Today’s thought comes from Danise Habun, a dear friend and community activist. She understands the power of connections and community in building the beloved community. Here are her words: 

Connections are spiderwebs between people, places, ideas, activities, stages of life, love and loss. Connections are the bonds between us, sometimes strong, other times brittle and easily broken. Connections are the bonds that exist between humanity, our planet, our communities, our relationships with family and with our pets. 

I am fortunate to be connected to so many others in so many ways. Recently I rediscovered connections while working on a photo project with my niece in celebration of my sister’s 70th birthday. By looking through so many pictures, I had the luxury of being able to pause and reflect on different familial connections at different stages of my life. I was able to recall the warmth of my sister, and I snuggled on the laps of our mother and grandmother. The memory brought tears. I also examined pictures from my college years with my sister and future brother-in-law and I was able to pause and laugh at all of the things that we did in those years that remain hidden from others. But we know because of our connection. 

I am connected now to a community of cancer comrades who continue with chemotherapy and treatment. With this community, I am able to share my feelings and outrage at the indignity of this disease and our medical system. This is a connection that I wish I didn’t have. 

If I am connected to you, there is less likelihood that I will deliberately cause harm to you. If I am connected to a community, I will do my utmost to defend that community. If I am connected through love, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, protected and cared for to the best of my ability. If I am connected through a cause, I will advocate and speak out until someone listens and does something. 

     Danise Habun 

Last night my congregation participated in a program on Zoom called “Death over Dinner.” The premise is that sometimes death is a difficult topic, one that is to be avoided at all costs. I first participated in the this program at the Chicago Board of Rabbis in February of 2020. Yes, you read that right, February of 2020 before we knew what was coming. I sat there and said, “This will be my Selichot program.” And it was. On Zoom. What we were given that day was a series of cards. A Jewish teaching on one side and some questions of the back.  

Last night we started with this, written by Rabbi Sharon Brous, author of the Amen Effect which will be our November book group book and a One Book, One Read congregational book. She introduces Dinner over Death with this:

“Yom Kippur is the annual Jewish deep dive into our mortality, the one moment when we step out the death denying culture we live in and peer, with open yes and heart into the deep. Every year we talk about how the rituals of tis day create for us a deathscape—we don’t eat or drink, we wear white, we immerse in the memories of loved ones who have died. We repeat the words who will live and who will die, wrestling with the realization that the stark and bitter and awful reality is that some of us will be here next year and some will not. Yom Kippur is rooted in the assumption that we have more clarity around what matters most when we’re on the edge of life. So we go there, together, in order to ask ourselves the ourselves the questions of the palliative care doctors: what matters most o you, now? And what will you do about it.?” 

We didn’t get much beyond the first question on the back. “If you discovered you had 30 days left how would you spend them?” 

For some this was difficult. For some they will spend time with family and friends. (Connections!) For some they will have a big party to tell their friends just how much they mean to them. (More connections!) I think I liked this one best.  

One card said Create Space and added that the Torah is filled with genealogies, connecting people from generation to generation. With each name comes a new story. We talked about how we were named, who we were named for and the significance they have in our lives. It was fascinating. And it deepened our connections to each other hearing the stories. The connections between the generations were obvious too.  

We talked about music, and Psalm 23 which is heard at many Jewish funerals. In English, in Hebrew or both, chanted or not. What role do you want music to play in your own funeral. No one listed a Hebrew song. But there were many English ones…and again we deepened our relationships one to another. One thing that surprised me was two people said that want me to do their funerals. Why? Because I know them. They didn’t want someone to just standing up there reading poems, not knowing them. This is connection and community too. I am humbled.  

We ended our evening with Kaddish, for those who came before and for the hostages recently murdered. As hard as the conversations can be. As tragic as the recent executions were, it was a good and important and connected evening. I am grateful to the CKI community.  

Today is Rosh Hodesh Elul, the first of the New Month of Elul. It has been said that Elul is an acronym for “Ani L’dodi v’dodi li. I am my Beloved and my Beloved is Miine.” I wear that as a silver bracelet on my wrist. It was a gift of my husband many years ago, so it connects me to him. It connects me to my Bat Mitzvah which was observed many years ago since the phrase from Song of Songs was part of my portion. It connects me to Moses who began his journey up Mount Sinai for a second time on Rosh Hodesh Elul. He returned 40 days later on Yom Kippur.

For the next 40 days we will be looking at connections. Some of you have written powerful things which we will share, here on this blog.

Why connections? It arose out of a conversation with the Torah School Parents, Last year we spent the year studying community, using as our verse, “Do not separate yourself from the community.” It turns out that what we want from community is connection, Friendship. Deep relationship. We want to not feel isolated or alone.

Participating in this project at a time when people still feel isolated and alone, will help.

Participating in this project before Rosh Hashanah will provide insight and deepen our own preparation and connections, one to another.

That’s what I had written, But I need to add.

This weekend was painful. Physically and emotionally painful. Six of the Israeli hostages were found murdered, yes murdered, in a tunnel in Gaza. Many rabbis wrote the words we have all written so many times. There are no words. I tried to come up with some. Others may have had even more poignant ones, not that it was a competition.

What I have learned working on this topic this summer is that connections are about just showing up. Show up for your friends. Check in on them.

Participating in this project at this time of great angst in the world, agony in the Jewish community will help. Make a connection.

Eleh devarim, these are the words… 

What are the words? Which words? Whose words? To whom? 

This is the very beginning of the Book of Devarim, Deuteronomy. It is Moses’s swan song, his summary of all of the ethics, the history, the rules, the mitzvot that the Israelites are to live by when they inherit the land that Moses himself won’t enter. It is addressed to ALL the Israelites, to ALL of us. Not just to the leaders or the priests, ALL.  

My friend Joanne Fink did a lovely piece of art for this week’s parsha. Eleh Devarim.  

What words would you pass down to your next generation? We’ll have this very opportunity to talk about this a little later as we begin our preparations for Rosh Hashanah in earnest.  

Elu v’elu, Divrey Elohim Chaim. These and these are the words of the living God.
These are the words that are on the ark at the Academy for Jewish Religion which teaches that there are 70 faces of Torah. 70 correct ways to interpret each and every word of Torah  

This is not a new concept in Judaism, taking all the way back to the Talmud and other rabbinic literature: 

“One thing God has spoken; two things have I heard (Ps. 62:12) and its gloss in the Talmud, “One biblical verse may convey several teachings . . . In R. Ishmael’s School it was taught: And like a hammer that breaks the rock in pieces (Jer. 23:29), i.e., just as [the rock] is split into many splinters, so also may one biblical verse convey many teachings” (TB Sanhedrin 34a).” 

The earliest reference for the specific term Shivim Panim LaTorah is in an early medieval text, Midrash Bamidbar Rabba 13:15-16. The term was used both by the rationalist Rabbi Avraham Ibn Ezra (died 1167) in his introduction to his Torah commentary and, a century later by the mystic Rabbi Nachmanides (died 1270) in his Torah commentary on Genesis 8:4.  

That this concept was used both by rationalist and mystical Torah commentators indicates how fundamental it is to understanding the meaning of Divine revelation. In fact to where we are as a society today. The concept, though not the exact wording, also appears in a post Talmudic midrash, Otiot d’Rabbi Akiba, as “Torah nilm’dah b’shiv’im panim”- Torah is learned through 70 facets. 

So how do we know which interpretation is right?  

Let’s remember, the Puritans came to this land to escape religious persecution in Europe, to worship G-d in the manner they felt was right. To interpret scripture on their own and not have someone tell them what the implications are. 

 The early rabbinic writings are full of these examples: 

 From Berakhot 58a teaches: 

The Rabbis have taught : Who sees crowds of Israelites should say “Blessed… Who art wise in secrets,” because their minds differ and their faces differ. 

The midrash expands on that:   

Bemidbar Rabbah 21:2 

The law is: If one sees many thousands of people, one should say: Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, Wise One who knows secrets, just as their faces are different from one another’s, so too their understandings are different, for each one has a different understanding…and so too Moses requested from God, when he died. He said: Master of the Universe! Every person’s thoughts are known and revealed before you, and none of your children’s thoughts are similar to another’s. When I die, please appoint a leader who can sustain them all according to their own understanding…. 

The Talmud teaches us how to have these discussions, debates, arguments:

Eruvin 13b:10-11 

For three years, the House of Hillel and the House of Shammai argued. One said, ‘The halakha is like us,’ and the other said, ‘The halakha is like us.’ A heavenly voice (a bat kol) spoke: “These and these are the words of the living God, and the halakha is like the House of Hillel.” A question was raised: Since the heavenly voice declared: “Both these and those are the words of the Living God,” why was the halacha established to follow the opinion of Hillel? It is because the students of Hillel were kind and gracious. They taught their own ideas as well as the ideas from the students of Shammai. Not only for this reason, but they went so far as to teach Shammai’s opinions first. 

Rabbi Joseph Telushkin, The Book of Jewish Values: A Day-By-Day Guide to Jewish Living, New York: Random House, 2000, pp. 186-7:  

Note the copyright. 2000.  These are not new problems. The answers are timeless.

 “Significantly, the heavenly voice ruled in favor of Hillel and his disciples, even in areas of ritual dispute, for moral reasons: he and his followers were “kindly and humble.”  

 The wording of the passage suggests that Shammai’s followers had grown somewhat arrogant. Certain that they possessed the truth, they no longer bothered to listen to, or discuss the arguments of, their opponents. Their overbearing self-confidence led them to become morally less impressive (the language of the Talmud suggests by implication that they were not “kindly and humble”) and probably led them to become intellectually less insightful (after all, how insightful can you be if you are studying only one side of the issue?) 

Because the School of Hillel studied their opponent’s arguments, when they issued a ruling, they were fully cognizant of all the arguments to be offered against their own position. Thus, their humility not only led to their being more pleasant people, but also likely caused them to have greater intellectual depth.  

We can all learn a lesson from the behavior of Hillel and his followers: Don’t read only books and publications that agree with and reinforce your point of view. If you do so, and many people do, you will never learn what those who disagree with you believe (at best, you will hear a caricature of their position, presented by people who, like you, disagree with it). It would be a good thing in Jewish life if Jews in the different denominations, or in different political camps, started reading newspapers and magazines of the groups with which they disagree, on a regular basis.  

If you seldom hear, read, or listen to views that oppose your own, and if almost everyone you talk to sees the world just as your do, your thinking will grow flabby and intolerant. That is often the case with ideologues on the right and left, both in religion and in politics. 

As this text teaches us, humble people are not only more pleasant human beings, but in the final analysis, they may well be the only ones who will have something eternally important to teach.” 

There is a story  often repeated that illustrates this and sometimes it even happens right here: You’ve probably heard one version or another!
A new rabbi became embroiled in a controversy. Every week, when the time came to chant the Shema, half the congregation would stand, the other half would sit. (In our congregation it is more likely to be over various Kaddish prayers.) Those who stood screamed at those who sat, “That’s not our tradition!” And those who sat screamed at those who stood, “That’s not our tradition!” This went on week after week. It was driving everyone crazy. Finally, the new rabbi had a great idea. She (Note, in this version it is a woman rabbi!) brought representatives from each group to visit the shul’s last remaining founding member. They gathered around his bed in the nursing home. First, those who stood for the Shema asked the old man: “Wasn’t it always the tradition in our synagogue to stand for the Shema?” “No,” the old man whispered. “That was definitely not the tradition.” The other delegation jumped up in triumph. “So, we’re right!” they said. “It’s always been our tradition to sit for the Shema!” The old man shook his head: “No,” he whispered. “That wasn’t the tradition either.” The annoyed rabbi screamed: “I can’t take this anymore! Do you know what goes on in shul every week — the people who are standing yell at the people who are sitting, the people who are sitting yell at the people who are standing—” Suddenly, the old man interrupted, almost jumping out of his bed. “Aha!” he said. “That was the tradition!” 

You may have heard, even this morning, that there is an election coming. Our mothers had it right. “Think before you speak. If you don’t have anything good to say, don’t say anything at all.” 

Another version of that, attributed to many authors from Socretes, to Bernard Meltzer to the Buddhists and available as cute memes and posters to hang in classrooms. Probably because it rings too true: Before you speak, think about whether 

• Is it true 

• Is it kind 

• Is it necessary 

If it is, then and only then should the words be uttered. Disagreeing is fine. Arguing is fine. However, be kind and generous in your speech.  

I want to leave you with this poem, as we continue to approach Tisha B’av. What a gift the Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai has given us: 

The Place Where We Are Right 

From the place where we are right
Flowers will never grow
In the spring.
The place where we are right
Is hard and trampled
Like a yard.
But doubts and loves
Dig up the world
Like a mole, a plow.
And a whisper will be heard in the place
Where the ruined
House once stood. 

When I lived in Israel and studied in an Orthodox yeshiva, yes an Orthodox yeshiva sponsored by NCSY, I learned that G-d lives in Israel too. You can find G-d in Jerusalem, at home with His bedroom slippers and His newspaper. It was a relaxed view of an approachable G-d. I liked the metaphor. We are closer to G-d in Jerusalem. Gg-d is family. 

At the Kotel, the Western Wall, there is an idea that the Shechinah, the Divine Presence of G-d hovers over the Kotel. The Divine Presence has never left Jerusalem. G-d is still at home in Jersualem. Closer, approachable. Even though we have other teachings that “G-d’s glory fills the whole world”. Even though we are also taught that the Shechinah, that Divine Presence accompanies Israel into exile, (Megilah 20) and returns with them. And it has never left the Western Wall (Rambam Beit HaBechira 6:16) . 

A symbol of that Divine Presence are the mourning doves that hover over the Kotel crying. 

This week I saw a lot of mourning doves. Right here in Elgin. Were they are a sign? Maybe. 

This coming week we will mark Rosh Hodesh Menachem Av. Nine days later we will observe Tisha B’av, a day which marks the destruction of both Holy Temples in Jerusalem. The formal name of the month is Rosh Hodesh Menachem Av. Menachem, meaning comfort. How do we find comfort on Tisha B’av? How do we find comfort today? Can we? 

This week’s portion fascinates me. It didn’t seem to fascinate the Torah Study group as much. That’s OK. On the cusp of entering the Land of Israel, two tribes didn’t want to cross over the Jordan and live in the historical boundaries of Israel. They wanted to live on the other side. Where there was plentiful grass for their cattle. Where their families would be safe. It seemed idyllic to me. And unlike my husband with a degree in dairy farming, I am not such a big cow fan. Maybe it was from that first trip to Israel when I worked in the dairy farm on Kibbutz Revivim. I much preferred picked pears. 

These tribes, the Gadites and the Reubanits negotiate with Moses and together they come to the decision that they will be the shock troops and go in the lead to capture the Land of Israel and then return to land they wanted to settle, with their cattle, wives and children.  

I didn’t remember the part about the shock troops. I don’t know that I would be willing to do that. I do remember the beginning of the war in Iraq. It began with “Shock and Awe”  Shock and awe is a developed military strategy based on the use of overwhelming military power and spectacular displays of force designed to paralyze the enemy’s perception of the battlefield and destroy their will to fight. Who else was up watching what seemed like an amazing fireworks display on March 19, 1996? Yet, we knew that real people were dying on the other end of those fireworks. War is messy. Real people die and I have never been comfortable with phrase “collateral damage.” Shock and awe  wasn’t completely popular even within the Bush administration:  “Before its implementation, there was dissent within the Bush administration as to whether the shock and awe plan would work. According to a CBS News report, “One senior official called it a bunch of bull, but confirmed it is the concept on which the war plan is based.” CBS Correspondent David Martin noted that during Operation Anaconda in Afghanistan in the prior year, the U.S. forces were “badly surprised by the willingness of al Qaeda to fight to the death. If the Iraqis fight, the U.S. would have to throw in reinforcements and win the old fashioned way by crushing the Republican Guards, and that would mean more casualties on both sides.”[ 

We seem to be at another such moment. As the news continue to heat up in the Middle East, and the United States deploys as they say, “more assets” to the region, it seems that an escalating war is inevitable. I don’t want that. I don’t think anyone really does. I know that my friends that live in Israel are alarmed. Afraid. But in typical resilient Israeli spirit they debate things like whether they should drink whiskey or go to the disco or make plans for coffee on Tuesday.  

What I want is peace. What I want is like what the Rubenites and the Gadites wanted. To live in peace wherever they choose. Everyone. Those in Jerusalem, those in Beirut, those in Gaza and those in Tehran. Those in in the Ukraine. Those in Russia. Those in Darfur. The list could go on and on. 

And importantly, even those of us who have chosen to live here. In the United States, removed from the land of Israel, still, by choice in the Diaspora, Galut. 

What I want is the vision of Micah, where everyone can live under their vine and fig tree and none shall make them afraid. That vision was one that was especially meaningful to our first President, the father of our nation, George Washington. He used the phrase over 50 times in his writings, notably in his letter to the Hebrew Congregation of Newport, Rhode Island. 50 times. https://www.mountvernon.org/library/digitalhistory/digital-encyclopedia/article/vine-and-fig-tree   

He, like the Gaddites and the Ruebanites, were peasant farmers. His hope was that these new farmers would be independent and freed from military oppression.   

This vision was one that was shared in the iconic song Bashanah, First written in 1970 by Nurit Hirsch and Whud Manor, it is filled with that unique Israeli hope. One year we will sit on that porch. 

In the first year of the pandemic, the Maccabeat released this version. It was touching then and touching again this morning, “Soon the day will arrive when we will sing together and the distance will just disappear…wait and see what a world it will be.” And those children. Oh those children. They are our hope. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5WsWouCsbaQ&t=4s 

 Next year we will sit on the porch
and count migrating birds.
Children on vacation will play catch
between the house and the fields.

You will yet see, you will yet see,
how good it will be next year. 

I don’t know what the new week will hold. I am not a military strategist. I worry about friends and relatives I have in Israel. I worry about the remaining hostages held now for 302 days. I worry about Gareth’s nephew, a professor in Beirut.  

I find comfort as we approach Menachem Av in the children. I find comforat in all of you, choosing to live authentically Jewish lives. Here. I find comfort in friends who are not Jewish who reach out to see how all of us are and what they can do to help. I find comfort in knowing that we can continue to do acts of lovingkindness to make the world a better place just as Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai told Rabbi Yehoshua when they saw the Holy Temple destroyed.  “Do not be afraid, we still have another way:   It is acts of lovingkindness, as it says: ‘For I desire lovingkindness and not sacrifices’ (Hosea 6:6)” (Avot de Rabbi Nathan, chapter. 4) 

We who continue to live in the Diaspora, by choice, are like the Gadites and the Rubenites. It is now that we need to continue to step up and support our brothers and sisters in the land of Israel, in the State of Israel, who may be on the front lines of whatever is coming next. Reach out to your friends. They are scared. Send money, places like JUF, JNF, Hadassah, New Israel Fund, Parents Circle, which ever organization makes sense to you, whichever one is most authentic to you. Stay informed, with a variety of news media. Jerusalem Post, Times of Israel, Ha’eretz, briefings from JUF. Write or call or even better both your elected officials.  Participate in our programming for Tisha B’av. Find one act of lovingkindness that you can commit to and do it. Stay engaged. Connected. 

Notice the mourning doves. Count those migrating birds. Here. Perhaps they come to remind us of Psalm 30 which we said earlier this morning.  “We may weep at nightfall but joy comes with the dawn… You turned my mourning into dancing, my sackcloth into joy.” 

 Together, we will get through this. Together. That’s what brings me comfort.  

This portion seems to come as an interlude. It seems a little crazy. A talking donkey. A king that hires someone to curse the Jews and only blessings comes out of his mouth. A one of the most famous pieces of Jewish liturgy. 

“Ma Tovu Ohelecha Ya’akov. Mishkenotecha Yisral.” How lovely are your tents, O Jacob, your sanctuaries O Israel.”  

This is a blessing, not a curse, by the non-Jewish prophet. It opens every morning service when we enter the sanctuary.  

How good are your tents, your sanctuaries. How lovely are your dwelling places because most of us did not sleep in tents last night. How great are your sacred spaces. Not just the mishkan that the Israelites carried with them in the desert or the Holy Temple in Jerusalem or even this sanctuary. All of our sacred spaces. 

Friday night we talked about what makes sacred space lovely. 

We thought about what is lovely about our space is the connection between people, the community. I had anticipated answers like the stain glass window and in truth, they are lovely. 

In the prayer in our siddur, it goes on after quoting Balaam, to state that it is G-d’s great love that inspires us to enter G-d’s house, to worship in G-d’s holy sanctuary. We pray that this may be an auspicious time.  

And while our sanctuary is G-d’s house, the whole earth is filled with G-d’s glory. G-d dwells everywhere. We are taught that after the destruction of the Holy Temple, our homes became a mikdash ma’at, a small sanctuary, When we light candles, make kiddush and say motzi on Friday night, we are re-enacting the sacrifices in the Holy Temple. We are making our homes sacred spaces. 

Lovely according to the Oxford online dictionary is exquisitely beautiful. And it gives us the Hebrew of yafah, beautiful. However, its origin is from the Old English and love.  

Something truly lovely happened on Friday night. We were joined on Zoom by some friends in New York. Two of our members were at their high school reunion. They were Zooming in from the hospitality suite with some of their friends. One of the friends brought her own candles to light.  

Here’s the story that goes with it. Her rabbi, who had made aliyah, had told them in an email about lighting candles for Hersh Goldberg-Polin, one of the remaining hostages in Gaza.  But we should do it in a slightly different way. Hersh’s parents had declared that this week should be a week of goodness. They themselves dedicated a Sefer Torah just this week in Jerusalem. https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/weekofgoodness  

So, it not quite being Shabbat yet, we set up our candles. We let those in New York light first. Their tapers were light blue, that might have been the new way of lighting for them. Then we lit ours. And our member Shira chanted her beautiful rendition of Achila, the prayer for the hostages.  

It was lovely, And poignant. And moving. And I had goosebumps. 

It is lovely when we come together as a community, as connected individuals, to celebrate. We had a baby naming and an aufruf this week. It is lovely when we come together and connect as we proclaim the names of those we are concerned about, those who need healing of mind, body or spirit. It is lovely when we sadly come together when we must mourn.  

The other message of this parsha is that our words matter. Balaam’s words. G-d’s words. Our words. Our words matter. Use them wisely and for good.  

At the end of Shabbat morning services, I asked people to look around. Ma Tovu is a blessing. The reason our dwelling places are lovely is the people. The people, connected. That is the blessing. Whether you are In Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, New York, Chicagoland, or Denver. The blessing is the people and caring for one another. 

I still have goosebumps.  

First a note on the current American political situation:

Violence is not OK. I have worked for better handling of guns since before the Million Mom March to Washington when Sarah was still in elementary school. As I said on Facebook last night. Pray. Work for peace. I will add, be careful of drawing too many conclusions too quickly. Do not buy into conspiracy theories on the left of the right. Be careful of your own rhetoric. Give law enforcement, the local, state, federal, Secret Service and the FBI time to do their jobs. Don’t watch the news 24×7. Turn off the TV. Take breaks and stay informed. Violence is not the answer.

Now back to sabbatical mode:
I had some pretty ambitious goals for a sabbatical. 18 days (or really 14). But really the idea is to unwind (national and Israeli news do not help with that!). By the third day in Charlevoix that was beginning to happen.

Here is the list:

• Finishing writing the book, Trip Notes–not done but working on it On page 50.

• Writing a piece for AJR on the Yamim Nora’im and October 7, one submitted and a second one almost done, due next week. You will have to wait and see if AJR takes them.

• Finishing my class on “G-d is Here”, have not really begun 

• Painting something for Fox Valley Hands of Hope, maybe and a collage of photos. Due tomorrow. I wound up spending two days painting in Charlevoix at a plein air event. I did three paintings as a series, Morning Mist, Midday Sparkle and Glitter Path Sunset. We also painted at Pinot’s Palette. Why is this a spiritual endeavor? It slows my down and forces me to look at light and color. I find it frustrating, because I can’t quite get the colors the way I see them. And I keep trying. I am good for about an hour and half before I lose all patience. And patience is a spiritual discipline so I will keep trying. 

• Restorative activities: 
  • Sleeping, some for sure , but my body just seems to wake up at 6:00 AM
  • Reading 
    • A novel,  Cherry Pies and Deadly Lies, done
    • Morning Noon and Night by Rabbi Evan Schultz, this book led to the title of the sunset painting.
    • Joan Nathan’s new cookbook, My life in recipes. This may be my favorite.
    • Judaism is about Love, LONG, not done
    • Heaven and Earth Grocery Store
    • The Outsidesr. After seeing the play I felt I needed to read the original book.
    • (A Movie) The Bucket List–might be a good selichot movie.
  • Finding Sunsets and Sunrises 
    • Lots of sunsets. Always inspiring
    • One sunrise
  • Hiking 
    • Daily miles.
  • Learning to dance 
    • That will have to wait
  •  Other:
    • Outdoor concert–this was wonderful
    • Celebrating 39 years of engagement with Simon, Tabor Hill, Burnt Toast our own list of magical moments.
    • Working on my own self care: skin, nails, calling dentist, eye doctor and mamogram. (Getting there)

Shavua tov! Hodesh Tov!
Yesterday I baked challah for Shabbat. That has become a very important part of my spirituality. I read Braided: A Journey of a Thousand Challahs  sometime last year and it really resonated with me. It is a no fail simple recipe. Carving out the time to do it every week is still tough. It makes two loaves and really Simon and I only need one. So I try to deliver one loaf to a person who had a hard week that the loaf might cheer. This week’s loaf went to someone who was recently released from the hospital.

Part of making challah is kneading the dough. During that time you are taught to think about someone who needs care. For me that is meditative. Just 5 minutes. I can do that. Just 5 minutes. Or maybe 10. This week I thought about other rabbis who I know bake challah every week, a woman in the south of Israel I used to teach with, my neighbors, the Assyrian Christians, the Muslims and the Indians who have been so welcoming.

This led my to think more about my own spirituality. (Hey, that’s part of what I am supposed to be doing on sabbatical, right?) Everybody seems to have an idea of what spirituality is, what rest is and what sabbatical is.

Here are my thoughts for ME. For others it could be radically different.

I am not a sit around all day and meditate. That might work for you. That’s great.

I am not especially physically tired. I wake up every morning around dawn, enthusiastic and ready to greet the day. I wind up singing “Modah Ani, I thank You”…or an old Girl Scout grace, “G-d has created a new day, silver and green and gold. Live that the sunset may find me, worthy G-d’s gifts to hold.” For me, that’s spirituality.

For me food is spiritual. I am enjoying reading My Life in Recipes, Food Family and Memories by Joan Nathan. I’ve cooked a lot more recently since Simon came home for the hospital. The meals have been mostly healthy and often beautifully presented. For me, that’s spirituality.

For me, entertaining is spiritual. Opening our doors like Abraham and Sarah’s tent were open on all four sides, serving interesting and pretty food, making people feel welcome and engaging in meaningful conversations, those are moments I enjoy. I miss being able to have long, relaxed Shabbat dinners with friends. For me, that’s spirituality.

For me, walking is spiritual. At WW, they often talk about an awe walk. You may find me outside with my cell phone camera taking pictures of something that is beautifull or awe-inspiring. It might be the prairie clouds, a special flower, the changing light in the late afternoon. Something that makes me pause and say, “Wow,” It might be in my neighborhood, or at the Morton Arboretum, Jelke Creek or Hansen Woods. It might be a mountain top, an ocean or a lake. It might be early in the morning, late afternoon or watching the stars and the moon. (And let’s hear it for the Northern Lights that I was able to see earlier this year. Wow! Just wow!) There is something about being out in nature that gives me an opportunity to meditate, to see that there is something beyond myself, even to pray. One of my favorite verses from our liturgy is “V’tahar libeinu ‘avdecha be’emet. Cleanse our heaths so we may serve You in truth.”  For me, that’s spirituality.

For me, running or walking a labyrinth or sitting on the rocks on the coast of Maine or some parts of Lake Michigan are spiritual. Nothing else make me quite know that I am alive. Nothing else quite allows me to make important life decisions.

For me, reading and writing are spiritual. Not every book but many. Not everything I jot down but often. Music, photography and painting can also do that. Sometimes writing can help clarify. And sometimes the words just seem to come out of nowhere. There is a form called “automatic writing,” that has its roots in Eastern spirituality (At some point it was called “Fuji”) that might explain the poem I created yesterday or even my decision to become a rabbi after an intense mikveh experience. For me, that’s spiritual.

For me, mikveh is spiritual. There are three mitzvot, commandments that especially “given” to women. (How appropriate to write about this on Rosh Hodesh, the new month, a half holiday given to women). Challah, Candles for Shabbat and Mikveh. They have often felt like the booby prize (pun intended) when there are 613 commandments. Men are obligated to all of the positive time-bound mitzvot. Women, only to those three. I want to scream. It’s not fair. It’s wrong. But these three, challah, candles and mikveh really resonate. I could go on and on about mikveh. Traditionally, men and women both immersed but after the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE it was required for only 3 reasons: bride, women after their menstrual cycels and people becoming Jewish. Today mikveh can used for many reasons. Having done so myself, having writing creative mikveh ceremonies for myself and others, having seen the range of reasons that people choose to immerse, I can tell you how meaningful it is. There is a sense of being reborn, of being embraced, of being held. For me, that’s spiritual.

For me, engaging in tikkun olam and gemilut chasadim are spiritual. Judaism places a high value on improving the world or making the world a better place. Part of my initial attaction to my husband was he shared our commitment, our passion to social justice and tikkun olam. There are so many aspects of our world that need repair that it almost doesn’t matter what part we pick to work on. Just do it, the old Nike commercial says. Or as I once said in a sermon years ago, “Do the right thing.” One of the benefits or engaging in tikkun olam is building relationships between people. In making connections. For me, that’s spiritual

For me, then, spirituality is::

• Challah
• Candles
• Mikvah
• Food
• Hospitality
• Nature
• Reading, Writing, Music Photography, Painting
• Tikkun Olam

Peretz, a member of blessed memory, used to say that we have one job here, to praise G-d. He would cite the last line of the book of Psalms, “Let every breath of life praise G-d. Hallleluyah!. (Psalm 150), It is life giving. The trick is how to incorporate more of this into my daily life and into the lives of the people I lead. For me, that too is spiritual.

I am sitting here on my sabbatical thinking about this great nation we live in. And truly it is great. The average American only gets to 8 states. I have hiked in 37 with Simon (a few more without him) and have visited 10 other countries and lived in 2 of those.countries.

I am sitting here in an old T-shirt that I bought when my daughter’s Girl Scout Troop was marching in the Memorial Day parade. Keep America Beautiful,Plant a tree, Be Kind to Nature. Conserve energy. Volunteer. It must have been when the kids were in 5th grade.

Fourth of July has always been an important holiday for me. No one ever asked if I would be home for Rosh Hashanah. The big holiday was July 4th. Partly because my mother’s birthday was the 6th. And my father’s was the 7th. She would have been 100 on Saturday. It was one giant party. It started with hanging the flag on the front porch. Decorating bikes. John Phillips Sousa blaring. A parade with the bikes and lots of politicians that went right by our friend, the judge’s house. Everyone stopped to shake John’s hand! Lots of candy thrown for the kids. A very set menu…deviled eggs, blueberry raspberry lemon loaf, ham balls (I make mine with turkey) and lots of guacamole. Later there would be a dip in the community pool that I used to lifeguard. A kickass croquet game an then a drip downtown to the Public Museum for the fireworks. (My mom as a board member and a docent had her own parking place.) And then a trip for Mexican food a a midnight run to Meijers. Don’t ask, but it was a tradition. It all was.

Small town America. Or the Boston Pops on the Esplanade. The 1812 Overture coordinated to church betts and fireworks. Then the rousing encore of the Stars and Stripes Forever. Could not be beat. Simon and I almost got engaged that night.

What is it we cherish about America? That is really the important question. Especially this year. Recently a member of the congregation when I was talking about Biblical translations and Louisiana (We can now add Oklahoma to that list) said we live in a Christian nation, what can we expect. I expect more.

I believe the words that George Washington wrote to the “Hebrew” congregation of Newport, RI. I think I quote it every year but it bears repeating every year. “For happily the Government of the United States, which gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance…”

The full letter is masterful:

https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Washington/05-06-02-0135

I believe that Judaism, in the story of the Exodus from Egypt has a lot to teach about freedom. Recently a colleague of mine pointed out something I hadn’t seen before. That the children of Israel started kvetching, complaining, even before they got to the Sea of Reeds. It is a sign of being free that you can kvetch. Slaves can’t kvetch.

Perhaps one of the readings I like best is from the haggadah that my husband complied from a number of sources.

“Tonight, we participate as members of multiple communities. As Jews, the Exodus is our heritage, and equality, justice and peace are our dreams… 

Freedom from bondage and freedom from oppresion
Freedom from hunger and freedom from want
Freedom from hatred and freedom from fear
Freedom to think and freedom to speak
Freedom to teach and freedom to learn
Freedom to love and freedom to share
Freedom to hope and freedom to rejoice.” 

The language for me soars. It is aspirational and it offers hope. Our nation is not perfect. Far from it. We have a responsibility, as did the Children of Israel once they crossed the Sea of Reeds, to make it the best possible place it can be. That is the value and the purpose of Tikkun Olam, Repairing the World.

We talk about the freedoms guaranteed in the Bill of Rights. freedom of religion, freedom of speech, freedom of the press, and freedom of assembly, freedom to bear arms.

This year I would add the freedom to vote. This year I would like freedom to include freedom from medical bills and student loans. Not just for the Kleins. This year I would add the freedom to read what I want and when. This year I would add the freedom to gather, at a parade, at a concert, at a school, at a synagogue. We need to work for these freedoms and these rights.

Last night we attended a lovely concert of the Elgin Symphony Orchestra, outdoors in a park in a neighboring town. The Armed Forces Medley made me tear up. These are what these older gentleman (they all seemed to be men) who rose to thunderous applause had been fighting for. At some point I looked around. There didn’t seem to be any visible security. How refreshing and how scary that I would even think about it.

The concert was wonderful, the balm I needed for my soul. Outdoor air, setting sun, great music and a picnic dinner. Like being at Tanglewoord or the Esplanade or Ravinia and NO TRAFFIC!

How will I spend the 4th? Running a race. Eating some of that yummy 4th food. Watching 1776 and Hamilton (Did you know that Hamilton may have been Jewish?) And maybe writing letters to elected officials or helping to register new voters.

At the end of George Washington’s letter he ends with a prayer: “May the Children of the Stock of Abraham, who dwell in this land, continue to merit and enjoy the good will of the other Inhabitants; while every one shall sit in safety under his own vine and figtree, and there shall be none to make him afraid. May the father of all mercies scatter light and not darkness in our paths, and make us all in our several vocations useful here, and in his own due time and way everlastingly happy.”. May it continue to be so. Happy 4th. Celebrate. And roll up your sleeves and make this a great nation. The one that Washington and Hamilton and our ancestors who arrived on these shores as immigrants dreamed of.

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