There is a lot that could be said about this week’s portion. We could talk about Korach’s rebellion. We could talk about leadership and how leaders handle differences of opinion. We could talk about whether this portion is a model for pluralism—the same pluralism we embrace here and which both the Israel Religious Action Center of the Reform Movement and Rav Kook seem to point towards. We could talk about whether the punishment was just. We could talk about how for the last three weeks we have been told in each Torah portion why speaking ill is bad—Miriam, the spies and now Korach. But we are not going to.

I want to talk about just this one verse.

“And he stood between the dead and the living. And the plague was stayed.” Numbers 17:13

Look at it closely. What does it mean? Who is the he? Put it in a context? Now what it is it talking about?

Rashi helps us understand:

He stood between the dead…: He took hold of the angel and held him against his will. The angel said to him, “Allow me to accomplish my mission.” He [Aaron] said to him, “Moses commanded me to stop you.” He said to him, “I am the messenger of the Omnipresent, and you are the messenger of Moses.” He said to him, “Moses does not say anything on his own volition, but only at the bidding of the Almighty. If you do not believe [me], the Holy One, blessed is He, and Moses are at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting; come with me and ask.” This is the meaning of the statement, “Aaron returned to Moses” (Mid. Tanchuma Tetzaveh 15). Another interpretation: Why with incense? Because the Israelites were slandering and vilifying the incense, saying that it was a deadly poison; through it Nadab and Abihu died; through it two hundred and fifty people were burnt. The Holy One, blessed is He, said, “You shall see that it will stop the plague, and it is sin that caused their death.” – [Mid. Aggadah. See Mechilta Beshallach (Vayassa 6:5, Ber. 33a]

What does it mean to stand between the dead and the living?

Aaron, a high priest who is not supposed to come in contact with the dead, does it anyway. Why? As someone pointed out because sometimes there is an obligation that supersedes the rules. This is one of those times. He stands up and the plague stops. He stands up and is counted.

Who does that today? Doctors, nurses, those compassionate care teams that I have been witnessing and praising. Rabbis, sometimes, and when we do it is a privilege. We witness something important. We stand between life and death.

What if there are not people who are willing to stand between the living and the dead?

In this country, we take access to medical care for granted. And in truth we are lucky.

American Jewish World Service’s weekly D’var Tzedek talks about this verse and points out that in Africa there is a severe shortage of doctors. Citing the World Health Organization, they said, “The World Health Organization estimated in 2006 that one in four African-trained doctors leaves the continent for work in wealthier regions, with the workforce shortage believed to only have worsened since then.5 In Sierra Leone, a country of over 5 million people, there are only 75 state medical doctors and 25 medical specialists; and in Liberia, population 3.5 million, there are a total of 122 doctors. In Malawi, there are two doctors and 56 nurses for every 100,000 people; in Mozambique the ratio is three doctors and 20 nurses per 100,000.6 By contrast, in those wealthier countries comprising the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), there are, on average, about 310 doctors for every 100,000 people.”

Those are scary numbers. In truth, independent of these statistics, health care, or the lack of it, was part of why I decided going to Kenya this summer was not right for me. I’ll discuss more of that later.

I think, however, what this verse is pointing towards something even more important. How we handle liminal time.

What is liminal time?

• It is that time in between.
• It is a time of transition:
• Between spring and summer, like today
• Between daytime and night time—as we watched last night, or as we watch waiting for Shabbat to end.
• Between jobs, between houses, between school
• Between public space and private space
• Between applying for college and being accepted.
• Or as this very verse suggests, between life and death

I, for one, love to sit on a certain section of Lake Michigan beach and watch the sunset, preferably with a glass of wine and some smoked whitefish. In our electric light world, we rarely take the time to notice the subtle gradations of light. There is something about sitting at the beach that makes it possible. Maybe the expanse of sky and water. Maybe the intentionality of it, the kavanah of really watching, of taking the time.

But liminal time isn’t always easy. Why is liminal time hard? How do we mark liminal time?

Liminal time is hard because we get anxious. Change is hard. We are going into the unknown and that scares us. We mark these times with rituals. If you were an ancient you might build Stonehenge to mark the Summer Solstice.

Judaism marks liminal time:

• Mezuzah to mark the space between public and private, right on that doorpost to remind us of who we are every time we go in or out of our houses .
• Kiddush to mark the beginning of Shabbat and Havadalah to mark the end.
• Kaddish to mark the transitions between parts of the service.
• Bar Mitzvah to mark the transition between being a child and being an adult.
• Yom Kippur to mark being forgiven and starting the new year renewed, cleansed
• Mikveh to mark time—between being ritually not ready, and ritually ready, between being niddah and being tahara, between being not Jewish and being Jewish. When you go into the mikveh, you come out changed in some way.

Dr. Erica Brown spoke about liminality at the National Mikveh Conference. Yes, there is one! She said, “What we’ve identified are space, time, and milestone events which are actually transitions,” Brown says, and she notes that all religions are intrigued by transitional times, which produce anxieties; we place rituals in those moments for that reason.  We’ve just come to the same conclusions!

What are some of those anxieties and why do rituals help?

• Bedtime rituals: reading a story to a young child, saying Sh’ma, settling down in some way, that last glass of water (or wine)
• Birthday rituals: candles, cake, making a wish, presents
• The tooth fairy

What about death? What about standing between life and death?

Even before death, if we are lucky and we take the time to think about it, we have prepared. We might have written an ethical will. I hope you each have a living will, an advanced directive, a power of attorney. I hope you have told your own families what you want to have happen once you die.

We Jews are good at death. We have lots of rituals for marking this liminal time of grief:

• Saying Sh’ma and Baruch Dayan HaEmet
• Organizing the community to support the family, to bring food and attend the funeral and shiva.
• Burying quickly
• Tearing a garment and throwing dirt on the grave
• Washing your hands after returning from the cemetery
• Lighting a candle
• Sitting on low stools, covering mirrors
• Eating an egg, symbol of life
• Reciting Kaddish, praising G-d for life

We mark time differently from the first intense 7 days, then the first thirty days and the first year.

Rituals help us experience these transitions in a powerful way. They force us to pay attention to the subtle gradations of how our experience changes over time.

We experience these transitions in a powerful way anyway; the rituals force us to pay attention to the subtle gradations of how our experience changes over time. The rituals allow us to experience what we experience within certain structures. They enact transformation and provide us with a cushion between times.

And they allow us, even in our insecurities and uncertainties to know that we are part of something bigger something greater than ourselves. That there is order in the chaos. That there is a wider community. That there is G-d. And this brings us hope.

Rituals connect us not only horizontally (to friends and family members who are celebrating with us, wherever we are) but also vertically (to people who came before us and people who will come after us and to G-d.)

The intentionality, the kavanah is important. It allows our multi-tasking brains to slow down enough to be present in the moment. To feel. To feel G-d’s presence. To bring G-d into the pause, as Erica Brown said. But you can’t wait for that perfect moment of inspiration (remember inspiration comes from the word for breath too!). If you wait for perfect inspiration and intention, you will never write a book!

It is not always possible to achieve great kavanah. Sometimes prayer connects us to G-d and sometimes to our kids, our family, our community and that can be enough. It is the difference between keva and kavanah. Structure and intention. Abraham Joshua Heschel talked about the need for keva to support the days when he didn’t have the kavanah.

Blu Greenberg says it this way in How to Run a Traditional Jewish Household:

But how, the reader might ask, can one perform ritual without perfect and pure intent? Is it not a sham? The answer might be, ‘Once more, with feeling.’ Even so, should ritual or rite happen to be devoid of inner spirit at any given moment, it does not mean that it is devoid of meaning. Sometimes, in ritual, we simply feel part of the community, and that is enough. Sometimes, ritual serves to generate a sense of self, and that is enough. Sometimes it strengthens the family unit, and that is enough. And sometimes, it connects us to the Divine, and that is enough.

If we sit in a sukkah and don’t experience joy, it is enough.
If we light Shabbat candles and we don’t direct our hearts to making Shabbat, it is enough.
This is true for almost all Jewish rituals.

But there are two rituals that if we do them without kavanah, they don’t count. Saying Sh’ma and mikveh. Because both are about being present in the moment.

Later in the text we will read the word Hiney. It means Behold, or Here. It is a marker that something important is about to happen. Brown understands it as “I am fully present.”

The Hebrew word “hineni” means “I am here.” Brown understands it as “I am fully present” This is hard to do, in this age of technology. I swear I heard someone’s cell phone beep since I started this discussion. Are each of you fully present to this moment?

Being right here. Right now. That is the function of a ritual.

Not just because we have to, because it is an obligation, because it is a commandment, because G-d said to. It was never very effective when as parents our children said, why do we have to do something and we answered, “Because I said so.”

Rituals help us mark liminal time. They help us manage change. They allow us to wrestle with our anxieties and uncertainties. They enable us to be like Aaron, to stand between the living and the dead.

For some reason I love this Shabbat. There is a feeling of expanse of time. Creation seems closer. I try to spend as much time as possible outside.

This Shabbat was no exception. We began with “Shabbat Under the Stars”, 30 people joined us for Kabbalat Shabbat services and a potluck dairy dinner. The service was outside, much like the Kabblistic rabbis in Safed, the ancient mystical town in northern Israel. They would go out into the fields on Friday afternoon to welcome Shabbat, to receive Shabbat. They would dress all in white to welcome the Shabbat bride, the Shabbat queen. They based this new (1500s CE) service on the rabbis of the Talmud who would dress in their best clothing and greet each other with, “Lecha dodi likrat kallah, Come, my beloved, to welcome the bride.” This quote became the basis for the song Lecha Dodi.

People gathered in lawn chairs, on the deck, standing, and we sang those words of Lecha Dodi. It gave me shivers. We were out in the field, singing, watching the clouds, a bird flying overhead, the wind rustling the cattails in the wetlands. We were living out the words of Ma’ariv Aravim:

Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Ruler of the universe,
who speaks the evening into being,
skillfully opens the gates,
thoughtfully alters the time and changes the seasons,
and arranges the stars in their heavenly courses according to plan.
You are Creator of day and night,
rolling light away from darkness and darkness from light,
transforming day into night and distinguishing one from the other.
Adonai Tz’vaot is Your Name.
Ever-living God, may You reign continually over us into eternity.
Blessed are You, Adonai, who brings on evening.

A summer night. Shabbat had arrived.

While I had worried about having enough food, I need not have. Plenty of food. Good food. Good conversation. Good friends. And people lingered on the deck. A Shabbat moment. As we continue to watch day turn to dusk, dusk to twilight, twilight to night.  And yes, we ate ice cream!

In the morning, we gathered at the synagogue. I called out the liturgical references to Creation and to changing seasons. I spoke about liminal time. More on that in the next post. My bimah partners covered much of the service, allowing me to have a spiritual moment while standing in the back of the sanctuary.

After services, Simon and I had a lovely meal outdoors. Artichoke, avocado-cucumber soup and salad. We skipped dessert. I took a nap. We tried to go for a bike ride. We went for a walk. We watched a storm outdoors from the safety of our front porch. After the storm we were treated to a beautiful sunset.

“And on the seventh day God finished His work which He had made; and He rested on the seventh day from all His work which He had made.” (Genesis 2)

When the Torah describes God as “resting,” it says in Exodus, in the familiar words of “V’shamru”, shavat vayinafash. Shavat is related both to rest and to sit/dwell. Some relate it as well to Sheva, seven, since G-d rested on the seventh day. That is probably a linguistic stretch. Shavat really means then, to refrain from work. The next word is va-yinafash. This signifies another forrn of leisure. Va-yinafash and the noun nefesh, means the soul, the spirit. It also means breath. So what it is saying is that G-d rested and took a breath. That, according to Rashi, G-d was refreshed. So Shabbat is the pause that refreshes. (I couldn’t resist!)

This has been a Shabbat, with its 5 extra seconds of daylight, where we enjoyed the leisure of Shabbat. The pause. Like G-d we actively stopped working and we actively paused for a breath, for a chance to take it in. And we gave thanks. For creation. For life. For healing. For storms. For strength. For courage. For food. For naps. For dreams. For rest.

A whole day.

It is a peaceful, quiet morning here in South Elgin. I went outside, checked the garden and saw a heron fly overhead. Magical.

This is the garden that my husband put in. He found a “recipe” in a book and followed it to a t. I was skeptical. Downright mean about it. Couldn’t possibly work. I am pleased to report we will have tomatoes, peppers, lettuce and lots of herbs. Not sure about the peas and beans yet.

Think that Father’s Day is not a Jewish holiday? It is just a Hallmark holiday? Think again, the Bible teaches us to Honor our father and mother. It is one of the Ten Commandments. The top ten. So it must be important. It is something we are supposed to do every day. Not just on Father’s Day. But it is good to pause. Right here. Right now.

It continues so that we will live long on the land that the Lord, our G-d is giving us. Ordinarily, I would think that the land being referred to is Israel. But maybe it just means earth. Maybe Simon’s idea that we should plant (or farm as would be his real love) isn’t so ridiculous. Maybe how we honor our parents is by taking care of the land. It is generational.

Maybe, in our case, the land that G-d is giving us, Simon and Margaret, really is Chicago. Chicago, you say? Chicago is a long way from Eretz Yisrael, the land of Israel. But here we are. Back in the land of our ancestors. Simon’s great grandfather, the original Simon Klein, the founder of Klein and Mandel, ultimately Mandel Brothers, came from Germany to Chicago in the 1840s. My mother’s family came in the 1840s from Alsace Lorraine. Our ancestors are buried in the same cemetery, Mount Maariv, part of Waldheim. This is our land. And we honor their courage, strength and determination to make a new life here in Chicagoland.

My father loved Father’s Day. And I miss him. It usually involved doing something outside, then coming back to the house and grilling steak. And corn. And the debate about whether corn should just be passed through the boiling water or boiled forever, like Coney Island corn.

Roles for parents have switched dramatically in my lifetime. It is not uncommon now for a father to stay home with the children and the woman be the primary bread winner. My husband likes to cook and knit and sew. And plant. He did much of the child care with Sarah while I was working in international business. Described as a non-traditional father.

He does not love Father’s Day. Yet, he is the father of four. And I love him for that.  Anna, Richard, Gabrielle, Sarah. They each love him and will honor him in some way–although none of them will be present. They are all spread out geographically. Here is a rare photo of them together with Simon holding the “famous” picture of his ancestors at some other celebration:

Do we always agree how to parent. No. We have very different styles. I am a more hands-on manager. I check in on the kids, all of whom are adults, on a regular basis. He has a more independent approach. If the kids need him, they will come to him. But I respect him for it. (Most of the time. At least I try to.) What is clear is that I couldn’t have been the mother I am without the father I had or the husband and partner I have.

That’s the point. Honor your father and mother. Revere your mother and father. We are lucky. We have a partnership. Many families do not.

So on this Father’s Day, I salute all the father figures–fathers, uncles, brothers, teachers, mentors, priests, rabbis, ministers. I was lucky here too. I had other father figures besides my own and I think of them today too.

We will spend a quiet day. Maybe weeding that garden or riding a bike on one of the many bike trails. We may go canoeing or kayaking. We may go to the cemetery where his father, grandfather, great grandfather are buried.

And yes, there will be steak. Grilled. His choice. If the weather holds.

Today was Flag Day. We chose to use the day to honor one of our graduates who has enlisted in the Navy as well as our other military veterans. I decorated the shul with American flags and pulled special readings. I didn’t give a traditional sermon but if we had tried we couldn’t have picked a more perfect portion.

Here is a series of vignettes.

Reflection One:
Flags are important in many cultures. Each Israelite tribe had its own flag. This portion teaches us about how 12 scouts, one from each tribe. went out to spy out the land. It also contains the portion that we read as the third paragraph of the Sh’ma, about putting fringes on our clothes as a reminder of the mitzvot, of G-d’s Divine Presence. These fringes are attached to a tallit, a four cornered garment. Traditionally, these garments are white with blue stripes. Originally one of the threads would be a shade of blue, techelet in Hebrew. How to make that dye was lost after the destruction of the Temple. Recently the Israel Antiquities Authority announced that it had fabric that may be dyed “techelet”. http://www.biblicalarchaeology.org/daily/biblical-artifacts/artifacts-and-the-bible/ancient-fabric-dyed-biblical-blue/ There is a continuing debate if this is a “royal blue” or closer to purple. In any case, while the tallit is quite ancient, the Israeli flag reflects today’s Torah portion.

Reflection Two:
I learned this portion best at the feet of Ben Gilad, president of the Academy of Competitive Intelligence. Himself a former Israeli military officer and professor at Rutgers, he would use this portion as the first example of military and competitive intelligence. Moses, the CEO, sent twelve analysts into the competitor, Canaan, to gather information to make strategic and tactical decisions about how to enter a new market. Ten come back and say, “You can’t do it. They are entrenched. And large. As large as grasshoppers. They will eat you alive. Don’t even try.” Only two, Joshua and Caleb, look at the data and say that it worth attempting. It is a good land. A land flowing with milk and honey. How we take disparate data and not be blindsided or even worse have a blind spot, is part of what the classes that Ben teaches. What I learned about competitive intelligence from Ben and from Leonard Fuld and Mike Sandman is part of how I approach synagogue management.

Reflection Three
But what about the American flag? How do we approach that symbol? I have so many memories of the American flag. Any number of flag ceremonies as a Girl Scout. Marching in Memorial Day parades in Evanston. Raising the flag over the governor’s summer residence on Mackinac Island in Michigan. Rushing to raise the flag over the high school as the presidential motorcade passed by. 4th of July in Grand Rapids, Michigan and the roaring of Stars and Stripes forever. All of the flags after 9/11.

Flag Day was always the last day of school. It was when the flag in front of the school was lowered for the last time of the year. It was very special with lots of pomp, then everyone rushed to Heather Downs pool for popsicles.

There is something thrilling about seeing an American flag and I have been known to tear up during the National Anthem or God Bless America. Even at a ball game.

And yet, I remember a conversation in the social hall of an Episcopal Church. I was leading a Brownie troop, and the rector, walked through during a flag ceremony. He pulled me aside and wondered what we are teaching our children and how the flag does not become an idol. It took me aback. He is right. If we only teach America right or wrong or if we don’t feel free to question, then we run into the same trap the Israelites did. We can have blind spots. We can be blindsided. The flag itself can be used as a symbol we never intended.

Reflection Four:
What about the US Flag and Jews. We proudly display the American flag and the Israeli flag in our building. We pulled them out from the walls especially for this service. Is there any tension between the two flags? Can we have allegiances to both? We are entitled to joint American and Israeli citizenship. Our group did not think that there should be tensions. We are loyal Americans and the question seems to be from another era. And yet, as someone pointed out, there is the case of Jonathan Pollard. And later in the day, a high school class mate of mine was questioning the Federal Reserve on Facebook. You know, it is all a conspiracy. You can fill in the blanks but those old charges still exist. For me, I love my t-shirt with the American flag, the one I didn’t wear. Keep America Beautiful. Plant a Tree, Be Kind to Nature, Conserve Energy, Volunteer. So that is how I choose to show my loyalty to America, whom I love. Having lived in other countries, there is no place better. Perfect. No. Best place on earth? You bet.

Reflection Five:
And so that beauty, that freedom, does need to be protected. Do I wish that we did not need a trained military? Sure. Do I pray every day for peace? Absolutely. Am I grateful for those who choose military service? You bet. So as part of our service, we thanked those who have served. We prayed for our country, its leaders and advisors. We memorialized those who gave the ultimate sacrifice, their lives, with a reading before Kaddish. And we wished a young man who has chosen to enter the Navy, safe voyages.  It was a full and rich morning.

Since I have been back from vacation, and even before I left I have been on a hospital tour of Chicagoland. I wouldn’t have guessed that it was possible to visit three families in three hospitals in three counties in one day. Make that four. Recently this is what I wrote to my congregants about why this is important:

Why do I write a blog? Why do I make myself do this day after day? Shouldn’t I be sleeping on this last morning of vacation?

For me, this has been a good vacation. I am ready to go back to the work world–or maybe I never left it. It is hard to separate out what is my work–being a rabbi–from my inner life. But part of the reason for a blog is that my writing it enables me to hold onto it just a little longer. Words and thoughts can be so ephemeral. It allows my congregants a glimpse into this process of finding G-d, of finding truth, of finding joy.

But really I do it for me.

So why was this an important vacation? I learned some really important things this trip. I learned that I am in exactly the right place at the right time. Is it hard work. Yes. Is it exhausting. Sure. Can it be all consuming? Uh huh. Would I trade it for anything else. Nope. Here in Elgin to stay and excited about it.

I learned that I don’t have to fear silence. That I need to incorporate more of it into my life–precisely so that I can do deeper and so that I don’t burn out doing all the things I need to do.

I learned something in that silence about trust. It seems in all my work on the Thirteen Attributes of the Divine, I missed the importance of a word. I was focused on chanun v’rachum and chesed. The idea that G-d is full of lovingkindness and compassion.

Emet means true or truth or maybe trust. Related is emunah (don’t ask how) from which we get amen, so be it, so be it be true.

So I woke up this morning thinking about trust. That’s the piece that this control freak is missing. The ability to trust. This seems huge. It is true that G-d loves me. Trust that G-d loves me. It is true that Simon loves me, so I should trust that Simon loves me. It is true that so many friends love me–they all showed up at Starbucks after all–so I should trust that they will continue to love me even if I am in Elgin. They have now for almost two years!

There are other things to trust. Trust that if I go to Kenya, I will be safe. Statistically that is true, even if it is a higher risk these days. (and that is something else I come back knowing. Kenya is a go!)

Trust that I will not be physically attacked again.

Trust that I know enough about the Book of Ruth to not be worried about my presentation, even though I am nervous. Trust that the congregation likes me. Trust the congregation. They can have a board meeting without me and they did. Trust that if I drive through a thunderstorm (likely today) I will not blow away to Oz.

Some have said that love is the opposite of fear. I think maybe it is really trust.
And now as I sit in this hotel room in Somerset, PA I am crying. Not tears of joy, not tears of fear or sadness. Maybe more relief?  Maybe realization is a better word.

Maybe trust is freedom…still in liberty bell mode too.

So those are the gifts from the sea and the silence that I take back from vacation. The question is can I hold onto them?

The birds heard it first. The word of G-d. The Ten Commandments. I am sure of it. I, too, would have been like the ancient Israelites, asleep. I would have missed it. Having prepared, having counted, having immersed, having studied until after 2 AM, I would have fallen asleep. No matter, even on a rainy morning here in Elgin, the birds would have heard and celebrated.

Here next to the wetlands, it is a riot of song. They started singing in earnest just before dawn. So loud they woke me up. It was beautiful.

The midrash teaches that the entire nation of Israel, men, women and children, even those yet unborn, slaves and strangers, stood at the foot of Sinai. 50 days after leaving Egypt, newly free, at least to worship whom they chose, they heard and saw “as one person with one heart.” The midrash continues that “No bird chirped, no fowl fluttered, no ox lowered, the angels did not fly, the Seraphim did not utter the Kedusha (Holy, Holy, Holy), the sea did not roar, the creatures did not speak. The universe was silent. And the voice came forth, “I am the Eternal, your G-d, Ani Adonai.”

Out of the silence and out of the quaking, shaking, seemingly on fire mountain, the voice of G-d thundered. Another midrash wonders what exactly did the Israelites hear. Some say the 10 sayings, others the first commandment, “I am the Lord your G-d.” Others say the first word of the first commandment which is “Anochi.” Still others the first letter of the first word of the first commandment, which is Aleph. Wait, you say, how can you hear aleph, it is a silent letter. Rabbi Larry Kushner teaches, “Almost but not quite. Open your mouth. Start to speak. There, that is the silent sound of aleph.” It means that G-d and the Israelite people, all people can have a conversation.

I have been thinking a lot about silence. My vacation started with silence. It ended with silence as I attended a Friends meeting, where they kept silence. For a half an hour no one spoke, just meditated. Maybe on the fact that G-d is. Maybe on light. We Jews speak about divine light. In the beginning G-d created light. A new light dawns (well maybe not today while it is raining, but it is brighter outside then when I got up!).

Or maybe that is the point too. The midrash tell us that the Israelites were so frightened by that first sound, their souls left their bodies. It was a like a physical death, like the shattering of their physical vessels, just like the primordial light of creation that shattered their vessels which we have to strive to put back together. That is tikkun Olam, repairing the world, gathering the sparks back together. Tikkun l’eil shavuot, Repairing the Night of Shavuot, staying up all night and studying are thus related.

After the Israelites fell asleep and woke up in time just to hear the first letter of the first word, and “died of fright”, the angels immediately descended from the heavens to revive them by sprinkling the dew of redemption.

Psalm 19 teaches us this, “The Torah of the Lord is perfect, reviving the soul.” Just before that, it days, “The heavens declare the glory of G-d….Day unto day utters speech, and night unto night utters knowledge. There is no speech. There are no words. Neither is their voice heard.”

At first this seemed opposite of our morning prayers. Eloha Nishma Shnatata hi tehorahi says that the soul which was given me is pure. Nishmat Kol Chai echoes that thought saying that every living being, every living soul praises G-d, even the waves, the eagles soaring, the swiftest deer praise G-d. In Anita Diamant and Peri Smilow’s poetic words:
“If my mouth was filled with song
Like the ocean tide is strong
If my tongue could but give praise
Like the roaring of the waves
It would never, ever be enough.”

A version of Ahavat Olam says, “All the world sings to You, the world sings to you. The song of the trees when winds stirs their leaves. The song of the earth when rain soothes its thirst. The song of the sea when waves are set free. The song of the sky when hummingbirds fly.” (Anselm Rothchild)

But look closer. The waves, the eagles, the deer, don’t speak. Maybe our mothers were right, actions speak louder than words. Maybe our actions are what praise G-d, crashing waves, soaring eagles, swift deer.

Estelle Frankel in her book Sacred Therapy, one that I found tremendously useful earlier in my life, had this to say about brokenness and light. She encourages us to wrap ourselves in a tallit as a symbol of divine love and divine light. To feel G-ds protection and love. And then she quotes a poem by Rashani:

The Unbroken
There is a brokenness
out of which comes the unbroken,
a shatteredness out of which blooms the unshatterable.
There is a sorrow
beyond all grief which leads to joy
and a fragility
out of whose depth emerges strength.

There is a hollow space
too vast for words
through which we pass with each loss,
out of whose darkness we are sanctioned into being.

There is a cry deeper than all sound
whose serrated edges cut the heart
as we break open
to the place inside
which is unbreakable
and whole,
while learning to sing.

The broken tablets, the whole tablets, our broken selves looking for wholeness in the light and learning to sing.

It is remarkable. The birds the have stopped singing and all that can be heard now is the sound of rain. Cleansing, gentle rain. Maybe the dew of redemption. Shavuot morning. Amen.

For seven weeks I have been studying Ruth. Slowly over time. Savoring every word. It is a short book. Only four chapters. But there is so much in it. I knew that Ruth would be the subject of our Tikkun L’eil Shavuot.

I was hoping to find something in looking closely at Ruth, like we looked closely at Zipporah. And after this in depth analysis I am not sure it is there. This careful reading reminds me of the dangers of prooftexting. Of the need to be faithful to the text and not read into it what isn’t necessarily there. Yet, I was hoping to find the key to the puzzle of who is a Jew.

You see, Ruth is a Moabite woman, a widow, who decides, against her mother-in-law’s advice, that she will cling to Naomi. “Entreat me, urge me not to leave you and from following after you. For wherever you go, I will go, where you lodge I will lodge, your people shall be my people and your G-d, my G-d.”

Can she even convert? Traditional sources would say no precisely because she is a Moabite, forbidden from becoming one of us because they did not give us food and drink when we were wandering in the desert. However, the traditional commentaries get around this by saying it is OK because she is a Moabitess, a woman, and our argument was not with the women. It was the men who refused to welcome us in the desert. Frankly that doesn’t help me.

Did she convert? What is missing here in the actual text is our traditional recipe for conversion. No year long study with the rabbi. No beit din. No immersion in a ritual bath. No mikveh even in the commentary. I really wanted that to show up. So did she convert?

The rabbis say yes. Like traditional converts, three times Naomi pushes her away and tells her to return to her people.

For years I have wanted to go see the Liberty Bell. It has had a deep resonance for me. Perhaps because I was an American Studies major. Perhaps because I came East as a Girl Scout in 1975 ahead of the Bicentennial. Perhaps because its message, “Proclaim Liberty Throughout the Land…” is from Leviticus and really rings true to me.

Today was the day. Finally. We had perfect weather and a lovely lunch at the City Tavern–another place on my “bucket list” since working for SAP in Newtown Square and since being a colonial re-enactor.

But here is what I forgot, that made today so very special. The Liberty Bell belongs to all people, not just Americans. The promise of freedom, such a Jewish value resonates (I know, I need to get away from these bell puns!) with everyone. The promise of freedom gave hope to slaves and abolitionists, to suffragettes and civil rights workers, the Dalai Lama and Martin Luther King. To Nelson Mandela.

I can’t get away from Africa…Nelson Mandela said that The Liberty Bell is “a very significant symbol for the entire democratic world.” (Philadelphia Inquirer, July 4, 1993.) This year he was awarded the Philadelphia Martin Luther King Association Drum Major of Freedom award. Accepting the award posthumously, “The family of Nelson Mandela and the people of South Africa deeply appreciate the honor being bestowed on Jan. 20, on the father of our nation by the Martin Luther King, Jr. Association for Nonviolence. Dr. King and Nelson Mandela dreamed the same dream. None did more in their generation than Dr. King and Nelson Mandela to bend the long arm of the universe towards justice and advance humanity along our shared long walk to freedom.”

When walked around Independence Mall we heard Hebrew, French, Chinese, Italian, German. We saw Girl Scouts and school groups, one group even had on 2014 US Road Scholar T-Shirts. The history is important. It is palpable. But it is not just history. It is history still being made. Peter Paul and Mary sang it this way:

If I had a bell
I’d ring it in the morning
I’d ring it in the evening … all over this land,
I’d ring out danger
I’d ring out a warning
I’d ring out love between all of my brothers and my sisters
All over this land.
…
It’s a bell of freedom

Freedom is a gift, a promise, a right. Something that needs to be guarded and worked towards. The Israelites in the desert knew that as they stood before Sinai. The abolitionists knew that. Susan B. Anthony knew that. King and Mandela knew that. Ours is not to finish the task. Neither are we free (there’s that word again) to ignore.

It is a dream that cannot be ignored in this city of brotherly love…for all the inhabitants of our land.

What does it mean to be a friend? To be a Friend? My sister-in-law, who is a friend suggested that we stay at Pendle HIll, http://www.pendlehill.org, a retreat and conference center very close to Swarthmore run by the Quakers, the Friends. It is beautiful here. Lots of walking trails. Very green. Pretty. Quiet. Peaceful.

Through the years I have learned a little about Quakers. My therapist is a Jewish Quaker. She participates in Friends meeting in Cambridge. She likes their worship style with its commitment to quietude. She likes their commitment to social justice. To peacemaking. To keeping the light. It feeds her soul. Who am I to argue?

I think when I stay at a place like this I am expecting the big insight. But when you go looking for the big insight is usually not when you find one. This past week I sang Lechi Lach, based on Abraham’s journey. “Lechi Lach, to a land that I will show you. Lech lecha, to a place you do not know. Lechi lach on your journey I will bless you…and you shall be a blessing….lechi lach.” The rabbis teach that this means to go towards yourself, to go inward, to find yourself. Perhaps that is what this vacation has been about. Finding the quiet time to go inward.

Abraham didn’t know where he was going. Does any of us? Who could have predicted that I would be in Elgin, IL and that it would feel right? So I sang it this week at the mikveh.  It was sung at A’s Bat Mitzvah. It would be perfect for a college graduate too, unsure of the next step.

Perhaps it is reflective of Shavuot. The Israelites went the long way to Sinai. They didn’t know where they were going either! Then there they were! Standing at Sinai! And even though G-d and Moses told them to prepare, they were not ready. Are any of us ready? Shavuot will be in just a few days. I am not ready. How can I lead a discussion?

The rabbi told a story about a tree and a man, Natan, who wanted to give the tree a present. What did he have to give? Ultimately, the man whose very name means gift, who didn’t have any material thing, gave a blessing.

The story reminded me of a colleague, who is a rabbi and a singer songwriter who loves the song Little Drummer Boy. The only gift the little boy has is his song. The only gift we have is a blessing. The blessing of a beautiful spring morning full of blues and greens. The blessing of light. Of Beauty. Of presence. Of song. The blessing of family. Of love. Of friendship. The blessing of being awake and alive.

I am truly blessed. And I am grateful. Maybe that is the insight. Maybe that is what I bring back from this trip. That these blessings are available to us, wherever we are, whenever we need them. As the Quakers say, I will hold them in the light.