I am still having a hard time getting writing done. We had a fabulous trip and most of this was done but needed polishing. Here it is…

I was going to start with the theme song from the Love Boat. After all, Helen and Manny have enjoyed cruising and we are here to celebrate that love is in the air. Instead, it is almost baseball season so, instead, look around you. If you build it they will come. And all the more so, if you feed them they will come. And that is appropriate for this celebration also. This is our field of dreams.

Last week as we left the sanctuary and entered the social hall, Helen said to me, “You know next week Manny and I will celebrate our 60th anniversary. I think I’ll sponsor Kiddush.” That was the starting point. And it is nice. Sweet. Generous. And we are delighted that people want to sponsor Kiddush for happy events as well as yahrzeits.

It turns out that her timing is everything. Beshert. Destined.You see this week’s portion is about two things. Two portions really. This is a day with an extra reading. The first reading is as Heschel explains about building a palace in time and space—Shabbat celebrated in the Mishkan and that is what we are doing here, celebrating Shabbat in this beautiful building. Our own fields of dreams.

But the extra reading is about bringing a half shekel. Why were the Israelites commanded to bring a half-shekel to build the mishkan, the Tabernacle?

Because everyone could do it. Whether you were rich or poor you could add a half shekel. And together you create a beautiful place for the dwelling of G-d. That in dwelling presence of G-d we talked about last week, the Shechinah. The Shechinah is related to Mishkan. They have the same root. The In Dwelling Presence of G-d lives in the Miskhan, the Dwelling Place for G-d. The Shechinah dwells in each of us.

In this way, we all have a stake in what happens here. We all have access to the Divine. And that is pretty darn important. Simon’s childhood temple, Congregation Sinai, used to proclaim proudly the words of Isaiah, “My House Shall Be A House of Prayer For All People.” right over the majestic entranceway. That is exactly what we are building here. That is that wide-open tent we talk about, warm and welcoming to all who enter. That beautiful tent. Make no mistake. This building. This very building. Our building.The one that the Franks and the Lindows and others from previous generations had the vision to create and maintain. It is that lovely tent. That beautiful dwelling place. The one that you all have built with your shekels. “Ma tovu ohalecha Ya’akov. Mishkanotecha Yisrael.” How lovely are your tents O Jacob; your dwelling places, Your Mishkan—O Israel.” It is a dwelling place for G-d and for us. A beautiful legacy.

And why just a half-shekel? Maimonides begins to answer that question. “everything that is for the sake of G-d should be of the best and most beautiful. When one builds a house of prayer, it should be more beautiful than his own dwelling. When one feeds the hungry, he should feed him of the best and sweetest of his table. . . . Whenever one designates something for a holy purpose, he should sanctify the finest of his possessions, as it is written (Leviticus 3:16), ‘The choicest to G-d’” (Mishneh Torah, Hil. Issurei Mizbe’ach 7:11).

We still do that. There is a concept of hiddur haMitzvah, the beautification of the mitzvah. That’s why there are so many different seder plates that you can buy in our gift shop. And it extends beyond ceremonial art. Don’t laugh, but when I was first here, some one bemoaned that we were buying cheaper toilet paper. Shouldn’t we buy the very best toilet paper since this was a house for G-d? Why should we settle for second best? That expectation of excellence is something this portion is trying to imbue us with. For our synagogues and our homes.

Because our homes become a mikdash me’at, a little sanctuary. When we celebrate Shabbat at the synagogue and in our homes, Shabbat becomes a palace in space and time, a foretaste of the world to come.

That is what we are doing here today, bringing our whole selves to this mishkan, building a home for G-d on earth, a palace in time and space. We give ourselves fully to G-d and to each other—in this community so carefully built and to our partners. We realize that without this gift of the half-shekel we are incomplete. It was Robin Williams who said, “I used to think that the worst thing in life was to end up alone. The worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel alone.” We are better here, together, with G-d and the people we love.
But why a half and not a whole? If everything is supposed to be the best?
It goes back to the first wedding. We are better together than apart. We need a helpmate. As the text says, “It is not good for man to be alone.” But even in the first marriage—Adam to Eve—we are told in the midrash that G-d bedecked and bejeweled Eve. It is a sweet story. Yet, it is more than sweet. It is, as the Kabbalists teach, destined. Beshert. When G-d created humans, the first pair, was a single soul separated. Ideally, if we are lucky enough, a marriage is the reunification of that single pair, the ying and the yang borrowing from another tradition. The reunion necessitates our taking a deep breath, experiencing tzimtzum, the Divine room for the other, to experience ourselves as not whole but being completed by the other half, that half-shekel, that partner that makes us whole again, just like in the beginning.
But that is not all. Where else does that measure turn up—a half shekel? And here is where it becomes “Bashert”, destined, that we talk about this this morning. I owe the insight to Chabad. Now some of you are thinking, Chabad, that is not your usual source. But in fact, it can be a very good source, and one I read every week, together with AJR’s D’var Torah, Rabbi Lord Sacks, USJC Torah Sparks and URJ’s 10 Minutes of Torah. I guess you can say…I myself am a pluralistic Jew, plumbing the depths for all 70 faces of Torah. But Chabad seems especially appropriate today since Helen and Manny have a son that is a Chabad rabbi! In fact, Helen and Manny should be proud of all their children and grandchildren who are so active and so knowledgeable. Shortly we will have their son Gene honor his parents by chanting Haftarah.

But back to the question. Where else do we find a half-shekel? In the story of Eliezar finding a wife for Isaac. Who remembers the story?

Abraham sends his servant to find a wife for Isaac. Eliezar stops at the well. Rebecca rushes to draw water for him—and for his camels. In fact, all the verbs are active, rushing verbs.

The man took a golden ring, a half-shekel in weight; and two bracelets of ten shekels’ weight of gold for her hands. (Genesis 24:22)
The story continues and reads like a Hollywood script. He is welcomed into Laban’s home. Rebecca is consulted. She actually says yes. In fact, we derive the Jewish law that the woman has to say consent. She has a right of refusal. More gifts. Dinner. They set out on the caravan. They reach the field where Isaac is meditating. She lifts her eyes. She asks who is that man. She falls off her camel. He takes her to his mother’s tent and he loves her. The first mention of love in the Bible. And is comforted after his mother dies.
To this day a ring, perfectly round and unbroken is part of our wedding ceremony. Look at your hands…look at that ring…think of the promise you made to each other. Now I invite Helen and Manny to stand. And everyone else who is here with their partner to stand as I chant the Sheva Brachot, in memory of that day long ago when you gave each other a half-shekel.

I have gotten out of the habit of writing. There are lots of excuses. I’ve been busy. My material is fresher if I do it as a discussion rather than a formal written sermon. Others have said what I am trying to say more eloquently. What I say doesn’t matter. It doesn’t count.

Then rcently this turned up in my Facebook feed. “You must learn to hush the demons that whisper, “No one wants to read this. This has already been said. Your voice doesn’t matter.” In the rare moments when the voices finally hush, you might hear the angels sing.” (MargaretFeinberg.com).

Perfect, I said. And it relates to what I said on Shabbat morning. On Shabbat we read another portion about building the mishkan. Carefully detailed plans. Designed to build a home, a beautiful home for the Presence of G-d.

There were two sentences that jumped off the page at me. One was the structure of providing an offering, “one in the morning and one in the evening.” I was reminded of Rabbi Nehamia Polen, professor at Hebrew College, who would tell the story that much of this narrative is to push the reset button, to call down the Presence of G-d just like on Mount Sinai. There is smoke, incense, quaking, thunder, lightening just like on Mount Sinai. In our ritual, we are recreating the experience of Sinai.

And then G-d dwells among us. That “Presence of G-d” in fancy English translations, is “Shechinah” in Hebrew. And it is related to “Mishkan”. So by building a house of G-d, a house for G-d, the mishkan, we welcome the In-dwelling Presence of G-d, the Shechinah.

And we learn the detailed patterns for the clothes that the priests wore. The gown, the ephod, the breastplate, the jewels (all 12 of them, representing the 12 Tribes of Israel and Jacob’s sons), the mantle, the bells and pomegranates.

But why? Why does any of this matter? I think it has to do with ritual and the power of ritual. What is a ritual?

It is something we do as a routine, to call us back to another time. To hit that reset button that Rabbi Polen was talking about. To provide structure, safety and security. To enable the ineffable to happen.

We do this with lots of things. Birthdays follow a prescribed ritual. Birthday cake. Birthday candles. Making a wish. Presents. Going to a Michigan football game follows a prescribed ritual. Tailgating. The band. The specific songs the band plays. The cheers. The wave. Those are secular examples.

Judaism has its ritual too. Lots of it. How we celebrate holidays and Shabbat. How we pray. How we eat. How we dress. Most of our lives are prescribed. Some say that there are too many “Thou Shall Nots” and not enough fun things.
But what it we look at it in a different way? What if we look at another verse in this parsha?

Moses is commanded to “kindle” the ner tamid. The Eternal Light as we teach the kids. That light that is supposed to be lit in perpetuity, we go to great lengths to make sure it lasts. Oh sure, these days it is a little easier with compact florescent light bulbs. But in the old days, this was a task that involved everybody watching. And as soon as the oil burned out, more was added. It was an awesome responsibility for the entire community.

But the verb “to kindle” really is closer to lift up, to raise up. “V’ha’alot” The same verb we use to go up to the bimah, to have an aliyah, to go up to Jerusalem, to make aliyah. Somehow the act of lighting the light, the ner tamid, raises us up.

Rabbi Kalisch says that the ner tamid “serves the purpose of giving light to G-d,” as it rises. Cue the old Girl Scout song here…”Rise up O flame, by thy light glowing. Show to us beauty, vision and joy.” And at the same time as we rise up to G-d, it brings G-d’s presence down to us.

That is the function of ritual. It reminds us of the past and connects us to previous generations. It brings us closer to G-d so that G-d’s presence can dwell among us and it lifts us up. It raises our spirits. It is part of how we can create “meaningful observance.”

There is one other piece here that is important. February has become known as disability awareness month. This verse makes it clear that the light has to be kept, watched, guarded by the WHOLE community. It is not just the priests who keep the fire going.

The Midrash teaches, “Instruct the Israelites to bring you clear oil of beaten olives . . .” Not because I (God) need it, but so that you should give light to Me just as I have given light to you . . . . This is compared to a blind man and a sighted man who were walking together. The sighted man said to his companion, “I will guide you along the way.” When they arrived at their destination and came indoors, the sighted man asked the blind man to please kindle a light to benefit him (the sighted man). In this manner, the blind man would not be overwhelmed by his debt of gratitude to the sighted man, and would recognize himself as capable of benefiting others.” ( Midrash Sh’mot Rabbah 36:2)

As we learned last week, each of us has unique gifts that we bring to build this holy place. In this case the midrash is reminding us that it is those with sight and those without. Both are needed. This coming Shabbat our children will teach us the Sh’ma in sign language. Their simple actions enhances the meaning of the word “Listen” and it makes those holy words accessible to all. This too helps us create meaningful observance.

Does G-d need the light? That is for you to answer. But it is clear to me that we do. It helps us fulfill the teaching of Menachem Mendel of Kotzk. He asked, “Where is G-d?” and answered, “Wherever we let G-d in.” This is what we learn from the power of light and the power of ritual.

“Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.”
JK Rowling

Today’s Torah portion is about hitting rock bottom. Literally. He had been thrown into a pit, a dry well. He hit that rock bottom and was assumed dead. Our scene begins with Joseph being taken down to Egypt. “Rescued” by the Ishmaelites and taken to Egypt and sold as a slave. He is now in Potiphar’s house. Potiphar’s wife is attracted to Joseph.

The midrash asks who did the taking? Why was he taken? On the simple level, it seems easy—the Ishmaelites, right? That’s what the text says. Not so fast.

“Love is as strong as Death but Jealousy is as severe as Sheol” Midrash Tanhuma. And it explains that Jacob loved Rachel but Rachel was jealous of her sister Leah. Jonathan loved David but Saul was jealous of David. And Jacob loved Joseph. But his brothers were jealous of him because his father loved him to excess.

In the midrash, Joseph was seen as a Torah scholar, a prophet and one who nourished his brothers. He was a good person—despite some of his upbringing. And he falls. He falls far.

So the Zohar sees this differently. Every time, someone goes down to Egypt—it is a metaphor for hitting rock bottom. And the Zohar tells us that only from the depth of darkness can we see the true light. The true light that is G-d.

In the verse, “And Joseph was brought down to Egypt; and Potifar bought him” (Beresheet 39:1), why is it written, “brought down” rather than ‘went down to Egypt’? HE ANSWERS, The Holy One, blessed be He, consented to the act OF SELLING JOSEPH TO EGYPT, so that the decree He made between the pieces would be fulfilled, as it is written, “Know surely that your seed shall be a stranger” (Beresheet 15:13). “And Potiphar bought him,” to commit sin with him, namely sodomy.

But the Zohar explains that there are reasons that G-d has to bring our ancestors down to Egypt. Perhaps it is a little too predestined in my usual theology. Yet it is informative.
God told Jacob in Genesis 46:3
”לְגוֹי גָּדוֹל אֲשִׂימְךָ שָׁם- כִּי,תִּירָא מֵרְדָה מִצְרַיְמָה- אַל; אָנֹכִי הָאֵל אֱלֹהֵי אָבִיךָ,וַיֹּאמֶר“
And He said: ‘I am God, the God of your father; fear not to go down into Egypt; for I will there make of you a great nation”
And in Genesis 46:4 we read
”עֵינֶיךָ- יָשִׁית יָדוֹ עַל, וְיוֹסֵף;עָלֹה- אַעַלְךָ גַם, וְאָנֹכִי, אֵרֵד עִמְּךָ מִצְרַיְמָה,אָנֹכִי“
“I will go down with you into Egypt; and I will also surely bring you up again; and Joseph shall put his hand upon your eyes.’”
So we learn that every time someone goes down to Egypt, frequently to relieve hunger and famine, G-d goes with him. He is not alone.
This idea is captured in the song from Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.
Close every door to me
Hide all the world from me
Bar all the windows
and shut out the light
Do what you want with me
Hate me and laugh at me
darken my daytime
and torture my night
If my life were important I
Would ask will I live or die
But I know the answers
Lie far from this world

Close every door to me
Keep those I love from me
Children of Israel are never alone
For I know I shall find
my own peace of mind
for I have been promised
A land of my own

Children of Israel are never alone. G-d goes with us. That is the consistent promise of the Torah. G-d goes with Abraham when he moves from Haran to Canaan. G-d is with Hagar when she is at the well, and later when she puts her son under a bush, sure that he will die. G-d goes with Eliezer when he tries to find a bride for Isaac. G-d goes with Jacob when he flees back Haran and dreams of angels ascending and descending a ladder. G-d is with Moses when he discovers the burning bush and later when Moses is promised that G-d will go with Moses and lighten his burden and give him rest.

And yet, each of these ancestors has a dark moment of the soul. They have to experience those in order to climb out of the pit. On a website called Zohar.com, run by the Kabbalah Center, that organization that Madonna supports, they said about Joseph,

“In the course of spiritual development, we sometimes have to fail in order to build a greater vessel that can hold all the Light that awaits us as we ascend to the next level. This is what happened to Joseph when he was “brought down to Egypt.” Egypt is a code word for darkness and disconnection from the Light of The Creator. Reading these passages helps attune us to the angelic hierarchies and the spiritual energy forces they transmit. These forces give us power to rise when we fall, strength to stand after we stumble ““ and this serves to increase the size of our vessel, so that we can receive even greater Light in our lives. These verses also help us expand our vessel so that it is not necessary for us to fall quite so far down or to stumble quite so often.”

This is language that is echoed in 12 Step programs. The idea that someone with an addiction problem needs to hit rock bottom before climbing back up. Rock bottom is a time that causes an addict to reach the lowest possible point in his or her life. Like Joseph in our Torah story today. For each person struggling with addiction, this looks different. It is that sense that life cannot get any worse. They are alone. Isolated. Removed. As Jacob is first in the pit and then in jail.

But today’s portion comes as an anecdote. Joseph becomes a leader in jail. He continues his role as a dream interpreter. People remember him. When his friends get out of jail, they recommend him to no less than the Pharaoh to interpret the Pharaoh’s dreams. He becomes the vice-roy of Egypt. It is a classic rags to riches story.

JK Rowling, now the richest woman in the world, is a rags to riches story too. Before Harry Potter, she was a single mom on public assistance. Her understanding of this cycle, her own personal failures, even after Harry Potter, especially on a trip to Portugal, enabled her to write a non-fiction book based on her commencement speech to Harvard. Very Good Lives: The Fringe Benefits of Failure and the Importance of Imagination. She says about herself, “Failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than I was and began diverting all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me.”

As a marketing consultant, I worked with the Technology Licensing Office of MIT. They taught that 90% of start-up businesses fail. In fact, they expect students and professors to have at least two businesses fail before they have a successful one. Having a business fail can feel like being thrown into the pit. It can seem devoid of light. It can feel like hitting rock bottom. But slowly, slowly, those students climb back out of the pit. Like the song, “Pick yourself up, dust yourself off and start all over again.”

Chanukah begins tomorrow night. The Festival of Lights, its very name means rededication. In the Talmud there is an argument about how to light the candles. Should we light them as the miracle occurred, beginning with the most amount of light like that little cruse of oil that diminished during the week or should we start in darkness and keep adding light each night of the week. The rabbis conclude that we should do as Hillel suggests. Each night we should add light. Each night we should add joy.

The message of today’s portion and our celebration of Chanukah is simple. Our tradition teaches us that no matter how bad our life seems, G-d will go with us. That we can pick ourselves up. That we can rededicate ourselves to what is important, just as JK Rowling did. Our tradition teaches us to not lose hope. Our tradition tells us to find the light. To find the joy. May it be so for each of us at this darkest time of the year.

On Sunday I presented at Limmud Chicago, an interesting movement of serious (and not so serious) adult learners who are passionate about Judaism. I submitted an application back in August and was chosen to speak about my experiences in Guatemala with American Jewish World Service visiting a coffee plantation, CCDA and my program in Elgin called Java and Jews.

CCDA, a collaborative in Guatemala that grows coffee, honey and macadamia nuts, builds community by selling produce, education of women, protecting land rights, documenting human rights abuses. When we visited CCDA we learned that sometimes building community comes with real risks. There are 84 arrests warrants out for the leaders of CCDA. Nonetheless, the director of CCDA was elected to the Guatemalan Congress in the recent elections.

Perhaps even more importantly we learned two stories from members of CCDA. One woman told us that with the proceeds of the eggs from her single chicken in the Patio Systemes Group which teaches women how to do container gardening on the patios, she was able to send her daughter all the way through middle school. Her daughter is now in high school. The woman, dressed in jeans and a traditional Mayan top, can not read or write but has learned the importance of education, the rights that women have to education and the hope that community brings. Another woman, told us that she learned through CCDA that she had the right to tell someone no, that she did not have to submit to sex. In her own words, she explained, she prevented her own rape.

It was my job at CCDA to thank our hosts. I spoke about my husband, the dairy farmer and his love the land and how he roasts his own green coffee beans. I spoke about Abraham buying a burial plot for his wife Sarah. (This past week’s Torah portion, in fact!) and that as Jews we understand the value of owning land and then the ongoing struggle to preserve that land.

In Elgin, I introduced a program I call Java and Jews. It is an opportunity to sit over coffee once a month and discuss any number of things. We meet at a Starbucks, Blue Box Cafe and Calibre, two local independent cafes. It gives people easy, casual access to the rabbi. It deepens the conversations more than I could ever do in a 10 minute sermon or discussion on a Shabbat morning and it builds friendships. I gave out tips of how to set up similar programs in other communities. And coffee. We modeled the program by having fair trade, kosher, organic coffee from Guatemala and all the fixings. Great for a late Sunday afternoon. We created a community of learners.

What I could not have predicted all the way back in August, would be the controversy over a red cup. Part of me is just shaking my head. Really? Starbucks in trouble because its Christmas cup is red but does not have snowflakes or other “holiday” decorations on them? Excuse me, not holiday, Christmas decorations. I thought red and green were Christmas colors. I thought snowflakes were not Christian symbols.

I am not one who objects when someone says “Merry Christmas” to me. I smile and respond, “Merry Christmas”. It is not my holiday but I enjoy the festive lights, the good food, the music, the time with family and friends. Frankly the building of community. I wish it would really bring
Peace on earth, goodwill to man.”

There are pluses and minuses to Starbucks, to be sure. They do have programs to help farmers grow fair trade coffee, but not all their coffee is fair trade. They do a good job with employee benefits. They could probably go further. And on Veterans Day, it is important to note that Starbucks is committed to hiring 10,000 veterans and military spouses.

Red cups, with or without snowflakes and ornaments? I will proudly go get my Starbucks this week, and next week, and the week after that. Because they are a company I want to be linked with as a person of faith, as a person committed to social justice and building community. I may even bring my own cup–with or without dreidls–because that would be better for the environment than all those disposable cups. But when I proposed to talk about building community through a coffee cup, I just didn’t know that Starbucks red cups would become a part of it.

Written on Monday, Finished on Friday….

Today was a day off. After the frenetic pace of the High Holidays—Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur and then Sukkot and Simchat Torah, most of which involved Monday observances, all I wanted to do was stay in bed. But that is not what I do. I am a life long volunteer. So I got up.

Today was the Inaugural Interfaith Build for Habitat for Humanity Northern Fox River Valley. Where else would I be? I have now worked on Habitat for Humanity projects in Massachusetts, North and South Carolina, New Orleans (three times), Indiana and Illinois. Why? Because they understand that building houses strengthens communities. Affordable safe housing is a right, not a wanna have.

The most powerful experience of my life was working on a Habitat project the day after 9/11. I’ve told this story before. I was in New York on 9/11. I managed to get home late that night. The very next morning, the clergy of Lowell, through the Greater Lowell Interfaith Leadership Alliance, (GLILA), was hard at work building a house. I sheetrocked a closet. When the world seemed to be collapsing, we were building. What more powerful statement can there be for peace.

So today I painted 300 shingles for a house that was built in 1892. It was not in good shape when Habitat acquired the property. It will eventually house 2 families. Again. It will help stabilize the neighborhood. And in the process, it will build community.

I am not a great handy man. This stuff does not come easily to me. (Although I may have found my niche painting shingles!) But it is important work. So part of what I do is rally the troops and get others to turn out. I tell the story.

Part of what I did today was to tell stories of Guatemala and American Jewish World Service. As I stood there painting shingles I talked about the theory of upstream-downstream that I learned on a boat crossing Lake Atilan. Why do people wind up homeless? Follow the river upstream. Why is there such a need for Habitat and its work? Worldwide. How can we get Habitat not only to build but also to do advocacy? I talked about gemilut chasadim (acts of love and kindness) and tzedek (justice). About housing someone today who is homeless because the need is real and immediate and making sure for the long haul that all people have access to safe, affordable housing. Their new volunteer coordinator was intrigued. And she has been to Guatemala so we had that in common. There will be more conversations with her I am sure. It is about building a network. About building community.

So today I painted 300 shingles. Big deal. It is a drop (of paint) in a bucket. But it is what I am called to do.

The big deal was seeing four Jews show up to work with a historically Christian organization. Habitat is learning that we can all agree on providing affordable, safe housing.

The big deal were all the casual conversations that took place. Music. Travel. Thanksgiving. Work. Retirement. And the religious humor. Birds in the trees pooping on our fresh paint—that’s the birds and birds. They come in two by two. More boxes of shingles—everywhere? They are multiplying like fishes and loaves. And agreeing that veggie pizza is the best—works for all the vegetarians and those who don’t mix meat and milk and those who don’t eat pork.

The big deal was watching my husband hold a ladder for hours for the imam who was up on that ladder carefully measuring and then installing siding. That is the image of interfaith cooperation. Interfaith trust. Interfaith peace.

There are lots of ways and places to volunteer. Pick something you are passionate about. Pick something you love doing. Volunteer. My congregants volunteer at the synagogue. Along the way they ensure the congregation’s survival, they make friends and they build community.

On Kol Nidre, we had two people talk about community. One, Medina Gross has been a member at CKI since she was married in 1970. The other, one of our recent Bar Mitzvah boys, Jake Atkins. Here are their remarks:

Herb and I joined this congregation in 1970 when we were married. Our wedding and reception were at Rodfei Zedek in Chicago, because I declined to have my wedding reception under the basketball hoops, which was what the social hall looked like in those days.

As a newlywed, I was very nervous about my first aliyah at the high holidays, but Frieda Simon congratulated me warmly and made me feel at home. I met Clarisse Cutts pushing the cart as a volunteer at Sherman Hospital, and she invited me to a Hadassah donor dinner. Years and many events later, I asked Clarisse to help me set tables for the kids b’nai mitzvah, because nobody could set tables for an event like Clarisse. She did it with total concentration and for her, it was a spiritual practice. I think of her when I help get ready for a congregational event, and she is probably still setting tables in Minneapolis.

From early experience, I know what it feels like to be an outsider, so I try to reach out to new members, guests and people who feel uncomfortable. As a congregation, we learned our lesson when we were threatened with extinction, and everybody makes it their business to welcome strangers.

I have lived in Elgin for 45 years and have been a member of many communities, most more or less short-lived as my children grew up and the circumstances of my life and my interests changed. The CKI community is unique in being a community of faith, in serving my whole family, in being the focal point of so many life cycle events, and in lasting a lifetime. I feel a connection to the children in the congregation, as other people felt and still feel a connection to my children. I feel proud when other member’s children do such a fine job when they participate in services.

My daughter Rachel had tried out for the Elgin Children’s Choir, but didn’t make it, so Jane Vogel and I started a Children’s Choir at CKI. Her son Matt is now a Hillel rabbi. Once, when Rachel, age six, was singing her heart out with the children’s choir, Blossom Wohl predicted that some day Rachel would be President of Sisterhood. That hasn’t happened yet–Rachel is concentrating on her family now, but she works on the Facebook page. Blossom, now in her 90’s, recognized the significance of early experiences.

The Bonner children were at the shiva for Chuck Zimmerman’s Dad a few days ago, fulfilling our mission of passing on our traditions to the next generation.

It used to be that after a funeral, they would take the coffin out that side door in the front of the sanctuary. When I witnessed that, I used to think, we are all going to go out that door at some point. When I go, there will be CKI members at my shiva to comfort my family. We are all fortunate to be members of this community.
 Medina Gross

Community means that a certain group of people is loyal to each other, and respects and appreciates one another. They look out for each other. Of similarities that vary from religion, to hobbies. It describes a certain group of people. We, are a Jewish community. We all have many things in common, being Jewish is just one of them. We all care for each other. We are a kind loving, and non-judgmental community. Not every community is like this. We are lucky to have found ourselves with these kind people. Who care about the rest of the community, the synagogue, the education of the young, and many more. We are all respectful to each other. When someone is injured and healing, there is a prayer for them at the Friday evening and Saturday morning service. There are wonderful teachers who do a fantastic job teaching the young until they’re Bar or Bat Mitzvah. The Rabbi is magnificent, Joe is a very nice man, one of the first I met here at CKI. This is a great community. Since my Bar Mitzvah in June 2015, I’ve been thinking, what could I call CKI. I now know that CKI is not only a congregation, it is also an amazing community full of warm-hearted, loving, kind, and respectful people. This is our community.
Jake Atkins, age 13

Who knows what this is? It is my kippah that I bought right here, in Elgin, during my demo weekend. Precisely because it is from Guatemala. And I wear it proudly. Even more proudly now then when I first purchased it.

Sitting high on a balcony overlooking the town square in Quetzeltango, sipping hot chocolate, we were learning about moral courage. Then we jumped. What was that? Gunfire? A car backfiring? No, it was homemade fireworks, celebrating a candidate’s arrival and what was then the upcoming election.

What is moral courage? It is taking the awareness of the world’s problems and the awareness of self together with righteous indignation, imagination and risk which leads to action. It is the capacity to act according to one’s values despite the risk of adverse consequences. It is the ability to speak out when there are injustices and a risk to one’s own person.

It is exactly what Isaiah does in this morning’s text when he asks, “Is this the fast I desire?” He is crying aloud in the wilderness, with full voice, full throat, as he is commanded. He is speaking truth to power. Begging the leaders of the community to not be complacent. To not just fast. To feed the hungry. Clothe the naked. House the homeless. This is our mission as Jews. This is our promise as Jews. Never forget to remember. We were once strangers in a strange land.

Last summer I received a phone call from the Renz Center. They were doing a program on tolerance for teens at risk as identified by the U46 school system. They had hoped we would do a program about the holocaust at the synagogue as a field trip to teach tolerance. I called Gale Jacoby and she graciously committed to teach with me. She has a traveling kit of memoriablia of her father’s. He escaped Germany on a Kindertransport to Great Britain without any papers. I suddenly looked at the room, filled mostly with immigrant children and I asked, how many of you were not born in this country. I knew enough not to ask how many of them didn’t have papers, just like Gale’s father. Some of them no doubt. The parallels were striking.

As we AJWS Global Justice Fellows bounced on a bus, we neared the town of Quetzeltenago. We saw a larger than life statue of the hero. The hero is the one who made it to the US but who sends money back to his family. Last summer thousands of children arrived in US border towns from countries like Hondoras, El Salvador and yes….Guatemala. 68,000 children. Children. Without parents. With no place to go. Hoping to make it. They are arriving again, as my sister-in-law who works on the frontlines of this in Tucson can testify to. Talk to her or Simon’s brother Fred, an immigration attorney at the break-the-fast.

Why do those children flee? The reasons they come are varied. Hope to find relatives who might already be here. Escaping unprecedented violence in their home countries. The promise of a better life.

Last night we spoke about promises. Promises made and promises broken. We Jews make lots of promises. We promise that everyone is created b’tzelem elohim. We promise that we will take care of the widow, the orphan, the stranger. Those are old promises. Promises from the Bible. We promise to clothe the naked, visit the sick, feed the hungry, bury the dead. Those are newer, yet still 2000 year old promises, from the midrash, bound up with the Torah. That in the words of Hillel, If I am not for myself, who will be for me. If I am only for myself, what am I. If not now when? Still newer, based on these older promises, we promise that the Holocaust will never happen again.

These are my guiding principles. My core values. It is part of what drives me as a rabbi. Or more importantly as a human being. Hillel also said, “In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.” I take him to have included women too in that statement. I take that to mean I have an obligation to be a good person. To speak out, like Isaiah, when there are injustices. To find my voice.

My voice is rooted in my own story. That is true for all of us. People have asked me, why go to Guatemala when there is so much to do right here in Elgin. That is true. And there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t try to improve the world, right here in Elgin. Just yesterday I attended the Martin Luther King commission meeting. Well, actually, I begged off, still struggling to find the right words for Yom Kippur. Last week, joined by Risa and Simon, I went to the community policing meeting at Second Baptist. I am the chair of the 16^th Circuit Court Faith Committee on Domestic Violence. In truth, I have been working since college to prevent violence against women. That story, my story, is because like too many, I am part of that 1 in 4, a victim, a survivor of violence against women.

American Jewish World Service has helped me find that voice. AJWS has found that in order for their partners to provide the critical services that are needed in the 19 Global South countries that AJWS works in, they are more effective when violence against women and girls are reduced. This is familiar territory for me, having worked to reduce violence against women for decades.

I went to Washington to the AJWS policy summit. Early one morning, I crossed the street in front of our hotel, looked up and saw the Capitol Dome and I realized how fortunate I am. After coffee, I would be meeting with the IL legislative delegation. Senators Kirk and Durbin, Representatives Peter Roskam, Jan Schakowsky, Danny Davis, Mike Quigley and I would be doing exactly what Isaiah demands. I would be speaking truth, my truth, to power. I cried as I finished crossing that street, realizing how far I have come since that horrible night in 1981.

Last night we spoke about promises. We promised to not make the same mistakes that we made last year. We promised to uphold our vows. Kol Nidre. All vows.

The power of our speech is important. We can use our speech without thinking—spreading gossip, causing hurt, being unkind. Or we can use our speech for moral good. To improve the world around us.

I didn’t know much about Guatemala. Yes, I do have a son-in-law from Guatemala and yes, I proudly wear my Guatemala fair trade kippah. I didn’t know about Bitter Fruit, about the coupe in 1954 or the connection between the United Fruit Company, the CIA and the coupe. I had seen the movie Worse than War based on the book of the same name written by a Holocaust survivor and his son. More people have been killed by genocide than by war. One of those genocides happened in Guatemala. Since the Holocaust. Between 1981 and 1983 42,275 people were exterminated. Murdered. 83% of them Mayan. There have been more “disappearances” since then. I thought that the civil war had ended in 1996. However, the disappearances continue until today. At one NGO, CCDA, the coffee plantation, the leader was running for Congress. Despite that, there are 84 arrest warrants out for the leaders.

The statistics are horrifying. The stories are even worse. Chilling. I went to Guatemala to hear the stories. To bear witness. To provide hope. To say, Never Again. Anywhere. Anytime. To teach. To learn.

I discovered that they had as much to teach me about these topics as I had to teach them. In our prayer Ahava Rabbah written by the rabbis of the Talmud 2000 years ago we say “limod v’lilamed,” to teach and to learn but in Hebrew they are the same verbs.

I went to Guatemala because I support the mission of American Jewish World Service. “Inspired by the Jewish commitment to justice, American Jewish World Service (AJWS) works to realize human rights and end poverty in the developing world.” AJWS has been at the vanguard of doing precisely that. They were the lead sponsor of the work to Save Darfur. Ask me later about flunking Talmud to Save Darfur. It is a good story—if it were really true! They have worked extensively in Haiti and now Nepal after natural disasters. Currently their campaigns are around civil and political rights, land and natural resources rights, sexual health and rights and ending child marriage.

I discovered that the NGOs we visited are really skilled at organizing. For instance, one NGO has managed to make sex education mandated in all the schools of Guatemala, even the Catholic ones. I carefully brought home their Spanish language materials to the Crisis Center, who does precisely that here. Why should they have to re-invent the wheel if Guatemala is already being effective.

I discovered that civil disobedience can be effective. Like Shifra and Puah, the midwives in the Exodus story who saved the baby boys including Moses, Codecut, a training organization for midwives has been very successful in training Mayan midwives and even some men and gaining access to hospitals that previously were closed to them. They have saved countless lives with their dogged determinism. We are taught that if you save one life it is as though you have saved the world. Codecut has done precisely that. The star of the skit performed about ethnic discrimination, a man who is a pharmaceutical rep and an EMT training now to be a midwife is a symbol of hope. So is baby Winston who we all got to hold during the presentations. He will have a better life because of the work of Codecut.

I discovered that they greeted us warmly and fed us at every meeting, They have an audacious hospitality we should model. I am reminded of the Jewish value of hachnassat orchim, welcoming guests. We at CKI could continue to learn from them. At every meeting we played an icebreaker, a mixer, so that we would be a more united community, a more connected group. Sometimes these were silly, like Fruito Misto and sometimes more serious, like we did here at Selichot, weaving ourselves together with a ball of yarn, reminding ourselves that we are each connected to each other as we build community. And I was reminded that laughter is a universal language.

I discovered that they have a deep spirituality that in many ways feels very Jewish. When they perform the ancient maize dance I am reminded of our own corn fields here in the Prairie State. When they light candles before every meeting, I am reminded of Shabbat and Chanukah. When they talk about land rights, I close my eyes and hear the strands of Eretz Zavat Chalav, a land flowing with milk and honey or perhaps coffee, honey, macadamia nuts, sugar and bananas. In their struggle to maintain access to land they already own, there are echoes of Abraham buying a plot of land so that he could bury Sarah. Land we still struggle over. That coffee is a symbol of hope.

I discovered that organizations, non-profits everywhere, need capacity planning and training in order to grow and be effective. That while we need to feed hungry people today—and you have done that with the food you brought last night, we also need to understand why they are hungry and work to prevent that hunger. That is a model called upstream, downstream, and we studied the theory on a boat. Really!

But all the theories in the world are not going to solve the problems. Once we understand those upstream causes, we need to work for the systemic changes. Give a man a fish, he will eat for a day. Teach a man to fish and he will eat for a life time. As we learned at CCDA, give a woman a chicken as part of the patio systems group where they learn container gardening, and you can put a girl through middle school in the income from just that one chicken. It is microfinancing at its best. That chicken is a symbol of hope.

I discovered that the country has unsurpassed beauty. G-d will ask us “Have you seen My Alps” as one of the questions we will be asked in heaven. I have. When we got off that boat at Lake Atilan, we entered paradise. The flowers, the lake ringed by volcanoes. The fragrance of the flowers. The vivid colors. The butterflies and parrots. The tastes of mango and papaya, avocado, jaimaica. The lightening, thunder and shooting stars. Yet that unparalleled beauty is marred by the brokenness. We had a Shabbat morning labyrinth walk at the hotel. It was set in a rose garden. All the roses were labeled with their year and name. One of those roses was called William Shakespeare and was planted at the height of the disappearances. In 1982. At first I was angry. How could they possibly be planted right then? Weren’t there other things they should be doing—like preventing murder? I came to see that rose as a symbol of hope.

I discovered the power of walking (or running) with another. My first morning I went running with a women I met running Disney races. She lives in Guatemala City. She had much to say about the upcoming elections but it was too early in my trip and I didn’t understand much, although I noted the very heavy police presence in the city. According to what I can follow, she had been heavily involved in the protests before and after the recent election. She wants the corruption in Guatemala to end. She is a symbol of hope.

The last night we met with Claudia, a woman whose story begins at the height of the disappearences. Her first memory was of a bomb going off that shattered glass on her crib. She now journeys with people who are testifying about the genocide. She says what they do is simple….who we are and what we do is simple: we act as a support team for human rights defenders. She is working to end the current corruption in the government. Her story was riveting. Her faith and optimism amazing. She is a symbol of hope.

I discovered so much more and could tell stories all day…

But I am left with a question. What has happened to those children? Those 68000 children? Immigration proceedings are started. Because of an anti-trafficking law, children must have a court hearing. The Department of Health and Human Services gives each child a health screening and immunizations and assigns them to a shelter. Most children stay in those shelters an average of 35 days until they can be placed with family or a sponsor. According to the New York Times last October, 43,000 were able to be placed with family or sponsors already in the United States. There are 100 permanent shelters but with the unprecedented sudden influx 3000 beds were created on military bases in California, Oklahoma and Texas.

This is not a problem that only effects border states. Places like Tucson or Dallas or San Diego. Not our problem here in Elgin? Not so. Elgin is now 43% Hispanic according to available census data. And that number is difficult to quantify because of the fear of identifying. One of my Starbucks baristas is from Guatemala. One of the hotline workers at the Crisis Center is from Guatemala and was birthed by a Mayan midwife. The bananas some of you enjoy are mostly from Guatemala, check those Chiquita labels…and are processed in a factory on Route 20 that uses mostly day laborers. Paying less than minimum wage and providing no benefits. How many of us drive past it and never even see it? How many of us wonder what goes on there?

Now we have a new crisis on our hands. Or maybe it isn’t new. Last week we read about another mother, Hagar, who was kicked out of her home, forced to flee with her son, a little bread and a skin of water. She put her child under a bush and cried out, “Do not let me look on while the child dies.” And G-d answers the cry of the lad. Opens Hagar’s eyes and finds the water that was there all along.

Now a new group of refugees is gripping the headlines. 20,000 refugees arrived on the Austrian border just this past weekend. Germany has said if they are coming for economic reasons they will be sent back. The US is thinking of opening our borders to an additional 100,000 people. However, as Secretary of State Kerry pointed out, these refugees need to be vetted and we need to hire people to handle that vetting. That will cost money. This is a complicated, complex, nuanced problem as Deborah Lipstadt pointed out in her piece last week in the Forward. It doesn’t reduce to sound bites. And she, herself, the renowned Holocaust scholar, is not comfortable with her own four questions. So this will require study, much study, as well as humanitarian aide and compassion. Our tradition, the tradition outlined by our very readings this morning demands no less.

As we learned about moral courage on that balcony in Quetzeltango, we are at a behira point, a choice. We have a great social action/tikkun olam program here at CKI. We are involved in lots of things and we make the world a better place. We work with the Crisis Center, with PADs, with Food for Greater Elgin, with the Elgin Cooperative Ministries, with Habitat for Humanity and Heartland Blood Bank. The challenge is to kick it up a notch. To continue to partner. To learn why the need is so great. To do the hard work of advocacy, of systemic change, of justice so that we begin to see long term effects.

This is the moral courage of that Yom Kippur demands. This is the moral courage of Isaiah and Claudia, Santos Margarita and Ceci, Leocadio Juracan and Maria Louisa .

I promise I won’t be silent. I can’t be. That is my Kol Nidre promise.

It is tempting to use the line that a speechless Jon Stewart used so poignantly this year. “I’ve got nothing.” After the Charleston massacre, what else could you say? He continued, “All I have is sadness, at the depravity of what we do to one another and the gaping wound of the racism we pretend does not exist. I’m confident though that by acknowledging it, by staring into it, we still won’t do jack shit. That’s us. And that’s the part that blows my mind. What blows my mind is the disparity of response, between when we think someone foreign is going to kill us and when we kill ourselves. ”

I’ve got nothing, on what is supposed to be the most joyous days of the Jewish year and yet this year I have nothing. Yet, I too find I have got more to say. Tonight, our tradition says that life hangs in the balance. Tonight, we stood here, together as a community and chanted Kol Nidre. Our elders, our leaders, our men, women and children and the strangers amongst us, fellow travelers, friends. Tonight we stand here and recite our sins, all of our sins, together as a community. We make new promises…to not make the same mistakes that we made last year in the coming year.

Every year someone asks me if Yom Kippur is a sad holiday. Every year I answer that it is not. It is actually one of the most joyful holidays on the Jewish calendar. It is a night filled with hope, filled with possibilities, filled with potential—and therefore, filled with joy.

As Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson said, “The 10 days from Rosh Ha-Shana to Yom Kippur are days of transformation. Can we summon the strength to become the person we are at our best? These are days of possibility, days of magic! Time to dig deep.”

But what are we digging deep towards? Who do we want to become? What do we want to change? If we can figure that out, then that is the magic. That is the joy.

Tonight is about promises made and promises broken. Covenants made and covenants broken. The question becomes, how do we come back together as a community again?

G-d made a promise, a covenant, a contract. The first one was with Noah on behalf of the world—a promise that G-d will not destroy the world again by a flood. We say that the rainbow is a sign of that promise—when we see a rainbow we have a special blessing—zochair habrit, that G-d and we remember the covenant. And our promise to be partners to protect the earth, to not destroy the world. That all lives matter.

At Tashlich at Lords Park we saw a rainbow and remembered as we were cleaning the park. At the Botanic Garden yesterday I saw another one. And I remembered. This is a beautiful world. We have a responsibility to take care of it. And all lives matter.

God made another covenant, with Abraham That if Abraham believed in G-d, G-d would make him as numerous as the stars in the sky and the sands of the sea. Abraham was given two children, Ishmael and Isaac. Two children of two different mothers. Two children to he loved. But somehow his understanding went tragically wrong. He thought that maybe each child was to be sacrificed. He missed the point that there was enough love to go around for all people. That all lives matter. He didn’t seem to understand and so while both children survived their near miss with death, neither were quite whole again. Neither reconciled. Abraham did not seem to do teshuvah and so he died alone. But tonight there is hope. Jews are observing Yom Kippur. The pope is in Washington and Muslims are celebrating the Haj. Perhaps there can be peace as we remember: All lives matter

G-d tried again. God made yet another covenant. This time with the people of Israel. Shabbat is the sign of that covenant. If we promise to love G-d with all of our heart, all of our soul, all of our might, then the years of our lives will be lengthened. At the very end of Deuteronomy when Moses is speaking in G-d’s name for the last time and sharing their vision with the people of Israel, those standing, all of the men, women and children, the woodchoppers and the water drawers, the young and the old, and the strangers within our gates. God begs us, Choose life that you and your children may live. All lives matter, even all those generations yet to come.

This is the legacy of the Jewish people. It is how we become a light unto the nations, a holy nation, a holy community. This is the covenant that we have chosen. That life is sacred. That life has hope. To proclaim that all lives matter. That we need to continue to choose life.

This was a summer that was painful. Difficult. Yet there were glimmers of hope. There are still possibilities if we remember the vision.

This year, as of last month, 24 unarmed black men have been shot and killed by police according to the Washington Post. I can never fully understand what it would be like to be a black male during a traffic stop. I can tell you even when I get stopped, thankfully not very often, that there is an automatic adrenaline rush. But I can tell you also that I am proud to be in Elgin, where long before Ferguson and the death of Michael Brown or the death of Freddie Gray we, the clergy, the police chief and the mayor, began a conversation about race and policing that continues here in Elgin.

I went to Ferguson this past Jewish year. For 4 hours and 32 minutes—I know because I stood outside in the pouring rain for that same length of time, Michael Brown lay on the pavement. Some people see Ferguson in black and white tones. I see it in orange and red. Orange for my friend who will be saying Mass tomorrow with the pope who dresses in Buddhist orange for peace and red for the large red umbrella that the Unitarians loaned Father Jack, Rabbi Gordon and me as we stood in the rain singing, Wade in the Water. It seemed like our own mikveh. Signs of hope.

Yet, there is a difference here in Elgin. Our police chief and our mayor would not have allowed anyone to lie on the pavement like that. Can a mistake be made? You bet. Our police officers have split seconds to make life or death decisions and they cannot always get it right. BUT the difference lies in the police’s belief that all lives matter—and that they will not signal out one ethnic or minority group. As Chief Sawboda said at the last community policing meeting, “I don’t want one bad apple here.” And as Deputy Chief Bill Wolf explained, almost too modestly, there were only 7 complaints last year about the Elgin Police Force out of 80,000 calls. Think about that math. That is remarkable. All lives matter here in Elgin.

That is not enough however. Police lives matter too. I grieve with members of the Elgin Police force that trained with Police Lieutenant Joseph Gliniwicz in Fox Lake. While this case has not been solved and the details are still guarded, I grieve with the widow, the children and people of Fox Lake. 18 police officers nationally have been shot in killed in the line of duty this year. All lives matter.

I grieve for the 9 members of the church in Charleston, including their senior pastor, who died when a person who had sat with them for an hour, studying the Bible and praying with them opened fire and murdered them. My first call that morning was to Pastor Nat Edmond. Mine was the first call he received. Together we reviewed each of our security plans. The survivors’ stories of their ability to forgive the shooter touches my heart and gives me pause on this Yom Kippur. I am not sure I am ready to forgive. And giving me pause are the Confederate flags that have gone up in South Elgin after this tragic shooting. I am not sure that my neighbors understand that All lives matter.

I grieve for the families of all victims of gun violence, everywhere and especially on the streets of Chicago. The figures are staggering. This past weekend was the second worst weekend this year with 8 fatalities, plus one more from a stabbing and 45 people wounded. That brings the total to 2213 shooting victims and 365 homicide victims. And I wonder where is the outcry. How do we teach that life is sacred? That sll lives Matter?

I grieve for a family in Jerusalem whose daughter Shira Banki was stabbed at the Gay Pride Parade in August. Her assailant, a Jew, had been released from prison just weeks before for stabbing people at the Gay Pride Parade in 2005 after serving a 10 year sentence for that crime. How did he miss the Jewish concept that All lives matter.

I grieve for the family and neighbors of Ali Dawabsheh, an 18 month old toddler on the West Bank, in the town of Duma, whose home was firebombed allegedly by Israeli extremists. Both his parents also succumbed to their injuries. Do Israeli lives, Jewish lives matter more than Palestinian lives? No. All lives matter.

I grieve for little Aylan Kurdi, the three year old in the red shirt, blue shorts and velco sneakers. Washed ashore on a Turkish beach. 4 million Syrians displaced. 3 million Iraqis. These lives matter too.

I grieve too with a family whose son was in the hospital yesterday as either a drug overdose or an attempted suicide. Alcohol, heroin, marijuana and zanax is a potent, lethal combination. It is only because of the skill of the Naperville police force, the Edwards Hospital team and the family that this kid is alive today. While the family is grateful, the young man is not yet. While he may not think his life matters, I do.

And I grieve for the families who are grieving for their loved ones they lost this year. For Delores, Harry, Louis, Sharon, Michael, Joseph.

We just chanted the Kol Nidre. The prayer that asks that we are absolved from promises that we make that we did not keep. Promises made and promises broken. Promises renewed and promises discarded.

I think that G-d sits on the heavenly throne and weeps. Weeps for us and with us. Wonders why make covenants with us when we seem incapable of keeping up our end of the bargain.

So tonight, we will recite the Al Cheit, the litany of our sins. And I add…

• We broke our promise to partner with God, to be caretakers of this earth.
• We broke our promise to value life. To choose life. To hold life sacred
• We broke our promise to welcome the widow, the orphan, the stranger. The most marginalized among us.
• We broke a promise to our children when we let students fall through the cracks, when we can’t find ways to reach them and when we run up student loan debt and made college educations difficult to achieve financially.
• We broke a promise to our seniors when we leave them isolated and alone, unsure of whether they can survive on fixed incomes and whether their health insurance will cover their pressing needs.
• We broke a promise to those with mental health issues when we stigmatize mental illness.
• We broke our promise to Shira and to Ali. To Michael Brown and Freddie Gray. To Joseph Glieniwicz.
• We broke a promise to this community when we engage in gossip and innuendo. When we dis the Jewish community, this community and each other.
• We broke a promise to the key people in our lives—to our husbands, our wives, our sons our daughters, our brothers, our sisters when we failed to live up to the best in us. When we yelled or were impatient. When work was more important than time with family. When our smart phones took over our lives.

But tonight is a night of possibilities. Of potential. Of rising to our own highest selves. Of returning to being the persons we were meant to be. Of renewing our covenant.

Tonight we are commanded to make new the promises. For the sake of our children—all of our children: tonight this is what I am prepared to promise. This is my covenant for the coming year:

• I promise that I will continue to uphold the principle of bal tashchit, to not destroy. To not cut down fruit trees, to buy locally grown produce, to group my errands and carpool when I can, to reduce my dependence on fossil fuels, to pursue alternative energies like solar and wind power.
• I promise that I will continue to recognize that all people are created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d, whether they look like me or not. Whether they speak English or not. Whether they live in Elgin or Ferguson, Jerusalem or Guatemala. That I will treat people with respect and compassion, whether they are straight or gay, Jewish or Muslim, rich or poor, educated or illiterate.
• I promise that I will continue to welcome the widow, the orphan, the stranger because we were strangers in the land of Egypt. We as Jews know the pain of borders being closed. Or being persecuted. Marginalized.
• I promise to help those of you who want to become Jews who haven’t had a chance to meet your own goal. It is interesting that now one out of six Jews today in the world was not born Jewish. Judaism has much to offer the world.
• I promise to put down my phone and listen, really listen to what each of you is saying. And to try not to cut you off in my own enthusiasm and passion in a conversation.
• I promise to take my commitment to education seriously. I believe in life long learning. For our kids. All kids. For our adults. All adults. Look for announcements in October’s HaKol about new adult study possibilities. One is called Chai Mitzvah and it combines independent study, a monthly study session together as community, spiritual practice and tikkun olam. I am excited about this new program.
• I promise to take the range of Jewish observance seriously….that is part of our embracing diversity.
• I promise to take the partnership with lay leadership seriously. To take our vision and make it reality. To continue to grow this community.
• I promise that I will continue to repair the world, here in Elgin and around the world. If I am not for myself, who will be for me. If not now, when. It is not ours to finish the task, but neither are we free to ignore it.
• I promise that all lives matter.

May we continue to make promises that we can keep. Tonight and always. May we continue to choose life for us and our children. Always. May we be inscribed tonight in the book of life, tonight and always. Ken yehi ratzon.

Today’s guest, The Rev. Don Frye is the Episcopal priest in West Dundee. He and his partner have become good friends in a short period of time.

What does community mean to you? Why is it important? How have you felt connected? Where do you feel connected?

I have been a member of many communities in my lifetime.

My first community was of course my family. It is where I was loved, disciplined, taught lasting values and faith. It was not a perfect community but no community is perfect. But there was love. I still love my family, but my family has made my sexual orientation one that is hard for them to accept me and my partner because of their religious beliefs. So our community is strained and civil, but the love is not unconditional with them.

I have belonged to several religious communities within the Christian tradition. I learned my love for God through the stories of the Bible. I have been comforted, challenged and made to see myself in these stories of men and women of faith. Communities of faith like my family invested in me as much as I have participated in the life of these communities, but I had to walk away from most because of my sexual orientation. I found a community where I was fully accepted as a gay man. That community has confirmed my call to be an ordained leader among them and I serve a community where I teach that true religion, true community is based on loving God and others, especially doing to others as you would have want others to do to you.

So what is important about community for me is loving God and others. It is not always easy living in community. I have to stay connected to others so that I continue to grow, learn and live truth with my community and other communities.

I feel most connected in communities where I served homeless single men and women, welfare moms and their kids. I feel connected when I serve as a hospital chaplain serving patients and their families when they are dealing with their anxiety and fears in the midst of medical decisions. I feel connected when I celebrate with my faith community the joys and sorrows of life. I feel connected with my partner as we walk through life together. I feel connected to my friends of other faith traditions as we wrestle with what it means to be people of truth and love in a world where peace often eludes us due to fear, greed and mistrust.

I will always work to stay connected with various communities. I do not want to be defined by just one community because that would limit my personal growth and change in my life, as I seek to be an agent of change in my community and the world.
The Rev. Don Frye

In honor of the pope’s visit….written before he knew he was going….Our next guest blogger, Father Jack Lau, is a Catholic priest in Godfrey, IL. He is on his way to Washington DC to celebrate Mass with the Pope during the Pope’s historic visit to the United States chosen as one of the few. We have celebrated our holidays together, laughed together, cried together, worshipped together. For more than 25 years now. Once, when we were young, Jack would babysit Sarah for Kol Nidre. Now his ministry is preparing men to be priests. He lives in a novitiate and works 24×7. He is living community in a very profound, intentional, intense way. We were at the novitiate when the previous pope announced his retirement. We all have high hopes for this current pope as he continues to inspire tikkun olam, repair of the world, something Jack and I have worked together on for all of those 25+ years.

Community-“A sharing with all”, “Our Common Home”. Though we may not be aware of it, we are already ONE. We and all creation are one in our molecular make up, with carbon as our foundation coming from the great flaring forth some 13.8 billion years ago. We are One in the Holy One who calls us by name and calls us to till the earth and care for each other, and by the way, yes that means, we are our sister and brother’s keeper. (Gen 4:9)

This has been what the sages and saints have said; “The Lord of Love is hidden in the hearts of every creature, subtler than the subtlest, greater than the greatest. Through G-d’s grace one sheds all selfish desires and sorrow and become united with the Self. Shvetashvatara Upanishads 4:20).

Yet do we know this, sensing the divine in the core of our being, and if not, what are the blocks? Is it that we are too busy, is it our indifference, are we blind that our actions affect others in detrimental way. In a multi-national world have all become objects to use for my/our own aggrandizement rather than subjects to admire and be in relationship with? When we see all as One, we enter into an “integral ecology” where we enter into the heart of what it means to be human, and that means to be in a conscious and reflective relationship with all.

Papal Encyclical “Laudato Si”, 11 says: “If we approach nature and the environment without this openness to awe and wonder, if we no longer speak the language of fraternity and beauty in our relationship with the world, our attitude will be that of masters, consumers, ruthless exploiters, unable to set limits on their immediate needs.” Is this the legacy we want to pass on to our children’s children or is there another way? (L.S. 12) “Rather than a problem to be solved, the world is a joyful mystery to be contemplated with gladness and praise.”

Father Jack Lau, OMI