movie? Sappy movies. Simon loves the Hallmark Channel. Miracle on 34^th Street, Frisco Kid, Keeping the Faith
17. If there was a movie made about your life, who would play you, and why? Meryl Streep or Mayim Bialik
18. If you were on an island and could only bring three things, what would you bring? A book (kindle?), a bathing suit, sunscreen
19. Which do you prefer – dress up or dress down? Depends on situation—and I debate it constantly
20. What was the best vacation you ever had? Jolli Lodge or Ogunquit. Bar Harbor.
21. What’s the last gift you gave someone? The last give you received?
    A book to a newly engaged couple. Bubble bath for mother’s day.

21. What was the most fun thing you did in high school? Mini-Week chair. In college? Running the Boston Marathon. After college? Running through the castle at DisneyWorld
22. Favorite fun hobbies? Reading, painting, photography
23. Do you like to cook? What’s your favorite meal to prepare? Love to cook. Thanksgiving Dinner with all the family recipes.
24. If you could only have one food for the rest of your life, which food would you choose?, steak, baked potatoes and asparagus
25. What’s the one thing you can’t live without (not including family)? Bubble bath
26. What’s your pet peeve? People who change appointment times or show up chronically late.
27. Whom would you pick to have dinner with (dead or alive)? Columbus and Pope Francis and Simon
28. Tell us one thing about you that we don’t know.   I sang at Carnegie Hall.

I need three volunteers who are willing to be blindfolded. Thank you!
In front of you there is an object. Reach out and touch it. What is it?

Someone calls out that it has a tail. Someone else says it feels leathery. Someone else, holding the trunk, cries out it is a statue of an elephant.

Volunteers remove their blindfolds. It is, in fact, a statue of an elephant.

Have you ever driven in your car and failed to see another car when you are changing lanes? That’s a blind spot. It can be scary and dangerous and people can get hurt.

Today’s Torah portion is about blind spots. My business colleague and teacher, Ben Gilad, a retired major in Israel’s IDF used today’s Torah portion as the first recorded example of military and competitive intelligence. He would speak to a class of business professionals about how Moses sent these 12 men into Canaan to scout out the land and to report back. They were tasked with specific questions.

• How are the people?
• Are they strong or weak?
• Few or many?
• Are the cities fortified?
• Is the soil rich or poor?
• Does the land have trees?
• What kind of fruit?

All twelve returned. 40 days later—because it always takes at least 40 days to develop good intelligence. That is a standard competitive intelligence project. Any less and the information isn’t as reliable. They give Moses their report. It is a good land. A land flowing with milk and honey. It has pomegranates and figs and grapes. But the people are strong and the cities have walls and are very large. There are Amalekites, Hittites, Jebusites and Amorites.”

It is a truthful report. As far as it goes. Caleb, who was also there, said, “Let’s go overtake it.” But ten of the men are petrified. “We can’t attack those people. They’re too strong for us!”

“And they spread an evil report,” created what we might call today, “Fake News,” no matter which side of the political equation you are on.

“The land we scouted is one that eats its inhabitants. All the people we saw there are very tall.  We saw Nephilim, the descendants of Anak there. We felt as small as grasshoppers, and that’s how we must have looked to them.”

What just happened here?

Remember what we did at the beginning of the discussion. It is actually a well known story from the Buddhist tradition that is also told in Hindu and Jain traditions and there is a Sufi Muslim version and a B’hai one. It is told frequently in business school. There is a John Godfrey Saxe poem about it. All of which ask essentially the same question,

It must, therefore, have some truth in it.

“A group of blind men heard that a strange animal, called an elephant, had been brought to the town, but none of them were aware of its shape and form. Out of curiosity, they said: “We must inspect and know it by touch, of which we are capable”. So, they sought it out, and when they found it they groped about it. In the case of the first person, whose hand landed on the trunk, said “This being is like a thick snake”. For another one whose hand reached its ear, it seemed like a kind of fan. As for another person, whose hand was upon its leg, said, the elephant is a pillar like a tree-trunk. The blind man who placed his hand upon its side said, “elephant is a wall”. Another who felt its tail, described it as a rope. The last felt its tusk, stating the elephant is that which is hard, smooth and like a spear.”

The moral of this story is we need to learn to see the big picture, not just the part right in front of you.

That’s what happened to the 10 Spies. They only saw part of the picture. That’s what happens to us when we only listen to one news station.

I have been thinking a lot about truth. It is hard to hold multiple truths at the same time. But that is what our tradition demands. There is an old Jewish story that became a young adult novel, “Two Truths In My Pocket,” by Lois Ruby that deals with adolescent angst. The two truths that we are to keep in our pocket are “I am but dust and ashes,” and “For me the world was created.” How do we hold those two truths simultaneously? How do we not? I keep coming back to a reading in the Gates of Prayer:

• Once we learned one truth, and it was cherished or discarded, but it was one.
• Now we are told that the world can be perceived by many truths; now, in the reality all of us encounter, some find lessons that others deny.
• Once we learned one kind of life, and one reality; it too we either adopted or scorned.
• But right was always right and wrong was always wrong.
• Now we are told that there are many rights, that what is wrong may well be wrong for you but right for me.
• Yet we sense that some acts must be wrong for everyone and beyond the many half-truths is a single truth all of us may one day grasp.
• That clear way, that single truth, is what we seek in coming here, to join our people who saw the eternal One when others saw only the temporal Now.
• The call to oneness [the Shema] is an affirmation and a goal; to speak of God as One is to commit ourselves once more to our people’s ancient quest.

So the truth is that G-d is One—and that G-d wants for us a safe environment where there are many approaches to that Oneness. The most powerful book I read last year was “Not in G-d’s Name” by Rabbi Lord Sacks. He makes a compelling argument that G-d does not want killing or wars in G-d’s name. Instead, when that happens it is a corruption of the truth and of religion itself.

What G-d wants, I believe, is for people to be like G-d. What G-d demands is compassion. As G-d is compassionate, we too should be compassionate. So the haftarah this morning is equally important. Again we have spies. This time they are rescued. By an unlikely source. Rahab, the woman of ill repute. She rescued the spies. And they, in turn, promise to rescue her when the Israelites come back to overtake Jericho.

Both are acts of compassion. And because Rahab acted compassionately and because Joshua did as well, Rahab and her family, as questionable as her reputation was, was incorporated into the Jewish people, ultimately strengthening the Jewish people. That is the truth of that story.

That is the message of today’s portions. To learn to see the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me G-d.

This week’s Torah portion has much to talk about. It is filled with rebellion and special effects. It might be like a StarWars movie, or maybe even the new WonderWoman movie.

Yet, yesterday we had a Bat Mitzvah celebration. She is a young, bright, articulate woman, as she got to do the sermon. I delivered a charge. And I reminded her that she needs to have trust in herself. Faith in herself. Which in Hebrew are related words. There will be challenges to her leadership, there always are, but like Moses, she needs to rise above it and find a way to carry on.

The portion has a lot to say about leadership. Seems to be the theme of my month. I wrote about it for the newsletter ahead of the service to install the CKI board, the Sisterhood board and the Men’s Club board. I spoke about it at the Chamber of Commerce CEO Unplugged Event. (More on that later) I am planning a leadership development workshop. (More on that later) and then here comes Korach.

Korach challenges Moses’s authority and together with 250 other leaders, complains that Moses has gone too far, that every body in the community is holy and he should not place himself above them. He is right. Every body is holy—and we know that from the idea of being created in the image of the divine, b’tzelem elohim. We know that from being told that Israel is a holy nation, a light to the nations.

So why did Korach and his followers rebel? Because they were jealous. They felt that Moses together with Aaron and Miriam had too much power concentrated in one family and they felt that they did not need an intermediary between G-d and an individual Israelite. Korach reminds me of some current leaders who really are rabble rousers and convince others to join them—by instigating and inflaming the discussion. Inciting and provoking his supporters. That is an sermon for another day.

So confronted with this serious threat to his authority, to his leadership, what did Moses do? What was his response to this rebellion? Moses was a humble leader. More humble than any other leader before or since. He fell on his face. Then he stopped. And told the people to come back in the morning.

This is brilliant and really, really important. As Rabbi Wendi Geffen reminded us, especially, in our age of instant gratification. I want what I want when I want it and I want it now. We are used to instant communication. We are used to being able to watch whatever we want whenever we want on any device in the house. We are used to being able to order anything we want and have it delivered overnight—no, now we can actually have it delivered the same day, within hours from with either Amazon Fresh or Google Express—without leaving the comfort of our homes. And we expect instant responses to email or phone calls, with unlimited data and minutes. It wasn’t always this way. In the old days you might write a letter—a lost art—and then have to wait days, or weeks or even months for a response. You might have a phone, and can you imagine, because long distance was expensive you might have to wait until 5 when the rates dropped or even 11 when they dropped further to phone a friend.

Moses did something we just don’t do as much now. He didn’t just respond quickly and in haste. He didn’t scream his response immediately to whomever was standing there. He didn’t SnapChat his response or post it on Facebook or Instagram or tweet it for all the world to see immediately. How many of us have written that FLAME of an email and hit the send button too soon?

No. Moses fell on his face. He stopped. He paused. He waited. Overnight. Until he was calm. Until he could respond without anger. Until he could devise, with G-d’s help, a measured response. He told the rebellious ones to come back in the morning.

Korach had a point. Every Jew is holy. Every person is holy.

Now at turns out that G-d too is a wee bit jealous. And G-d devised this test of loyalty. With firepans. And G-d wiped out the 250 rebellious ones. Wow! I think most of us are not comfortable with that theology. I am sure I am not.

But after the fire, G-d commands Moses to rescue the firepans because they have become sacred, holy. Those firepans were hammered into sheets and that is what plated the altar. It reminds me of the ritual at the Passover seder. When we pour out a drop of wine for each of the 10 Plagues, when we remember that the Egyptians had to die in order that we might taste freedom. It reminds me of the stumbling stones in Berlin. It reminds me of our new ner tamid, out of fused glass to remember the atrocities of Kristalnacht and the Holocaust. We must remember those who died. Whether we agree with them or not.

We learn for from Korach. Pirke Avot teaches us that “Any dispute that is for the sake of Heaven is destined to endure; one that is not for the sake of Heaven is not destined to endure. Which is a dispute that is for the sake of Heaven? The dispute(s) between Hillel and Shamai. Which is a dispute that is not for the sake of Heaven? The dispute of Korach and all his company.” (Pirke Avot 5:17)

We know the song Tzadik Katamar, the righteous shall flourish like a date palm. From Psalm 92. We sing it every Shabbat.

But thanks to Rabbi Wendi Geffen, I was reminded that the rabbis see it as a code, a clue to this week’s parsha. The last letters of the phrase, Tzadik Katamar Yifrach, Koof, Reish Chaf spell Korach. His opinion is preserved, too. His truth is preserved, too.

We Jews argue all the time. We joke about two Jews and three opinions. We talk about the man on the deserted island who built two synagogues so he had one not to attend. But we need to be careful. Our arguments need to be like Hillel and Shammai. Like Moses. For the sake for heaven. We need to do what they did—to listen—really, really listen and to respond slowly and carefully to honor the other person—even if that person is rebelling. Even if that person is flat out wrong. That’s the humility of Moses’s leadership.

So think the next time you get that inflammatory email before you jot off a response and hit send.

Not one, not two, not three, not four, not five…This is how we count to make sure we have enough people for a minyan. Why? To avert the evil eye.

The musical Rent, in its song Seasons of Love, also talks about counting. How do we measure a year in the life of someone:

Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Moments so dear
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure – measure a year?
In daylights – in sunsets
In midnights – in cups of coffee
In inches – in miles
In laughter – in strife

In – five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure
A year in the life

How about love?
How about love?
How about love?
Measure in love

Seasons of love
Seasons of love

Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Journeys to plan

Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure the life
Of a woman or a man?
In truths that she learned
Or in times that he cried
In bridges he burned
Or the way that she died
It’s time now – to sing out
Tho’ the story never ends
Let’s celebrate
Remember a year in the life of friends

Remember the love
Remember the love
Remember the love
Measure in love
Measure, measure your life in love

Seasons of love
Seasons of love

Today we begin the book Bamidbar, and we heard a wonderful d’var Torah last night about being between Mitzrayim, Egypt, the narrow place and Eretz Zavat Chalav, the Land flowing with milk and honey, the Promised Land. In between there is a great deal of wilderness, midbar. How we wander, how we navigate that wilderness, the desert, is the important part of the journey of life.

In English we call this book, the Book of Numbers. We start by counting. Taking a census. Everybody counted, well at least all the men over 20 who were eligible to serve in the military. Not the women, children, slaves, senior, disabled, the Levites. It begs us to ask the questions, “Whose here? Whose with us?”

It is an Interesting portion for this day, which is the beginning of Memorial Day Weekend.

People think they don’t count. “Rabbi, I’m not religious” they say in an apologetic tone. “I didn’t go to Hebrew School.” “I didn’t learn anything” “I don’t keep kosher.” “The mumbo jumble makes me uncomfortable.” “I am not sure I believe in G-d.”

And yet, we are told that there are 6000 Jews in the Fox River Valley. Jews that the federation is willing in count. And yet, we are told the demographics are changing. And yet, we are told how we think about joining, belonging, affiliating is changing. Even how we count is changing.

I’ve been thinking a lot about memory and counting.

In this portion, each of the tribes is counted, equally. And then as we will see next week, each tribe presents a gift to be used in the sacrificial system, to get the ball rolling. These are of equal weight, of equal value, and none diminishes the other. 750 shekels.

The Torah census is clear, there were 603,550 men prepared to fight. And that count is broken down by the tribes: Reuven, Shimon, Judah, Issachar, Zevulun, Naptali, Asher, Dan, Gad, Ephraim and Menashe. 12 tribes. Rabbi Irwin Huberman points out, “Each of those tribes had a unique path, a unique skill and destiny. Issachar was the scholar. Gad the warrior, Naptali the free spirit. Benjamin was ravenous. Zevulun was the business person. Dan the judge. Asher was prosperous. They were not, a homogenous nation. Rather it was a collection of tribes—each with its own communal personality.”

Each one making a difference in there own way. Each one finding their own meaning. Each one needed. Each one counting.

That’s true for us today. People come to the synagogue to find meaning. To find community. To find G-d. To be part of something bigger. To be counted. Each in their own way. Some come for the services. Some come for the music. Some come to hear the ancient words. Some come to hear the modern words. Some even come for the rabbi’s sermon or teaching.

Some come to see friends and catch up. Some come for the social action. Some come for the Torah School. Some come for the Sisterhood or the Men’s Club. And some come for the cookie. Yes, as a children’s book tells us, G-d loves cookies too.

Each one seems to be its own tribe, expressing its connection to G-d and the Jewish people through its own lens. Some people express spirituality through the arts, through social action, through volunteering. Some are philanthropists or scholars. Some are leaders. Some champion Israel. Some pride themselves on being Americans, and then may debate whether they are Jewish Americans or American Jews. Some are proud agnostics or atheists and some cannot understand how that is possible and still be Jewish. All have a place in the tent.

The truth is, each brings their own gift, their own unique skill. Their own passion. Just like the tribes we are reading about this morning. And the truth is we need them all. We need each and every one of them to be counted. To find their own meaning and place in this tradition.

In Finding Joy, the book we are reading for the Omer, we learn that happiness is found in finding meaning. “We can experience transcendent joy during our entire life when it is filled with what interests, excites, and involves us and brings a personal understanding of ourselves and what raises us to a mystical level of joy.” Frederick Buechner might have agreed since it is close to his own definition of call, ‘The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.’ That’s happiness. That’s standing up and being counted.

In one of the Psalms, Psalm 90 that we use mostly during the High Holidays because it exhorts us to return, to do teshuva, to recognize that our lives are short and that G-d is Eternal, we read,

The days of our years are threescore years and ten or even by reason of strength fourscore years.
Yet is their pride but travail and vanity.
For it is speedily gone and we fly away.
Who knows the power of Your anger and Your wrath according to the fear that is due to You?
So teach us to number our days, that we may get a heart of wisdom. Return, O Lord,

So teshuva in this Psalm is a two way street. We need to return, to come back, to repent,to do the hard work of reconciliation, and it seems G-d also needs to return. We sing something similar in Eitz Chayim Hee: Hashiveinu Adonai, Elecha V’nashuva, Chadesh, Chadesh Yameinu, Kederdem. Return to us O Lord and we shall return. Renew our days as of old.

The very first piece of Talmud I learned, was from Pirke Avot,

Rabbi Elieezer would say: Repent one day before your death. V’shuv yom echad lifnei miticha.

That begs another question, and the rabbis ask it. How do we know which is the day before we die? His answer is that we should return every day, today, for perhaps tomorrow we will die. (Talmud Shabbat 153a). And quoting Solomon in Ecclesiastes 9:8, “At all times your clothes should be white, and oil should be on your head ”

This was not because it was after Memorial Day, the unofficial start of summer and now we could wear white. No, rather, so we would be prepared to go to our grave.

So teaching us to number our days, to make them count, to be always aware that life is short—and that we don’t know how short, seemed particularly appropriate when I began to put this sermon together.

Teach us to number our days. We do that at this season of counting, as we continue to count the omer. Day 46. Almost to Sinai.

Merely to survive is not a measure of excellence or even a measure of cunning our High Holiday machzor teaches.

No, our job is to invest our lives with meaning. Our job is to return, to meet G-d.

I thought that was the end of the d’var Torah.

Then I had a rabbi moment.

I was asked to help design a gravestone for a former member. He died two years ago this month. He was a bachelor, leaving no children. His guardian, not Jewish but a good friend of the man, a real mensch, took care of all the arrangements for the burial. When I got the call two years ago for the burial plot I was told there would be no funeral since there was no family. I agreed to meet them out there. There should be some words. That’s what Jews do. 18 of us showed up. 18 of us were counted.

So now it is time to do the gravestone. What was his Hebrew name? There was no record of it. There was no record of him. But he had his mother’s gravestone picture and his fathers. I deduced a Hebrew name from that. So there will be a grave marker with a Hebrew name.

Pirke Avot also teaches in the name of R. Shimon: There are three crowons. The crown of Torah. The crown of priesthood and the crown of kingship. But the crown of a good name excels them all. (Pirke Avot 4:17)

Harry Rose, now has been restored, has been elevated, he now has the legacy of a good name—Areih ben Peninah. Harry Rose lived a quiet unassuming life right here in Elgin. He served in the Navy from 1950 to 1952. He returned. He worked for the post office. He played cards. He attended Men’s Club events. And now we remember. How appropriate this Memorial Day Weekend. We have memorialized him and we have counted him.

Archibald MacLeish wrote this poem:

The young dead soldiers do not speak.

Nevertheless, they are heard in the still houses:
who has not heard them?

They have a silence that speaks for them at night
and when the clock counts.

They say: We were young. We have died.
Remember us.

They say: We have done what we could
but until it is finished it is not done.

They say: We have given our lives but until it is finished
no one can know what our lives gave.

They say: Our deaths are not ours: they are yours,
they will mean what you make them.

They say: Whether our lives and our deaths were for
peace and a new hope or for nothing we cannot say,
it is you who must say this.

We leave you our deaths. Give them their meaning.
We were young, they say. We have died; remember us.

That’s the call of this Memorial Day. That’s the call of our lives. Stand up and be counted. Return one day before our deaths. Find meaning in our lives. Find joy. Find G-d.

Last year I had an argument with a congregant in the middle of a sermon. It’s OK. Jews argue. We talk about two Jews and three opinions. A lot. It was Passover and I was talking about the prayers Geshem and Tal for rain and dew. It was also Earth Day. I was explaining that as Jews we have an obligation to take care of the Earth and that the mandate is sprinkled (Pun intended) throughout our literature.

He argued that climate change isn’t real. I was dumbfounded. So now on Earth Day this year I want to reply. I come by this very naturally (again pun intended). My father was an ecologist. He helped organize the original Earth Day in 1970. He spent countless hours arguing for good science. With the Field Museum, with the Evanston School System, with East Grand Rapids High School. He spent countless hours fighting for our environment before it was cool. He spent countless hours renewing himself in the woods on Northern Michigan.

So this year, on Earth Day, I want to tell the story of Honi the Circle Maker, in memory of my father, in hopes for the future.

You know about Honi. We tell this story almost every Tu B’shevat. Honi lived in the 1^st Century BCE, in the Second Temple Period. One day, Honi was journeying on the road in Northern Israel and he saw a old man planting a carob tree. Honi asked the old man, “How long will it take for this tree to bear fruit?” The man replied: “Seventy years.” Honi was amazed and asked, “Are you sure that you will live another seventy years?” The man replied: “I have already found carob trees growing in the world; as my ancestors planted for me so I shall plant for my children.”

That is the story for Earth Day. We are the generation caught between our ancestors who planted for us, who were caretakers of the earth for us and our children and our children’s children. This is Earth Day, and on this Earth Day we read the story of Aaron when his sons were killed. Aaron’s response is silence.

But I cannot be silent when the future of our children is at stake. Psalm 30, the Psalm for the Dedication of the Temple asks,

“What profit is there if I am silenced. What benefit if I go to my grave. Will the dust praise You?”

When I was a kid, we didn’t use any aerosol sprays because my father was concerned about the ozone layer. We didn’t buy anything made by Dow Chemical because we were worried about Agent Orange. My father, as a scientist argued passionately for science, taking on the East Grand Rapids Schools who at least one biology teacher wanted to teach creationism along side evolution. “Evolution is a fact,” he argued. I never won an argument with him about religion. Not quoting Albert Einstein who apparently believed in G-d. Not Lewis Thomas who wrote a beautiful elegy, “The Lives of Cells.” Nonetheless, he knew that everything he did was within Jewish values and ethics.

So I cannot be silent. Too much is at stake. The very future of our planet maybe at stake. I believe it is about balance. I believe there is no conflict between Judaism and science. I believe that there is no conflict between Genesis and science. And I believe we have a responsibility to take care of this earth. To be partners with G-d in this glorious creation.

The Talmud in Ta’anit 19a teaches us another story about Honi. It is the story he gets his name from. Once there was a terrible drought in the land of Israel. It was already Adar, that usually marks the end of the rainy season, but much like this winter in Chicagoland with very little snow, there had been no rain all winter long.

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

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

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

Then G-d sent a strong wind that blew away the fierce rains and the storm calmed. Shimon ben Shetakh, the head of the Sanhedrin wanted to put Honi in cherem, to excommunicate him, for his audacity, but decided against it.

Honi is a little like Nachson Ben Aminidav. Nachson is the one who put his toe into the Sea of Reeds. He waded into up to his nostrils, the midrash says. Then the sea parted. He had faith and by his actions he demanded that G-d rescue the Israelites. He had audacity. He had courage.

This story would not be one my father would have loved—although he loved a good story and relished reading Zlateh the Goat, a collection of IB Singer stories out loud as the Chanukah candles burned down.

No, this story about the power of prayer, would not have been rational enough for his scientific brain. On the other hand—and this is Judaism, so there is always another hand—he might have. Not only is this about the power of prayer. It is also about the power of action. Only when Honi was in the circle he had drawn was his prayer effective.

The power of prayer. That’s what Friday nights, Kabbalat Shabbat are all about.

That’s what the Barchu, the formal call to worship, is about. As my students taught me this year, it is not just about calling us together for prayer, it is about demanding that G-d be present. Come, here, right now, G-d. It’s about Sh’ma Kolenu, G-d, hear our voice, demanding G-d to listen to us. Audacious.

Recently I had my own story of the power of prayer. My cell phone died. It wouldn’t reboot. The wireless company said I would have to wipe it clean and start over. The second store said the same thing—but maybe if I went to Apple they could do something. Getting increasingly anxious, I was on call as a police chaplain, I drove to the mall to the Apple Store. I pleaded that I needed my phone. That I was a rabbi. That I was on call. I was not leaving that store unless my phone was restored. (Politely, of course).

They were not optimistic. I followed them back to the genius bar. I stood there silently while the genius plugged in my phone. I put my legs together and stood straight up like I was davenning the silent Amidah. I held my breath. He said he would have to wipe it clean, was that OK. No, I wanted to scream but what choice did I have. He told me to say whatever prayer I had—that he had seen miraculous things happen. I wasn’t sure what the words were for a cell phone. I continued to hold my silence. He hit the button. In seconds, the phone was restored. All of the data was there. All of the contacts. All of the photos. All of the text messages. All of the applications worked. Perhaps all my silent supplications worked.

I can’t explain how my phone “resurrected”. It seems to be at that intersection between science and prayer. I can say that I have seen very powerful things happen that don’t make rational sense. I stood in awe with an ICU nurse as the blood pressure of a patient dropped when I sang Adon Olam. I stood in silence with my daughter’s pediatrician as his mother lay dying. Medical science had nothing else to offer, perhaps prayer would. She died on her own husband’s yahrzeit.

It is clear from our tradition, that we are commanded to be caretakers of this earth. To be partners with G-d in G-d’s glorious creation. That we are to fulfill the mitzvah of bal taschit, to not destroy.

So on this Earth Day I say. Don’t be silent. Our children and children’s children deserve no less. Stand in that circle and pray. Don’t just pray. Demand action. Be bold. Be audacious. Be courageous. That is the message of Honi.

“Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones…
Now hear the word of the Lord.”

You know this one. Sing with me. Actually I know two versions, both I learned at Girl Scout camp and both are appropriate for this morning.

I’ll admit it. I’m tired. Bone weary tired. Passover preparation, two seders, services last night and a full day of doctor’s appointments will do that. This morning’s portions address that weariness and bring me hope.

One year on this Shabbat of Passover I got a call from a dear friend, a fellow Hebrew School teacher, saying, “Margaret, I was just at a Bar Mitzvah, and you’re not going to believe the haftarah, it was all about resurrection—and tomorrow is Easter. Jews don’t believe in resurrection! I can’t believe what I was hearing.”

I calmly explained to her that Jews do believe in resurrection. In fact, Judaism is where Christians got the idea from.

So let’s start with this morning’s text in Ezekiel, Chapter 37—which clearly Jesus and his early followers knew.

It’s all about those bones rising again. About G-d breathing life into us, even if we are tired. About G-d restoring us to the land, the land of Israel that G-d promised our ancestors. Listen to the language about “son of man”. That’s one of the phrases that people called Jesus and that the officials used against him.

Ezekiel was an 8^th century BCE prophet who foretold the destruction of Jerusalem, the restoration of Jews on the land and the rebuilding of the Third Temple. He brought the people hope. He brought the people G-d. He is one of the prophets from which we learn about Merkevah Mysticism, the Mysticism of the Chariot. We hear hints of it in the beautiful piyyut, the acrostic El Adon that we sing in the morning service, but Merkevah Mysticism is a story for another day.

The prophet Daniel shared this belief in resurrection: “Many who sleep in the dust shall awaken, some to everlasting life, and some to ever lasting shame and reproach” (Daniel 12:2).

In II Kings Chapter 4 we have the story of the rich woman of Shunem. She provided a room for the prophet Elisha, where he could rest and revive himself while he was travelling. Several years later, her son complained about his head and then died. She sent for Elisha, who came, and revived her son, resurrected him by breathing new life into him. It sounds exactly like CPR.

So you can see, the underpinnings of resurrection exist throughout our later Biblical writings, our prophets. Christianity’s adoption of it, should not come as a surprise and be seen within the historic context of Judaism and Christianity’s Jewish roots.

But it doesn’t end in the Bible. In the beginning of our Amidah prayer, in the G’vrurot, which acknowledges G-d’s power, written by the rabbis of the Talmud, we say these ancient words outlined in Berachot 23a, “Atah gibor l’olam Adonai, machayah matim. You are powerful forever, giving life to the dead.” For a while the Reform movement was not comfortable with that language and changed it to machayah hakol, giving life to all. The newest Reform prayerbook, Mishkan Tefilah, has put back the option for machayah matim. If you want more detail on how our prayerbook evolved, Rabbi Larry Hoffman’s excellent commentary, My People’s Prayerbook will help

Maimomides, the Rambam, 1135-1204, the Torah and Talmud commentator, philosopher, physician and astronomer, compiled the first code of belief, the 13 Articles of Faith. Sometimes, given the time period he lived in I think it must have been a polemic against Christianity—or at least a vey clear statement of his beliefs. The very last one is the belief in the resurrection of the dead.

1. Belief in the existence of the Creator, who is perfect in every manner of existence and is the Primary Cause of all that exists.
2. The belief in G‑d’s absolute and unparalleled unity.
3. The belief in G‑d’s non-corporeality, nor that He will be affected by any physical occurrences, such as movement, or rest, or dwelling.
4. The belief in G‑d’s eternity.
5. The imperative to worship G‑d exclusively and no foreign false gods.
6. The belief that G‑d communicates with man through prophecy.
7. The belief in the primacy of the prophecy of Moses our teacher.
8. The belief in the divine origin of the Torah.
9. The belief in the immutability of the Torah.
10. The belief in G‑d’s omniscience and providence.
11. The belief in divine reward and retribution.
12. The belief in the arrival of the Messiah and the messianic era.
13. The belief in the resurrection of the dead.

Many congregations recite these after each weekday Shacharit, the morning prayers.

We sing the 13 Articles in a more poetic form on Friday nights in the Yigdal prayer which says in its last verse, “God will revive the dead in His abundant kindness – Blessed forever is His praised Name.”

That’s hope. That’s power. G-d will revive the dead and give us life.

It is good to study Rambam today, this Shabbat of Passover. Many Jews of Sephardic origins, particularly those from Morocco celebrate Rambam with a special feast the night after Passover called a Mimouma. http://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/maimouna-a-post-passover-celebration/ Some believe it celebrates Rambam’s yahrzeit. Believe me, if you have an opportunity to go to one, do not miss it. They excel at hospitality and their cooking is out of this world—well beyond our usual pasta feasts after Passover, but how they do it so quickly after sundown is a mystery to me! Part of that Passover magic. That’s hope.

This is a season that is about freedom and transformation. It is about rebirth and renewal. It is about hope.

It is not surprising that Christianity took the concept of resurrection changed it, making it more an individual reviving the dead. This seems less likely to me. In Judaism these kinds of things are usually collective. Our understanding of the messianic age is a collective. We are more concerned with the saving of the nation of Israel than individuals. Our prayers, for the most part are written in the plural.

One of my favorite books is the Active Life by Parker Palmer, an activist, a poet, and a bit of mystic within his Quaker roots. This book shows the necessity of a balance between spirituality and activism. He tells the story of activism from each of the world’s major religions. The last chapter is called, “Threatened by Resurrection”, which is a poem written by Julia Esquivel, a Guatemalan poet in exile and published right here in Elgin by the Church of the Brethren Press. I talked about it in my Skype interview because I found the poem so powerful.

When I went to Guatemala I took the book with me and used it as part of a teaching I did about this very topic. When I tried to print it out in a Hilton Garden Express hotel in Guatemala City I was blocked, censored. The concept of Threatened with Resurrection still too revolutionary.

Threatened by Resurrection:
They have threatened us with Resurrection
There is something here within us
which doesn’t let us sleep, which doesn’t let us rest,
which doesn’t stop the pounding deep inside.

It is the silent, warm weeping of women without their husbands
it is the sad gaze of children fixed there beyond memory . . .

What keeps us from sleeping
is that they have threatened us with resurrection!

Because at each nightfall
though exhausted from the endless inventory
of killings for years,
we continue to love life,
and do not accept their death!

In this marathon of hope
there are always others to relieve us
in bearing the courage necessary . . .

Accompany us then on this vigil
and you will know what it is to dream!

You will know then how marvelous it is
to live threatened with resurrection!
To live while dying
and to already know oneself resurrected.

Julia Esquivel

Parker Palmer is so eloquent about this poem: “For Esquivel, there is no resurrection of isolated individuals. She is simply not concerned about private resurrections, yours or mine or her own. Each of us is resurrected only as we enter into the network of relationships called community, a network that embraces not only living persons but people who have died, and nonhuman creatures as well. Resurrection has personal significance – if we understand the person as a communal being – but it is above all a corporate, social and political event, an event in which justice and truth and love come to fruition.” (152)

The very last verse we read in Ezekiel today is about that collective resurrection and it is on the exit gate to Yad V’shem, the Holocaust Memorial in Jerusalem. One way to look at resurrection is to see the rebirth of Israel as a resurrection, a collective resurrection We walk out of the destruction, out of the horror of the Holocaust, back into the light, back into the land. Our bones, those very dry bones live again. The breath of G-d lives again within us, breathing new life into us.

Have you ever noticed the Israeli medics in their bright yellow vests after a terrorist attack? They are sadly collecting all of the parts that remain so that each victim can have a full and complete burial. It is that hope of resurrection, of life everlasting.

There is a connection to today’s Torah portion. Probably more than one. For me, it goes back to what I said at the beginning. Remember I said that I was bone weary tired. So was Moses. In today’s Torah portion, just after Moses has smashed the 10 Commandments. G-d demands that he go back up Mount Sinai. Moses doesn’t want to go. Why should he? Why should he lead this stiffnecked, stubborn people? In a masterful argument, he pleads with G-d and reminds G-d that this is G-d’s, not Moses’s people—and besides what will the Egyptians think. The argument works—and G-d promises that G-d will go with Moses and give him rest and lighten the burden. G-d renews that promise in Psalm 81, “I removed the burden from their shoulders;  their hands were set free from the load.” G-d has lightened our load. G-d has given us rest.

Hope. Resurrection. Life everlasting. That is what today’s parsha is all about.

Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones with be watered, refreshed, revived, and brought back to life. These promises bring me hope.

Tonight is the first night of the counting of the omer. 50 days between now and Shavuot. Seven weeks of seven days. Shavuot, the holiday that celebrates first fruits and the giving of the law at Sinai. It solidifies our freedom that we celebrate this week.

For decades I have planted winter wheat or winter rye with students at Sukkot and then watched as it miraculously, magically grows starting at Passover and fully heading out by Shavuot. It is a wonderful tradition I learned from Rabbi Everett Gendler. It ties the agricultural nature of the Jewish holidays, especially the pilgrimage festivals, together. This year was no exception. But this year, for the first time ever, no winter wheat.

Counting the omer is something that has often appealed to me. It is a spiritual practice, a discipline. It seems simple. Count 50 days. Sounds simple, no? Remembering to count every day is hard. Looking at the underlying spiritual and mystical roots is harder. The mystics tie each day to a different soul-trait. Week one is all about chesed, lovingkindness.

This year we needed a new idea. Harvest our joy. It fits nicely with finding joy which we have been studying all year. 50 days of photos, images of happiness. Each of these will then be printed on 4×6 paper and hung in the CKI entrance way.

I will start with one. Simon loves everything University of Michigan. He was the student manager of the football team one year in college. We watch every UofM football game and many of the basketball games. For him the Big House is the Promised Land. This past weekend he had the opportunity to run a 5K which ended on the Michigan 50 yard line. Here is Day One’s Image of Joy.

I woke up singing a song.
“Prepare ye the way of the Lord,” a song from Godspell, a line from Mark 1:3, borrowed from Isaiah.

You may think this is odd. A rabbi singing a line from the Gospel. But I can’t shake it. It is so appropriate today for two reasons. This is Shabbat HaGadol—the Big Sabbath. Usually we tie the name of this Shabbat to the end of today’s haftarah, “Lo, I will send the prophet Elijah to you before the coming of the awesome, fearful day of the Lord.” It’s not a great translation. Yom Adonai, Hagadol, v’Hanorah.”Maybe better, The great and awesome day of the Lord. The verse with its reference to Elijah hints at Passover that is coming. It hints at the Messianic era and a world to come that will live in peace. It hints at our need, our responsibility to prepare for the day of the Lord.

The second reason is that this is one of two Sabbaths that in the old days, the rabbi would give a sermon. Today is the day you all would learn how to prepare for Passover. If you need all of the details, read my email from earlier this week which will direct you to the OU site. You can also check the CRC site and I am happy to answer any questions. I even have a book about the 1001 Answers to Passover questions. So far I have answered questions about stand mixers and Passover towels. People really do care about these things and they want to get it right. But there is more to the preparation than the physical labor.

Prepare. How do we prepare? One way is to search out the leven, the chamatz, that we have. You know the drill. Cleaning and scrubbing and pitching. It is spring cleaning on steroids. And since only you men are here, I can only assume that your wives are home working, and that you will go home and help. Please, go home and help.

That physical labor is important. Simon finds dish washing meditative. I am not sure I do, but as I was cleaning the refrigerator, and scrubbing the schmutz off the shelves and then boiling them, I was thinking about Simon’s meditation.

Lot going to lie. My first thought was “Why am I doing this?” Then I wondered, “What is the purpose of cleaning the fridge?” “How does it help us prepare?” “How does cleaning the fridge make me a better person?”

And here are my answers.

I do it because once a year my house should be sparkling. I do it because it links me to my people, friends all over the country who are doing exactly the same thing. People in generations past, long ago—maybe not their iceboxes—yes we called it the icebox and I still, occasionally make ice box cake, but not for Passover! I do it because we are commanded to prepare for Passover, to rid our houses of leven. Commanded. That’s the word for the day. Tzav. In the imperative form.

The mediation cleaning the fridge continued.

I am really luck to have this refrigerator. It is the one I have always wanted. With double doors and a freezer on the bottom. It is easy to clean and arrange with enough space. Many people in lots of parts of the world don’t even have a little refrigerator. And yet again we are wasting too much food. Almost an entire garbage bag went out. Even after our emphasis on feeding the hungry. Many people have significantly less than we do.

Leven—yeast. Things that rise. Things that are puffed up. Things that take up more space. Last week we talked about the humility of Moses and the humility of the lowly letter alef.

Matzah is the opposite of things that are puffed up. It is the bread of affliction. The poor bread. Lechem oni. The bread of humility.

Humility is one of the soul-traits that mussar talks about. The first one that we should study. I have spent years studying mussar and am still not there yet.

Rav Kook says that humility is associated with spiritual perfection. But it is subtle . The key factor, is honest accuracy, according to Alan Moranis who teaches courses in American mussar.

I have always wondered about people who sit in the same spot every week. I thought maybe it is a little arrogant to assume that seat belongs to you. Sometimes even rude if you say to a newcomer—hey that’s my seat. How warm and welcoming is that? But then, while studying humility with Alan Moranis, I understood. Someone who sits in a predictable place makes room for others to occupy their own space too. Therefore, Alan teaches, humility is occupying just the right of space in life that is appropriate for you while making room for others. Humility is not an extreme quality, but a balanced moderate accurate understanding of yourself that you act on in your life. It is not being chamatz. It is not being puffed up.

This is the beginning of the spiritual preparation of Passover.

Today’s parsha also talks about humility. When G-d commands Moses to tell Aaron about the ritual of the burnt offering, it needs to be kept burning all day and all night. Moses has to take a back seat. This is about Aaron and his children, the priestly class.

Myron and I had a good conversation about this. When he read these lines, his eyes lit up and he proclaimed, he knew he had a job to do— to keep my fires burning. to keep me enthusiastic. He based it on the note at the bottom of page 613 in our chumash, Etz Hayim, “The congregation, for its part, must recognize its responsibility to see that the enthusiasm and dedication of the clergy is never extinguished.” What a lovely, lovely thought.

Yet there is another message as well. The high priest has a job. To keep those fires burning. Night to morning. Morning to night. Each and every day. Every morning, he is to take off his holy vestments and take the ashes outside the camp to the “pure place,” nothing more than the ash heap. Essentially, he has to take the garbage out, each and every day. Just like everybody else. This way, he can never forget his link to the mundane. It kept him humble. It keeps us all humble.

I have a good friend, Dr. Lisette Kaplowitz, who is a retired principal of an elementary school and a reading specialist. When Sarah was about to start kindergarten I took her to Lisette’s school and she introduced Sarah to everyone. The first person she introduced Sarah to was the janitor. Mr. So and So, I want you to meet my good friend Sarah. Mr. So and So cleans my school. I can’t run my school without him.” It was a powerful lesson. For Sarah and for me. I can’t run CKI without Lljuban, without Susan, without Peg, without all the talented volunteers who help make this place run day in and day out. Lisette’s lesson was so dignified and so humble. When Lisette retired every single janitor showed up at her retirement dinner. I know. We sat at their table.

This week I read a story about the college admission process. An admissions director for Dartmouth received a letter of recommendation from the school janitor. She was surprised. It was unusual to get a letter of recommendation from the janitor. But this student stood out—to the janitor and now the admissions counselor—because the kid would talk to the janitor, clean up after himself and others and urge others to do so. Bottom line—he was kind, he was humble, and yes, he got into Dartmouth.

Rabbi Everett Gendler used to say that a rabbi is nothing more than someone who moves tables and chairs and in New England (maybe Chicago) turns the heat on. It kept him humble. It keeps me humble. I thought about that as I moved tables this week and helped set the tables for the community seder. Congregants, here and elsewhere, often argue that it is not my job to do so. Nor take out the trash. But those tasks are critical to the work of the congregation, to building community. They are about meeting people where they are.

Kindness and humility go hand and hand. Rabbi Sacks in his weekly sermon talks about what enabled the Jewish people to survive. We are commanded to make sure the perpetual light, the eternal light, the ner tamid never goes out. Yet, we no longer have animal sacrifice. What is this sacrifice? Is it still necessary? What keeps it from going out today?

The Israelites managed to figure out five things that replaced the sacrificial system.

The first was gemilut chasidim. Acts of love and kindness. Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai told Rabbi Yehoshua, “My son, we have another atonement as effective as sacrifice, acts of kindness, as it is written (Hosea 6:6) I desire kindness and not sacrifice. (Avot deRabbi Natan 8)

Acts of kindness. I have spent a lot of time thinking about that this week. I talked to the kids about G-d leading the Israelites out of Egypt with a strong hand and an outstretched arm. Go ahead, just like the kids do it. Make a strong hand. Now reach out and touch someone. That outstretched arm is the helping hand. If it is outstretched and not clenched, it cannot be a hand of warm. It is the hand of kindness, the hand of friendship, the hand of humility.

Rabbi Sacks rounds out his list with Torah study, prayer, teshuvah, fasting, hospitality. Each of these helps us connect authentically with the divine, since there no longer is sacrifice.

He teaches that what is remarkable is “rather than clinging obsessively to the past, sages like Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai thought forward to a worst-case-scenario future. The great question raised by Tzav, which is all about different kinds of sacrifice, is not “Why were sacrifices commanded in the first place?” but rather, given how central they were to the religious life of Israel in Temple times, how did Judaism survive without them?”

For the rabbis, the sacrifices were metaphors, “symbolic enactments of the processes of mind, heart and deed.” They were designed so that the people could draw close to G-d. So that they could experience the indwelling presence of the Divine, the Shechinah. It doesn’t happen when we are not kind to one another.

The Haggadah is designed for us to tell our children what the Lord did for us when G-d led us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. All of the preparation. The scrubbing, the cleaning, the cooking is designed to get us to ask some pretty important questions.

1. Why is this night different?
2. How do we rid our lives of chamatz?
3. What is the narrow place we need to be freed from?
4. How can we be humble, kind, loving, hopeful?

As part of my spiritual preparation I always read a new Haggadah. This year I chose two, the (unofficial) Hogwarts Haggadah which I really enjoyed, even though I am not especially a Harry Potter fan. It has plenty to say about chametz. And the Ayeka Haggadah Hearing Your Own Voice. This one is really helping me with my own spiritual preparation. Every page has a different question to answer. Like “What was one holy moment in your journey this year.” Ultimately it is about finding ourselves in the story, in the journey.

The very act of cleaning the fridge is an act of sacrifice. It keeps us humble. It helps us meditate and find the Divine. It gives us the space to begin to answer the real questions of Passover.

The Israelites were freed from Egypt. Next year in Jerusalem. Next year, all the world redeemed. That’s what Isaiah and Mark meant when they said, “Prepare ye the way of the Lord.” Indeed, this is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it. Cleaning my refrigerator helps prepare us, physically and spiritually.

Today we start reading the book of Leviticus. In Hebrew we call it Vayikra, We translate it as “And He called” but have you ever looked at how it is written in the Torah? Also in our Chumash, the Torah Commentary and in the Tikkun that I practice from. The last letter is a very little alef. Take a look. It has been this way for two thousand years and no body really knows why. The little Hebrew note in the Chumash can be translated as “according to received tradition”.

This little word, with its little Alef, teaches us much. Even today.

As Rabbi Len Levin, a professor at the Academy for Jewish Religion reminds us, there are two issues with this word. The first is that the clause is missing a subject. “Vayikra el Moshe.” We usually translate this as “And he called to Moses.” Who called? Perhaps as the Kabbalists suggest it is G-d, perhaps “Ehyeh”. I wonder about the word “el” which can be translated as “to” but the very same word can be translated as G-d and the usual direct object marker is “et”. Rabbi Levin points out that modern scholars suggest that it completes a sentence at the very end of Exodus, thus linking the books together. “Moses was unable to enter the Tent of Meeting (that portable mishkan) because the Presence of the Lord (Shechinah) filled the Tabernacle..so He (the Lord called to Moses from the Tent of Meeting.”

I like it.

The second issue is that little Alef. Now we know that Alef is the first letter of the Alef Bet. And we know that it is a silent letter. The rabbis have a field day with what this little alef could mean. I call it the “Little Alef that Could.”

Rabbi Levin teaches that his favorite is Rabbi Abraham Saba (1440-1508) who taught in his commentary Tzeror Hamor that the small alef is that “Moses because of his humility, distanced himself from assuming authority and would run away and make himself small until G-d had to call him.” Or perhaps it is because Alef is the first letter of the word “Anochi—I” and therefore represents a small ego. Both these teachings seem to be about a leader with humility. It reminds me to turn around and look at our ark. “Da lifney mi atah omaid—Know before whom you stand.” That phrase strives to keep me humble as I lead the congregation in prayer. It is something Moses certainly knew.

And I will tell you something else. I once flunked a Bible exam about where I had to translate a passage about Moses and humility. I translated something as “Moses was humbled” because I knew that it was the past tense. But apparently there is a difference between “Moses was humble” and “Moses was humbled.” “Moses was humble” implies an internal state of humility. “Moses was humbled” is something I was trying to say happened to him at the hands of Aaron and Miriam.It was a humbling experience.  I still think you could read that text either way.

But I want to tell you two more stories about Alef. The first is from the Zohar. It has been illustrated by Ben Shahn and called the Alphabet of Creation. All the letters of the Alef Bet present themselves before G-d and begs, entreats G-d that G-d should use that very letter to create the world. This parade of letters begins with Tav, the last letter of the Alef Bet. After all the very word Tov, good, begins with Tav and so does Torah. Each letter is rejected, until Bet presents himself. Bet is given the honor because Baruch, Blessed begins with Bet. So the world is created with the word, Bereshit. In the beginning. But what about Alef.? Why did Alef not present herself? Alef answers G-d, “All the other letters have presented themselves before Thee uselessly, why should I present myself also? And then, since I have seen Thee accord to the letter Bet this precious honor, I would not ask the Heavenly King to reclaim that which He has given to one of his servants.” G-d responded, saying, “Oh Alef, Alef. Even though I have chosen the letter Bet to help Me in the Creation of the world, you too shall be honored.” And so G-d rewarded Alef for her modesty, her humility, by giving her first place, the first letter of the 10 Commandments.

And that is the next story. Rabbi Larry Kushner tells this one in his Book of Miracles for Young People. “No one really knows for certain what happened at Mount Sinai. Some people believe that G-d dictated the entire Torah word for word. Others believe that it included the Oral Law as well. Some believe that G-d inspired Moses. In Makot 23a and b, the rabbis of the Talmud were having just such an argument—what happened at Sinai. It teaches us that G-d didn’t give the ten commandments, but only the first two sayings. One who remembers that there is a G-d who frees people and who has no other gods will be religious. Another rabbi argued that it was just the first saying. Still another said that it was just the first word of the first saying, Anochi. But Rabbi Mendl Torum of Rymanov said, “Not even the first word. All G-d said was the first letter of the first word of the first saying, the first letter of the Alef-bet, alef” Now this is somewhat problematic, since Alef is silent. Almost but not perfectly. You see alef makes a tiny, little sound that is the beginning of every sound. Open your mouth (go ahead, do it). Stop! That is alef. G-d made the voice of Alef so quiet that if you made any other noise you wouldn’t be able to hear it. At Sinai, all the people of Israel needed to hear was the sound of Alef. It meant that G-d and the Jewish people could have a conversation.”

We also learn from the Zohar that the whole Torah is contained in the letter Alef. This really is the little Alef that could.

But there is more. Usually we think that most of Leviticus is addressed to the priests. It is all about the sacrificial system and the role of the priests in executing it. It is about drawing the people closer to G-d. One of the words for sacrifice, Korban, actually has the same root as draw close. But there are two notable exceptions to this speaking to the priests. Right here, right at the beginning it says, “And He called to Moses from the Tent of Meeting, saying, Speak to the Israelite epople and say to them…” Speak to all of them. Not just the priests. That means that G-d calls you. In the Haftarah we learn that G-d chose us. While some are uncomfortable with Jews being the chosen people for fear that it sounds like we are better than everyone else, we still hear echos of that in our Torah blessing—who chose us among all people, and in the Ahavah Rabbah prayer. I always liked one of my Bar Mitzvah students understanding of this that while G-d chooses us, we choose G-d.

Nonetheless I think that G-d does call and G-d does choose. Even today. Every year I buy a Haggadah or two for my collection. This year I bought the Unofficial Hogwarts Haggadah and a small little volume called the Ayekah Haggadah, Hearing Your Own Voice. Ayeka means “Where are you?” and it is the question that G-d asked Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. It is the question that is asked each of us as we confront the Passover story and place ourselves in it. Where are we? Where are we on our journey? What is the narrow place we are being called to leave? What is the place we are called to be? Each of us is to see ourselves as experiencing the miracle of the Exodus. Each of us must tell our child on that day, what the Lord did for me when I went forth from Egypt. Oh, and Ayeka begins with the letter Alef.

Frederick Buechner taught that “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”

So close your eyes for a minute. See if you can hear G-d calling to you. Ayeka—where are you? Vayikra. What does G-d want you to do? What is G-d calling you to do? (Hold silence here)

What does G-d want you to do? Micah thought it was simple—“To do justly, to love mercy and walk humbly with your G-d” (Micah 6:8)

One last thought as we prepare for Passover. This portion teaches that no grain offering can be made with any leaven, chamatz. As we rid our homes of chamatz and scrub our kitchens clean, the harder job is to rid our selves of spiritual chamatz. Chamatz is a metaphor for being puffed up and taking up more than our rightful place. It is the opposite of humility.

There you have it. The little Alef that could. May this be a Pesach were we are humble but not humbled, where we can hear G-d call to each of us, and where we can find ourselves going forth from Egypt, out of the narrow spaces of our lives.